The workshop smelled of oil and steel, a sharp tang that clung to Mei's nose the moment she stepped inside. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, sparks occasionally popping from the far end where her uncle Jian worked on a gate for a client.
Mei swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how out of place she looked—small in her hoodie and jeans, sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor.
Her uncle glanced up from behind his protective mask. With a single motion, he flipped it up, revealing his amused smile.
"You actually came."
Mei straightened. "Of course I did."
He set down his torch, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked toward her. "I half-expected you to call me this morning and cancel. You hate dirt. You hate heat. You hate noise."
Mei's cheeks flushed, but her chin lifted. "I hate giving up more."
Uncle Jian barked a laugh. "That's the spirit. Alright, Little Flame—let's get you dressed properly."
---
Minutes later, Mei was swimming in oversized protective gear: a thick leather jacket, heavy gloves, and a welding mask that made her head bob with the weight.
Hana, who had insisted on tagging along, snapped a photo from the corner. "You look like a medieval knight who got lost in the wrong century."
"Shut up," Mei muttered, though her lips twitched into a nervous smile.
Her uncle handed her a welding torch, his eyes serious now. "This isn't a toy. Respect the flame, and it'll respect you. Lose focus, and it'll burn you faster than you can blink."
Mei nodded, gripping the handle tightly.
"Good. Let's start simple. Draw a straight bead." He guided her to a piece of scrap metal clamped to the workbench. "Just focus on control. Don't think about art yet."
---
Her hands shook as she positioned the torch. The first hiss of flame startled her, making her flinch. Heat blasted her face through the mask.
"Steady," Jian instructed, his hand gently steadying her elbow. "Breathe. The fire listens to patience, not panic."
Mei tried again. Sparks showered, bright and fierce. The sound was harsh, like lightning tearing through the air. The torch carved a jagged, uneven line across the steel.
She lifted the mask, heart pounding. "That's… awful."
Jian chuckled, examining the messy bead. "That's called a beginning. No one masters fire on the first try."
Mei looked at the ugly line, then back at her uncle. Slowly, she smiled. "Then I'll just keep trying."
---
Hours passed in a blur of sparks. Her arms ached, her gloves were smudged black, and sweat clung to her hair under the heavy mask. But each attempt grew a little straighter, a little smoother.
When she finally pulled off the mask, her face was flushed but her eyes burned bright.
Hana handed her a water bottle, shaking her head. "You're insane. But… you look happy."
Mei took a long drink, staring at the glowing steel on the workbench. For the first time, she could almost see it—not just scraps of practice metal, but the future: the armor plates of Glamrock Roxanne, forged with her own hands.
Her uncle clapped her shoulder. "Not bad for a rookie. Come back tomorrow, and we'll make something real."
Mei's smile widened, sweat and exhaustion forgotten. "I'll be here."
And deep down, she knew: the fire inside her burned hotter than the sparks on the steel.