The impact sent Aiden Cross skidding across the combat platform on his back, his academy uniform torn at the shoulder, blood trickling from his split lip. The crowd's laughter hit harder than the punch that had just floored him—again. Above him, the evaluation screen flickered to life with merciless precision: **Combat Rating: 12/100. Status: Critical Failure.**
"Twelve?" Lucas Drake's voice carried across the arena with practiced disdain. "Cross, you actually went *down* three points from last week. That takes talent—the wrong kind."
Aiden pushed himself to one knee, spitting blood onto the pristine white platform. His ribs screamed, his left eye was already swelling shut, and somewhere in the stands, he could hear the betting pool changing hands. Nobody ever bet on him to win. They bet on how many seconds he'd last.
"Time," the instructor called, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "Cross, report to Medical. Drake, excellent form on that finishing strike."
"Wasn't hard," Lucas said, deactivating his energy gauntlets with a casual flick. "Fighting Cross is like sparring with training equipment—predictable, boring, and barely worth the warm-up."
The observation deck erupted in snickers. Aiden recognized most of the faces—they'd all beaten him at some point over the past three years. Omega Academy's perpetual bottom-ranker was everyone's favorite confidence boost before real matches.
He stumbled toward the platform's edge, vision swimming. Three years of this. Three years of being the academy's punching bag, the cautionary tale parents told their children: *Study hard, or you'll end up like Aiden Cross.*
"Pathetic," a cold female voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk.
Mira Hale stood at the platform's edge, her silver hair pulled back in a perfect braid, academy elite insignia gleaming on her collar. She didn't even look at him—just past him, like he was furniture. "Twelve points means you're technically worse than the training dummies. At least they serve a purpose."
The crowd went silent, waiting for more. Mira's verbal executions were legendary.
"Though I suppose," she continued, adjusting her gloves with surgical precision, "every ecosystem needs its bottom feeders. Congratulations, Cross. You've found your ecological niche."
This time the laughter was different—sharper, meaner. Aiden's hands clenched into fists, but what was the point? She was right. They were all right. He was—
"Cross!" The instructor's voice snapped him back. "Medical. Now. You're bleeding on my platform."
He limped toward the exit, each step a reminder of his failure. Behind him, he heard Lucas addressing his admirers: "Who wants to see a real demonstration? Mira, interested in a quick spar?"
"I don't spar with people who waste time on worthless opponents," she replied. "It's beneath my optimization protocols."
Worthless. The word followed Aiden down the corridor like a shadow.
The medical wing's automated systems scanned him with clinical efficiency. **Subject: Aiden Cross. Injuries: Three cracked ribs, orbital fracture, severe contusions. Treatment time: 4.7 minutes. Career viability assessment: Recommend immediate withdrawal from combat program.**
Even the medical AI thought he should quit.
The nano-healing kicked in, knitting bone and tissue with practiced indifference. Aiden stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles. Forty-seven. Same as always. He'd been here so often he knew every crack, every imperfection.
His comm unit buzzed. A message from the Academy Board: **Final Warning: Failure to achieve minimum combat rating (30 points) by month's end will result in program expulsion. Current rating: 12. Days remaining: 5.**
Five days to more than double his score. Impossible.
"Rough session?" The medic—an older woman who'd patched him up dozens of times—didn't wait for an answer. "Cross, have you considered the civilian track? There's no shame in it. Some people just aren't built for—"
"Combat," Aiden finished. "Yeah. I've heard."
She patted his shoulder with the kind of pity reserved for dying pets. "The healing's complete. Try to avoid any more damage today."
He sat up, the phantom pain of recently healed injuries still echoing through his body. The medic was already turning to her next patient—a second-year who'd taken an energy blade to the shoulder during advanced weapons training. A real injury from a real fighter.
The hallway outside Medical was mercifully empty. Most students were still in the arena, watching Lucas and whoever was brave enough to face him. Aiden's reflection caught his eye in a darkened window—hollow cheeks, exhausted eyes, the permanent slump of someone who'd forgotten what winning felt like.
His dorm was in Omega Block, the academy's polite term for "where we put the failures." The building was older, cheaper, hidden behind the gleaming towers where real students lived. His roommate wouldn't be back for hours—probably busy actually succeeding at something.
Aiden collapsed on his bed, staring at the spider web crack in the ceiling he'd named Patricia. "Well, Pat," he said to the empty room, "five days left. Any brilliant ideas?"
Patricia, being a crack in the ceiling, didn't respond.
His comm buzzed again. Another message, this time from his student account: **Current Academy Debt: 47,000 credits. Payment plan recalculation pending program status.**
If he got expelled, the debt would come due immediately. His family had already sold everything to get him here. There was nothing left.
"System initialization complete."
Aiden jerked upright. The voice had come from inside his head—cold, mechanical, tinged with something that sounded almost like... amusement?
"What the—"
Text scrolled across his vision, overlaying reality like a heads-up display:
**SUPREME SYSTEM ONLINE**
**User: Aiden Cross**
**Synchronization: 100%**
**Warning: User's combat performance is statistically impossible. Analyzing... Analysis complete.**
**Performance rating: Historically pathetic.**
**Recommendation: Consider alternative career in professional failure.**
"Great," Aiden muttered. "I'm having a psychotic break, and even my hallucinations are roasting me."
**Not a hallucination. Though given your track record, psychological collapse would be unsurprising.**
**Binding process initiated. Stand by.**
Pain exploded through every nerve ending. Aiden's scream caught in his throat as his body convulsed, bones feeling like they were dissolving and reforming. Colors that shouldn't exist blazed behind his eyelids. His consciousness stretched, twisted, snapped back like a rubber band.
Then, nothing.
He was on the floor, gasping, fingers clawing at the dirty carpet. How long had he been out? Seconds? Hours? The room looked the same, but everything felt different. Sharper. Like he'd been looking at the world through dirty glass his whole life and someone had finally cleaned it.
**Binding complete.**
**Congratulations! You've acquired: ADAPTIVE RESONANCE**
**Function: Instantly analyze and replicate any combat technique observed.**
**Warning: Excessive use will result in neural damage, organ failure, and death.**
**Additional warning: Given user's baseline competence, death highly probable regardless.**
"This isn't real," Aiden said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. Something fundamental had changed. He could feel it in his bones, in the way the air moved around him, in the sudden clarity of his thoughts.
A new message appeared:
**Tutorial Mission Generated**
**Objective: Defeat one opponent within 24 hours.**
**Failure Consequence: System unbinding and permanent neural damage.**
**Hint: Try not to embarrass yourself. The multiverse is watching.**
"The multiverse is..." Aiden stood slowly, testing his balance. Everything felt different but the same. He wasn't stronger, wasn't faster. But there was something else, something waiting just beneath the surface. "What are you?"
**I am the Supreme System. You are my unfortunately necessary host. Together, we will either achieve greatness or, more likely, you'll die in an amusing way. Based on current data, I'm betting on the latter.**
"You're betting against me? You're literally part of me!"
**Correction: I'm bound to you. There's a difference. It's like being chained to a sinking ship—technically connected, but desperately hoping for a miracle.**
Despite everything—the pain, the insanity of talking to a voice in his head, the looming expulsion—Aiden felt his lips twitch into something resembling a smile. "You know what? Fine. Everyone else thinks I'm worthless. Why should my mysterious brain parasite be any different?"
**Brain parasite is technically incorrect. I prefer 'reluctant consciousness enhancement system' or 'the only reason you might survive next week.'**
"Catchy." Aiden looked at his hands. They looked the same—scarred knuckles from too many lost fights, calluses in all the wrong places from improper form no one had bothered to correct. But now... now there was potential. "Twenty-four hours to beat someone, or you scramble my brain?"
**Technically, YOUR brain scrambles itself. I just leave. Think of it as motivation. You're remarkably unmotivated for someone about to be expelled, disowned, and debt-enslaved.**
"I was getting to it." Aiden grabbed his training gear. If he was having a psychotic break, at least it was an interesting one. "Any suggestions on who to fight?"
**Someone you can actually beat. So... perhaps a small child? Or someone in a coma?**
"Your confidence in me is overwhelming."
**I'm calibrated for honesty, not comfort. Though if it helps, your chances of survival just increased from 0.003% to approximately 4%.**
"Only 4%?"
**I'm being generous.**
Aiden headed for the door, then paused. "Wait. If you're so advanced, why pick me? Why the academy's biggest failure?"
For the first time, the System was silent for several seconds.
**Sometimes,** it finally responded, **the most interesting stories start at rock bottom. Also, you were the only compatible host within range, and I was desperate. We have that in common.**
"Touching." Aiden opened the door. "Let's go make that 4% count."
**That's the spirit. Blind optimism in the face of statistical impossibility. This should be entertaining.**
As Aiden walked down the hallway, heading toward the training grounds, he didn't notice the security camera in the corner adjust its angle to follow him. He didn't see the data stream being redirected to an encrypted channel. And he certainly didn't know that somewhere, in a room that didn't officially exist, someone smiled.
"Finally," Marrow whispered, watching the feed. "The game begins."