“Whoa, what kind of material do you think that automail’s sheathing is made from?” Winry pondered, slowing down to take in the fascinating scene. While trying to catch a glimpse of the competition through the gaps in the crowd, she felt something abruptly bump into her.
“Ah!”
“Oh!”
A boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, had run into her. The boy had apparently been distracted by the competition too and hadn’t noticed Winry passing right in front of him when he stepped out from a side road. They’d barely run into each other, but the impact had sent the boy reeling backward.
“Oh, careful!”
When Winry shot out her hand to catch him, she saw a crutch nestled under the boy’s left armpit and a prosthesis peeking out from the right leg of his green shorts.
A kind-looking woman who seemed to be his mother immediately ran up to him from behind.
“I’m so sorry. Apparently he wasn’t looking where he was going. You’re not injured, are you?” said the woman, bowing her head apologetically. She wore a dress and a cropped jacket and carried a small, sleeping girl on her back.
“I’m okay. I was distracted too. I’m sorry. Did you get hurt?” Winry asked, feeling guilty for her inattentiveness. The boy shook his head.
“I’m sorry for running into you too,” he murmured, then pulled away from Winry’s hand, which had been keeping him steady. He adjusted his crutch and left. The woman bowed, then followed after the boy.
“You don’t want to look at the shops on that street?” the woman asked.
“No …”
“Really? Then let’s find other good places to go.”
The sound of their conversation and the crutch hitting the hard ground slowly faded away.
When Winry looked down the road that the boy had come from, she saw a line of many shops sporting large signs and boards featuring sales pitches. The boy had likely been looking for a place that could service his prosthetic leg or replace it with automail.
“What’s up? Did you want to make a stop at one of the shops?” asked Paninya. She’d been walking ahead of Winry, but had backtracked when Winry had trailed significantly behind.
“Not really.”
After Winry drew her attention away from the side street, she quickly caught up to Paninya.
A winning point of Rush Valley was the abundance of businesses that customers could choose from. Winry was sure the boy would find a good shop on his own.
On the other hand, it was a tough world for the vendors, but that was why mechanics wouldn’t forgo any effort to stand out. Friendly rivalry had incentivized the town to flourish, which meant that studying here would fully immerse a mechanic in state-of-the-art techniques. There was no better place Winry could have chosen to go to improve her skills.
As Winry’s spirits mounted, she asked Paninya, who walked next to her, about the place she would be training at. “So, what’s Atelier Garfiel like?”
“Hmm, right.” Paninya put her pointer finger up to her chin and gave a thoughtful look in reaction to Winry’s brimming curiosity. “I’ve never gotten serviced there, but based on how it looks from the outside …”
Paninya seemed to recall something as she held her finger up and grinned. “It’s a real jaw-dropper, I suppose.”
“A jaw-dropper how?”
“You’ll know once you get there.” Paninya suppressed a laugh. She cast a sidelong glance at Winry, who looked dubious, as she quickly walked ahead.
“Oh, wait up.” Winry followed after Paninya, puzzling over her words. According to Dominic, the place she was going to had wanted help as soon as they could get it. They’d accepted her with open arms. In that case, she could only assume it was a jaw-droppingly busy shop—or that they would demand jaw-dropping quality from her.
Regardless of which it was, the skills she’d acquire through studying there would be certain to make jaws drop at home.
When she thought about it like that, Winry got a spring in her step. After she collected her things from the hotel, her heart was aflutter with anticipation as she and Paninya headed to the shop.
After a twenty-minute walk, Paninya announced, “This is it!”
When Paninya grinned and pointed out a building, Winry’s eyes went wide.
She beheld a gigantic—nay, mammoth—sign. She’d seen several other signs outfitted with flashy lights or twisted bits of steel on the way. She’d even seen establishments featuring bold writing and slogans boasting about their techniques. However, the sign in front of her eyes was nothing like any of those.
The sign that read “Atelier Garfiel” was written with script accentuated here and there by charming roses and leaves. An even larger rose had been painted next to the studio’s name. To top it all off, it was all in pink.
Flowing green curves had been used to represent the vines that complemented the flower. The petals blooming on the sign were beautifully set off by two leaves that were detailed down to their veins. Because of its elegant and cutesy design, Winry had almost mistaken the workshop for a florist.
“Whoa.” Winry’s jaw literally dropped.
Between the earthen tones of the mountains, the dull luster of the automail, and the abundance of male mechanics, Rush Valley had a somewhat rough-and-tumble image, yet here was a single rose blooming in the center of the town—a truly jaw-dropping sight.
“See—it’s jaw-dropping, right? Well, good luck! I’ll come by to let you know when I’ve found some work too!” Paninya gave Winry, who was half in a daze, a pat of encouragement on her back.
“Yeah. Thank you. Good luck to you too, Paninya.”
After she watched Paninya nimbly dash off, Winry stood under the sign in front of the garage-like studio. She peered into the shop in the hopes of greeting the owner, but it seemed that she had arrived right at rush hour. Several customers were waiting their turn, and she couldn’t figure out who this Garfiel character was.
“Um, Mr. Dominic sent me here to apprentice! I’m Winry Rockbell!” she yelled into the shop somewhat loudly.
A rugged voice about half an octave higher than she expected responded. “Just a moment, please!”
It seemed that Garfiel was further back in the studio, likely in another room.
She’d heard from Dominic that the proprietor was a man, but the shop seemed dainty and had an almost feminine atmosphere. Based on that, Winry simply assumed that Garfiel would be a thin and petite androgynous man.
Eventually, a figure appeared from the very back of the shop.
“Sorry for the wait.”
A beaming man came out, wiping his oil-smeared hands as he made his way over to her. He was giant—hulking, even—with a healthy helping of hair on his arms and chest.
He had paired a black tank top with black pants and suspenders. He also sported a mustache and a beard. His short hair was cropped tightly to his head, but his sideburns made neat curls on his cheeks.
No matter what angle she looked at him from, the rugged, unquestionably masculine man was the polar opposite of the rosy sign and the gender-neutral image she had assumed.
There was one aspect of him that did seem androgynous to Winry, if she had to comment. Those were his pursed red lips. It almost looked as though he were wearing lipstick. When she looked more closely, it seemed he indeed was wearing lipstick.
The man placed his hand on his mouth and said in a rough but elegant voice, “Oh my, are you Winry? Why, what a cute girl you are! I’m Garfiel, the owner of this shop. It’s so very nice to meet you.”
She could almost hear him follow up his remark with a girlish heart. He also winked.
For a moment, Winry was so captivated by his elegant and charming mannerisms that she was rendered speechless, but she came back to her senses and quickly bowed. “I-it’s nice to meet you!”
Flustered, Winry had to admit that Garfiel, the studio’s proprietor, was a real jaw-dropper.