The two deliverymen came downstairs, dusting off their hands as they entered the kitchen.

  "All done," one of them said. "Capsule's installed, power's hooked in, diagnostics are clean."

  "Thanks," Jack replied. "Appreciate it."

  The second man handed over a slim, laminated folder. "Just a few reminders. The capsule lets you dive longer, but Nexus Co. strongly recommends stepping out at least once every forty-eight hours and staying out for at least an hour. Failure to follow it can lead to muscle atrophy, bone density loss, circulatory issues, etcetera. It's all outlined in here. Can you sign here to confirm we've delivered the capsule, and here to acknowledge the health warnings?"

  He scrawled his name and handed the folder back.

  His mother walked the men to the door, thanking them as they stepped outside. She lingered for a moment, watching their van pull away, then returned to the kitchen. "Jack," she said softly, "I really don't think that capsule is good for your health."

  Jack forced a smile. "It's going to be OK, Mom."

  "But I—"

  His father reached over, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Give up, Maria. There's no talking him out of this."

  "José..."

  Jack walked over and took her arm. "Come on, Mom. Let me show you how to refill the nutrients and clear the waste. It'll only take a minute."

  "Alright."

  They walked upstairs, his mother clicking her tongue at the boot marks on the steps. "Great. And I'd just vacuumed yesterday," she muttered in Portuguese.

  Upstairs, the room already felt transformed.

  The capsule dominated the space, its matte black frame shaped like a futuristic sarcophagus. Rounded edges softened its silhouette, but the industrial design was unmistakable. A faint hum issued from within, and along one side, a discreet interface panel glowed with standby indicators.

  Nearby, a cluster of tall, silver-labeled canisters leaned against the wall. Nexus Nutrients, the labels read.

  Jack stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking at it. A day ago, he would’ve been ecstatic. A capsule like this was every gamer’s dream. Whenever his teammates talked about theirs, he felt a stab of envy.

  But now, with his dad sick, the machine no longer felt like a prize. It was just another tool, no different from his dad’s van or the stack of power tools, hammers, screwdrivers, and drills in the garage.

  He shook off the feeling and approached the capsule. Pressing a small button on the side, a panel slid open with a soft click, revealing two labeled compartments: Nutrients and Waste.

  “See? Nothing to it,” Jack said. “Just keep this one topped up—” he pointed to the nutrient side, “—and if you see a red blinking light, that means the waste bin’s full. Open it, press this button here, dump it in the trash, then pop it back in. Easy, right?”

  His mom nodded. “Yes. I guess.”

  “Okay, Mom. I have to go now.”

  He pressed another button, and the capsule’s top split open with a soft hiss, revealing a cushioned interior with contoured padding and a set of neural connectors built into the headrest.

  “When will you come out?” she asked.

  Jack didn't answer. He only smiled. “If you need anything, just call me. We can talk that way, okay?”

  She nodded, her voice small. “Okay, baby.”

  Jack gave her a reassuring smile. “See you, Mom.”

  He stepped inside, settled into place, and let the capsule close around him with a quiet whirr. The last thing he saw was his mother, one hand over her chest and a worried look on her face.

  The world blinked, and he was back in the slums.

  Jack took a moment to get his bearings, glancing around the dim alley.

  He flexed his hands, then went through a few light sprints and jumps. There was definitely a difference. His movements felt snappier, more immediate. The environment looked sharper too, more detailed. The level of immersion had improved. When he’d upgraded from the base neural headset to the one his parents had gifted him, that change had been more significant. Still, this felt solid.

  Not that it mattered. The capsule wasn’t about graphics or immersion. It was about having more time to play and to make money.

  “Now, where were we?” he said aloud. “Ah. Right. The search for the broken toy.”

  He resumed his search. A pair of drunkards staggered out of a tavern ahead, one clutching the other’s shoulder for balance as they laughed at some half-forgotten joke. A stray dog nosed through a pile of refuse, its tail wagging despite the darkness. Most windows were shuttered, the homes silent, with only the occasional flicker of lamplight to hint at life inside.

  Jack kept scanning the alleys, but the streets were mostly empty.

  I guess there’s no choice but to wait until the morning.

  He was about ready to give up and come back after sunrise when a small motion caught the edge of his vision. A child sat cross-legged in the middle of the street, pushing something back and forth with quiet determination: a tiny wooden car.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  A toy car? Jack raised an eyebrow. That felt out of place in a fantasy setting. Maybe it was supposed to be a carriage—or maybe it was just a blunder on the part of the developers.

  The toy had seen better days. Two wheels were missing entirely, and one of the axles was bent, jutting out from its slot. The boy didn’t seem to mind. Unbothered, he rolled it along with care, making soft noises and talking to himself. There was something quietly beautiful about it. Kids didn’t need much—as long as they had their imagination.

  Jack knelt beside him. “Hi there! I’m Jack. What’s your name?”

  “Toby,” the boy said, still absorbed in his play.

  “Hey, Toby! That’s a cool toy.”

  “Right?! Uncle Marty gave it to me.”

  “What happened to it, though? It’s missing a couple of parts, isn’t it?”

  The boy sighed. “Yeah. Chichi dropped it and broke it.”

  “Is that your sister?” Jack asked.

  “My cousin. I told her she couldn’t play with it, but Uncle Marty says I need to learn how to share. Pffft. Now it’s broken!”

  Jack chuckled. “What if I try to fix it for you?”

  Toby finally looked up, eyes bright. “Really?” he asked, revealing a smile with two teeth missing.

  “Sure! Do you still have the missing pieces?”

  Toby reached into his pocket and handed Jack two small wheels.

  “Thanks. Let me take a look.”

  Jack crouched under the lamppost, turning the toy over in his hands. He pulled the axle from its groove. The fall must have warped it.

  He tried bending it back with his hand, but the metal dug into his palm. Instead, he pressed it against the stony ground, applying steady pressure. It was better. Not perfectly straight, but close enough. He worked the axle back into its groove, bracing his thumb against the frame until it clicked snugly into place.

  The rest was easy. He slid the wheels onto their pegs, gave each a firm push, and spun them with his fingertip. They wobbled at first, then rolled true. Jack set the car on the ground and nudged it forward. It trundled ahead in a crooked line.

  He smiled and handed it back. “Good as new. Sort of.”

  Toby’s face lit up. “Thank you, uncle!”

  “Don’t mention it!”

  “TOOOOOBY! TOOOOBY!” The voice echoed from down the street.

  Toby winced. “Oh no! Uncle Marty!”

  A man appeared around the corner. He was short, bald, and wearing a leather apron. He hurried toward the boy and pulled him into a hug.

  “Oh, Toby! You had me worried sick. How many times have I told you not to run off at night to play like this? The night is for sleeping.”

  “Sorry, Uncle Marty.”

  “Come, let’s go.” His eyes landed on the toy car. “Wait. Wasn’t that broken?”

  “He fixed it for me!” Toby said, gesturing excitedly toward Jack.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Nothing much, really,” Jack said, playing it cool. “Just had to put the parts back together. It wasn’t badly broken.”

  The man bit his lip. “I was going to fix that... but I completely forgot.”

  “Hmph. You’re always busy in your workshop and keep forgetting to fix our toys!” Toby crossed his arms and looked away.

  Uncle Marty chuckled and patted his nephew’s head. Then he turned to Jack. “You seem to have a knack for fixing things.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My name’s Marty. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Tell you what... My apprentice quit just yesterday, leaving me with a huge project on my hands. I’m desperate to finish it on time. Could I trouble you to help me? I know you don’t really know me, but I’m in a pinch, and I could really use the help.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. Come, I’ll show you where my workshop is. It’s not far.”

  Marty took his nephew’s hand, and Toby went along meekly. Jack followed. They made a left, then a right, and arrived at a narrow two-story house with an attached workshop. A warm light spilled out through the cracks in the workshop shutters, but the house itself was quiet.

  Marty stopped just short of the door and glanced back at Jack. "Give me a moment, please," he said, then turned to Toby. "Go join the others and sleep, okay? Try not to wake anyone up. No more running off! Or I’m going to take that toy car back."

  The boy stared in horror at the car and then at the uncle. He nodded quickly. "OK…”

  “Good night, Toby.”

  Marty opened the door, and through it, Jack caught a glimpse of the house’s interior. It was a single room. Bunk beds lined the far wall, each one occupied by a sleeping child.

  Just how many children does he have? Jack wondered.

  Marty shut the door with a sigh. “Toby just keeps running off. I think it’s a call for attention. Poor boy. He’s missing his mom. Come.” He gestured toward a side door leading to the workshop.

  “Do you manage an orphanage?” Jack asked.

  Marty chuckled. “Haha, it looks that way, doesn’t it? I’ve got two of my own. Their mom passed away. My sister went to visit her husband—he was injured on the battlefield—so she left her kids with me. Hence the crowd.”

  “I see…”

  Is this the storyline for every tinker trainer? Are they all surrounded by kids with broken toys? Or is it just this one tinker with a web of conveniently-placed children scattered around town to be found playing?

  As they passed a wide workshop window, Jack spotted the display inside. A handful of toys, remarkably similar to Toby’s, shared the space with strange gadgets and gizmos. This guy was a tinker, through and through.

  “After you,” Marty said, holding the door open.

  Jack stepped into the workshop. The room was packed. Racks lined the walls, stacked with everything from broken contraptions to half-built prototypes. There were tools, gears, springs, and mysterious lumps of metal, all in various stages of disrepair or construction.

  Marty bustled over to his cluttered workbench and waved Jack closer.

  “All right… I have to deliver a thousand of these by tomorrow.”

  He held up a small clockwork mouse with a wind-up crank on its back.

  “This is what you’ll be making.” He wound the crank a couple of times and placed it on the table. The mouse rolled forward, fell off the desk, and vanished under a rack.

  “You just have to assemble the toy. I finished all the gearboxes yesterday. Here’s the mouse. The metal thing. The rolling things. And the, uh... twirley-doley.”

  Jack frowned. That didn’t sound like the real name of any part.

  “So,” Marty continued, “you just shove this doohickey inside the toy, then get the metal things through here—like, huh—and bam, until it goes clonk. Then you pop the rolling things in—click-clack! Take this little twirley-doley, stick it on top, wind it until it goes click-clickitty-clack, and done!”

  You’ve become a tinker-in-training.

  You’ve temporarily learned [Tinker’s Touch].

  Tinker’s Touch (Common)

  Skill level: 1

  Skill description: You intuitively sense how components align, connect, and function together.

  Skill effects: You can assemble small gadgets.

  Apparently satisfied with his explanation, Marty turned his back and immediately started working on another mouse, muttering happily to himself. His hands blurred, winding, tightening, snapping pieces into place with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times.

  Jack just stared. “…That’s it? That’s the entire explanation?”

  “Exactly! Easy-peasy. You hear clonk, then click, then clack! Works every time.” Marty gave him a thumbs-up and turned back to his bench, already humming to himself as he slapped parts together at inhuman speed.

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Great. I’m learning from a man who teaches entirely in sound effects.

  The man hadn’t actually explained anything. He’d just gestured around while making noises. If Jack hadn’t already recognized the wheels, axle, gearbox, and crank, he’d be completely lost.

  This had to be the worst teacher he’d ever had for a minor. Even Solomon, his bushcraft instructor, at least gave clear instructions. Marty, on the other hand, seemed physically incapable of putting words to his craft. He just… did things.

  Discreetly, Jack opened up the system browser.

  Please, please tell me someone out there translated this man’s gibberish into actual instructions…