The Only Fixer

In my early 20s, I stood before the world's most advanced machine tool, dressed in brand-new blue overalls, my eyes gleaming with a thirst for knowledge.

Beside me were meticulous and rigid Gorman engineers and top technicians from all over the world.

With an unyielding spirit and extraordinary talent, I mastered all the technical points in the shortest time and could even discuss improvement plans with the Gorman masters.

Together, we drank beer, went through drawings, and stayed up all night. We gave each machine we debugged a name.

Back in the present moment, the blond and blue-eyed senior engineer named Klaus patted my shoulder in broken English and said, "Shaun! You're a genius! A true mechanical genius!"

I looked at the dusty machine in front of me, my eyes turning tender. "Back then, its model was still called DMC-60H. We all called it Ingrid. It was like an arrogant and precise Gorman girl. You must treat it with the gentlest and most understanding way, and it will show you its most perfect side. I just... met an old friend I hadn't seen for many years."

Melody was completely speechless. She looked at me, this middle-aged man with a slightly hunched back wearing an old vest, covered in grease stains.

She could not connect the person before her with the one she remembered—a former state-owned enterprise employee reduced to a lowly warehouse manager in a private company.

This stark difference left her mind blank.

"Who... Who are you?" she asked politely, her voice trembling slightly.

I smiled but did not answer. I turned and continued my work. I used a special and almost subtle technique to tap the locking pin of the calibration module. Each tap was executed with terrifying precision. The only sound in the workshop was the crisp, rhythmic tap.

This sound was like a series of heavy hammer blows, striking everyone's hearts. It also shattered the deep-seated arrogance within them that judged a person solely by their education and position.

Three hours later, the mechanical calibration was complete. I closed the last outer casing and tightened the last screw.

The whole process was seamless. After the hundreds of disassembled parts were put back together, there was not a single one left over or missing.

"It's done." I straightened up and let out a long breath.

The entire workshop fell silent. Everyone held their breath, waiting to witness a miracle.

Bill's fists were clenched tightly without him even realizing it, his palms sweaty and his face a mixture of anticipation, tension, and disbelief.

Melody looked at me, her eyes filled with undisguised admiration. She walked to the control panel, took a deep breath, and pressed the green start button with a slightly trembling hand.

Buzz... A steady, pleasant hum of electricity rang, and the machine tool's LCD screen lit up instantly. The various indicator lights flickered in sequence, indicating that the self-test program had begun.

"It's moving! It lit up!" A worker shouted excitedly.

Bill's face instantly showed an ecstatic smile.

It worked!

It really worked!

The piece of metal, condemned to failure by eight experts, had been resurrected by the unassuming warehouse manager!

However, this joy lasted less than ten seconds.

Beep... Beep... Beep...