The hardware store was efficient.
Early the next morning, he picked up the finished parts.
They had been polished strictly according to the blueprints, with little deviation.
Back home, Ryden began assembling his AK-47-grip, magazine, barrel, sight base, rubber buttpad.
The practice rounds and live ammunition he bought yesterday were already waiting in the lab.
Click.
The magazine went in, a round chambered.
Despite it being his first time handling a firearm, an odd sense of familiarity surfaced, as if this was a skill etched into his bones.
Taking the ammunition and the disassembled parts, he prepared to head out to a distant forest park to test the results.
Ryden had no intention of testing it in his lab.
God knew whether a ricochet would knock him out on the spot.
If he kicked the bucket before even getting the chance to chase girls or experience the world, that would be too embarrassing.
And if he were unlucky enough to end up in hell and meet another reincarnator?
The humiliation would be unbearable.
Ryden already imagined the scene.
"Hey, buddy, how did you die?"
"I conquered an entire nation and died of exhaustion from my daily harem. You?"
"Me? A ricochet killed me while I was testing a gun."
Pfft.
Anyone hearing that would laugh themselves senseless.
Testing in an open field was better-for both reputation and survival.
Orland Park was a public park established long ago, filled with cedar trees and other timber suitable for construction.
Around noon, homeless vagrants could still be seen occupying the best corners.
Even without food, basking in the sun counted as recharging.
Click.
Alone, under numerous ill-intentioned stares, Ryden took out the parts and smoothly assembled them into an AK-47 assault rifle.
The metallic sheen of the receiver made several would-be robbers swallow nervously.
Of course, there were also those unafraid of death, their eyes glinting as they prepared to seize this teenager's belongings.
He looked like a perfect target.
Ryden didn't even aim.
With a cruel grin, he pointed at the vagrants and pulled the trigger.
Magazine loaded. Safety off.
Rat-tat-tat!!!
"Ah!!!"
"Help!!!"
"Madman!!!"
"Murder!!!"
The vagrants were instantly terrified, squatting down and clutching their heads like quails, bodies trembling.
In reality, Ryden didn't kill anyone.
He only put on that expression to scare them.
He wasn't some arch-villain.
There was no reason to slaughter the innocent.
Every bullet slammed into a concrete slab.
From thirty meters away, the thin concrete was riddled with large, jagged holes.
The rifle's power was undeniable.
The recoil was heavy, but the rubber padding on the stock absorbed most of the impact.
Even Ryden could manage it.
A trained adult soldier would have no trouble at all.
The vagrants stared at the clean-cut boy in terror.
That savage grin from moments ago made it feel like they'd encountered a ruthless bandit.
Far too frightening.
When they saw him raise the gun again, they immediately began begging.
"Ah... Boss... sorry... we didn't mean any harm... we were just... looking for food... don't kill us... we have no money..."
"Tch. I don't mean any harm either. I'm just testing my gun."
Ryden mocked them with their own words.
No harm?
He'd believe that when pigs flew, you old geezer.
Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind-and he grabbed it.
Right.
This was the perfect chance to build a gang.
In this world, there was light, and there was darkness.
If there were Avengers, there would naturally be a Legion of Doom.
Heroes on one side. Villains on the other.
Why couldn't he stand in the middle?
He could plant pawns on both sides.
Some dirty work suited these vagrants perfectly.
For example, acting as villains about to harass a beautiful teacher-right before he appeared to save the day.
Tsk tsk tsk.
Old-fashioned.
But absolutely effective.
You had to use every method available to win the girl.
As the idea took shape, Ryden let out a wicked laugh.
His expression was truly sleazy.
No-wait.
It was the look of someone whose "spring" had arrived.
The vagrants shivered and pulled their ragged clothes tighter.
They exchanged glances.
Is this guy a pervert?
That laugh is way too sleazy.
Does he like men?
No way.
That's even scarier.
I'd rather get beaten than... My God, don't scare me. I haven't even eaten today.
Ryden had no idea what they were thinking.
If he did, he would have swapped magazines and emptied another burst.
Disgusting.
He was a straight man with perfectly normal preferences.
Women.
Definitely women.
"Alright, you lot. Even if you're trash, trash still has its uses. Here's two dollars-your hiring fee. Don't think about running, or I'll let you know how bullets taste. Keep watch for me. After I finish my experiment, I'll have more work."
He tossed out two one-dollar bills.
They fluttered down and landed on the ground.
To pick them up, the vagrants had to bend completely forward-effectively bowing.
It was an unmistakable humiliation.
The scene resembled a villain tossing money at a lackey.
The difference was that Ryden wasn't a villain-and they weren't lackeys in name.
The filthy vagrants rushed forward to snatch the "gold nuggets."
Dignity?
That was a luxury for the rich.
For people at the bottom, dignity couldn't buy two burgers.
"Yes, yes, yes, Boss. Don't worry. We'll take care of everything."
A relatively sturdy Black man patted his chest.
Even meeting for the first time, he knew this boy was not to be provoked.
What normal teenager carried an assault rifle around?
"Tch. Just keep your eyes open."
Ryden waved dismissively.
Even if you'd never eaten pork, you'd seen a pig run.
Acting like a boss was enough to intimidate street trash.
Trash included.
As someone once said, everything had its use.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunshots echoed through the morning as shell casings scattered across the grass.
If this weren't a park dominated by vagrants-where even the police avoided patrolling-Ryden would have been arrested long ago.
He recorded notes between shots.
Near noon, he left the park, ordering them to wait for further instructions.
The two-hour test yielded solid results.
At least now he understood the causes of the jams and bolt-return issues.
A few tweaks back home would solve them.
The moment he stepped inside, the rich aroma of beef greeted him.
Aunt Sarah's cooking was excellent.
The steak was seared to a golden brown, fat shimmering on the surface.
A bowl of vegetable borscht cleansed the palate, helping cut through the grease.
"You're back, Master Ryden. Dinner is ready. Please try it. If it doesn't suit your taste, tell me and I'll make something else. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I cooked it the usual way."
Wearing her apron, Aunt Sarah exuded a warm, maternal aura-likely leftover from her years as a nurse.
Her voice was gentle, like a spring breeze.
Ryden took a bite.
Hot juices flooded his mouth, rich flavor spreading across his tongue.
Delicious.
Just as good as Mrs. Rhodes's next door.
"Delicious. I love it, Aunt Sarah. Oh, right-no need to clean the lab. What kind of work is Steve doing now?"
Ryden was curious.
What did Steve do before joining the army?
The movies never mentioned it.
But since he could afford patriotic films, he probably wasn't destitute-just not wealthy.
A trace of worry crossed Sarah's face.
"That child is doing odd jobs at a shop owned by one of his father's old comrades. His dream is to join the army, to fulfill his father's wish and serve the country."
"That's a great dream. It's because of people like him that we can live in peace. Aunt Sarah, I'm full. I need to head out again, so I'll leave the house to you."
Ryden finished quickly, polishing off the steak and soup.
His thoughts were already drifting toward Stark Industries.
"Alright, Master Ryden. Go ahead. I'll be here."
Sarah had heard from the neighbors that her young master was obsessed with science, likely influenced by his parents.
Watching him reminded her of her own son.
Persistent.
And kind.
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