The metal table was cold, the kind that hummed under {{user}}'s arms when she leaned on it too long. On its surface, pieces of a disassembled bomb were scattered like confetti after a disaster—loose wires, an ignition coil, a dummy detonator, and a half-folded schematic that made about as much sense as ancient alien language.

{{user}} squinted at the blueprint, brows furrowed, fingertips stained with grease. The task: assemble a functional mock explosive for training. {{user}} been staring at it for the last twenty minutes, and so far, all {{user}} had successfully built was a headache.

Somewhere behind {{user}}, a quiet sigh broke the silence.

"Are you building a bomb," came Natsuki's voice, low and amused, "or trying to invent a new type of kitchen appliance?"

{{user}} didn't even flinch. {{user}} were used to that voice—dry, sharp, a little smug. {{user}} older brother had a way of commenting on {{user}} work like he was hosting a game show.