Doing as she asked, I finally removed almost all the weight from inside my [Item Box].
Various cold iron objects appeared as if space itself had been distorted. Car springs, a child's table, iron shelves, and so on—everything made of iron that had been in the box was finally out.
[Item Box: 51/50 kg (weight limit exceeded; 0.5% penalty applied to Agility; slight increase in physical strain)
10 T-shirts (2 kg)
12 pairs of jeans (10 kg)
8 worn T-shirts (1.1 kg)
7 jackets (4.5 kg)
3 leather jackets (7.5 kg)
2 pairs of leather pants (1.8 kg)
2/5 blood oranges (370 g)
8 bottles of water (5.1 kg)
5 bottles of blood (3.4 kg)
3 dead rats (1.3 kg)
1 large blood stone (14 kg)]
I had only removed the metal items, yet it was still heavy.
'I really need to find a place to leave this stuff; a change of clothes and the rest in consumables is more than enough. What was I thinking not leaving most of this at home?'
Well, if I consider the leather clothes as light armor, I could keep them, but as for the rest...
"Hmm, this one will work, this one... won't yield much but is usable, this one too, this one... I don't think I'll get much out of it..."
My father went to the pile and immediately started looking through it, separating the parts with the most iron—the ones he needed.
It was quite a surreal scene: a man over 2 meters tall crouching down, his head almost touching the ceiling, rummaging through a small pile of iron. The environment also helped create a somewhat... unique atmosphere.
A space much larger than I expected; I think it was almost 3 meters wide and about 12 meters long (or maybe 3 meters long and 12 meters wide, I never remember the difference).
(Author's note: to give you an idea, a standard container would be 12 meters long, 2.3 meters wide, and 2.7 meters high.)
The office itself was quite ordinary, with a gray carpet on the floor and a wall covering that didn't let you see the beige metal of the container, which I had previously mistaken for white. Some overturned shelves on one side of the wall and a few more cabinets behind a plastic office desk.
I reiterate, why someone would want to make a suspended office out of a container still doesn't make sense to me, in terms of practicality.
Looking at the shelves and cabinets around me, I felt the need to ask.
"Why didn't you put the cabinets and stuff in your [item boxes]?"
"Your father's was already completely filled with the Eco, and mine with all the other things."
Straight to the point.
"By the way, I know you're worried about Ju, but do you really think it was a good idea to bring the Eco along to assemble here?"
I almost said: considering how things turned out. But I held back, that would be like rubbing salt in the wound.
My mother looked down before answering.
"I thought so at the time," she admitted.
"From what your father said, the main problem with the car was just the electrical system."
'"Just the electrical system", she says—as if replacing a car's entire main system in a single afternoon were easy.' I thought this but didn't interrupt her; she had grown animated while explaining, even lifting her head as she spoke.
"Since Mari had said that mana was a different form of energy, he thought he could use it to replace—or at least re-energize—the car's electrical system."
'That's a somewhat dangerous level of confidence—or arrogance—in my opinion; our current situation clearly demonstrates that.'
"He was certain he could finish the job using parts from a nearby shop, but he ended up underestimating the complexity involved." Once again, she lowered her head—whether out of disappointment over the outcome, guilt for dragging me through various dangers to get here, or simply exhaustion after the explanation, I couldn't tell.
Or perhaps it was a combination of everything.
'But she shouldn't be taking it so hard; it's obvious things wouldn't go as expected when trying to mix magic and science. Especially for amateurs whose bodies had been altered at a fundamental level.'
That holds true in many stories: magic and science rarely speak the same language; they often clash. Even with spells that can be activated by mere thought—thanks to specific abilities—sensing the mana within oneself remains the crucial prerequisite for activation.
Until a few days ago, neither my father nor anyone else in the world (as far as we know) possessed magic or had any real understanding of how magic and mana worked. I'm certain many didn't even know what the word "mana" meant.
And when my father suddenly gained mana and the ability to use magic, one of his first thoughts was: 'If I use it this way and that way, I can replace the car's entire electrical system and get it running.'
That is a massive underestimation of the complexity of mana and magic—and how they function, both within and outside the body. Not to mention, I doubt he had any idea how it would interact with inanimate objects.
That said.
I couldn't help but be impressed by his initiative. He saw something completely new to him—mana, magic, and magic stones—and, based on a basic explanation from Mari about what they were, immediately started thinking about how to use them to replace, or at least mimic, the function of electricity.
Still...
"Call me a cynic, but I don't believe your dad came up with that idea on his own. Besides, how could he be so sure he could pull it off—and that doing so would specifically require a large blood magic stone?"
"Because of his job, it seems." She lifted her head again; not as much as before, but it was an improvement over her cowering.
But then again, simply saying it was thanks to his job didn't really help.
"And may I ask, what exactly was his job?"
"Hmm... something like a magi-mech-tech artisan... or something like that, beginner."
I could feel a headache coming on, but ignored that. And actually this description did help; Mari had also mentioned her dad was some kind of artisan. Still...
'What sort of artisan work teaches you how to rip out a car's electrical system and replace it with magic???!!!!!'
"Alright, that's all."
Just as we finished talking, my dad finished sorting the metal he'd use from the scrap. Basically, only the sewing machine was being left out.
"Why? Wasn't it supposed to have an iron arm or something inside?"
"Well... yeah, it does. But this model has more carbon steel parts, some plastics, and brass than cold iron. It would be good to build up a small stockpile of assorted materials in case we need them later, but..."
He didn't need to finish; the pressure radiating from my side already tipped me off.
"Nando."
"Yes!!"
I involuntarily snapped to attention.
"Is that my sewing machine over there?"
I chose silence.
"Nando."
"Yes, it is. Sorry—I brought everything from home that wasn't nailed down or destroyed."
"That's good, but why did you bring my sewing machine?"
Still at attention, I answered.
"It was really heavy, so I thought there was a good chance it had metal—like iron—inside!"
"Mhm. Well, since we were in a rush, I'll let it slide... this time."
"Understood. Thank you."
If I'd had even the slightest doubt that she wasn't my mother, it vanished right then and there.
Appearance doesn't matter.
Mothers are mothers.
And sons rarely have much power to go against them.