(GMR) CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FORGING THE FUTURE

Greg stared down at his notebook, its lined pages filled with doodles of swords, gears, folding joints, and some truly terrible attempts at sketching guns. The edge of his pencil had worn down to a stub, the eraser long sacrificed to half-finished math problems and frustrated brainstorming.

“This is harder than I thought,” he muttered.

“I did warn you,” Weiss said, exasperated but not unkind. “Weapon design is a delicate craft. It takes patience, discipline, and at least a passing understanding of engineering fundamentals.”

Greg slumped in his seat. “I should’ve paid more attention in physics then.”

“I think your sword’s hilt is upside-down,” Blake added dryly.

“It’s not upside-down,” Greg frowned and flipped the notebook around. “It’s… a design choice.”

Yang snorted. “It looks like a banana. You sure you don’t want to stick to your fists, punch-boy?”

“I’m trying to take this seriously,” Greg said, tapping the page with the pencil stub. “You guys told me every Huntsman had a signature weapon. Something that reflected who they were, right?”

“Not just that,” Ruby said, her tone softening. “Our weapons are extensions of ourselves. Crescent Rose is more than a scythe or a sniper rifle; she’s my partner in battle. A part of me. You deserve that kind of connection too.”

Greg blinked. “You just called your scythe a ‘she.’”

“Of course,” Ruby said proudly. “She’s got curves.”

“...Okay then.”

He looked back down at his sketch. Crude as it was, the idea of a sword that could fold into something else—a Scythe, or maybe even a rifle—just felt right. Like something about the classicism and adaptability of a blade paired with the raw potential of another weapon spoke to both his clumsy present and hopefully powerful future.

“So… a weapon that can fold up, maybe shift between forms,” he mused aloud. “Durable enough to take a beating but still light enough to carry. And it has to look cool.”

“Finally,” Weiss muttered. “Some actual direction.”

“But there’s one problem,” Greg continued, rubbing his temples. “Actually… many.”

“Let me guess,” Blake said. “You don’t have the materials. Or the tools. Or the forge. Or the training.”

“Or the time. Or the ability to do any of this without my parents noticing.”

Greg sighed.

“That last one’s probably the most difficult,” Yang quipped.

“True,” Greg said, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. “And I could go back to the PRT. Ask for access to a lab, their materials, and supervision from Kid Win. But after the whole ‘Master/Stranger risk’ talk with Armsmaster? Yeah. I think I’m gonna let that cool off for a while.”

“So what is the plan?” Ruby asked.

Greg turned his head toward the window. Outside, the sun was beginning to dip behind the rusting skeletons of ships lining the coast. 

The Boat Graveyard. 

Unregulated, unwatched, and most importantly, full of useful scrap. 

He grinned. “Scavenging run.”

“Oh boy,” Yang said, sounding far too entertained. “You’re gonna become a junk ninja.”

“Better than experiencing potential awkwardness at the PRT HQ,” Greg shot back. “If I can scrounge some solid metal, wires, a battery or two, I can sneak it into the basement, stash it under the stairs, and work on it when no one’s home.”

“Except you live with your parents,” Weiss reminded him coolly. “Who are always home when you are.”

“That… is true,” Greg admitted.

A silence fell over the group, long enough that he thought they’d moved on. But then Blake’s voice came:

“Maybe it’s time to tell them.” 

Greg stiffened.

“They’re your parents,” she continued. “And the longer you lie, the worse it’ll get when you finally admit the truth. You don’t have to tell them everything, but keeping them in the dark might just put them in danger too.”

Greg stared at the floor, her words settling in his chest like stones.

“What if they freak out?” he whispered. “What if they think I’m dangerous or look at me like a stranger?”

“They probably will at first,” Ruby said. “But they’re your family and they love you. Don't worry, they’ll come around.”

Yang added, “You’re still their kid.”

“And, sure, they might need some time to see that, but trust that they eventually will,” Blake finished.

In lieu of responding immediately, Greg opened his notebook slowly. The sketch on the page wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t even good—but it was his. A beginning. Like this life he was trying to build with the girls in his head.

“All right,” he said at last. “Tomorrow… I’ll tell them.”

The words hung in the air like a promise.

“Atta boy,” Yang said, pride in her voice.

Ruby let out an excited squeal. “And after that, weapon building montage!”

Greg groaned. “This is gonna end in so many electrical fires.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Yang replied with a laugh.

And despite the weight on his shoulders, Greg couldn’t help but smile.