143 Points
“143 points.” Zeke stared intently at the hologram. Lowborn. Deep. A total of 143 points. Thirteen from performing various appropriate actions, thirty from precise movements and high-speed maneuvers, and a full hundred for destroying the AI. In the lower-class admissions track for commoners and plebeians, it was the highest score in history. It wasn’t the first time a lowborn cadet had beaten a bottom-tier AI. But it was the first time someone had reacted to incoming bullets on their very first Titan run, rolled across the floor, then used hovering for a high-speed flank. Overwhelming talent. Movements that looked like they belonged to someone born to pilot a Titan.
“Heh. The kid’s the real deal. This is exactly the kind of talent the Empire needs right now, isn’t it? You’re obviously going to accept him, sir?”
Zeke watched his junior professor replay the simulation for the fifth time and shook his head slowly. Of course they would accept him. Refusal wasn’t an option. This was a talent that jutted out from the rest—like a sharp pebble embedded in the roadside. Leave it there and it would only cut the feet of everyone who passed. Whether the plucked pebble would be polished smooth among the crowd or chipped away into something ugly, there was no way to know. In Zeke’s experience, far more stones ended up ruined than refined.
“A-ah, h-hello.”
This one’s already hopeless. The look in the man’s eyes made that perfectly clear.
“You did remarkably well. Malnourished, dehydrated, and running a flu on top of it all, yet you still pulled that off.”
“Th-thank—”
“It was sarcasm.”
Oh. So it was sarcasm. I’d thought it was a compliment.
The man in the formal suit stared straight through me. Or—man? Now that my vision had cleared, it was hard to tell. Not that the uncertainty made the person any less intimidating. The face and those eyes were still terrifying. Just meeting that gaze made my whole body tremble. I could feel the hostility lurking somewhere behind it, natural as breathing. Maybe it wasn’t real hostility. But I couldn’t be certain it wasn’t.
The suited figure let out a long sigh, dragged a chair over, and sat down in front of me. The legs squeaked against the floor.
“I don’t know why you’re so scared of me, but here are the results. First place out of the thirty accepted candidates.”
I hadn’t even known they were taking thirty people.
“Then… top of the class—”
A dry laugh cut me off before I could finish.
“Big dreams. You beat a bottom-tier AI and you think that makes you the top student?”
According to him, most commoners and plebeians in the lower-class special admissions were touching a Titan for the first time. Nobles, on the other hand, had been training for years. Some had already seen real combat.
“Noblesse oblige,” he said flatly. “They get thrown into harm’s way from childhood. To them, a lowest-grade AI is nothing more than a training dummy. Fail to beat even a low-grade unit and you’re below average. Only those who can trade blows with high-grade AIs are sent to the front lines. High-grade AIs perform at the level of veteran soldiers. The ones who actually fight are the true top performers of the Academy.”
This part felt a little like the previous game. The stronger the AI enemies got, the higher their class ranking. That was why I’d even looked up medieval ranking systems back then.
“For now, stay in that bed and rest. Do you have a home?”
“Uh… no, sir.”
“Didn’t think so. Those rags you were wearing said it all.”
Rags? I finally looked down. I was now dressed in a plain white patient gown. The filthy clothes I’d arrived in were nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t know if you could even call them clothes. They were basically trash, so I threw them out. Anything important in them?”
My head shook before I could think. No. Nothing in those rags had been important. If anything, I was relieved they were gone.
“Tomorrow you’ll move straight into the dorms. Enrollment procedures will be handled during the transfer. The entrance exam is in three days.”
“An entrance exam?”
“A bad score won’t revoke your admission. If you want to aim for first place, that test is your chance. Not that it’s possible.” He shrugged. “Anyway. Any luggage?”
“None—”
“Didn’t think so.”
Why did he keep poking at me? I wanted to snap back, but the sharpness in his eyes killed the urge. One look at that face and it was obvious—this person had been a soldier long before becoming an Academy professor.
The suited figure gave me one last up-and-down glance, then walked out without another word.
Now there was only one thing left to do: recover.
I collapsed onto the bed and stared upward. All I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. This world was both completely alien and strangely familiar.
Through the window I caught glimpses of massive Titans moving in the distance. Titan Core. A giant-mecha game famous for its overwhelming visuals, spectacular graphics, flashy action, and romantic flair. It had also been criticized for having virtually no story—there wasn’t even a story mode. Nothing but a PVP-obsessed mess that attracted every degenerate tryhard on the server. The game I’d been trying to play even after getting hit by that truck was the sequel. Its subtitle was Bethesda Academy.
After the backlash about the first game’s lack of narrative, the developers had focused on story for the second installment. An academy setting for a mecha title felt a little odd, but I couldn’t stop the excitement from building anyway.
I’d avoided every spoiler I could, so the only thing I really knew was the enrollment event. A few other unavoidable details had slipped through, but that was it. Still… I was alive. I’d nearly died from sudden organ failure, but at least my stomach was full and my throat wasn’t parched. That alone felt like a blessing.
I wanted to fall asleep right there, but one question still nagged at me.
I sat down in front of the mirror in the corner. Grabbing a fistful of my messy hair, I lifted it up.
“Fuck.”
It was the same face. I’d wondered if the body had changed, but no. The skinny arms, the uselessly tall height, the limp that kept me from running properly, the middle finger that never quite had any strength—everything was exactly as I remembered.
“At least I don’t stutter when I talk to myself.”
If I’d known it would be like this, I never would have picked that particular restriction. There were plenty of milder ones that still let you speak smoothly. I’d chosen them under the assumption that seeing a bad ending wouldn’t matter. Since I only ever played PVP, my plan had been to rush through a quick bad end and then grind to the point where I could jump into matches.
The problem was that I had no idea what the bad ending actually was. Would the Empire fall? Would I die? Or was it something even worse? I couldn’t know.
Fear comes from the unknown.
I didn’t know if I was the protagonist. But if I was, these restrictions alone could drag me into absurd situations. Even if I wanted no part of it, I would inevitably end up at the center of every incident—or at least close enough to get caught in the blast radius.
I had no desire to be swept up in events, and I definitely didn’t want to live passively. Yet I’d already chosen a pile of restrictions that guaranteed trouble if left unsolved.
Time to set some goals.
One: Survive. I had zero intention of dying. If I woke up every morning wanting to die, I’d slam my head against the wall until I passed out and woke up anyway.
Two: Get stronger. Whether that meant aiming for the top spot or shaking off this pathetic personality, I would become strong.
Three: Live an ordinary life. This time I refused to be the idiot who helped others and paid for it.
The moment I finished etching those three goals into my mind, a new question popped up.
I was inside the game now. Just in case… it couldn’t hurt to try.
> 상태창
> No response. Command interrupted.
“Status win—”
“Ah. And one more thing.”
“Y-yes?”
The door flew open. I flinched and spun around. The suited figure was staring at me with an odd expression.
“From the moment admission is confirmed, you are issued a basic dedicated unit. Keep in mind that customization becomes available later.”
“Customization?”
Customization—the core system of Titan Core. Turning one entire arm into a gun barrel, shifting the pilot core from the chest to the head to alter the center of gravity, mounting hover units on the back instead of the feet. The possibilities were endless.
“Correct. Right now it only exists in standard configuration. Later—”
What should I go with? The custom greatsword favored by marquesses would be fun, and nothing felt more romantic in a mecha story than close-quarters combat.
“Hey.”
No. Nothing beat raw firepower. Replacing one arm with a full cannon and maximizing ammo capacity was the safer choice. Or maybe the full-barrage configuration the barons loved? Combining both—a heavy greatsword for melee and shielding plus a massive array of gun ports—didn’t sound bad either. Movement speed would need work, though. Hovering could help, or extra thrusters, or wire-assisted maneuvers…
“I left the piloting manual on the bed. What you read earlier was only the summary. This one is over five hundred pages. Read all of it if you can.”
I looked up too late. The suited figure had already slipped out of the room.
I should sleep.
As I tried to lie down, something hard and thick caught my foot. Annoyed, I kicked it away. It thumped onto the floor, and the bed finally felt comfortable.
I didn’t discover that the thick object had been the piloting manual until lunchtime the next day.
Shit. When the hell am I supposed to read this?