The Six Holograms
I opened my eyes. My nose burned. The air reeked of cigarettes. The familiar game screen glowed in front of me, a controller still clutched in my hand. Must have passed out while playing. Shoving the surreal feeling aside, I turned my head and scanned the room. Even through the fog in my senses, the cigarette stains and patches of mold on the walls stood out clearly. Right. My room. Here.
I stared blankly at the monitor until my phone began to vibrate. I set the controller down and picked it up. Exactly two messages waited for me.
I didn't need her to worry about that. The only reason I was still alive was because I couldn't manage to die.
“Sooooooo weeeird!”
My eyes snapped open. The first thing I saw when I lifted my head was a pure white, spotless wall. I pressed my hand against it and swallowed hard.
“Huh.”
No suicidal impulse. None at all.
I kept staring at the wall until Ailee asked, voice laced with curiosity.
“You’re not gonna slam your head into it today?”
“Guess not. Doesn’t feel like I need to.”
“For real? That’s awesome! You know I’ve been super worried about that, right?”
“I know.”
How could I not? Just yesterday morning I’d woken up and immediately bashed my skull against the wall. Ailee had screamed at me through the smartwatch the second it turned on, barely stopping me in time. Only after I’d calmed down and the bleeding stopped could I explain what happened. She’d promised to do something about it and said she’d look up a psychological counseling curriculum.
“I actually forgot about it for a second.”
She’d been worried. The sheer absurdity of it made me pull a face before I lifted the smartwatch. Seven in the morning. With lectures starting at nine, it was still early. Perfect, actually.
Both Professor Zeke and Princess Saya had said the same thing. For a pilot, nothing mattered more than physical conditioning. More precisely, a body capable of withstanding extreme gravitational forces. Just like Zeke said, what I needed was a rock-solid physique.
Since I specialized in high-mobility combat, my body mattered more than raw piloting skill. It was probably the same reason F1 drivers and fighter pilots trained relentlessly.
“One-seventy-seven centimeters and fifty-two kilograms. You’re basically a skeleton. Yep!”
Thanks for the helpful observation.
The first order of business was to eat far more than seemed reasonable and move far more than seemed reasonable. I changed into decent workout clothes, stuffed my pockets with protein bars until they bulged, and stepped outside. Could I eat while running? Maybe run, rest, eat, repeat?
“How long are you planning to run?”
“About thirty minutes.”
“Isn’t that pushing it? Seriously? Wasn’t yesterday’s run enough?”
“I’ll take it easy.”
In truth, the leg I’d run on yesterday still ached. But stopping wasn’t an option. When a leg hurt, slow walking actually helped it recover faster. I knew this from experience. Lots of it.
After checking the path, I strapped on the exoskeleton walker and started jogging. It felt like a majestic stride to me. To everyone else, it probably looked like a pathetic commoner’s shuffle.
Mondays had no morning lectures, only the fundamentals of piloting in the afternoon. Tuesdays, however, started bright and early.
I’d barely taken my seat when the princess found me again and sat right beside me. I couldn’t begin to understand why, but I decided not to overthink it. At least for this class, I could manage that. The subject matter was something I couldn’t help but enjoy.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Sumeragi, and I’ll be teaching Titan Modification Theory for Tuesday mornings.”
This was the class where we learned how to build our machines. Sumeragi was almost certainly Japanese. More than that, the NPC who handled Titan customization in the previous game had also been named Sumeragi.
From the murmurs spreading around the room, it was obvious this Professor Sumeragi was every bit as extraordinary as the rumors claimed. Amazing professors seemed to be the rule rather than the exception at Bethesda Academy, so I’d started filtering most of the gossip.
Amid the chatter, one cadet thrust their hand into the air.
“Question!”
“Go right ahead.”
“Why do we pilots have to take engineering-related classes?”
Sumeragi’s eyes widened for a moment before she broke into a smile.
“Excellent question. First, anyone who owned a personal Titan before enrolling, please raise your hand.”
Before she even finished speaking, more than half the pilot cadets in the room lifted their hands. Sumeragi did a quick visual count.
“Now, only those who have customized their personal Titan using their own ideas, raise your hands.”
Hands dropped like stones. The princess lowered hers as well, then turned to stare at me.
“I did it.”
“Uh…”
“Then why aren’t you raising your hand?”
Because I don’t want the attention. Her gaze felt far too hostile for me to give that answer. With no choice, I slowly raised my hand. The princess looked satisfied and finally turned away.
In an instant, several pointed stares locked onto me. A few whispers reached my ears with perfect clarity.
“So that’s what it was. The custom made the difference.”
“Expanding the thrusters and installing a core to dampen gravitational acceleration would allow those movements. Makes sense now.”
No, the first part is right, but the second part is completely wrong.
Sumeragi gazed at me for a moment, then nodded in clear satisfaction.
“Cadet Deep’s A12 was originally a high-mobility Titan, but he added expanded thrusters the day before the exam to gain even greater agility. He didn’t place in the top tier, but the result was far more promising than expected.”
The princess glanced at me with genuine surprise.
“A pilot who understands exactly what they need can give the engineer the fastest, most accurate feedback possible.”
With a wave of her hand, a person-sized Titan hologram materialized on the podium. A few more gestures and the limbs swapped out with different parts.
“Today’s exercise is simple. Normally you adapt yourselves to fit a Titan. Today we’re doing the reverse. Adapt the Titan to fit you. Swap parts freely and see what you can create.”
One cadet raised a hand. Sumeragi gave a small nod.
“Will this be graded?”
“It’s the first day, so no. However, I’ve heard professors have discretion to award bonus points to particularly diligent students?”
Bonus points. No cadet at Bethesda Academy lacked academic drive. The moment Sumeragi finished speaking, students activated their holograms and dove into part-swapping.
Sumeragi looked around, then covered her mouth and laughed quietly.
They’re all so ordinary.
Exactly what I’d expected. Or possibly worse. Swapping parts alone was below average. Calling up an AI to discuss and exchange parts was at least decent. Most students had frozen completely, unsure what to do.
The personal Titans belonging to noble houses and merchant families were certainly excellent. They already boasted superior versatility and performance compared to standard models, so there was no apparent need for customization.
That mindset was their fatal flaw.
War was not a solo endeavor. A so-called all-purpose machine that tried to do everything usually ended up unable to do anything properly. Very few cadets recognized this from the beginning and actively worked with it. Those who did were geniuses.
Most of them are only trying to patch weaknesses.
Even with Titan AI support, the AIs weren’t nearly as intelligent as people assumed. They simply carried out orders. Bolting extra armor onto a high-mobility Titan and adding a generator for more power stopped it from being a high-mobility Titan. Stripping armor from a heavy Titan, expanding its thrusters, and reducing weight stopped it from being a heavy Titan.
The key wasn’t covering weaknesses. It was amplifying strengths.
“How is everyone doing? I have high expectations.”
Which was exactly why Sumeragi deliberately stayed away from my desk. Before he’d even moved his first assigned Titan, I had expanded the thrusters and bet everything on early mobility. Even though I’d lost and placed in the middle of the pack during the exam, my choices aligned perfectly with her philosophy.
She approved.
If the most delicious dish was obvious, it tasted best when saved for last.
What truly interested me was the princess. After the entrance exam, she seemed deeply impressed. Despite being a member of the imperial family, she continued sitting beside a commoner like me. Anyone could see how uncomfortable it made me, but if her proximity to me somehow helped her grow, that was a net positive.
Only after carefully observing every student did Sumeragi finally approach the princess. Then she stopped short.
The princess hadn’t touched her hologram at all.
“Your Highness?”
No response. Sumeragi tilted her head, but the princess wasn’t looking forward. Her gaze remained fixed on the seat beside her.
It didn’t make sense. No matter how impressive my custom was, it shouldn’t shock her this much. She had already beaten my customized Titan. At most, I had simply added modifications to the original high-mobility frame.
“As for Cadet Deep—”
The thought died instantly.
Six units.
“Huh?”
Six Titan holograms hovered in the air.