The Rank-9 cadets battled with their armament-mode Knights, stirring excitement among the watching soldiers. The cadet from our base was holding his own, and from the way things were going, it looked like another clean sweep for us.
Zero, however, slumped in his seat, sighing repeatedly. The triumphant cheers from the crowd as the victor was announced only worsened his mood.
"I did tell you not to expect much of a reaction, third best," Sam muttered playfully.
"You could've explained what you meant a bit better, jackass," Zero exhaled in irritation.
Grinning mockingly, Sam savoured Zero's torment. "Now, if I did that, I wouldn't get to see you looking so dejected."
"You—!" Zero started cursing at him, but Sam only laughed.
As the Rank-9 cadets left the stage and the Rank-8s took their place, I suddenly felt someone watching me. Glancing around, my gaze landed on a figure in the open theatre—Orion's pilot. A little surprised to have caught him staring, I raised an eyebrow. He smirked and waved.
I stuck my tongue out at him in response. Sam didn't like him for some reason, so I had no reason to get chummy with him either.
[Pilot, I am receiving a hail from Orion. Should I connect?] Andromeda's voice buzzed in my head, and I frowned.
What? Why would Orion's pilot want to talk to me after I just stuck my tongue out at him? "No. Don't even think about it," I ordered.
[They are forcing a connection, Pilot. Find a quiet area.]
I blew out a sharp breath through my nose. Why did Andromeda always insist on me being social? Still, I stood up and walked toward a quieter corner of the dugout. He could force a connection all he wanted—I could just hang up.
The moment I settled, his voice rang through the mental link, stern and commanding. "Hello, Andromeda's newest pilot. You already know who I am, correct?"
"Jackson Foster. Pilot of CK-01, Orion." I leaned casually against the wall, watching the Rank-8 duel unfold. "You introduced yourself over the mic not long ago."
"Good. Saves me the trouble. I just wanted to say hello. It's customary in the Empire for the old to greet the new."
I narrowed my eyes. Liar.
My disbelief must've been obvious, because he let out a low chuckle. "No need to look so suspicious," he continued. "I'm just interested in how you got Andromeda to wake up. For the last two centuries, they've rejected every single candidate. We're talking thousands of trainees passed over. And yet, here you are."
I stayed silent. Even if I understood what I did to be chosen by Andromeda in the dreamscape, it wasn't something I could—or wanted to—explain.
"...Less naïve than I expected," he muttered, and from across the arena, I saw his foot tapping anxiously against the platform. "Could you at least tell me your name, then?"
"I'd much rather not." A grumble of irritation crackled through my earpiece. I smiled. "My teacher told me only to give my name when necessary," I continued. "Also, never to take a stranger's goodwill at face value."
"Oh? And who exactly is this teacher of yours?"
"Traveler."
Jackson went still. Even from across the theatre, I saw the flicker of shock cross his face. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, as the Rank-8 duel came to an end and the Rank-7s took the stage, his voice returned—lower, edged with something unreadable.
"You must really be something if the Imaginary Knight taught you. No matter. I'll find out your name when you win your rank bracket." A smirk curled in his voice. "Then we'll see if you can still hold that arrogant—"
"Andy, sever the connection," I interrupted.
[Connection severed.]
The line went dead, and Andromeda fizzled out the signal completely.
[Apologies, Pilot. Orion's signal enforcement makes it difficult for me to deny forced connections. Countermeasures have been implemented for future scenarios.]
The quiet hum of my boost-pack shifted as I pressed my back against the wall. "Andy, what information do you have on Jackson Foster? He seems like a megalomaniac."
[Accessing military database...]
[Jackson Foster. General of the Glistening Victory Battalion, one of the Empire's leading support armies. Thirty years ago, he became the pilot of CK-01 Orion, the 'Hunter Knight,' and was deemed hedonistic in a psychological evaluation. Since graduation, he has performed numerous meritorious deeds—quelling eight rebellions across five planets and bringing two conquest wars to swift victory upon his arrival. He holds a 91% mission success rate.]
I let out a low whistle. "Not an easy opponent," I admitted. "Why do you think he wanted to talk to me?"
[Recent records indicate his battalion has been falling behind in contributions, overshadowed by another group—the Harmonic Pack Battalion, formed twenty-six years ago. Led by CK-35 Lupus and vice-led by CK-49 Lepus, they have gained significant public recognition. Glistening Victory Battalion only has one Constellation Knight in its ranks. Analysis suggests Orion's pilot is looking to recruit another.]
"Is that so..." I murmured. Not my problem.
Glancing back at the arena, I realized I'd missed the Rank-7 duel entirely. The Rank-6 match was already nearing its end. Time was moving faster than I thought. I turned and stepped back into the dugout, moving to stand beside Major General Tatelov, waiting for my turn.
[Pilot, I advise keeping your distance from General Foster. While he is an excellent pilot you could learn from, men who care only for reputation are a hindrance in war—where your survival must take precedence.]
Silently, I agreed.
From inside the dugout I watched as a cadet from one of the other bases claimed victory. The referee called out their name, and the crowd roared. Then, my moment came as the referee called. "May all Rank-5 cadets please step onto the arena!"
I unhooked my pilot helmet from my belt and slid it over my head. The HUD flickered to life in sync with my visor.
"Cool helmet." Sam appeared behind me, bringing Freya and Zero along. "Maybe I should get one as well?"
"I made it myself with Andy's help," I said, adjusting the sides to make sure my hair was tucked away. "So you might not be able to."
"Good luck out there, Firefly." Zero grinned.
"Knock 'em dead, little cutie~." Freya lunged for a hug, but I dodged her with ease.
"Thanks, everyone." I said with a wave.
Stepping out of the dugout, I walked toward the arena. The crowd erupted with cheers, voices thundering through the stands. At the top of the stairs, I stood with the other nine Rank-5 cadets, each from a different training facility.
"Cadets, take your positions on the ten markers!"
We spread out, each standing at the triangular markers arranged at the ten points of the stage. The ground still bore the scars of previous fights—cracks from Zero's weapon, remnants of different equipment littering the battlefield.
I scanned my opponents. Out of the ten of us, I was the only one wearing a helmet. The only one with a boost-pack. The others carried an overabundance of gear—more than made sense.
[Analysing combatants...] Andromeda fed me quick data, helping me formulate a strategy.
"Are the combatants ready?"
Silence responded back as the ten cadets readied
"Begin!"
Channelling spiritual energy into Andromeda. Turquoise light erupted around me and the tiny beetle on my belt spread out its wings. [Armament mode activated.]
***
A flash of turquoise light flickered across the arena, and from it emerged a girl in a leather jacket, her advanced combat helmet concealing her face. In her hands, she wielded dual swords—blades of bluish-green, glass-like material, their edges gleaming razor-sharp as she took a poised, ready stance.
From behind, another cadet attempted a sneak attack, tossing a stun grenade to disorient her. But before the explosion of light could even take effect, she had already moved. A spear lunged toward her from another direction—she intercepted it effortlessly, knocking it aside with one sword before kicking it out of her attacker's hands. The flat of her other blade struck their face with a sharp crack, sending them tumbling to crash into the forest attacker and fall off the arena in a burst of wind.
The crowd erupted in cheers at the sheer efficiency of her counterattack against the two assassins. Firefly had claimed the first defeat.
Without missing a beat, she propelled herself forward with a burst from the mini-thruster pack at her waist, zipping behind another cadet before they could react. In a blur of movement, she stole the belt of pulse grenades off their waist and swept their legs out from under them. Before they could scramble back up, the cold edge of her sword pressed against their throat.
"I concede!" they blurted out.
Another swift victory.
She barely took a breath before analysing the battlefield, her visor scanning the most intense cluster of action—a five-person brawl in the centre.
Wasting no time, she dived in, slamming her shoulder into the back of one cadet, sending them crashing into the others. The five staggered together, teetering precariously at the edge of the arena.
Then they heard it.
Beep. Beep.
Their eyes dropped in horror to the three pulse grenades blinking at their feet.
BOOM!
A shockwave burst through the air, a gust of force sending all five of them flying off the stage into the lower arena.
The girl in the leather jacket moved like a living streak of turquoise light, her movements almost inhuman—like a spirit, a wraith, a battle-fairy weaving through her opponents with ruthless precision. She didn't just fight; she dismantled. She used her enemies' own weapons against them before they even realized what was happening.
Now, only two opponents remained.
Realizing she was their greatest threat, they abandoned all notions of individual victory and rushed her from both sides in a coordinated pincer attack.
She didn't flinch.
With a flick of her wrist, she hurled the last stolen pulse grenade at the attacker on her right. It exploded at his feet, sending him sprawling across the arena floor.
That left one.
A girl wielding a flail. The chain weapon whistled through the air, the spiked ball swinging toward Firefly with brutal speed. She ducked, pivoted, narrowly avoiding each deadly arc with eerie precision. The flail-wielder pressed forward, trying to predict her dodges—until, in one swift movement, Firefly lunged.
Her sword locked around the chain, twisting it mid-air, tangling the flail's deadly weight around her blade.
Before her opponent could react, Firefly struck.
A single punch—fist clenched tight around her reverse-gripped second sword—collided with the girl's forehead. A dull crack. The flail-wielder's body went limp. Knocked unconscious in one hit.
Firefly wrenched her blade free from the tangled chain and turned. Her final opponent was still dazed, only just recovering from the earlier pulse grenade. The entire crowd knew the outcome before it even happened.
But then—
"I forfeit."
The girl in the hornet helmet raised her hands in surrender.
A stunned silence fell over the arena.
"What?!" The crowd exploded into shocked exclamations. The referee gawked. Even I found myself blinking in disbelief.
It wasn't against the rules—but no one had expected it.
The girl in the combat helmet simply turned and walked off the stage, leaving behind the opponent who should have been her easy victory, standing frozen in pure, unfiltered shock.
"I'll be damned," the referee muttered, snapping back to his role. "Well then... the winner of the Rank-5 duels is Flame Meteor Facility's Andrew Klein!"
Boos erupted from the stands. The crowd wasn't satisfied. They wanted a true champion, not an empty technicality. The referee, unfazed, swiftly moved on. "Rank-4 cadets! Step onto the stage!"
I exhaled, turning toward the open theatre.
Across the way, Jackson Foster stood rigid, his jaw tight with barely concealed fury.
I wasn't the only one who noticed. "Looks like someone just got denied," my associate beside me murmured, amused.
I smirked. "Heh. Looks like it."
"Foster never has been any good with kids." My compatriot leaned over the railing, watching the girl disappear into the dugout where her friends were already approaching her. Then, turning back to me, he asked, "Think we should recruit her for the battalion, General?"
"She's certainly something," I admitted, eyes still on the girl. "Andromeda's pilot..." I let the words sit, contemplating. "We'll say hello when the time's right. No need to rush. Let's start as allies first—before we think about becoming partners."
"As you say, General."
As the next duel began, I saw the girl finally remove her helmet, her friends immediately bombarding her with questions. No doubt they wanted to know why she had thrown away a match she could have won effortlessly.
My companion chuckled. "I'll keep Foster busy until then."
I only nodded, watching as the turquoise blur of a warrior disappeared into an ordinary girl.