Morning came.
The old man stepped into the workshop and froze.
Shun was passed out on the floor, using a sack as a pillow. Burn marks on his clothes. Soot on his face. Still gripping the hammer.
The old man's eyes moved.
The sickle.
He slowly picked it up.
It looked as good as new… no—better.
It felt heavier in his hand, like it had something new in it—of course it did. It's fucking Shun we're talking about.
"Ho ho…"
The old man was hyped up.
He gave it a careful swing, feeling the balance settle perfectly in his grip.
The old man looked at Shun again and whispered a quiet "thank you."
He turned and was about to head out to the fields…
"Ah—am I loud?" the old man asked when he heard Shun stir. "You could've slept a little more."
"Nah… I'm good," Shun replied, rubbing his eyes. "You heading out?"
"Yeah. I still need to finish trimming the grass on my field."
As the old man turned, Shun's eyes caught a glimpse of it—
The sickle.
The one he repaired.
The old man's fingers wrapped around the handle.
Shun's eyes slowly lit up.
"…Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
Shun followed the old man back to his fields.
"Not gonna lie…" the old man kept glancing at the sickle in his hand, examining it again and again.
"You did great repairing this," he said. "Are you a blacksmith?"
Shun paused.
"…In a way," he answered, his tone dipping low. "Kinda."
He didn't explain further.
Instead, he shrugged it off and shifted his focus to the field—
to the grass,
to the sickle's performance.
The old man started swinging the sickle through the grass.
Whuush.
"Hoh…" The old man grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is… damn, it's sharp. Thank you, kid. Now I won't spend the entire day clearing this mess."
Hohoh… Shun grinned. "Did you know you can clear this whole field in… an hour?"
"Wut?" The old man froze mid-swing, eyes wide.
"Yeeaaassss!" Shun shouted. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind the old man.
"If you pull here…" He pointed at the end of the knob.
"This one right here?" The old man tugged at it.
"?"
Nothing happened.
Shun tilted his head, smirking. "Hmm… maybe you didn't pull hard enough."
The old man grunted and yanked again. Still… nothing.
Shun rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, and started fiddling with the sickle himself, making it hum slightly in his hands.
The old man just blinked, confused as fuck, realizing Shun wasn't done showing off.
"Err? What's that supposed to do again?" the old man asked, eyeing the sickle suspiciously.
Clang.
The handle of the sickle popped out a little.
Srrkkk…
Slap.
A thin elastic rope shot out and wrapped itself around the old man's hand.
"What the hell—"
Something on the blunt edge of the sickle blade started sparking.
"Oiii kid… what is this—"
The sparks grew brighter, crackling in the air, forcing the old man to step sideways… then spin… then move in a full circle…
"FUUUUCKK! FUCKKK!Turn this off!" the old man screamed, flailing as the sickle yanked him into a weird spinning motion.
The grass around him shredded like confetti.
Shun just stood there, eyes wide, then pumped his fist into the air.
"Success," he muttered, voice dead serious.
"Da… da fuck do you mean success?!" The old man was now officially a beyblade grass-cutting machine, spinning like he'd been possessed.
Shun tilted his head, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Looks perfect to me…"
"ARG! GODDAMN MY BACK!" the old man shouted, still spinning in a blur.
Shun sighed, nodding proudly, he threw his arms wide open, chest lifted, head tilted slightly back.
"Yeah… perfect."
The grass was gone. Completely.
And the old man? Still spinning.
After a few minutes, the fire powering the sickle sputtered out.
Sparks fizzled like tiny dying stars.
The old man was barely hanging on, sweat dripping from his face, muscles trembling.
The strap holding the sickle to his hand loosened slightly.
"Oii… geezer," Shun called, leaning forward, eyes sharp.
"What…" the old man barked, glaring.
"You… you might wanna throw the sickle as high as you can," Shun muttered, voice calm but edged with chaos.
"Fuck off," the old man growled, teeth gritted.
"It's gonna blow up—" Shun cut in
The word "blow" snapped something in the old man's head. With a grunt and a wild shove, he hurled the sickle as high as he could.
It hit its peak.
BOOM!
Flames, smoke, a shockwave that rattled the ground. The old man froze, mouth open, eyes wide.
"Are you trying to fucking kill me, you bastard?!" he shouted, rage and disbelief blending into one.
Shun pumped his fists, grin wild, adrenaline rushing through him.
"Success," he yelled
"IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR FUCKING BRAIN!!" the old man screeched.