I spent the entire afternoon deep in blacksmith headspace. Nothing else existed.

Hammer in hand. Metal shrieked. Sparks burst from the anvil and scattered wild through the forge.

Each swing landed a warning. The walls threw the sound back, heavier with every strike, daring me to keep going.

I could almost believe I was forging something louder than war itself.

Sweat broke loose from my forehead and slapped the ground. The forge’s heat pressed in from every side. Dry, inexorable. Even the air felt solid. It held on to the smoke and breathed it back at me, thicker every minute.

Aside from the dull echo of my own breath, the whole place reeked of scorched metal and coal dust. Elbow grease sharpened it, and that smell did not wash off. It stayed with you. Soaked into your gear, your nails, your mood. It was not pleasant, but it was real. You worked here; you earned it.

And yeah, it wasn’t like living inside a furnace that forgot how to quit. But I wouldn’t have traded it. The forge did not lie. It never pretended to be gentle. It demanded everything and gave something back. Something permanent.

While I was deep in my tempo, the interruption that made fate cackle behind your back happened.

RATTLE. RATTLE. RATTLE.

Wagon wheels clunked over loose stone, paired with the groan of old wood that had weathered too many seasons. A sound that did not belong here. It cut through the clang of metal, sharp and certain, pulled toward a promise somewhere beyond the forge.

Through the heat haze, I caught sight of two oversized transport carts wobbling down the hill. The horses dragged their feet. The drivers shouted over each other, voices colliding, each fellow convinced he could drown the other out.

And riding shotgun?

A very familiar headache.

I tilted my head and called out, “Ossan! It’s Dax!”

Before we go further, let me introduce you to Dax. He’s a literal, actual gremlin.

He always seemed on the edge of invention or disaster, eyes too bright for his own safety. Pointed ears, wiry frame, probably born in a junkyard. His grin sold danger better than most merchants sold steel. He moved with a thief’s ease, always in motion, always planning. Turn your back for a moment and your coin purse would already be changing hands.

Bromir’s head snapped up. His brows vanished under his hairline. The forge fell silent. No hammering, no furnace roar, not even breath. The air thinned and went still, that quiet impact that followed when trouble found the room.

Then Bromir’s voice landed hard.

“Hide your stuff, kid!”

Don’t need the reminder, actually.

I reached for the nearest canvas and threw it across the bench the way I had practiced for this exact emergency. The whole setup disappeared. Gun parts, prototype frame, scattered springs, all swallowed up in one clean motion.

Flawless cover. Clean lines. A finish that could have earned awards.

Right on schedule, Dax strolled in, the picture of a man convinced the forge existed just to welcome him. For the record, it didn’t.

Same grin, same storm of energy. He carried himself with the triumph of someone who had spun copper into a kingdom and came to brag about the exchange.

“Hello, Bromir,” he said. That voice again, all syrup and snake oil. Then his eyes found me. “And you too, Kira-san.”

Bromir crossed his arms. The muscle spoke louder than any greeting. His mouth stayed a hard line.

“What brings you here, Dax?” His tone struck iron. No warmth, no invitation.

Dax did not blink. His grin widened, a flash of teeth that could arm a militia. He leaned in, close enough to hint at secrets. “I’m here to deliver goods for my lovely customers, of course.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s funny. I thought your assistants handled all the shipments.”

The laugh that followed climbed quick and sharp.

“Oh, come on, Kira-san. You and Bromir are my favorite clients. I’ve come to express my gratitude personally.” He threw me a wink that would have fooled someone with less dignity. I answered with the look usually reserved for expired milk trying to act charming.

Still not impressed.

Then he turned back to Bromir, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Though I notice you’ve stopped ordering from me.”

Bromir stayed still, only one eye twitching. For a dwarf, that counted as a confession under oath.

“Oh, about that,” he said, too quick. Then his gaze slid to me, silent plea written all over it.

I tilted my head back and started whistling. Suddenly, airflow became my life’s work. The perfect distraction.

“I ask someone else to order for me,” Bromir blurted at last. The words dropped into a pause with no bottom. “Durak! Yes. Durak’s been handling my orders.”

“Ah, I see,” Dax said, nodding with rehearsed enthusiasm. “I figured you had switched to a new trader.” He chuckled, and Bromir let out a sigh that pretended to be quiet but was not.

I folded my arms, stepped forward, and cut the gremlin off before he could spill another round of counterfeit charm.

“Cut the sales pitch, Dax. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

That glint hit his eyes. The one that always meant a scheme was about to land on my desk and somehow become my problem.

“My boss has a proposal for you, Kira-san.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean the boss of that Online Store you’ve somehow never met?”

“Yes.” He beamed, all triumph, as though I had just handed him the answers to a test he had not studied for.

“The one with an office in the Merchant Guild you never seem to visit?”

Another nod, brighter this time. “Exactly.” His grin did not fade; it flourished, every bit the face of a man convinced he ran a legitimate operation.

I held his gaze.

“Do you take me for a fool, Dax?”

“I swear on my nonexistent reputation, I’m only the middleman,” he said, hands raised in theatrical surrender. “Customers send requests, and the items simply show up in my warehouse at Grimlock a few days later.”

“Uh-huh.” My soul regretted the conversation before it could finish. “Fine. I’ll bite. What does your invisible boss want?”

Dax’s whole face came alive, the glow of someone who just received the deed to a secret no one else knew existed.

“He wants you to invent something new. A modification, to be exact.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“A modification of what?”

Dax’s gaze drifted toward my workbench.

“That.”

I followed the line of his gaze, then squinted, just to be sure my sanity was still intact.

“The figurine?”

He nodded.

“Your boss want a new dress for it?” I asked. “Maybe a school uniform this time?”

His eyes lit up. “A school uniform! Why didn’t I think of that? Brilliant, Kira-san.”

I smirked. “Of course I am.”

Then his tone slipped, just slightly, enough to send a cold spark down my spine. The grin warped, greed creeping through the cracks.

“Actually, my boss wants a larger version of it. Around four or five feet tall.”

I blinked.

Bromir reacted first.

“You want the kid to make a bronze statue?” His brows drew together. “Is your boss planning to set up a shrine and pray to it?”

“No, no,” Dax said, waving his hands fast. “Made from softer materials. Something customers can use as a… bolster pillow.”

The forge went silent.

I stared at him. Then at the figurine. Then back again.

The truth landed hard enough to rattle my skull.

“Oi, you twisted gremlin,” I said, voice low and teeth tight. “You aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

Dax’s tone slipped into that familiar panic, the kind that begged not to get hit.

“The customers will hold you in high esteem, Kira-san. If you make this pillow doll, they might even grant you an honorary title.”

My pride stood up before my shame could drag it back down.

“Of course! I am Akira the Cogmaster, after all,” I declared, one hand on my hip, the other raised toward the ceiling. “The greatest inventor in this tower.”

Even as I spoke, my eyes drifted toward the Player Status again.

You’d think the system would acknowledge three automated distribution networks, a mobile forge, and an indoor weather filter. Something decent. “Competent Inventor.” Maybe “Moderately Functional Engineer.”

But nope. Still stuck with “Lover of Peach.”

Come on, System. At least pretend to respect me. “Mildly Useful Tinkerer” would be an improvement.

Bromir did not even try to hold it in. His laughter crashed in a rockslide roar. His chest heaved, his beard shook, and wheezing delight spilled through the noise.

“So,” Dax said, already pulling out a notebook and quill, ready to draft blueprints for disaster, “what materials do we need for this bolster doll?”

“First, artificial hair,” I said, slipping into inventor mode. “And none from deceased donors.”

Dax’s expression darkened. “Why not?”

“The owner of the hair will come back to reclaim it,” I said without blinking.

His face twisted. “Wait, that really happens?”

I nodded slowly. “Yep. Happened a lot back in my world. Imagine waking up in your bed and realizing you’re spooning a ghost instead of your bolster doll.”

Dax shuddered hard enough to rattle his quill.

“What about elf hair? Will that work?”

I rubbed my chin. “Hmm… Never seen an elf ghost before. If their hair’s close to human, it should be safe.”

“Perfect. What’s next?” His quill tore across the page in a frenzy.

“We need a metal skeleton. Flexible steel frame. It gives the body structure and balance. Keeps it from collapsing into a heap.”

Dax scribbled faster, ink scattering across the paper.

“For the skin,” I went on, “we use natural latex from the Plum Blossom peach tree. Treated right, it softens and holds shape. Feels real enough to fool the careless.”

Dax’s grin widened until it threatened structural failure. “Fantastic!”

Then my brain caught up. The grin on my face vanished.

I crossed the forge in three strides, planted myself before him, and drove my knuckles into his skull. No mercy.

“I’m not building you a sex doll, you bastard!”

His yelp cracked through the forge and out the window. Two pigeons fled the scene in terror.

And deep down?

I knew this still wouldn’t even crack the top three weirdest requests I would get that week.

An hour later, Dax slunk off to the tavern like a scolded raccoon. Tail tucked. Dreams dragging behind him, heading straight to the tavern for a frothy mug of denial.

Sure, I had agreed to create a few new dress designs for the smaller figurines. But a life-sized doll waifu?

Hard no.

The sun sank low, spilling gold over everything. For a moment the world looked honest, scrubbed clean of its sins. A calm before chaos glow washed across the forge, giving soot and sweat a hint of poetry.

Then the noise arrived.

Clanking, grumbling, the heavy-footed movement of dwarves who never learned the meaning of silent.

“Oi, Bromir!” Durak shouted as he burst through the doorway, beard first. “Move it. Our wives left for Hillstone hours ago.”

Bromir groaned and smacked his forehead. You could almost see the thoughts scrambling to catch up. “Ah, the celebration. Give me fifteen; I’ll close up.”

“You can bounce, Ossan,” I said, waving him off. “Not joining the geezer brigade. I’ll lock up.”

Bromir flashed that rare proud smile he saved for moments when I seemed remotely responsible.

“Thanks, kid.” He turned to the others, knuckles cracking in anticipation. “Alright, boys. Let’s party.”

“Let’s go wild,” Durak said. “It’s Gromli’s kid’s birthday.”

“Perfect,” Bromir nodded. “My fists feel neglected. Time to remind the tavern again who runs this village.”

I watched them disappear into the sunset. Laughter booming. Beards swaying. It sounded like the opening cutscene for a raid boss, and they were already the mid bosses. Off duty and demolition derby.

I would’ve bet good coin they wrapped the night with a drinking contest and a “friendly” brawl that wrecked half the tavern furniture.

Once the forge went quiet, I ran the usual closing routine. Tools away. Coals banked. Workbench wiped clean.

Then it was dinner.

Instant ramen and onigiri. Nothing glamorous, but the Online Store pulled through again.

As I slurped the last noodle, night slid in. The moon hung low over the hills. Pale, steady, quiet. Soft LED lighting, brought to you by nature.

Belly full, mood balanced, dignity… well, clinging by a thread, I grabbed my gear and headed out to my favorite spot—

The hot spring outside the village.

Yeah. That one.

The air was crisp. Clean. Pine and something sweet, wildflowers or maybe those fuzzy yellow weeds that smelled better than they looked. An owl hooted off to the left, full judgment mode from its wooden throne.

“Relax, owl. Not here to hunt.”

I wove through trees as I climb the hill, ducking into shadows until I reached my usual overlook. A little rise covered in brush. Perfect sightlines. Premium recon.

From behind my bush, I reached into my inventory and pulled out the crown jewel of personal optics. A compact telescope I had made myself. Triple polished lenses. Adjustable zoom. Lightweight alloy housing.

This was top tier stalker tech. Fantasy grade. Not legally endorsed.

I lifted it to my eye and drew a breath.

“Well, ladies. Forgive me for this,” I muttered, smirking like the morally dubious anime protagonist I absolutely was.

Except.

No Thrainna. No Durrina. No Brundis.

What I saw rewrote my DNA.

There, in the steamy water, were three very drunk, very naked dwarves.

Durak. Gromli. Bromir.

Knee deep. Arms locked. Bodies swaying in a slow motion ritual that could only be described as friendship based summoning. Mugs in hand. Beards soaked. Singing the worst tavern song in the known world.

Off key. Off rhythm. Off every possible note.

And no towels.

Not even a leaf of modesty.

“ARGHHHH! MY EYES!” I yelled, slamming a hand to my face.

The telescope slipped. I nearly sent it into the void out of pure survival instinct.

The mental damage was immediate. Permanent.

So much for peaceful moonlit vibes. Tonight, the gods gave me a gift no one asked for.

Boomer buns. Etched in memory. Forever.