[0430]
Ughhgh, everything fucking hurts.
I couldn't even make a proper fist. The swelling in both hands had turned basic grip into something I had to think about — fingers curling slowly, tendons pulling against bruises that went deep.
Thankfully, we were allowed breakfast early this time, and I needed the energy. After morning drill, we moved straight off to chow. We trudged through the grounds, the air stiff and cold. As though the planet was warning us of the Eridani Prime winter.
Miller's corner table was still full. But two of the Barracks 4 transfers who'd been sitting there since the merger were gone. Not at my table. Not at anyone's. They just sort of drifted to the middle ground, eating with the unaffiliated.
Tomás pointed with his spoon toward the far side of the hall. "That kid with the thermal deviation is sitting neutral now. And the tall girl from Barracks 4 — three tables closer to him."
The tall kid from Barracks 4 was eating with his group. They spoke in low tones and moved as a unit, even when sitting down.
"You know his name?" I asked.
"Kwame Osei. D-Grade." Tomás shrugged.
"Got some fancy psychic communication deviation, doesn't even need to speak to communicate," Park added.
Osei's gaze swept the mess hall. It passed over our table without slowing .
He's scanning us.
"Jin wants to fight him," Tomás added.
Jin looked up from her tray. "I didn't say fight. I said I want to see what happens when someone pressures him. He never gets pressured. That's suspicious."
Ren was at the table, sitting much closer to us now. Though he ate in silence, his eyes flittered between us and the room.
[10:00]
The Gauntlet had left me worse than yesterday — bruised ribs turning the climbing wall into agony, swollen hands making the rope traverse a negotiation with gravity. Miller ran it as if the fight had never happened. By the time Kael's group assembled in the training yard, I was running on pure fumes. I'd only managed to pass through this run.
Kael introduced Rotation Three — combination chains. Strikes flowing into defensive transitions into follow-up attacks. Longer sequences, more complex timing, higher XP yield.
The yard filled with the familiar silent rhythm of XP gains.
I paired with Tomás at the yard's edge. He drilled the chain with growing fluency, eyes flickering with each rep.
While Tomás repped, I watched Priya two dummies down. Her counter had developed a micro-delay—a sort of ghost for thermal regulation that kicked in during the guard phase, creating a window she probably didn't know existed.
"Free sparring! Three-minute rounds." Kael announced.
I drew Hadley first. D-Grade, solid build, good fundamentals. He started with Rotation Two — he had a high guard and a measured approach.
I saw through the setup in his first step. I feigned left. His guard shifted — the prescribed response. I tagged his open side.
Reset. He adjusted within the framework. Tighter guard, held centre. I feinted left, he held, so I went left for real and found the angle Rotation Two didn't cover.
Two more partners after Hadley. Same result. Between rounds, I noticed Torres sparring near the centre of the yard — his kinetic absorption making his guard solid, but slow. The transition out of defence was where he'd get caught by anyone patient enough to wait.
Then Kael called the last pairing.
"Tiernan and Osei."
The yard adjusted — a collective shift of attention. People had been watching both of us win rounds.
Osei stepped into the ring. Relaxed. Balanced. His eyes already moving.
"Begin."
He didn't open with a rotation. He circled. Maintained range. Studied me the way I studied everyone else.
Fifteen seconds passed, and I decided to act.
I feinted. He didn't bite. His weight stayed centred, his position adjusted minimally — no prescribed response, no rotation-based reflex. Just a calm shift that gave me nothing to read.
I went in for real. The feint left, the angle change, the tag to the open side — the sequence that had worked on every partner today.
Osei wasn't there. He'd shifted before I committed. Not far — half a step. But my strike found air.
I adjusted. Different angle. He adjusted faster. Every approach I tried, he was already positioned to nullify — always exactly one strike's length away, always angled so my committed side faced his open one.
Is he reading my mind or something?
He tagged my ribs. The bruised ones. A light strike — barely any force. He knew exactly where I was hurt. Though I didn't give him enough leverage to do any lasting damage.
Reset. Different approach, different angle, different timing. He shifted. Found the ribs again.
"Time," Kael called.
The fight ended before a decisive winner could be called.
Osei stepped back. "Interesting,"
My jaw tightened.
Interesting... I hate that damn word.
[1200]
The afternoon briefing was conducted by three instructors with datapads. Kael at the front, Vance beside him, Okafor behind.
"Your training follows a structured timeline," Kael said. "Phase one — assessment and foundation — is complete. Phase two — integration and specialisation — is current. Phase three begins at the halfway mark of your first year."
Silence.
"Phase three is performance evaluation. Combat proficiency, cultivation progress, deviation utilisation, tactical aptitude. Assessed through live matches. These evaluations are not private."
He let it settle.
"Corporate representatives, military procurement officers, and firmware sponsors attend. Based on your performance, you may receive proprietary firmware sponsorship."
"Those who don't receive sponsorship will be issued Federation Standard firmware. Both paths lead to meat grinder greenies." Vance cut in, a vicious smile plastered on his face.
Kael continued, "Your training from this point forward feeds directly into evaluation profiles. Every sparring result, every drill performance, every benchmark — logged and available to prospective sponsors."
"When do evaluations begin, sir?" Miller asked, his shoulders straightening a smidge.
"Eight months."
I was heading towards the mess hall when I caught it — Osei at the yard's edge, and Park standing with him. Arms crossed, weight on his back foot.
"He approached me too," Tomás said, falling into step.
"Of course he did."
"Asked who I thought would be the top performers in the evaluations."
"What did you tell him?"
"That my model doesn't project that far."
"Does it?"
"It projects plenty far. I just didn't feel like sharing." He stuck out his tongue.
We walked on.
"You should be worried about this," Tomás said.
"About what?"
"Exhibition matches. Firmware sponsorship. The fact that nobody is going to look twice at an F-Grade Null."
I stopped and turned to look at him. Tomás carried on.
"Why should I be worried?"
He stopped.
"There it is. Every time, Marcus. Every time someone brings up something that should terrify you — the grade, the deviation, the firmware, any of it — you just ask if you should be worried or why you should. Like you already know the answer. As though you're carrying some grand solution the rest of us peasants can't see."
I bit my tongue.
"The math ain't mathing, and I'm not stupid," he said. "Your system doesn't work like ours. You don't get skill XP. Your cultivation does something different. You beat Miller.... and I— I don't even know what the hell that was. And you lie down at your bunk every damn night and check an interface that nobody else can see. And every morning you come back slightly different, in ways that even I can't model."
Before I could speak, Tomás continued.
"I'm not asking you to tell me everything. I know you won't." He held my gaze. "But I need to know one thing. Are you playing a game the rest of us can't see?"
The question sat between us.
I could have deflected. The usual non-answer, the shrug, the half-smile. Tomás would have accepted it the way he always did.
But he was facing me with his hands open and his face unguarded, and he deserved better than a deflection.
"Yes," I said. "But I don't know the rules yet."
He stared at me for a long moment.
"Alright," he said. "That's enough. For now."
He pushed off the wall and walked back toward the barracks.
"Tomás."
He stopped.
"When I figure it all out, you'll be the first person I tell."
He raised a hand and waved, his back still towards me. Then kept walking.
--------------------------------
Iterational Index: 15
The Shepherd knows which lambs will thrive,
And which were born to feed the wolves,
He does not mourn for what is spent,
For every loss fulfils the whole.
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