The dim, flickering orange glow of an emergency bulb overhead cast long, fractured shadows across the narrow alcove.
The air here smelled heavily of ozone, used machine oil, and damp cardboard—a stark contrast to the neon-soaked chaos of the syndicate dens or the rancid stink of the garbage heaps.
Deku Kwanoh remained frozen in place, his dark eyes locked onto the girl sitting before the workbench.
Kim Miyoku didn’t flinch under his intense, analytical gaze.
In Sector 9, showing fear to a stranger usually meant inviting violence or exploitation, but Miyoku’s expression remained stubbornly neutral.
She picked up a rusted soldering iron, the tiny tip glowing faint orange, and carefully fused a severed copper filament inside the handheld water filter she was repairing.
”You’ve been staring for a full minute,” Miyoku said, her voice quiet, steady, and devoid of the nervous tremors that usually plagued people when Deku looked at them.
She didn’t look up from her work.
“If you’re looking for scraps to trade, the recycling bin is around the back. If you’re looking for trouble, I don’t have anything worth stealing.”
Deku stepped forward, the muted squelch of his ruined, slime-stained shoes breaking the rhythmic hum of the ventilation shaft above.
He stopped just a foot away from her workbench, towering over her slight frame.
In this world, unevolved humans—those who failed to gain space-time magic or inner mutations during the extraterrestrial experiments—were often treated as living ghosts.
They were the bottom caste, unable to work in the high-tier corporate weapon factories or fight the alien threats, left to rot in the slums doing menial labor.
Yet, as Deku looked down at Miyoku, he didn’t see weakness.
Her workspace was meticulously organized.
Every screw, bolt, and wire was sorted by size into tiny plastic compartments.
Even her posture, despite the oversized, grease-stained jumpsuit, was rigid and exact.
”You like order,” Deku observed, his voice smooth and low.
Miyoku paused, the soldering iron hovering an inch above the circuit board.
She finally raised her head, her clear, dark eyes meeting his.
There was a quiet sharpness in her gaze that caught Deku off guard.
”Order doesn’t exist out here,” Miyoku replied softly, though a flicker of intrigue crossed her face as she took in his strange appearance—the high school uniform tie still neatly knotted against a chest covered in dystopian sludge.
“Chaos is the default. We just build small walls around ourselves so we don’t drown in it.”
Deku let out a low, dark chuckle.
It was a philosophy he deeply understood.
A subtle, quiet chime echoed in the back of his mind, though no quest panel materialized.
Instead, a warm current of energy pulsed gently through his veins, as if recognizing the strange psychological parallel between the former high school tyrant and the powerless girl surviving in the dirt.
”A wall is just a cage you haven’t broken out of yet,” Deku said, his tone dropping into a dangerous, confident whisper.
Miyoku tilted her head, studying him with a mix of skepticism and hidden depth.
She set the soldering iron down on its stand, wiping her grease-stained hands on a rag.
”You talk like someone who thinks he can punch the sky down,” she said, though a faint, ghost of a smile touched the corner of her lips.
“Be careful. The corporations up there don’t care how hard you hit. If you make too much noise, they drop orbital strikes on districts like this without blinking.”
”Let them try,” Deku replied, his eyes narrowing into a cold, lethal gaze that promised absolute dominion over whatever came his way.
Miyoku stared at him for a long moment, the quiet tension hanging thick in the dim alcove.
Then, without a word, she turned back to her workbench, picked up a clean filter cartridge, and slid it across the table toward him.
”If you’re going to stand there and track mud into my workspace,” Miyoku muttered, her voice carrying a quiet, unexpected warmth, “at least make yourself useful and hold this chassis steady.”
Deku looked down at the metal component, then back at the girl.
For the first time since the lightning bolt had dragged him out of his old life, the cold, solitary weight of his existence felt just a fraction lighter.