Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Tsundere Tendencies
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After Gryphon's disjointed explanation, Gavin finally grasped one point: his bodily fluids contained the components of marrow fluid.
"This isn't strange at all. Marrow fluid is the mental link between pilot and mecha, and it naturally contains extracts from the pilot's brain. The first time you entered the cockpit, I noticed your mental threshold was exceptionally high, so your marrow fluid should be quite delicious..."
Gavin couldn't help but imagine the neural net clinging to his body, licking desperately. A wave of revulsion hit him instantly.
"But back then, I didn't realize your sweat and blood also contained that substance. After compounding, it can serve as a substitute for marrow fluid. Later, at the hotel when you fell asleep, I noticed a lot of sweat on the back of your neck and wanted to try absorbing it as an energy replacement..."
No wonder it had turned into a flat patch of mud stuck to the back of his neck—to maximize surface contact area.
"Then those idiots from the Protection Association burst in, interrupting my compounding process. The marrow fluid didn't decompose fully, so when we reached the airspace above the military academy, the energy ran out and we dropped. I've been in standby mode this whole time. Luckily, you've been carrying me close to your body, so now I've extracted just enough marrow fluid from you to boot up for a bit..."
Gryphon chattered on excitedly, brimming with smug pride over scoring such a bargain. But Gavin frowned slightly.
He'd been carrying this earring close to his body not because of any promise to Gryphon, but because of Edna's instructions.
When Edna handed Gryphon over to him, she'd said, "Intelligent mecha choose their own optimal path," and explicitly ordered him to "keep this earring on your body at all times, never take it off." Carrying it close was indeed key to Gryphon extracting marrow fluid—but how did Edna know?
Even if Edna could guess his mental threshold was extremely high, how did that woman know his blood contained that special substance too?
Under normal circumstances, wasn't it only extractable from the human brain?
"Never mind that for now—what's the situation? If I'm not mistaken, this falls under armed technician territory, right?"
The earring bounced down from the windowsill, decomposing and reshaping midair into a spherical light brain hovering above his shoulder armor.
"Hmm, D-grade XM109 military mecha. A pure mechanical product without any neural net. What a headache..."
Gavin leaned against the window with his arms crossed.
"Can you find at least one mechanical fault?"
Gryphon acted as if it'd been gravely insulted.
"One? One?! Are you joking? To a noble intelligent mecha like me, its very existence is a fault!"
Gavin: "..."
Gavin stared blankly at the light brain. Moments later, Gryphon surrendered tearfully.
"...Its fourth bearing has a slightly bent helix..."
Gavin was finally satisfied. He patted the light brain fondly.
"Good boy."
Once the assessment ended, the door was pushed open. Gudero entered with a triumphant smirk, eyeing the motionless shoulder armor.
"What a pity..."
"The fourth bearing's helix is bent sixty degrees inward. Evidence: the scrape marks on the outer shell indicate a sharp object impacted the shoulder armor surface, and at that angle, only the fourth bearing takes direct force. This D-grade XM109 military mecha's bearings are extremely hard; only the helix is soft, flexible memory alloy. Under impact, only the helix shifts, while the overall bearing doesn't break."
Gavin offered a modest smile.
"Shall we open it up to verify, Professor Gudero?"
Gudero: "..."
For the first time in his life, Gavin savored the thrill of cheating. He watched Gudero with keen interest. True to form, the professor's face soon flushed beet red, like a balloon swollen to the bursting point.
But unexpectedly, the outburst never came. Seconds later, it fizzled out silently.
"What are you trying to prove to me? That your talent with mecha surpasses everyone else's?"
Gudero said coldly.
"This has nothing to do with the crux of our disagreement."
His icy demeanor made Gavin feel a twinge of guilt. After a long pause, he admitted,
"I know."
"—You know what? Even if you prove yourself to me ninety-nine times, one mistake on the battlefield ends it all! Those Alphas always have a higher survival rate, and they'll never remember it was you sacrificing your talent and chance at victory that let more people scrape by—"
"I know, Professor. Your intentions are good."
"No! I have no intentions at all!"
Gudero snapped sternly.
"I'm just fulfilling a teacher's duty, that's all. A Beta student like you means nothing to me!"
The room fell deathly quiet. Gavin stared silently at Gudero for a moment, then stood, bowed his head.
"I understand, Professor."
He packed up simply, shouldered his bag, and walked past Gudero toward the door.
The atmosphere was thick with tension. As they brushed shoulders, Gavin could even feel the man's suppressed angry breaths. The door stood wide open; outside, students trickled out of the classroom after the assessment, laughter echoing from a few in the distance.
Gavin stepped over the threshold, then paused and turned back.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but sometimes what looks like a mistake to others isn't truly one. The Marshal's decision in the Venus Fortress Battle was the same. He traded one defeat to save tens of thousands of soldiers from the Empire and Alliance. No matter the final outcome, he was victorious in following his heart."
"Even if it happened again, he'd choose the same—because that's the meaning of the talent heaven granted him."
Gavin didn't look at Gudero's expression. He gave a slight bow and turned to leave.
When the scores came out, Gavin felt the malice of the universe once more—299.
"He deducted 201 points because you 'talked too much to the professor after the exam, delaying the evaluation'! How much does he hate you?!"
Gryphon bounced around as a white light orb, indignant.
"Want me to beat him up for you? I'll make it clean, no traces—he'll see you coming and run from now on!"
Gavin remained his usual unflappable self.
"No need. Gudero is just... what was that word you used last time?"
"Tsundere?"
"Right. Gudero's tsundere."
Gavin left the query room. Gryphon followed like a bouncing rubber ball. With ample energy now, the orb glowed a bit brighter. Rounding a corner, it dazzled Gavin's eyes, and he collided head-on with someone approaching.
"Watch out!"
Gavin stumbled but was steadied by the man's grip on his arm.
"You okay... huh?"
"—Dean?"
The corridor was empty. Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling in layers. The tall Alpha cadet loomed like a mountain crag. Perhaps due to the light and shadows, his features seemed unusually chiseled, his face devoid of any smile—enough to stir unease.
A flicker of displeasure rose in Gavin's mind, but he didn't show it. He straightened slowly and pulled free.
"Thanks."
Dean nodded.
"Watch where you're going. Just checked your scores?"
"Yeah."
Dean didn't ask what the score was—partly because mecha department students tended to look down on technicians, but mostly because he figured an Omega couldn't achieve much anyway. Asking would just be awkward.
"I heard about that accident in the maintenance bay. They say you fell from the high tower—no injuries?"
"...None."
"Good. Omega physiology in adolescence is usually fragile; sometimes a simple fall is fatal—a huge waste of social resources."
Dean paused, realizing how poorly that sounded, and awkwardly changed the subject.
"—That's your light brain?"
Gryphon bounced proudly twice.
"...Sort of."
Dean eyed Gryphon curiously but didn't press.
"Pretty... bright."
The hallway wasn't wide, and Dean—as a typical burly Alpha—blocked most of it just standing there. Squeezing past would feel awkward. Gavin waited ages, but Dean didn't budge. Puzzled, he asked,
"Anything else?"
Dean cleared his throat, adjusted his black fingerless gloves, and said offhandedly,
"The mecha team's internal ranking matches start in a couple days."
Gavin: "...Oh."
Awkward silence.
Seconds later, inspiration struck Gavin. Tentatively,
"G-Good luck?"
Dean: "..."
Dean took a deep breath, deadpanned,
"I will. Thanks!"
Then he sidestepped and strode off toward the training grounds.
Gavin stood dumbfounded, the whole exchange defying his understanding of the universe. After a while, Gryphon bounced down from above his head and asked gravely,
"I got no words for that one—tsundere work?"
"...Anything else?"
"Nope."
"Tsundere it is."
Gryphon hesitated, then agreed.
"Tsundere's not bad."
It hopped onto Gavin's shoulder, and the two wandered off in mutual bafflement.
2.
Though the deal with Director Gudero was to transfer departments if he scored under 300, that malicious 299 changed nothing. Gudero probably knew he was doomed and simply let Gavin be, saying no more.
Gavin had always thrived calmly in adversity. With Gudero off his back, life eased up; he even had time to clean up Gryphon's mental control protocols.
The dimwit was thrilled, chattering nonstop about washing its shell too—until Gavin batted it around like a ball for half an hour, at which point it tearfully gave up.
One person's joy is another's misery. Compared to Gavin, Dean's days were far tougher.
The mecha team's ranking tournament—unknown to Gavin—was a big deal at the Royal Military Academy.
Mecha combat prowess was vital to the Empire; top cadets from major academies competed in annual leagues. Winners earned massive honors, rewards, and an audience with the Emperor.
The Royal Military Academy's position was delicate—everyone knew it had the strongest mecha, but also that it wasn't the Emperor's favorite.
The academy carried too much Alliance flavor; it was an open secret.
Built on a former low-tier Alliance academy, Principal Caroline had served in the Alliance military, captured at Venus Fortress, then defected to the Empire. The Alpha woman earned major merits late in the war, but her past as a turncoat lingered.
There was also a subtle connection: Caroline's partner was Institute Director Edna, who'd once been engaged to Marshal Celia.
Few knew now how smitten Celia had been with Edna back then—normal, since female Omegas were rare, and reportedly they'd known each other since youth. But officers from the Marshal's direct lineage knew well.
Knowing made it intolerable. To them, Edna never loved Celia. She'd strung both along for years without rejecting either, then paired with Caroline the moment the Marshal's body was cold.
For political favoritism and personal grudges, Heinrich stayed lukewarm toward the Royal Academy—never outright mistreating it.
The Emperor favored Gemini Interstellar Military Academy instead, cradle of the capital defense forces. It and Royal were perennial league frontrunners; though Gemini won fewer trophies, it got more imperial audiences.
To crush Gemini and spite the Emperor, Royal's internal competition was brutal yearly. Elites fought through dozens of rounds, whittling five hundred down to two hundred, one hundred, fifty, twenty—ultimately three on stage, with only one or two fielding in the real league.
Dean was elite of elites, but victory was never easy.
This Alpha cadet's background was solid: standard AO parents, father a cabinet high official who drilled him harshly from childhood, forcing him through thick tomes like *Mecha Manufacturing Theory Overview* at eight. On his fourteenth birthday, he got his first personal mecha. To hone skills, he crashed bloody often; worst time, nearly skewered in virtual combat—his dad said nothing.
Dean never thought his parents should say anything. He crawled from the medpod, patched up, and went home for dinner.
Raised so, Dean held himself to masochistic standards. At the academy, he excelled in all courses, practical and theoretical—undisputed top elite.
All instructors saw him as Royal's representative. He agreed.
So he couldn't lose in rankings.
Dean trained obsessively, logging over sixteen hours daily in mecha, sleep cut to bare six.
But those six were restless.
One midnight, he dreamed hazily of feverish heat, something feral roaring through his veins. Waking parched, he downed two big cups of water before realizing the grim truth—
Spontaneous heat.
That Omega pheromone from Gavin, lingering in his blood, had finally triggered his Alpha instincts.
Realizing it, Dean could only think "..." Stunned for ten minutes, he turned woodenly back to bed. Subsequent nights worsened; he forced eyes open till dawn, lest closing them unleash urges to grab someone and ravage them.
Next day, huge bags under his eyes, he rushed to the medics for an injection—Omegas had suppressants; Alphas had them too, or with the 30:1 AO ratio, overenergetic Alphas would be unmanageable—
Halfway there, dazed, he collided with that Omega, Gavin.
"...In a couple days, the mecha team's internal rankings start."
Dean stared absently at his black gloves, hesitating on the next line: *Wanna come watch?*
The suppressants blocked the enticing Omega scent, leaving him inexplicably irritable.
*Wanna watch? Nah, better not—mecha duels are deathmatches to an Omega. Heard he fell from that tower? Really okay? Wait, why does this Omega's gaze feel more Alpha than Alpha?*
"Oh," the Omega said calmly. "Good luck."
Dean: "..."
Dean doubled down: Omegas had no business at military academies—pure trouble!
.
The inter-academy mecha league shook not just elites like Dean but high echelons too.
Gemini Principal Dana visited as the Emperor sat for lunch. Hearing the request, Heinrich cheerfully set down his knife and fork.
"Dana's here? Excellent, send him in."
The Emperor seemed used to meal interruptions. Dana, entering, was shocked.
"Unforgivable, Your Majesty. To interrupt your meal..."
"No, no—not your fault. Still here for the Mecha Phoenix?"
Dana kept his head bowed properly, but his eyes couldn't resist scanning the table curiously. His Majesty's meals were spartan: pan-fried Haini star fish with spicy fruit, bread, soup, and skinless fruits on the side—that was it. Nothing rare ingredient-wise.
"Thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty—yes, I stand by my previous view. If Royal Academy doesn't win this league, they forfeit the right to house the Mecha Phoenix. The honor of preserving that Alliance legend belongs to the true champions."
The Emperor chuckled, amused.
"So Gemini's confident in victory?"
Dana bowed humbly.
"We never lack the will to win."
Heinrich leaned back, eyeing Dana from above. A hint of mockery in his gaze, invisible to the bowed principal. After a pause, the Emperor drawled lazily,
"Then do as you say."
"Your Majesty! Thank you for your trust; your understanding moves me deeply..."
Heinrich waved him off, gesturing to his lunch.
"Oh, yes... yes... Bon appétit. Sorry to disturb you so long."
Dana suppressed excitement, bowed, and departed briskly.
The principal's footsteps faded. Attendants stayed outside. The vast dining hall held only Heinrich.
"The honor of housing the Phoenix..."
A sneer crossed the Emperor's eyes.
"Heh."
He sat long in the tall armchair, face serene as death. Habitually, he reached into his pocket, pulling a small holographic projector.
Copper-button sized, edges smoothed from years of handling, surface scarred from wartime bumps. Heinrich activated it; a red beam shot out, weaving a lifelike wasteland across the empty hall.
Mist shrouded the wasteland. The view zoomed on a tall, white-uniformed youth appearing before the Emperor.
Deep black hair, pale skin, eyes closed as if listening. His profile was strikingly handsome—drooping lashes, straight nose clear. He stood with a soldier's poise: slim but upright, exuding an unforgettable quiet dignity.
"Gavin," Heinrich murmured.
—Alliance Supreme Commander Gavin Celia, galaxy-renowned Alliance war god.
"Lord Celia," the camera shook slightly as young Set Heinrich appeared in the holo. "The fleet's departing. What are you doing here?"
"—Shh." Celia didn't open his eyes, asking softly, "Do you hear the voices?"
"...Voices?"
Young Heinrich peered around puzzled, but only thick mist surrounded them.
Celia didn't reply, just smiled faintly. After a while, he exhaled slightly, opened his eyes.
"Youkong Star's winds are famous. You should come walk here often."
"...Sorry, I don't understand."
Celia turned toward camp. Heinrich hurried after, hearing,
"What were you just thinking? 'The army's moving out, but the Marshal's still standing here—skipping out? Says he's listening, but I hear nothing'—right?"
Heinrich paled in shock.
"No, I—! How did you know?!"
"The wind told me."
Celia scooped damp mist, opening his hand to show Heinrich.
"This liquid holds countless Youkong natives' souls, passing info via specific electromagnetics. High enough mental threshold, and you can barely receive their signals... Parliament scientists mentioned it lately—use Youkong electromagnetics, implant resonators in the brain, maybe refract souls outward."
Young Heinrich half-grasped it.
"What happens then?"
Celia laughed.
"Nothing much."
He wiped his hand casually, expression unreadable. Heinrich fidgeted, finally probing,
"Sorry, Marshal. I know so little..."
"No, it's fine."
"But everything you say, I never know..."
"No need to apologize," Celia said gently. "No one's born knowing all. Knowledge and experience take time—you're just too young."
They crossed the wasteland single-file. Heinrich watched the Marshal's back, gaze hot and focused. Soon, clamor rose; gray shadows emerged in the mist—the departing fleet.
Heinrich realized the journey's end neared.
"C-Celia, sir," seizing the moment, he asked tremulously, "If you have time later... could you teach me more... more knowledge like this?"
Celia turned in surprise.
"Sorry if it's forward, but you're the wisest, most learned person I know, so if possible..."
"My wisdom's negligible," Celia laughed. "But I can teach you. No problem."
...
Young Heinrich beamed with joy in the holo. The real Emperor's face twisted in sorrow.
"You lied to me, Celia." He murmured. "You never taught me that most vital lesson."
He buried his face in his hands, knuckles white from restrained agony. The hologram had ended unnoticed; Youkong's thick mist and gloomy winds howled into the distance, vanishing into remote memory.