The mechanical hum of the air recycler in Ren's room buzzed like a familiar lullaby. His modest quarters on Cloudy Curtain bore the same sterile simplicity they had for two years—bare walls, a worn desk, a stacked shelf of printed reference manuals, and a compact workbench covered in soldering wires and scrap components. It wasn't glamorous, but it had become home.
More importantly, it was where he had rebuilt himself from nothing.
Now, the time had come to step forward.
Ren sat at his desk, the dim glow of the overhead light catching the polished edge of a small, hand-assembled servo unit resting on a cloth. It had taken him three weeks to perfect, but the movements were now smooth, precise, and nearly silent. It was a testament to how far he'd come.
He exhaled slowly and tapped the surface of his terminal. The flickering screen lit up, showing an old contact: Ves Larkinson – Bentheim Branch, Private Line. He hesitated for a moment—this felt strange. Not because he didn't want to talk to his younger brother, but because this time, the conversation would mark a change. A turning point.
He hit connect.
After a few moments, the screen resolved into a grainy holo. Ves's youthful face blinked sleepily into view. The boy's hair was a mess, and the collar of his shirt was awkwardly turned up.
"Ren? Hey! It's early here…" Ves rubbed his eyes, then smiled. "What's up?"
Ren gave a small chuckle. "Morning, Ves. Didn't mean to wake you."
"Nah, it's okay. Grandpa's already making noise in the garage anyway." Ves leaned out of view and called out, "Grandpa! Ren's calling!"
There was a muffled reply, something like "Put him on speaker!" followed by a loud clunk of tools dropping into a bin.
A few seconds later, the camera shifted as Ves moved the comm terminal to the worktable in their garage. The angle widened, showing a larger workspace filled with shelves of old mech parts, toolkits, and exposed wiring. Sitting behind Ves, in his worn leather chair, was Benjamin Larkinson, dressed in grease-streaked overalls and sipping from a battered thermal mug.
"Well, look who finally remembered he has a family," Grandpa Benjamin said with a wry smile. "How's Cloudy Curtain treating you, boy?"
Ren offered a respectful nod. "Still dusty and slow, Grandpa. But… I've made it work."
Benjamin snorted. "Slow's not always bad. Gives you time to think. So what's the occasion?"
Ren took a breath. "I wanted to tell you both something important. I've decided to apply to Rittersberg University of Technology."
The silence on the other end was immediate and palpable. Ves looked surprised, almost confused, while Benjamin leaned forward, squinting as if trying to determine whether Ren was joking.
"…You serious?" the old man asked after a beat.
Ren nodded. "Completely."
Ves blinked. "But… how? I mean, I thought you were done with school?"
"I was," Ren admitted. "But two years ago, I realized I didn't want to drift anymore. I started studying again. Started from scratch, actually. Physics, programming, materials science, structural theory. I've been building up my basics slowly, day by day."
Benjamin let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair. "That's no small feat. You self-studied all that?"
"Every hour I wasn't eating or sleeping. I didn't want to go back into the world half-prepared. I had to know if I could do this."
"Do what?" Ves asked, eyes wide. "You mean… design mechs?"
Ren smiled softly. "Yeah. I want to become a mech designer."
The word landed differently now. He had spent two years growing comfortable with the idea. It had become part of him.
"But that's awesome!" Ves said, sitting up straight. "You never told me you were into that stuff."
"I wasn't, before. Not really. But once I started reading and tinkering, it just… made sense. Something clicked. Mech design isn't just about engineering—it's about imagination, purpose, identity."
Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "Been doing some deep thinking, I see."
Ren gave him a small grin. "A bit."
Benjamin stroked his beard. "Rittersberg, huh? That's no joke. You know the Larkinsons don't have much pull there. They'll treat you like any other applicant. The tests are brutal."
"I know. But I'm ready to take that risk."
Ves looked thoughtful. "If you get in… we'd be in the same class, wouldn't we?"
Ren nodded. "Probably. I might be two years older, but with my study break, we'd start together."
Ves laughed. "That's gonna be weird. You, me, classmates?"
Ren chuckled. "It'll be fun. Or embarrassing. You can decide."
Benjamin tapped his mug on the table. "Well, I'll be damned. First my grandson wants to design mechs, and now my other grandson wants to get into the best tech school in the system. I must've done something right."
Ren's expression softened. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately, Grandpa. About you. And Mom."
Benjamin looked surprised. "Oh?"
Ren's voice grew quiet. "You took us in when no one else would. You gave us stability. I've taken that for granted before, but… I'm grateful. I want to make something of myself. Not just for me—but for the family."
Benjamin's expression turned solemn, and he gave a slow nod. "You've grown, Ren. I can see it in your eyes. Not everyone your age has that look."
Ves looked between the two of them. "I think it's cool. But what if you don't get in?"
"Then I'll try again next year," Ren said simply. "I'm not going back to drifting."
There was a pause. Benjamin finally leaned back, his voice gruff but warm. "Well, if you're serious, then we'll support you. I'll have a word with an old contact on Rittersberg—no guarantees, but I'll see if I can grease a few wheels. Just don't slack off now."
"Never again," Ren replied, his tone firm.
"And when you do get in," Benjamin added, "you'll need a good toolkit. Can't rely on school-issued junk. Ves, remind me to pull out that old kit from my cadet days."
"Really?" Ves said, eyes wide. "The one with the calibrated wrenches?"
"Yeah. No point keeping it buried."
Ren smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Grandpa."
Later, after the call ended, Ren sat alone in the silence of his room again. But this time, the silence felt different. It was no longer the echo of isolation—but the calm that comes before movement. The stillness before the leap.
He got up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the faint orange haze of Cloudy Curtain's atmosphere. Somewhere far above, ships came and went from the orbital stations, bound for richer worlds, faster cities, brighter futures.
He was ready to join them.
He was no longer the shut-in with wasted years. No longer the NEET with no direction.
He was a student. A builder. A designer in the making.
And he would carve his place into the stars, one bolt at a time.