The Academy had a rhythm all its own.
At dawn the sirens screamed, boots thundered across steel floors, and cadets lined up for inspection before they were marched to breakfast. By the time the sun crept above the obsidian walls, the day's schedule was already under way—drills, training, and above all, classes.
Olivia quickly realized that here, knowledge was as much a weapon as any rifle or blade. The Royal Imperial Academy did not merely raise soldiers; it forged them into cogs in a vast war machine, each piece designed to complement the whole. And at the heart of that machine were the mecha.
Her first week of real classes began on a Monday, the words stamped across the digital timetable glowing in her System interface:
[Schedule: Cadet Olivia Corvinus]
0800 – Foundation of Mecha Design
1000 – Foundation of Mecha Creation
1300 – Foundation of Mecha Repair
1500 – Foundation of Mecha Piloting
Four pillars. Four paths converging on the single destiny of every Alpha cadet: the cockpit of a war machine.
Foundation of Mecha Design
The lecture hall was shaped like a coliseum, tiers of steel benches overlooking a massive holo-projector. When the lights dimmed, the air shimmered with blue light, and a full-scale schematic of a Class II Assault Mecha rotated in the air, every joint and cable exposed in perfect detail.
The instructor, Professor Alaric Khovan, was a thin man with gray hair slicked back like wire. His voice carried with the crisp precision of someone who worshipped at the altar of engineering.
"Design," he began, pacing beneath the hologram, "is the soul of the mecha. Every curve, every plate, every bolt serves a purpose. To design without purpose is to create weakness, and weakness in battle is death."
He flicked his fingers, and the schematic zoomed in on the shoulder assembly. "Observe. A joint is more than a pivot—it is a vulnerability. Armor it too heavily, and your machine moves like a corpse. Armor it too lightly, and the first plasma shot shears your arm clean off. Balance is everything."
Olivia leaned forward, eyes tracing the lines of the holo. She felt the data thrumming in the air, almost alive, as though the nanobots in her bloodstream whispered to the machine. She opened her System quietly, letting her Technology Communication function brush the streams of information. Suddenly the schematic unfolded in her mind—not just the image, but the math, the weight distribution, the torque calculations hidden beneath the glowing lines.
The professor's words became more than theory. They became instinct.
Beside her, Marcus scribbled furious notes, jaw clenched. He caught Olivia watching and scowled. She simply smiled faintly and turned back to the holo.
Foundation of Mecha Creation
Two hours later, the cadets marched into a cavernous workshop that smelled of ozone and steel. Half-built mecha frames stood like skeletons under the glare of arc-lights, their limbs suspended by chains. Tools hovered on grav-rails, ready to descend at command.
The instructor this time was a broad-shouldered woman with burn scars tracing her forearms. Chief Engineer Veylan did not waste time with pleasantries.
"Creation," she barked, "is the art of turning designs into reality. The design is theory. This—" she slammed a gauntleted fist against a steel torso, the clang reverberating across the workshop "—is truth. If your welds are sloppy, the frame will collapse. If your tolerances are off by a millimeter, the hydraulics will jam. One mistake, and your pilot dies screaming in a coffin of molten steel. Understood?"
"Understood!" the cadets shouted.
They were divided into teams and given assignments: assemble the hydraulic joint of a mecha's left leg. Olivia found herself grouped with Marcus and two others—a nervous girl named Hana and a lanky boy named Darius.
Marcus seized command immediately. "I'll handle the calibration. Darius, fetch the actuators. Hana, monitor the power lines. Olivia, hold the schematics."
Olivia arched an eyebrow. "Hold the schematics?"
Marcus smirked. "You don't exactly look like you can lift a plasma wrench."
The words stung, but Olivia swallowed the retort. Instead, she reached out with her Talent, brushing the machines around her. The schematic of the joint flickered across her vision, not as static lines but as living data. She could feel the way each actuator should fit, the precise torque each bolt required.
When Marcus tightened the hydraulic seal too far, she spoke calmly. "Stop. You'll strip the threads. Loosen by two degrees."
He froze, frowning. "How do you—"
"Just do it."
Grudgingly, he obeyed. The joint slid into place with a hiss of perfect alignment. Hana's eyes widened. "She's right."
By the end of the class, their group had not only completed the assembly but done so with flawless tolerances. Chief Veylan herself inspected their work and gave a rare nod of approval.
"Good. You four might actually survive the year."
Marcus shot Olivia a look that was equal parts irritation and reluctant respect. She only shrugged, hiding her small, satisfied smile.
Foundation of Mecha Repair
The repair labs were even harsher. Here the cadets were confronted with damaged mecha components, some scorched from battle, others twisted by stress fractures. The room smelled of burned metal and lubricants, a graveyard of fallen titans.
Instructor Dr. Raan was a cyborg whose left arm had been replaced with a mechanical manipulator bristling with tools. His voice was a rasp of static through a damaged voicebox.
"Repair," he said, lifting a shattered actuator, "is the difference between a soldier walking home or rotting on the battlefield. You will learn to diagnose, to salvage, to make a crippled machine walk again. You will work with scraps, with fire licking at your back, with seconds before your pilot dies."
He dropped the actuator onto a bench with a clang. "Begin."
Olivia found herself hunched over a scorched servo motor. Wires dangled like veins, insulation melted. Her classmates prodded at their own machines with confusion. Olivia, however, let her Talent sink into the device. Data spilled into her mind—temperature fluctuations, current pathways, stress fractures. It was like reading a memory.
She closed her eyes briefly. Reroute current through the secondary coil. Replace the melted insulation with conductive gel. Reinforce with carbon fiber mesh.
Her hands moved swiftly, guided by instinct more than thought. Within minutes, the motor whirred to life, smoother than before.
Dr. Raan loomed over her shoulder, his mechanical eye clicking. "Interesting. You didn't replace the coil—you reinforced it. Efficient. Risky, but efficient. Very well, Cadet Corvinus."
Across the lab, Marcus cursed as his actuator exploded in sparks. Olivia said nothing, though a flicker of satisfaction warmed her chest.