Southeastern Shiganshina District – Inside Harry's Blacksmith Shop
Ding ding ding ding
The rhythmic clang of iron striking iron rang through the small workshop like a heartbeat. Sparks flew. Heat shimmered. The forge roared with life, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Each hammer blow struck with both power and purpose—no wasted movement, no pause, only relentless momentum.
To an untrained ear, it may have sounded like chaos. But to those who listened closely, the cadence had a peculiar order—like a melody born of fire and will.
Bent over the anvil, a lean young boy brought his hammer down with fierce concentration, sweat soaking through the front of his shirt, his arms trembling from exertion. Muscles coiled and released like springs with each swing. He was tired—bone-deep tired—but his eyes gleamed with resolve.
He wasn't just forging metal.
He was forging himself.
"Shin! Time to eat!" a deep voice called from outside the forge, breaking the rhythm like a cymbal crashing through a lullaby.
Shin exhaled a long breath and set the hammer down. His arm felt like it was filled with lead, his lungs burned, and his legs trembled slightly. But as he wiped the sweat from his brow, a tired smile tugged at his lips.
That familiar chime rang in his ears.
Ding! Strength +1. Coordination +1.
The system had spoken. His work had paid off.
Blacksmithing's perfect, Shin thought. Upper body strength, core control, leg stamina, even fine motor skills… it's all here. And the meals don't hurt either.
He flexed his arms and rolled his shoulders, feeling the satisfying ache of a body pushed to its limit. Everything about the forge suited him—hard work, discipline, and honest results. And unlike running aimlessly or leaping like a frog around the living room, this job also gave him a warm meal and a roof.
In this world, that was luxury.
What Shin didn't know was that someone had been watching him work—silently standing in the doorway, arms crossed and face unreadable.
Harry, the owner of the blacksmith shop, watched the boy with something between amusement and admiration in his eyes.
The hammering had stopped, but the glow in Shin's eyes hadn't. That focus, that fire… it wasn't something you could teach. Harry had seen it before—in the best apprentices, in the most passionate smiths—and this scrawny thirteen-year-old had it in spades.
He found himself smiling.
Maybe this kid wasn't just a temporary helper.
Maybe… he was someone worth teaching everything to.
Shin turned, catching sight of Harry's gaze.
"Uncle Harry?" he asked, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. His wiry frame was drenched in sweat, his hands blackened with soot, but his expression never wavered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Harry cleared his throat and immediately put on a gruff scowl. "I came to get you for lunch. You've got no sense of time, boy. Everyone's waiting!"
"Ah… Sorry!" Shin scratched his head sheepishly. "Time just flew by…"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You like blacksmithing that much?"
Without hesitation, Shin answered, "I do."
It wasn't a lie. Not even close.
Here, he could improve his body and earn his meals while staying relatively low-profile. That made the forge more than just a job—it was the perfect environment for survival and growth. He had no complaints.
Hearing that, Harry's frown slowly melted into something warmer. He walked over, placed a heavy hand on Shin's shoulder—and slammed it down with a force that nearly sent him tumbling.
"Then let's eat!" Harry barked with a laugh.
"Ow—! Uncle!" Shin yelped, staggering under the weight of the blow and rubbing his aching shoulder. "Do you have to hit so hard? I'm still a kid, you know!"
Ding! The host has endured a blow beyond his current tolerance. Resistance +1.
"..."
Shin paused mid-grumble, his eyes sparkling. He straightened up, bowed deeply, and declared, "Please teach me more, Uncle!"
Harry blinked. Then he let out a booming laugh. "Hah! Don't worry, I won't go easy on you!"
He clapped Shin's back again—lighter this time—and led him out of the forge.
To Harry, the kid was just quirky. But to Shin, every blow, every ache, and every bead of sweat meant one thing: progress.
A few minutes later, the two sat at the modest dinner table inside the blacksmith's home. The warm aroma of stew filled the air, and thick loaves of bread were already sliced and buttered. Aunt Martha, a gentle woman in her late forties, set another plate down and smiled at Shin with the kind of softness that made his chest tighten.
"Eat up, dear," she said, brushing a curl of gray hair from her face.
Shin didn't need to be told twice.
He tore into the bread like a starving wolf, practically inhaling the hearty stew. His stomach had become a bottomless pit these days—no matter how much he ate, it was never enough. His body burned through everything like a furnace, constantly craving more fuel to recover from his intense training.
Across the table, Harry stared at him in disbelief.
"Where the hell is all that food going?" he muttered, watching the boy's plate vanish in record time. "Your stomach's still flat! What are you, a Titan in disguise?"
Shin gave a nervous laugh but didn't stop chewing. "Still growing. Can't help it."
Harry grumbled something unintelligible, but he didn't reach to take away the food. Instead, he refilled Shin's bowl without saying a word.
He was all bark and no bite. His complaints were loud, but his hands were kind.
Martha chuckled softly beside him, her eyes full of something much deeper than amusement. Pity. Affection. Pain.
She knew Shin's situation better than most. Knew that he was alone in the world, orphaned, surviving on scraps and luck. He'd come to them with nothing, and yet… he worked harder than anyone.
And she and Harry—who had never been able to have children of their own—had slowly come to care for the boy like he was theirs.
As Shin devoured the last of his stew and wiped his mouth, that strange warmth returned to his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Family.
It wasn't something he expected to find in this harsh world. But now, sitting between Martha's quiet love and Harry's loud grumbling, he realized just how dangerous it would be to lose this.
Next year… everything would change.
The Titans would come.
The Wall would fall.
The people of Shiganshina would be devoured, scattered, or worse.
And Shin… Shin didn't know if Harry and Martha would survive it.
That thought hit him like a hammer. His heart clenched, and the stew in his belly suddenly felt heavy.
Before the feeling could root too deep, he stood abruptly and said, "I'll get back to work."
Without waiting for permission, he turned and rushed out of the room, not wanting them to see the tightness in his jaw or the look in his eyes.
Harry blinked, then shouted after him, "Oi! You just ate! Don't go swinging a hammer on a full stomach, you little—!"
But he trailed off as Martha's hand gently touched his arm.
"Let him go," she said, her voice soft.
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the fading footsteps and the creak of the forge door.
"If we'd had children… they'd be about his age now," she murmured.
Harry looked at her and sighed.
"Martha…"
Back in the workshop, Shin leaned against the anvil, his chest rising and falling as he stared at the flickering forge flames.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
Warmth, kindness… connection.
He hadn't asked for any of it. But now that he had it, he couldn't pretend it didn't matter.
These people were good. They deserved better than what was coming.
And if he couldn't change the course of history…
Then he would at least be strong enough to protect the ones who mattered.
He picked up the hammer once more, his grip tighter than before, his expression sharp and determined.
"Let's keep going."
Ding!
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