There were many nameless stalls in the scrap market of the 19th Underground Level.
They had no signboards, required no permits, and paid no taxes.
Instead, the place was crawling with knife-wielders, foulmouths, and debtors.
To survive doing business there for long, one had to know three things.
First, never trust an item that looks intact.
Second, never trust a bastard who sells too cheap.
Third, never trust a customer who is too quiet.
Harun had lasted twelve years by following those three rules.
Twelve years on the 19th Underground Level.
That was quite a long time.
Here, no person, shop, or name lasted long; it was a place where a guy selling prosthetic arms in the next stall yesterday could be found crushed beneath a transport pipe today.
So enduring twelve years in this place was a remarkable feat.
At least, that was what Harun thought.
His stall stood at the edge of the market, right next to a waste-heat pipe.
The location was terrible.
In summer, the heat radiating from the waste-heat pipe felt like it would scorch his skin, and in winter, the warmth abruptly cut off, freezing his fingers stiff.
Still, it wasn't all bad.
Because it was a spot where people didn't care to linger, troublesome customers were few and far between.
Harun pitched a worn-out tent there, laying out cracked circuit boards, discarded batteries, broken Magic Lamps, prosthetic joints, and unidentified crystal components.
Most of it was junk.
But in the underground, the difference between junk and merchandise wasn't all that great.
If you could fix it, it was merchandise; if you couldn't, it was junk.
And... if you could con someone with it, that was merchandise too.
With a magnifying loupe fitted over one eye, Harun peered closely at a fingernail-sized circuit board.
It was a cracked auxiliary computing chip.
By upper-level standards, it was scrap.
"Damn it."
He scraped at the charred section of the circuit board with his fingertip.
The mana flow was completely severed.
This couldn't be salvaged.
Tossing the circuit board aside, he picked up the next item.
It was then.
A shadow fell over the stall, but Harun did not raise his head.
Waiting for the customer to speak first was the ABCs of trade.
Greeting them first risked making him appear desperate.
And the desperate party always lost in negotiations.
A brief silence hung in the air.
Then, a low voice broke it.
"How much."
Only then did Harun look up.
Standing in front of the stall was a young man he had never seen before.
He looked young.
Based on scan records, his face appeared to belong to someone of sixteen, or at most seventeen.
Yet, contrasting with his youth, his eyes harbored deep shadows.
Greenhorns on the Underground Level usually fell into two categories.
Either they were scared out of their wits, or they threw tantrums to hide that fear.
But this young man was neither.
His clothes were filthy, yet he strangely didn't look shabby.
Harun clicked his tongue inwardly.
He could already tell this kid would be trouble.
He looked down at the item the customer had placed on the stall.
It was a magitech artifact slightly larger than a palm.
'What a waste.'
If it worked, it was a high-grade piece that could fetch a hefty sum.
However.
A black metal rim, a cracked crystal plate, and severed circuit wires jutting from its side.
The moment Harun laid eyes on it, he reached his verdict.
It was junk.
"It's trash."
Harun snorted.
"It's not even worth scrap value."
The young man didn't back down.
"There's still mana left inside?"
"What good is that if it doesn't flow?"
Harun tapped the device with his finger.
"The input is burnt out, and the conversion circuit is severed. The crystal plate is cracked, too. You can't fix this."
Usually, someone would spit out a curse and back off at this point.
Well, occasionally there were hotheads who grabbed him by the collar.
But those types were easy to deal with, since the market was packed with folks who drew knives faster than someone grabbing collars.
Instead of cursing, however, the young man merely looked down at the device.
"...?"
"Can't fix it, huh."
The young man muttered under his breath.
Harun furrowed his brows.
The tone rubbed him the wrong way, sounding as if the kid genuinely couldn't comprehend what was so hard about it.
The young man pressed his fingertip against the severed circuit wire.
"That's not where the problem is."
"What?"
"It's not the conversion circuit that's broken. The flow is reversing right here."
Harun's expression soured.
"What do you know?"
"Be quiet for a second."
Harun was momentarily struck speechless.
Then, the young man gave the item a light tap.
That was truly all he did.
Zzt.
A dead circuit faintly lit up.
Harun's eye snapped wide open.
"What did you just do?"
"I found the blockage."
The young man picked up a thin piece of scrap metal lying nearby.
Harun reached out almost on reflex.
That was madness.
That wasn't a maintenance tool.
It was just a scrap of metal he had picked up from a junk heap yesterday. It had no proper edge, nor was it insulated. Touching the circuit board with that was more than likely to destroy whatever flow was left.
"Hey, if you touch it with that—"
Ignoring him completely, the young man used the tip of the metal piece to scrape away the charred area of the circuit board.
Then, he bridged the two severed lines with extreme delicacy.
Harun held his breath.
That method couldn't even be called proper maintenance.
No real repairman worked like that.
You had to use circuit realignment equipment, apply a flow stabilizer, and secure the crack in the crystal plate first.
Talk about the tail wagging the dog—by his estimate, the repair costs would easily exceed the item's worth.
And yet.
Hummm.
A blue light flared to life inside the cracked crystal plate.
Harun's jaw dropped.
"Why the hell is this turning on?"
The young man set the device down.
"Because it wasn't a dead circuit."
This was impossible.
Harun snatched up the device.
Mana began coursing from within the crystal plate.
It was unstable, but it was undoubtedly alive.
A dead circuit was flowing once again.
Without circuit realignment gear.
Without stabilizers.
Without proper tools.
Using nothing but a scrap of metal.
Harun stared at the young man's hands.
Without equipment.
Without schematics.
Those hands had just revived an item that looked completely beyond hope.
A chill ran down Harun's neck.
What unsettled him even more was the young man's expression, looking as though he had no idea just how bizarre what he'd done truly was.
"How much."
The young man asked again.
Harun couldn't answer.
A price?
A price in this situation?
This brat was asking for the price of the piece of junk he brought in.
Utterly oblivious to the astronomical value of the craftsmanship he had just put on display.
Harun slowly set the device down and looked straight at the young man.
"You."
He said in a low voice.
"Work a job with me."
***
"Work a job with me."
Kael had come to sell the device.
At most, he had expected a bowl of cheap cultured porridge for dinner tonight and, if luck was on his side, a place to rest his head for the night.
Yet out of nowhere, a job landed before him.
To be precise, the old stall owner was trying to rope Kael into his business.
Kael watched him quietly for a moment.
The old man, sporting a magnifying loupe over one eye, had grease deeply ingrained into his skin.
The discarded circuits and scrap metal strewn across the stall entered Kael's view.
Along with his gaze, which hadn't strayed from Kael's fingertips for quite some time.
He wasn't appraising the goods; he was sizing up Kael.
"A job?"
Kael asked back.
"I came here to sell merchandise."
"I know."
The stall owner tapped the device with his finger.
"But your hands look far more valuable than the goods."
He was blunt.
Kael liked his attitude.
Someone who displayed their greed openly was always far easier to handle than one hiding an ulterior motive.
Kael pushed the device toward him.
"Then pay for the item first."
The stall owner's brow twitched.
"I just brought up a job."
"You're the one who brought that up."
Kael pointed at the device on the stall.
"I came to sell this, so let's settle our business one deal at a time."
A brief silence settled between them.
The stall owner glared at Kael, but Kael didn't care.
He was hungry and thirsty. His body hadn't recovered yet, nor had he been able to sleep properly.
Yet those circumstances would only serve as reasons to slash the price; he had no reason to reveal them first.
The moment you show weakness in a negotiation, the other party will exploit it.
He knew at least that much.
The stall owner burst into laughter.
"Not bad for a punk who just dropped into the underground."
"I want to live a long life."
"For someone who wants to live long, your tongue is rather dangerous."
"That's for me to judge."
Kael held his hand out a little further.
"The price."
The stall owner clicked his tongue and pulled several worn metal chips from beneath the stall.
"5 credits."
"20."
"Are you insane?"
"I told you, I just brought a dead circuit back to life."
"So?"
"Then it's no longer junk."
The corners of the stall owner's mouth hardened.
He looked down at the device.
He pretended to deliberate, but the answer was already decided.
He wanted to buy this device.
No, to be precise, he wanted to hold onto Kael using this device as an excuse.
In that case, there was no need to look desperate.
The stall owner opened his mouth again.
"10."
"18."
"12."
"20."
The stall owner narrowed his eyes.
"You're raising the price?"
"Because you tried to haggle down."
"Why, you little bastard..."
"If you're not going to buy it, give it back."
Kael reached out to grab the device.
At that moment, the stall owner yanked the device toward himself.
It was slow.
It was a move that showed he didn't intend to block him outright, yet didn't want to let it go either.
Kael stopped his hand.
Just as expected.
The stall owner had no intention of letting this item slip away.
"15."
He said through gritted teeth.
"And a bowl of porridge."
Kael thought for a moment.
15 credits wasn't bad, considering.
Furthermore, with a bowl of porridge thrown in, he wouldn't starve today.
But he didn't nod right away.
He needed to push a bit more.
"Two bowls of porridge."
"Did your conscience get crushed under a transport pipe?"
"It's still alive. That's why it's two bowls."
The stall owner glared at him.
Kael quietly met his gaze.
A few seconds later, the stall owner turned his head away first.
"Fine. Two bowls of porridge."
He tossed the metal chips onto the stall.
"Happy now?"
Kael counted the chips.
15 credits.
They didn't seem counterfeit.
Kael slipped the metal chips into his coat.
"Now we can talk about the job."
The stall owner chuckled in disbelief.
"Thanks for your permission."
"You're welcome."
"I really hate the way you talk."
"If I like the terms, I'm willing to fix things."
"Then you'll never fix anything."
The stall owner leaned back in his chair.
The flippant smirk typical of a merchant faded slightly from his face.
"On the 19th Underground Level, junk is money. A lot of the magitech items tossed down from above are broken. Most get stripped down and sold for parts. But sometimes, there are items whose value skyrockets several times over if you can just fix them."
"So you're saying you sort them out and fix them yourself?"
"I've been doing that myself until now."
The stall owner tapped his magnifying loupe.
"But I only have one good eye, and my hands are old. On top of that, the stuff coming down lately is getting damn complicated."
"And so?"
"You examine the circuits. I'll secure the goods and find buyers."
"The split."
His eyes gleamed.
His face showed they had finally reached the real point.
"I provide the market stall, the connections, the protection money, and the intel fees. You provide the labor. Profit is eighty-twenty."
Kael nodded.
"Then you take twenty."
At that, the stall owner's face hardened.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Wasn't that a joke?"
"This is my stall. These are my connections. I'm the one who knows how to sell the stuff you fix."
"And I'm the one who brings the goods back to life."
Kael pointed at the device sitting on the stall.
"I just revived an item you said couldn't be fixed."
"That was just once."
"Which makes it even more expensive."
The stall owner shut his mouth.
Kael continued.
"You just want to confirm whether me fixing it was a fluke or not."
His eyes wavered.
Bullseye.
As expected.
Rather than wanting to hire Kael...
He wanted to test him.
In that case, he had to take control of the terms.
"Sixty-forty."
Kael said.
"Sixty for me."
"Crazy bastard."
"Then the deal is off."
Kael turned to walk away.
The stall owner slammed his palm onto the table.
Bang.
"Wait."
Kael stopped in his tracks, but didn't look back.
The stall owner muttered in a low voice.
"Fifty-fifty."
"Sixty for me."
"You don't have a spot, you don't have an identity, and you don't have connections."
"That's why I need you."
Kael slowly turned around.
"But you need me too, don't you?"
The stall owner gritted his teeth.
"You want sixty percent based on an unproven pair of hands?"
"Then all I have to do is prove it."
"What?"
"Bring me three items by tonight. Things you couldn't fix. If I revive even one, it's sixty-forty."
Kael paused briefly, then added.
"If I revive all three, seventy-thirty."
The stall owner didn't say a word for quite a while.
Then, he finally chuckled.
"You really haven't been down in the underground long, have you?"
"...?"
"People who act with that kind of guts down here are one of two types: either they know nothing, or they've actually got something."
"Which one do you think I am?"
"I'm offering to work together to find that out."
The stall owner rummaged beneath the stall and pulled out a worn cloth pouch.
From inside, he took out two dead circuit boards and a cracked Magic Lamp, setting them on the stall.
"Fine. It's a test."
"The terms."
"Revive one, it's fifty-fifty. Revive two, you get sixty. Revive all three, you get seventy."
"An advance."
"What?"
Kael extended his hand.
"I need tools. Insulated gloves, a thin metal probe, a circuit scraper, and some food."
The stall owner let out a dry laugh.
"Why don't you just ask me to set up an entire workshop for you?"
"That would be nice too, if possible."
"Crazy bastard."
Even as he said that, he rummaged beneath the stall.
A moment later, a pair of worn cloth gloves, a few metal probes with worn tips, and a small scraper were tossed in front of Kael.
Along with a piece of hard bread wrapped in greaseproof paper.
Kael picked up the bread first.
The stall owner raised an eyebrow.
"Food before work?"
"When you're starving, your hand tends to slip."
"Fair enough."
Kael took a bite of the bread.
It tasted awful.
It was hard, stale, and somehow reeked of metal shavings.
But it was edible. That was enough.
Kael tucked the remaining bread into his coat and looked at the scrap circuit boards on the stall.
"Let's begin."