God Of Crafting

"By my sixteenth birthday, I was running all sorts of errands for my uncle, hardly ever finding time to go to school or have dinner with my family. At that point, it was also no longer a secret I was working for him, putting a huge strain on my relationship with my father."

This was, without a doubt, the least pleasant part of the whole story.

Not the part where I nearly went to jail over some misunderstanding, manipulation, and advancing from a gofer to a fall guy.

Not the part where I became a menace to anyone who dared to talk with me as all the money I earned under my uncle turned me into something much worse than just a spoiled brat - a spoiled young adult.

It was the part where my naive, arrogant, and self-serving actions created a rift in my family nearly strong enough to tear it into pieces.

That part of the story, however, I wasn't yet ready to talk to Claire about. And in all honesty, those details didn't really matter for her, for they were of no greater influence over my past itself.

"The situation continued all the way to the day when, as I was about to return from a job to get paid, I just happened to listen up to the conversation my uncle had with one of his mistresses."

By now, we'd reached the doors to the mansion, prompting me to turn silent as we went inside, and greeted the hard-working staff at the main hall before moving to the private areas that the staff only had access to when we weren't there.

A solution that was apparently perfectly common for people on Chihiro's level of wealth, allowing one to clearly dictate when they were willing to socialize with their service workers and when they wanted to spend time in private.

It wasn't until we reached that private part of the mansion and sat down in the freshly cleaned living room that I sorted my thoughts to the point where I could finally start talking again.

"As it turned out, most of the jobs I was doing were of absolutely no significance. What I thought to be missions vital to one of my uncle's many businesses turned out to be merely a facade," I spoke out, only to end up muttering at the end.

"What do you mean by that?" Claire asked, squinting her lovely eyes as she struggled to understand my somewhat cryptic words.

"For example, one of the tasks I was often assigned was to move documents or smaller packages from one place to the other," I started to explain, only to quickly raise my hands when I realized how my words sounded just now. "Don't worry, I always could take a look into the package so it's not like I was peddling drugs or something like that. Just… documents, trinkets, and other stuff."

'That's strange,' I thought when I felt as if all the strength left my body, leaving me sitting all powerless on the soft cushions of the living room sofa. It was only by some miracle that the glass of soda in my hand didn't slip out from my now loose fingers.

'I was sure I got over it already, but just look at me right now…'

"Tim…" Claire muttered, a look of worry and concern resurfacing on her face.

"As it turned out, the documents of vital importance turned out to be scraps of paper, often made on the spot by my uncle cutting newspapers into smaller pieces. The trinkets I was bringing over to improve relationships between businesses turned out to be sundries no one actually needed."

"Then, why?" Claire asked before the next dose of silence could turn deafening.

"Just to keep me busy, keep giving me money and keep rubbing it into my father's face how his own sold sided with his uncle over him just because he threw some money in my face and spared a word of praise every now and then."

I took a deep breath.

"It was back then that I understood that all that I did, all the hard work I took such great pride in, was nothing more but a facade, a means for my uncle to strike back at my father.

And sure, the money was great for a young man from an average family like me… But all things considered, it was just another way for me to validate my efforts and prove my father wrong rather than something I actively desired."

At this point, I grew too weary of my own memories to keep going. And so, I focused all of my attention on the heavy task of actually gripping at the glass and then forcing my arm to move up so I could take a sip and soothe my dry throat.

It was a task that, at this specific moment, proved to be a little too much for me.

Thankfully, rather than speaking out in the air for only my ears to hear, I had Claire by my side. Claire who was observant enough to notice my struggle, grasped my glass and then actually helped me take a sip.

"Tim, that's enough. You really don't have to force it…"

"It's okay, that was the worst part of it all, so it's only going to get easier from now on," I replied, somehow mustering enough strength to squeeze back at Claire's hand.

"Back then, I understood what my father meant when bringing up the value of hard work. The value of doing stuff others would actually appreciate, even if I wouldn't get the money to show for it. And after a year of doing my best to fix the rotten parts of my character that I spoiled over the last three years, my dad recommended I join the institution."

At this point, I simply shrugged my shoulders.

"From then on, the story is simple. I went to the institution, banged my fist into the target over and over again, and did everything I could to enter a meditative state. A process that lasted five years, all the way to the point where I was told to give up before getting kicked out of the institution," I explained before taking a deep breath and forcing a small smile on my lips.

"As for my uncle, however, he didn't take my switch lightly. And even three years into my adventure at the institution, he kept trying to convince me to go back to his side."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before shaking my head and then leaning back on the sofa as if I wanted to go to sleep.

"That's why, unless it will be absolutely necessary, I'm not going to call my uncle, even if he now has both the political and monetary power to do as he wishes in this city. And it's not only because it would make me feel like betraying my dad's expectations again, but…" I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side, giving Claire a heavy look.

"But also because his condition for helping me out, is for me to give up on cultivation, to give up on working hard, to… To give up on the one thing my dad taught me that I never crossed."

I took a deep breath before looking away from Claire and up to the ceiling.

"To give up on the idea that working hard… works."

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