"For... the Emperor!! Glory!"?
Upon seeing this peculiar username, Chirak Oran couldn't help but frown slightly.
A trace of doubt flickered in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if struggling to comprehend the oddity of such a name.
However, he took a deep breath and dismissed his confusion. After all, in the vastness of the internet, strange usernames were not uncommon. People used the anonymity of online platforms to interact, so why get hung up on the absurdity of a name?
Especially since his own username was "FreshFruit1155."
After a moment's hesitation, he clicked the "Accept" button, approving this stranger's friend request.
After all, the user "For... the Emperor!! Glory!" seemed to have taken an interest in his recent forum post seeking advice about his rejection, and they had initiated the conversation.
Soon, a chat window popped up on his screen, carrying a relaxed and somewhat casual tone:
"Hey, buddy, I saw your post on the forum. Did you get rejected by a Legion?"
Chirak read the message, and his tension eased slightly.
Though he had just experienced a significant setback in his life, in the virtual world, he could set aside much of the baggage and pressure from reality.
The anonymous nature of online interactions also meant he didn't have to worry about feeling "embarrassed" or "ashamed."
No one knew his true identity or anything about him, and that gave him a sense of freedom.
Looking at the stranger's inquiry, Chirak thought for a moment before deciding to express his frustration openly.
His fingers danced quickly over the tactile hard-light keyboard, typing out a response that carried a mix of disappointment and agitation:
"Yeah, the Apothecaries said my body is too 'unique' and that I couldn't handle the modifications."
He paused, his emotions bubbling up as he continued:
"I don't get it. I'm stronger and faster than most people my age! Why can't I become an Astartes? Shouldn't these traits make me a better warrior?!"
Chirak stared at the lines of text on the screen, feeling a suffocating pressure building inside him.
These questions had been swirling in his mind ever since the rejection. Faced with this sudden blow, he had received no real answers, only cold test results and an unchangeable reality.
The thought of it all brought a wave of irritation, and he exhaled sharply before pressing the Enter key, sending the message.
Each keystroke felt like a release of his anger and frustration, and as the message was sent, he experienced a strange sense of relief.
Although he couldn't change what had happened, at least in this virtual space, he could share his confusion and pain with someone else.
The response came quickly, calm and composed:
"Every Legion has its own recruitment process, and some are wildly different from others."
The message felt rational and detailed, as if the sender was unaffected by Chirak's emotional outburst, providing straightforward information instead of emotional comfort.
"For example, I've heard that the Space Wolves' Legion requires recruits to not only pass initial physical screenings and blood tests performed by Apothecaries but also to face a unique challenge—
fighting wild beasts."
"These could include bioengineered creatures or predators like Fenrisian wolves or saber-toothed tigers from Terra's ice fields.
Even though the recruits are given weapons, the trial still has a high mortality rate."
"Of course, families chosen by the Space Wolves tend to be, well... let's say a little 'eccentric,' hehe."
"The War Hounds Legion's selection process, on the other hand, is slightly less intense. Their recruits don't have to fight wild beasts, but I've heard their Apothecaries conduct harsh psychological evaluations. The criteria for these evaluations are completely unknown to outsiders."
"Overall, the Imperium's Astartes recruitment standards far exceed those of ordinary military units.
The standards are so stringent that if an Apothecary from one Legion determines you're unfit for transformation, it's almost impossible for another Legion to accept you."
"That's why being chosen by any Astartes Legion is considered the highest honor."
"By the way, buddy, which Legion rejected you?"
The text scrolled down the screen with a tone of rational analysis, as if the sender was simply stating facts rather than offering solace.
Yet it was precisely this serious and detailed response that unexpectedly began to calm Chirak's turbulent emotions.
Though he still felt the sting of rejection, the stranger's reply carried a sense of genuine thoughtfulness rather than perfunctory platitudes.
After contemplating the screen for a moment, Chirak decided to continue the conversation. He placed his hands back on the hard-light keyboard and quickly typed out his response:
"I was rejected by the Sons of Humanity Legion."
After hitting the Enter key, Chirak leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh.
Images of the Legion's recruitment center filled his mind—the solemn, grand hall, the massive emblem hanging high on the wall—it all seemed to drift further and further away from him.
His fingers absentmindedly traced the armrest of his chair as a sense of helplessness washed over him.
"The Sons of Humanity, huh..."
For a moment, no reply came. The user "For... the Emperor!! Glory!" seemed to be lost in thought, leaving Chirak staring at the chat window, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the keyboard to distract himself.
The silence didn't last long. Soon, a new message appeared on the screen:
**"The Sons of Humanity Legion does have peculiar requirements, but from another perspective, this aligns perfectly with their image.
As one of the Imperium's most iconic Legions, they seek recruits who meet a 'perfect standard.'
This standard likely goes beyond physical strength or combat prowess; it may include mental resilience, genetic factors, or even elements as intangible as 'destiny.'
As for why you were rejected, honestly, I can't say.
Legions like the Sons of Humanity operate under highly classified protocols. Outsiders have no way of knowing their exact selection criteria or procedures.
You mentioned you're strong and perform well—then it's probably not about your abilities. It might be something more complex, something ordinary people can't easily understand."**
This rational analysis sparked a faint sense of doubt in Chirak's heart, though he couldn't completely refute it.
Just as he was about to type another response, the stranger sent another message:
"To be honest, I was rejected by the Sons of Humanity Legion too."
What?!
The revelation made Chirak freeze.
He took a deep breath, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he hesitated before quickly opening the stranger's profile page.
The account details were simple and direct, listing the user's location as "Bountiful Planet" and their age as "17."
This information made Chirak realize that the stranger had likely experienced a similar rejection.
As for the possibility of fake information?
Chirak quickly dismissed the idea.
In this era, where advanced AI and androids had fully integrated into human society, network security and identity verification technology had reached unprecedented levels.
All user accounts were tied to biometric data, eliminating the possibility of identity fraud or false information.
Given this, the age and location on the stranger's profile had to be real.
Chirak drummed his fingers on the desk, pondering for a moment. A sense of curiosity mixed with unease crept into his mind. Tentatively, he typed out a probing message:
"Buddy, so you're probably in your senior year of high school, right?"
The response came almost instantly, surprising Chirak with its speed:
"Senior year. Almost ready to graduate."
The stranger didn't stop there, quickly adding:
"I just noticed your address is on the Bountiful Planet too. I'm in New Argos City. Where are you? The capital city? Or the original Bountiful Planet capital, Odegaard?"
New Argos?!
Chirak stared at the screen in shock, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Because his family also lived in New Argos City.
Originally, Argos had been a quiet agricultural town developed by the UEG (United Earth Government) on the Bountiful Planet, home to only a few thousand residents.
But after the planet became part of Atlas Corporation's holdings, Argos underwent unprecedented growth, transforming into a sprawling metropolis with millions of inhabitants.
Chirak had grown up here, familiar with most of the streets and alleyways, able to name every major road.
But now, something felt off.
A shiver ran through Chirak's body as an inexplicable sense of caution welled up inside him.
He stared at the screen, his gaze turning serious.
Could it really just be a coincidence?
Yes, the Bountiful Planet saw tens of thousands of teenagers each year fail the Astartes selection process for various reasons.
And throughout the Halo universe, countless others faced similar rejection due to genetic or physical limitations.
Yet here, on the very day he was disqualified, he had encountered a "buddy" online who not only lived in the same city but had nearly identical experiences.
The coincidence was hard to ignore, and Chirak couldn't shake the unease growing in his chest.
Was this some kind of AI-driven targeting?
Or "big data" matchmaking?
Whatever the case, it didn't feel ordinary.
He quickly typed out a response, his tone calm but tinged with caution:
"I'm in Odegaard."
After sending the message, Chirak abruptly logged out of the forum.
The unease that had been gnawing at him seemed to dissipate as soon as he closed the hard-light screen. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.
He stepped out of his bedroom and into the living room, his eyes falling on his father watching the news on the sofa and his mother busy in the kitchen.
His footsteps softened, and a rare smile appeared on his face.
"Dad, Mom, I've made up my mind," he said, clearing his throat and trying to keep his tone steady and firm.
"Even if I can't become one of the Sons of Humanity, I can still work hard to join their auxiliary forces. No matter what, I'll find a path for myself."
"Good, that's the spirit, son," his mother said gently, her eyes full of warmth.
"Perfect timing—I took the day off today to cook your favorite meal. How about some Chinese-style braised pork wraps?"
"Yes, please!"
The warmth of his mother's words brought genuine comfort to Chirak's heart, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Now that's more like it," his father added with a nod, his tone lighthearted. "If a small setback like this can knock you down, how could you ever hope to be a proper warrior?"
The Oran family spent the rest of the afternoon in a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
The next morning, Chirak was woken by his alarm clock and went about his routine: groggily heading to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, eating breakfast, and putting on his school uniform before catching the maglev train to his school, just three kilometers away.
As soon as Chirak stepped into the classroom, the lively chatter inside abruptly stopped.
All eyes turned to him, and low whispers filled the room. Some classmates looked at him with disbelief, while others wore expressions of thinly veiled schadenfreude.
Chirak furrowed his brows slightly but ignored the stares.
He continued walking into the classroom, his expression calm and composed.
A few friends approached him after he sat down, asking what had happened. He shrugged it off, saying, "I just didn't make the cut."
After all, the reality was set. There was no point in seeking special favors or explanations from anyone.
The following days were relatively uneventful, save for the occasional mocking comment. But having resolved to forge his own path, Chirak remained unaffected by such remarks.
Until Friday afternoon, when he was about to board the maglev train home, a senior from another school approached him and said:
"Hey, are you FreshFruit1155?"
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