Chapter 28: Task
The thud of the Grunt's footfalls became a rhythm, a grinding cadence that vibrated up Ren's spine and into his molars. Sweat beaded on his temples under the neural cap, cold and itchy. The virtual plain stretched, monotonous and grey, the finish line a pale rectangle that seemed to recede with every step. His world had narrowed to the ache in his lower back, the strain in his thighs, and Kaito’s steady, murmuring voice in his ear.
Steer the pain. It’s just data. You are the pivot point.
He was. He was moving. The crushing weight of the machine was beginning to feel less like an enemy and more like an enormous, clumsy body he was slowly convincing to obey. A fragile pride, thin as a filament, began to glow in his chest. He wasn’t his father. But he wasn’t nothing.
Then, a flicker of color.
Through the polarized observation window to his left, a blur of movement in the corridor beyond caught the very edge of his peripheral vision. His head, inside the helmet, turned a fraction.
There, outside the bay, was a girl.
She was tall, leaning against a bank of lockers, her posture one of casual, detached observation. Dirty blonde hair fell in loose strands around a face that was both sharp and soft, all high cheekbones and a mouth set in a neutral line. She wore the standard cadet fatigues, but they seemed to hang on her differently. She was looking not at the technicians, not at the commanders on the platform, but directly at him—at the shuddering, clumsy Mark I in its gimbal cage.
It was her.
The girl from the transit hub weeks ago, the one who’d moved through the crowd like a quiet current, the one who’d made his breath catch and his brain stutter into silence. Luna Owari. The same one who ratted him out.
His focus, so hard-won, shattered.
The neural link, a tenuous bridge of intention, wavered. The Grunt, sensing the pilot’s diverted attention, interpreted the fragmented signals as a command to halt mid-stride. Its right leg froze, knee actuator locked. Ren’s own momentum, psychically tied to the suit’s, did not.
He was thrown forward. The harness dug into his shoulders with brutal suddenness. The Grunt’s torso lurched. Its left foot, coming down for the next step, landed off-balance.
The world tilted.
A deafening shriek of tortured metal filled the bay as the gimbal arms strained to compensate. The virtual feed flickered, static erupting across the grid. Ren’s stomach dropped. He flung his arms out, a useless human instinct, and the Grunt mirrored the gesture with a violent, jerking sweep of its own massive limbs.
One of those steel-plated fists slammed into the interior wall of the simulation cage.
The sound was catastrophic—a hollow, gong-like boom that drowned out all other noise. Sparks fountained from a ruptured hydraulic line, casting frantic orange light across the observation glass.
Inside the cavity, Ren was whipped sideways. His head snapped against the padding. A bright, white pain exploded behind his eyes.
“Emergency disconnect! Now!” Captain Yui’s voice was a blade cutting through the alarms suddenly blaring.
The virtual world dissolved into black. The deep thrum of the reactor died to a sigh. The suit went limp in its cradle, servos whining down. Ren gasped, the breath knocked out of him, the straps of the harness the only thing holding him upright. The smell of burning oil and hot metal assaulted his nostrils, making him gag.
The technician scrambled up the gantry, his face pale. He released the harness clasps. Ren slumped, his legs jelly. He had to be half-dragged from the pilot cavity. His feet hit the cold gantry floor, and he stumbled, vision swimming.
Down on the main floor, the secure door hissed open. Yui entered first, her stride furious, her braids like whips against her back. Kenny followed, his face a storm cloud. Kaito was last, wheeling himself through, his expression unreadable.
Ren stood shaking, the thin interface suit clinging to him, soaked with cold sweat. He couldn’t meet their eyes. He looked past them, through the window to the corridor.
It was empty. Luna was gone.
“Explain.” Yui’s word was a single, frozen stone.
“I…” Ren’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, the taste of copper on his tongue. “I lost concentration. I saw something. In the corridor.”
“You saw something,” Kenny repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Ren. “You saw something. In the middle of a primary neural handshake. With a machine that could have ripped its own arm off and taken half this bay with it if the gimbals failed.” He leaned in, the scent of old tobacco and machine grease on him. “What, cadet, could possibly be so goddamn interesting?”
Ren’s cheeks burned. The inferiority complex, that old, familiar demon, uncoiled in his gut. It mixed with a sudden, defensive anger. “Another cadet. Looking in.”
“A distraction,” Yui stated, her data slate clutched in white-knuckled hands. “A voluntary, undisciplined lapse. Your sync rate was stabilizing at 41%. Adequate for a first attempt. Then it plummeted to 9% in under two seconds. You disengaged from the machine because you chose to look at a pretty face.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ren muttered, but it was weak. It was exactly like that.
Kaito was silent, watching him. The disappointment in his uncle’s eyes was a heavier blow than Kenny’s contempt.
“You think this is a game?” Kenny didn’t shout. His quiet intensity was worse. “You think that jacket gives you permission to daydream?” He jabbed a thick finger at the stained white jacket on the bench. “Your father wore that when he pushed his sync past 95% to drag six wounded suits, including mine, out of a collapsing anomaly in Osaka. He wore it when the feedback burns scarred his nervous system. He didn’t wear it to impress girls in hallways.”
Each word was a punch. Ren flinched. The memory of his father—not the legend, but the silent, comatose man in the sterile room—flashed before him. The shame was total, consuming.
“The assessment is terminated,” Yui announced, her tone leaving no room for appeal. “Cadet Ikawi, you will report to Bay Maintenance for the next seven cycles. You will assist in the repair of the simulator you damaged. You will learn the cost of a moment’s inattention, bolt by bolt, wire by wire. Dismissed.”
Ren stood there, hollowed out. He nodded, unable to speak.
Kenny turned to leave, then paused beside Kaito’s chair. He spoke, his voice softer now, but no less grave. “I told you, Kaito. Prodigies break. And they make messes.”
He walked out.
Yui left without another glance.
The bay was suddenly quiet, filled only with the hiss of the leaking hydraulic line and the muttered curses of the technicians surveying the damage. The acrid smoke stung Ren’s eyes. Or maybe it was something else.
He finally looked at Kaito.
His uncle rubbed a scarred hand over his face. He looked tired, older than Ren had ever seen him. “Get changed,” he said, his voice drained of its earlier guidance. “Report to maintenance. Don’t be late.”
“Uncle, I—”
“Not now, Ren.” Kaito turned his wheelchair, the electric motor whirring softly. “Just go. Learn from the bolts.”
Ren was left alone in the cavernous space, the giant, scarred Grunt looming over him like a judgment. He pulled on his clothes, the white jacket feeling like a lie against his skin. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves, his fingers brushed the rough, embroidered red stripe.
He looked once more at the empty corridor window.
Her face was etched in his mind, a perfect, devastating snapshot. It was the reason for his fall. But as he walked toward the maintenance bays, the shame curdling in his stomach, that face also became the only thing that didn’t look at him with pity, disappointment, or scorn. She had simply observed. And in the silent, burning wreckage of his failure, that felt like the only mystery worth solving.
(Recap: ren rode on his father exo suit, got arrested, was offered a pardon if he became the pilot when he father is in a coma)