The Titan Tools Club was less of a guild hall and more of a repurposed industrial workshop.
Located just across a muddy patch of lawn from Hearthline, its corrugated metal walls were perpetually vibrating with the sounds of grinding, welding, and heavy machinery. The air smelled of hot metal, ozone, and burnt grease.
As Izen, Kael, and Elara approached, the massive bay door of the workshop screeched open. A cloud of thick, black smoke billowed out, smelling vaguely of charred meat.
From within the smoke, a figure emerged. He was enormous, built like a vending machine with a head. His thick arms, covered in grease stains and tattoos of gears and pistons, were as big as Elara's entire torso. He wore a heavy leather blacksmith's apron over a grease-stained tank top, and a pair of welding goggles were pushed up on his bald head.
This was Grit Hark, Captain of the Titan Tools Club, Rank 71.
He spotted the trio from Hearthline and a slow, mocking grin spread across his face. He was holding what looked like a t-bone steak, except it was the size of a manhole cover and had been seared with a pattern that looked suspiciously like a tire tread.
"Well, well, well," Grit boomed, his voice like rocks in a cement mixer. "If it ain't the Soup Kitchen Squad. What're you cryin' about today, Kael? Run out of wilted lettuce?"
His cronies inside the workshop let out a chorus of gruff laughter.
Kael shrank back, intimidated, but Izen stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"You're Grit Hark?" Izen asked politely.
"That's me," Grit said, taking a massive bite of the steak and chewing with his mouth open. "And you must be the new circus act everyone's talkin' about. The 'Garbage Man.' Heard you made a judge cry. Must've been from food poisoning."
More laughter.
"The Hearthline Guild is invoking the Right of Reclamation," Izen stated calmly, cutting through the mockery. "We are officially challenging the Titan Tools Club to a Ladder duel for the 71st rank."
The laughter died instantly.
Grit Hark stopped chewing. He slowly lowered the giant steak and stared at Izen as if he'd just sprouted a second head.
"You're… what?" he growled, disbelieving.
"He's challenging you!" Elara squeaked, finding a sudden burst of courage from standing behind Izen.
Grit's disbelief morphed into a wide, predatory grin. He looked at Kael, who was pale and sweating. "Are you serious, noodle-arms? You know the rules. You lose, you forfeit an asset. And you losers don't have any assets. The only thing I could take from you is your charter."
"We know the stakes," Izen said.
Grit let out a booming laugh. He turned to his guild members. "Did you hear that, boys?! The Soup Kitchen wants to bet their entire existence on a cook-off against us!"
The workshop erupted in jeers.
"It's a suicide pact!"
"I could beat them with a blowtorch and a frozen pizza!"
Grit turned back, his expression smug and cruel. "Look, Garbage Man. As fun as it would be to bulldoze your little shack, a win against you guys gives me, like, one Ladder point. It's a waste of my time. Challenge denied."
He was about to turn and walk away, dismissing them completely.
"We'll add to the wager," Izen said, his voice stopping Grit in his tracks.
Grit turned back slowly, a single eyebrow raised. "Oh? And what could you possibly offer me? Your collection of moldy bread crusts?"
Izen ignored the insult. "If you win, you get our charter, as per the rules. But if we win," he said, his voice steady, "we get your rank… and your guild's entire surplus ingredient allotment for the next month."
The members of the Titan Tools Club, who had been laughing, suddenly fell silent. Their ingredient allotment, while not as good as the top-tier guilds, was ten times what Hearthline received. It was a substantial prize.
Grit's eyes narrowed. This was no longer just about squashing the weakest guild. This was about profit. But the wager was still one-sided. Their charter for his food? It wasn't enough.
"You got guts, kid, I'll give you that. But your bet is still unbalanced," Grit rumbled. "You're betting something you're about to lose anyway against a real, tangible resource of mine. I need a better reason to accept."
"What if I add myself to the bet?" Izen said.
The air grew still. Kael and Elara stared at Izen in horror.
"What do you mean?" Grit asked, his interest now fully piqued.
"If Hearthline loses," Izen said, his gaze unwavering, "not only do you get our charter, but I will personally join the Titan Tools Club. I will become your guild's private chef, your chief engineer, your personal tool-modder… your servant. For the rest of the school year."
The offer hung in the air, stunning everyone into silence.
Kael grabbed Izen's arm. "Izen-san, no! You can't!"
Grit Hark stared at Izen, his mind racing. He had seen the clips. He'd heard the rumors about "Residual Alchemy." The boy was a freak, but he was a freak who had humiliated Reign Voltagrave. To have that kind of bizarre genius under his command… to have the 'God of Garbage' working in his kitchen, modifying his equipment, creating dishes that could make judges weep…
The potential was enormous. It was a ticket to the upper echelons of the Ladder. The risk was losing a month's worth of food. The reward was owning a legend.
Grit's smug, mocking grin returned, but this time it was sharp as a shard of steel. He had him. The fool had just wagered himself into servitude.
"Alright, Garbage Man," Grit boomed, extending a massive, grease-stained hand. "You've got a deal. Tomorrow at noon. The official dueling kitchen, Arena Gamma. The theme will be 'POWER'."
He smirked. "Try bringing your jackhammer to a fight against a plasma cannon."
Izen met his gaze and shook the offered hand. Grit's grip was like a hydraulic press, but Izen didn't flinch.
"We'll be there," Izen said simply.
As Grit and his crew swaggered back into their workshop, already celebrating their future victory, a panicked Kael turned to Izen.
"Izen-san, what have you done?!" he cried. "Their theme is POWER! They're going to cook a whole pig with a jet engine! We can't compete with that! We just bet everything we have!"
Izen just looked back at the dilapidated Hearthline guild hall. He thought of the empty pantry, the fifty meager bowls of soup, and the hungry people they couldn't feed.
He turned to Kael and Elara, and his face was calm, confident, and utterly resolute.
"Don't worry," he said. "Power isn't always about making the biggest fire."