Vesmir felt he'd been tricked; when the giant who could whip a shotgun out of his crotch and tear a security robot apart with his bare hands asked if he wanted to learn a few skills, he nodded without hesitation.
He originally thought this giant would teach him something like shooting or close-quarters combat, at least some technique for training muscle.
So why… was there a giant basin of flour in front of him? And why was there a white-haired robot in a red jacket beside them, watching with great interest like a mechanical lion?
"I thought you were going to teach me how to fight…" Vesmir's face twisted bitterly; he was certain he'd been duped.
"Seems I didn't express myself clearly enough." Ignis took a container of preserved minced meat from the fridge. "But are you really planning to be some sort of gang leader? Wolf Gang? That naming sense is awful."
Having his self-chosen gang name insulted made the boy blush. Honestly, he also felt the name was terrible… but his brothers liked it.
"I've got a lot of brothers under me now. I can make something of myself around here." The boy looked at the slip of paper the giant handed him. He recognized most of the words—they were all seasonings.
"I didn't come here to learn how to cook. I saw a blacksmith workshop behind you, and a certificate from the Blacksmith Association on your wall. Can't you teach me how to forge blades?"
Ignis didn't answer and instead pointed at the recipe in the boy's hand. "Of course I can. But do you have money to buy the tools? High-grade steel isn't cheap either. How are you planning to earn that money? Even if you collect protection fees, it'll take time. And if you get into fights, who's paying for your boys' medical bills?"
"Ignis bought all this equipment with a loan from Boss Nicole back then. It's been paid off now, but the sum was really expensive. And steel after that? Ignis always bought it himself. High-quality ether-alloy material is definitely not cheap." Billy added from the side, tapping a string of numbers into his phone and showing it to Vesmir.
The boy, whose education had been… let's say severely lacking, stared at the row of zeros for a long time before he could even count them.
Seeing the boy's defeated expression, Ignis showed no particular reaction. Their gang hadn't gone down the wrong path yet—at least they hadn't touched prostitution, gambling, or drugs. Most of them were still teenagers; still salvageable. Rather than letting the Public Security discipline them as adults later, Ignis felt it was better to teach them an actual trade now.
Factories nearby changed shifts early in the morning, and Ignis often heard workers complaining that there was nothing to eat. The factory breakfast was expensive and tasted awful. So the Salamander—Ignis—figured this could be a business opportunity. A small breakfast cart selling steamed buns, mantou, and porridge would be a good start.
And those items weren't difficult. With Ignis supervising the whole process, a smart and strong teenager could learn in three to five days.
"You're not at the age yet… when the law finally smacks you in the head, that's when it really hurts." Ignis pushed the basin of dough toward the boy. "Thank Emile Volt. He told me you're not a bad kid at heart—just prideful and impulsive. So I want to teach you a way to survive. Unless you plan on being a useless street punk forever?"
"Add water—half the weight of the flour, like the recipe says." Ignis handed him a large measuring jug.
Vesmir was reluctant, but he still went to get drinking water.
"But I'm the only one who'll know how to do this." Vesmir stared at the slowly rising water level. He'd never been this nervous even in chemistry class.
Ignis had of course considered this. Vesmir would be the signal, the example. If he succeeded, the others would follow.
"Relax. Once you learn it and really earn money, your boys will definitely want to learn too." Ignis folded his arms. "Trust me—being a gangster doesn't require brains, and that's why they stay nobodies forever. Illegal work will get you killed sooner or later. I've seen a lot of gangs eventually transform into legitimate businesses. Food service is the most common."
"Steaming buns is basic. But if you really want to learn, I'll teach you everything I know." The Salamander knew cooking extremely well—he loved both eating and making food.
"Meat buns, roasted cold noodles, grilled squid, chicken rice, shawarma—if you've got the guts, I'll teach you everything I can. Give you and your boys real skills for a living."
The boy struggled carrying the huge bucket of water back.
"But this… doesn't sound cool at all. And according to my old man, cooking is women's work. Men shouldn't be doing this." The boy poured the water into the basin. Ignis added the pre-activated yeast water and began kneading the dough with his hands.
"I'm sure your old man isn't half the man Ignis is." Billy patted the Salamander's thick arm. "Only a true head of the household decides what's for dinner. Even Boss Nicole can't interfere."
"That's because you're all picky eaters." Ignis shaped the dough and pushed the basin toward Vesmir. "Try it. Like I did."
The boy rolled up his sleeves and tried kneading the dough like the giant. But it was not nearly as easy as imagined—this dough weighed nearly ten pounds. Trying to round and flatten it like Ignis took serious strength.
Seeing Vesmir quickly break into sweat and start panting, Ignis finally realized he'd once again forgotten to account for the difference between himself and mortals.
But the boy refused to give up. Even red-faced, his hands never stopped moving. The dough slowly took shape under his folding, pressing, and kneading—gluten strands even began to show.
"Not easy, right?" Ignis nodded. "If you're not strong enough, you can't handle even the kneading. But you've got grit—I like that stubbornness."
"I started the gang because I wanted people to see that even if we can't go to school, we can still make a name for ourselves. Make people respect us." The boy flattened the dough and then balled it up in another direction.
"And has anyone respected you?" Billy stabbed him with the question.
The boy's silence said everything. No one respected street punks. People only avoided trouble, and the law usually went easy on them—unless they committed major crimes, they just got 'educated'.
"So, learn a trade. Create your own value. Show people why you deserve respect. If your buns taste great, they'll come begging to buy from you every day." Ignis encouraged him. "If you succeed, bring along your boys. I'll teach them too. If you want to learn anything else, I'll teach you that as well."
"Including forging blades?" The boy wiped sweat from his forehead, still working.
"Of course. When you can afford materials and equipment, I'll teach you with no reservations."
"But I don't even have the basic funds. I can't afford any of this." The boy muttered. Most of their money was spent on cigarettes, drinks, and phone credit.
Ignis had already planned for this. What these kids lacked most was the first investment. He was ready to be their angel investor.
"I'll build your breakfast cart. I'll cover your first week of material costs too. Don't worry about anything—just learn. After you learn to make buns, you'll also need to learn how to shout to attract customers."
Such kindness left the boy overwhelmed. Everyone else had given up on them, declaring them hopeless. But this giant—whom he'd only met a few times, who was technically the protector of the kid they'd bullied—should have been their enemy. Yet he helped them without holding back.
"Why…?"
"I told you—I don't want to see you walk down the wrong path. When you're young, you think passion alone can conquer the world. I want you and your friends to learn real skills, not remain hot-headed street kids who know nothing. Maybe you think it's cool now… but in ten years? You won't stay young forever. Some of your friends think I'm just preaching, but you're smart. You know these aren't empty words."
"My investment in your cart and ingredients isn't free. If you make money, you're paying it back. Treat it like a loan." Ignis took the dough—Vesmir's technique had started breaking down from exhaustion.
"A real skill—earning money with your own hands—that's what's truly cool." Ignis nudged the boy's sore arm with his elbow. "This job takes arm strength."
"You want to learn to use blades? Let me tell you—chefs also live by the blade. A good chef's arm strength is no joke."
The boy fell silent, watching every movement Ignis made.
Vesmir wasn't stupid. He knew everything Ignis said was true. No one had ever respected them—only mocked them or instinctively avoided them. They formed a gang just to rely on each other… none of them genuinely liked violence. But staying home meant nagging, and being outside alone was boring.
If he could learn a trade—really make money—maybe his mother's frown would relax, and his father's tense expression would ease.
Someone was willing to teach him a craft at no cost—and even invest in his business. There was no reason not to learn.
Vesmir made up his mind. He would learn properly—and then bring all his boys to this strange giant to learn even more.
He watched Ignis closely and even asked if he could film the process. Ignis agreed readily. Billy excitedly ran off and returned with a camera—judging from the design, it was probably a Starlight Knight collaboration model.
While the Salamander prepared the filling, he explained the ratio of each seasoning. The boy not only watched carefully—he compared everything to the recipe in his hand. He even thought that if he had paid this much attention in class back then… things might have been different.
People only realize what they've lost when it's gone.
The boy learned quickly. Making buns wasn't easy—if your fingers weren't nimble, you couldn't fold nice pleats or seal them neatly.
Fortunately, Ignis had prepared ten pounds of flour today. The dough weighed fifteen pounds in total. At one ounce of dough per bun, that was about 150 attempts to get it right.
He failed a few times at first, but under the Salamander's patient guidance, he quickly improved. From crooked, shapeless lumps to increasingly neat buns.
While the three men worked in the kitchen, Nicole returned with the two female members of the Cunning Hares. They had visited an orphanage today, bringing snacks and fruit, along with a swing set Ignis had welded.
Nicole had wanted to complain—why did he carve a double-headed eagle on the swing? Ignis had originally planned a winged skull, but since it was for children, he switched to the Imperial Aquila. Much safer than a skull.
The women were stunned by the dining table piled full of buns. How long would it take to eat all this?
"Tomorrow we can send some to the kids at the orphanage. And this brat will take some home." Ignis stacked the steaming baskets on the boiling pot.
"And who's this kid?" Unlike Anby and Nekomata—who only cared about food—Nicole first noticed Vesmir.
"Vesmir Forson. Emile's friend." Ignis introduced him while placing the baskets full of buns on the steamer. "Remember—after the steam rises, steam for fifteen to twenty minutes. Don't take them out immediately. Let them sit for two or three minutes. If the temperature difference is too big, the skin collapses and looks ugly."
"Ignis's first apprentice." Billy explained. "A disciple of the culinary path now… maybe a disciple of the smithing path later."
Apprentice? Nicole remembered this kid as the leader of a newly formed gang nearby. Had her adoptive son started… vocational training?
Teaching these brats how to make buns was fine. But blacksmithing? Was Ignis planning to teach them how to make guns and bombs too? One Ignis was headache enough.
"Ignis." Nicole's voice grew extremely serious. "You're not allowed to teach him how to make bombs!"
"…Huh?" Vesmir froze. Bombs??