One Week Before Colossus Prototype Deployment
One week before the Colossus prototype was set to sortie.
Kikiwai Mobile Building, 15th floor.
A cold tension hung in the air of the studio, surrounded on all four sides by mirrors.
"Let's call it quits. Fuck this."
The one venting his frustration was a skinny man decked out in a jangling array of accessories. He was the acting coach that marketing expert Endymion had brought in, leveraging connections to Laurel Tree heavyweight director Bergenev Masterhand.
"This is hopeless."
The expert, who commanded fifteen times my annual salary—or in Slick Ellama's terms, the price of "15 Kim Jians"—shook his head openly, making no effort to hide his disgust.
"Come on, sir. Don't say that. Just one more time, please."
"Haa..."
Watching him sigh like the earth itself was caving in made my resolve waver, but I held firm.
<...>
Standing rigidly before the hard-nosed acting coach we'd painstakingly brought in was a man in a crisply tailored officer's uniform. He was the top pilot from the Nanoi space forces, back when Colossus Robotics was still just the Colossus project. His name was Afro Sass, if memory served.
Afro's hologram was projected at the size of a typical intelligent being, matching the coach's physique. He looked like the very embodiment of a reliable officer brought to vivid life.
He stood at rigid attention before the stern acting coach, peaked cap tucked neatly under his arm, showing no sign of nerves.
"The issue with this guy is he doesn't even know how badly he's bombing his own performance..."
The coach was spot on. That last question wasn't defiance—it was genuine ignorance. Which explained why a picture-perfect soldier like him was being coached by an industry veteran revered as a master by countless A-listers.
"But you know it has to be Afro, sir..."
"That's your problem, not mine..."
He had a point. Dragging Afro here for something totally unrelated to his military duties was all on Colossus Robotics.
"Sure, tech and charisma not meshing happens in every field, but I've never seen a case this extreme."
And to top it off, his stellar tech skills weren't even the acting chops we needed right now—they were robot piloting prowess.
The acting coach irritably yanked off his stylish tie and flung it to the floor.
"Sir, if you give up now, countless lives will be..."
"Not my problem!"
There was only one reason we were drilling acting and character-building into Afro Sass.
Levi Sau's airship carried elite pilots handpicked from across the Nanoi solar system, and Afro was one of them. In the prior Colossus simulations, he'd posted the highest sync rate with the prototype by a massive margin.
In other words, he'd be the one to best showcase the prototype's capabilities in live testing.
But our crowdfunding pitch was all about fun, engaging entertainment to get backers opening their wallets happily. To pull that off, we needed a character that would set every man's heart racing across dimensions.
Problem was, embedding mass-appeal star power into this bone-deep soldier wasn't easy. Sure, his bold good looks, tall frame, and solid build would win over the ladies easy enough.
But we weren't shooting some lighthearted variety show reeking of barracks humor. This was raw combat footage and cockpit black-box videos for the backers.
Real wars were fought by highly trained officers and NCOs in mass-produced mechs. But footage of them in uniform, fighting competently? Snooze-fest. No hype.
Stoically slaughtering monsters from the cockpit without a word? Cool, but not backer-catnip.
What we needed was catharsis. Inner release. Perfect vicarious thrill. Something to ignite men's souls.
A larger-than-life hero bellowing ultimate attack names at soul-shredding volume while massacring space monsters—that was the pilot archetype people dreamed of.
So we'd decided: Turn our top pilot into a hot-blooded robot anime protagonist. A living billboard.
Robot and pilot were a matched set. With the mech's design already killer, the pilot fused to it in perfect sync had to share the vibe and concept.
"You still don't get what's wrong, and the banker guy doesn't seem to grasp the gravity either, so I'll say my piece. Hey, soldier boy?"
<Lieutenant! A! Fro! Sass!>
"No, fuck, skip the formalities. Just do one thing I tell you. Got it?"
"Why the hell is political neutrality coming up? Whatever. Sing a song. Right now."
<Yes, sir! Understood!>
Afro's expression didn't flicker as he snapped his right arm up.
"Eek! What the—?!"
The acting coach flinched, thinking it was a swing. The hologram was too lifelike, and the motion unnecessarily precise.
But I, son of Earth, knew that pre-sing posture all too well from a certain occupational hazard.
<Commencing military anthem! Anthem is Nanoi Space Forces March! Vigorously! Prep for rebound! Rebound—start! One, two, three, four! Anthem—begin!!>
"......"
"......"
<We~ are Nanoians♯ men~ of the skies♬ staking our lives in outer space, burning our youth♭ guarding~ the planet's stratosphere♩ on the road to Colossus, there~ are planets♯>
I didn't know the original tune, but enough notes veered wildly off-key to make any composer spit blood. Setting that aside, we'd asked for a song, and he belts out a military march?
Even back on 3-1 Earth in the 2000s, that gag was ancient history.
"See? He's not hamming it up for laughs."
"Yeah, looks that way..."
"And you want me to turn this guy into a hot-blooded robot ace with a silver tongue? In one week? That's the marketing team's 'best' character concept?!"
"If I have to beg. Think of it as saving one life—"
"Shut it!!"
One life? Success here meant saving the Nanoi solar system's billions—hundreds of billions at minimum.
But unlike Endymion, who'd volunteered, this guy was a pro: paid by the job, delivering exactly that. No more, no less.
Makes sense for a specialist living off his skills to balk when it's tougher than quoted.
His self-important shades and flashy getup screamed top-dog ego.
"If I can't do it, I can't. Why drag a soldier here instead of an actual actor?"
"Well..."
"Expecting me to turn a rigid military drone into a fiery ace pilot. In one week? Unbelievable."
"I'm sorry."
"You think acting's that easy?"
Still, we needed his expertise to nail this. Time to plead earnestly.
"I know it's not easy. That's why we came to you, sir."
"What do you know."
"I know turning a total novice into an actor in a week is impossible."
"Ha."
He let out a disbelieving scoff, glaring at me before continuing.
"If you know that, why pull this crap? Think being from a bank makes you special? Money buys everything?"
"Of course not."
I met his glare steadily, chin up, unflinching.
"Then what the hell is this situation? Huh?"
"You can do it. With you as coach, and Afro as student."
I was out on assignment, hunkered in this studio, for one reason: to help Levi Sau and her Colossus Robotics team repay their hefty Dimensional Credit Vault loan.
My client was Levi Sau, not the acting coach. He was just an external consultant on Colossus Robotics's dime.
Negotiating acting lessons wasn't my job, but I'd volunteered anyway. Simple reason: The Colossus crew were hyper-specialized techies, awkward with people.
They struggled to negotiate smoothly with outside experts for results. Endymion, who could handle that, was tied up in marketing meetings.
So it fell to me to bridge the gap with this prickly coach, save the ace pilot's training, and rescue the Nanoi solar system.
"Even the guy himself says it's hopeless. Got some magic fix?"
"Yes. I do."
I nodded, and shock flickered in Afro's steadfast eyes.
No wonder—here I was, some random banker, spouting hope when the principals had none.
But I knew. The ecology of soldiers: same uniforms, same caps, same spaces, same orders, personalities suppressed under command.
And how to free the souls trapped in that rigid military mold, unleashing their true nature.
"I'm saying it because it's possible. For banks and bankers, credit is life. No way I'd lie with stakes this high."
Maybe my earnestness got through. The coach's scowl softened a fraction.
"...So how do you plan to make this blockhead show some human emotion? Even I never learned that after years in acting."
Instead of answering, I pulled out my phone and searched for Levi Sau's number. Before dialing, I asked Lieutenant Afro,
"Nanoi's space forces run on conscription, right?"
<Affirmative.>
Hm, like Korea so far.
"They draft fit, mentally sound citizens by lottery, regardless of gender, for several years of service."
<We consider selection an honor.>
"Total service term?"
<Two years.>
Two years. As Dr. Sau had told me.
"If it's not rude, how much time left until discharge?"
Jackpot. The red flag.
"Any special reason for officer duty? Fits your aptitude?"
<No reason beyond devotion to the planet.>
"Be honest, or we're in trouble."
<...>
He hesitated, something clearly weighing on him, then finally spoke.
"Congrats."
<But without a degree, ex-military can't land decent jobs.>
"......"
Bingo.
Only a rare few serve out of pure love for defense. I'd suspected, but now confirmed.
"I'll fix that for you."
<Oh, Jian! What's up?>
"Doctor. You're currently in 6-2 as the sole proxy with full authority from Nanoi's planetary council, correct?"
<Y-yes, but... why bring that up so suddenly?>
One surefire way to free a soldier's military-soaked soul: the age-old method.
Unless they were true patriot volunteers—but for the rest?
"Effective immediately, grant Lieutenant Afro Sass early discharge."
<...What?!>
Strip the rank, peel off the uniform, turn him civilian. Done.