Morning felt heavy. Jinyong woke up slowly, his head dull, his stomach uneasy. Last night hadn't gone great. Still, he got up. Work always helped clear his feelings.
The workshop was cold when he stepped in. Papers and tools were everywhere, like usual. He sat, rubbed his face, and stared at the sketches spread out in front of him.
It was the same project he'd been picking at for years, the one that started after that bender interview. Back then, he'd wanted to make something to detect benders. A "bender detector." The idea was good, but he'd hit a wall fast. Too theoretical. Too vague.
So he changed direction. If he couldn't detect chi, he could detect heat. Thermal vision. Simple, but useful.
The problem was, he couldn't build it. Not properly. The sensors he needed were too advanced. Too expensive. He'd need specialized machines to even try. That was one of the reasons he'd pitched the private security company to his father, more funding, more access, more people, more room to experiment.
For now, all he could do was write, sketch, calculate. So he did, from morning to sunset.
When he finally leaned back, ready to call it a day, a loud knock echoed from the front door.
He frowned. The knocking didn't stop. It was hard and fast, almost angry.
"Really?" he muttered, standing up. "Where are the guards when you need them…"
He opened the door. And froze.
"Asami."
She stood there, casual clothes, hair tied back, holding a bag. Her expression was that of an angry lioness, but her eyes looked tired.
"I… you're here," he said awkwardly. "Are you okay?"
She walked in without answering, dropped her bag on one of the tables, and turned to him.
"Take me there."
He blinked. "Where?"
"The factory you mentioned," she said flatly. "I need proof. Actual proof."
Jinyong frowned. "You're serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious."
He sighed, rubbing his neck. "It's not safe. What if we get caught?"
"Then let's make sure we don't."
He stared at her for a moment, then walked to one of the drawers. He pulled out a folded uniform and tossed it at her.
"Wear that."
Asami caught it, unfolded it. A dark green jumpsuit with a mask.
She frowned. "What is this?"
"Equalist uniform," Jinyong said. "Got it myself. My father never told me where the factory was, but I figured it out."
He went to the corner of the workshop and flipped a small switch under one of the tables. The floor clicked, then slid open, revealing a ladder down.
Asami blinked. "You have a secret room?"
Jinyong didn't answer. He climbed down, metal clinking faintly below. When he came back, he was carrying a duffel bag and two electric batons.
He handed her one. "In case anything happens."
She turned it over in her hands, still looking surprised. "You really have a secret room down there? How come you never told me?"
"You never told me what you write in your diary," he said, already walking toward the car. "Same thing."
He got in, started the engine, and glanced at her. "Let's go."
—
The drive was quiet. Neither of them spoke. The air felt dense, heavy with everything unsaid. When they arrived, Jinyong parked the Satomobile deep inside an alley, hidden behind old crates and stacks of metal pipes. He pulled a dark cloth over the car, blending it with the dark. He took his duffel bag and equipped the weapons inside. Silence pistols on hold on holsters, and a grappling gun.
They were in the industrial district, full of factories and sweat shops. And the building in the distance is one of those factories.
"It's owned by the Keum Enterprise," Jinyong said, pulling his mask on. "Officially, it's an empty factory for lease. That's what the papers say."
Asami adjusted her own mask, a bit tense. Jinyong met her gaze. "Ready?"
She nodded once.
He looked up at the roof. "Come closer."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I'm using a grappling hook," he said simply. "You can't exactly float up there, can you?"
"Oh." She stepped closer, a bit hesitant.
Jinyong wrapped an arm around her waist, before firing the grappling gun. The hook shot upward with a hiss, locking into the roof's ledge. A second later, the reel pulled them both up fast, the wind brushing past their masks.
They landed softly on the roof. Both crouched near a large glass panel.
Below them, the factory floor stretched wide. At first glance, it looked empty. But when they watched closely, a pair of Equalists in full uniform crossed the floor, patrolling.
"From here, we sneak in," Jinyong whispered. "Follow my lead. If we get caught, just act like you belong. Understand?"
Asami nodded again.
They moved along the roof until Jinyong found a vent cover loose enough to pry open. He crouched, taking a small screwdriver from his belt, twisting the screws with slow, careful turns.
He gestured for Asami to follow.
The vent was narrow and cold, the metal biting through their sleeves. They crawled through in silence. Every clang echoed like a drum in her ears. Somewhere below, machines hummed and boots clattered against the concrete.
Jinyong peered through one of the grates, scanning the hall below. Two guards. Equalist masks, stun batons clipped to their backs. One leaned against the wall, yawning. The other checked a clipboard.
He waited for the timing, then slid the grate aside. He dropped down quietly, landing with barely a sound. Asami followed, her boots tapping lightly on the floor.
They stuck close to the walls.
The factory was big, most of it dimly lit. Corridors stretched in every direction, some lined with crates, others leading into wide empty spaces that looked like abandoned production floors. Jinyong moved fast but carefully, like he had memorized the layout.
He motioned for her to stay put while he peeked around a corner.
A pair of Equalists stood talking beside a door with a red light above it. Jinyong ducked back, pulling Asami with him. He pulled a small metal ball from his pocket, pressed a switch, and tossed it down the other end of the hall.
The sound of a faint crash echoed. Both guards turned their heads and walked away to investigate.
"Come on," he whispered.
They slipped through the door the second it opened, moving into what looked like a storage bay. Rows of sealed containers lined the walls.
They moved again, ducking behind forklifts and conveyor belts, keeping their heads low as footsteps passed nearby. Every sound was sharper now. The whir of machinery. The distant hiss of diesel. The faint crackle of an electric line overhead.
Asami followed his lead, clutching the small baton he'd given her earlier.
Then, they reached a large service elevator at the back of the hall. It looked old, but the control panel was freshly maintained. Jinyong pressed a button, and the platform began to descend slowly.
The hum of the lift vibrated beneath their feet.
They stood in silence, faces dimly lit by the red emergency light above.
Asami finally spoke, quietly. "How many people know about this place?"
"Only the ones involved," Jinyong replied. "Not many. My father's keeping it quiet, even he didn't tell me, remember?"
The elevator stopped with a thud. The gate opened to reveal a hallway bathed in red light, leading deeper into the factory.
And from there, the faint sound of welding and machinery filled the air.
They were getting close.
Eventually, they reached a reinforced door that led down underground. The space below was massive. Rows of machinery lined the walls. Equalist workers moved around, some welding armor, others testing gear.
There were electric batons, gas grenades, bolas, and gloves fitted with small charge coils. A few workers were assembling full suits, the same kind they were wearing.
But at the far end of the room stood something else.
Mecha tanks.
Several of them.
Each frame is taller than three men, with thick metal armor. Sparks flew as engineers worked on their joints and arms.
They crouched low behind a stack of crates, the hum of machinery filling the air around them. Jinyong's eyes scanned the floor below, tracing the rows of metal tables and sparking wires.
Then Asami froze. Her breath hitched.
There, under the glow of the industrial lights, stood her father.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this.
Hiroshi Sato looked calm, too calm, as he leaned over the frame of a mecha tank, gesturing to a group of workers adjusting its armor plating. His sleeves were rolled up, grease streaked on his gloves, the familiar focus in his face unmistakable. She'd seen that look before, back when he used to show her how engines worked, back when they'd stay up late tinkering in the workshop together.
It hit her all at once. The smell of oil, the sound of gears turning, it felt like home, only this time it wasn't.
Her stomach twisted.
Jinyong noticed her go still. He looked where she was staring and went somber.
Across the floor, Hiroshi turned to someone else approaching. It was Jinyong's father.
The sight made Asami's chest tighten even more. Two of the most respectable men she knew, standing together in secret, surrounded by illegal weapons and Equalist engineers.
Her throat went dry. She wanted to say something, anything, maybe that it wasn't real, that it was some kind of misunderstanding. But her voice wouldn't come out.
"He…" she whispered, barely audible under her breath. "He's… here."
Jinyong stayed silent. He didn't need to say it. He already knew what this meant. He held her hand tightly.
Below, Hiroshi spoke quietly, discussing something with Wonyong Keum. He didn't look forced, or afraid. He looked like he belonged there.
Asami's hand clenched Jinyong's tightly. It even hurt a little, but she didn't noticed.
Every memory of her father: the laughter, the dinners, the stories about her mother, all started to twist in her head, bleeding into this moment.
She wanted to scream. To jump down there and demand answers.
But she remembered what Jinyong said. Don't confront him. Don't say anything.
Her jaw trembled as she forced herself to stay quiet.
Then the air shifted.
Another figure entered the factory, tall and calm, his footsteps echoing. The workers immediately went still.
Amon.
Asami's heart sank. Her father turned to greet him, not with fear, but respect. He bowed his head slightly, saying something she couldn't hear.
And for the first time, she saw her father not as the man who built Satomobiles or designed gadgets for the city, but as a piece of something dark.
Her breath caught again. Her mask suddenly felt too tight. Her chest too heavy.
Then Amon stopped mid-sentence.
He turned. Slowly.
His masked gaze lifted right toward them.
Jinyong's hand held on to hers and pulled.
"Go," he whispered sharply.
She didn't hesitate.
They ran, the world blurring past them, her heart pounding harder than the sound of their boots against metal. But even as they escaped, the image burned in her mind, her father standing proudly beside Amon, the man who wanted to kill every bender in the world.
By the time they reached the roof again, Asami's pulse was hammering. Jinyong didn't even look back. He fired the grappling hook again, sending them flying down the side of the building.
They landed near the alley, ripped off their masks, and sprinted to the car.
Jinyong yanked off the cover, threw the bag in the backseat, and jumped behind the wheel. The engine roared to life.
They sped away through the narrow streets, silent, the lights of the factory shrinking behind them.
No one followed.
But neither of them said a word.