the student crafting guide [open to 2]

Day two of upgrades started soundly. He took care to leave the house while his friends were asleep, rendering the commute a smooth one. Since the armory was his most frequented zone, passing through the gates didn't stir up another round of navigational panic. So instead of fretting over how to find his way around the base, excitement bubbled up inside him at what was to come.

The number of little rascals who kamikazed out of his bag: zero. The number of soldiers he had to ask for directions to the explosives facility: three. The number of times he made Mr. Shinichi repeat his safety spiel: five.

The number of bombs he walked out with: twenty.

After his initial experiment yielded mixed results, he decided he was ready to kick it up a notch. The engineers disagreed. Rather than supply a high schooler with twenty packs of instant death, they offered him the baby versions.

Narrower radius, lower force, and not as lethal. A nasty burn was the most someone could get. More astute recipients might have turned their noses at these glorified firecrackers, but Kutsu felt beyond dazzled to be gifted with such samples.

Nothing could wipe the grin off his face. A couple of military staff turned their heads and pointed out, in hushed voices, the dork holding a box labeled "FRAGILE." He was ready to burst, both in excitement and on the field. Potential energy rivaling that of his new gadgets, Kutsu didn't have the capacity to wait a second longer.

He halted, then knelt, lowering the cardboard as gingerly as he could. As he shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, he flipped the whole thing upside-down and let a squadron of tan teddy bears rain down, spilling and bouncing over the pavement. A few spritzes later, they all stood upright in a four by five grid, each no bigger than a size 12 shoe in men's, front legs by their side while they awaited further orders.

"Alright everybody, you've got new toys," he whispered, enthusiasm all but dribbling down his chin. He nodded to the box before them. "One per soldier. We're gonna head to the blast site and try them out, okay buddies?" In synchronized army fashion, they responded with ardent salutes.

Sadly, his fortune swiftly dipped. As he picked up the cardboard, one of the flaps slipped from his fingers, rotating the entire thing downward. An assortment of shapes tumbled onto the ground in deep clatters.

His heart stopped. He spent his last drop of luck on preventing any explosives from setting off. Thank heavens for robust military technology. Face flushing and shame swelling, the sent a hasty order to his partners to help clean up the immediate mess before chasing down one of the rolling spheres himself.

One broken sweat later, the elusive weapon returned to his clutches, but when he looked back, an image of his own tombstone filled his vision.

Where did everyone go?

He accompanied his drawn out groan with a slap to the forehead. He must've run too far, yanking his radius of control out from beneath their cotton paws. They were kind enough to leave behind the fallen box, but none of them could resist snagging a bomb for the getaway. His gaze swept wildly across the current scene.

There, several meters away, scampering to the other side. One of his stuffed sidekicks was making a beeline toward two lads engrossed in their books. "Watch out!" shouted Kutsu, waving his arms while sprinting toward the innocent bystander. "It's holding a bomb!"

His teddy bear pounced at the long-haired brunette, cresting at waist height, a flash of sun glinting off the metal clamped between its jaws. He had to reign it in, or else someone could get hurt.

"Sourdough, freeze!"

No response. "Pita? Rye? Whole Wheat?"

Oh bother. Why, oh why had he made this batch all identical? He knew why. They were supposed to be expendables, test dummies, noble sacrifices for the good of science. Why customize them when they'd get set aflame?

Never again would he fall prey to cold-blooded pragmatism. This was the price of a hardened heart.

---

When emotions lurched from high to low then back to high again, the personal boundaries conditioned in him were oftentimes neglected. The boy's face grew stiff in mild discomfort, reminding him bluntly that hugs, by and large, weren't everyone's favorite move. He was hit by a clearing throat to stress the severity of his mistake. A diplomatic device, gentle on the surface yet tinged with impatience beneath, made it clear. Back up a step. Two more, or three, so the air could be normal again. Politely distanced, he caught a turn of the eye, a glance to his left, understood now after years of occurrence. He summarized the source with a tap to his scar. "Fireworks." And more, if asked.

The recipient of his embrace recovered quite well, taking in stride the bizarre interruption. He was glad to have added excitement just now, but a boring afternoon meant a safe one. Debris fluttered down in sad, small pieces, enough to warrant an image check. He started, not expecting a tug so faint yet effective at showcasing the remains of destruction. His hand swept through his hair once more to rid himself of evidence. For someone who seemed not fond of proximity, the boy didn't hesitate to brush away lint. It wasn't annoying or anything, not even remotely so. It just made Kutsu wonder what kind of person he was. His introduction helped a little bit. A student like him. Same year, different class. He laughed embarrassedly at the sage advice. "Yeah, without a doubt, I overestimated myself today. Maybe I'll have better luck next year." That is, assuming he'd still be welcome then. On the horizon was a permanent line on his record that said, "Permanently banned from military grounds."

Perhaps if his antics were sanctioned by officials, then everything would blow over okay. He took Yojin's hand and adopted a grimace. "Blast testing. I mean, the engineers know. I think." Up and down, a brusque return of gesture, names to faces and niceties exchanged. He'd almost forgotten his school offered a non-hero track. Since their respective curricula overlapped so little, the student standing before him was the first he'd met from that course. "They're 'samples.' Still dangerous, but not lethal. At least," he gulped. "That's what they told me." He hadn't gotten a closer look at the one that went off above them. It really was hard to judge. Furthermore, he didn't want to make any excuses for himself. A trip to the hospital still resulted in misery, and he needed to do all he could to avoid that outcome.

His head hung low at Masaki's reproach. New tears threatened to fall. But for the sake of the potential victims-to-be, their safety and health, their wits, he'd shoulder the burden. "Let's check the one that went off over there," he decided, pointing slightly past the brick structure. Motioning to follow, he hurried toward it, rounded a pair of corners, until they encountered a scene so nonsensical, it rivaled that of a poorly-rated children's movie.

He counted eighteen. Eighteen beige-colored teddy bears, backs to each other, surrounded on all sides by soldiers whose rifles pointed center at the flock. Rather than freeze in terror, the cotton creatures climbed over each other trying to escape the circle, wriggling like a bowl of worms. The only thing saving them from getting shredded by bullets was the fear that a bad shot would detonate a deadly chain reaction.

Both hands clapped over his mouth in unbounded delight. Even as directionless zombies, they stuck together! Such overwhelming friendship. Their bonds must've stretched beyond his superhuman influence. What were the odds they were more than puppets, as Masaki had earlier crudely put it? He chuckled. Spirits, as fun a concept as they were, didn't apply to his handcrafted creations, though it would have been a dream come true. No, it was luck that had brought them together, amassing themselves into one convenient horde.

"Everyone, drop it!" They were within earshot and within range. Collectively addressed, the plushies ceased their tomfoolery and did as told, letting the sampler platter of explosives clatter off-beat to the ground. He held his breath. No booms yet. "Do you either of you know how to disarm a bomb?" He looked back at the two students who'd graciously volunteered to help. "Those are motion-activated. I don't know if it's safe to pick them up." His plushies had, after all, been dancing around with them in their paws, and he really, really didn't want to jostle them further.

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