Chapter 5: The Tinkerer's Blessing

The morning air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of damp earth and fresh hay. As Catherine stepped outside, the sharp clang of metal striking wood filled the yard, drawing her attention. Sylas knelt beside the chicken coop, hammer in hand, scowling as he struggled with a stubborn, warped board. A small pile of bent nails lay scattered at his feet, casualties of his frustration.

"What exactly are you doing?" Catherine asked, arms crossed.

Sylas exhaled sharply, barely sparing her a glance. "Trying to fix this stupid coop." He swung the hammer again, missing his mark and scraping the wood instead.

She tilted her head, taking in the scene. The board wasn't the real problem—it was his technique. He was using nails that were too short, striking at poor angles, and hammering without any real control.

"Doesn't look like fixing to me," she said dryly.

Sylas shot her a glare. "If you're just here to be annoying, you can—"

"Let me try," she interrupted, holding out her hand.

He hesitated before shoving the hammer into her grasp. "Fine. Have at it."

Catherine crouched beside him, picking up one of the mangled nails. The moment her fingers curled around the metal, something shifted. A pulse of warmth bloomed in her chest, running down her arm like liquid energy. The world around her seemed to sharpen—Sylas's uneven hammer strokes, the splintering wood grain, the small imperfections in the bent nail.

Her thumb traced the twisted metal as memories surged forward—her old repair shop, late nights fixing delicate circuits, the satisfaction of breathing life back into broken machines. Back then, her hands had been steady, methodical, trained by years of work. Here, in this strange world, they were small and unfamiliar. But the instinct? That was the same.

A spark flared in her fingertips, invisible yet potent. The nail trembled, then—ping—it straightened as though time had reversed itself. The surface smoothed, the warping vanished. It was whole again.

Catherine's breath caught. It had felt… right, like finding a missing puzzle piece. But as quickly as the warmth had come, it vanished, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Her limbs felt heavy, her head suddenly thick with exhaustion.

Sylas stared at her. "What… what was that?"

Catherine quickly palmed the restored nail, her mind racing. "Just a trick," she said, forcing a grin. "You're imagining things."

Sylas frowned but didn't push further. He took the hammer back, still eyeing her with suspicion. "Weird. But… thanks, I guess."

She nodded absently, but inside, her heart pounded.

She needed answers.

Collapsing onto her bed, Catherine barely managed to summon her status screen. A new skill shimmered at the top of the list.

[Tinkerer's Blessing] (Proficiency: 1/10)

Converts technical knowledge and intent into magical enhancement, allowing the repair and optimization of objects. Requires mental focus and mana.

Cost: variable percentage of total mana per use, according to complexity.

Current mana: 6/10

Her stomach twisted. She knew this wasn't just a random ability—it was hers. It was built from who she had been before, from the years spent mending broken things, from the careful patience she'd honed in her old life.

She exhaled slowly, trying to piece it together.

Why had she been given this ability? Was it because of the way she thought, the way she saw the world in patterns and fixes? Or had something—whoever had brought her here—chosen this for her?

Either way, she wasn't just Sylvie. She was still Catherine. And this skill? It was proof.

After resting, Catherine rummaged through the kitchen drawers until she found what she was looking for—an old, rusted hinge, discarded long ago. She turned it over in her hands, feeling the rough, pitted surface.

She sat at the table, inhaled deeply, and focused.

The warmth returned, curling in her chest like a whisper of electricity. Her thoughts slowed, instincts kicking in. She pictured the hinge in its original form—smooth, polished, functional. Her breathing steadied, the image locking in place.

The magic responded.

The rust began to flake away, dissolving into nothing. The metal gleamed, joints shifting with newfound ease. It wasn't just restored—it was optimized, better than new.

Her status flickered again.

[Tinkerer's Blessing] (Proficiency: 2/10)

A slow grin spread across her face.

This system—it wasn't just tracking her skills. It was correcting them, smoothing inefficiencies, teaching her body the fastest, most effective way to perform a task. The more she used a skill, the more refined it became, as though the world itself was guiding her hands.

It was incredible.

It was dangerous.

The mana drain left her shaking, her vision hazy. If she wasn't careful, she'd burn herself out completely. But the potential? It was limitless.

Current mana: 1/10

The next morning, Catherine sat at the table, absentmindedly flipping the restored hinge in her hands. Her mind buzzed with possibilities.

This power—it could change everything.

In a world where tools and resources were scarce, the ability to repair, reinforce, and optimize was invaluable. She could mend weapons, reinforce structures, restore what others deemed broken.

Her family wouldn't have to struggle.

But with that power came risk. The mana cost was too high to use freely, and if anyone realized what she could do, there would be questions—questions she wasn't ready to answer.

She had to be smart. Careful.

As she helped her mother with the morning chores, Catherine felt something shift inside her. A quiet certainty.

She had died in her old world. That much was undeniable. The life she had before—the shop, the late nights, the quiet moments with her mother and sister—it was gone. She would never go back.

But she wasn't gone.

She was here, in Sylvie's body, with Sylvie's family. And she had the chance to live. To carve out a future not just for herself, but for the girl whose life she had inherited.

Catherine inhaled, steady and sure.

This was her life now. And it will be lived to the absolute fullest.