Report
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Griffin Scans
Translator – Hero of death
Proofreader – Sleepyhead
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Chapter 2 - The Suspicious Client
Yoon Tae-jun’s solution was unexpectedly simple.
Since the inner cavity was too hollow to properly insert his usual brass rod, he decided to fill the space with Shibatul.
Shabatul is made by mixing hardener and base in a 1:1 ratio, Shibatul had a clay-like consistency. Once shaped or adhered, it hardened solid after about six hours at room temperature.
Once Tae-jun finalized a rough plan, he quickly began kneading the mixture of hardener and base.
He packed it tightly into the two broken sections, sprayed the joint with water to moisten it evenly, and generously applied the expensive gel-type superglue, pushing it in with all his might.
The glue oozed out like crazy during the process, but he gritted his teeth and forced it in.
As soon as the alignment clicked into place, he sprayed on some superglue accelerator and battled with it for a few more minutes until it finally took shape.
After inserting it back into the base, a wave of exhaustion washed over him so intensely that the sky seemed to turn yellow.
For now, it needed to cure in this state for at least eight hours.
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The Next Day
Tae-jun cautiously tapped the now rock-solid leg of the Hulkbuster, which was starting to make him feel uneasy just looking at it.
“Oh, it hardened better than I expected.”
The rest of the process was just like the Boa Hancock job from the day before.
He sanded away the hardened glue that had oozed out during bonding, masked off the surrounding area, and applied a fresh coat of paint.
To bring out the metallic feel, he used black acrylic as a base and layered silver over the joints. Then, carefully comparing it to the other parts, he painted the trim gold, making the repair nearly invisible.
Finally, he added panel lining—the finishing touch of a good paint job.
“It’s done!!!”
The once-broken Hulkbuster leg had been perfectly restored by Tae-jun’s skilled hands.
Having spent most of the morning on the paint job, Tae-jun ordered a bowl of jjajangmyeon from a nearby Chinese restaurant and took photos of the Hulkbuster with his phone.
[The Hulkbuster restoration you requested is complete.]
[Wow… it’s perfect. Are you sure this is the same one I sent?]
[It took quite a bit of work, and considering the size and weight, I’d recommend picking it up in person rather than shipping.]
[Really? Got it. I’ll come by this weekend. I’ll transfer the 30,000 won balance right away.]
[Sorry, I think there’s a misunderstanding. 30,000 won is the minimum charge. The price varies depending on the complexity of the job.]
[Oh, really? Then how much is it?]
[The restoration fee for the Hulkbuster is 300,000 won.]
[What!? Isn’t that a bit much]
Tae-jun understood that 300,000 won was a steep price for figure repair.
But considering the time and effort it required, he could’ve earned more restoring smaller figures in the same time. His pricing logic started with the original cost of the figure.
The 1:6 Hulkbuster had been produced in limited quantities and was expensive to begin with.
Though its current premium price was unknown, the original retail price had been close to 2 million won. So charging 300,000 won to repair a broken leg didn’t seem unreasonable.
Other figure restorers priced their work based on hours spent and the figure’s value too.
Limited edition figures only increase in value over time.
A figure with a broken leg is just garbage. But if it can be returned to its original state by skilled hands, isn’t that worth paying for?
[Can’t you go a little lower? That’s way too expensive for a repair…]
The predictable response came.
Tae-jun sighed lightly and typed a response.
[Since you’re picking it up yourself, I’ll knock off a bit for gas. Please transfer 280,000 won.]
[… Is that the best you can do?]
A person who owns a 2-million-won figure isn’t likely strapped for cash... though some do blow all their savings on these things. But Tae-jun had no intention of budging.
[Sorry, but the damaged area was tricky. It took a lot of work. I can’t go any lower.]
[Alright. I’ll call you this weekend and come pick it up.]
[Thank you for understanding. I’ll be waiting.]
Both the work and the client had been a headache.
Clients like this often came in person just to haggle down the price, and he had a feeling this weekend would be no different.
Ding-dong~
Right when hunger and stress were peaking, his jjajangmyeon seemed to have arrived.
“It’s open!”
He shouted toward the door, and light streamed in as it creaked open.
As he grabbed his wallet to pay, he was met not by a delivery guy, but an old man holding a small box.
Wearing a faded gray suit, the elderly gentleman peered past Tae-jun into the room filled with figures.
A customer? He seems way too old for this…
He definitely didn’t look like someone interested in figures.
“Who… are you?”
“Hmm… is this the toy repair shop that fixes anything?”
“Ah, yes. Do you have something for repair?”
Sometimes grandparents secretly commissioned repairs for toys they broke, so Tae-jun quickly figured out what this might be.
Sure enough, the box must’ve contained a broken toy.
And his guess wasn’t far off.
“Can you fix this?”
As Tae-jun accepted the box and opened the lid to inspect it, he gasped.
“This is… no way…”
“Oh? You know this series?”
“Of course! Wow… it’s been ages since I’ve seen this.”
The Korean-named G.I. Commandos.
Early 90s. Practically the beginning of action figures. He never thought he’d see them again.
Though not well-preserved, the box was filled with jumbled figures that sparked a flood of childhood memories.
Some were ones he had desperately wanted back then. Though now the paint looked garish and the designs awkward, nostalgia had a certain charm.
They say some memories are best left untouched…
The G.I. Commando figures in the box weren’t in terrible shape. Some chipped paint and dust aside, they were passable.
“Nothing seems seriously damaged. Were you hoping to have them repainted?”
“Oh~ that’s an option?”
“Well… repainting is a lot of work, and I’ve got a big backlog. It might be difficult right now.”
The old man’s eyes briefly flickered with disappointment.
“I’ve been hearing the same thing everywhere. I suppose these old things are hard to restore and probably not profitable either…”
To be honest, that was true.
Repainting wasn’t simple restoration. It was painstaking work. With his current schedule, there was no way he could take it on.
He closed the box and handed it back, watching the old man turn with sagging shoulders lined with deep wrinkles.
Then—
“Wait a moment.”
The old man’s hand on the doorknob froze at Tae-jun’s voice.
“Is this urgent?”
“Hmm? No, not at all. Take your time. I’d be happy just to see them like they were before.”
“Then I have one condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“Honestly, repainting won’t be cheap. Each one requires manual work…”
The old man replied back to him with a calm voice.
“I’m willing to pay what it’s worth.”
“…If you’re sure, then I’ll take the job.”
“Oh? Why the sudden change of heart?”
At that question, Tae-jun thought back to his own childhood.
The old man’s hunched figure reminded him of his father just before their family business collapsed.
But Tae-jun said nothing. He only shook his head.
“It just brought back some memories.”
After the man thanked him and left, Tae-jun looked at the box on his desk and pulled out the tiny heroes of his childhood, letting out a cry of anguish.
“Argh!! I’m crazy. Why did I agree!?”
Lost in nostalgia, he had made a huge mistake.
He already had a mountain of work—when would he find the time to disassemble and repaint these?
But it was too late now.
He’d accepted the job. Now he had to power through it.
Fortunately, none of the figures had completely lost their paint, so restoring them wouldn’t be too hard—just time-consuming.
“Still, it’s really been a long time… G.I. Commandos…”
To Tae-jun, these old action figures were relics of happier times.
As a child, he had lived fairly comfortably and collected toys as a hobby.
Whenever a new G.I. Commando came in, he’d ask the stationery store owner to set one aside until evening.
Then he’d wait at the bus stop for his dad to come home.
“Hey~ Dr. Jjanggu! Dad’s here~”*
His father would step off the bus, pick him up, and smile brightly.
“If you’re waiting for me at the bus stop again, I guess there’s a toy you want?”
“The store owner said there’s a new G.I. Commando in.”
“Yeah? Looks like the doctor’s collection’s about to grow. But remember it’s our little secret from Mom, okay?”
“Of course~”
My father never hesitated to buy me the toys I loved.
But when the business suddenly faltered, the warm smiles grew rare.
The scent of expensive cologne on my father’s shirt was replaced by the sour smell of sweat, and stains began to appear on his once-crisp sleeves.
My stay-at-home mom eventually started working late hours.
Cracks began to form in what was once a happy home.
“Dad, when’s Mom coming back?”
One weekend afternoon—
My mom had said she was visiting her family, but a month had passed, and she still wasn’t back.
“Mom and I are just taking a break. If you wait patiently, she’ll come back.”
My father stroked my hair gently and forced a smile.
And I silently nodded.
—New G.I. Commando arrivals—
On my way to school one morning, I froze when I saw the notice on the stationery store’s window.
Just then, the owner stepped outside for a smoke and spotted him.
“New Commando figures coming tonight. Want me to save one for you?”
“Really? I’ll ask my dad!”
“Alright. I’ll wait.”
That evening...
After a rushed dinner alone, I ran to the bus stop to wait for my dad.
But unlike usual, my father who normally arrived around six never showed up.
[TL/N: *Jjanggu - It's a nickname given to children who have round heads like shin Chan]
~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter End~~~~~~~~~~~~
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