The air at Tianquan Military Academy crackled with the weight of ambition and rivalry as Baisha returned from her private audience with Instructor Tisya. At the training field's threshold, two figures stood resolute, their silhouettes sharp against the fading light: Cen Yuehuai, her gaze flickering with quiet unease, and Sino Uss, whose golden hair caught the sun's last rays like a crown. Their dominance in the day's exercises had etched their names into the minds of their peers, who stole wary glances as they passed, as though brushing too close might ignite some unseen spark. Unfazed by the attention, Cen and Sino stood like twin pillars, an unspoken alliance that made them both a spectacle and a barricade—a living emblem of Class A's unspoken hierarchy.
"Your Highness, you're back at last!" Cen Yuehuai hastened to Baisha's side, her voice threaded with concern, as though she feared the instructor's words might have left a wound. "Was Instructor Tisya hard on you?"
"Why would she be?" Baisha's tone was light, her smile a gentle reassurance, like a breeze dispelling a storm. "She offered me comfort, not criticism. All is well."
Cen exhaled, her shoulders easing as though a weight had slipped away.
"Comfort? From Tisya?" Sino Uss sauntered closer, his voice carrying a playful lilt, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. "You're forgetting, Yuehuai—Tisya's Featherkin, same as Her Highness. She'd have no cause to trouble a royal."
Cen's eyes flashed with irritation. "Must you always drag bloodlines into everything? Did you sleep through Tisya's lecture today? She made it clear she wants us to rise above noble houses and prove ourselves through strength alone."
Indeed, Tisya's orchestrated melee—a chaotic dance of spirit forms—had worked a subtle alchemy. In mere hours, it had woven threads of familiarity among the students, revealing glimpses of their temperaments and the spectral shapes of their mental energies. By the bout's end, adversaries had become comrades, laughing and clasping shoulders, their rivalries softened by newfound respect.
Yet Baisha, Sino, and Cen remained apart, islands untouched by the tide of camaraderie. Their peers, awed or intimidated, kept their distance, leaving the trio to their own orbit.
"And yet," Sino said, his voice smooth as polished steel, "Her Highness and I remain the unrivaled apex of Class A. Tell me, am I mistaken?"
Before Cen could muster a retort, Sino's gaze sharpened, pinning her with unnerving precision. "Your performance today may have dazzled the others, but not me. Most of our class lacks the fire for true combat, but you, Yuehuai—you and your spirit form lack even the instinct for it. You weren't forged as a warrior, were you? Your foundation is the shakiest in Class A. When mech practicals begin, your façade will crumble."
Cen faltered, her gaze dropping as a flush of shame crept across her features. His words struck true. Her spirit form, though potent, was a wild force she could scarcely harness. She teetered on the edge of expulsion, her place at Tianquan precarious at best.
"Sino Uss, was it?" Baisha's voice cut through the tension, firm yet measured, as she draped an arm around Cen's shoulders, a silent vow of protection. She met Sino's gaze, her eyes steady as a blade's edge. "Your aid earlier was appreciated, but your words to Yuehuai—are they not a touch too sharp?"
Sino waved a hand, his expression unrepentant. "I meant no harm. A weak foundation can be shored up with effort. I'm not scorning her."
Cen let out a soft, indignant huff.
"Oh, and Your Highness," Sino added, dipping into a swift bow, his eyes alight with barely contained fervor, "my father, Ero Uss, sends his respects. He charged me with your safety. Henceforth, at Tianquan, I am your shield—"
"No need," Baisha interjected, her tone resolute. "Your loyalty is noted, but I am no damsel requiring a schoolmate's protection."
Sino's brow twitched, his composure fraying for a heartbeat. He rallied with a wry nod. "Very well. If 'shield' is too grand, call me your shadow instead."
Baisha's eyes narrowed. "The Uss family wields considerable power. Why humble yourself so?"
"My reverence for you transcends mere titles," Sino said, his fingers curling into a fist as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You're a mechsmith, aren't you—'Hard-Earned Credits'?"
Baisha's brow arched, a flicker of surprise betraying her calm. "How do you know my alias in the Unbound City?"
"What? Her Highness crafts mechs too?" Cen's eyes blazed with sudden excitement, like stars igniting in a twilight sky. "Does that mean I can commission you for a custom mech? They cost a fortune—"
Baisha raised a hand to temper Cen's enthusiasm, her focus locked on Sino. "Explain. How did you uncover my alias? Have we crossed paths in the Unbound City?"
"In a manner of speaking," Sino said, his bravado dimming to a sheepish grin. "I was one of many soldiers vying for your skills. I sent you a dozen friend requests. None were accepted."
Baisha fell silent, her mind sifting through memories. Before her arrival in the Empire, "Hard-Earned Credits" had carved a modest legend at the Mechsmiting Alliance Conference, her knack for component design and enhancements earning her a quiet renown. Her inbox had brimmed with requests, but consumed by her preparations for Tianquan's entrance exams, she had taken only a handful of commissions before letting her alias fade into obscurity.
"That doesn't add up," Baisha said, her gaze piercing. "How did you link that alias to me?"
"This." Sino activated his holodevice with a flourish. "Add me as a contact, and I'll show you a photo."
A shadow of unease stirred in Baisha's chest.
They exchanged details, and Sino sent her a grainy side-profile image, the figure's features half-shrouded yet faintly discernible.
"This… resembles His Majesty," Cen said, tilting her head as she studied the image, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there's a subtle difference…"
Baisha's breath caught, her composure wavering for an instant.
"That's you, isn't it?" Sino's smile was triumphant, his eyes gleaming with certainty. "In the Unbound City, avatars can be reshaped, but the bones of one's features remain. Who else could mirror His Majesty so closely? I knew it was you back then. I even told my father, but he thought I was jesting with royal names and gave me an earful—"
Baisha's gaze sharpened, her lips curving into a faint, dangerous arc. "Who else has seen this photo?"
"No one," Sino said, shaking his head. "Not even my father believed me. Who else would? But now I've proven it—you're the mechsmith."
Sino's words faltered as Baisha's hand shot out, seizing his holodevice with a grip that brooked no resistance. Her mental energy surged, a palpable force enveloping him, her eyes glinting with a quiet menace.
"Delete the photo. Forget this ever happened," she said, her voice low and unyielding. "Do that, and I'll accept you as my shadow."
Sino blinked slowly, as though weighing his options. "You're not worried His Majesty would be cross, are you? He doesn't strike me as so petty—"
"Delete it," Baisha said, her tone softening but no less firm, "and I'll optimize your mech."
"Done." Sino's grin returned, and with a flick of his fingers, the photo vanished.
Baisha released him, her expression softening. "You're from a marquis's house. You could hire any mechsmith. Why fixate on me?"
"Your Highness, my mech is no ordinary machine—it's a data mech," Sino said, his voice brimming with pride. "Most elite mechsmiths won't touch such work. The Unbound City's smiths are my only recourse, and you, I believe, are the best. My instincts are rarely wrong."
Baisha sighed, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "You tempt me to prove your instincts fallible just this once."
"Don't, Master!" Sino protested, his tone half-teasing, half-pleading.
Cen watched the exchange, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Stop shouting titles like that—you'll make Her Highness sound like some back-alley fortune-teller," she said, stepping between them with a huff. She turned to Baisha, her curiosity reignited. "But, Your Highness, you're a mechsmith and enrolled in the combat division. Which is it?"
"I'm dual-majoring," Baisha said simply. "After this afternoon's mech practical, I'll start attending mechsmithing lectures tomorrow."
Cen's thumb shot up in admiration. "Impressive." She was already drowning in the demands of a single major; the thought of Baisha juggling two—exams, reports, and all—seemed a feat of mythic proportion.
The trio made their way to the cafeteria for lunch, where Tianquan's opulence was on full display. No sterile robotic fare here; master chefs crafted each dish with artistry, offering a menu so vast it seemed limited only by imagination. Baisha, her palate refined by the delicacies of Youdu Star, found the meal pleasant but unremarkable. Sino ate in disciplined silence, adhering to the Uss family's maxim of "no speech at table," while Cen, her eyes alight with delight, piled her plate with favorites, occasionally nudging Baisha with a fervent, "This is amazing!"—as though the cafeteria's fare outshone her parents' workplace canteen by leagues.
After lunch, they brushed their teeth in the washroom and stepped out, refreshed, into the afternoon's mech practical session.
Most freshmen arrived with custom mechs, their gleaming chassis a testament to wealth or sacrifice. Cen, for instance, had poured every credit from her past decade's savings into hers. Only a rare few, often from humbler origins, relied on academy-loaned mechs—functional but never as finely tuned as bespoke models. Rumors abounded of West Continent Military Academy, where remote location swelled the ranks of such "merit scholars," but even their loaned mechs paled beside custom craftsmanship.
Yu Yan, who had sparred with Sino earlier, piloted a loaned double-S-grade heavy mech named Wavebreaker. The practical session, overseen by three instructors to guide and critique, was a grand affair, with all students training together for initial assessments before being sorted into skill-based groups.
Yu Yan faced another double-S-grade opponent, but his skill outstripped his rival's. His movements were bold yet precise, Wavebreaker's blue frame surging like a tidal wave, its relentless assaults hammering his foe to the ground. Yu Yan dictated the battle's rhythm, severing his opponent's every counter before it could form. When his longsword arced toward his rival's joints, the grounded student cried out, "Stop! My mech's expensive!"
Yu Yan paused, then unleashed a final, chilling strike, sparks erupting as his blade cracked his opponent's armor. He spared the mech's critical components, but his point was made.
"Learn to yield," Yu Yan said, his sword leveled at his foe, his voice cold as winter steel. "Next time, it won't be just your shell that breaks."
A hush fell over the onlookers.
"Well," Cen whispered to Sino, "at least we're not the least popular."
Sino's brow arched. "Let's see how he fares against me."
He climbed into his mech, Warding Spirit, its black-and-red frame gleaming with menace. A lightsword hummed to life as he charged Yu Yan, his blade slashing toward his rival's shoulder. Yu Yan stood his ground, parrying with his longsword while bracing its spine with his off-hand, the clash sparking white-hot embers and a sound like shattering jade.
Yu Yan countered with a volley of gunfire, forcing Sino to sidestep. A crescent of steel flashed as Yu Yan's blade swept upward. Sino yanked Warding Spirit back, dodging the strike, then lunged, his sword braced against the ground as he drove a kick into Yu Yan's mech. Yu Yan stumbled, his longsword splitting into chained blades that lashed toward Sino's helm. Sino ducked, his speed surging. A swift kick to Yu Yan's knee staggered him, and Sino vaulted onto his back, wrenching his shoulders and pinning him with a blade to his neck.
For two heartbeats, the mechs froze in tableau.
"I yield," Yu Yan said, his voice clear and unyielding, devoid of shame.
Sino released him. "You surrender with grace."
Yu Yan shrugged. "Skill speaks. I've no excuses."
The crowd stood stunned, torn between awe and hesitation, fearing to cheer lest they draw the combatants' ire. An instructor's applause broke the silence, and the students joined in, their voices rising in fervent debate.
"No surprise from the Uss heir—his reflexes are leagues beyond us."
"Triple-S versus double-S, the gap's undeniable…"
"Yu Yan lost, but what a fight! No noble lineage, yet his swordwork's nearly its own school. He's studied hard."
As the students buzzed, instructors herded them back to their bouts. Sino returned, eager to bask in his victory, only to find Baisha alone.
"Where's Yuehuai, Your Highness?" he asked.
"Snagged by an instructor for drills," Baisha said with a sigh. "You were right—her foundation's shaky. Beyond basic mech maneuvers and some grappling, she's clueless with a lightsword. Her shooting's passable, but…" Baisha trailed off, her expression pained.
Sino glanced over to see Cen's silver mech, Starflare, darting across the field, pursued by an instructor who, astonishingly, couldn't match her speed. The instructor barked orders for her to counterattack, only for Cen to wail, "I forgot the lightsword key! My mech's costly, and I'm broke—please, let's stick to shooting!"
Sino blinked. "I knew her foundation was weak, but… this bad? How did she even pass the entrance exams?"
Cen's progress was, in truth, remarkable—she could pilot deftly and aim true—but Tianquan's elite made her skills seem infantile by comparison.
"And you, Your Highness?" Sino turned to Baisha. "Why are you idling? No sparring partner?"
"I tried," Baisha said, her voice tinged with melancholy as she gestured to her mech, Thunderflow, its six-winged frame shimmering with regal menace, its lance Solitude gleaming. "I sparred with an instructor and… accidentally snapped his weapon. He's off replacing it, but I doubt he'll challenge me again."
Sino studied Thunderflow, his awe growing. The lance alone seemed destined for the Divine Armory's ranks. "May I see its specs?"
Baisha shared the Mechsmiting Guild's report. Sino's eyes widened at the rating: Legendary-Grade. He exhaled softly. For a potential imperial heir, even a mythical-grade mech wouldn't be excessive. Scanning Solitude's stats, he understood why the instructor's weapon had shattered. This was a war machine in its truest form.
"Did you design it yourself?" Sino asked, his voice reverent.
"Not entirely," Baisha said, her tone languid as she accepted her likely exclusion from the day's practicals. "I fused several elite designs. Want to hear the theory behind it?"
Sino hesitated, then grinned. "I'd love to, but I'm no mechsmith—I'd be lost."
Baisha sighed. "Should've started with mechsmithing classes."
Ten minutes later, the instructor returned, wielding a cobalt double-headed flail. "Let's go, Baisha. This one won't break so easily."
Baisha scratched her cheek, skeptical. "Will it?"
At his insistence, she entered Thunderflow's cockpit. The mechs faced off, weapons raised. In a blur, Baisha struck, Thunderflow a streak of lightning, its lance piercing the air. The instructor swung his flail, ensnaring the lance's shaft. Unfazed, Baisha twisted her weapon, arcing the spearhead skyward like a dragon ascending, grazing the instructor's helm. As he fixated on the spearpoint, she spun the lance, tightening the flail's chains, then delivered a kick to his chest. The instructor stumbled, his weapon slipping free. Baisha flicked it aside, her lance halting an inch from his face.
"The flail didn't hold either, sir," she said, her voice languid with amusement.
The instructor, a mere double-S-grade piloting an Exemplary-Grade mech, was outmatched. Thunderflow's obscene power, speed, and defenses left him no chance. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Next time, we'll call in the army's best."
The session ended with Sino enlightened, Baisha unfazed, and Cen wilted like a frostbitten vine. Collapsing onto a rest-room chair, Cen groaned, "Why am I so awful? Can I even avoid expulsion?"
"Don't despair," Baisha said, patting her back with an imperial platitude. "You're young, with years to master anything."
Cen stared, unsoothed despite the logic.
"I spent half the class benched because my mech's too advanced," Baisha mused. "Who knew strength could be a curse?"
Sino shook his head, suspecting her prowess, not her mech, was the issue. He stepped forward, ruffling his golden hair. "I have a solution for Yuehuai."
Both women looked up.
"The Unbound City's simulated mech duels," Sino said. "They're holographic, not true mechs, but perfect for honing control. You need combat experience, Yuehuai, and you can't afford repairs. The Unbound City's your best arena."