Hagane no Renkinjutsushi - Volume 6 - Chapter 2

THE DAILY HUSTLE AND BUSTLE OF RUSH VALLEY

EARLY MORNING SAW THE FIRST TRAIN pull into the Rush Valley station.

Winry opened her eyes to the sound of the train’s brakes echoing off the surrounding mountains. She was in the room she had been given for her stay, which was on the second floor of Atelier Garfiel.

Despite the morning gloom lingering outside, Winry sprang out of her bed to open the window. She then headed to the small sink in the corner of the room and scrubbed briskly at her face to rid herself of any remaining drowsiness. She took out a cropped tank top and pulled it over her head before slipping into a jumpsuit whose sleeves she tied snugly at her waist. To complete her work outfit, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, then topped off the look with a bandanna wrapped around her head.

After getting dressed, Winry raced down the stairs and straight through the deserted studio. The place would fill with people once the business opened, but at the moment, it was silent.

She walked up to the shutters facing the main road and placed her hand on their handle.

“Up we go!” She heaved up the heavy shutters with a grunt. This had become one of her daily duties since coming to live at Atelier Garfiel.

A rush of refreshing morning air swept into the studio as the shutters rose. Though the city was sweltering during the day, the heat would fade at night so that dawn was accompanied by a cool breeze.

“Mmm, looks like it’ll be clear skies again today.” Winry stretched and took a deep breath before she dove into preparing for the day.

She dusted off the various electric machines, then swept and wiped down the floors. Next, she took the smaller tools used for more delicate components and arranged them by size for use on the table off to the side. She took blueprints out of an oblong box by the wall so that they would be ready for the clients coming that day, and placed some automail pieces, still wrapped in cloth, on the workbench in preparation for fixing them first thing that morning.

Setup alone made Winry’s forehead break out into a light sweat because there was so much to do, given their many clients and the large assortment of tools they worked with.

“Now all that’s left is to light the furnace.”

Wiping her sweat away using the sleeve of her jumpsuit, Winry sat in front of the furnace in the studio’s corner and lit it with a match. The furnace was an indispensable tool for crafting automail—it was used to soften the metal plates used as the exterior for automail, and for welding. Winry monitored the flames until they began to dance on the stacked logs before bringing several metal plates over to the furnace.

Just as the studio was finally prepared so they could dive into work, Garfiel peeked inside.

“Morning, Winry dear. Why don’t we have breakfast soon?”

“Good morning, Mr. Garfiel!”

Garfiel stepped into the studio after his cheerful greeting, but paused to stare intently at Winry’s face. He then let out a deep sigh. “Your skin’s so lovely today, as always. It’s positively radiant, my dear. It must be nice to be young.”

“Mr. Garfiel, you always look beautiful too,” Winry replied.

“My, you certainly know how to charm. But even if it’s just empty flattery, it’s still nice to hear.” At this point, Winry was used to Garfiel’s mannerism of placing his hand daintily on his cheek.

Garfiel would insist she had just been flattering him, but Winry meant every word. He would never appear unshaven in public after having overslept, nor would he allow any poor health decisions to affect his skin. He was immaculate when it came to both his health and his clothes, and he likewise kept his work area free of needless clutter. Despite that, he didn’t shirk from getting his hands dirty, and when he was busy, he would become more grease-stained than anyone.

From her place at his side, Winry found she admired Garfiel’s ability to maintain a lifestyle that balanced hard work with taking care of himself and his appearance.

They had a simple breakfast of coffee that Garfiel prepared along with soup and bread. As they ate, the sun’s rays began streaming through the window. Smoke rose from the chimneys of businesses in the distance, and they could hear the scattered sounds of shutters and windows opening. They even heard some metal beginning to clang.

“Now then, why don’t we begin as well? Let’s make the most of today, my dear!”

“Let’s!”

Winry gulped down the rest of her coffee, savoring the joy of being here, where she could immerse herself in tinkering with her beloved automail to her heart’s content.

CLIENTS STARTED POURING INTO Atelier Garfiel as soon as it opened. They didn’t go out of their way to attract clients, but people were drawn to the shop anyway, apparently attracted by the reputation of the proprietor.

“Excuse me, I heard this store does custom automail?”

“Could you take a look at my shoulder? The place that made it is taking a holiday.”

There were all kinds of customers: those coming in for their first automail, those requesting designs for upgrades, and those looking to adjust the automail they already had.

As the clients’ voices filled the store, Winry flitted around on light feet, following Garfiel’s orders.

“Winry, darling, can you screw in this outer plate? And then if you could handle the repair for that customer over there?”

“Got it.”

“We still have some of that metal plating we got in the other day, don’t we? If you could be a dear and cut those into shape number fifty-eight from this blueprint. Oh, and Mr. Kaas came by, so do make sure to take his requests!”

“Got it, working on it!”

There was no break in the stream of clients, with several always waiting on standby on the bench or on chairs to the side of the studio.

Despite the studio’s popularity, Garfiel and Winry were the only ones working there. Winry heard that Garfiel had managed by himself for a long time and occasionally had local mechanic friends come by to help. But the work had recently become too overwhelming for him to manage alone, and he had confessed to Dominic that he could use some help.

That was how Winry came to be volunteered as another hand who could hit the ground running.

Garfiel usually handled longtime regulars and new clients who required designs made from scratch, but Winry often took charge of walk-ins requesting repairs or adjustments. When things got busy, she jotted down requests from regulars and even drew out the roughs for their blueprints.

At first, Winry floundered a little, faced with a new environment, advanced tools she wasn’t used to, and types of prostheses she had never seen before. But it wasn’t long before her positive personality and ability to quickly learn on her feet kicked in, and now she could do everything at a brisk pace.

“Thanks for waiting, Mr. Kaas! What would you like today?”

Winry approached a gentleman who had gotten automail for both of his legs at Atelier Garfiel a few years prior. She held his chart at the ready.

“Well, hello there. To tell you the truth, my legs have started to feel heavier as I’ve gotten older. I thought it would be nice to get something lighter, even if it’s just for the plates of my knees. I would appreciate something more on the affordable side.”

Kaas rested both of his hands on the cane planted before his chair. He had prioritized durability when he had his kneecaps made, but as a result, they were quite thick. Winry pulled out Kaas’s blueprints from the back of the studio and checked the measurements for his knee and the surrounding areas. She then thought about what could be used to make an acceptable lighter replacement.

“If you could please give me a moment.”

Winry ducked into the small back room, a finger on her chin as she thought. She then pulled out a single sheet of metal from the materials box before returning to the studio.

“How do you feel about this?” Winry asked.

The metal plate she’d brought to him was a sample manufactured by a company that processed and sold ores. Atelier Garfiel offered custom prostheses made from alloys blended according to their clients’ specifications, but it could be pricey. However, they also used mass-market materials produced by steel manufacturers, which they could offer at far more affordable rates.

“This is a brand-new product that only recently came out on the market. It’s got a fair price point and is incredibly lightweight,” Winry explained. She gave a quote for the price and schedule they’d need if they moved ahead with the metal. Kaas stroked his white beard while nodding along with interest.

It was difficult to get ahold of new materials like this out in the country, such as in places like Resembool. However, in Rush Valley, the mecca of prostheses, the companies themselves came to sell their products. This allowed mechanics to select and offer their customers the best options from a vast selection of materials. Winry was delighted that her current environment allowed her such luxuries, and she eagerly recommended the new materials that she had learned about.

“This material’s a little prone to rusting, so you’ll have to change your maintenance routine, but it will be considerably lighter than the automail you currently have,” Winry explained.

“Well, that’s very nice. I’m a little worried about different maintenance, but,” Kaas took some time to think about it, lifting and stroking the sample metal plate. The more he heard about the positives of the material, the more his concerns seemed to ease. “It must be good if you’re so confident in telling me about it. Well, then, I’d like to go with this.”

“Understood, sir!”

Winry took measurements of each part of Kaas’s body, jotting them down on his chart, before giving him an estimate on when the blueprint would be finished. She then gave his weathered automail a complimentary polish.

She helped Kaas to the street as he walked out with his cane, then she turned to the clients waiting within the studio.

“Apologies for the wait! Who’s next?”

A young girl raised her hand. Her name was Milia, and she’d already come by multiple times for maintenance. As Winry pulled out Milia’s chart and went over to her, she saw worry on the girl’s face and guessed why the girl had come. Winry’s brows furrowed slightly.

“Hello, Milia. Is your foot acting up again?”

“Yeah. No matter what I do, it just doesn’t feel right.”

Milia looked uncertain as she sat on the bench, shifting her leg forward to show a piece of automail that started at her ankle. The automail sparkled, reflecting the light in the room. It was relatively new and had only been fitted last month, but Milia had already come in several times to get adjustments done by Winry after feeling that it wasn’t working properly.

“All right, I’ll take another look at it,” Winry said. “First, please move it as I direct you to.”

Winry sat on the floor and pulled a screwdriver out of her tool kit to remove the automail’s outer plating. She then brought her face closer and tracked the movements of all the visible parts and cylinders.

“One, two … Great. Next, rotate your ankle.”

Winry had Milia move her toes and ankles and watched closely to see how the automail responded. “I can’t see any particular problems, but …”

Winry pulled out a stick with a small mirror attached to its tip and inserted it into the automail to observe the pistons of the cylinders from every angle. As she worked, Milia spoke up hesitantly from overhead. “Hey, Winry? If you removed my foot, you could take a really close look at it, right? Could you do that for me?”

“Hmm.” Winry hummed as she inspected the device that intercepted electric signals again just to be sure it was functioning properly.

While it was true that it was easier to work on automail if it was removed from the limb, reattaching it was incredibly painful for the wearer. There wasn’t any way around doing so if the automail was damaged or needed to be resized, but Winry was reluctant to needlessly inflict pain on someone when she didn’t know what the cause of the trouble was.

After reaffirming that nothing was amiss, Winry pulled her tools out from the automail and replaced the outer plating. Then she looked up at Milia, who was leaning over her.

“When you upgrade your automail, it can take some time to get used to it. The parts that intercept electric signals perform differently, and the materials and weight of the automail itself are different too. A lot of people feel a pretty big change compared to what they were using before. I believe that’s what you’re experiencing, but what do you think?”

The girl cocked her head before giving a little nod. “Uh, um. Now that you mention it, it feels weirdly light when I move, and I think that might have been bothering me too.”

Winry’s explanation had been easy to understand and gave Milia a possible culprit for her discomfort. 

“If there isn’t anything for me to fiddle with, my taking off your foot will just hurt a lot. I’d like to keep an eye on things for a little bit longer. If things are still bad afterward, we’ll remove it and take a proper look at it then.”

Winry placed a comforting hand on Milia’s knee. The gentleness of her touch and voice eased Milia’s fears that her automail was broken, and the girl relaxed.

“Yeah, I see. I think I might have been too paranoid,” Milia said. “I’m sorry I keep bugging you about it. I know you’re busy.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to feel you need to hold anything back. You can come to me with anything. Be careful on your way back!”

Milia looked apologetic at taking up Winry’s time when she hadn’t even needed any maintenance, but Winry saw the girl off with a reassuring smile to show she didn’t mind.

From behind her, she heard another customer call out, “Winry, could you take a look at this for me?”

“Yes, I’m coming!”

Winry didn’t even have time to catch her breath, but she never voiced a single complaint. She spoke to clients with a smile on her face, handling repairs and maintenance jobs alike. Garfiel appreciated Winry’s work ethic, and in return he found the time to teach her new skills.

“Winry, darling, if you could come over here?” Garfiel delicately beckoned Winry over as he repaired the automail arm of one of his regulars. “You’ve never seen this shape before, have you? We don’t get to see it often nowadays, but it was invented by a mechanic from West City in the 1890s. We have other regulars who wear this style, so make sure you remember it. Something to look out for when working with it is that it has slightly thicker supports. That makes it easier for them to rub against other parts and wear down. When that happens … look here.”

Winry came and stood next to Garfiel; he shifted his body back and to the side to allow her a clear view of what he was doing. He then opened the outer plating on the customer’s upper arm and used a screwdriver to point at one of the components that was creaking loudly.

“You can file down this part here or replace it with another thinner but sturdy component. It’s important to be generous with the oil too,” Garfiel explained while inserting a tool between the machine parts with confident hands, swapping out what he needed to. He then used an eyedropper to apply oil. The client flexed their fingers, and the cylinders moved smoothly and soundlessly.

“You can do this on other automail joints too, when they malfunction,” Garfiel added.

“Got it!”

Winry focused all of her attention on Garfiel’s hands as he shared his wisdom freely. Winry felt her chest swell with so much joy she could almost burst.

Every day since coming to Rush Valley, she’d had the opportunity to touch protheses she’d never seen before and was taught new skills and given more knowledge. Everything she gained was reflected in how she worked with clients and in the blueprints for Edward’s automail up in her room.

She wanted to learn more—she wanted to improve her skills. With those desires in mind, these busy days—which could have been exhausting for Winry—were instead filled with joy. 

WINRY NEVER FORGOT HER LOVE of learning while she worked, which helped her rapidly improve. It still wasn’t enough, and whenever she had a spare moment she continued to study, further polishing her skills.

Later on the same day she’d looked at Milia’s foot, Winry snatched some downtime between clients to practice cutting metal sheets.

“Let’s see. When using this tool to cut metals with a higher ratio of chrome, I need to use the guide rail to keep it from curving … like this.”

Winry sat in front of the power tool and placed a scrap of metal against its teeth. This kind of machinery was essential for making automail, and Winry had experience with a different model. The machine at the studio was larger and more precise, which also meant that it was more sensitive to even the subtlest movements made by its user, making it harder to control.

If she let up pressure even in the slightest, the teeth would grind to a halt. But pushing too hard would mean it wouldn’t cut evenly along the curve, leaving jagged edges. Winry was having a hard time getting the machine to work with her.

“Concentrate, concentrate,” Winry murmured and took a deep breath. She was surrounded by stacks of crates filled with their latest shipment of materials, which created an isolated space perfect for sharpening her focus.

When she switched on the machine, the low drone of its motor accompanied vibrations she felt through her hand while holding the metal plate steady. Careful not to let the vibrations overwhelm her, she held her breath and focused on her fingertips as she rotated the sheet. The blade and the metal ground harshly as they met, even as a graceful arc appeared on the sheet.

Winry pushed the sheet until she could no longer feel resistance from the blade, then she carefully removed it from the machine table. The machine had responded to her. With anticipation, she lifted the piece she had cut out. She was thrilled when she saw the shape she had intended.

“Yes!” She gave a little fist pump.

“Oh my, well done!”

Winry didn’t know how long he had been there, but Garfiel was peeking at her from between the stacked crates.

“You did an excellent job handling that machine. Now, let’s see it.” Garfiel accepted the plate and took a good look at it before sliding his finger along the curved edge. “Lovely, my finger doesn’t even snag on the edge. It’s perfect.”

“Really? Yes! Thank you!”

Winry clutched her hands together at her chest, openly overjoyed, and Garfiel stared, not bothering to hide how impressed he was.

“You know, you’ve really come a long way in such a short time. At this rate, you should be fine being in charge of your own clients,” Garfiel said as he leaned forward, bringing his face to Winry’s level. “Right now, we’ve got a twelve-year-old boy in the shop. You mentioned having made automail for a boy around that age, no? This is a great opportunity. Would you like to manage his case?”

“Me? Manage? Are you sure?”

Winry was surprised by the unexpected offer, and also a little uncertain. As an automail mechanic, she was pleased by the prospect of overseeing a client and personally handling their case from the design to the creation of the automail. At the same time, she had been told at the start of her apprenticeship that she would be doing nothing but drafting, maintenance, and repairs for a while.

Noticing her hesitancy, Garfiel’s face suddenly broke out into a kind smile.

“It would have been stressful for you to manage a client before getting used to your surroundings and tools, but you’ve completely mastered my tools now, and you’ve gained quite a bit of knowledge too. You’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Garfiel …”

Winry realized that Garfiel had been looking out for her to ensure that she wouldn’t push herself or fail to take care of her own health after arriving in Rush Valley. She felt a belated swell of gratitude at his laid-back watchfulness for her well-being.

“Of course, in the end it’s up to you. What do you say?” he asked.

When he raised his eyebrows teasingly, Winry realized that she hadn’t accepted his offer yet and hastily raised her hand.

“Yes, I’ll do my best! Please let me do it!” Winry stood up so suddenly that her chair clattered, and Garfiel nodded, satisfied.

“Your constant enthusiasm is one of your loveliest charms. The boy I’m entrusting to you is over there. Good luck.”

Looking where Garfiel had directed, Winry saw a group of waiting adult clients and a noticeably younger boy sitting among them. This boy was to be the first client that Winry would manage at Rush Valley.

Reining in her joy and excitement, Winry dusted off the metal shavings that still clung to her person. She prepared one of the blank charts they used for brand-new customers, straightened herself, and then approached the boy.

“Hello there!” Winry called out, even more cheerfully than usual. The boy was sitting, his head tilted downward. He looked slightly annoyed as he raised his head.

“Wait a sec,” Winry said. He looked slightly familiar. 

The same thought apparently crossed the boy’s mind. His brows furrowed as though he were trying to remember something. They simultaneously reached the same conclusion.

“We’ve met before.”

She knew that black hair, cropped short. His dark eyes, veiled with gloom. He was on the smaller side, and he wore a white T-shirt with green knee-length shorts. It was the boy Winry had collided with on the first day of her apprenticeship. He had been looking for a prosthetics shop then, and it appeared he had yet to find one.

The boy was accompanied by his mother. The girl who had been sleeping on the mother’s back the last time Winry saw them was awake today and standing on her own, her brother’s crutch gripped firmly in her hand. 

“Hello. I’m Karen Harling.” Karen, the mother, bowed her head. Her brown, shoulder-length hair bobbed with the movement. “I’m terribly sorry about the other day. I see you’re a mechanic.”

“Yes, I am. I apologize for the other day as well. Am I correct in assuming that you’re here today to make an automail order for your son?”

“Yes, we’re looking to get custom-made automail for my son’s right leg, but, ah, he …” Karen turned her tawny eyes to the silent boy, but he didn’t notice, as he was once again staring at his own feet. “I’m sorry. His name is Darish. Thank you for meeting with him.”

At the sound of Karen introducing him, Darish hastily raised his head. Apparently it wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention—he had just been lost in thought.

Winry didn’t let his attitude bother her, and she bent at the waist and extended her hand. “I’m Winry. I’m the mechanic in charge of your automail. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

But Darish only glanced at her hand and didn’t take it.

“It’s not like we’ve decided on this place,” he said coldly, turning his face away from the hand presented to him.

“Darish!” Karen’s voice held reproach this time.

Winry, however, simply smiled at Darish and withdrew her hand. “That’s all right. You haven’t put in a formal request yet, after all. I’ll take your measurements to start, give you a quote, then draw up some blueprints for your plates. Then you can make a decision.”

After all, there were many businesses in Rush Valley. Clients were free to choose which places to patronize. All Winry could do was give it her best.

“For now, I’m going to take your measurements, all right?” Winry said as she pulled a tape measure out of her pocket and knelt at Darish’s feet. Doing that brought her exactly to eye level with the girl standing nearby who was holding the crutch. Their eyes met.

Surrounded by unfamiliar people and tools, the girl’s eyes were wide, and Winry felt as though she were being sucked into the pupils’ dark depths. The girl’s black hair curved gently around her shoulders, and a white bow perched atop her head. She wore a sky-blue dress embroidered with small flowers along the hem that were to a little girl’s taste.

The crutch was about as tall as she was, and threatened to topple her over, yet the girl hugged it to herself with both arms. Winry paused, her hands still extended and holding the tape measure. She gave the girl a smile.

“Hello. What’s your name?”

The girl, who up till now had been excluded, immediately perked up upon being spoken to. Her face lit up with a smile as she enthusiastically answered. “Lettie!”

“Little Lettie, is it? And how old are you?”

“I’m six! I’m a grown-up,” the girl said, apparently displeased at being spoken to like a small child. Her petite mouth scrunched into an adorable pout.

“Can you hold on to that crutch while I speak with your mother and brother?”

“Uh-huh. I sure can!”

Holding a large, heavy crutch for an extended time should have been tough on the six-year-old, but Lettie apparently believed that doing so was her duty to her brother. She hugged it even closer. Winry wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hold in a smile at the sight of the girl’s adorable bravery, and chuckles escaped from other clients waiting nearby.

It only took a moment for the peaceful mood in their little corner of the studio to shatter.

“Don’t bother with the crutch. You can just toss it somewhere over there,” Darish said nastily. “I told you, you didn’t need to come. You’re just gonna get sleepy and conk out in the middle of things anyway.” He didn’t even give Lettie a glance as he said the cold words.

The girl’s face crumpled.

“Unh … sob …” Her eyes began to glisten, then enormous droplets welled up and fell down her cheeks.

“Why did you have to be so mean to her? Oh Lettie, don’t cry,” their mother lamented. Karen quickly pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped Lettie’s cheeks. The girl’s sobs rang out through the entire shop, drawing the eyes of Garfiel and the other shocked clients toward Winry and the family.

Darish apparently hadn’t expected Lettie to throw such a big fuss. He tsked out of annoyance. None too gently, he snatched the crutch from his little sister and leaned it against the wall.

“Mom, you can take Lettie and go back to the hotel. Her crying’s gonna bother the other people in the shop. I’m fine by myself.”

“But we need to talk about your leg,” Karen said, looking torn as she tried to soothe Lettie. Discussions about procedures and fees couldn’t move forward without the presence of an adult. At the same time, if Lettie continued to cry, it might bother others in the shop.

Seeing Karen at a loss, Winry decided to throw her a lifeline.

“Don’t worry about it,” Winry said. Meanwhile, Darish ignored the sobbing and faced any direction but toward his little sister. Winry could guess from his attitude that fights like this were common between the siblings. “All we’re doing today is taking measurements and then jotting down requests for his automail, so Darish should be able to provide those.”

Karen still looked torn between her concern for her children and her concern for those in the shop, but at Winry’s suggestion, she quickly, if hesitantly, started to leave the studio. “Winry, I’m so sorry. Darish isn’t very open in some ways. I’m sorry if he causes trouble for you, but I entrust him to your care.”

Karen kept bobbing her head in gratitude and apology as Winry showed her out. “I’ll come by again,” the harried mother promised before disappearing.

When Winry turned back to the studio, she saw that Darish hadn’t even looked up at his mother and sister’s departure and was instead stroking the attachment of his leg prosthesis. Winry didn’t know why he had snapped so harshly at his little sister, who was still so young, but she certainly didn’t approve. At the same time, she wasn’t about to scold a boy she’d just met, especially since she didn’t know the reasons behind his actions. For now she decided to continue her task, and resettled herself at Darish’s feet.

“Well then, kiddo. How about those leg measurements now?”

“It’s Darish. I’m not a kid like my sister,” Darish muttered, unhappy with receiving the same treatment.

“Got it. Then you can call me just Winry,” she answered, before falling into silence.

Most of the clients who visited Atelier Garfiel were friendly, and Winry often enjoyed having a pleasant back-and-forth while she worked. But Darish’s posture was stiff, and everything that came out of his mouth was cold and blunt.

The rest of the studio filled with cheerful chatter between Garfiel and his clients, as well as between the regulars, but silence reigned between Winry and Darish.

Winry wouldn’t lie and say it was comfortable, but work was still work. She focused on the task at hand to distract her from the heavy mood and took measurements for the boy’s instep, the size of his kneecap, and the placement of his hip bone. She jotted the measurements down on the paper on her clipboard, then removed the belt holding Darish’s current prosthesis in order to check its specifications.

“Sorry, just going to take a look at this.”

Darish’s prosthesis attached above the knee, and was mostly made of a hard wooden material. Metal rods at its joints allowed some limited movement. The prosthesis was affixed to the stump of his thigh with a leather belt and metal fixtures.

When Winry removed the tightly cinched belt, she observed that the skin in contact with the prosthesis was bruised purple.

“Darish, you’re twelve, right? You look like you’ve been growing, and the size of the prosthesis isn’t quite right. When did you get this made?”

“Two years ago,” Darish responded, sounding bored, which made Winry frown slightly.

Darish was in his growth period, and his arms and legs looked like they were the right length for his age. There was no way a prosthesis from two years ago could have still fit him.

Winry placed her hand on his left leg and slowly repeated the motions of bending it at the knee and stretching it. She then stood up and circled around to his back, and from over his shirt, felt along his spine and hip bone.

She could feel that something was off through the contact on her palms. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had enough experience to know that the bones at the base of his right leg, the one with the prothesis, weren’t in the right place. His ill-fitting prosthesis was hurting the leg it attached to, which caused him to compensate by adjusting his posture, placing extreme pressure on the base of his other leg.

If he didn’t get a replacement that fit him soon, his pain wouldn’t be limited to just his right leg, but likely his left leg and hips as well.

Winry placed the detached prosthesis on her workbench, and in an attempt to alleviate even a slight amount of Darish’s pain, she adjusted the belt and its metal fastenings before fitting it back onto him.

“It looks like this prosthesis doesn’t fit, so we should get you new automail as soon as possible. Can you tell me what you’re looking for?”

Winry pulled over a chair with a round seat from a corner of the studio and settled it in front of Darish before sitting down. She placed his chart on her lap, ready to start their discussion, when Darish’s head suddenly turned down.

“What’s wrong?” Winry asked.

Darish remained silent even as Winry peered at his face, the tip of her pen still resting against a blank line on the chart, ready to take requests. Darish stared down at his prosthesis, his lips tightly sealed.

Winry knew that, if nothing else, she needed to get his requests for automail or she wouldn’t be able to proceed. She refocused and tried again, keeping her voice light.

“For now, can you start with telling me about the kind of automail you’re looking for? For example, do you want something light or something flexible? I’ll make a draft based on your requests and then we’ll look over it together and keep working on it until we have a leg that you’re happy with.”

She was met with continued silence. 

“Do you have any requests?” Winry pressed.

After being urged to respond several times, Darish finally answered. “I don’t.”

“All right, then, let me start with what I recommend. I’ll bring over some materials,” Winry replied.

Darish seemed like he had been in Rush Valley for a while, so Winry had assumed that he had seen plenty of automail and already had some ideas in mind. Apparently he hadn’t. When the client didn’t have any requests, mechanics often offered suggestions based on the client’s body and needs.

But before Winry could rise to find something she could show as an example, Darish stood up.

“I’m leaving,” he said as he snatched the crutch from where it leaned against the wall and shoved it under his arm.

“What? You’re leaving? Why?” Winry froze in shock, still in the process of standing up, but Darish used his crutch to swiftly make his way out of the shop. “Hey, please wait!”

Winry chased after Darish and slid in front of him to partially block his path.

“We haven’t even begun talking about the automail. If you leave now, I won’t be able to start drafting a design.”

There was no point going to an automail shop and not talking about automail. But Darish became even more recalcitrant. His lips barely moved as he forced out a murmur, saying, “Who cares about automail …”

“Huh?”

Winry didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant. Darish thrust his crutch forward, shoving Winry to the side, and proceeded to leave for real. Winry could tell from the way he moved that even if she chased him, he wouldn’t stop for her.

Dumbfounded, she watched him go. All she could do was call after him with “Please come by again tomorrow!” To herself, she muttered, “I wonder what I did wrong? What a confusing kid.”

Bewildered, Winry turned back to the studio. Darish’s behavior had been completely unpredictable to her—he had been quiet one moment but was storming off in the next. Winry couldn’t help wondering if all boys his age were the same way. That wasn’t to say she was an adult, either—Winry herself was only fifteen, after all.

Winry’s childhood friend Edward was incredibly expressive with his emotions and was always straightforward. She tried to remember what he had been like at Darish’s age. When he was twelve, Edward had begun to carry heavy burdens. He had lost his arm and leg and had become a state alchemist. However, as far as she could recall, Edward had been as straightforward at twelve years old as he was now. 

WORK THAT DAY didn’t end until seven in the evening.

“Take care,” waved the last customer.

“Sure thing! I’ll see you again next week.” Winry waved as the customer walked down the darkening streets. Then she began her usual closing routine. She carefully cleaned and oiled all the tools that had been dirtied by the day’s work, then brought a crate of materials inside before pulling down the shutters.

Whenever she still had work that needed to be completed before the next day, she would work overtime with Garfiel, but she was free on this particular day.

After she finished putting away everything in the studio, Winry opened the toolbox she had brought with her from Resembool. It contained a wrench, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a ruler—all tools that she had used since she was small. Winry used a piece of cloth to carefully polish them.

Ever since arriving in Rush Valley and gaining access to the most convenient and easy-to-use tools on the market, she didn’t have as many opportunities to use the things she had grown up with. Regardless, the tools embodied many memories for her and taking care of them was an essential part of bringing her day to a close.

“There, all clean!” Winry brandished the polished instruments, bringing them toward the lamp. After taking a few moments to admire the way they gleamed in the light, she placed them back in her toolbox.

“And now, we’re finally done!”

After giving the furnace a final check to make sure the fire was out, she turned off the lamp.

The door at the back of the studio opened up to the stairs leading to the second floor, as well as the ground floor kitchen. Behind the sink was a small room—that was where Winry found Garfiel and two men sitting at a round table covered by a white lace cloth, drinking tea.

“Mr. Garfiel, I finished up in the studio!” Winry reported.

“Thanks for your hard work!” Garfiel replied. He had been elegantly enjoying his tea, his pinky pointing out as he held his teacup, but at Winry’s announcement that their workday had officially come to an end, he placed the cup back on its saucer and gave her a smile.

The teacup was decorated with beautiful roses, and a matching teapot rested on the table, which was surrounded by matching metal chairs, the backs and armrests of which were shaped into delicate swirling curves. The entire setup seemed a bit feminine for three men at teatime, but it fit right in with the Atelier Garfiel aesthetic.

“Hey, Winry. Care for a cup?” inquired a young man in a friendly tone as he turned in his chair to drape his arm over the back. His name was Henrik, and he was the second youngest mechanic after Winry among their work acquaintances.

“Good work today,” the other man said. He was bearded and around Garfiel’s age, or slightly older. His name was Weis, and both he and Henrik were fellow mechanics running automail shops in Rush Valley.

“Good evening, Mr. Henrik and Mr. Weis!” Winry greeted the two familiar faces with a smile before plopping into the chair that Weis had pulled out for her.

“Here, for your hard work.” Henrik handed her a cup of tea he’d poured from the pot, validating Winry with a reward for her efforts.

“Thank you,” Winry said. The pot had likely been cooled, because the tea that filled the cup to the brim was cold to Winry’s touch. One mouthful and the chilled liquid seeped into her, soothing her overheated and exhausted body.

Winry loved spending time with her fellow mechanics and basking in a shared sense of satisfaction after a day of hard work. She exhaled and let herself just listen to the other three chat amongst themselves. Their conversation flowed between politics, economics, and the general state of the world, but when there was a pause, Garfiel turned toward Winry and said, “Oh, I just remembered. How did the talk with Darish about his automail go?”

“Ah, about that.” At the question, Winry drew the cup away from her lips and let out a small sigh. “He actually left before we could get anywhere.”

Winry caught Garfiel up on what had happened while explaining the situation to their fellow mechanics, who had missed the entire incident.

“… and then I asked if he had any requests for his automail, but he didn’t give me any answers, and I was kind of stuck.”

“Oh my, I see,” Garfiel said. He had been deep in conversation with one of his regulars when Darish left and had missed out on how it had all ended. He arched a single brow, surprised. “He seemed like such a well-behaved child. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“I asked him to come again tomorrow but, I’m sorry.”

They were running a business, and it was Winry’s job to earn the trust of their clients and contribute to the shop. She regretted that she hadn’t managed to achieve that. Garfiel, however, didn’t seem bothered, and sipped his tea. “There’s no need to apologize, my dear. That boy, Darish, he didn’t say he was going to another shop, did he?”

“No,” Winry answered. 

“Well then, I don’t see how anything has changed,” Garfiel said. “You’re still in charge of him. Until he gives you a clear rejection, all you need to worry about is how to make a lovely piece of automail for him.”

Weis had been listening in silence, but he began to stroke his beard. He asked Winry, “Was the kid Darish Harling by any chance?”

“Yes. That was his name,” Winry said. “Do you know him?”

Considering the number of people there were in Rush Valley, it was unusual to hear that a fellow mechanic had encountered the same customer. Right as Winry was being struck by what a coincidence it was, Weis let out a groan.

“Hmm, if he’s who I think he is, he might end up moving on to another shop right away.”

“You think so?” Winry asked. Darish’s mood during their entire interaction had confused Winry, but this only added to the bewilderment.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Weis waved his hands, trying to reassure Winry as her face scrunched up, deep in thought. “That kid’s come by my place too. I think it was around a week ago. He came to get automail made, brought his mother too, but he didn’t seem too keen on it. Apparently, the place that made his current prosthesis was of the nasty sort. Didn’t bother taking proper measurements and didn’t provide any follow-up care either.”

“That’s so …” Winry frowned.

Regardless of whether it was automail or a regular prosthesis, it was crucial to gather precise measurements to make something that fit a client’s body. Follow-ups were also essential for making adjustments to suit the client’s growth and lifestyle. Prostheses created from sloppy plans put strain on the wearer and risked warping their skeletons. In extreme cases, they could even cause paralysis.

“It seems like that’s why his leg started to hurt immediately after he got his prosthesis. Probably still distrusts mechanics as a result. He was civil while his mother was around, but as soon as he was alone with me, he stopped cooperating. I had other jobs and couldn’t just sit there with the kid, and after a while it was clear we weren’t getting anywhere. He ended up leaving for a different shop.”

“I see,” Winry said. She had thought Darish’s prothesis seemed wrong for his size, but apparently it had never fit, even when it had been brand-new. Winry couldn’t blame him for hating prosthetics mechanics if he’d been dealing with years of leg pain.

Winry recalled the awful-looking bruises on Darish’s leg and tightened her grip on her teacup. As a member of the same industry, she simultaneously felt guilt and simmering outrage at the thought of a fellow mechanic treating a client so carelessly.

Winry wasn’t alone in her anger. Garfiel refilled all of their cups and when he spoke, it was with quiet rage. “Some people are careless with their work like that. They’re less mechanics and more like corrupt businesspeople who only care about profit. They know that people looking to buy automail usually have plenty of money prepared, so sometimes they’ll drag them into their shops and force them to sign contracts, or they’ll sell shoddy, overpriced automail. They won’t provide any proper maintenance but will take the money. They’re just horrid.”

Garfiel was usually imperturbable, but the sudden rant betrayed his unusually strong feelings about the matter. It seemed these people truly disgusted him.

“Recently people like that have set their sights on Rush Valley itself. We’ve been seeing more of them, swarming like hyenas whenever they smell money. What absolutely dreadful people,” Garfiel said, touching his hand daintily to his face and heaving a deep sigh.

Weis’s agreement with Garfiel’s assessment was clear on his face, grimacing as though he’d tasted something terribly bitter. “Absolutely. They’re awful pests. They’ve even dragged proper businesses into their mess, trying to rip us off when they sell materials too. Not like we can say anything either, or we risk getting everything burned to the ground.”

“Burned to the ground?” Winry frowned when she heard the unsettling phrase. 

Henrik slammed his empty cup onto a crate with a bit more force than necessary. He looked pained as he began to explain. “Do you know that big, empty plot of land by the station? A buddy mechanic of mine used to have a shop there. They had a real strong sense of justice, too, and always stood up to those snakes. But then, in the middle of the night, there was a minor arson incident. The hustlers who’d been antagonizing my buddy got arrested almost immediately, but in the end there wasn’t enough evidence to convict them, and the guys were acquitted. My buddy couldn’t even get reparations for the store, and it went belly-up in the end.”

Winry remembered the location of the weightlifting competition she’d seen on the day she arrived for her apprenticeship. She hadn’t realized that the empty lot among the rows of stores and residences was what was left after a fire and bankruptcy.

“Can’t we expose them? And can’t the clients report to the military police that they’ve been tricked?” Winry asked. She had heard rumors about crooked businesspeople, but had never personally been involved with ones like her peers had described.

The three shook their heads in unison, chiming in.

“It’s just not possible. Even if a client claims they were threatened, the contract still has their signature. The military police can’t do anything unless they happen to be present to witness the actual blackmailing.”

“They’ve been banding together recently, which has made everything worse. I can’t stand how it’s affecting the mood in town.”

“It really is dreadful.” Garfiel voiced his displeasure alongside his friends’.

The many terrorist incidents nationwide meant there was a high demand for prostheses. And Rush Valley, blessed by the ore-rich mountains that surrounded it, was flourishing in part due to that violence. Of course, no mechanic wanted a world with endless conflict, but so long as there were those who needed prostheses, the engineers wanted a safe environment where they could provide the best products possible.

But what was perhaps most important to the mechanics of Rush Valley was their pride in the technological developments that had resulted from their friendly rivalry. The crooks who tarnished the reputation of the city were also trampling on the engineers’ collective sense of honor.

“I know it’s difficult to ignore, but it’s best not to get involved with the likes of them. Winry, if you see any sketchy shops, promise me you’ll never go near them,” Garfiel said, uncharacteristically serious. 

“Of course,” Winry responded sincerely.

“Anyway, all we can do is show them in our own way that we’re not going to take things lying down! Let’s show them what we’ve got!” Garfiel harumphed before crossing his burly arms firmly across his chest.

“That’s the plan. And we’re bringing in a brand-new weapon for that,” Henrik said coyly while passing Winry several sheets of paper.

Upon seeing the words emblazoned on the diagrams, Winry’s eyes widened.

“I know that! It’s that huge new power tool, right?”

It was a brand-new industrial-sized machine, produced by a certain famous brand. The machine, designed to both cut and polish, came with a large assortment of interchangeable blades. The blades, polishing discs, and other components were all incredibly powerful, and all of them were of higher quality than those available on the machinery currently in their shop.

“We use a variety of materials based on what the client needs when we make automail, don’t we? Well, when the machines we use have limitations, we can’t work with as many materials. So we decided to take the leap and ordered the latest model. The three of us, along with a few other people, pooled together our funds,” her fellow engineers explained.

“That’s amazing!” Winry exclaimed.

Purchasing the latest machinery through pooled investments was something that could only happen in Rush Valley. By bringing in this machine, they would be able to work with a greater range of metals and make a greater variety of automail.

Winry was filled with awe as she stroked the image of the machine on the paper with her fingertips.

“Even though it’s equipped with so many functions, there’s not a single wasteful element to it,” Winry said. “This is the brand with the president who started up his own company with the motto, ‘The most important part of crafting is good tools,’ right? He used to be a craftsman himself, and when he was ten, he became a legend by fixing a train … Oh, I’m sorry, I got a little too worked up there, didn’t I?”

Winry giggled and tried to play it off, sticking her tongue out sheepishly. When it came to automail, she retained even the most minute bits of trivia. Garfiel and the others blinked at her. They shared looks as though asking each other, Did you know that? The men shook their heads at each other.

“I read about his ideologies once in the paper,” Winry continued. “He said, ‘If the screws say nothing and the cogs are silent, they’re nothing more than clumps of metal. But if the right person handles them and listens close, the screws speak and the cogs sing. And that, then, is when the automail starts to gleam with brilliant glory.’ Oh, isn’t that so romantic?”

With the diagrams pressed to her chest and her eyes closed dreamily, Winry was the embodiment of an automail nerd. Garfiel and the others desperately tried to stifle their chuckling. Paying no heed to the fact that he was smearing his lipstick, Garfiel kept his hand clamped over his mouth until Winry was done waxing poetic about the machine. Then he told her, “Yes, so we’ve decided to set up the machine here, in our shop. Winry, dear, you’ll be in charge of taking care of it. Of course, you can use it whenever you’d like as well.”

“Really?!”

Winry snapped out of her reverie at the unexpected words. Because she was still inexperienced, she hadn’t imagined getting permission to personally handle the machine. Remembering that it was both the latest model—not to mention expensive—made her slightly nervous, but her joy overruled her trepidation.

“Oh no, what should I do?! Just thinking about it is making my hands shake! Oh, what should I make?!” Winry’s eyes sparkled as she danced around, and the men were no longer able to hold in their laughter.

“Ha ha ha! Winry, you never change!” said Henrik. 

“Considering you’ve got such a passionate apprentice, it won’t be long until this studio’s called Atelier Winry,” said Weis. 

“Well, my goodness, you really went there. I’ve still got some fight in me yet!” Garfiel countered.

Ignoring the laughter around her, Winry once again turned her gaze to the machine on the paper.

She wanted to use this to make Darish the best automail possible. She wanted to teach him that prostheses didn’t have to cause pain, that they could be part of his body, and that they could grant him freedom of mobility. If she could accomplish these goals, perhaps that would put Darish at ease so he could have faith in prosthetics.

Winry began drafting the blueprints for Darish’s automail in her head.