“Retired?” Yagami said, placing his foot in the door before Kinzoku-san could slam it shut. “How can you be retired? Did you ever train anyone to take your place?”
“No, boy. My steel was too dangerous. If you knew what it had done, you would not have come here.”
Yagami shook his head. “I am unable to believe it, sensei. How can the world go on without your fabled steel channels and perfectly cut sheets of tin? Please, sensei, teach me your ways so that I may carry them on when you are gone!”
“No!” Kinzoku-san shouted. “Be gone from this place, boy, before I call the authorities.”
“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yagami said, forcing his way past the elderly man. “I won’t leave until you teach me everything you know about steel fabrication. I want to know how to craft a steel tube Melbourne residents will make their newest art installation – something even better than that silly Chrome Gnome I saw on the way here! Teach me how to make a steel top hat more shiny and sturdy than the Mall’s Balls in Adelaide!”
“It has been many years since I worked such wonders, boy.” Kinzoku-san crossed his arms, standing in the doorway. “Have you never heard of the Geneva Convention? They specifically banned me from practising my craft. No, despite what you have heard, I did not come here to put Melbourne-based steel fabricators out of business. I came here so that I would never be found.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Yagami. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, sensei, but you have left me no choice.”
“What do you mean, no choice? Get out.”
“I told you, I won’t be leaving until you teach me everything you know.” Moon Yagami laughed, knowing that already, he had won. “Tell me, sensei, have you ever read Misery?”
Kinzoku-san’s eyes widened with understanding. He took one step out the door, but Moon Yagami grabbed him by the wrist.
“You’re going to teach me everything you know, and then I will use that knowledge to become the god of the new world.”