Before long, Instructor Song Ran led me to the principal's office. He had managed to secure me a chance to retest my talent.
The same crystal ball. The same familiar ritual. Yet my state of mind was no longer what it had been years ago.
I slowly placed my hand on the crystal, took a deep breath, and poured all of my senses and spiritual power into it.
In the next instant, the crystal flared to life. Flames of light surged upward, leaping past the A rank and climbing without pause into the S rank. It was effortless, as if it had always been destined.
Song Ran and the principal exchanged glances, both of their faces glowing with relief and joy.
Song Ran smiled. "I knew it. You were always meant to be an S rank. But our planet 173 is remote, and the crystal sphere here can only measure up to S. A year from now, when you take the ultimate test and enter a higher academy, you will use a higher-grade crystal. Only then will your true power be revealed."
With that, he unclasped the black iron key that had always hung around his neck and solemnly placed it in my hand. It was heavy, yet carried a warmth that was hard to describe.
"This key is my most treasured possession," his voice was deep and steady. "It unlocks an S-class mecha. For many years I fought alongside it, protecting it as if it were my own life. But I have grown old, and I no longer need to ride it into battle. You are different. You are my proudest student, the one I already regard as my own child. Take it. Bring honor to Planet 173, and to the universe itself. I believe you will carve out a path that belongs only to you."
I stared at the key in my hand, my heart surging with complicated emotions.
I had once fought against that very mecha and knew its terrifying might. It was not just cold steel, but the embodiment of Song Ran's lifelong glory and belief. And now, this weight had been entrusted to me.
A hot, aching tide rose in my chest. I understood, this was his way of placing the future in my hands.
From then on, I decided I would use Instructor Song Ran's S-class mecha in formal battles. But in underground arenas or other private occasions, I would continue with my self-modified A-class mecha. It had been with me too long, and was no longer just a tool of war. It felt like a part of my body.
With less than a year until the ultimate test, I threw myself into the simulator. Yet since that strange accident two years ago, when I stumbled into a battlefield like a desert dream, I had never been able to return. I paid it no mind, focusing only on preparing for the test and upgrading the S-class mecha.
The mecha's original design was already overwhelming: shoulder thrusters spewing searing flames, its back armor unfolding into vast black wings like iron feathers, the stance of a predator poised to strike. Simply standing there, it could chill a man to the bone.
But I was not satisfied.
I drafted a set of modifications:
Concealed weapon compartments beneath both arm plates, each storing a meteor dagger and a whip, capable of snapping open for surprise attacks.
A high-energy ion turbine embedded within the wings, boosting acceleration while generating a temporary energy shield.
A dual-layered energy stabilizer installed in the core chamber, preventing overload during prolonged high-output battles.
These upgrades consumed nearly all my savings. The credits I had earned from simulator tasks, repairing mechas for others, and even winning matches in the underground arena, all of it I poured into this transformation.
Finally, I carefully injected a single drop of refined Skyward Herb extract into the mecha's core. At once, the entire frame seemed to awaken. Blue and silver light intertwined across its body, like a beast that had slumbered for centuries finally opening its eyes.
I could not resist. I took it straight to the underground arena.
There, I met Iron Bull again. Ever since I had torn the high-speed stabilizer from his mecha, he had nursed his rage. For a year, his fury never dimmed, and now it burned hotter than ever. His new mecha was twisted and grotesque, pieced together like the armor of a beast, with hulking limbs and shoulders bristling with exposed pipes.
The battle began with savage intensity. He threw himself at me, uncaring of limits, each strike carrying the force of destruction. Explosions thundered, flames roared, dust and sparks filled the air.
But I was no longer the same.
With the S-class mecha under my control, I soared like a black falcon, wings blazing, body flashing through the arena like lightning. His heavy fists struck nothing but air, while my counters landed true. Hidden blades slid from their compartments, slicing sparks across his armor. My energy gun unleashed beams that blasted open his exposed shoulder lines.
He roared, driving his monstrous machine at me, but the wilder his assault, the more openings he left. I danced around him, the ion turbines flaring, carving away his power limb by limb. His left arm collapsed. His knee joint shattered beneath my kick.
At the crucial moment, I surged in close, drove my energy blade into his side chamber, and tore free the stabilizer. His mecha screamed, lost balance, and collapsed in a violent implosion of energy.
The arena fell silent. Then the stands erupted in thunderous roars.
But in the shadows of the second floor, I felt a gaze lock on me.
It did not cheer. It did not waver. It simply observed, cold and deep, as if I were a newly discovered specimen.
I lifted my head, and under the faint light glimpsed a strange sigil glowing faintly on his chest. Not one I recognized. Its patterns were intricate, mechanical, almost like the echo of an ancient array.
A chill ran down my spine. I turned without a word, storing away my mecha, preparing to leave.
As I stepped into the corridor, I caught a low voice, deliberately audible:
"This one is useless. Discard him."
A short sentence, yet it froze my blood. Iron Bull's mecha had been sponsored by that man. And now, with his defeat, he was cast aside.
Moments later, the sound of dragging echoed from deep in the arena. Black-clad mecha engineers hauled Iron Bull and his ruined frame away like scrap. He thrashed, screaming curses, but no one listened.
I turned back only once, just in time to see them throw him into the recycling chute. His final scream was swallowed by the crushing roar of metal.
The crowd did not mourn. No one even spared him a glance.
To them, this was nothing more than the rightful end of a loser.
But in that instant, I understood, the organization behind that sigil was ruthless, merciless, and more dangerous than any fire on the battlefield.