The midday sun punished the street stones, making the air shimmer with heat. It was a rare day off, granted not out of benevolence, but due to the need for maintenance on the quarry's tools. For Lucius and Flavio, however, there was no rest. They walked side by side toward Marcus's workshop, the sound of their sandals beating a steady rhythm against the pavement.

  Lucius limped slightly, trying to disguise the stiffness in his movements. The pain in his ribs was a constant, throbbing reminder of the previous night, a sharp pang with every deeper breath. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon but felt Flavio's inquisitive gaze burning into him.

  "You're too quiet, even for your new normal," Flavio commented, breaking the silence. The giant pointed to Lucius's forearm, where the tunic sleeve had slipped, revealing an ugly, swollen purple and yellow bruise. "And that face... looks like you chewed on a sour lemon. Did something happen? That bruise isn't from any stone."

  Lucius pulled his sleeve down quickly, covering the mark of violence. He sighed, knowing that lying to Flavio would be useless. The man was too observant.

  "I had visitors last night," Lucius said, his voice low and bitter. "Collectors. They beat me at the building's entrance."

  Flavio stopped walking abruptly, forcing Lucius to stop as well. His friend's expression shifted from curiosity to shock and genuine concern.

  "By the gods, Lucius... Collectors? I didn't know you were in debt. I thought we lived only on the little we earn."

  "I didn't know either... or rather, I shouldn't have let it get to this point," Lucius corrected himself, choosing his words carefully. The guilt of the "other" Lucius weighed on him now like an ox yoke. "I shouldn't have done it. I put my family at risk."

  Flavio placed a heavy hand on Lucius's good shoulder, squeezing it in a gesture of solidarity.

  "Listen, brother. We're going to fix this. The cart idea is good. Everything will work out today. With the sale money, you pay those dogs and get rid of them."

  Lucius nodded, grateful for the unwavering support. They resumed walking, quickening their pace.

  Upon reaching the workshop, they found the door open. The smell of sawn wood and varnish welcomed them. Marcus was inside, pacing back and forth, dusting a workbench that was already clean. Upon seeing the two friends, the carpenter's face lit up with the same feverish enthusiasm of their last meetings.

  "Good thing you arrived!" Marcus exclaimed, gesturing for them to come in quickly. "News flies. The patrician's messenger just stopped by. The noble and the quarry supervisor are on their way. They said they'd come right after lunch."

  Flavio frowned, looking at the sun's position through the window.

  "Lunch was a short while ago," Flavio observed.

  "Exactly!" the carpenter replied, eyes wide. "That means they could arrive at any moment. We have no time to lose."

  Marcus ran to the back of the shop, disappearing behind a stack of cedar planks. Lucius and Flavio exchanged confused looks. Lucius felt his heart race; the meeting that would define his future was about to happen, and he felt dirty, bruised, and inadequate.

  Moments later, Marcus returned carrying a bundle of fabrics in his arms.

  "Put these on. Now," he ordered, throwing the clothes onto the table.

  Lucius picked up one of the pieces. It was a clean linen tunic, a soft cream color, far superior to the rough, grimy rag he wore for work. There were also simple but dignified cloaks that denoted respect and neatness.

  Flavio picked up the tunic meant for him, fingering the fabric with thick fingers.

  "This is good quality linen, Marcus..." Flavio murmured, impressed. "Must have cost a fortune. Did you steal it from some merchant?"

  "I didn't steal anything," Marcus retorted, nervous. "It's an investment. I bought it with my savings. Fine, it was expensive, but listen: we can't present a revolutionary invention looking like street beggars. Appearance matters to these people. If we want the patrician to take us seriously and open his coin purse, we have to look like respectable professionals. Put them on, quick."

  Lucius stripped off the old tunic, feeling the cool air on his bruised skin, and put on the new linen. The fabric was soft, a comfort he hadn't felt since waking up in that world. As he adjusted the belt and arranged the cloak over his shoulders to hide the bruises, his mind wandered.

  It was a surreal sensation. There he was, a twenty-first-century man, in a dusty Ancient Roman workshop, wearing period clothing to sell basic technology to a Roman aristocrat. It felt like an absurd play, a lucid dream from which he couldn't wake up. But the pain in his ribs was real. The fear of the collectors was real. And the need for money was desperately real.

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  He took a deep breath, smoothing the tunic. Strange or not, that was his stage now. And he had to survive.

  Marcus finished adjusting the bronze fibula on Lucius's shoulder and stepped back, assessing the result with a critical eye.

  "Listen closely," the carpenter whispered, his tone grave. "To lend this more credibility, when they arrive, you aren't just a manual laborer with a bright idea. You must present yourself as a self-taught engineer starting his career. A man of learning, understood?"

  Lucius nodded, grasping the strategy. In Ancient Rome, social standing dictated the worth of a man's word.

  "Agreed," Lucius said. "Technical authority will help validate the design."

  Flavio, looking uncomfortable in the fine linen, tugged at his tunic's collar and frowned.

  "Will this really work, Marcus? Won't they ask for credentials or who his master was?"

  "I've received many high-born clients here," Marcus replied with a cynical smile, returning to organizing his tools. "They may love beauty, status, and power, but for the most part, they are ignorant of how things are made. Once they see the invention working, they'll believe anything we say, as long as it's said with confidence."

  Flavio shook his head, letting out a short laugh.

  "You two are too clever. I just hope I don't trip over this tunic."

  The sound of horse hooves and heavy footsteps outside interrupted the conversation. The air in the workshop suddenly grew heavy. The door opened, and two robust guards, armed with sheathed gladii and wearing leather armor, entered first, clearing a path with rude shoves. Behind them came the quarry supervisor, visibly nervous, sweating more than the day's heat would justify.

  And then, the patrician entered.

  He was a man in his fifties, with a prominent bald head that gleamed slightly in the light streaming through the door. His body was portly, betraying a life of lavish banquets and little physical exercise. Yet, his presence was imposing. He wore a white wool tunic of the highest quality, adorned with a broad purple stripe running down the chest—a symbol of his senatorial or magisterial status. Over his shoulders hung a heavy ochre cloak, fastened by a solid gold brooch. On his fingers, rings set with precious stones sparkled.

  Marcus, Lucius, and Flavio bowed immediately in a sign of respect.

  "Salve, noble lord," said Marcus, rising first, assuming the role of host. "It is an honor to welcome Your Grace to my humble workshop. I am Marcus, the carpenter." He gestured to his companions. "And these are Lucius, the engineer responsible for the invention I am about to show you, and Flavio, his trusted assistant."

  The noble swept the room with his eyes, betraying no emotion.

  "I am Titus Valerius," he said. His voice was monotone, almost bored. "The supervisor told me of a wooden marvel. I have little time and little patience for hyperbole."

  The supervisor, trembling slightly, intervened quickly: "The invention, Marcus. Where is it? Show Lord Valerius."

  Marcus made a discreet signal to the back of the shop.

  "Caius!" he called. "Bring the Currus."

  Seconds later, the young apprentice emerged pushing the wheelbarrow loaded with the same stumps and sandbags from the day before. The sound of the wheel turning over the stone floor was the only noise in the room. The ease with which the boy maneuvered the heavy load instantly captured Titus Valerius's attention. The noble raised an eyebrow, the boredom vanishing from his face for a brief instant.

  Marcus looked at Lucius and nodded. It was the cue.

  "Lucius, please explain to the noble patrician how your design functions."

  Lucius took a deep breath. He knew this was the crucial moment. He couldn't speak like the laborer who carried stretchers; he needed to speak like the civil engineer who designed bridges and buildings in another millennium. He straightened his posture, assuming an aura of academic authority.

  "Noble Valerius," Lucius began, his voice firm and eloquent, using a polished rhetoric that seemed strange coming from someone with calloused hands. "What you see before you is a direct application of the principles of leverage and balance. With traditional stretchers, force is wasted, as two men must fight against the opposing force to sustain the inert load. In this device, we transfer the fulcrum to the front wheel."

  Lucius walked to the cart, gesturing with technical precision.

  "In this way, the wheel supports the majority of the vertical weight, while the operator need only provide horizontal motive force and balance. We reduce friction and double the efficiency of human strength. A single man performs the work of two, with half the physical strain, which preserves the health of the workforce and accelerates production."

  The silence that followed was absolute. Flavio stared at his friend with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. Marcus stood static, surprised by the sophistication of Lucius's words. Even the supervisor seemed stunned, as if he were listening to an orator in the Roman Forum rather than one of his subordinates.

  Titus Valerius approached the cart. He touched the wood, inspected the axle, and looked at Lucius with a renewed, keen interest.

  "The design is sound," the noble admitted, his voice now thoughtful. "And for the price the supervisor reported to me, it seems to be something extremely viable. Not just for quarries."

  He turned, looking at the horizon visible through the open door.

  "This could be used to transport grain in the warehouses of Ostia, or to remove rubble in narrow alleys where ox carts cannot enter. Urban logistics would benefit."

  Valerius turned back to Lucius, his eyes narrowed, analyzing him deeply.

  "I studied engineering and architecture in my youth, in Athens," the noble revealed, surprising everyone. "I recognize the theory behind your words. The principle of mechanical advantage is clear here."

  He took a step forward, invading Lucius's personal space.

  "Where did you learn your trade, boy? Who was your master? These are not the words of a simple novice engineer."

  Lucius sensed the danger in the question. He couldn't cite a university that didn't exist, nor lie about a famous master the noble might know.

  "I have been merely an observer, sir," Lucius replied, lowering his head in calculated humility. "I watched the great works of Rome, the cranes and the pulleys. Necessity in the quarry sharpened my mind, but I confess I am still ignorant in many of the formal arts. My knowledge comes from practice and observing the nature of things."

  Titus Valerius observed him for a long moment, as if trying to read the soul of the man before him. Finally, he let out a short sigh, almost a laugh of disbelief.

  "Merely observing..." the noble murmured, shaking his head. "For a man of the plebs, I must say... that is impressive."