The trio walked through the busy streets of Loria City.
After several twists and turns through the crowded streets, the group arrived at a quieter part of the district. Here, the buildings were simpler but exuded craftsmanship. The sound of metal striking metal echoed faintly in the air.
"There it is," Renjiro announced, pointing ahead.
As they stepped into the shop, Ms. Isha's gaze shifted toward them immediately. Unlike the bustling chaos of the previous day, the morning air was quiet, and she seemed to relish the slower pace.
"Good morning, fellas," she greeted warmly, her tone friendly but curious.
Her eyes lingered on Renjiro for a moment before recognition lit her face.
"Ah, you're the one from yesterday."
She gestured casually toward the door behind her counter. "If you're here for my daughter, she's in the back."
Kael hesitated, his brow furrowing. "So... we can just go through?"
Ms. Isha chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I don't mind. It's not every day someone takes an interest in my little girl, you know."
"Just don't hurt her, or else."
Her voice carried a mix of amusement and something softer, almost wistful, as though the idea of anyone caring about her daughter felt both surprising and welcome.
Fugo was the first to step through the door, with Kael and Renjiro following close behind.
To their surprise, the door didn't lead to another room but opened into an outdoor workspace.
The ground was littered with heavy metals and vibrant rocks, their scattered placement hinting at countless unfinished projects.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
In the center of the chaos stood Irene, wielding a massive hammer. She was striking a glowing, heated slab of metal with rhythmic precision, slowly shaping it into the form of a blade.
CLANG! CLANG!
Her movements were mechanical, unwavering, and completely absorbed in the task. Whether or not she noticed the three intruders was impossible to tell.
Fugo's gaze fixed on Irene as she worked. The sweat on her brow, the fluidity of her strikes, and most strikingly, her muscles. They were toned and powerful, completely different to the quiet, withdrawn girl they'd seen yesterday.
The thought that crossed Fugo's mind was as blunt as it was honest:
"Magnificent."
His cheeks flushed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, "Lina could use a bit of that..."
For a moment, he was lost in admiration, until Renjiro decided to cut through the air with an enthusiastic shout.
"GOOD MORNING!"
The sudden yell echoed sharply across the yard, disrupting the steady rhythm of Irene's hammering. She looked up at the three intruders, glaring at each of them.
"Leave."
Fugo stepped up, bowing apologetically. "Sorry for intruding, but if you don't mind me asking. What are you doing right now?"
"Unless you're stupid, you know exactly what I'm doing. Forging."
"Hmm, you love forging?"
Irene turned her face away from Fugo, gradually getting more annoyed by their presence.
"Did Mom allow you three pass those doors?"
"I'm afraid she did. In case you forgot, my name is Fugo Almaty. We have a lot in common."
Irene lingered on the words, "Almaty....what do you three want?"
Renjiro mentioned, "We told you already, to join our---"
"Cut the crap already! I mean it, what do you three really want with me? It's got to be something else....my body maybe? You think I'm an easy lick!" Her tone grew darker by the second.
Renjiro tried to defuse her anger, but she just kept going. "I want nothing to do with anybody! For everyone's sake! Just go away!"
Her outburst left the area in complete silence.
....
Irene picked up her hammer again.
But before she hammered, Fugo asked a nerve-touching question, "Why pick up that hammer anyway?"
Her hands froze mid-swing, and her glare locked onto him. "What did you just say?"
"If you want nothing to do with anyone, then for whom are you forging that sword? A blacksmith needs customers, right? But from what I hear, your magic swords are... unusable to the masses."
Renjiro elbowed Fugo sharply in the ribs, hissing under his breath, "What the hell are you doing!?"
Kael, who had remained silent until now, stepped closer and knelt by the scattered rocks and metals on the ground. He picked up one of the shimmering stones, examining it.
"These are cores for magic weapons," he said, his voice calm but pointed.
"You've got all this high-grade material lying around, and you're just planning to waste it?"
"Not helping, Kael!" Renjiro shot back, his frustration mounting.
Irene's hands trembled as she gripped the hammer.
"If you came here to mock me, fine. Not like I care."
She raised the hammer again, striking the metal with force, but her rhythm faltered.
Fugo took another step forward, his voice softer now, but resolute. "Give it up, Irene. Let go of the doubt you're clinging to so desperately."
Before she could respond, he reached out and took hold of her hands, applying just enough pressure to make her pause. Her eyes widened slightly at the bold gesture.
"I'm persistent when it matters," Fugo said with a faint smirk.
"So, here's the deal: summon a magic weapon right here, right now. If one of us can wield it, then you'll join us. If not, we'll leave you alone."
Renjiro and Kael exchanged uncertain glances, stunned by Fugo's sudden assertiveness.
"What's gotten into him?" Renjiro muttered under his breath.
Kael crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he studied Fugo. "He's different... almost like this isn't the same guy from yesterday."
Irene took a deep breath, dropping her hammer and standing up. "Ugh! So annoying"
"Okay, I accept your terms. If it'll get you to leave me the hell alone, why not?"
Irene's gaze lingered on each other, scanning them from head to toe. After her assessment, she spoke her mind.
"Yes, I feel it from the rest of you. You three seemed to have a promising future...brimming with potential."
"Just so you know, I am basically the most useless and most pointless person you will ever meet in your lifetime." She showed no hesitation or shame in uttering those words.
"Pointless person?" Fugo said, bothered by it. The way she confidently called herself pointless hinted to him that she held deep hatred for herself.
Irene proposed to Fugo, "Since you have the biggest mouth of the three, you'll attempt my blade last."
"I'm fine with that."
"Oh boy, what did I get myself into?" Kael began to wonder.
Irene gazed intently at the two men standing in front of her, her demeanor serious as she gestured toward the swords that suddenly appeared before them.
This was her magic ability known as Craftsman Summon, a skill she had refined since birth. As long as the weapons were crafted by her, she had the power to teleport, summon, store, or even destroy them regardless of their distance or condition.
"All I ask from you two is a five-minute spar," she declared, pointing at both Kael and Renjiro.
"If either of you can manage to keep hold of these blades for that long, I'll consider joining your party."
The swords summoned in their hands were magic swords; just upon a touch, Kael and Renjiro could feel the blades tapping into their mana. Black colored blades with a rough, sturdy blue hilts.
The edge was not as sharp as a regular sword either, it was surprisingly dull.
While Kael remained skeptical about everything, Renjiro was starting to like the unfolding events. He grinned confidently, being the first to swing the sword given to him.
"Piece of cake!"
"Just to be clear," Kael said, "This won't be a fair fight. I've never used a sword before." He set his stance, preparing to test his limits against the sword's weight.
Renjiro waved him off.
"Excuses, excuses. Let's see who can hold on for five minutes!"
Before Kael could respond, Irene's eyes flickered with a subtle warning. "Stay back," she instructed Fugo, her gaze briefly meeting his.
"No swords for you yet."
Fugo nodded, stepping back to watch from a distance as both men grabbed their swords.
Renjiro was the first to attack, slashing at Kael with the intent to harm.
The clash of metal echoed across the field, and the two swordsmen engaged in a flurry of blows. Renjiro's sword moved swiftly and sharply, every strike was an attempt to throw Kael off balance.
Kael, although less experienced with melee combat, had a natural calmness to him, and his movements were mostly cautious. He parried Renjiro's blows, each strike sending a jolt of pain through his body, but he held firmly. His feet shifted expertly, anticipating Renjiro's next move.
The swords rang as each impact reverberated through their bodies, each strike causing a sharp sting in their hands, the muscles protesting against the weight.
Kael managed a counter, his blade barely glancing off Renjiro's, the clash a brief moment of satisfaction before the next series of attacks began.
Despite Kael's best efforts, Renjiro kept pushing forward, his strikes relentless.
For the first three minutes, it was clear that Renjiro dominated the fight. His experience, coupled with his natural talent, kept him a step ahead. Kael's arms burned from the impact, his grip beginning to weaken.
The sting in his hands was becoming unbearable, but he refused to let go. He knew that if he did, it would be over.
By the three-and-a-half-minute mark, both men's swords were starting to slip from their grip. Their palms were slick with sweat, and the sting in their hands was excruciating.
Their arms trembled with the effort of holding on. Renjiro's teeth clenched as his sword continued to shake in his hand, his knuckles white with strain. Kael, equally determined, felt the metal slipping and tried to adjust his grip.
The blades vibrated violently in their palms, and before they knew it, both swords flew from their hands with a sharp clink, landing on the ground with a dull thud.
"Dammit!" Renjiro cursed, his breathing heavy. His arms shook with exhaustion, the pain in his hands nearly unbearable.
Kael exhaled his breath raggedly. His hands stung fiercely, the pain lancing up his arms, and he winced as he tried to pick up the sword again.
"What is this?" Kael muttered, frustrated. "Why... why does it hurt so much?"
Irene stood a few paces away, her arms crossed over her chest, a look of quiet disappointment on her face.
"This is the key difference between me and my mother."
"I can summon my weapons, but I can't make them suited for any user. I can't explain it, but my magic weapons are just never compatible with anyone. Even the best failed to grip them for long."
Fugo's heart tightened as he listened to Irene's words.
"Every weapon I've ever made..." she continued with a sigh, "No one has been able to wield them for more than three minutes."
Her voice lowered in a self-deprecating murmur. "Not even Ericka Herches, the War Potential. She only lasted four minutes."
The words struck Fugo harder than he expected. Even Ericka—someone whom Fugo had always admired, someone who was considered a prodigy amongst the gifted—had failed.
Irene turned away, walking slowly toward the edge of the field, her shoulders slumped with the weight of her own failure.
"I was hoping... maybe one of you three could break that curse," she whispered, though it was clear she wasn't expecting an answer.
"You all bothered me over nothing."
Fugo gazed deeply into her eyes and recognized the true emotions swirling within them. Beneath the surface of disappointment lay something more profound. Although he struggled to identify it, he sensed it could be labeled as "Despair."
Unable to bear the sight of her in such pain, Fugo felt an overwhelming urge to approach her.
This was the very reason Fugo was compelled to visit her again in the first place.
"Wait!" Renjiro called out, rushing towards her.
"Irene, don't go. Just-"
But before he could reach her, Fugo's voice cut through the air.
"Excuse me," Fugo called out.
He reached out, grabbing one of the swords that had fallen to the ground. "Can I give it a try now?"
"Haven't gotten my turn, remember."
"Just five minutes, right?"
He gripped the sword firmly, despite the trembling in his hands. "I want a try."
Irene let out a bitter sigh, shaking her head in disappointment. "Just take a look at yourself,"
"I just told you...The great swordswoman Ericka failed to wield my weapons. No one can wield them...they're just there, useless pieces of metal."
"And yet you are still crafting more?" Fugo questioned.
In response, Irene gave a warning. "The shock might kill you, others can have different fates."
Fugo did not back down. His grip on the sword tightened despite his hands trembling, and with every ounce of strength he had, he lifted the heavy blade.
"I recognize my weaknesses."
"I am not trying to hide them, and I'm not ashamed to admit I am currently weak and hold little value. But I am evolving. I am dedicated to becoming better, and I will not stop until I can honestly say, 'I love myself. '"
"Love?" Irene's eyes widened.
The statement struck Irene like a bolt. For all her doubts about her own abilities, her value. Fugo's belief that he could change stirred something she had not felt in a long time.
Her hands trembled slightly as she crossed her arms, unsure of how to process the raw conviction in his voice.
"Whatever," she muttered, her voice softer than before.
Five years.
That's how long it had been since Irene felt even the faintest flicker of hope toward herself, or anyone else.
She thought back to that day, the day Ericka Herches attempted to wield her first magic blade.
The blade Irene had poured her heart into forging.
Ericka's failure had been public and catastrophic, the magic within the weapon misfiring and leaving the blade shattered, its glow snuffed out before it could shine.
The crowd had been merciless. Whispers turned into accusations, and soon Irene found herself standing at the center of a storm she couldn't escape.
They had said, "It's not the wielder's fault."
"It is the blacksmith. She is the one to blame."
The words had cut deeper than any blade ever could.
In a single moment, everything she had worked for—her passion, her pride, her purpose—was reduced to ashes. The weight of their scorn had crushed her, leaving her isolated and convinced that she was nothing more than a failure.
From that day on, she had built walls around herself, high and unyielding. If people only saw her as a failure, she would not give them another chance to confirm it. She stopped forging for others, retreating to her workshop and creating weapons only for herself—tools that no one else would ever touch.
But now...
Irene's gaze shifted back to Fugo, who stood before her, disheveled and exhausted, but unyielding. His hands still trembled from the effort of wielding her sword, but there was no bitterness in his expression. Only determination.
Only belief.
She did not know why, but something about him was different. His words, his actions, they felt genuine.
Real, and for the first time in five years, Irene felt the tiniest crack in the walls she had built around her heart.
It was not much, just a glimmer of something unfamiliar, something she had not dared to feel for so long.
Hope.
Fugo exhaled slowly, swinging the sword again. The weapon was clumsy in his grip, and the balance felt foreign to him.
His hands quivered with each attempt to swing, the strain evident on his face. His first swings were awkward, the blade veering off course and threatening to slip from his grip entirely.
But Fugo did not stop.
Each motion grew more deliberate, the arcs of his swings more measured.
Though he lacked grace or technique, his sheer determination carried him forward. Sweat began to bead on his brow, dripping down his temple as he pushed through the mounting exhaustion.
Kael watched from the side with his arms crossed and frowning. "Fugo, don't overdo it," he warned.
Renjiro, on the other hand, could not help but smile, his hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered. "That is the spirit! Come on, Fugo! Keep going—you've got this!"
Minutes passed.
To Fugo, it felt like hours. His muscles burned, his shoulders screamed, and his legs felt like they might give out any second. But there was something else. Beneath the fatigue and the strain, there was a flicker of pride.
Every swing, no matter how clumsy, was a step forward. Every drop of sweat that fell was proof of his resolve.
Three minutes... then four.
Fugo's knuckles were white as he clutched the sword, but he did not stop.
At the five-minute mark, his knees buckled slightly, and he dropped down to one leg. Yet the blade remained in his hands. He looked up, panting, but smiling. "Still... standing," he muttered.
Renjiro erupted with joy, rushing forward to pat Fugo on the back.
"You did it! That's incredible! You gotta tell me how!".
Kael's lips quirked upward into a faint smile, though he quickly crossed his arms again. "Good work, Fugo," he said.
Fugo fell to his knees, the sword slipping from his grip and landing with a dull thud on the ground. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his vision swimming from exhaustion.
"Wow, were swords always this heavy?"
"Heavy, is that all you have to say?" Irene asked Fugo.
"You don't feel any heat?"
"No sort of electrical shock?"
Fugo scratched his head, tightening his grip as he did. "No, it's just heavy is all. Too heavy if you ask me."
Irene stood frozen with her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She watched him—this stubborn guy who she knew very little about. He looked like no prodigy or someone with an ego.
Yet he defied every expectation, every doubt she had held.
She had no choice but to take a step forward.
Then another.
Her guarded expression faltered as she moved closer, her hands clenching at her sides.
"Fugo..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up at her, still smiling despite his exhaustion.
Her steps quickened until she was standing directly in front of him.
For a moment, she simply stared at him, her lips trembling as though she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. Finally, she knelt down, her hands shaking as she placed one on his shoulder.
"I-I didn't think anyone could last that long," she admitted first. "Especially without feeling pain."
Fugo's smile softened, and he shrugged weakly. "Guess I'm more stubborn than your blade."
Her chest tightened at his words, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. She hated herself for so long, for every failure, every mistake. She had plunged herself into a darkness so deep she thought she'd never climb out. But now, watching Fugo, she felt something shift.
Maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to stay in the shadows.
"Thank you".
"Anytime."
Renjiro and Kael watched from a distance, silent but visibly moved by the exchange.
When Irene finally stood, she extended her hand to Fugo, helping him to his feet. "You're an idiot," she muttered, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah," Fugo agreed, chuckling softly. "But I'm your idiot now, right?"
"I have nothing else to offer, aside from my one skill."
"Hehe he, that's plenty."
Renjiro clapped enthusiastically, his grin stretching ear to ear. "Fugo, you're amazing!" He turned to Irene, leaning in slightly. "So? You're joining us, right?"
Kael nodded, "That was the agreement."
"But no pressure. If you still want to say no, that's your call."
Irene's gaze darted between the three men while she crossed her arms. She opened her mouth to speak but faltered, looking down at her hands instead.
Then, as though something inside her finally snapped, she grabbed Renjiro and Fugo by their arms, pulling them forward with unexpected force. "No!" she burst out, her voice trembling but firm.
"Take me, wherever you're going. I... I don't want to stay here."
The words spilled out in a rush, desperation lacing every syllable. "I hate working with my mom anyway. I accept—I accept!"
She turned to Fugo, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made him blink.
"And you," she said sharply, pointing a finger at him.
"You've barged into my world, so don't even think about leaving it. Got it!?"
Fugo nodded quickly, but his response earned him a sharp stomp on the toes.
"Got it?" Irene repeated, her glare unwavering.
"Y-yes! I understand!" Fugo yelped, clutching his foot but grinning despite the pain.
Renjiro let out a loud laugh, clapping Fugo on the back. "Welcome aboard, Irene! This is going to be fun."
Kael smirked faintly; his arms were still crossed. "Well, you'll fit right in," he said dryly.