This is bad.

  First, the rent notice and now this. Ashley sighs as she sits under a tree in the middle of the university courtyard after classes ended, small plumes of steam hover over from her fingers as she contemplates how she can get out of this.

  Can she even get out of this to begin with?

  She tries to manipulate the steam, just as her [Skill] said she could. But no matter what she does, it won't flow like she wants it to. It's akin to telling someone to grasp something without being told where it is. She tried to focus but eventually, her steam was blown away by the wind as students laughed as they walked past her. It was as if the world was erasing her progress, one chance encounter at a time.

  I guess this is it, she thought.

  She pushed herself up from the grass and stood up, taking her bag along with her. With a sigh, she decided to head home. As she goes through the hallways, she walks past the training room for people who wanted to become [Raiders] after graduation, slowing down as she watched them train sloppily.

  Wearing expensive equipment and weapons harvested and made from the flora and fauna of the [Dungeons], they hacked away at various training dummies. One of them is a rabbit with scales the size of a dog, another is a bipedal boar standing as tall as one and a half students, and the last is a gigantic flower with teeth at its center alongside its long tendrils, ready to grab anything it can eat.

  If you were to look for the word “amateur” in the dictionary, the students’ movements would be the first thing you see there. Stiff swings, over the top dodging, and a relaxed attitude despite what they would face in the future. Their only saving grace is that the armor they wear is expensive enough that people would at least try to save them, or steal it from them before leaving them for dead.

  Nevertheless, no new information or revelation has come forth after the two years since the advent of the [Dungeons]. After being ostracized for not innovating and creating something that can prove her worth, Ashley feels bitter seeing the same adults and professionals not achieve anything after all this time despite the money and resources at their disposal. And yet, [Raiders] currently earn the most amount of money out of any jobs. But it also has the highest turnover rate, considering the danger it holds as one ventures into the unknown. But that doesn't deter others from becoming one as the allure of wealth and treasure clouds one's vision to the dangers this other world possesses. Truly the Call Center agents of the [New Era].

  Ashley continues to think of what she could do in order to pass the mock battle.

  She's suddenly reminded of every single physical assessment she had for class and the laughter that arose from seeing her panting after only a short exercise. There were others who were on her level but the rank of her skill is still the determining factor whether or not she deserves respect or not.

  With a sigh, Ashley continues walking home before stumbling across a vending machine. She contemplates whether or not to buy one, as her budget is somewhat lacking. Against her better judgement, she bought a cola before sitting at a bench next to it.

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  A pop. A sharp wheezing. Then cold and sticky cola splashes her. She looks up, as if looking at the [Goddess] who is laughing at her misery. With a sigh, she looks back down at her now half-empty cola before she realizes something.

  She chugs the can of soda, bringing along the empty vessel for the drink as she hurries somewhere.

  The sun is already setting. She only has a couple more hours to try something for tomorrow. And this might be the only thing that could help her. She stands in front of a junkshop. Walking through, old and broken appliances lay strewn about. From broken TVs and washing machines, to just general recyclable trash. Ashley walks around, picking up a tray to put the things she wants to buy. She runs around the junkshop looking for the things she needs before heading back to the makeshift desk in front.

  A rugged, old man sits with his feet on the desk. Ashley drops the tray next to the man's feet.

  “I want to buy these. How much is it?” Ashley spoke matter-of-factly, with her arms on her waist. She still retains that arrogant way of portraying herself even after losing the reason why she can even be arrogant.

  The man stands up slowly, putting his feet down on the floor before looking at every single item Ashley picked out. A sense of intrigue pricks at the man's face.

  “Just give me 10 bucks for all these. I would usually price this a little higher but just for you, 10 buckaroos are fine.” A smile crept on the man's face as he continued to observe the things Ashley bought.

  “Why are you giving me a discount? Don't you have a business to run?” A valid question from Ashley. She won't refuse the offer but nothing's free in this world now. “What's the catch?”

  “There's no catch. Just make your cute artsy project and come back here when you need other stuff.” With that, the man throws everything Ashley put on the tray in a bag before sitting back down on his chair, with his feet up. “Hurry up and leave. I need to close up shop, anyway.”

  ———————————————————

  Ashley pushes the door to her apartment with her feet as her hands were full carrying the stuff she bought. She gently puts down the plastic bag, careful not to break the already mediocre materials she has. Clearing the floor to give her some space and placing down a mat, she arranges all her materials.

  A couple glass jars, pieces of bed foam, a bag of ball bearings, duct tape, and a rusty sheet of metal. She also brought a knife from her kitchen and glue from her class supplies back in high school. She checks to see if there's still any inside and she lets out a sigh of relief to see there still is.

  With a deep breath, Ashley picks up the jar, opening the lid. She cuts a half-cylinder piece of bed foam, the same length as the jar and puts it inside. With careful hands, she puts some glue on the other side of the jar's inside before putting a single layer of ball bearings. This way, the ball bearings won't fall down to the bottom of the jar. She sets this jar aside to harden as she moves on to make the next few jars.

  With intense concentration and precise measurements using her eyes, Ashley managed to make 3 jars of this weird contraption.

  After the ball bearings are stuck to the side of the jar, Ashley puts some tape over the area where the bed foam is covering to ensure structural integrity. She then brings her knife and scores the side with the ball bearings, reducing the structural integrity on that side instead. This way, when the jar breaks, only one side is more likely to break. By reinforcing the side with the padding and weakening the side with the ball bearings, Ashley makes the device much safer for herself in exchange of needing to carefully use it.

  And the moment she's been dreading for. Ashley punctures a tiny hole on the lids, just big enough that she can blow air through it. She looks at her finger, trying to push steam out. With active nerves, Ashley caps the jar with the punctured lid, taping it shut before placing her finger on the punctured hole. Hot steam flows into the jar, filling it up. Ashley's heart is beating a mile a minute, her vision becoming blurry as she tries her hardest not to mess this up. Because if she makes one single mistake, a hundred ball bearings will be launched straight to her frontal lobe.

  With sharp precision, Ashley continues to fill the jar, trying to sense when the jar will be primed to explode. And right before that threshold, Ashley slaps a piece of duct tape on top of the hole, nervously breathing as she just created something dangerous:

  A Shrapnel Grenade.

  Ashley picks it up, sensing how tense the jar is. With a single wrong move it could explode. With a sigh of relief, Ashley smiles as she finally accomplished something.

  Until the jar slipped from her hands.