"This... um...”

The old man suddenly became wide awake, stuttering and staring at the check for a long time as if he was frozen.

"I apologize for my rudeness earlier... ah, haha, please come in, please come in quickly."

Merka put away the check and walked into the small house with a slightly more stable pace, raising his head and chest proudly.

"They're all junk, nothing that would trip you."

The old man led Merka deep into the house.

Merka opened his magical vision and realized that the small house seemed much bigger than it appeared.

As they walked, all they saw was scrap metal. Merka noticed that this person seemed to be in the blacksmithing business, but it was even more destitute than a regular blacksmith without proper tools.

At the deepest part of the small house was a fireplace burning with firewood. Next to the fireplace was a woman sleeping peacefully on a rocking chair, warmed by the heat.

"I'm sorry, we don't have much space here, only the living room has a few chairs."

The old man arranged for Merka to sit down and straightened his white beard, trying to appear as formal as possible.

But he failed. A blacksmith without his shirt on couldn't look formal.

"Please tell me your specific requirements for the fireworks."

Compared to when he first met Merka, the old man was extremely polite, to the point of being strange. And his tone was clearly not something an uneducated Curseborn could say.

-Even a bit... aristocratic.

"This is..."

Merka looked at the instruments piled up in the room and the woman who seemed to be easily awakened just by frowning, and started to wonder if he had come to the wrong place.

"Ah... this is... uh, my wife."

"I apologize if she's being disrespectful, she's skilled in teaching instruments."

"She's not a Curseborn. She used to work for the nobles, you know... teaching music to the children of the Montecristo family."

"I won't hide it from you, although we've cut ties with the nobles, even now there are still noble children who come here to learn instruments. Ah, it's all ancient history now."

"Haha... Look at me, I didn't introduce myself yet."

"I am called Jose Mariano Gro. You can just call me Jose."

"My experience is actually similar to my wife's. I used to be a noble's assistant, just like you, working under the noble's command, helping to make instruments for rituals or something."

"But as you can imagine, after the extreme God Worship Order was issued, we Curseborns lost our jobs too."

"Although the old lady isn't a Curseborn, she left the noble district together with me for the sake of our children."

"There aren't many Curseborns left who can still stay in the noble's area and make a living like you."

"Well, look at me, getting old, talking too much, becoming chatty. I shouldn't have said all of this to you."

"My main point is, you can trust me, I can guarantee the quality of the fireworks I make."

As Merka looked at the old man, who was fawning and seemingly trying to please him, his heart ached. He looked around and didn't see the children the old man mentioned, which only confirmed Merka's suspicions.

It's just those broken things, no money for surgery, the child died, no money for burial, no money to have another child, owing a lot of debts, and so on.

All Curseborn have experienced these things, and they are very clear about them.

"Then let's get straight to the point, old man."

"I hope you can create real fireworks like shooting stars, can you?"

Merka sat on a chair, whispering softly to the old man through the layers of brilliance from the fireplace.

The radiant yellow glow of the fireplace baked up a sweet and dreamy atmosphere, and the sound of crackling covered Merka's voice and separated the space between Merka and the old man.

"I see."

"If you insist on making it exactly like a real shooting star, you may need to add weight."

"In that case, the sparks won't shoot up, they can only be launched from above."

"And they might fall and hit someone, so I hope you can use it in a more remote place."

The old man stroked his beard, with a troubled expression, glanced at Merka, and got a nod of approval.

"Alright... If that's the case, I understand."

"I will draw some design sketches next, and if you have any suggestions, please let me know, okay?"

The old man stood up, picked up the tongs stuck in the fireplace, and tinkered with it a few times.

----------------------------

Turing sat on the island in the middle of the lake, picking another piece of his nail and throwing it into the distant sky.

A very terrifying mushroom cloud rose in the middle of the lake, with exaggerated sonic booms, and a crazy hurricane swept through. Turing sat comfortably on a large rock, seemingly unaware of the trees being swept up beside him.

"Tucoco, that's enough."

"You're quite skilled at punishment."

"My course is over."

Dunkirk stood beside Turing and gently patted his shoulder.