Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: RTA Tactics
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Real Time Alien Tactics.
“Grrgh!”
The aftermath of my outing hit hard.
It had already been a week since I got back.
Roze and Sahim were hounding me every day to make up for all the training and studying I’d skipped, turning each day into pure hell.
On top of that, Roze had somehow gotten even more aggressive after whatever she’d picked up at the dojo.
Sparring sessions left me on the brink of death every time.
No, maybe it was fallout from the injury I got during last semester’s practical exam.
Either way, she was being super kind, drilling into my body—down to the marrow—how to keep fighting even when you’re punch-drunk.
“Lemon, get up! You can still move.”
“W-Wait… Uwak!!”
I got a little too comfy with the floor against my back and nearly died for it.
Even though I shouldn’t have any energy left, my body kept jerking into action whenever danger hit. It was downright weird.
“Listen up. The existence of ether and the transcendence of physical limits? They stem from the same root. What makes our bodies tougher is the planetary energy intervening in us.”
Wise words pouring from Roze’s mouth for once.
What she was explaining was the Ether-Principle Theory, one of the major frameworks for the fundamentals of martial arts.
The Body-Fundamentals Theory, which dominated early martial arts development, had been pushed aside by the Ether-Principle Theory over time, becoming a minority view.
For reference, Body-Fundamentals advocates believed the flesh could grow endlessly stronger through training.
“So even if your body’s exhausted, as long as you can control this alien energy, you can keep going indefinitely. The key is your mind.”
“Ugh… So how the hell do I do that?”
We were already past ten repeats of this explanation today.
She kept drilling it because I couldn’t get it.
“Roze. Isn’t your sparring with Lemon done yet?”
“Uh… Just a bit longer. We can pick it up tomorrow.”
Sahim showed up.
It was already late at night.
Maybe he was worried I’d try to escape this prison of an academy, because he checked on me without fail every day.
“Did you prep for today’s class, Lemon?”
“…No, not at all.”
Sahim fixed me with a stern look.
In moments like this, he really felt like a teacher.
The kind so competent that you wanted to follow every word.
But there just wasn’t enough time to do everything he said.
Just the time sunk into Roze and Sahim ate up half my day.
Add in feedback on the mess from my outing, plus all the miscellaneous crap, and it was a murderous schedule.
I finally got what they meant by even two bodies wouldn’t cut it.
“Today’s class will run late instead.”
“Cut me some slack…”
“Sleep less. Superhumans don’t die from a little lost shut-eye.”
“No, but even so…”
My sleep was already down to two hours.
But how brutal was my routine?
Even the sleep pod’s recommended two hours couldn’t shake off my fatigue.
I shot Sahim my most pleading face, but it didn’t faze him.
“How’s the lab setup going?”
“Almost there. Just need to staff it up.”
Before class, we dove into business talk.
The lab.
The “Salmon Research Institute”—a mashup of my nickname and Sahim’s name—was born from brainstorming how to max out my ability.
Funding was 20% from me, 80% from the Moheim royals, but shares flipped to 80:20 in my favor. Totally lopsided.
Of course, Sahim knew full well it wouldn’t even start without my power, so he was plenty satisfied.
“I read Director Fontana’s report. Can’t believe how competent the guy is. How’d you even snag him?”
“Gotta deliver for the majority shareholder.”
“But even with everyone you recommended, we’re short-staffed to run the place.”
“Like we talked about, you pick the right ones. Fill the urgent spots first, take it slow on the rest.”
Both Sahim and I had huge hopes pinned on the lab.
What breakthroughs would it bring?
For starters, deeper analysis of neural parasites would revive the autonomic combat machines—useless junk in the original story—faster than canon.
And since our path was diverging from the original already, we might exceed it.
These ripples wouldn’t stop at one field.
Dissecting aliens from the ground up, beyond military tech, could spawn changes in aviation, materials science, everyday life.
Especially considering I’d only analyzed five species so far.
‘It’s like a pile of unopened gift bags waiting.’
Sure, someone else had to unpack and translate my raw data by hand, but the payoffs made my grind worth it.
“…Thanks.”
“What’s that out of nowhere?”
Sahim dropped it suddenly.
“The knowledge you have? Can’t buy that with money. You could’ve pulled capital from anywhere if you wanted. Deciding to share it couldn’t have been easy. Thanks for picking me.”
“Haha, kidding, right? I’m the one grateful. Lets me focus without money worries and push things fast. I owe you big time.”
Even the grandest feast chokes you if you hog it solo.
A cliché I saw plenty in novels.
Snagging solid allies like the Moheim royals and Sahim in this spot? Huge luck.
‘Hoard it all alone, and every fly in the galaxy would swarm later.’
Honestly, even my current share felt a tad high.
Maybe sell some off, rope in trusted reinforcements.
Top pick?
‘Barton Stingray.’
Barton’s family wasn’t some big-name house.
Just well-known merchants in their region.
By now, he was probably running an interstellar transport fleet, hauling passengers and cargo.
Even if he couldn’t bankroll a full investment, buying a slice of shares? Easy.
‘I’ll ask later.’
Besides Barton, a few decent targets and contacts at the academy.
The pitch was simple.
Drop that the Moheim royals were pouring in big money, and they’d nod without questions.
“And prototypes are still far off. It’ll just burn cash like crazy till then.”
“No one worries about an investment with success guaranteed.”
If he put it that way.
I shrugged it off.
“Alright, class time. Lots to cover today.”
“…Can’t I rest a bit?”
“Drink this. It’ll wake you up.”
I took the drink from Sahim and let out a small sigh.
Now it was time to wreck my brain.
*
One week before second semester started.
The biggest change from first semester? The stares piling up on me.
72nd place.
Me meddling with Merdi and acing Alien Military Studies handed me an undeserved rank.
Way above my actual skill.
“That’s Leonard Monarch?”
“Looks totally average.”
So now, blatant envy kept popping up.
Guys who ignored me before approached first. Some even brought up the Salmon Research Institute—god knows how they knew.
‘Really caught me off guard then.’
Realized I couldn’t just see these as cadets anymore.
“Leonard Monarch. I challenge you to a duel.”
“Pass.”
“What? Not even a second thought…”
“Sorry, really sorry. No time right now.”
Problem was, it didn’t end with backbiting.
‘Gonna blow up in my face someday.’
I could feel it.
These types wouldn’t stomach some lesser punk ranking above them.
For now, Roze and Sahim’s halo kept it at bay, but that wouldn’t last.
‘Hmm… In that case.’
Maybe strike first.
Midway through devouring Sahim’s recommended papers, I fiddled with the panel.
No physical stuff.
This academy crawled with monsters who could squash me flat, Miracle Generation or not.
Better I steer than risk some fluke accident sparring them.
‘Yeah. Something like this.’
Real Time Alien Tactics.
The class predicted alien moves and crafted tailored counters.
Why it helped? Pulled live battlefield data straight into lessons.
Cadets saw how their choices played out as situations evolved.
‘Meant to let you feel the war’s raw edge firsthand…’
But probably what I could nail best right now.
Why?
My background knowledge of this world.
Plus deep alien insight from ether.
‘First class next week.’
I checked the enrollment.
But unlike I thought, RTA Tactics was mandatory.
All I had to do was pick a convenient slot.
Past semester reviews? Wild.
↳PandaHeart: People dying like ants. Horrific.
↳PandaHeart: Never taking this class again.
↳FewElite: Sucks. Heard it’s expanding to required for all next semester.
↳SoHandsome: Alien moves for real? Zero predictions hit.
↳SoHandsome: If my plan got picked, civilians wiped out.
↳RoseCamel: LMAO hahahaha T.T ha...
↳SoHandsome: Brother T.T
All self-roasts and despair?
Digging deeper, a few aced it—but rare as hell.
‘This tough?’
Couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Maybe not what I pictured.
I might charge in cocky and end up ruminating defeat.
No choice.
Mandatory for two semesters straight, a full year.
‘Guess I’ll try.’
Closed the panel, buried back in papers.
Too much to do for one nagging worry.
*
Second semester kicked off proper.
Courses shifted more practical, real-world from first sem’s teaser, cadets forced to adapt.
First class especially hammered it home in a tense grind.
“This is footage from yesterday’s battle aftermath on the Hurnshaya system planet.”
RTA Tactics opener was no different.
The instructor’s screen blasted raw war horrors.
Crumpled buildings, smashed bridges.
Civilian shuttles tumbled across roads, wounded soldiers blood-soaked and getting patched.
Screen flipped.
No intact corpses, just people clutching them, sobbing.
And scenes that made even that tame—pure nightmare fuel kept rolling.
“Ugh…”
“Too much… sob!”
“Gonna hurl.”
Mood tanked the second it started.
Most grimaced at the screen; some covered eyes, couldn’t look.
One even bolted for the door.
“…Damn! What? Door’s locked? Hey, open it!”
“No leaving till class ends.”
“You kidding! Just a quick break!”
“Don’t look away. This is daily routine on the front lines.”
Brutal.
Didn’t expect it this raw.
Finally got why those reviews were such a mess.
‘Stressing me out.’
I wasn’t immune.
Barely held down the nausea by sheer body control.
First time martial arts training felt like a godsend.