There was still one month left before school began. During this month, I no longer searched for scraps. Instead, I devoted myself to repairing the commission the weapon shop owner had entrusted to me. This task was far more time-consuming than ordinary repairs, mainly because I lacked several tools. I had to travel back and forth constantly between the village and the junkyard.
Since I was always making the trip, every days I would stop by the underground arena to get a proper meal. By the end of the month, that alone consumed sixty hours. Counting the fifty hours I had already spent before and subtracting another four, I was left with only eighty-six usable hours.
During this time, aside from working with the village shop owner, I often borrowed tools from the weaponsmith near the arena. The first time I asked, he looked doubtful and said, "A kid as small as you? Do you even know how to use these tools? If not, I can do it for you, but I'll charge a fee."
I replied calmly, "That won't be necessary. If you can lend them for free, I'll borrow. If not, I'll just buy my own."
He studied me for a while, then, perhaps because I looked so young, he gave in. Not only did he lend me the tools, he even offered me the use of his workshop.
Once inside, I was stunned. The place was fully stocked. With the right rare materials scavenged from the junkyard, I could even forge my own weapons. That thought filled me with excitement each day. I also decided to rebuild a new set of armor, not like the cheap one I had before. Since every piece of material cost money, I needed to treasure it. If it could last longer under my care, then I would not have to waste money on constant repairs.
At last, after a month of effort, I finished repairing the commissioned part. At a glance, it looked like an important component of a mech. On the day before school started, I handed it to the shop owner. He was delighted after testing it, and he immediately transferred ten thousand to me. Just like that, I was rich again. Counting the extra two thousand I still had, I now held twelve thousand, enough to cover my upcoming needs.
Before leaving, I went to the junkyard one last time to say goodbye to the old man, giving him all my leftover tools so his days would be easier. That night, I fell asleep full of excitement and anticipation for the new life ahead.
The next morning, I packed my luggage, strapped it to my bicycle, and set off for school. The three-thousand tuition covered technical training, but only for one semester. If I wanted to finish five years and later upgrade or transfer, I had to save up for every semester. This made my earnings all the more precious.
Most of the students at school were between six and eight years old. The rule here was strict—children had to enroll before the age of ten. After that, they could only enter schools for service or trade skills, never for mechanical or combat-focused studies.
On my first day, I quickly noticed I was smaller than most of my peers. In the Combat Division especially, nearly everyone was male. Girls were a rare sight, and looking around, I seemed to be the only one. Fortunately, with my short hair and sun-darkened skin from years in the junkyard, I looked more like a scrawny boy than a girl. That way, I didn't draw too much attention.
During the opening ceremony, the instructor told us: "Half of you will not survive the first semester. By the second, only forty percent remain. The third leaves thirty percent. If you last until the fourth semester, then congratulations—you will be among the elite twenty percent. Those who endure this suffering will achieve greatness, and may even have the chance to study on better planets."
The Combat Division's curriculum was brutally demanding: four days of physical training, one day of theoretical study, ten hours of classes each day. Breaks were self-managed. Meals were not included in tuition, so the cafeteria required extra money. Hearing this long list of rules, I couldn't help but wonder if I had chosen the wrong path. This division clearly demanded exceptional strength.
But I told myself: though I am small and weak, I still have my agility. If I lack strength, I will make up for it with speed and resilience.
That same day, after the first theory class, I headed to the cafeteria. Amid the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar figure. It was unmistakably someone I knew—Little Fatty.
The moment he saw me, his eyes lit up. He rushed over and greeted me with a grin, "Hey, I knew it! I'd meet you here again."
I smiled back. "Hello."
He frowned slightly, half joking, "What's the deal? I gave you my contact, but I haven't heard from you at all."
I suddenly remembered, I hadn't even bought a communicator yet. My face warmed as I hurried to explain, "Ah, sorry. I haven't gotten a device yet, so I forgot to add you."
He waved it off easily. "No problem. By the way, which division are you in? I'm Wang Mian, Mechanical Division. But I didn't see you there. Didn't you say you'd pick mechanical?"
"I chose Combat Division," I replied. "My name's Aurora, by the way."
He blinked in surprise. "Really? Not Mechanical? I thought for sure you would, since you can even build your own bike."
"It's fine," I said with a small smile. "Combat works too."
He looked me up and down, concerned. "But Combat is really tough. You're so small… can you handle it?"
I answered firmly, "It's fine. As long as I eat enough, I'll find a way. No problem."
"Well, alright then." He nodded. That was how our first school encounter ended.
Later that day, I reminded myself:I must buy a communicator and add him properly.
So after classes, I went to a small shop near campus and bought the cheapest model. It looked like a wristwatch, with a screen that popped up when a button was pressed. Perfect for adding contacts.
Back at the dorm, I dug through my things and found the scrap of paper on my bike with his number written on it. I keyed it in and sent the request.
My first message to him was: "Hey, I added you."
He replied quickly: "Good, got it. Let's meet in the cafeteria tomorrow."