"What the hell took you so long to pick up, Vanda? The Association was just blowing up my phone. I had to lie and tell them you were drunk-driving and pulled a nosedive into a sewer."
Spot on.
Putato swayed unsteadily as he stumbled toward his place. He felt like his veins were pumped full of pure alcohol. If he triggered the Hematic Pump now, he'd probably pop like a bottle of Champagne.
"I… I actually did fall into a sewer. Some goddamn prick set me up. My head is killing me."
"Wait a minute! Where are you? I'm coming over right now!"
Olga's voice spiked, making the drunk Putato panic. He wondered where he'd slipped up and scrambled to change the subject.
"I just saw a bunch of missed calls from the Association. What's their deal?"
"Vanda, quit playing. You obviously went behind my back to get wasted! Your speech is a mess, though I gotta say, that heavy-tongued accent is almost cute."
"Just give me a location. We'll talk when I see you."
Putato touched the Dionysus' Vine Crown on his head, feeling lucky. The thing was a lifesaver. He sighed and gave Olga his coordinates.
Suddenly, it hit him, he didn't have his bandages. Glancing around, he spotted a teppanyaki stall nearby and staggered toward it.
"Hey, what are you doing? Pay first, eat later!"
"Holy shit! No outside ingredients allowed here!"
The owner shoved Putato away from the iron griddle, cursing as he wiped off the smudge. He looked up to see Putato standing back up and approaching again. He opened his mouth to bark, but then he saw the cash in Putato's hand.
After noticing the skin near the guy's jaw was literally melted and warped, yet he acted like it was nothing, the owner swallowed hard, too terrified to even take the money.
"Give me some water. And a clean set of clothes."
After a quick "fix-up," a weakened Putato slumped against a pile of trash. The urge to vomit surged again. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think about the next move.
For the sake of future peace, he had to find Obana and end him. Once everything was wrapped up, he'd make his move to join L Corporation. He was dying to see just how broken the work talents from a Wing of the World would be.
But to get there, he'd have to grind out his progress using the Fixer Vanda identity. Plus, his Workshop gear was almost tapped out. Putato needed a massive upgrade.
"I thought Big Sis was the only one who'd get so wasted in broad daylight she couldn't walk. Mr. Vanda always seemed so reliable."
"You guys go grab a room first. I'll help him, I'm a pro at this!"
Putato felt a pair of supple arms wrap around him. The person pulled him close with zero hesitation, their bodies pressing together. Even in his haze, Putato could clearly feel Olga's curves.
"Ugh, Olga… You're pressing against my chest. It's a bit much."
Fueled by the alcohol, Putato felt a wave of heat wash over him. He could almost visualize the tactile sensation of cutting through that warmth.
"Well, aren't you a charmer? You act all serious, but you're actually a total flirt, huh?"
"You were so shy when I offered you a drink before. Guess you're the type who likes to drown your sorrows alone."
"Those facial burns look pretty gnasty, but it's no big deal. Just pay for some surgery and you're good. Why bother hiding under bandages all the time?"
As Olga's hand reached out curiously toward the lower half of his face, Putato finally snapped out of it. The alcoholic fog cleared just enough for his logic to retake the high ground.
...
Drizzle Bar.
"The two of us will just wait outside. We aren't really the bar-hopping type."
"Don't be such a buzzkill, Rain. It's rare for Vanda to treat us. Mika, come on in!"
"Rain's right. The vibe in there isn't great for my eyes. Big Sis, you should go ahead, don't let us get in the way of Vanda's business."
The moment Olga pulled him into the room, Putato sensed a localized downpour inside. The fine mist of alcoholic rain gave him a jarring flashback to the Dionysian Festival.
"I'm not here to drink!"
"Well, I am! Besides, you're picking up the tab today."
Putato had barely opened his mouth before he was forcibly served a drink, making his head throb instantly.
"Stop, stop, stop! I'll pay, I promise. Just tell me what's going on first."
"It's not even that big of a deal, really. The Hana Association just suspects you of stat-padding your record and wants to audit you."
"What?!"
How is that not a big deal?!
Putato was just getting ready to take down Obana, and now the Association was throwing a wrench in the gears!
"Relax, relax. It's just because you promoted way too fast. Going from a Grade 9 Fixer to Grade 5 in less than a week? Anyone would think you're cutting corners or have a back-door connection."
Putato tried to jump up in agitation, but Olga yanked him back onto the waterproof sofa. He ended up sprawled in a smirking Olga's lap, his face covered in the alcohol coating the sofa's surface.
He couldn't even bother to struggle anymore. His eyelids felt heavy with sleep, but he was jolted awake by the sensation of her hand tracing his burn scars.
"The audit is mainly a background check on your previous Offices, verifying the authenticity of your past commissions, and a practical test of your strength."
"The first two shouldn't be an issue for you. As for the strength test, I can't help you there, but you should be fine, right?"
"Of course I'm fine."
Hearing that, Putato finally breathed a sigh of relief. Then, a delayed realization hit him, and he looked at Olga with suspicion.
"You seem... unusually good to me?"
"As a Fixer, you're top-tier. Personally, I really want you to stick around in the Molar Office. If I'm not nice to you, you'll just bail. That's how lone-wolf Fixers are."
"I mean, you're looking out for me way more than expected. I've only handled a few commissions since joining Molar Office, yet you're willing to vouch for me as the representative."
Even if Olga brushed it off, Putato knew these audits carried vicarious liability. If he actually flagged for something, his guarantor would go down with him.
"Oh, that? Simple: you're just easy on the eyes!"
"I felt it back when we were hunting that werewolf. You're just like Myo. On the surface, you look fine, but in reality, you're more ruthless than anyone when it comes to killing."
"But I get it. You're just the type who tunes everything else out to hit your target. Total egoists, basically."
Putato frowned, recalling that Myo was from R Corp, a high-stakes combat group member and a dangerous warmonger.
R Corp had a twisted training mechanism: throwing thousands of Clones into a battle royale meat grinder until only one survivor inherited everything.
How could he possibly be anything like that psycho?!
If he'd been subjected to that kind of inhuman torture without a choice, he'd have blown that retarded Corporation to hell and back!
"Fine. I can't drink anymore if I'm going to handle the Hana Association audit. I need to go find Mika and ask about Workshop gear."
"What a buzzkill."
"I'm paying."
"Deal!"
Reeking of booze, Putato stumbled out of the room. It took a long moment for his head to clear enough to move. He needed more concealed weapons, heavier and more powerful Workshop armaments.
"Mika, can I ask... is there a... reliable custom Workshop around?"
Putato pressed his forehead in pain, trying to shake off the intoxication. Behind the counter, Mika just shook her head.
"You're in no state to visit a Workshop, Vanda. Why don't you sleep it off for the night? We need to haul Big Sis back anyway; we can give you a lift."
...
"Vanda, are you sure you're okay?"
Mika hailed a taxi and they pulled up in front of Giant Workshop. She watched with genuine concern as Putato spent a good thirty seconds fumbling with the door handle before finally managing to climb out.
"I'm fine. Just here to place an order. You know I've got that Hana Association audit tomorrow; I need my Workshop gear squared away."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure you get your commission for the referral."
"No need for that. Just a small finder's fee is fine. Giant Workshop's reputation speaks for itself; without me, you'd just spend more time wandering around looking for one anyway."
"Mika, you're a literal walking map of Workshops. Thanks."
A shadow of sadness crossed Mika's face at the compliment. Her father had been a Workshop owner, executed by a Claw for unwittingly infringing on a patent.
"It's nothing. Can you handle the rest? I need to get back to the Office."
"Yeah. See you later."
Leaning against the wall for support, Putato made his way down the street. He looked up and froze. The storefront was colossal, roughly four times the size of a standard shop, and despite its scale, it was packed with intricate, high-end detail.
This big? Just the property tax alone must be insane.
This Workshop clearly had some serious backing.
"Boss... the weapons in here... they're all bigger than actual people."
Putato had been about to ask for a custom build, but he was stunned by the massive armaments displayed in the lobby. At this scale, a lower-grade Fixer would struggle just to lift one.
"Tch, typical amateur. We only serve high-end clients; they don't fret over boring details like weight. A weapon is a tool for intimidation and slaughter: the bigger it is, the scarier it looks. And a larger surface area obviously means a larger kill zone."
"The ultimate evolution of weaponry isn't some flashy little knife or sword; it's the raw, unadorned monolith. Tell me, if a slab of iron the size of The City fell on someone, who wouldn't piss themselves?!"
"Gigantism is the true destiny of Workshop gear!"
A bearded, two-and-a-half-meter-tall giant of a man, looking like a bodybuilding grizzly, stood behind the counter. His sheer presence would have sent someone like Rat scurrying. As he spoke with a manic passion, spit flew, peppering Putato's face.
Putato wiped his face, feeling conflicted. This stuff wasn't exactly portable. He couldn't spend his days lugging around several metal statues; he'd be dead on his feet within an hour.
Plus, with that kind of weight, he'd crush the chassis of any taxi he tried to hop into.
"But... carrying something this size is incredibly inconvenient."
"Hah! Kid, what GradeFixer are you?"
"You ever see a high-ranking Fixer walking the streets hauling a mountain of gear? You never heard of Dimension Gloves? You store the weapons in sub-space and pull them out as needed."
The bearded giant exhaled a plume of white smoke, reached into a locked alloy safe behind him, and tossed a pair of slightly oversized leather gloves onto the counter.
"Give them a spin. There's some scrap stored in there for testing. But watch your step; if you trip and smash something in my Workshop, we ain't paying for your medical bills."
Seeing his confidence, Putato skeptically pulled on the leather gloves. He hadn't expected spatial equipment to be this common in The City.
Focusing his senses, Putato felt as though his palm could reach into a non-existent vat of water right in front of him. He reached in, gripped the hilt of a greatsword, and pulled. An obsidian-black slab of a sword materialized out of thin air.
CLANG!
Having previously adapted to the Hamster Workshop's high elasticity and load-bearing buffs, Putato's equipment slots were completely empty. He misjudged his own strength without the modifiers and the greatsword slammed into the floor.
"Hahaha! Kid, if you can't even hold a sword, don't bother coming to our Workshop. Take the gloves off and go get some strength augmentations before you come back talkin' big."
The bearded giant watched with amusement, slapping the counter with a laugh that drew a sharp reprimand from the back.
"Arnold! Stop letting people mess with the gloves and causing trouble! I warned you about this last time!"
"Yeah, yeah, heard you! The customer asked for it himself, I didn't force him to embarrass himself, right kid?"
Without a word, Putato stripped off the gloves and walked out without looking back.
Seeing this, Arnold checked the leather gloves and waved dismissively at Putato, chuckling as he watched him leave.
"Come back when you've beefed up, kid! Then I'll let you try the Workshop's masterpiece!"
"ARNOLD!!"
...
Putato hurried back to the previous Workshop area. To his surprise, the shipping container selling concealed weapons was still there. With a wave of his hand, he bought out the entire stock.
Such a lavish move made the youth inside, wearing a patterned bandana, beam with joy.
"Holy shit! This idiot's actually selling concealed weapons, and someone's buying the whole lot? Where'd this sucker come from?"
"Stay calm. I run a Workshop myself; this is just a 'hustle'!"
"But what's the point of hustling for us?"
The bandana youth meticulously assisted Putato in binding the concealed weapons tightly to his body using Workshop Mindcord.
Even though this regular customer's behavior was bizarre, who buys concealed weapons just to tie them into a vest and wear them?
"Boss, why don't you leave me your contact info? I'll deliver to your door for free next time. Guaranteed on time and full count!"
"What's your name?"
"Just call me Patches!"
"Listen, it's fine if these items have some flaws, but they must be genuine Workshop products."
Patches leaned in close to Putato, whispering conspiratorially.
"Don't you worry, Boss. I've got an apprentice buddy at a Workshop. These are all made for fun using legitimate Workshop scrap. Over there, if you want to forge a real blade, you gotta get the master's approval first, way too many rules."
Looking at the body full of hard concealed weapons, Putato could only imagine the production costs for a bundle of these weren't high at all. After all, high-level artisans looked down on crafting such low-tech trinkets.
He waved Patches off and left that area, heading straight back to Giant Workshop. This time, Putato felt like he could lift the entire Workshop itself.
...
"You actually came back?!"
Arnold was mid-smoke and couldn't help but burst out laughing, coughing for a good half-minute as he choked on the mist.
"Cut the crap. Show me your masterpiece."
"Alright then, follow me!"
Arnold didn't offer a single word of rejection or hesitation; he rushed Putato straight to the heart of Giant Workshop.
Resting on a solid, steel-poured display pedestal was a massive saw-toothed blade. Putato estimated it to be about three meters long. A third of the weapon consisted of a single-sided, thick edge that looked like the jagged fangs of a beast.
It was called a saw, but it looked more like an upscaled heavy axe. It was hard to imagine how anyone could swing this thing without being yanked off their feet by the momentum.
Much like how a high-caliber handgun's recoil could break a wrist, the first priority when fighting with a weapon this terrifying was definitely self-preservation.
"If you can lift it, I'll give you a discount."
"I thought completing that achievement meant you'd just give it to me for free."
"Haha! This thing might be a bit impractical, but the materials are top-tier, it's even got Moonstone in it. The Old Master forged it specifically as a showpiece; giving it away would be a massive loss!"
"HOLY SHIT! PUT IT DOWN!"
Arnold watched in pure disbelief as the "masterpiece" he'd just been hyping was hoisted up by Putato with a single hand. He stumbled back a step, frantically trying to de-escalate Putato's movements.
If that thing hit the floor, it could punch straight through the Workshop's basement!
"Not bad. Give me a price."
Putato swung the colossal saw onto his shoulder. His movements were fluid, without a hint of sluggishness. Even though he could feel the staggering weight, it was as if he'd bypassed all usage restrictions; he handled it naturally.
"Master! Master, get out here, quick!"
"Arnold, you little prick, if you bother me again you're going back to stoking the boilers!"
Another pale, bearded giant stomped out irritably. Seeing Putato carrying his display piece toward the exit, he initially thought it was a thief, but his mind quickly caught up to the reality of the weapon's weight.
"HOLY SHIT! PUT IT DOWN!"
"Wait! NO! DON'T PUT IT DOWN!"
Arnold couldn't comprehend how Putato's relatively slim limbs could support it. The masterpiece's weight alone should have shifted a person's center of gravity and slammed them into the dirt, yet Putato actually gave it a test swing, the blade letting out a howling gust of wind.