Leo had already forgotten about the previous match. He was busy critiquing his own performance—if he'd known the competition was this lackluster, he would have grinded his score higher earlier. What is this garbage? he thought.
He had finished several more matches. It seemed like a post-championship hangover; his opponents were all hyped up, but they were either overconfident or completely lacked basic situational awareness. Winning brought him zero joy.
Puppet (Kylon Gen 3, USE) vs. Callis · Titan God Academy (Tyron Heavy Armor Gen 2, TAS)
The Tyron Heavy Armor Gen 2. A heavyweight beast, 150 tons. Dual-engine nuclear fission, overclocked Razer Cannon, retractable titanium blades, and titanium claws.
"A Kylon vs. a Tyron? This is going to be a drag. Heavy armor is a nightmare in Arena mode," Arles couldn't help but comment. It had massive firepower and high defense, and those retractable blades were a hard counter to anything that got close. In a confined arena, its lack of mobility was largely mitigated.
"I remember this Callis guy. He was at the championship this year. Titan God didn't make the playoffs, but they had a distinct style. If I were the Kylon, I'd stay mobile," Tita said.
"Give me a break. The Tyron is slow, sure, but a single hit from those blades would slice a Kylon in half. To beat that thing, you either need a sniper or a high-speed light mecha to kite it. In an arena? Good luck," Arles scoffed.
Tita ignored them. With Arths in the room, the male urge to show off was reaching critical levels.
The battle began. The Kylon catapulted forward, charging directly at the Tyron. On the other side, Callis smirked: "My Tyron is everyone's daddy in the arena. Dinner is served!"
The overclocked Razer Cannon opened up. After the beating everyone took from Titan's heavy units during the tournament, most pilots had developed strategies, but an old model like the Kylon was basically just free points.
On screen, the lunging Kylon suddenly jerked left, weaving through the incoming fire without losing momentum. It pivoted right into a diagonal slide, its engines roaring mid-air as it executed a corkscrew dash. By the time the dust settled from the dodge, the distance had closed to under ten meters.
Callis wasn't a total amateur. The Tyron struggled at mid-range; it wanted you either far away or right in its face. He decisively abandoned the cannons. The Tyron lunged like a massive beast, titanium blades snapping out from its forearms. With that tonnage, the Kylon couldn't block even a glancing blow. Besides, the Kylon had just pulled off a high-intensity maneuver—it should be locked in a recovery animation.
"He's got him!" Feynman added. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
In the arena, the Tyron descended like a falling mountain. The Kylon seemed to lose its balance, face-planting into the dirt—barely avoiding the strike. As the Kylon's chassis dropped, it ended up directly beneath the heavy armor. Before the Tyron could follow up, the Kylon used the ground for leverage, spun its entire body, and delivered a sharp kick.
The Stellar Academy group didn't think much of it. A 150-ton Tyron? Kicking it over? Dream on. Everyone knew the "Gigantor" series had the lowest, most stable center of gravity in the business.
But the Kylon wasn't trying to kick it over. Its right leg hooked onto the Tyron's frame like an anchor point. Engines flared, and the Kylon used the momentum to whip around to the giant's back. Callis reacted quickly, the Tyron delivering a brutal back-kick—the sheer force of which could have pulverized the Kylon.
But the Kylon didn't explode. It used the force of the incoming kick as a springboard, launching the entire unit into the air, now completely positioned behind the Tyron.
The descent began. Titanium blades unsheathed.
Shick-shick-shick-shick.
Four strikes, driven deep into the Tyron's joints. Sparks showered the arena. Inside his cockpit, Callis roared: "Damn it! I've lost control!"
The Tyron had the power advantage, but TAS engineering was still unrefined. Against a precision strike, those exposed joint gaps were fatal vulnerabilities. After four stabs, the heavy mecha was crippled.
The Kylon landed gracefully. The Tyron staggered like a drunkard for a few steps before crashing to the ground.
Puppet WINS.
Callis was livid. What the hell was that? He hadn't even shown his true strength yet. Just as he was about to send a rematch request, he realized he'd been kicked.
Exactly the same as before. The moment the victory screen flashed, the opponent cut the connection. No patience at all.
The four people at Stellar Academy were silent. After a long moment, Arths asked, "Sis... was that a 'Blink Blade' maneuver?"
Tita nodded. "An incredibly precise one. When did the USE produce a close-quarters pilot like this?"
Arles licked his lips. "I don't know why, but I get the feeling he's... bored of his opponents."
"I think I misjudged him," Feynman realized. He had thought the guy was trying to humiliate him personally, but now he could rule that out.
As a formal member of the Stellar Academy team, if Feynman couldn't reclaim his honor, he'd have no face left to stay on the squad. He began spamming the challenge button like a robot. I have to fight him again. I have to fight him again...
Tianjing. EMP Building.
Leo, who hadn't quite had his fill of combat, was dragged away by Wyatt.
"Late night snack?"
"Sure. Now that you mention it, I'm starving," Leo laughed. He was almost tempted to go back to Virtual mode—the Realistic queue was nothing but rookies today. Maybe the pros hadn't started their semester yet.
"Leo, quality of training is more important than quantity. Don't play too many matches at once; reflection is key. Let's hit the gravity room first." Wyatt wasn't usually the type to lecture, but he'd heard the rumors: Principal Long was a hardass.
"I thought we were getting food?" Leo blinked.
"Training first. Accompany me." Wyatt didn't wait for an answer; he just hauled him along.
The Tianjing Physical Training Center was still lit up, though much emptier than the EMP building. Fighting was fun; conditioning was a chore. The few people there were huddled in a corner, aggressively showing off their muscles.
There was only ever one reason for that: a girl with an eye-catching physique was nearby.
"Isn't that our Class Monitor?" Leo noted. Nina Zhou.
Nina Zhou was the monitor of Class 16. Class 16 was this year's "Elite Class," and you didn't get to lead that group without serious skills. She hadn't competed in the championship, but she'd traveled with the team for observation—the school was grooming her. Her friends called her "The Big Sister."
Nina was actually quite annoyed by the posturing. Boys were strange; did they really think these exaggerated poses were attractive?
Since it was a public facility, she usually chose very early or very late hours to avoid the crowds. Today, she was waiting for someone.
Nina put down her equipment, wiped her sweat, and draped a towel over her shoulder. She walked toward Leo and Wyatt. Leo shrugged. "Let's go, we can use the other side."
Wyatt didn't move. He pointed at Nina.
"Leo, wait. I need a word with you."
Leo turned around, pointing at himself. They were in the same class and had exchanged a few words, but they weren't close. Theoretically, Wyatt and Nina had much more in common.
"Class Monitor. What can I do for you?"
Nina looked at him, her expression complicated. How did this guy even get into Class 16? Every special recruit was in this class. The fact that a journalism reject was diverted into the top mecha class was suspicious enough. She had initially expected something from him, but after a year of him skipping classes or sleeping through them, no one in the administration had said a word. Privilege? But he was an orphan. Someone had even seen him delivering Rainbow Pizza in town. She tried to think the best of him, but it was getting hard.
"Leo, our class is a team. Wyatt has probably told you already. I won't beat around the bush—you were dead last in our class rankings last year."
"Huh? Wasn't Zack the bottom of the list?" Leo asked, surprised.
Nina stared at him, silent.
"Leo," Wyatt chimed in, "Zack's specialized sniping is top-tier. The annual assessment looks at EMP scores, final exams, and standout skills. His accuracy and talent are among the best in Tianjing."
"Damn, that little fatty set me up... Sorry, I didn't realize I was dragging the class down. I'll work on it," Leo said, feeling a bit sheepish.
He'd managed to control his score right into a real problem.