In the dim workshop, Rolo's hands moved swiftly, his fingers deftly manipulating the small parts. As he counted the steps in his mind—"Rotate, align..."—he had become proficient in the assembly process. After two days, he could complete three more pieces each day.
However, Rolo soon found that increasing his speed further proved challenging. While he had mastered the steps, increasing his manual speed was not something that could happen overnight. Though he was pleased with his progress, surpassing others by a significant margin, his worries about the future weighed heavily on him. His current wage of over four hundred Federation Credits per day allowed him to buy a few potatoes, but it was far from enough to cover his tuition fees.
Determined to find a solution, Rolo focused on the part in his hand. During his free time, he attended online classes about mechs, picking up bits of knowledge despite not understanding most of it. He shamelessly asked the teachers questions, eager to learn. The teacher, Mr. Mercer, who taught basic knowledge, was pleasantly surprised by Rolo's diligence. Unlike the more popular advanced classes, his were sparsely attended, especially by young people, as basic mech knowledge could be self-taught or learned through hands-on experience.
Mr. Mercer, in his forties and with a solid educational background, specialized in foundational research. Despite the lack of recognition and the difficulty in achieving breakthroughs in this field, he was comforted by Rolo's presence. The boy's earnest questions, albeit elementary, rekindled his passion for teaching.
Rolo, encouraged by Mr. Mercer's detailed answers, began to wonder if he could reduce the number of assembly steps without compromising the part's performance. He spent hours experimenting, disassembling and reassembling the component, sketching diagrams, and using his limited knowledge to run calculations.
As the day ended, Rolo's face lit up with a smile. He had reorganized seven steps, significantly shortening the process and even enhancing the part's flexibility and durability. This efficiency was his goal, not necessarily improved performance.
Had Mr. Mercer been present, he would have scolded Rolo for his utilitarian approach, yet secretly been amazed by the improved component. However, it was Dylan Mars, the workshop supervisor, who appeared, concerned by Rolo's absence from the usual midday check-in.
Dylan Mars, who valued Rolo's hard work and was fond of the young man, noticed the untouched lunch and the single completed part on the table. "Rolo, if you're not feeling well, take the rest of the day off," he suggested, offering the boy his usual pay for the day despite the low output.
After Dylan Mars left, Rolo quickly set to work, finishing an entire batch—twenty parts—within two hours, a task that usually took him nearly four hours. Dylan Mars, amazed by the flawless work, couldn't help but wonder if Rolo was a prodigy.
Exhausted but thrilled, Rolo realized he could now complete three batches a day, doubling his earnings to six hundred Credits. As he hummed a tune, heading to the bus stop, his peaceful evening was shattered by a violent fight nearby.
Two men, locked in combat, wielded melee weapons with devastating power. One of them kicked a metal vending machine, sending debris flying dangerously close to Rolo. He watched in horror, barely able to keep up with their superhuman speed.
This was the first time Rolo encountered the reality of a world where genetic evolution had pushed humanity to new heights, with individuals classified from E to the legendary S level.
Fearing for his life, Rolo tried to hide, praying the battle would end quickly. Suddenly, one man drove a knife into the other, smiling directly at Rolo. Paralyzed with fear, Rolo tried to escape, only to find the man waiting for him, covered in blood.
In a desperate plea, Rolo promised silence, but the man, seemingly amused, offered him two choices: death or a "slave contract." Faced with no other option, Rolo agreed to the contract, horrified as the man cut both their fingers, mingling their blood.
"You're my slave now," the man, named Kieran, declared, his smile cruel. The contract was binding, ensuring Rolo could neither escape nor betray him without facing dire consequences. Kieran, seemingly satisfied, took over Rolo's small apartment, even eating the food Rolo had been saving.
As Kieran lounged on the sofa, Rolo stood in shock, realizing he had traded his freedom for his life. His new master, with a dangerous glint in his eye, warned him to be a good slave or face a fate worse than death.
Rolo sat in despair, contemplating his bleak future under Kieran's control, wondering how his life had spiraled into such chaos.