Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Tournament Begins
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Gavin said he'd go find Dean the next day, but even then, they still couldn't get any training done.
Because the moment Dean laid eyes on him, he started flying into a rage—like a wolf whose kill had been stolen away, pacing restlessly and trying to sniff at his nape, as though ready to lunge and sink his teeth in at any second.
Though Gavin stayed perfectly calm and composed, even he couldn't withstand Dean's repeated freakouts. Before they even entered the cockpit, the two of them nearly came to blows in the changing room.
In the end, Dean boarded the mech with a bruised jaw and a face full of sullen defiance. He didn't look much like himself—instead, he resembled his infamous delinquent classmate, Claire.
To Gavin, though, it made no difference. This wasn't the first time he'd dealt with an Alpha driven mad by pheromones and lost to their rut. He was used to it by now. Back when he'd first awakened, he'd thought being an Omega was inferior to being an Alpha—Alphas excelled in every attribute and had access to a far wider range of careers. But after dealing with counterexamples like Jing, Dean, Claire, General Aaron... and so on, he'd decided it was better to be a Beta after all. Calm, self-controlled, and naturally freer than anyone—Betas were the true winners in life.
That day's training went disastrously. Dean's unstable mental state left Ranzhu floundering, nearly tripping over its own feet and face-planting into the dirt. Luckily, in a flash, Gavin seized control of the mech from Dean. The steel giant executed a nimble flip, coming to a steady halt on one knee across the plains.
With a clang, Gavin shoved open the hatch and leaped to the ground, striding off without a word.
"Halt!" Dean jumped down after him in a hurry, snarling, "The match is tomorrow! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"
Gavin didn't even turn his head.
"I said stop right there!"
Dean charged forward and grabbed for his shoulder. Before his hand could land, his wrist was caught mid-air, followed by Gavin spinning around with a punch.
In that electric instant, Dean realized he was about to get decked again—but before the humiliation could surge up, the wind stilled. Gavin's fist halted abruptly right in front of his chin.
"We just can't sync up," Gavin said evenly as he withdrew his hand and stepped back half a pace. "Training's just a waste of time at this point."
The punch had mostly been a warning, and he'd already taken the Alpha's pride into account. But that restraint only humiliated the hot-blooded Dean even more. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ground together before he finally forced himself to simmer down. "...So what about tomorrow's match?"
"You control it when you can. When you can't, switch to me. Honestly, I'm less likely to lose."
Dean had no comeback for such straightforward honesty. After a long moment, he spat in frustration, "Why the hell are you so strong?!"
Gavin fell silent.
He watched the evening breeze sweep across the plains, the sunset painting the stubborn youth's face in warm hues. A silent sigh brushed through his heart.
None of them knew that many years ago, someone else had asked the exact same question—the Imperial Emperor Heinrich. But unlike Dean's angry, resentful tone today, that one had brimmed with utter adoration: "Why are you so strong?"
Celia's answer had been utterly gentle: "—Because of time."
Time had granted him the scant experience and wisdom he possessed, teaching him humility and tolerance, reminding him always to reflect on himself, and to forever hold compassion and reverence in his heart.
That was classic Celia—but of course, he couldn't say it now.
"I don't know." After a beat, Gavin answered honestly.
Dean shot him a cold look and waved him off. "Fine, if you don't wanna say."
The next day, the galaxy-renowned Imperial Academy Mecha League officially kicked off.
As the host, the Royal Military Academy had designated a sprawling 2.6 million square kilometers as the arena, encompassing wastelands, highlands, primeval forests, and every terrain imaginable—even a nuclear-contaminated test zone left over from an old war, untouched for half a century.
Contestants from all the major academies began arriving on White Heron Star. They'd all crossed paths at that initial banquet—arrogant prodigies every one, none willing to lose face before the games even started. So despite the thick tension in the air, they exchanged nods upon meeting: aloof, but impeccably polite.
Gavin had snuck in under false pretenses. Before entering the contestants' lounge, he'd donned a full combat uniform and a black hood that left only his eyes exposed, quietly mushrooming in the corner.
"You're from South Gamma, right?" A Royal Military Academy staffer didn't recognize him and greeted him warmly.
"..." Gavin paused a moment, then nodded.
"I figured. You South Gamma guys are all shorties—your school only started competing in the league last year, yeah? Don't be scared. Those kids from your academy last year barely said a word, all shaky and pitiful..."
The other contestants glanced over, subtly or not.
"...No need to stress. Just do your best. If you get knocked out early, you can still tour the Royal Military Academy, hang around for a couple days. There's a grand banquet after the matches too, and only then do they ship you all home..."
The staffer was embodying hospitality to the max. Gavin stared at him innocently, feeling the bizarre stares from all sides boring holes right through him.
"...And hey, you guys came in dead last last year. Just improve a tiny bit this time and that's progress—easy mission!" The staffer clapped Gavin hard on the shoulder, giving him an encouraging, coaxing look. "—C'mon, deep breaths! Feeling better yet?"
Gavin hesitated a long while, then decided not to waste the man's kindness.
"Yes, much better." Amid the surrounding gazes of pity, he said steadily, "Thanks!"
By the time Dean suited up and showed, he spotted Gavin slinking toward the South Gamma Military Academy mech team—looking suspiciously shifty for some reason.
"Hey, you—"
Before Dean could finish, Gavin shot him a frantic throat-slitting gesture.
"..." Dean's eyebrow twitched. He watched as Gavin low-key blended into the South Gamma team, then turned to wave at a staffer.
The guy waved back cheerfully, like they were saying goodbye, then headed off to the office.
Meanwhile, contestants from the other academies stared at Gavin, their gazes a complex cocktail: sympathy, pity, disdain, contempt... the works!
Dean had a vein throbbing in his forehead. The moment no one was looking, he rushed over and yanked Gavin out. "What the hell were you doing over with South Gamma?"
"It's a long story..."
"What happened?"
Gavin's face turned deadly serious as he wagged a finger silently. Dean grew even more frantic. "What the hell went down? Tell me now!"
"...I don't wanna talk about it." After a beat, Gavin finally confessed. "It's kinda embarrassing."
Dean spent the whole lead-up to boarding grilling Gavin like a suspect, determined to get the full story.
He couldn't be blamed for being paranoid—that mark on Gavin's nape had hit him like a gut punch. Sure, he wasn't arrogant enough to think this Omega was his by default, but he'd always figured he had a shot. And then bam—the guy turns around marked by someone else!
Unforgivable!
It was no different from some bastard stealing his girl!
Luckily, it was just a temporary mark. It'd fade soon enough with his blood circulation. To make sure nothing like this ever happened again, Dean was now like all those Alphas who'd learned the hard way—his alert senses strung tight as a wire.
"Ask one more time, and I'll have to ask you to shut up," Gavin finally warned as the principal's speech wrapped, flicking on the tech cabin comms.
"You're the one who doesn't get how serious this is," Dean's icy voice crackled through the earpiece. "Do you know how crucial the opening ceremony is? Do you have any idea what happens when you chat up strangers? Every year, tons of contestants don't lose on skill—they get read like a book before the matches even start..."
"Ranzhu," Gavin cut in sharply.
The next second, Dean in the cockpit felt the neural straps snap tight, wrapping him up like a burrito in seconds flat before dumping him onto the pilot seat with a thud.
Gavin: "Good boy."
Dean: "..."
One of Dean's rationality strings snapped. He was about to unleash a tirade when Ranzhu's voice piped up timidly over the public channel: "Thanks."
Gavin: "Mm."
"..." Dean was fresh out of words.
After Royal Military Academy Principal Caroline's address, Interstellar Military Academy Principal Dana took the stage to introduce the competing mechs to the guests.
In past years, contestants brought their own mechs. Someone like Dean with a C-grade had a huge edge—C-grades were rare. Most ran D-grades, and those from less affluent backgrounds didn't even have those.
But this year, for whatever reason, Principal Caroline had generously provided mechs for every contestant—uniform C-grades across the board.
The move blindsided every academy. Principals' jaws hit the floor, and amid their shock, they could only marvel at the Royal Military Academy living up to its royal name—this level of extravagance was beyond ordinary folk! C-grade mechs were officer-grade even in remote sectors! No one but the royals could whip out over a hundred on a whim!
Caroline basked in the envious stares, cool as ever in her skybox, acting like it was no big deal.
"Truly befitting one of the founding heroes, Principal Caroline," Dana remarked with a smile after his own speech, back in the box. "Providing such equal top-tier gear to all your rivals—your confidence is admirable!"
The wording drew subtle side-eyes from nearby principals, but Caroline just smiled nonchalantly. "Just striving for a fair competition, that's all."
"Haha, well said. By the final day, only elites will remain, all in high-end mechs—His Majesty will be thrilled when he arrives!"
Caroline smiled without replying.
She'd never tell Dana the real reason for the C-grades—he wouldn't believe it anyway.
No one would believe that the Royal Military Academy's armed technician could mentally hijack every C-grade mech and above. It was virtually unheard of in mecha history.
These individuals had mental thresholds bordering on superhuman. Against pure-mechanical D-grades, they could only brute-force it. But any C-grade or higher with neural links? They could infiltrate the pilot's mental tether and seize control with a thought.
Of course, it was one-on-one only—history had no record of dual-control. But hijacking the enemy's key mech gave you the battlefield edge. Talents like that popped up maybe once every two centuries.
The most recent case was Federal Commander Gavin Celia, who died fifty years ago. His secret only emerged posthumously, for military security reasons.
No one had matched it since.
"Since everyone's ready, let's get started."
Caroline rose and clapped sharply. Sixty-four salutes boomed across the sky. Over a hundred steel giants' eyes lit up in unison, engine roars sweeping the arena.
"First event: traverse 40,000 kilometers of primeval jungle—fight to the finish. Only one-third advance."
"Don't shy from combat—eliminate as many as you can. Principals will score each bout; scores determine next-round order."
Scoring details had already beamed to all mechs. Caroline added nothing more, her cold voice broadcasting over public freq to every pilot:
"Now, listen up—" She paused, then boomed, "The match begins!"
—Her words barely landed when a mech charged behind Ranzhu, ion blade slashing down overhead.
It all happened in a heartbeat: Ranzhu spun, drew, slashed backhanded. A thunderous boom—and the foe was bisected at the waist. Blinding flames and sparks erupted, leveling everything in a ten-meter radius.
Surrounding mechs froze. Then a "ding!" over public freq:
"Mech Ranzhu eliminates one foe: 920 points. Mech Bowbone destroyed; pilot out."
"The match is underway. Keep pushing, everyone."