The woman tilted her head, seeming to consider him for a moment longer before shrugging.
"Well, if you're not a mechanic here, are you looking for a job?"
"Sort of," he replied cautiously, the word hanging in the air like a thread he wasn't sure he wanted to pull.
Her tone turned brisk, almost dismissive, as she nodded toward a rickety staircase leading to the second floor of the workshop.
"Go upstairs. My boss is always complaining about needing someone to maintain the flux stabilizers and recalibrate the thermal conduits on the assembly rigs."
Ivaim blinked, amused by her abruptness. "Flux stabilizers? Thermal conduits? Sounds… technical."
She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "You just said you're good with your hands. Now's your chance to prove it."
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No IDs on me. That might be a problem."
She waved off his concern, her tone impatient.
"No need for that. Show the boss what you can do, and he won't care if you've got papers or not. He's more interested in results than formalities."
Ivaim glanced at the stairs, then back at her. "Sounds like a straightforward guy."
"He's straightforward, all right," she said with a dry laugh. "And short-tempered. So, if you're going, better not waste time standing around here."
"Noted," he said, pushing off the counter. "And here I thought I'd just be walking through town today."
She shrugged. "Welcome to the Workshop Streets. Nothing's ever that simple."
As Ivaim climbed the stairs, he could feel the woman's gaze lingering on him, her expression unreadable. Reaching the top, he paused before a heavy wooden door marked with a haphazardly painted sign: Chief Mechanic's Office.
With a deep breath, Ivaim knocked firmly on the door. The muffled clatter of tools from within ceased abruptly, replaced by a gruff, impatient voice.
"Come in if you're here to fix something! If you're here to waste my time, don't bother!"
Ivaim smiled at the sharp tone but wasn't fazed. He knew mechanics had little patience to spare; the constant influx of demands left no room for small talk or nonsense. Turning the knob, he stepped inside.
The room was a chaotic symphony of metal and machinery. Gears, wires, and half-assembled contraptions cluttered every surface. In the middle of it all stood a burly man in a stained leather apron, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His gray-streaked beard and oil-smeared face added to his no-nonsense aura.
"Well?" the man barked, his piercing eyes locking onto Ivaim. "You here to fix, or you here to yap?"
Ivaim raised his hands in mock surrender. "Easy there, boss. The lady downstairs said you're looking for someone to handle maintenance."
The man grunted, his sharp gaze narrowing. "She did, huh? And who are you, exactly?"
"Name's Ivaim," he said, stepping further into the room. "I've got a decent hand with machines, and I don't mind getting them dirty."
The mechanic eyed him skeptically. "You don't look like a mechanic."
Ivaim shrugged. "Looks can be deceiving. I fixed the crank on her rig downstairs in under five minutes. Figured I'd see if you needed an extra pair of hands."
The man stroked his beard, his expression unreadable.
"Fixed the crank, did you? She's been complaining about that thing for days." He tilted his head toward a cluttered workbench.
"Alright, hotshot. Let's see what you've got. That flux regulator's been acting up. Every time I run a test, it sparks like it's about to blow. Fix it, and maybe we'll talk about letting you stick around."
Ivaim approached the workbench, examining the device in question. The regulator was a compact but intricate piece of machinery, its wiring frayed and its inner components misaligned. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Got any spare tools? Mine didn't make it through customs."
The man chuckled dryly. "Figures. Toolbox is under the bench. Don't break anything—tools or otherwise."
Kneeling, Ivaim pulled out the toolbox, grabbing a pair of pliers and a precision screwdriver. As he began working, he spoke casually over his shoulder.
"So, what's your name? Or should I just call you 'boss'?"
The man snorted. "Name's Harvin. But don't get too comfortable—we'll see if you're worth remembering."
"Fair enough," Ivaim said, his hands steady as he reconnected a loose wire. "You get a lot of folks looking for work around here?"
"More than you'd think," Harvin replied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Most of 'em don't last a day. Too slow, too sloppy, or too soft to handle the pressure."
Ivaim smiled. "Guess I'll have to prove I'm not one of them."
"You'd better," Harvin shot back. "This shop's not a charity, and I don't have time for dead weight."
After a few minutes of focused tinkering, Ivaim straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Alright, try it now."
Harvin pushed off the wall, stepping over to the regulator. He flipped a switch, and the device hummed to life, its once-erratic sparking now replaced by a smooth, steady pulse.
"Well, I'll be damned," Harvin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned to Ivaim with a grudging nod. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
Ivaim grinned. "So, do I pass the test?"
Harvin grunted. "You're not useless, that's for sure. Alright, you've got a spot—for now. Don't screw it up."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ivaim said, tossing the rag onto the bench. "When do I start?"
"Now," Harvin replied bluntly, pointing toward another malfunctioning machine. "That compressor isn't going to fix itself. Get to it."
With a chuckle, Ivaim rolled up his sleeves.
'Looks like I'm in for a long day.'
...
After sprinting across Strathmore Academy's sprawling campus, desperately trying to "attend" the family meeting that had been scheduled, Kalisto couldn't help but curse under his breath.
His daughter, Alina, just so happened to attend the same school, and of course, this was the one time he couldn't get a decent lead on Williams' whereabouts.
He muttered to himself, frustration gnawing at him. "I can't even get a glimpse of Williams' face... Why did I think I could just walk in and catch him? This place is a maze!"
His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he came to an abrupt halt, his mind suddenly clicking into place. He patted his pocket and pulled out the coin that had become his silent ally in moments like these.
He stared at it for a moment, contemplating his options.
With a deep breath, he activated [Coin Luck Accumulation].
The coin shimmered in his palm, its glow faint but growing stronger. The air around him seemed to shift, like the universe was subtly aligning things in his favor, ready to provide a nudge.
As he pocketed the coin again, a thought struck him.
'What am I doing, wasting time here? There's gotta be a better way to handle this.'
Turning on his heel, Kalisto approached a nearby student who had just exited a classroom, still talking animatedly to a friend. He didn't hesitate.
"Hey," Kalisto called out, catching the student's attention.
The student paused, glancing up at the stranger in slight confusion.
"Uh, yeah? Can I help you?"
Kalisto flashed a casual grin, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. "I'm looking for someone—William Hayes. You wouldn't happen to know where I can find him, would you?"
The student blinked, clearly thrown off by the question. "William Hayes? Um, yeah, he's usually over by the west wing, around the science labs. But he's kind of... elusive."