Eight hours. Taking the drive into account, seven. Seven hours until the meeting that will determine whether I die a torturous death or get a chance at life. This time must be used to its fullest potential. And I know how.
Returning to the garage, I surveyed the order that my hands had created. Every tool was in its place, every surface was clean. But instead of satisfaction, I felt emptiness. And immediately it was filled by a desire—sharp, all-consuming, almost painful. This wasn't just a whim. It was the call of my Creator's Spark, amplified many times over by skill and decades of someone else's experience. The call of a Master Clockmaker, demanding to create something perfect immediately. It demanded that I create a watch.
Not just any watch. A high-quality, mechanical wristwatch. Something that would make 98% of the mass-produced goods sold in stores look like pathetic crafts.
My newfound knowledge helpfully suggested that creating a masterpiece from absolute scratch was impossible right now. Smelting special steel for springs, growing synthetic sapphires for crystals and rubies for jewels, working with machines... I had neither the equipment nor months of time. I would have to use a workaround. My skill allowed me to work with inhuman speed and precision, which meant I could take a high-quality Swiss movement blank (ébauche) as a base and turn it into something completely different. I'll skip the craft stage and go straight to pure art.
As I called a taxi, I was already compiling a shopping list in my head. The inner miser, accustomed to counting every dollar, quacked in protest as the approximate sum took shape in my mind. But I ruthlessly suppressed it. The Creator's Spark does not tolerate base obstacles like money. I was heading back to the Diamond District, but this time not as a customer of pawnshops and smelters, but as a specialist looking for specific tools and components.
Arriving at the place, I looked at the shop windows no longer as an amateur. My trained eye instantly filtered out the trash, latching onto quality. In a small, dusty shop crammed with parts and tools, I found what I was looking for. My choice fell on the ETA 6497. I felt its potential—the large, reliable hand-wound movement gave me the perfect "canvas" for decorative finishing. $500 moved from my pocket to the till.
Next was the "body." A high-quality 316L stainless steel case, perfectly polished, 42 mm in diameter. Two sapphire crystals, so the movement—my future creation—would be visible from all sides. A blank for a dial made of pure silver and a set of hands made of blued steel. A strap... The master inside me demanded that I create it as well, but the pragmatist understood that it would take too much time. It was a painful compromise, but I chose the best of the available handmade options made of thick natural leather. Another $800.
And finally, the tools. My base was good for electronics and rough crafts, but watchmaking required something different. I took the best: a set of Bergeon screwdrivers, antimagnetic tweezers, a set of files, polishing pastes, exotic gentian root blocks for final polishing, a Dremel with attachments, and, of course, a timegrapher. The bill for $3,500 made me wince for a second.
Total: $4,800. More than a quarter of my cash. For that kind of money, you could buy a decent Swiss watch. But the Master Clockmaker inside me snorted contemptuously. Wear something created by someone else's hands? What an insult! Even the parts I bought he perceived as a concession, a temporary measure. A true master creates every detail himself, from the first screw to the last. But alas, I couldn't afford the luxury of spending months on it.
Returning to the garage, I felt like a surgeon preparing for a crucial operation. The table was cleared. Everything superfluous was removed. Almost reverently, I laid out the new, shining tools and components on the clean surface. In the outside world, a meeting with a Vampire hunter and possibly death awaited me. But here, in this garage, for the next few hours only I, metal, and the quiet, steady passage of time that I was going to tame and enclose in a steel case would exist.
I began the magic. There was no other way to call it. Just yesterday, I could only dream of such a thing. Today, I was going to do it.
I plunged into work headfirst. The outside world ceased to exist. There were no Vampires, no Blade, no mortal danger. There was only me, sparkling tools, and a microscopic universe of gears and springs being born under my fingers.
The first thing to do was finishing. This was not just a stage; it was a sacrament, turning a standard, albeit high-quality, movement into a work of art. I completely disassembled the ETA 6497. Each part, each screw was polished to a mirror sheen, in which the light of my lamp was reflected. Then came the anglage. Leaning over the part with a file in my hand, I entered a state of flow. My movements were inhumanly precise. I manually created and polished perfect bevels on all movement bridges. Work that would take an ordinary watchmaker days and weeks of painstaking effort took me just over an hour.
Decoration became a creative outburst. Using a Dremel, I applied a perlage pattern and decorated the bridges with classic Geneva waves. Finally, the dial. On the silver blank, I engraved minimalist markings and my own logo, the idea of which was born instantly, as if it had always been a part of me—a stylized blacksmith's hammer. A symbol of my essence of the Creator and the gift of the Celestial Forge.
Assembly became the culmination. After sterilizing the workplace, I began the sacred act. The wheel train, pallet fork, balance wheel—everything fell into place with absolute precision. Microscopic doses of different oils landed exactly in the grooves. Not a single mistake. Not a single speck of dust.
I placed the assembled movement on the timegrapher. The device beeped, displaying a diagram on the screen. I started adjusting, achieving phenomenal accuracy—a deviation of 0 seconds per day in all six positions. This was the level of the world's best chronometers. Having completed the adjustment, I installed the dial, hands, placed the beating heart of the watch in the case, hermetically sealed the back cover, and attached the strap.
"Beautiful..." I whispered, holding up the masterpiece I had created with my own hands to the light.
The matte shine of the steel, the deep blue of the blued hands against the silver dial, the perfect waves on the bridges visible through the sapphire crystal. They were as good as Patek Philippe or Rolex. For me, they surpassed them because they contained a part of my soul. At that moment, I felt a surge of pride I had never felt before. And the System seemed to agree with me.
[Small Watch Mechanism Created. Difficulty: Normal. Received +200 OP!]
200 OP! For five hours of light, fascinating, and almost meditative work. And most importantly, it was the first major reward for a creation made of my own volition, not from the System's blueprint. I wasn't just an executor; I was a Creator.
Carefully, as if it were a priceless treasure, I put the watch on my wrist. It fit my hand perfectly. After making sure I still had time before the meeting, I, buoyed by my success, decided to try my luck. Opening the System window, I spent 350 OP on "Forge the Universe."
[Received Information Package (Common) - Ritualist-Optimizer (Azeroth). Unlock Cost: 100 OP]
Description: Your skill in magical rituals allows you to halve the resource costs for Enchantment and Inscription spells, while maintaining their effectiveness. For example, a ritual that requires the blood of ten virgins, you perform with the blood of five. Scientific processes, such as creating robots, cannot be optimized.
I reread the description several times. Azeroth? Is this a skill from World of Warcraft? But even so, the disappointment was almost physical. A skill that is absolutely useless to me right now. I knew nothing about magic, ritualism, or least of all enchantment. The price of 100 OP only emphasized its narrow focus. Alas, no cheat perks today. And farming 400 OP or more for the next spins was getting harder.
Well, it's time. Clearing space in the garage, I pulled my Honda out of the Inventory and placed it inside. I had a potential idea related to my car, but I didn't want to reveal the Inventory yet. Calling a taxi, I went to the Lily and Millie cafe.