Dammit, why did I agree to go hunting with my father? I'm already dying and sweating, and we've just started. Shit.

  There are two other men who are friends with my father. They always go hunting thrice every week to get food and make some extra money by selling to merchants in the capital.

  In order to hunt, we have to wake up early in the morning. Seriously, the sun hasn't even woken up yet, and I’m here walking in the middle of the woods. For fuck’s sake, ugh!

  "Oi, Elmer, are you ready for the hunt today?" the tall man said.

  "I'm more than ready. I'm feeling real lucky today, haha," my father replied.

  "Oh, you brought your son today this time, huh?" said the muscular man.

  "Yep," my father said with a hint of pride. "Come on now, introduce yourself," he told me.

  "Um, my name is Elfred, and I can't wait to start hunting today with everyone," I said.

  To be honest with you, I really don't want to go hunting, but it would be awkward to say that…

  "My goodness, he looks just like Gladace when you were both younger, haha," the taller man said.

  "My name is Ralvus, I'm real mean with the Blacktooth Repeater—best shooter here!" he said with his chest puffed up. "This is my boy, Garric. He’s two years older than you."

  "The name’s Durnak, lad. When it comes to wrestling monsters, I can take ‘em down with my bare hands! They don't call me Iron Fist Durnak for nothing, you know. I got the pelt to prove it!" he said while showing off the monster's cloak strapped around himself.

  Holy shit, this guy is a badass, I thought to myself.

  "MY NAME IS VOLGRIM! NICE TO MEET YOU!" the muscular man’s son bellowed.

  He’s really loud. Sheesh.

  "Nice to meet you too," I replied, extending my hand for a handshake. To my surprise, he gripped my hand with ridiculous strength. It felt like my bones were about to be crushed. How strong is this kid? He’s about the same age as me—what the hell?

  "Let's get hunting now!" my father said. "We gotta get going soon before the Grekhars start waking up. Since it's summer, they're in season, and they taste real good right now."

  As we walked deeper into the forest, Volgrim matched my pace, his energy never seeming to drop. "Hey, Elfred, you been goin’ to the scrapyard a lot lately, huh?"

  I nearly tripped over a rock. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

  "C’mon, don’t play dumb! My uncle works on the transport wagons to the capital—he says he’s seen you sneakin’ around there a lot."

  Shit. I didn’t think people noticed.

  "Uh, I just like looking for cool stuff, that’s all," I said, trying to play it off.

  "That’s so weird, man! What could you possibly find in a junk heap? Ain’t like there's treasure in there. You some kinda scavenger?" Volgrim teased with a grin.

  "It’s not just junk. Some of it’s useful," I defended myself.

  Volgrim gave me a skeptical look but shrugged. "Whatever you say, scavenger boy. Now hurry up, we got monsters to catch!"

  We scoured through the dense woods, searching for Grekhars. These creatures, similar to oversized burrowing chickens, hid underground to avoid predators while protecting their eggs. Tracking them down was proving to be a challenge, and after an hour of searching, we had yet to find any burrows.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Here I was, gripping a mini-shotgun that felt almost comically oversized for a kid my age. The fact that they even handed me a weapon like this was weird, but I wasn’t about to complain—I had something cool.

  After more searching, we finally stumbled upon a flock of Baravels—large, feathered beasts with razor-sharp talons and beady red eyes that scanned their surroundings for danger.

  "Sheesh, be careful," Ralvus whispered. "They’re really sensitive to sound. One loud noise, and they’ll scatter. Get down and crawl forward through the bushes."

  We all lowered ourselves and crept through the underbrush. My heartbeat drummed in my ears as we edged closer to the unsuspecting Baravels. Then, with swift precision, Ralvus drew his shotgun and fired. The nearest Baravel’s head exploded in a spray of crimson.

  My father followed up instantly, his weapon booming as he shot another in the torso. The creature flailed, trying to escape, but he quickly finished it off with a rapid succession of shots.

  The intensity of the moment spurred me into action. I raised my shotgun, lined up a shot, and squeezed the trigger. The blast connected, hitting a Baravel right in the head. It dropped instantly.

  "Not bad, kiddo!" Ralvus grinned. "Your aim’s better than I expected."

  "I guess I got lucky," I said, trying to play it off, though a small surge of pride filled my chest.

  Vilgrim, carrying the hefty corpse of a Baravel over his shoulder, stared at me in awe. "Whoa, that was awesome!"

  "I’m more impressed that you can lift that thing," I admitted. The creature was massive—easily twice the size of an average adult.

  "Are you secretly a dwarf or something?" I asked.

  Vilgrim chuckled. "Nah, I just train a lot."

  "It’s only natural for my son to be this strong!" Durnak boomed with laughter, slapping Vilgrim on the back.

  Meanwhile, the older kid with us—who still hadn’t bothered introducing himself—silently hauled more carcasses onto a makeshift sled. He didn’t seem interested in talking, and honestly, I didn’t mind.

  After a few more hours of hunting, we still hadn’t found any Dernaks, the rare creatures we were originally after.

  "Well, no luck this time," my father said, stretching. "Dernaks are a delicacy for a reason. But we’ll find one eventually!"

  The morning hunt wrapped up in what felt like a mild success. I’d managed to land a shot, which was more than I expected, but my mind was already drifting to something else—practicing magic again.

  "Next time, I’m gonna catch something even bigger!" Vilgrim declared, waving as he and his father parted ways. The quiet older boy followed after his father without a word.

  Once I was back in the village, I made my way to a secluded spot where I could practice undisturbed. There was something peaceful about being alone, surrounded by quiet, with nothing but my thoughts and the rustling trees.

  I took a deep breath, clearing my mind, and focused on conjuring the water sphere again. The first few attempts were shaky—just like before, the water wobbled uncontrollably before splashing apart.

  "This is harder than I thought," I muttered.

  But as I continued, I started to notice something: the instability wasn’t just random. The vibrations in the water seemed to be coming from external forces interfering with the spell. What if I could eliminate those influences?

  I adjusted my approach, picturing a vacuum around the sphere—an imaginary space that cut off outside disturbances. When I cast the spell again, the water held steady. A perfect, still sphere floated in my palm.

  "Holy crap, it actually worked!" I grinned. "Am I a genius or what?"

  Excited, I decided to push my theory further. Instead of a sphere, I attempted to create a cube. I imagined the same vacuum effect, shaping the water into sharp, rigid edges. To my shock, the spell materialized flawlessly.

  "No way!" My mind raced with possibilities. "So the vacuum theory actually works…"

  Feeling confident, I set myself a new challenge: maintaining the water sphere for as long as possible. I managed to hold it for fifteen whole minutes—an insane improvement from my previous failures.

  I clenched my fist in excitement.

  That day, we had a feast—more food than I’d ever seen on a table before. A complete contrast to my past life, where dinner was usually instant noodles or whatever cheap takeout I could afford, eaten alone in the dim glow of my computer screen. Something about eating together as a family felt... warm. Comforting. Why had I never done this before?

  Then, like a cruel joke, my mind pulled me back. A memory struck, unbidden—a sharp, suffocating vision of cold water and mocking laughter. My head, shoved into a toilet. My struggles met only with sneers. The voices of classmates and even teachers, ridiculing me. The blonde rich kid and his gang, their jeering faces burned into my mind. My breath caught in my throat, my hands tightening into fists beneath the table.

  “Alfred, dear? Are you alright? Did something upset your stomach?” My mother’s concerned voice cut through the haze.

  My father’s brows furrowed as he set down his mug. “You look pale, son. Was today too much for you?”

  I forced a smile. “No, really. Everything’s fine. The food’s great.”

  They didn’t seem entirely convinced, but they let it slide as I shoved more food into my mouth, hoping to bury the memories along with it. The meal continued, but I had already lost my appetite.

  “I think I’ll turn in early. Goodnight, Mom. Dad.”

  I left the table before they could protest, heading straight for my room. Once inside, I flopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling, my emotions twisting into an unrelenting storm.

  That memory... I hated it more than anything else. No matter how hard I tried to forget, it clung to me like a parasite. I had been powerless. A joke. A punching bag. No matter how much I screamed for help, no one ever came.

  I clenched my fists, teeth grinding as I struck my bed in frustration.

  Not this time. Not in this world. I didn’t care how unfair my reincarnation was—I would fight for my place. I would become strong. I would ride that mecha, like the Purple Mecha Slayer. No one was going to stop me.

  That was the last thought I had before exhaustion pulled me into sleep.

  The next morning, something unprecedented happened: I woke up early. A sight rarer than pigs flying. Maybe the sheer force of my frustration had shocked my body into functioning properly.

  Taking full advantage of this miraculous event, I got my chores done before anyone could nag me about them. I plowed the fields, watered the crops, and even went to fetch water for the bath. As I neared the well, I spotted someone familiar—Stickman Senpai, the tall, lanky older kid from yesterday.

  To my surprise, he wasn’t alone.

  A girl stood beside him, around his age. She was pretty, with soft features and an air of quiet confidence. From the way they spoke, it looked like he was trying to talk to her. Maybe even flirt. Oh, this was gold.

  After a short conversation, the girl bid him farewell, offering a polite wave before heading off. Stickman Senpai (whose real name I still didn’t know) watched her go, looking slightly dazed.

  It was the perfect opportunity.

  I crept up behind him, a wicked grin forming on my face. Then, in my best dramatic villain voice, I struck.

  “Well, well, well... What do we have here?”

  Stickman Senpai nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around with wide eyes.

  I smirked, arms crossed. “Was that your girlfriend? Or are you just out here collecting rejections like they’re rare trading cards?”

  No, I'm not, and she's not my girlfriend—just a girl who is a friend, okay?!" Stickman Senpai said with a flustered expression, his face turning a shade of red that almost matched the morning sky.

  "Same thing in my opinion," I said, flashing a wide, playful grin.

  "No, they're totally different!" he protested, arms flailing as if trying to physically push the idea away.

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  "Sure, sure." I waved him off with a smirk. "Anyway, do you wake up every morning like this? I can barely roll out of bed by nine. Getting up at four or five in the morning is practically superhuman."

  "Yes, I do," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "But only because I have to get water for the day. She just so happens to do the same thing at the same time as me, alright?"

  "So it's all just a coincidence, huh?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  He nodded frantically, looking almost desperate for me to believe him.

  To be honest, I kinda called peloni, but whatever. Not my business.

  "Alright, Stickman Senpai, I believe you," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "But if you ever start thinking about it, just know I'll be rooting for you." I shot him a teasing grin.

  He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Ugh, you're insufferable. Anyway, enough about me—what about you? I heard you've been sneaking off to the scrapyard a lot."

  I froze for a split second, caught off guard. "Huh? Who told you that?"

  "People talk, dude. Small town. You think no one notices a kid rummaging around in junk piles?" He crossed his arms, looking down at me with an amused glint in his eyes.

  "Psh, it's just a hobby," I said, trying to play it cool. "Some kids like playing knights and bandits. I like digging through old metal and figuring out how stuff works."

  "Weird hobby," he said with a shrug, "but kinda cool, I guess. So, you find anything interesting? Like, any treasures?"

  I debated whether to tell him about the weird bracelet or the mechanical glove, but something told me to keep it to myself. "Eh, nothing too crazy. Just some old tools and broken parts."

  "Huh. Well, if you ever find a mecha buried in there, let me know," he said with a chuckle. "Oh, by the way—almost forgot to introduce myself properly. Name’s Roland."

  "Roland, huh?" I repeated, to myself. "Well, nice to meet you, Roland."

  "Yeah, yeah," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. "Now, go do whatever it is you do. Me? I’ve got actual work to do."

  With that, we parted ways. As soon as I was clear, I made a beeline for the scrapyard. The sun had fully risen by now, its golden light casting long shadows over the scattered heaps of metal and discarded machinery. Today, I had one goal—find more mecha parts.

  The walk to the scrapyard felt like second nature at this point. I knew the winding dirt paths, the way the morning sun reflected off rusted metal, and even the sounds of shifting junk as scavengers—both human and animal—searched for valuables. I hummed to myself as I passed by familiar wreckage, keeping an eye out for anything new.

  Today's haul wasn't too bad. I picked up a few discarded wires, some circuit boards, and what looked like an old power cell. If it still had a charge, it might be useful. I stuffed them into my sack, feeling somewhat satisfied with my findings.

  But then, a shadow loomed over me. I looked up, and there she was.

  Lyra stood atop a mountain of mechanical components, hands firmly on her hips, her short green hair tousled by the wind. She had that look on her face—the one as if she we're some kind of scrapyard princess or something.

  "Well, well, look who’s back," she said, her voice dripping with smugness. "Didn’t expect to see you here again so soon."

  I sighed. "Trust me, I was hoping not to run into you either. But here we are."

  She smirked. "Find anything good? Or just picking up random junk like last time?"

  I held up the power cell. "This isn't just junk. If it still works, it could be useful."

  Her eyes narrowed as she spotted something else in my sack. "Wait—where’d you get that?" She pointed to a small metallic plate with strange engravings.

  I instinctively tightened my grip on my bag. "Found it. Why?"

  "Because that—" she jumped down from her pile, landing lightly on her feet— "is exactly what I was looking for. Hand it over."

  I scoffed. "Yeah, not happening. I found it first. Finders keepers."

  "You don’t even know what it does!" she shot back.

  "And you do?"

  She crossed her arms. "Of course I do. Unlike you, I actually know how to use this stuff."

  That stung a little. Sure, I liked mechas and read about them, but I never actually built anything before. Still, no way was I letting her win this argument.

  "Then prove it," I challenged. "Show me."

  Lyra blinked, surprised. Then, a sly grin spread across her face. "Fine. Follow me."

  She led me through the scrapyard to what I could only describe as a makeshift workshop. It was hidden under the skeleton of an old transport mech, its rusted frame providing some cover from the elements. Inside, scattered across various crates and makeshift tables, were all kinds of mechanical parts—half-built gadgets, energy cores, old exosuit components, even a disassembled arm from what looked like a battle drone. The sheer amount of tech made my jaw drop.

  Lyra crossed her arms and grinned. "Impressed?"

  "Actually... yeah," I admitted, stepping closer to examine a device with interlocking gears and wires. "Where did you even get all this stuff?"

  "Years of scavenging," she said proudly. "And fixing. Unlike you, I don’t just collect parts—I make things work."

  I looked around and saw the mechanical gauntlet I wrestled with her some days back. It that had exposed wiring and what looked like a cracked mana circuit. "Does this still function?"

  "Sort of," she admitted. "It’s an exo-enhancer, meant to increase grip strength. The mana circuit’s busted, though, so it only works at half power."

  I turned it over in my hands, thinking. "If you reroute the energy through a secondary conduit, you might be able to bypass the damaged section and restore at least 80% efficiency."

  Lyra looked at me, genuinely surprised. "Huh. That’s... not a bad idea."

  "I read a little," I said, feeling oddly proud.

  For the next several minutes, we went over different components, with Lyra explaining how some of them worked while I tried to piece together how they actually. Despite her nasty attitude, she was incredibly knowledgeable. The way she spoke about machines, circuits, and mana-infused tech—it was clear she had spent years figuring this out.

  Without thinking, I grabbed her hands. "You're amazing. Seriously, thank you for showing me all this."

  Lyra froze. Her face turned slightly pink. "W-what are you doing?"

  I quickly let go, realizing what I had just done. "Uh, sorry. Got excited."

  She turned away, waving a hand dismissively. "Whatever. Just don’t get all sappy on me."

  I grinned. "Sure thing, scrapyard princess."

  "Ugh, don’t call me that."

  I chuckled as I glanced around the workshop once more. I’m actually having a little fun.

  After spending what felt like hours in Lyra’s makeshift workshop, I finally noticed how much time had passed. The sun had shifted high in the sky, casting angled shadows over the scattered junk and tech.

  Even if most of this stuff was scrap, to me, it was fascinating. Circuit boards, broken servos, half-intact exoskeleton frames—it was all cooler than anything I’d ever seen before.

  I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the stiffness settle into my shoulders. “Man, I totally lost track of time. I gotta head back home before I get an earful.”

  Lyra, who had been fiddling with a small drone-like device, barely glanced up. “Hmph, not my problem,” she muttered.

  I smirked. “You know what? Whatever I find from now on, I’ll just drop it off here.”

  That got her attention. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Oh? And why the sudden generosity?”

  “There’s one condition,” I said, holding up a finger.

  She crossed her arms, curiosity flickering in her sharp amber eyes. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it?”

  “I get to help with building and fixing the broken parts too,” I said with confidence.

  Lyra blinked, then let out a short laugh. “You?”

  “Yes, me,” I said, already expecting her skepticism.

  She tilted her head, sizing me up. “You’re still very, very, very lacking.”

  I twitched. “I heard that first ‘very,’ you know.”

  Her lips curled into a smug grin. “Oh? Maybe you should’ve heard the other two more clearly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So? What’s the verdict?”

  She tapped her chin as if in deep thought before finally sighing. “Fine. A little help wouldn’t hurt.”

  I grinned. “Nice! Then I’ll swing by every day, bring whatever I can find, and we can fix stuff together.”

  “Just don’t slow me down,” she warned.

  As we made our way out of the scrapyard, we exchanged a casual wave. Lyra, ever the stubborn one, tried to keep her usual smug expression,though a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  After spending what felt like hours in Lyra’s makeshift workshop, I finally noticed how much time had passed. The sun had shifted high in the sky, casting angled shadows over the scattered junk and tech.

  Even if most of this stuff was scrap, to me, it was fascinating. Circuit boards, broken servos, half-intact exoskeleton frames—it was all cooler than anything I’d ever seen before.

  I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the stiffness settle into my shoulders. “Man, I totally lost track of time. I gotta head back home before I get an earful.”

  Lyra, who had been fiddling with a small drone-like device, barely glanced up. “Hmph, not my problem,” she muttered.

  I smirked. “You know what? Whatever I find from now on, I’ll just drop it off here.”

  That got her attention. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Oh? And why the sudden generosity?”

  “There’s one condition,” I said, holding up a finger.

  She crossed her arms, curiosity flickering in her sharp amber eyes. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it?”

  “I get to help with building and fixing the broken parts too,” I said with confidence.

  Lyra blinked, then let out a short laugh. “You?”

  “Yes, me,” I said, already expecting her skepticism.

  She tilted her head, sizing me up. “You’re still very, very, very lacking.”

  I twitched. “I heard that first ‘very,’ you know.”

  Her lips curled into a smug grin. “Oh? Maybe you should’ve heard the other two more clearly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So? What’s the verdict?”

  She tapped her chin as if in deep thought before finally sighing. “Fine. A little help wouldn’t hurt.”

  I grinned. “Nice! Then I’ll swing by every day, bring whatever I can find, and we can fix stuff together.”

  “Just don’t slow me down,” she warned.

  As we made our way out of the scrapyard, we exchanged a casual wave. Lyra, ever the stubborn one, tried to keep her usual smug expression, but I caught a glimpse of something else—a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  Not that I was going to make a big deal out of it.

  Like usual, after returning home, I went off to practice my water magic. Finding an isolated spot, I steadied my breathing and extended my hand.

  A small sphere of water hovered above my palm, shimmering with reflected light.

  I’d gotten better at this. A week ago, I could barely maintain the shape for five minutes, but now? I could hold it for nearly an hour.

  My control is way better than before.

  But something still felt off. The sphere was unnaturally still, as if frozen in time rather than flowing naturally like real water should.

  This time, I wanted to try something different—motion.

  I closed my eyes and focused, imagining the water not just floating but moving. I funneled my magic into the sphere’s core, applying pressure to create a spinning motion.

  At first, nothing happened. Then, the water began to rotate.

  Yes!

  But within moments, an intense drain hit me. My stamina plummeted, and the sphere collapsed after barely a minute.

  I exhaled sharply. What the hell?

  I had held it perfectly still for an hour, but making it spin? Barely one minute before I was exhausted.

  I sat down, catching my breath. Is it because I’m manipulating the water more?

  After a short break, I tried again. This time, I focused purely on rotation, sending all my intent into the core of the spell.

  Ten seconds. That’s all I managed before it shattered again.

  What makes this so different?

  Frustrated, I thought back to my mother’s magic. When she controlled water, it flowed. She didn’t just command it—she guided it, allowing it to follow the natural motion of the world.

  That’s when it clicked.

  Before, I was trying to force movement. But maybe… instead of directly controlling every motion, I needed to set the conditions for it to move on its own.

  I visualized a whirlpool—not just the act of spinning the water but creating the conditions for it to form naturally.

  The moment I cast the spell, something changed.

  The water swirled smoothly around the sphere’s core, forming a controlled vortex that felt almost effortless compared to before.

  It still drained my energy, but nowhere near as much.

  Does this world use a command-based magic system?

  It would explain a lot. Instead of micromanaging every detail, magic might work better when given broad commands with strong intent.

  I clenched my fist, determination swelling in my chest.

  If I could figure this out, maybe… just maybe… I could push my magic even further.

  I could make it to the main capital, and at least get closer to piloting a mecha one day.