The workshop smelled of oil and steel the moment Jason pushed the doors open. Sunlight spilled through the tall, dusty windows, making the grease-stained floor glisten. The noise of clanging hammers and the buzz of chatter cut off for a moment when the men noticed him standing at the entrance.
"Finally, Sleeping Beauty graces us!" one of the mechanics shouted from the back, laughter following him like smoke.
"Look who decided to show up before sundown," another teased, raising his wrench in salute.
Jason chuckled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Morning. Sorry, I'm late. Busy night."
That answer earned him a round of knowing looks. Some of the older men exchanged grins, while one of the younger apprentices gave a dramatic whistle.
"Busy night, huh? Drinking again?" a short man named Luis called out, smirking. He was one of the more playful ones in the shop, always looking for a chance to needle Jason.
Jason snorted, dropping his bag of tools on the bench. "If I was drinking, I wouldn't even be able to stand straight, Luis."
"Ah, come on. Don't tell me you've gone saint on us. What happened to the old Jason who could empty bottles like a tank and still walk home?"
That sparked more laughter, even a couple of claps. The men were enjoying themselves. Jason rolled his eyes but let them continue; he didn't mind being the butt of their jokes. At least it felt normal—human.
A wiry, bald-headed mechanic named Ramon leaned against a pillar, wiping his hands with a rag. "Seriously, Jason. You never touch a bottle anymore. Not even a smoke. What gives?"
The question quieted the room for a moment, genuine curiosity seeping through the banter. Everyone here knew Jason's history. Drinking used to be his escape—his way of coping. To see him give it up so completely felt like a miracle, or at least suspicious.
Jason smiled faintly, but there was weight behind his words. "I guess… I just don't need it anymore. Some things matter more now. Sophie matters more."
That answer drew a softer reaction. A few of the older men nodded approvingly. They had families too, they understood. Luis, of course, wasn't ready to let the mood get serious.
"Fine, fine. But if you're not drinking, then maybe you were out with a lady, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, sending the group back into laughter.
Jason only smirked and shook his head, grabbing a wrench. "If I had time for a lady, I'd be a lot less broke than I am."
The roar of laughter echoed off the workshop walls, bouncing between metal shelves and rusted engines. The banter died down eventually, and the men went back to work. Jason felt himself settle into the rhythm of the shop—the clang of tools, the hiss of welding torches, the smell of burning oil.
Still, he couldn't ignore how much they had missed him.
"Hey, Jason," Ramon called while tightening a bolt. "You weren't here yesterday. What happened? We thought you ditched us for good."
Jason shrugged casually. "I wanted a day off. Needed to clear my head."
That answer earned a chorus of complaints.
"A day off? You? That's rare."
"Man, don't scare us like that again. You know the place feels empty without your stubborn face around."
"Yeah, you're like the only one who can make Ramon shut up when he gets bossy."
Jason grinned, shaking his head. Their words warmed him more than he expected. He wasn't just another mechanic here; he was part of their world, their rhythm. And even though he couldn't tell them the truth about his double life, at least this part of his existence was honest.
---
Hours passed. Jason worked on an old motorcycle, the system quietly feeding him small tips. A flicker of glowing text would appear in the corner of his vision:
> [System Suggestion: Loosen bolt #7 before adjusting carburetor to avoid misalignment.]
He obeyed without drawing attention. To anyone else, it looked like Jason was simply a talented mechanic. No one knew the quiet, almost invisible guidance he was getting.
Around noon, most of the men went outside for fresh air or to grab food from the vendor down the street. Jason stayed behind, wiping grease off his hands. That's when Sam, the tall and broad-shouldered friend who had been closest to him in the shop, walked over.
"You really gonna keep dodging me, Jase?" Sam asked, his tone light but serious underneath.
Jason glanced up. "Dodging you?"
Sam crossed his arms. "Yesterday you vanish. Today you come in late with some excuse. You think I don't notice when something's on your mind?"
Jason hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But keep it between us."
Sam nodded. "Always."
Jason leaned against the workbench, lowering his voice. "Victor called me yesterday. He gave me a date for my next fight in the Crimson Den."
Sam's brows lifted. "Already?"
"Yeah. And this time… it's a betting fight. Bigger crowd, higher stakes."
Sam let out a low whistle. "That sounds tougher than last time."
Jason shrugged, though his eyes were sharp with determination. "Tougher, yeah. But it's nothing I can't handle. I've been training hard. Harder than I should, maybe."
Sam studied him. "You sure you're not rushing it? You look tired as hell."
Jason smirked, deflecting. "Don't tell me you're worried about me, old man."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm worried, idiot. You're not just some kid swinging fists in a back alley. Those fights—if you lose, it's not just your pride on the line."
Jason's smile faltered, but only slightly. "I know. But I can't back down. Sophie deserves better than this life. If I win enough fights, if I get enough money… she can go back to school. She can have a future."
Sam's face softened. He nodded slowly. "Alright. I get it. Just… don't let your pride kill you in that ring."
Jason chuckled. "I won't. Besides, you'll be there to cheer me on, right?"
Sam barked a laugh. "Hell no. I'll be the guy taking bets against you."
They both laughed, the tension melting away.
Lunch rolled around soon after. Jason and Sam sat on the back steps of the workshop, sharing greasy sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. They cracked jokes about Ramon's endless bragging, Luis's terrible singing, and the way the apprentices always managed to break more tools than they fixed.
For a moment, it felt normal. Peaceful. Almost like Jason wasn't carrying the weight of two lives.
But in the back of his mind, the countdown had already begun.
The Crimson Den awaited.
And Jason knew—win or lose, this next fight would change everything.
---
The evening sun cast long shadows across the workshop floor as the men wrapped up for the day. Jason stayed behind a little longer, finishing up the motorcycle he'd been working on.
Sam clapped him on the back. "Don't overdo it. Go home, see Sophie. She's probably waiting."
Jason smiled. "Yeah. You're right."
He packed up his tools, wiped his hands one last time, and stepped out into the cooling evening air. The street was buzzing with life, but all Jason could think about was Sophie's smile waiting for him at home.
And beyond that smile—the ring, the crowd, and the fight that could either lift them out of struggle… or throw them back into the dark.
---