That morning, the air in the workshop hung heavy. Garrick, usually a man of restless energy, looked defeated as he slumped over his workbench. In front of him lay a mechanical device designed with exquisite precision: a Grappling Gun.
"I don't get it, Son," Garrick sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Shinra rejected the prototype outright. The Weapons Development Department called it 'garbage' with zero tactical value."
Johnny set down his wrench, fixing his sharp gaze on the device. "At least you tried, Dad. Besides, the maintenance contract for the lower barracks is enough to keep us fed for a year."
"It's not about the money, Johnny." Garrick massaged his temples. "I had an ambition that this tool could save lives. But to Shinra, if it doesn't explode or kill on a massive scale, it's useless."
Johnny picked up the device, spinning it in his hand to test its balance. It was flawless. "Actually, this tool is incredible, Dad. The problem isn't the function; it's who you're trying to sell it to."
Garrick looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You tried selling this to Shinra's regular infantry. They rely on numbers and heavy weaponry. That was a mistake," Johnny said, a thin, stoic smile playing on his lips—a look far more mature than his years. " Adrenaline junkies in Wall Market would love this, but they're broke. Avalanche or thieves might need it for mobility, but I refuse to give them power."
Johnny looked toward the center of the city, at the massive Shinra Building piercing the clouds. "There is one unit in Shinra that operates in the shadows. They don't need big explosions; they need speed, infiltration, and verticality among the skyscrapers of Midgar."
"Who?" Garrick asked hesitantly.
"The Turks," Johnny answered simply. "I'll sell it to them, Dad. Leave the marketing to me. Let me show them how this little toy can change the way a field agent works."
(This would become the precursor to the future Grappling Guns; in the original version, however, the grappling guns never sold well under Johnny's father.)
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That afternoon, Johnny took Aerith to the lot next to his father's workshop.
The small house, which a year ago had been nothing but a rotting wooden skeleton, now stood solid and proud. The walls were painted a warm cream—Marilla's choice—while the roof had been installed by Johnny himself with a lifetime leak-proof guarantee. The windows were wide, letting in the rare natural light of the slums.
Johnny slid the key into the front door. It clicked smoothly—a testament to Garrick's precision engineering.
"Come in," Johnny said, his voice now a deeper baritone than it was a year ago.
Aerith stepped inside. The room was still sparsely furnished, but it was spotless. There was a long, handmade sofa in the living room and a round dining table for four. In the kitchen, Johnny had installed a late-model gas stove he had refurbished from Shinra scrap.
"This..." Aerith ran her hand gently along the back of the sofa. "Is this your house, Johnny?"
"Our house... I mean, for the future," Johnny corrected quickly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Dad said I should prepare it from now. It's all paid off. I wired the electricity myself—free for life."
Seeing Aerith smile, Johnny continued with renewed enthusiasm. "I also plan to buy that vacant lot near your house, Aerith. Right next to the Leaf Orphanage. The land is spacious, the lighting is good, and flowers would definitely grow there. We could design it to look just like Mother Elmyra's house."
Aerith's eyes sparkled. She stepped closer, resting her forehead against Johnny's broad chest. "Thank you so much, Johnny."
"For you, I would give anything, Aerith," Johnny whispered.
Aerith pulled back and spun slowly in the center of the room, her pink skirt flaring out. Her eyes drifted, imagining herself cooking in that kitchen, or simply sitting on the sofa waiting for Johnny to come home from work.
"It's wonderful, Johnny," she whispered. "It feels... safe."
perched atop the kitchen cupboards, Puck and Ivalera swung their tiny legs.
"Look at that," Ivalera whispered with a mischievous grin. "They look just like newlyweds surveying their first home."
Puck chuckled, but his laughter quickly faded. He stared out the window, looking up at the Upper Plate that blotted out the sky.
"It's a nice house," Puck muttered, his tone turning serious. "It would be a shame if it were destroyed by Meteor or the madness of that Silver-Haired Man. The Boss has to be really strong to protect this roof."
Johnny's sharp ears caught the whisper. His jaw tightened. He would ensure that future never came to pass.
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Later that evening, they returned to the Sector 5 Church.
The air was humid, and Johnny finally remove his leather jacket. Aerith couldn't help but stare. The tight black tank top Johnny wore revealed the incredible definition of his arms and back—muscle built from years of swinging a massive sword.
When Johnny lifted a heavy water barrel with one hand as if it were made of cotton, Aerith felt her face heat up.
"Johnny..." she called out softly.
"Hm?" Johnny turned. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Aerith swallowed hard. "You... you've grown so big in these three years. I have to look up until my neck hurts just to see your face."
Johnny chuckled, a low sound that rumbled in his chest. He walked over and bent down, bringing his face level with hers—a new habit of his.
"So your neck doesn't hurt," Johnny said softly.
Aerith's face turned as red as a ripe tomato. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Thump... Thump...
"Cheater," Aerith squeaked, turning her face away. "Don't be so cool."
Johnny smiled faintly. He gently touched the ruby ring on Aerith's finger, which still sparkled cleanly.
"Tomorrow, I have a job on the Upper Plate," Johnny reported. "Shinra needs a technician to fix the ventilation in the Trooper Dorms. The pay is good enough to buy a new refrigerator."
"Be careful," Aerith said, holding Johnny's large hand in hers. "Don't get into any fights."