The mechanic college, nestled in the heart of Pinecrest's technological district, brimmed with workshops, laboratories, and vast libraries filled with volumes that bridged theoretical science and practical application.
Inside one of the classrooms, metal racks could be seen along the walls stocked with tools, and heavy workbenches lined up in rows. Machines of all kinds filled the room, from a hulking lathe to a sleek 3D printer, each humming quietly in its downtime, giving the whole room an industrial vibe.
Beside these powerful machines stood a tall, wiry man in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair that seemed impervious to the dust and grime around him. His work shirt was neatly rolled at the cuffs, revealing arms crisscrossed with faded scars and burns, each one evidence of countless hours spent at machines and workbenches.
The seasoned machinist faced a bunch of students seated at heavy wooden desks that had clearly seen years of work. work. The faded stains and faint burn marks on their surfaces told stories of past projects, missteps, and breakthroughs.
The air smelled faintly of oil and metal dust, an earthy scent that made the lecture feel grounded and authentic. Posters of old engineering blueprints and complex schematics were pinned to the walls, faded but well-loved, as if to remind the students that each line and angle they drew was part of a larger history,
"Alright, everyone, let's get back to basics," Mr. Lawson announced, his voice somehow filling the space without seeming loud. His tone had a calm authority, one that resonated with the respect of someone who knew his craft.
"Machining and fabrication may seem like simple shaping and assembly," he began, "but each cut, each weld, is deliberate and precise. It's about respecting the material in front of you—whether it's steel, aluminum, or titanium. Treat the metal as something to be molded with care and not brute force."
As he spoke, he walked toward the milling machine, a towering metal beast that seemed to breathe quietly in the corner. His hand rested on its smooth, worn surface, fingers tracing the curves of its base as if it were a cherished relic.
"This," he said, giving the machine a gentle tap, "is more than a tool. This is precision. Every spin, every bit, every angle—it all comes down to control. When you're milling a piece of metal, you're aiming to achieve tolerances sometimes no thicker than a human hair. For those are you that are interested in going the long way, you have to treat it as an art, not just a job."
The students watched, entranced. Some scribbled notes, the scratch of their pencils the only sound in the room, while others sat leaning forward, absorbed in his every word. There was always a joy to be felt when a knowledgeable person was sharing knowledge on a passion of theirs.
Mr. Lawson moved over to the workbench, where various materials lay arranged in tidy rows: sheets of polished aluminum, a block of titanium, small bolts, and welded plates. He held up a thin sheet of aluminum, turning it in his hands so the light glinted off its surface.
"Take this aluminum here. Lightweight, malleable, great for building frames without too much weight. But if you're not careful—" he flexed the sheet slightly, making it creak under the pressure, "—it's as good as scrap. Everything depends on how you work with it, how you respect its limits."
The class watched, enraptured by the simplicity of the demonstration, as he put the aluminum sheet down with a gentle touch, as if it were made of something far more fragile.
Mr. Lawson glanced at the large clock on the wall, and nodded as the bell was about to ring.
"All right folks, we're almost out of time for today. Since this is the last class we'll be having before you all go on holiday for the new year and in order for you to internalize today's lessons, I want each of you to tackle a research project on a specific machining or fabrication technique before resumption."
"Whether it's CNC machining, laser cutting, or even additive manufacturing. Your job is to dive deep, find out the why behind each method. Understand what makes it valuable and why certain materials are chosen for certain processes and and present your findings to the class when we resume after the break. Your paper should be around 5-7 pages, double-spaced, and include at least three references from reputable sources. I want you to explore the advantages and limitations of your chosen technique, as well as its applications in various industries."
A collective groan erupted from the students. Their faces shifted from passive interest to expressions of dismay and boredom. As Mr. Lawson detailed the assignment, hints of whispering and murmuring grew among them. Some of the smarter students immediately started flipping through their notebooks, brainstorming project ideas and discussing the techniques they'd like to explore.
"Remember, precision over speed, quality over quantity." Mr. Lawson added as the bell began to ring and the students gathered their things, leaving in small clusters. "Take your time to understand what you're working with. I'll see you back here next class with some project ideas."
The classroom had nearly emptied, with students filing out in groups, complaining about Mr. Lawson's assignment. Rion hung back, lingering in his seat as he turned his focus from his exiting classmates to the rows of machines filling the room.
To the others, this was ordinary machinery, the base benchmark of precision fabrication on Kalun. But to Rion, it felt almost...quaint.
Mr Lawson's idea of controlling material deviance down to a hair's tolerance wasn't impressive—it was essential. Back on Macipher, even a low level graveyard urchin like him had acesss to a portable fabricator that was capable of churning out complex components with flawless accuracy.
With those devices, he could input a series of specifications, and in mere minutes have a perfectly crafted piece, ready to integrate seamlessly into any system. The machines here, by comparison, were dinosaurs—large, unwieldy, and painfully slow.
It wasn't that this world lacked ingenuity. He'd seen innovations here that had made him pause; pushing boundaries he hadn't encountered even on Macipher. But the discrepancy in fabrication technology made him realize just how limited Kalun was in certain respects.
In many ways, he felt like he was playing a game of catch-up and reinventing the wheel, not just with the technology of this world but also with himself. Each time he poured over texts on local technological innovations or scoured volumes for scientific theories and historical developments at the college library, or attended classes such as this, it was like peering through a murky lens. Concepts that should have been familiar had been twisted, reshaped, or simplified to fit the limitations of this world.
Yet, it was precisely these constraints that intrigued Rion. Watching these machines was like how an archaeologist must feel uncovering ancient ruins—both humbling and fascinating. How did they work? What quirks or principles governed their function? What had driven their creators to make certain design choices? These machines, although primitive by his standards, told a story. Each lever, dial, and gear felt like a relic of a bygone era, revealing glimpses into Kalun's technological evolution.
For Rion, this wasn't just about learning how to use outdated equipment. It was about dissecting and understanding the very mindset behind it. The way engineers here solved problems was so different, shaped by restrictions he would've dismissed as laughable back on Macipher.
And the insights he gained delighted him to no end. It wasn't just about mastery—it was about discovery. After all, if there one thing that transcended his transmigration, it was his insatiable thirst for knowledge, carried over from Adelaide to his new persona as Rion Hale.
It was one of the few threads of continuity that remained intact after the inevitable convergence of both his personalities. He was starting to see potential in these methods, imagining ways to incorporate them into his own designs.
"Oh! You're Still here?" Mr. Lawson's voice broke his trance.
He looked up, slightly startled, and shrugged. "Yeah, guess I got a bit lost in thought. These machines… they're interesting."
Mr. Lawson's face lit up. "Glad to hear it! It's rare these days for students to appreciate the craftsmanship behind these tools. Most just want to rush to the end result without understanding the process."
Rion gave a slight nod. "I get it. I mean, if you don't know what came before, it's hard to truly innovate, right?"
Mr. Lawson's eyes widened, clearly pleased by Rion's response. "Exactly. Understanding the fundamentals is the first step to pushing boundaries. That's a really mature outlook. Ever worked with metal before?"
"A bit," he replied, trying to keep his tone casual. "I, uh, spent some time fixing up old machinery before. Nothing too fancy."
Mr. Lawson gave him an appraising look. "Well, you're certainly not the first to start young. It's a good foundation, especially when we get to more complex work." His eyes glanced toward the milling machine, then back to Rion. "If you can manage to maintain this mindset, I think you could do some impressive things. Just make sure to not burn out in the process."
Rion forced a smile. "Understood. Quality over quantity, right?"
"That's the spirit." Mr. Lawson's expression softened. "There's a patience that metal teaches you if you let it. Go fast, and the material fights back. But go steady, and it works with you."
"Thanks, Mr. Lawson. I'll keep that in mind." With a polite nod, he gathered his bag and slowly walked out of the classroom, still not fully adept at controlling his body.
* * *
Later that night, Rion sat in his modest apartment, the desk in front of him covered in scattered books of different sizes. As he read through the tomes he had borrowed from the library, it felt like piecing together a puzzle.
He had to admit that the textbooks were great. He learned a lot while reading them, though he didn't exactly enjoy handling actual paper books. He was too used to scrolling seamlessly through text that it took a long time for him to get used to discrete pages.
This was just a minor gripe, though.
Naturally, knowledge taught by an able teacher could not replace rote memorization. The books available in the open college library also had its limits. As he checked out the books in the library, he noticed that most focused on the fundamentals and core knowledge. Cutting-edge or top end knowledge was wholly absent from the library. There were also a lot of subjects he was interested in that were missing or wholly inadequate.
In light of this deficiency, his mind worked overtime, bridging gaps between his advanced understanding and the archaic practices this world relied on.
The more he studied, the more he understood the immense untapped potential in their current systems. They didn't yet have the tools or the knowledge to advance at the pace of his old world, but they had something else—a kind of purity in their approach. As he read through the works of renowned scientists in this world, Rion couldn't help but scribble down his own ideas in the margins, refining and rethinking each concept, adding notes and marking the areas where the theories could be expanded or improved.
Rion leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, and the room was now bathed in the faint glow of the small desk lamp, casting shadows across the cluttered pages.
'Still, all most of these theories rely too heavily on outdated methods,' he muttered to himself, tapping his pen on the desk. 'They're so close… but they're just missing that push into the modern realm of possibilities. The existence of origin energy also complicates things.'
There was something invigorating about it, though—like he was standing on the edge of a new frontier. His mind churned with the potential applications and advancements that could be made if only he could bridge the gap between his world's technology and the foundation laid here.
His fingers itched to create, to test his theories in real-time, but he knew that would be difficult. Resources were scarce, and he was already operating on a shoestring budget, saving what little he had to procure essential materials and components.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy white hair. The weight of the books and ideas on his mind was starting to take its toll. He glanced at the clock on his wall—it was well past midnight. His eyes burned from staring at the pages for so long, and despite the excitement churning within him, his body was demanding rest.
'Alright, enough for tonight,' he muttered to himself, setting his pen down. His brain might still be firing on all cylinders, but his body was telling him it was time to recharge. He stood up from his chair, stretching his stiff limbs, and walked to the small window in his room. The cool night air rushed in, briefly clearing the fog in his head.
'Got to get some sleep... tomorrow's a busy day,' he murmured, pushing away the urge to keep going.
With one last look at his scattered notes, he grabbed his bag and stashed the books inside, deciding he'd finish reviewing them later. He flicked off the desk lamp and headed for the bedroom.