She didn’t have time to stand around. The longer it took her to get back to Atelier Garfiel, the less time Weis and Henrik would have to work, regardless of whether she could fix the machine. She desperately struggled to keep her legs moving. They had become so tired they barely listened to her as she went to one building after another.
While that was happening, the towel she had been using to wipe her hands had become too dirty to use, which meant Winry had to rub her hands on her own clothes to clean them before entering each shop.
By the time she realized it, most of the shops had closed. When she exited a shop after another fruitless search, the light of its sign and a few others, as well as their show windows, were the only things lighting the road.
She hadn’t found the cylinder.
“What should I do?” Winry murmured despondently. The lights of the shop she had just left fell on her and cast an even larger shadow at her feet.
When she left the building entrance, she found the rain had started coming down harder. It pummeled Winry as she began walking aimlessly along the deserted road. The rain just kept coming down harder and harder, drenching her clothes and hair. Only the sound of the rain pelting down in sheets surrounded her, just as the commotion of the afternoon had earlier.
Droplets dripped from her chin, and while she walked along the dark road, the sound of the bell echoed from afar. Its sound, perhaps muffled by the rain, tolled nine times in succession before going silent.
Winry stopped in front of a show window.
Unlike her heavy, sinking mood, the inside of the show window was dazzlingly bright. The window featured rare automail and jewelry made from precious metals that had been created by some studio or other.
Maybe she hoped the bright light of the window would raise her low spirits, but for whatever reason, Winry stared at it as she continued along, though who knew how many times she might’ve passed by before. She stopped to look at the displayed merchandise, and just as she started to walk again, she stopped in her tracks.
“It’s that manufacturer!” she said, pressing both her hands up against the glass.
Tools and metal parts, polished until they sparkled, were enshrined within the display case. What had drawn her eyes was a lump of unshapely metal that seemed as though it had been the sole part taken from a gigantic machine. From a gap between the gears and braces, she could see a cylinder inside of it and, on one corner, the stamp of the manufacturer she had been looking for.
Winry held her fluttering heart as she read a piece of text introducing the merchandise, which had been posted next to it.
“‘A part used in a well-established manufacturer’s tools. Because they only use high-quality metal, their products outshine others in durability. Through alteration, it can be used for automail production.’ This is it!”
She pressed her face against the glass as she checked the displayed part. It seemed it was being used in a different machine than the one in Garfiel’s shop, but the cylinder was without a doubt the unique one from that particular manufacturer.
“Thank goodness!” Winry exclaimed, relieved that she would be able to fix the machine. But the relief only lasted for a moment. “No way.”
When she saw the price tag attached to the showcased merchandise, her face froze.
It was exorbitantly expensive. It was of high-quality metal, in good condition, and made by a manufacturer known for their high efficiency, but even with those things in mind, the price was still too high.
Winry’s eyes darted to the prices of the other merchandise displayed alongside it. Everything was far above market price.
“Could this place be … ?” Winry said as she raised her head to look at the sign. Droplets of rain splattered on her face.
The establishment, which labeled itself a junk shop, seemed to be one of the commercial traders that had started to appear more frequently in Rush Valley. She suspected it was one of the places Garfiel, Henrik, and Weis had told her about. They would sell things for a high price without maintaining the merchandise properly—solely for a profit.
Standing in the rainy street, her hand paused over the pocket that held her change purse.
She had already spent quite a bit of money that day buying parts. However, she did have a high-value paper bill stashed away for emergencies. She had just enough to afford the part.
Winry looked up at the sign again, then at the cylinder in the window, before she finally turned her eyes down to her own feet. Her sopping-wet shoes were covered in mud and oil.
She had been indignant to learn that Darish had ended up saddled with a leg that hurt him because of a crooked business, but at that moment, she was desperate for another crooked business’s wares. Knowing that made her feel pathetic as a mechanic, and filled her with sorrow.
Winry’s wet bangs clung to her damp forehead as she looked down, and raindrops coursed along her face. After following the path of a droplet that fell from the tip of her nose, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she reached out with a chilled hand and slowly pushed the shop’s door open.
it was past ten by the time Winry arrived back at Atelier Garfiel.
Without regard to the rain, the studio’s shutters had been left a quarter of the way open, allowing lamplight to stretch out into the road. It seemed Garfiel had done that for Winry’s sake for when she came home along the dark road.
“I’m back.”
She headed into the studio under the shutters, hanging her head.
Inside, Henrik was trying to fix the machine, though the odds were stacked against him. He had headed back to his shop to make an attempt at his work with his own machinery, but it seemed he hadn’t been able to do much without the new machine. Garfiel also held a wrench in one hand as he pulled off a broken part. In an attempt to fix the gap, he fit another part into the machine.