Toy Soldiers — Chapter 7 Part 1

The following morning, the entire cafeteria seemed to breathe differently.

Theo walked in with the medal still pinned to his uniform, gleaming beneath the pale light of the lamps. He had not taken it off even to sleep — he had not dared. And now, every gaze that fell upon him carried pride, envy… and fear.

Because everyone knew: Theo knew.

He had seen Gene’s paint can, but he had also seen Daime’s hidden cassette tape, Ceres’ past, Dru’s trinkets, Tycho’s makeshift contraptions, Cors and Vanks’ subversive notes. Theo was now a loyal son of Mãe Ceres — but a son who could erase any one of them from history.

He sat at the usual table, with the weight of honor on his chest, which was also the weight of shame.

Ceres, sitting across from him, tried to form a smile — half pale, half hesitant. The recent memory of having confided her origins still burned inside her. A mistake? Perhaps. But as she looked at the medal on Theo’s chest, she murmured to herself, almost inaudibly:

— Theo loves Mãe Ceres the way I do.

Tycho, farther down, smiled at his brother as though he had no doubts. As though he saw only the shine of the medal, and not the lead behind it.

And then, of course, Daime broke the silence with his nasal voice and infamous humor:

— That’s right, Theo! — he said loudly, loud enough for several others to hear. — You’re right! You gotta report those bastards! They wanted to fuck with our Mother’s system! Fucking libertarians!

Some laughed nervously. Others did not.

At the other end of the table, Cors and Vanks merely raised their eyes toward him, slowly — half envy, half contempt. Dark, impassive, stirred his food as though he ate nothing at all.

Deep down, no one dared say anything else.

But everyone knew that the traitor had been dragged through that door, and that now any one of them could be next.

They also knew that Theo was no longer just Theo — he was Mãe Ceres’ invisible hand, chewing bread beside them as though he were still one of them.

And in the air, the mantra lingered among the whispers:

Mãe Ceres, who feeds us, educates us… and devours us.

Tycho smiled at his brother that morning in the cafeteria.

It was a serene smile, full of approval — a silent gesture, enough for Theo.

That was enough to carry in his chest the certainty that he had done the right thing.

But for the rest of the school… it was not.

For everyone else, it was not enough.

The eyes still pierced him.

The whispers were sharpened blades.

As soon as he finished eating, Tycho threw his backpack over his shoulders and headed out into the courtyard.

The day was cloudy and dry.

Near the wall, on a worn-out rug, Dru was arranging her trinkets for sale: tapes, pocketknives, buttons bearing old symbols, a compass, striped socks.

Tycho stopped in front of her, curious.

Dru looked up with a faint smile:

— Hello, Tycho.

He returned the smile silently.

Then Cors appeared from the side, carrying his enormous cassette player under his arm.

— It’s broken — he said, his face stern. — The tape gets stuck. It won’t turn.

Dru leaned forward, quick as ever:

— I have another one here, perfect condition — she said, pulling one from the pile and holding it up like a prize. — Forty-five credits.

Cors’ eyes widened.

— Forty-five?! Are you crazy?

Tycho, watching in silence, gave a sideways laugh and commented:

— I can fix that one.

Dru stopped smiling instantly. She went rigid, as though she had been slapped.

— What?

Cors turned toward Tycho, interested.

— How much?

Tycho shrugged casually:

— Twenty-five.

Cors raised an eyebrow.

— Twenty. Come on… it’ll probably be your first customer.

Tycho held out his hand to take the device and answered firmly:

— Deal.

Dru, red-faced, ground her teeth.

— Get lost, brat. You’re screwing up my business. Go away.

Tycho merely laughed as Cors was already walking away with him. Before leaving, he turned toward Dru, still smiling:

— Just so you know… I would’ve done it for five.

And he left Dru there, nervous, kicking the rug and putting the tapes back into the pile.

Tycho headed to the mechanical laboratory in the basement of the school, carrying the cassette player carefully. Cors walked beside him, curious but quiet — only kicking little stones along the way, eager to see whether the boy could actually pull it off.

The laboratory was empty at that hour, still smelling of oil and hot iron. Tycho switched on one of the workbench lamps and placed the device on the metal table.

— You can sit there — he told Cors, already picking up a precision screwdriver and a thin pair of pliers.

Cors crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, watching.

— You really got the hands for this, huh?

Tycho merely shrugged as he removed the cover. Within minutes, the cassette player was open, revealing worn gears, loose springs, and a snapped belt. He turned one of the pulleys with his fingertip, calmly examining the mechanism.

— The problem’s here — he murmured, almost to himself. — The drive belt snapped.

Cors leaned closer for a better look.

— Can it be fixed?

Tycho was already walking toward the parts cabinet, searching for what he needed. He pulled out a piece of synthetic rubber, a cutting blade, and a mold.

— It can. And it’ll be better than the original.

He cut the rubber with millimetric precision, used a drop of special adhesive to join the ends, and fitted the new belt into place. His fingers were quick and steady, like someone who had done this dozens of times in secret.

When he put the cover back on and inserted a test tape, he pressed play.

The reel began to turn smoothly, without static. An old melody filled the room, metallic, but perfect.

Cors broke into a satisfied smile:

— Well, look at that… it really is better.

Tycho wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag and handed the cassette player back.

— Twenty credits, as agreed.

Cors handed over the coins without hesitation, but before leaving, he cast him a conspiratorial look.

— Too bad your brother isn’t as good with his hands as you are. All he knows how to do is point his finger.

Tycho did not answer. He merely lowered his eyes to the workbench, putting the tools back in their places while the tape continued playing softly.

When Cors left, Tycho remained alone in the laboratory, listening to the music fill the silence.

And for a moment, he thought about the weight Theo carried in his chest… and how much that weight could crush.

Tycho left the laboratory with his hands still smelling of grease and a faint smile on his face. He slipped the twenty credits into his pocket — gleaming brass coins, engraved with the stern, serene profile of Mãe Ceres. Along the edge of each coin were the words:

"Who feeds us, educates us, devours us."

He spun one between his fingers, feeling its cold weight and the perfection of the engraving. Coins minted by none other than Dru. She made them clandestinely in the basement and had established a “ledger” — a thick, hardcover book where every credit issued was recorded. To everyone at the school, Dru’s coins were worth almost as much as official currency. She had a gift for making a parallel system look legitimate.

In the courtyard, Dru was sitting on the already-faded rug, selling more trinkets to a few boys. When she saw Tycho approaching, she raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

— Came to brag?

Tycho simply opened his palm and showed her the coins he had earned repairing the cassette player. The brass gleamed beneath the sun.

— I just came to show you that I trust your currency — he said with a faint smile.

Dru snorted, but she could not hide her pride.

— Naturally. My ledger has backing. It’s not like that crap the administration uses. I make fifty percent profit.

Tycho slightly twisted his lips and shook his head.

— No.

— No? — she shot back, her tongue already sharp.

— It’s not worth that much. It’s ingenious, Dru… but it’s not worth fifty percent.

She narrowed her eyes, defiant. Before the conversation could turn sour, Tycho took a coin from his pocket and tossed it onto the rug, right at her feet.

— But even so… it deserves recognition. Your system works.

Dru picked up the coin, spun it between her fingers, and, despite trying to hide it, let a faint smile escape.

— At least you’re not stupid. It’s good to see someone who understands how things really turn around here.

Tycho merely gave a slight nod and walked away, heading back toward the corridors with his hands in his pockets. He left Dru behind, alone with her rug, her junk… and the coin he had left behind as a sign of respect.

When Tycho disappeared into the corridors, Dru remained standing in the courtyard, staring at the coin he had left on the rug. She spun it between her fingers, feeling the weight of the engraved brass, its cold, polished surface. In the dull reflection, she saw her own face — serious, closed-off.

She pulled the ledger from beside her and opened it to the correct page, scribbling down the entry for the coin Tycho had returned:

"Credit 1347 — returned. Backing guaranteed."

She shut the ledger hard. Let out a broken sigh.

Inside, an uncomfortable mixture boiled in her chest. There was something beautiful about seeing her system work beyond herself — the coins were solid, reliable, respected. Everyone at the school accepted them without hesitation. It filled her with a silent, almost maternal pride for those little brass pieces passing from hand to hand.

But alongside it came the bitter sting: Tycho was now another competitor. And a dangerous one. He was not just another cheating kid — he was intelligent, efficient, and seemed to understand exactly how the gears around there turned.

Dru thought of the can of powdered chocolate, weeks earlier, that Tycho had discreetly taken from the cafeteria restocking cart. That day, she had not intervened — she had let it go, thinking the kid would trip and fall on his own. He did not. Quite the opposite: he repaired Cors’ cassette player perfectly, gained trust quickly, and even paid her with her own currency… just to prove that the system worked.

She bit her lower lip, caught between anger and admiration. She ran her hand across the rug, gathering the coins she had scattered for display.

— Damn brat… — she murmured to herself. — You’re too good for this place. Too good even for me.

She put everything back into the wooden box: coins, ledger, merchandise. She remained seated for a moment, elbows on her knees and forehead between her hands, thinking.

She knew she could no longer underestimate him. Tycho had become the very gear she had invented… and now it was beginning to turn against her.

Even so, when she stood to return to the building, a faint smile stubbornly appeared at the corner of her lips. He irritated her — but part of her wanted to see just how far he could go.

Dru picked up the last coin from the ground, closed the wooden box tightly, and stood. She spun the little coin Tycho had returned between her fingers, feeling the raised image of Mãe Ceres’ face against the cold brass.

The smile at the corner of her mouth did not disappear, even with the knot of anger burning in her stomach.

— I made you, Tycho… — she murmured softly, almost like a prayer to herself, her eyes fixed on the direction he had gone. — …and I can break you too.

She slipped the coin into her pocket, adjusted the folded rug beneath her arm, and entered the building, her mind already calculating her next move.

Because for Dru, the game never ended.