The Thirteenth Military District's "Preparatory Class Enhancement Plan" was no secret to Baisha. In recent years, with stable battlefronts and growing resources, the district's brass harbored ambitions to flex their might. Beyond internal reforms, education was a cornerstone of their strategy.
This year, planets tied to Luodeng Star became testing grounds for the plan, overhauling school facilities, faculty, training gear, and curricula. In blunt terms: throw credits at the problem to churn out elite academy cadets.
Hand-in-hand with the plan was the district's pride, Rennis Military Academy. Starting this year, the military and Rennis jointly funneled resources to local hopefuls—idle holo-cabins and low-grade mechs shipped to prep classes, plus "guaranteed admission" and "special talent recruitment" programs. Any gifted student eyeing Rennis would get everything they needed.
The Thirteenth District, in its expansionist phase, craved manpower. Academies forged soldiers, and prep classes shaped local talent. The plan was non-negotiable.
But Lanslow Star, a backwater speck, hadn't felt reform's breeze. Students plodded along, same as ever—until Luodeng Star dropped two real-deal mechs. C-grade, sure, but enough to send Lanslow's kids into a frenzy for days.
For Baisha's graduating class, facing the academy selection test, the mechs weren't a boon but a death knell. Piloting revealed mental strength levels. Skill aside, if you couldn't budge a mech, your mental strength was sub-C—effectively zilch.
The grim truth? Of Baisha's fifty-six classmates still standing, past data suggested only one in ten had C-grade or better mental strength. Most couldn't even twitch a mech.
Years of grueling training fueled dreams of soaring past their origins. Until mental strength was tested, anyone could be a dragon—or a worm. Clinging to that sliver of hope, even one percent, they toiled, trusting the exam would settle it all, as it had for countless classes before.
Now, mechs could test mental strength early. Try, and risk learning your efforts were a joke if you flopped? Worse, the method wasn't foolproof—errors happened. But pass up a mech right in front of you? Unthinkable.
The mechs stirred a quiet storm in students' hearts, unspoken but heavy. Not for the orphanage trio, though. Baisha, Jingyi, and Yaning, bold as brass, were thrilled. After countless chip sims, a real mech felt like hitting the jackpot.
Next day, the head instructor summoned the graduating class to the main training field. In grey uniforms, they stood ramrod-straight under the gaze of instructors and Luodeng's entourage—five or six guests, including Rennis teachers, plan overseers, and two teens, a boy and girl, in dark-green dress uniforms, faces cool and solemn.
"Lanslow's students look sharp, full of spirit," a kindly Rennis teacher told the head instructor. "With you here, I trust the teaching. You're leagues above the clock-punchers on other planets. We invited you to Luodeng, but you stayed…"
"This is Lanslow," the instructor said, his dark face stern. "My home. If a man feels nothing for his roots, your 'enhancement plan' means squat."
The teacher sighed. "Fair point."
"Let's talk students," the instructor said, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "This batch has real gems." Stepping forward, hands clasped behind, he barked, "Names called, step out!"
He named six: the orphanage trio, Parfen Luqi, and two diligent boys. They formed a line, radiating poise. The trio, despite their orphan roots, outshone even Parfen's highborn grace.
The instructor murmured about them to the guests, then called, "Last test's top rank, step forward."
Baisha strode out, crisp and sure.
At fourteen, their personalities were taking shape. Baisha stood tall, silver-grey hair tied in a shimmering ponytail, her sharp features exuding a regal ease. Her refined beauty didn't seem mortal—she looked less like a student being judged and more like the judge herself.
The Rennis teacher blinked. Top rank by face alone?
"Baisha, greet the teachers," the instructor said, tossing her into the spotlight.
"Yes, sir." Baisha's eyes curved with a smile. "Honored teachers, I'm Baisha, speaking for all students. We warmly welcome and deeply thank you. Your visit graces our humble Lanslow, a true honor. Allow me to introduce our school, West District Lanslow High, a century-old beacon of excellence…"
"Enough!" The instructor's face darkened. "Pipe down, silver-tongue!"
Baisha flashed a poised smile.
The Rennis teacher gaped. This kid doesn't even sound like a Lanslow native!
"I know your tricks," the instructor growled, waving her off. "Go—mechs are there. Pick one and try it."
"Sir, I'd rather not pilot," Baisha said. "If I must, I'd prefer to dismantle them."
"Dream on! Only two mechs, and others need a turn!" he snapped, turning to the Rennis teacher. "She's set on being a mech-tech, not your typical cadet. Hard to rein in."
The teacher's eyes flicked to Baisha, intrigued. The two green-uniformed teens, previously bored, now focused on her.
"Mech-tech, eh?" the teacher asked, chuckling. "Tested your mental strength?"
"Not yet," Baisha said.
"She's torn apart museum mech parts, C- and B-grade," the instructor said, stifling a laugh. "Last time, she fixed a wrecked display mech so well it could fight. The museum shipped it back to the military. Now they won't let her touch anything."
Rundown mechs were museum cash cows—Baisha was a walking revenue-killer.
The teacher's eyes lit up. "Why haven't I heard of this Lanslow prodigy?"
Fixing B-grade parts hinted at A-grade mental strength—a rare gem, especially for a tech. "She's aiming for Central Military Academy," the instructor said slowly. "Her and those two beside her—all three want Central."
If they pulled it off, Lanslow would be legendary.
The Rennis teacher gave an awkward laugh, shelving plans to test her mental strength. Youthful dreams of greatness were natural, and Baisha didn't seem delusional.
"Since Baisha's out," the instructor began, but the green-uniformed boy cut in: "Sir, if they've never touched mechs, let us demonstrate."
"C-grade mechs? Fine, show them," the Rennis teacher said after a pause.
"These are Luodeng's prep students, Zhao Li and Niu Qingluo," the teacher said. "Top performers, both A-grade mental strength, set for Rennis. If any of you join, they'll be your peers."
Zhao Li, the boy, had proposed the demo. A stir rippled through the students.
They moved to an indoor field, where the mechs awaited. Lanslow's frugality shone—nobody, from principal to student, could bear leaving new mechs exposed. Rain could corrode parts, and repairs cost a fortune.
Baisha disagreed—mechs, even C-grade, were tougher than that. But West District's remote campus had space to spare; the indoor field was as vast as the outdoor one.
Before all eyes, Zhao Li climbed into a crimson mech's cockpit. The hatch sealed, chest lights flared. The humanoid mech—head, torso, limbs—sprang to life, jogging forward, executing a clean backflip, wings unfolding mid-air. Its metal hands drew twin golden light-blades, slashing with precision.
Students: "Whoa!"
Zhao Li's mech wobbled, briefly off-balance, and he corrected it, fuming inwardly. What's with these Lanslow hicks, gawking like it's a circus?
Yaning clapped loudly, muttering, "Is he juggling?"
Jingyi shrugged. "Whatever. The mechs are ours now—no take-backs."
Zhao Li showed basic movement, then aimed for live-fire. Distant targets danced. He fired, smoke rising, debris falling. The system chimed: Hit rate, seventy-three percent.
Students: "WHOA!"
Their applause roared louder. Zhao Li, unamused, thought, Why isn't this satisfying?
His "demo" was a flex, not a lesson—no mention of power switches or weapon safeties. He exited silently. The students caught on: That's it? Just a show-off?
"Zhao Li did well," the instructor said flatly. "Aim for his level. Yaning, you're up. Just aim and shoot—no acrobatics. Figure it out, then teach the others."
"Got it!" Yaning, itching for this, leapt in.
Everyone expected him to fumble the cockpit door. Instead, he glided in, moving the mech's arms, legs, even stretching it like a warm-up. He toyed with weapons—drawing blades, tossing them skyward, catching them with flair.
Instructor: "…"
Classmates: "…"
They questioned reality. Yaning, a mech novice? Their eyes slid to Zhao Li, then darted away.
If C-grade mechs were this easy, what was Zhao Li's stunt about?
Zhao Li seethed, cursing inwardly. Liars! Yaning's no rookie! Lanslow's teachers claimed they'd never touched mechs—bull!
The mech's joints whirred. Yaning's hyperactive mech shifted, guns drawn, targeting the swarm of moving marks. His shots were steady, relentless, adjusting stance fluidly. Targets burst, raining ash.
Beep. System report: 933 rounds, ninety-one percent hit rate.
Silence gripped the field.
Yaning hopped out, his excitement cooling. Opening the cockpit, he began explaining the controls, but the instructor beckoned.
"Yaning," he growled, eyes predatory, "when did you learn to pilot?"
Yaning choked, grinning sheepishly. "Haha, me? Pilot? Just blind firing! Wait, do I know how? Since when…"
Baisha and Jingyi facepalmed. His excuse was worse than silence.
Still, Yaning taught shooting basics—vague but clear enough: "Do this, press that." Students swung between too hard and I could do that.
One bold classmate tried, climbing in with zeal. The mech sat dead. He emerged ashen, the crowd silent. The Rennis teacher sighed softly. That's more like it. Yaning's the anomaly.
A few more dared. Two nudged their mechs slightly—arms, feet—but big moves toppled them.
"Piloting isn't just shooting," the Rennis teacher said to the deflated students. "Mechs are for combat. You must master mech fighting." He paused. "Zhao Li, Niu Qingluo—spar. Use every attack you've got, then report."
Saluting, they boarded, faces grim. Zhao Li's was darker.
No holding back, they clashed in a true mech duel, light-blades sparking with each strike. Zhao Li's style was steady but cautious; Niu Qingluo, nimble and daring, grazed his joints, her cuts fierce, not sparing. The screeching metal awed—and pained—some students.
Stop! Our new mechs!
One day in, and already repair-bound?
Baisha alone grinned. Damaged mechs meant she could dismantle them, guilt-free.
Zhao Li couldn't match Niu Qingluo's blade-work. Her final kick toppled his mech, her light-blade halting just shy of his cockpit. The crowd exhaled.
Sweat-soaked, they exited. "Not bad," the Rennis teacher said. "Attacks too simple, green. Train harder."
They nodded, dissecting their moves. Baisha yawned through their recap. Jingyi listened as Yaning compared real mechs to sims.
"Sensitivity's lower than the chip," Yaning said. "Slight delays—you've got to time for them."
Baisha figured the mental-link sensors were subpar. Prep-class mechs weren't high-end; perfection would be overkill.
Still, they agreed: Zhao Li and Niu Qingluo's fight lacked grit.
"You want a go?" Baisha asked Jingyi.
Jingyi shook her head. "After they leave. Too many eyes now."
The instructor and Rennis teacher chatted, name-dropping "star fighters." When Niu Qingluo heard Jingyi's near-unbeaten record, her gaze locked on her.
Baisha patted Jingyi's back, chuckling, "No escaping fate, huh?"
It clicked: Zhao Li and Niu Qingluo were Luodeng's poster kids, showcasing Rennis's strength. Baisha's crew, gunning for Central, had skills to match. Zhao Li's flop fueled Niu Qingluo's need to even the score.
Niu Qingluo challenged Jingyi to a duel.
Jingyi paused, then flashed her infamous "Yama Yi" grin, chilling to classmates. "Fist-fighting's dull," she said, stretching her wrists. "Let's do mechs."
Here it was—the showdown. Niu Qingluo's thrashing of Zhao Li was fresh, but Jingyi was Lanslow's untouchable legend. Who'd win?
Some students, ever the gossips, sneaked recordings.
No one expected it to end so fast.
Jingyi's mech charged, a blur of speed. West District knew her close-combat prowess. Her mech's four wings flared, light-blade slashing Niu Qingluo's flank. Niu Qingluo blocked, too slow, her blade knocked away, clattering. Jingyi didn't press with blades—instead, a flying kick forced Niu Qingluo's mech to kneel. Hooking her neck, Jingyi loomed, flipping her blade's hilt, resting it lightly on Niu Qingluo's throat.
In war, that move was a kill.
"Your recaps won't help here," Jingyi whispered, audible only to them. "Your blade's all form, no will. Hesitate, and you're dead. Next time, swing faster—don't overthink."
They parted, exiting. Niu Qingluo's eyes were red, but they saluted, ending civilly.
The Rennis teacher stood, stunned. What's Lanslow's deal this year? Freak prodigies?
The demo done, Luodeng's group prepared to leave. Zhao Li and Niu Qingluo had arrived cocky, deeming themselves elite, even Central or Saint-Cyr material. They chose Rennis for generous district perks and family ties to Luodeng—why stray when home was the goal?
Today, their pride shattered. If these were Central's caliber, what made them think Rennis was a sacrifice?
The Rennis teacher watched their introspection, satisfied. A humbling was due—better now than later. With focus, they could still shine.
Jingyi stole the show, outshining Yaning. Students idolized her, but she squirmed under the worship. Only Parfen Luqi stayed constant, challenging, "Jingyi, let's fight!"
Parfen's face was unnaturally pale. In months, she'd surged, outpacing all but the trio. Where Jingyi saw no resolve in Niu Qingluo's blade, Parfen's eyes burned with it—a do-or-die fire.
Jingyi respected such foes. Lips pursed, she raised a brow, solemn. "Alright."