LV

Rest was crucial, but priorities came first. My doll had taken a beating in the fight against Shen, and without it functioning at its best, I’d be walking into the next match half-prepared—a mistake I couldn’t afford.

After gathering my thoughts, I turned to Selena for help.

“Can you introduce me to the surfboard guy?” I asked, already formulating a plan.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Harper? What for?”

“I need his attribute,” I replied, keeping my tone brisk and to the point.

A few minutes later, I stood face-to-face with Harper. He was a bald man with a barcode tattoo on his forehead, a feature that gave him an oddly utilitarian look. His demeanor was cautious but curious as his sharp eyes sized me up.

“So, we just need to shake hands? And then you’ll consult me with some questions?” he asked, skepticism coloring his voice.

I nodded. “That’s all.”

Harper shrugged, his expression relaxing slightly. “Sounds easy enough.”

We shook hands, and I felt a faint hum ripple through me—the telltale sign of his attribute transferring over. Aerodynamics. It was subtle but already brimming with potential.

“Alright,” I said, releasing his hand. “Let’s get to work.”

Back in my room, tools and scraps were scattered across the floor and desk, remnants of my earlier attempts to repair the doll. Harper took one look at the mess and rolled up his sleeves without a word.

It didn’t take long before we were knee-deep in grease and sweat, the room filled with the rhythmic clinks of metal and the occasional spark from our work. Harper scolded me at least three times within the first hour.

“Careful with that joint! You’re about to throw the whole balance off,” he muttered, snatching a tool from my hand. “Seriously, how’d you make it this far without blowing something up?”

“Talent,” I deadpanned, wiping my hands on a rag.

It was a lie. When it came to anything remotely mechanical, I was a talentless fool.

Despite his reprimands, Harper was a patient teacher. He explained concepts in simple terms, and with his attribute lending me insight, I started to see how the pieces fit together.

Partway through the process, I stumbled upon something remarkable. The vending machines connected to the World Path were far more versatile than I’d realized. They weren’t just limited to food and basic supplies—if I had the money, I could order almost any material I needed.

To test it, I keyed in the name of a specific alloy Harper recommended for reinforcing the doll’s frame. Moments later, the machine dispensed a small, neatly packaged bar of the material with a soft ping.

“Convenient,” Harper remarked, inspecting the alloy. “That’s good stuff. This tower really does have everything.”

As we worked late into the night, Harper’s sharp eyes never left the doll. He ran his fingers over its joints and mechanisms, his expression contemplative.

“You call it yours,” he said slowly, “but this… it’s not, is it?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I stole it.”

Harper snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Figures. You and that lady—Selena, right?—you’re two peas in a pod, huh? Girlfriend?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Who? Selena? No, she’s not my girlfriend. I’ve got a wife already.”

Harper looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, my bad, man. I didn’t know. Me too, actually.” His tone softened. “I miss them a lot, you know. Just had my youngest before all this.”

That caught my attention. “You’ve got kids?”

“Two of ’em,” Harper said, a wistful smile crossing his face. “Oldest just started school. The youngest… barely a few months old. This tower thing’s got me wishing I could be home, but you know how it is. Gotta provide.”

It was easy to forget that everyone here had lives and loved ones waiting outside.

Harper sat beside me, his chair tilted back at a precarious angle, arms crossed as he watched me work. My desk was a controlled chaos of tools, spare parts, and half-finished blueprints, but Harper didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he answered my endless stream of questions about airflow, resistance, and energy efficiency with a patience that surprised me.

“Why are you so invested in this doll, anyway?” he asked, leaning forward to inspect the intricate mechanisms I was fine-tuning.

I didn’t look up. “The next match is going to be a tough one—and important for me. This doll isn’t just a tool; it’s a part of my combat style. It needs to be perfect.”

Harper chuckled, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “You’re a bit of a perfectionist, aren’t you?”

“Not perfection,” I corrected, tightening a joint in the doll’s arm. “Preparedness.”

The hours passed in a focused blur. Harper’s attribute—a passive enhancement that improved his efficiency with mechanical systems—proved invaluable. With his input and my modifications, the doll’s frame became lighter and more agile. Its joints moved with fluid precision, and the adjustments to its core systems boosted its responsiveness to my aura control.

I gave it a final test, sending a pulse of energy into the doll. It sprang to life, darting across the room in a series of graceful maneuvers. It weaved through obstacles like a falcon in flight, its speed and precision a testament to our combined efforts.

Satisfied, I set the doll down gently, running a hand over its sleek surface. “Thanks, Harper. This might just make the difference.”

Harper leaned back with a lopsided grin. “No problem. Just don’t use it against me… because that will suck.”

Despite his expertise, we hadn’t been able to incorporate flight capabilities into the doll—a disappointing but not unexpected limitation. Instead, we’d focused on improving its speed and agility, enhancements that could prove just as critical in the upcoming battles.

As we began tidying up, Harper wiped his hands on a rag and gave me a sideways glance. “So,” he said casually, “you paying in cash or with a favor?”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “What do you prefer?”

He smirked. “A favor. You seem like the type to keep your word.”

I raised an eyebrow, considering his request. “What kind of favor are we talking about?”

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Harper shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing specific right now. I’ll cash it in when I need it.”

I thought about it for a moment before nodding. Favors had a way of building connections, and they often held more value than money in places like this. Harper’s confidence suggested he understood that too.

“Fair enough,” I said, offering a handshake.

He took it, his grip firm but easy. “Good. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Once we’d finished packing up, I stood and stretched, my muscles protesting after hours hunched over the workbench. I gestured toward the door with a smirk. “Alright, you’re overstaying your welcome. Time to go.”

Harper chuckled, grabbing his jacket. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you have your alone time with your precious doll. Good luck, man. And don’t forget about that favor!”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in the quiet hum of my room.

I glanced at the doll resting on the table, its polished surface gleaming under the overhead light. This wasn’t just a tool—it was a reflection of my determination. The next match loomed ahead, and I couldn’t afford to lose.

Preparedness. That was the key.

The room felt quieter without Harper’s presence, a stillness I welcomed. With the doll upgraded and ready for the battles ahead, my focus shifted to my next project: the coin.

It sat on my desk, deceptively simple in design—an unassuming object that could tip the scales in my favor. This wasn’t just any coin. It would serve as my battery, a reservoir capable of holding ten times the aura my doll could manage. Even better, it would retain that energy far longer, making it invaluable in prolonged fights.

I picked it up, its surface cool and smooth under my fingertips. Closing my eyes, I focused my aura and began the delicate process of infusion. A faint, shimmering glow spread across the coin as the energy sank in, layer by layer.

Each infusion demanded precision and patience. Rushing could weaken its structure, causing the stored energy to leak or destabilize. Artifacts in the world of Hunterworks were a curious mix of scientific principles and magical phenomena—an intersection of logic and mystery.

The coin’s innate mysticism gave me a strong foundation to work with, even if my aura potency wasn’t the strongest. With my Soul Link ability, I could recharge it fully in no time, provided I had the mental power.

Hours passed, the air in the room thick with the hum of concentrated energy. The coin began to vibrate faintly, its surface glowing with a soft, otherworldly light. It was nearing completion.

I held it up to the light, admiring the craftsmanship and the aura thrumming beneath its surface. This was more than just a tool—it was my trump card, my lifeline for the battles to come.

As I admired my work, a voice shattered the quiet.

“Can we talk?”

Instinct kicked in before reason.

Small tendrils of bluish aura erupted from the floor, walls, and ceiling, twisting like vines toward the intruder. My room was saturated with my aura, an experimental technique I’d developed after a few weeks of study. Initially, Soul Link had only worked on biological targets, but my thesis—A Study on Thematic Powers Manifested by Aura—had opened new doors. Now, I could bind my aura to objects and spaces, creating a defensive web around me.

I spun around, prepared to strike, only to freeze.

Standing there, with an air of casual defiance, was my self-proclaimed sister.

“Lo and behold,” I muttered, lowering my guard but not my wariness. “What do you want?”

“Atropos,” I remarked, eyeing the silver-haired woman standing in my room. She was dressed in her signature maid outfit, her expression as blank as ever. “What do you want with me? If you’re here to convince me not to join—”

“I am not here to tell you what not to do,” Atropos interrupted, her voice smooth, devoid of any inflection. “I merely wish to talk.”

Despite her neutral tone, I couldn’t shake the unease crawling up my spine. Why was I so on guard around her? “Weird,” I muttered under my breath.

“Do you not remember me?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

“I remember you well enough,” I said, crossing my arms. As a character in Hunterworks, not as my sister. “After all, you are among them, aren’t you? A member of the upper echelon to the Hunter Association.”

Atropos studied me for a moment, her crimson eyes unreadable. “I see.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Let me ask you something.”

She gave a slight nod. “Please.”

“If you’re my sister, as you claim… what’s with the flirting back on the airship?” I leaned against my desk, fixing her with a pointed look. “Not to mention the few times you tried to get a pass from me. That was… bizzare.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something—regret, maybe?—in her otherwise impassive expression.

“A large portion of my memories has been deleted,” she said after a moment. “However, I managed to recover a few… most of them are about you.”

Her words hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“That doesn’t explain the flirting,” I pointed out, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Atropos hesitated, a rare occurrence for someone so composed. “The memories I have of you… they’re fragmented. Some are from when we were younger—others, I can’t place at all. The way I acted on the airship was based on incomplete data. I was… trying to connect.”

“By hitting on me?”

She tilted her head again, almost like she was trying to process the question. “It seemed… effective at the time.”

I stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “You really are something else.”

“I am aware that my actions may have caused discomfort,” she said, her tone as flat as ever. “For that, I apologize.”

“Yeah, well… it’s not like I’m great at this family thing either,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “But if you want to talk, let’s get one thing straight—I’m not buying into the not join the Hunting Dog crap.”

Atropos nodded slowly. “I did not come here to dissuade you, Reynard.”

If she was truly my sister, then there might be an explanation as to how good I was at using aura despite my lack of experience and seemingly low aura reserves. It was a skill that always felt more instinctual than learned, as if it were ingrained in my very being. If Atropos held the answers, then I needed to hear them.

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the desk. “Tell me about our childhood.”

Atropos regarded me with her usual calmness. “How old are you now?”

I frowned. “That’s suspicious.”

“I only ask to align the fragments of my memory,” she explained, her tone steady. “My memory is incomplete, but I will try to stay objective.”

“Go on, then.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching through the scattered pieces of her recollection. “I believe that some years ago, there was a city like what we have today, but different. In that city, there were neither cryptids nor hunters. It was a peaceful city. We lived in a two-story home with an older woman we referred to as Grandma. We would go to school to learn. We would return home and eat Grandam’s cooking. We were happy.”

Her words painted a vivid picture, one that tugged at something deep inside me, though I couldn’t place it. “What’s my favorite food?”

“Pork tamarind soup with greens and potatoes,” she answered without hesitation.

I blinked. That was correct. “What’s my favorite board game?”

“Scrabble.”

I squinted at her, trying to gauge her sincerity. “What’s Grandma’s name?”

“Leia.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Everything she said checked out. Those details were too specific to be fabricated. Yet, why didn’t I remember her? Surely, I would know if I had a sister.

“Why don’t I remember you?” I asked, my voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Atropos hesitated, her crimson eyes flickering with something unspoken. “I don’t know. It is possible that your memories were altered… or that you were shielded from the truth for your own safety.”

“Safety from what?” I pressed.

She didn’t answer right away, instead stepping closer. “Reynard, the world we live in is more complex than it appears. Our family—our past—it’s tied to things far greater than us. You may not remember me now, but that does not change the fact that I am your sister. And I am here to protect you.”

Her words carried a weight that left no room for doubt, but they only deepened the questions swirling in my mind. If what she said was true, then my past—and my identity—was more entangled with this world than I had ever realized.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. “You’re asking me to trust you.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Because whether you accept it or not, we are bound by blood. And I will always have your back.”

“What’s your earliest memory?” I asked Atropos.

“A government-sanctioned lab,” she replied without hesitation. Her tone was flat, almost mechanical, but her crimson eyes seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of something—pain, maybe? “How about you?”

She was throwing the question back at me. Fair enough. It was give and take, after all.

“I…” I started, but the words caught in my throat.

What was my earliest memory?

My breathing quickened, and a strange pressure built in my chest. Images flitted through my mind, disjointed and fleeting. I remembered writing a novel. I remembered thinking I had a past life. But beyond that… nothing. No clarity. No context.

“Is there a problem?” Atropos asked, her voice calm but edged with concern.

“I…” My hands clenched into fists. My breathing turned shallow, each gasp feeling like it wasn’t enough. “I don’t remember.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Reynard, what’s your earliest memory?”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to answer. “Waking up in the alleyways of Rumas City,” I finally said, my voice shaky. “I was seventeen. I was… homeless.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the coin still resting on the desk.

Atropos tilted her head slightly. “It looks like… we are in the same situation,” she said softly.

I looked at her, trying to gauge her expression, but her face was as unreadable as ever. Still, her words struck a chord. If what she said was true, then we were both blank slates, thrown into this world with fragmented memories and no real past to anchor us.

“Do you think it means something?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It must,” she replied, her tone resolute. “Our circumstances are too similar to be mere coincidence.”

~055