The Titan That Caught My Eye

The cadet uniform they'd issued me felt a little suffocating. As I'd been told, Bethesda Academy was an institution that disregarded rank and economic background, a school of opportunity meant to cultivate heroes of war—a dreamlike place. "Lowborn trash, the lot of them." As I'd also been told, dreams are usually illusions. The ideals the academy pursued and the directions its members actually chased ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weren't necessarily the same.

Take the admission process, for example. The lines for processing were divided by social class. There were three departments, but they weren't divided by department—they were divided by rank. At least the number of commoners was fairly large. In the world of Titan Core, merchants held power on par with nobles. Quite a few children from influential merchant families entered Bethesda Academy as sponsored students. Or they might have passed the lower-class entrance exam from somewhere else. Either way, it wasn't uncommon for commoners to get in.

The problem was my line. The queue for lowborn applicants had exactly three people in it. Out of a six-hundred-person freshman class, only three. Literal bottom one percent—or lower. One guy was just wandering around doing nothing, while the other was sitting in a corner of the path, staring blankly at the sky.

"Don't lowborns even know how to stand properly in a line?"

What the hell was a line even for when there were only three people? You idiots. I kept the retort strictly in my head. The nobles and commoners were still staring at the lowborns like animals in a zoo. I felt like one of the exhibits. I didn't have the energy to speak up confidently. It wasn't because of the restrictions. I'd always been the type who avoided stepping forward in front of others. That was just who I was.

My forehead started throbbing again. I'd slammed my head against the wall right after waking up that morning. This time I'd tried to handle the suicidal urges physically before they could take hold. The result was a failure. There was only one way to stop the waves of self-loathing and suicidal impulses that kept crashing over me: exposing myself to an overwhelming amount of information that would satisfy my otaku compulsions.

"You think just flipping pages means you're actually reading?"

My hand, about to turn the page, froze. The speed at which I read books was abnormally fast. I'd only recently realized it, but just like how the compulsions synergized with each other, my talents did too. Speed reading that let me devour and comprehend text instantly, spatial awareness that let me grasp my surroundings, and an innate pilot's instinct. When I started reading anything related to piloting techniques, it felt less like reading and more like the knowledge was being hammered directly into my brain. No—my reading speed far outpaced my brain's ability to process it.

I'd been forcing myself to read since I woke up that morning to keep my emotions in check. The dull ache in my forehead had suddenly flared into a burning heat.

"Ah."

My nose bridge stung, and I caught a metallic scent. I wiped under my nose, and my hand came away covered in bright red blood. I quickly pinched my nose and tilted my head back, but someone grabbed me from behind.

"You'll make it flow backward if you do that."

One hand pressed a handkerchief to my nose while the other pushed my head forward. Startled by the sudden touch, I turned to look. It was the girl who'd been staring at the sky earlier. Black hair, black eyes—nothing particularly distinctive about her.

"You're a lowborn too, right? I'm Ran. Obviously I don't have a family name."

"D-Deep. I'm Deep."

I was already stuttering, and my stuffed-up nose made me sound ridiculous. Ran blinked at me a few times.

"Your name is Dideep?"

Of course not.

"Deep."

"Ah, got it." Ran nodded and fell silent. We weren't acquaintances, and there wasn't really anything to talk about. After a long stretch of silence, the guy who'd been wandering around earlier walked over.

"Ran. Time's up."

"Just a second. This person suddenly got sick."

"I said it's really time."

Ran flinched a few times before stepping back and standing beside the guy. "Ah, sorry. We'll head out first. I'm really sorry, but could you return the handkerchief later?"

"It's got b-blood on it, though."

"I'll wash it myself later. I have a feeling we'll meet again. I'm Ran from the Operator department, and this is Ian from the Engineer department. You should hurry and finish up too!"

The two of them headed off to complete their registration first. There were only three of us in this line, and I'd just gotten ditched by the other two. I entered the empty processing station, but there wasn't a single staff member in sight. All that was there was a large screen and a speaker.

The moment I reached out to touch the screen, it flashed to life.

"Correct on the first one."

With a heavy clunk, a panel below the monitor opened and a watch rolled out. The moment I fastened it around my wrist, the monitor went dark and the watch projected a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hologram.

Not waterproof? The hologram disappeared, and the door on the opposite side opened. I hesitated for a moment, but there was nowhere else to go. The second I stepped out of the processing station, I felt only one thing.

Noise. An overwhelming, raw cacophony, accompanied by countless eyes turning toward me. I realized it too late. The reason those two had finished their registration faster than anyone else. In this place, lowborns were spectacles. It wasn't simply because our low rank made us seem inferior. It was the peculiarity of having been admitted to the academy despite that low rank and having never even touched a Titan before. To get into the academy as a lowborn, you needed overwhelmingly superior talent.

In an academy so massive it was impossible to take in with a single glance, the sensation of every person who caught my eye staring at me simultaneously. My body froze solid. I'd thought about it before, but this body definitely had social anxiety disorder. If I could focus on just one stranger, it was manageable, but this many gazes at once was unbearable. My skin crawled, burning hot and then turning cold. Cold sweat soaked through my uniform. My eyes naturally dropped to the floor, and my hands began to tremble.

Where was I supposed to go? Where could I escape these stares? That guy in the suit earlier said something about heading straight to the dorms, but was there no one to show me the way? Where the hell was I supposed to—

"New Pilot Department freshmen, this way."

My body fled toward the voice on instinct. It was a somewhat familiar, androgynous tone. The moment I lifted my head slightly, the owner of the voice turned to look at me. From a distance, I could finally tell. It wasn't a man in a suit. It was a woman in a suit.

"Deep, I presume."

The person in the suit. Same as before. She was still wearing a formal suit. Her outfit hadn't changed much, but this time she had what looked like an ID badge around her neck. My eyes finally focused on it.

"Z-Zeke."

"Professor."

"P-Professor Zeke."

Professor Zeke gave a small nod. "Follow this path straight ahead and you'll reach the hangar. As I mentioned last time, you'll be receiving a dedicated unit."

"W-what's the selection criteria?"

Professor Zeke's expression twisted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slightly. She looked surprised that I'd asked a question first.

"Basically it's first-come, first-served. If another student wants the same unit later, it's decided by mutual agreement. If three or more want it, they either pay to buy it out or it's decided by lottery."

Ah, first-come, first-served. Maybe the Operator and Engineer departments had similar systems. Seeing the strange look on my face, Professor Zeke spoke as if she'd misunderstood.

"You don't have to worry about being pushed back because of your rank or having your preferred unit taken. Most nobles already have their own personal machines, and even among commoners, children of powerful merchants usually have dedicated units."

"Then—"

"The number of students who receive dedicated units isn't as high as you might think. Around thirty. If you include reserve Titans, there should be about fifty units prepared."

Thirty. That meant this academy was moving enough resources to supply Titans to a full thirty students. When I stood there stunned for a moment, Professor Zeke gave me a push on the back.

"Now get to the hangar. If you're unlucky, you might end up sharing a unit with someone else."

"Ah, earlier you said—"

"Go."

I had no choice but to head in the direction she'd shoved me. Before long, a massive hangar came into view. As I approached, I felt a completely different kind of clamor than near the processing station. The sound of metal clashing, machines moving. For some reason, it put my mind at ease. No—actually, it excited me. My body moved on its own. I pushed through the crowd, followed the arrows, took the elevator up.

It was a viewing area meant for getting a closer look at the Titans.

"Students receiving dedicated units, this way!"

Following the guidance staff stationed at intervals, I turned a corner and my footsteps stopped dead.

"Whoa."

Fifty Titans. My body trembled before the countless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weapons. Sweat dripped down. Not from nerves. My entire body was burning with uncontainable excitement.

"Whoa."

The smell of oil. The smell of steel. Only the bare minimum of external armor had been painted, so every Titan retained its raw metallic color. Their designs differed slightly, though. They weren't uniform—some parts looked recycled, others like straight-up used goods. The fact that they bore the marks of human hands actually made them more appealing.

My feet, which had been walking between them, stopped in front of one particular Titan. The chest core where the cockpit sat was packed with thick, voluminous armor. In contrast, the waist drive joints were stripped down to just the frame, lightened to an extreme degree. The center of gravity seemed focused low—the thighs were thick and looked like they could crush anything. The arms, however, were kept light and slim, faithful to the basics to leave room for customization. Voluptuous chest, narrow waist, streamlined body. They said you could fall in love at first sight. I couldn't tear my eyes away. Even though there were still many Titans I hadn't seen, I was certain I didn't need to look at any others.

"No, but still, maybe I should check the others—"

Clunk.

The chest core's armor plates lifted upward. With a heavy rumble, the cockpit inside was revealed. A few people glanced our way before looking away again, deciding it was nothing important. So... was it okay to get in?

A light inside the Titan began to blink. No matter how I thought about it, it was clearly a signal urging me forward. While my head hesitated, my body moved on its own. The moment I sat down in the seat, the chest core closed with a heavy clunk. The instant everything went dark, lights came on and a voice spoke.

"Your eyes look way too perverted! You're a total Titan otaku, huh? If it had been any other Titan, I would've reported you for sexual harassment, you know?"

What the hell? That gyaru-like way of talking... whose voice was this?