If you manage to fix this engine, I’ll hand over my position to you,” chuckled the boss.

If you fix that engine, Ill give you my post, the manager bellowed, chuckling.
Eleanor Harris, unlike the other staff, did not laugh.

She knew the boy. Once a week he turned up with a tattered sack, begging for discarded technical journals, asking if he could have tornout manuals, old catalogues, any paper that bore a schematic or a wiring diagram.

At first some salesmen whispered behind his back.

A scrapcollector kid fouling up the showroom they muttered.

But Eleanor never let them send him away.

If you had half the thirst for learning this lad has, the garage would have doubled its size by now, she would say, unflinching.

She watched him now, small before a motor that looked like a dismantled beast.

His eyes narrowed, his slender fingers feeling each component as if seeking an invisible story.

She sighed, grabbed her water bottle and slipped down to the workshop.

You havent eaten, have you? she asked, leaning against a pillar without intruding on his space.

David startled at the voice. He was so absorbed in a maze of cylinders, hoses and sensors that he had forgotten his own stomach.

Miss Eleanor not yet, he murmured, embarrassed. I thought Id sort things while everyone else was at lunch.

She glanced at the bench. The parts, once haphazardly strewn, now lay sorted into neat groupsscrews by size, sealing rings like a necklace, larger gears on clean rags.

You have a method, she observed, impressed. It isnt just bravery; its brains.

He gave a halfsmile.

The books say if you dont understand the logic you just memorise, and when a new problem appears youre lost, he replied. I like to understand, so I take longer at first. But then

He fell silent, unsure if he was saying too much.

Eleanor opened her bag and produced two rolls of bread wrapped in parchment.

Here, she offered. I brought it for myself, but you need it more.

David hesitated.

I cant pay.

Pay me back when youre a manager, she retorted with a hint of sarcasm. Eat quick before Mr. Philip returns with that unbearable grin.

He didnt need further urging. As he chewed, Eleanor watched him.

She saw not just a thin boy in plain clothes, but Mrs. Mabel Green, years ago, entering the garage with a rag in hand and weary eyes, asking for a cleaning job.

Its only until the boy grows a bit, she had said then, her humble voice masking a hard life.

That same boy now faced the most expensive engine in the showroom as if facing a riddle, not a sentence.

David, she called as he swallowed the last bite. You know Philip was joking, right? He doesnt really think youll fix it.

I know, David said, wiping his hands on his trousers. But if I dont try, Ill stay outside forever. Im, he inhaled deeply, Im tired of just watching.

Eleanor felt a tightness in her chest.

Does your mother know youre here? she asked.

He shrugged.

She knows I come for the magazines. She doesnt know about the engine. If she did, shed scream. Shed think Id blow up the workshop.

They laughed.

Then lets try to make it work before she comes and blows up the manager, Eleanor said. If you need anythingtools, manuals, a cup of teacall me. I dont understand engines, but I understand people who deserve a chance.

David nodded.

Thank you, Miss Eleanor.

She rose, leaving him with a little more bread in his stomach and far more courage in his heart.

The following days became a silent marathon. In the mornings David attended the local state school, absorbing lessons with the same intensity he gave the engines: noting everything, asking when no one else did, drinking knowledge. His classmates called him Brain not as a compliment but as a label; to him it mattered little.

Afternoons he helped Mrs. Green at home: carrying water buckets, fixing a drawer, mending a chair.

You handle that as if youre petting a cat, the old lady remarked, watching him adjust a table leg. Your biological father must have been a mechanic or a carpenter.

David kept quiet. He recalled no father, nor a mother before Mrs. Green. He remembered being found wrapped in a blanket by the doorstep on a cold evening, the rest a blur of imagination. Perhaps one day hed ask the old lady if there was more, but for now the engines were enough to keep his past from falling apart.

At dusk, when the sun slipped behind the lowrise terraced houses, he walked to the garage. Philip had given him no badge or formal permission, but Eleanor had quietly told the security guard:

Let the lad in. Hes helping with a job. If the manager objects, send him to me.

Thus, every afternoon David slipped into the workshop. Some mechanics snickered.

Whats the manager up to? Found the miracle part yet?

He pretended not to hear. Gradually others approached.

Kid, have you seen that kind of electronic injection? one asked.

Not up close, just on diagrams, David replied, pointing at the wiring. But here someone wired the harness to the wrong module. See the marks.

The mechanic leaned in.

Never noticed that before.

With small gestures, David began to earn a respect Philip never imagined he could command.

By the third night, after mentally disassembling and reassembling the engine ten times, David noticed something odd. The damage wasnt merely error; there were scratches in strange spots, repeated marks as if someone had forced a component beyond its limits more than once.

He enlarged a photo of the engine on his battered phone.

Zoom. A different screw head, flattopped, didnt match the original spec.

He frowned, fetched an old service manual Eleanor had bartered from a salesman in exchange for a cup of tea and a slice of cornbread. Flipping to the diagram page, tiny print read: Screw specX, hex head, torqueY for seal without fissure. What lay on the bench was a smaller, weaker fastener.

Someone skimped on the part, he muttered.

He recognized the pattern from forums he visited on the community WiFi. Garages sometimes swapped genuine parts for cheaper equivalents to boost profit, then blamed the mechanic when things broke.

He breathed deep. It wasnt the moment to accuse; it was the moment to fix.

That information lodged in a corner of his mind like a file that might one day matter.

Two days before the deadline, Philip stormed into the shop, mood sourer than usual.

Wheres the lad? he demanded, scanning the room.

A mechanic pointed to the back. David was kneeling, his head nearly inside the engines crankcase, fiddling with the wiring.

Philip approached, his polished shoes clashing with oilstained floors.

And what do we have, genius? Already a manager or still playing with Lego? he taunted.

David pulled himself out, wiping a smear of grease from his brow. He was dirty, exhausted, but his eyes sparkled.

Just a little longer, Mr. Philip, he said respectfully. I think Ive found the primary faultand a secondary one.

Philip raised an eyebrow.

Two problems? Of coursealways a secondary problem when you dont know what youre doing. Let me guess, if the car fails, its the second problems fault.

No, David replied, keeping his voice steady. If it fails, its on me. I took the challenge. It would be nice if you were there when I fire it up the first time. And perhaps the owner as well.

Philip hesitated.

The owner doesnt need to know anything, he cut sharply. He just wants a running car. If you fail, youll be back on the rubbish again. Deal?

David stared a moment, uneasy at the callous phrasing, then inhaled.

Deal.

Philip turned to leave, but stopped at Eleanors doorway. She stood, arms crossed, her face the same knowing expression she wore when shed overheard more than she should.

Eleanor, love, Philip began, using a nickname only he thought affectionate. You shouldnt be wandering the workshop. You have paperwork up in the office.

Paperwork I can handle, she retorted. What worries me is this engine and that boy.

Philip waved a hand dismissively.

If he fails, Ill call the importers tow truck. Theyll send a pricey tech, well pay a fortune, and the owner wont even notice the mess.

And what did you promise him, the boy? Eleanor pressed.

What boy? he feigned ignorance.

She narrowed her eyes.

If you fix that engine, Ill give you my post. I heard it in the break room, and others heard it too.

Philip rolled his eyes.

Eleanor, please. It was a joke, a figure of speech.

Funny, she murmured. I dont recall you ever jesting like that with the son of a client. Only with those who have no name to protect.

Philips colour faded.

Dont mix things up.

Im not mixing, she said softly. You are. Ego and business. If that car isnt running by Sunday, the deal with Mr. Sinclair collapses. Then it wont just be a mechanic who loses a job.

The name SinclairRalph Sinclairhad haunted Philip for weeks. The imported sedan wasnt just expensive; it belonged to Mr. Sinclair, who owned half the citys commercial premises.

Sinclair had left a simple note:

If you can fix the fault no one can, well sign an exclusive luxuryline contract. If not Ill look elsewhere.

Philip knew his career could be buried with that engine. That was why hed put his best mechanic on it as soon as it arrived, and why, after three days of futile attempts, hed fired the man. He could not stand incompetence, especially when his own neck was on the line. Yet he could not admit fear. The thought of a fourteenyearold boy becoming central to the solution unsettled his belief in hierarchy.

I know what that contract means, Philip said, feeling sweat despite the airconditioning. But I wont hand the garage over to a child, even if he performs a miracle.

Eleanor stared.

No one is saying you must hand it over, she replied finally. But your word was given. If you break it, it isnt just the Sinclair deal that fallsits the respect of everyone here, mine included.

Philip opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, but said nothing. He returned to his office, sank into his chair, and stared at the cityscape through the window. Below, the boy remained hunched over the engine. Philip recognized that lookhed once seen it in a mirror when he was just a sales assistant dreaming of management. Something long buried stirred.

Saturday dawned gray. David arrived early, eyes rimmed with lack of sleep. He had stayed up reviewing the last diagram, replaying each assembly step in his mind. Mrs. Green saw him leave with his satchel.

Off early, love? she asked.

Im helping someone at the garage, Mum, he replied with a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. Its important.

She nodded, wary but trusting. She knew he never got into troubleonly into screws.

In the workshop the engine waited, assembled, polished, silent as if mocking them.

Todays the day, manager, a mechanic joked as he passed. If it works, Ill call you Doctor.

David smiled, though his stomach churned.

Eleanor appeared a few minutes later, tray of coffee and mugs.

Therell be an audience, she warned. Mr. Sinclair called yesterday. Hell be here today.

David swallowed hard.

He himself?

He himself, Eleanor confirmed. And if youre afraid, remember: everyone feels fear. Courage is what we call doing it anyway.

Soon after, Philip entered, visibly tense. This time his immaculate tie was loosened, the top buttons undone.

And then? he asked, avoiding sarcasm. Ready?

David nodded.

Yes, sir. Ive checked everything twice.

Three times is better.

Ive done three, David replied with a faint smile.

Philip took a breath and gestured for a colleague to bring the car forward. The white sedan, sleek as a sleeping beast, rolled into the bay.

David eased into the drivers seat, his hand sliding over the leatherwrapped steering wheel, feeling the smoothness. For a moment he imagined cruising the streets of Birmingham, but he pushed the fantasy aside. He was there to prove himself.

Philip and Eleanor stood side by side, watching from the front of the car. A small circle of mechanics and sales staff formed a discreet ring. The hush felt sacred, like the pause before an orchestras first chord.

David turned the key.

For a suspended second nothing happened. The silence seemed to hold its breath.

Then the dash lit up. One by one the systems flickered to life. The engine coughed, coughed again, and finally roareda deep, steady rumble that filled the garage.

David felt tears sting his eyes. Philip exhaled a breath he hadnt realised hed been holding. Eleanor clapped, her voice shaking with emotion.

Its smooth, lad, a mechanic muttered. Looks fresh off the factory line.

David remained still, his mind still running checks. He glanced at the instrument panelno warning lights, no odd noises. He shut the engine off, then started it again, just to be sure. It obeyed, gentle and obedient.

A set of firm footsteps echoed through the workshop as Ralph Sinclair entered, flanked by a salesman and a younger assistant.

Eleanor straightened, her posture poised. Philip dabbed his hands discreetly on his trousers.

Good morning, gentlemen, Sinclair said, voice steady. Wheres my millionpound problem?

Philip forced a smile.

Right here, Mr. Sinclair, he indicated the sedan. I think its no longer a problem.

Sinclair walked around the car, his gaze that of a man who knew metal better than roses.

The engine was dead, he remarked. At the importer they told me to buy another. I said, Before you toss it, lets see if theres anyone here who can think, not just compute.

He placed a hand on the bonnet.

Who was bold enough to meddle with it?

Philip opened his mouth to claim credit, but nothing came out. All eyes turned to David.

The boy instinctively stepped back. Eleanor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

It was him, she said simply. David.

Sinclair studied the boy, his eyes not with contempt but curiosity.

How old are you, lad?

Fourteen, David replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

Sinclair raised an eyebrow.

And you think you understand this engine better than the factory engineers?

No, sir, David said quickly. They built it. I only listened to what it was trying to tell me.

A murmur rippled through the room. Sinclair smiled faintly.

Fine answer, he said. Lets see if you truly speak engineish. He gestured for David to start the car again. The engine roared as before, steady and clean.

Sinclair walked around, listening to the exhaust, feeling the vibration, noting the quiet dashboard.

No warning lights, he observed. No rogue injection fault.

Philips expression wavered between relief and disbelief. The dealership had just been rescued from disaster.

Sir, I could drive it if you like, David offered from the passenger seat. Ive reprogrammed the control unit for dynamic reading. If anything deviates, the monitor will show it. He pointed to an old laptop, borrowed from a mechanic, linked to the cars ECU.

Sinclair nodded.

Lets take it for a spin.

He looked at Philip.

Come with us.

Then, turning to David:

You as well.

Eleanors eyes widened.

Hes a minor. Im not sure

He wont be driving, Sinclair assured. Hell sit beside me and explain, in proper workshop language, what he did. I want to know the mind behind this.

The city seemed another world from the smooth ride of that car. Sinclair drove with confidence, testing acceleration, braking, turns.

And now? he asked, not taking his eyes off the road. Explain.

David inhaled deeply.

The engine had two issues, sir, he began. One was a design flaw that some forums have discussed. A valve component deformed under heat, especially in highaltitude towns like ours, causing microcracks and loss of compression. The fix is to replace it withthe correct specificationrated component prescribed by the manufacturer, restoring the engine to its intended performance.