Following Tassi along the packed dirt trail, Carlos headed to the carpenter's workshop to explain the machines he needed. The heavy air carried the sweet smell of sawdust mixed with the mold from the clay buildings. So many essential things are missing, he thought with a hint of frustration. Without the custom of reading and writing here, there's no paper. If there were, I could just copy the diagrams from the book and hand them to the carpenter. Now, I'll have to come back here every time to explain each piece. He sighed, feeling the weight of the journey ahead. Changing this world is going to be a long, obstacle-filled road.

  The workshop of Mocambo do Tatu wasn't large. Made of clay like the other structures, its walls housed a collection of tools: saws with sharp teeth, hammers with handles smoothed by use, and aligned planes. Inside, the sound was constant—the creak of wood being cut, the scraping of surfaces being polished, and the low buzz of a circular saw blade spinning, powered by the metal gem that Vicente's son controlled with concentration. Vicente himself pushed a plank against the disk, his muscles tense with effort. Spotting Carlos, he stopped working and approached, wiping his hands on a rag dirty with resin.

  "Good afternoon. How can I help, chief?" said Vicente, and Carlos didn't miss the man's somewhat hesitant look, clearly still adjusting to the idea of such a young leader.

  "Good afternoon, Vicente. I need you to make several wooden parts for some machines we're going to assemble."

  Carlos then dove into a detailed explanation, opening the precious book "Industrial Revolution: The Machines That Changed the World" to show sketches and diagrams. His words tried to translate abstract concepts into tangible forms of wood and movement.

  Even with the explanation, it was clear Vicente wouldn't retain all the details at once. Carlos even thought about leaving the book with him, but his heart froze at the possibility.

  This workshop is a place of accidents, he pondered, looking at the exposed blades and the sharp wood chips on the floor. I can't risk losing this book. It's the most important thing I have. Without it, even a steam engine, whose principle is simple—fire heats water, steam generates pressure, pressure moves a machine—would become a herculean task. Knowing the principle is one thing; replicating centuries of engineering is another entirely.

  A wave of insecurity hit him. I wish I were like those protagonists in novels and manga, geniuses who rebuild modern civilization from memory. But me… without these books, I am nothing. If I lost them, I'd be lost.

  "Any questions, just come find me," said Carlos, closing the volume carefully. "I'll also stop by every day to check on the progress."

  After finishing the explanations, the two started walking back. Carlos walked in silence, his gaze fixed on the ground, his despondency noticeable. Tassi, at his side, watched him for a moment before breaking the silence.

  "What's wrong? You left the carpenter's workshop more down than when you entered."

  He was surprised. He believed he disguised his emotions better. But, having been found out, he reluctantly confessed the fear that haunted him—the total dependence on those books and the fragility of his knowledge without them.

  Tassi listened in silence, absorbing his words. When he finished, she spoke with a serenity he didn't expect.

  "Truly, it would be terrible if something happened to those books. But it would be even worse if something happened to you."

  Carlos looked at her, surprised again, but remained silent. Tassi continued, her tone softer than usual.

  "Look, do you really think I chose to follow you because I had nothing better to do? At first, it was out of debt, because you saved me. Then, it was out of curiosity. But now…"

  Somewhat reluctantly, she said, "Now it's out of respect. That plantation owner, he had the same collection of books as you. And he did nothing with them. Look at how much change you've already brought us. And most importantly: you gave us hope. You gave freedom to me and all our companions who were enslaved. And even the people from the quilombo… do you think they're going into that creepy cave, messing with bat droppings, of their own free will?"

  She looked into Carlos's brown eyes before continuing, "They might not believe in you yet, but they already believe in your weapons. Here in the quilombo we are free, but it's a freedom always under threat. The return of slavery is a ghost that haunts our nightmares… I still have mine."

  Carlos couldn't disguise his expression of shock. It took him a moment to process those words.

  "Thank you," he finally said, his voice a little hoarse. "I didn't expect to hear that from you."

  Tassi turned her face away, whispering softly, almost to herself:

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Me neither…" And then, in a silent thought: I guess I've become more emotional since I stopped being a Mino warrior. But I don't know if that's bad. I actually feel pretty good.

  Carlos didn't quite hear the murmur, but decided not to press. Her speech, however, had worked a small wonder on his spirits. A new purpose ignited within him. If I don't know the book contents by heart, then I'll memorize them. I have time now. I don't have to spend the whole day in the fields anymore. I can get food from the storage, I can ask for help… The strangeness of being able to give orders still bothered him, but he resigned himself. I should get used to it in time.

  In the days that followed, Carlos established a routine. In the morning, he visited Nia's workshop, where the heat of the forges and the smell of hot oil welcomed him. In the afternoon, it was Vicente's workshop's turn, now busier. The carpenter, overloaded, had asked for more assistants, and Carlos had implemented a suggestion: each apprentice focused on a single specific task. Productivity increased noticeably.

  It's the embryo of Fordism, Carlos reflected, observing the coordinated work. Applied to a wood workshop, not an industrial assembly line, but the logic is the same. We start small, but soon production will skyrocket. The profit will fund the upgrade from manual machines to steam machines… Of course, before thinking about mass production, I need to sell the goods. Everyone needs clothes, but how to export from the quilombo? I hope the idea of selling to the neighboring farmers works…

  The routine of studying and visits, however, began to take its toll. Carlos's mind begged for an escape, a distraction. There were no fiction books, no anime to marathon, no endless videos about some online drama. Longing for that trivial past was a constant itch in his mind. Until, one morning, a simple and brilliant idea occurred to him.

  At dawn, Carlos left his house with a lively step. Quixotina, his morning guard, raised a surprised eyebrow. He normally only left for the workshops or to study.

  "Good morning. What made you leave your den today?" she asked, her curious eyes examining him.

  "I decided to leave studying for the afternoon," he announced, a smile on his face. "Today I'm going to do something different. Let's play soccer!"

  He triumphantly held up an improvised ball, a tangled bundle of rags that were once the pants he wore as a slave. It was the most decent material he had managed to find.

  Quixotina wrinkled her nose, examining the object.

  "And what is that supposed to be? Don't tell me those rags are going to explode."

  He laughed.

  "Of course not! It's just a game. I've been really bored. Since the adults are busy, I'm going to teach the kids. Where are they?"

  "Ha!" she let out a laugh. "That's it? And I was already expecting another crazy invention."

  She pointed to an open area near the cultivation fields. There, a dozen children were running around in a racket, with Dulcinéia in the middle of the group. In the lead, chased by everyone, was Zézinho, a whirlwind of energy.

  This Zézinho really is a character, Carlos thought, smiling.

  Quickly, he used stones to mark two goals at opposite ends of the field. Then, he approached the group and shouted:

  "Hey, kids! Who wants to play a game with me? The winning team gets ice cream!"

  The effect was instant. The running stopped. Twelve pairs of eyes turned to him, and then a small crowd ran towards him at full speed, drawn by the promise of the sweet treat that Dulcinéia and Zézinho had talked about so much.

  Just mention sweets and the kids come running, he thought, satisfied.

  In seconds, he was surrounded.

  "I want to, uncle! How do we win?" shouted eager voices.

  Only Zézinho seemed more interested in the challenge than the reward. He stood in front of the group, chest puffed out.

  "So, what's the game? Do we have to beat you?"

  Seems the little one is competitive. That's fine, the important thing is to have fun, Carlos thought.

  "It's simple!" he explained. "We play with our feet, using this ball. No one can touch it with their hands. Behind me is a goal, I marked it with two stones. To score a point, you have to kick the ball into the opponent's goal. Your team will defend that goal over there. The ball can't leave the marked area. And in each goal, there's a goalkeeper—only he can use his hands!"

  The children looked a little confused, but their eyes shone with curiosity.

  "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it quickly. It'll be six on each side. My team against Quixotina's."

  Quixotina, who was watching the scene from afar, was startled.

  "Wait, I'm playing?"

  Carlos and all the children turned to her, with pleading looks. Dulcinéia, in particular, stared at her mother with bright, expectant eyes.

  Quixotina crossed her arms, but a small smile escaped. This is a dirty trick, she thought.

  "Alright… I'll play."

  "Yayyy!" shouted the chorus of children.

  "Who wants to be on my team?" asked Carlos, full of confidence.

  What followed was an awkward silence. No child moved. Then, a murmur began:

  "I want… to be on Quixotina's team!"

  "Me too!"

  "And me!"

  Carlos was stunned. What spell did Quixotina cast on these children?

  "Well, not everyone can be with her," he said, trying to maintain his dignity. "I'll choose who comes to my team."

  He selected six children, including Zézinho. The chosen ones looked visibly crestfallen. Seeing their disappointed faces, Carlos made his final move.

  "Hey, don't be sad! Just think: our team is going to win, and we'll eat all that ice cream by ourselves!"

  As if by magic, the six children's eyes lit up. Sadness turned into determination. The game could finally begin.