Names have weight, and I seemed to have forgotten just how much mine carried.
Tomás was in a good mood this morning. He'd spent the previous evening refining the approach with his predictive model, utilising the new data from our experiments.
"I've been thinking about the diminishing returns," he said between bites. "If the same opponents give less XP over time, we need to rotate your sparring partners more aggressively before the exhibition."
"Makes sense, at least we have plent—" I said.
Brrrring
The flicker of the noticeboard caught our attention mid-conversation, revealing a new posting.
| EXHIBITION EVALUATION: CONFIRMED SPONSORS AND OBSERVERS |
Almost instantly, people rose from their seats and rushed over. I made a mental note to check it after the drills, when it would be less crowded. Makes no difference whether I check it now or later.
My eyes flickered back to Tomás, who gave me a wry smile, and we kept eating.
The morning continued into the afternoon, sparring with Kael this time. He paired me with a Barracks 7 kid. We squared up and traded combinations. A clean exchange, maybe forty-five seconds of genuine work before I found his timing and tagged him.
[XP GAINED: 6]
[XP: 103 / 100]
[LEVEL UP: 2]
[STAT POINTS AVAILABLE: 3]
The notification bloomed in my peripheral vision, level 2. I suppressed a smile from tugging at my lips and carried on. I couldn't find the time to place the points anywhere just yet; this required active consideration with Tomás and the gang.
But I was determined to keep up my XP gain, and so I moved on to my next opponent. The Second pairing was one of Osei's guys. It was a better fight, with real pressure. I lost by a single point, but the result was much better than I anticipated.
[XP GAINED: 11]
I was getting better with my style, able to beat people at a much higher level than before. Though for the past few days, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.
I chalked it up to one of Osei's goons keeping an eye on me. The weirdo still hasn't let me go, even after he caught me on the Gauntlet all those months ago.
After the second round, we had a water break, and Park appeared at my shoulder.
"There's a weird sponsor on the exhibition list," he said.
"Weird how?"
"Out of place. Too high-tier for our bracket." He paused. "I'm trying to figure out why they'd bother with F and D-Grades."
"Which sponsor?"
He opened his mouth. Adjusted his glasses again. "I'll tell you later. Probably nothing."
I read the list at lunch, standing at the noticeboard, tray in hand.
Haldane Logistics Group — Bulk firmware allocation, screening element supply.
Reeves Industrial Supply — Support-class firmware, short-term operational contracts.
Kepler Defence Solutions — Frontline screening packages. Note: candidates should expect a minimum 18-month deployment.
That last one drew my eye. Eighteen-month deployment minimum. The average F-Grade survival window was fourteen months. Kepler was buying firmware for people they expected to outlast the warranty by four months, which will definitely garner some interest.
Federal Procurement Office — Standard issue assessment. All unsponsored candidates automatically enrolled.
I kept scanning. Most of the names blurred together. Mid and low-tier firms with mid-tier descriptors, each one confirming what F and D-Grade recruits already knew about their place in the machine.
Takeda Regional Armoury — Defensive systems, fixed emplacement platforms.
Tiernan Military Trust — Military Contractors, multi-role evaluation.
Vasquez-Herrera Logistics — Transport and supply chain firmware.
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.
I read the line above it, read the line below it, and read it again.
My grip on the spoon had tightened.
The Tiernan Trust don't even sponsor C-Grades. Why the hell are they here?
I wandered over to the table where we usually sat, deep in thought. Park and Ren were already there, though the rest were notably absent.
The afternoon continued, and tactics gave way to more sparring. I assumed that Vance and Okafor wanted us in tip-top condition for the exhibition and pushed the non-combat classes to the end of the matches.
I was sloppy this afternoon, my thoughts elsewhere. I gave up three points to a kid I could beat in my sleep.
"You alright, Tiernan?" the kid asked between rounds.
Tiernan. Had he always called me that? Had everyone? No... It was rabbit, right?
Across the yard, I could see Park at the edge of the training area, datapads out, hands dancing across the screens. I thought I could read Tiernan on his lips as he spoke to himself.
Is he investigating the Tiernan Military Trust? Makes sense, I suppose.
"Hello? You in there, Tiernan?" The kid asked again.
"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine."
We squared off and continued sparring.
Tomás found me at the water station as the afternoon light began to fade.
"Park figured it out," he said. "Or rather, Park asked enough questions that a C-Grade kid with actual military history education connected the dots. It's spreading."
"Figured what out?" I asked sceptically
"You know what I'm talking about, Marcus. The fact that you're a legacy kid."
I looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Wasn't that common knowledge?"
Tomás shook his head. "Not at all, people know the name, but they didn't connect the dots. I mean, it's not like Tiernan is an uncommon name."
"Shit..."
"Yeah, shit, everyone's gonna know soon. And once they do... well, I imagine people will be gunning for the bragging rights of beating a legacy kid in the exhibition."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"And, how long have you known?" I asked.
"Day one, bravest or dumbest bastard remember?"
"You never said anything."
"It wasn't mine to tell."
"Thank you, Tomás. I appreciate it, seriously."
"Don't get all soppy on me now, Marcus, wait till after the exhibition." Tomás waved me off, but I could see the hint of a smile creeping on his lips. For a moment, he looked just like Alexei.
By dinner, the entire barracks knew.
Not officially — nobody confirmed anything. But the greenies had their own information network, and by the time I walked through into the mess hall, the current of conversation had shifted.
I sat down. My squad was already there. Jin's jaw was set. Park was cleaning his glasses with the concentrated focus of someone avoiding eye contact.
"So," Jin said.
"So," I said.
"When were you going to tell us?"
"My surname's been Tiernan since day one. It's on every roll call—"
"Your name was on the roll call." Jin's voice was flat and precise. "The forty-one generations weren't. The A-Grade grandfather wasn't." She leaned forward slightly. "You let us sit at this table for months, thinking you were just another F-Grade nobody."
"I am just another F-Grade nobody."
"Don't. You don't lawyer me, Marcus."
She was right, and I let the defence fall.
"They disowned me," I said. "After the testing. Father told me I was no longer his son. I enlisted because there was nothing left. I didn't mention the dynasty because I didn't want to be the dynasty anymore. I wanted to be just another kid at the table."
"I'm sorry I spread it, Marcus. I didn't know. I was just trying to figure out why a top-tier trust was on our sponsor list. I didn't realise I was—" Park said quietly.
"It's not your fault, Park."
"—I asked maybe fifteen people before someone recognised the name," He continued, barely listening.
"It would have come out regardless. The list was public."
He didn't look convinced. His glasses went back on, and he retreated behind them.
"They disowned you," Jin cut in, voice sharp, "but their Trust is sponsoring YOUR exhibition. Something's not adding up, Marcus. Either you're lying to us, or something's going on."
The contradiction sat on the table. Nobody had an answer.
I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. Before I could even give an answer, she stood from the table, took her half-eaten food and dumped it at the return station. She didn't even look back as she left the mess hall.
"Well, that could have gone worse", Tomás mused.
I groaned in response, letting my forehead thump into the table. I came here to leave it all behind, but it seems that no matter where I went, that cursed name followed.
The mess hall thinned out around us. I returned my tray and walked toward the exit, the thirty-metre stretch between the table and the door feeling longer than any Gauntlet run.
Conversations adjusted as I passed. A Barracks 4 kid who'd never made eye contact before held my gaze for a full two seconds. Someone at a neutral table said my name. All gazes and eyes were on that Tiernan label, not on Marcus, not on the Rabbit.
Tiernan.
Miller was leaning against the wall by the exit. Arms crossed, positioned perfectly on the path between me and the exit.
"Tiernan," he said.
"Miller."
"A-Grade family, Proxima veterans, and their boy ends up in my barracks, sleeping by the door." He pushed off the wall.
"Seems that way."
"The whole time you were just some dynasty kid, and none of us knew."
"You knew my name. It was on every roll call."
"Nobody looks at the roll calls, Tiernan." He stepped closer. "So what's the play? Trust shows up, writes you a cheque, you get the fancy firmware while the rest of us fight for scraps?"
"I was disowned. The Trust has nothing to do with me."
"Right. And I'm sure it's just a coincidence they showed up at our level. Slumming with the D-Grades."
He held my gaze for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then he stepped aside, shoulder passing close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
"See you in the exhibition," he whispered.
I stood in the doorway and watched him go.
[XP GAINED: 7]
I stopped walking and did a double-take.
I stared at the notification.
Seven XP from — what? From the stares? From Miller's shoulder? From Jin's unfinished sentence?
Yesterday, Tomás and I had mapped the rules. Combat, physical danger, hard sparring, novel opponents. We'd built a clean, sensible model. But I just gained seven XP from thin air.
The system has to measure something broader than combat, but what was it?
Tomás was behind me; he'd followed from the table.
"Miller spook you or something?"
"No. But I gained XP. Seven points."
"From what? You haven't fought since this afternoon."
"I don't know. I think—" I looked back at the mess hall. "I think the system counts more than combat."
"That doesn't fit our model," he said as he stared at me.
"No."
"Social pressure isn't two opposing parties. It's not physical danger."
"We guessed that the trigger was a genuine struggle. We assumed that meant combat." I looked at the number sitting in my interface. "Maybe combat was just the most obvious form."
He went quiet. I could see the next thought arriving, and I knew what it was before he said it.
"Marcus. If your system gives XP for emotional pain—"
"Yeah it's—."
"—and deployment isn't just..."
"Yeah..."
"Well, maybe the exhibition will be more lucrative for you than we first thought."
I flopped into my bunk at the end of the day, face-first. I was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically. I had one last job before I could sleep. My mind was slow and tired, and I had to force myself to bring up the interface.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE]
[CONNECTION THRESHOLD ACHIEVED: 5.09%]
[LEVEL: 2]
[EXPERIENCE: 106 / 150]
[RANK: 0]
[RANK PROGRESSION: 2 / 100]
—
[STAT POINTS AVAILABLE: 3]
[BODY]
Strength: 13
Agility: 15
Vitality: 17
[ETHER]
Capacity: 1
Sensitivity: 1
Control: — LOCKED —
[MIND]
Willpower: 20
Intelligence: 15
Perception: 17.
The stats were starting to look somewhat decent. I did have a much higher baseline than an average Level 2, but I was still far behind everyone else. I placed the base three stat points across the three physical stats. My mental stats were still just fine for now, and I needed them less than I needed the rest.
[BODY]
Strength: 14
Agility: 16
Vitality: 18
With the final job done, I closed my eyes, ready to let sleep take me. Tomorrow would come, and so would the exhibition, and more significantly, the Tiernans.
Just why the hell are they here?