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Gokuraku had accepted he would live alone and die alone not long after he dedicated his life to taking down Bakugami.
He was around 11 years old then, knee deep in research as he stifled back his cries of pain. As he implemented his first augmentation, Gokuraku realized that this was a path he could never return from. A path no other could follow him on. He would live and die for his mission, forever scorned by the country he loved so much.
He was fine with that.
But then came Ichi and the rest of the Mantineel Witches Association. The spark of hope that he may not need to fight alone.
He didn't fight alone. And he was free from his life's mission.
It was… strange. At first, he felt empty. And then, the spark of interest.
Now, at 21 years old, Gokuraku stood at the entrance of the Witches’ Wands and Tool Department.
Organized chaos was the most apt descriptor to how it looked. Scattered scrolls and books and tools, the smell of materials that wafted up his nose, the loud noises of tinkering and experimentation. Witches everywhere, reminding him of his own past research.
“Welcome to the best damn department in the entire Association,” Joe drawled next to him. Gokuraku wasn't quite sure what to make of her, yet. He felt like she was visually dissecting him on their first meeting, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Surprising, yes, but to hear someone recognize his life's work, recognize him was… comforting. In a weird way.
Ichi recognized his effort, but Joe saw what that effort was.
“Oh, em, gee. Joe! You brought robot-boy!” A witch from a nearby workbench squealed. As if a switch were flipped, the noise in the department settled down to a whisper, before abruptly exploding with excitement as various witches (albeit not all of them) abandoned their projects to crowd him.
It should have been overwhelming, to have so many questions and observations lobbed at him. If he were anyone else, it likely would have been.
It wasn't.
+×+×+×+×+
“I like it here,” Gokuraku admitted to Joe, once she had warded off the crowd. (Apparently, the witches of the department will have their chance to dissect him later.)
“‘Course you do,” Joe snorted, leading him across the room. “This place is an inventor's dream. Most of us are some kind of crazy. You'll fit right in.”
“Can I remake my arm soon, then?”
“Why do you think this was the first place I brought you?” Joe grinned. Another person might have found it unsettling. “I want to see how you do it. I'm taking you to my workshop. We'll get you set up with your own area soon enough, though.”
“Just like that?” Gokuraku blinked, his voice colored with surprise.
“Normally, a newbie would be working with a more-experienced witch. They'd be shown the ropes and supervised,” Joe replied, picking up on what he was asking. “Even though you're a newbie here, you aren't green. You know what you're doing. As I said earlier, a genius. At most we'll probably check in on what you're doing periodically, or maybe we'll set you up near a senior. Who knows! I'll work it out later.”
In other words, they respect and trust his experience but are (reasonably) wary of leaving him unsupervised due to his history.
To Gokuraku, scorn and scrutiny was akin to a familiar, second skin.
“Fine by me,” he hummed, inclining his head in thanks as Joe led him through a heavy door. “Having a space dedicated to my work is more than enough.”
It was a luxury he was never afforded, first as a child too-young and later as a scorned prince. His work was limited to corners of the palace archive and closets in neglected hallways. Later, as an exile, he worked wherever he could; on the forest floor, damp caves, river shores, abandoned huts. He wasn't picky.
“Hm,” Joe sounded, peering up at him through her goggles. Visually dissecting him, picking apart his words, her head tilted in a way that felt like the phrase “is that so.” A shiver briefly ran down his spine as he wondered if that idle comment exposed far more than he expected, but Gokuraku quickly brushed the thought aside; he had far better things to do at the moment.
“Welcome to my private workshop,” Joe finally said after a moment, seemingly moving on from her brief observation. Once-dim lights brightened at the sound of a snap. “Stay in this back half, don't go through that door — that leads to the department's front desk. You saw that earlier. Only touch what's necessary, if you mess with any of my projects I'm kicking you out. Always knock before entering. Got it?”
Gokuraku blinked, processing the short list of rules as Joe rifled through her coat pockets.
“Yeah. Anything else?”
“Always wear goggles,” she stated, tossing something his way. Catching it on reflex, Gokuraku blinked at the new pair of goggles in his hand. Rather than the circular pair resting on Joe's face, this was more rectangular in nature.
He certainly couldn't recall the last time he wore one of these, but he didn't hesitate as he slipped them over his head. They only needed some slight adjustments before fitting snugly atop his face.
They didn't feel used, either.
“Male heads tend to be bigger. I prepared a pair when I heard you were coming here, just in case. That said, those're all the rules to my workshop. Any questions?”
Frankly, Gokuraku had many questions. Mostly related to how Joe had treated him thus far. She didn't have to do many of these things, that is something Gokuraku quickly realized, but yet…
He dismissed the thought; he had a feeling asking about it would provide no substantial answer. Instead, he moved on to more familiar territory.
“Just one. Where's the soldering iron?”
The sharp grin Joe flashed in response to that question was downright ecstatic.