[2 weeks before Exhibition]
The effects of my name spreading were already felt the next day: a barracks 4 kid I'd never spoken to was waiting outside the mess hall. Arms crossed, jaw set, the furrow of the brow.
Oh, he's been rehearsing this, huh?
"Tiernan," he said. "I want a round."
"It's six in the morning."
"You scared?"
"I'm not scared, I'm hungry. Now, can I please just go eat without having to deal with the theatrics?"
The kid stared at me with a scowl on his face. "Nope, we're doing this now."
"Fine," I sighed
We found a corner of the yard. The morning air was sharp, our breath visible in the pre-dawn cold. His opening combination had weight behind it; each blow had my arms vibrating. Not as strong as Miller, but this kid meant business,
Thankfully, it didn't take long to find his rhythm. I slipped inside his guard and tagged him clean. Each time he threw a punch, I mentally logged the drop of his shoulder, the twist of his hips, and the direction his eyes were looking. All of them used to formulate instinctual plans and counters that worked in tandem to tear apart his form.
I'd been getting better at breaking down each individual's fighting style, though calling them individualistic would be a stretch. Almost all of the Greenies fought the exact same way; the variation came from how aggressive each person was and minor differences in hand-to-hand combat level.
Soon, the fight came to a close; he didn't land a single punch through my guard.
[XP GAINED: 14]
Fourteen. Before breakfast. The Tiernan name had made me a target, and targets generated XP.
I guess this isn't such a bad thing.
He wasn't the last. Over the two weeks before the exhibition, a steady stream of challengers appeared — some curious, some resentful, a few genuinely wanting to test themselves.
[LEVEL 8]
By midweek, Tomás had added a new column to his notebook — AMBIENT PRESSURE (ESTIMATED) — tracking the surplus XP that came from everywhere combat didn't.
[11 days before Exhibition]
It took Jin four days to come around; she flopped down at our table, tossed the tray onto it and avoided eye contact. The table held its breath before Tomás broke the silence, something about afternoon pairings, and the conversation resumed.
But the air was different; Jin only spoke when required. She moved her seat down a few spaces, having Tomás, Hsu and Ren between us. She didn't even make a quip or remark when Sato knocked his water into his paste.
Seriously, what the hell is she so mad about?
I decided to pull myself out of there and grab some water from the dispensary, hoping it would ease the tension a little. But instead, she stood up too and followed me. We reached the water station at the same time. When I expected her to speak, she bumped my shoulder, almost hard enough to knock me off balance.
"Sorry," she said.
"It's fine."
She filled her water and walked back without looking at me.
[1 week before Exhibition]
The format briefing came at the end of the first week.
"The exhibition operates in three phases," Kael declared.
He paused for a moment, letting the murmuring calm down.
"Phase one — squad combat. Teams of six, your composition. Multiple rounds, elimination format." A pause. Shorter than the first. "Phase one establishes baseline rankings and demonstrates unit cohesion for platoon leaders observing remotely."
Tomás caught my eye from across the formation. He gave me a small nod, and I returned it.
Perfect, just what we've been preparing for.
"Phase two — paired combat. Teams of two, drawn from your phase one squads. Phase two narrows the field and tests adaptability under constrained conditions."
Beside me, Park's hand tightened around his datapad. Pairs meant splitting the squad. Half the coordination, half the coverage.
"Phase three — individual matches. One on one." Kael's voice didn't change, but the words landed heavy. "Phase three determines final rankings, firmware sponsorship priority, and platoon placement."
Platoon placement? That's not been mentioned before, why do they always give important information as late as possible...
"Additionally, post-exhibition, training transitions to mecha simulation. Platoons of twenty, each led by a C or B-Grade designated leader. Your exhibition performance determines platoon placement. Leaders will be observing throughout."
Miller's hand. "Arena specifications?"
"Classified, until day of."
Well, at least that will keep things interesting.
"Miller's phase," Jin said at the table that evening.
"Individual combat favours raw stats," she added when the silence prompted her. "Miller wins phase three. We need the rest."
"But if we get paired against Osei in phase one, we might have some trouble," Ren added.
"You're right," I said. "Squad training in the morning, and individual work in the afternoon."
"Three non-standard openings per person," Tomás said. "Moves that don't appear in any rotation. Things nobody in the barracks has a counter for."
"Three in six days?" Sato raised an eyebrow.
"It'll take hard work; we sleep when we're dead." Jin finally spoke.
Nobody commented.
[Final days before Exhibition]
Morning squad drills — coordination, communication, adapting to unknown conditions. Tomás changed the rules mid-drill, and the squad adjusted without stopping.
Afternoon individual work. Hsu and I sparred against each other without rotations until the movements stopped being choices and became reflexes. Sato worked his southpaw angles razor-tight. Andrew — the kid who'd barely spoken ten words at the table since joining — developed a defensive counter-style that turned aggression back on the attacker.
Evening open spars that left everyone bruised and slightly better than the day before.
Across the yard, Osei's network was drilling with a new intensity. Their synchronised movements had tightened — whatever coordination exercises Osei had developed for the exhibition, they were running them relentlessly. During one evening session, his entire squad shifted formation three times in ten seconds, each transition seamless, each member arriving at their new position at exactly the same moment.
[LEVEL 12]
Miller requested a spar during an afternoon session. Not through Kael — directly. He walked onto the mat where I was working with Hsu, waited until we finished, and said one word.
"Tiernan."
Full intensity from the opening exchange. Level 40 against my Level 12. The air around Miller's fist distorted as it came, the visible signature of Ether flooding muscle fibre beyond natural limits. The strike connected with my guard, and the impact rang deep, a vibration that travelled through my forearms and into my teeth.
The mat buckled under his advancing footwork, each step leaving a compression mark that my boots hadn't made in six months of sparring on the same surface. He smelled like ozone and sweat.
Everything about fighting Miller felt like standing in front of a mechanical monster. He was precise, relentless, and operating at a level my body could follow but could not match. I lost badly. But I lasted longer than he expected and scored two clean points, which made him adjust mid-round.
[XP GAINED: 24]
The aggression from that spar carried into the evening. My output during the open session was up — harder strikes, faster transitions, less hesitation. The numbers were better across the board, and I wasn't questioning why. The edge in my fighting had sharpened since the Tiernan reveal, and every session it sharpened further.
[Two days before the exhibition]
Kael kept me after the afternoon session.
The yard had emptied. I was collecting my water bottle when I realised he was standing three metres away.
"Tiernan," he said.
"Instructor Kael."
A pause. The same unreadable expression he'd worn since the day he put his boot on my chest.
"You've been fighting differently since the name came out. More aggressively. Higher output." He held my gaze. "Anger is fuel. It's not direction. Learn the difference before it matters."
He turned and walked toward the instructor's quarters.
I stood in the empty yard and let the words settle.
What is with these people and their cryptic messaging?
[Exhibition Eve]
"Fifteen," he said.
[LEVEL 15]
He was right. I opened the interface one final time.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE]
[CONNECTION THRESHOLD ACHIEVED: 5.09%]
[LEVEL: 15]
[EXPERIENCE: 256 / 750]
[RANK: 0]
[RANK PROGRESSION: 15 / 100]
—
[STAT POINTS AVAILABLE: 0]
[BODY]
Strength: 26
Agility: 28
Vitality: 31
[ETHER]
Capacity: 1
Sensitivity: 1
Control: — LOCKED —
[MIND]
Willpower: 22
Intelligence: 17
Perception: 20
My eyes wandered down the stat list. The growth had been explosive ever since I unlocked levels. Well, explosive for an F-Grade. Willpower was no longer my highest stat; my physicals had been my focus. The mental stats were starting to lag behind the rest, but thankfully, they experienced some natural growth.
I shared the stats with Tomás as we measured them together.
"How are we looking?" I asked.
"Phase one — strong. Phase two depends on pairings. Phase three…" He closed the notebook. "We're the unknown variable."
The mess hall emptied. People drifted toward bunks.
Tomás and I lingered.
"Level fifteen," he said. "Two weeks ago, you were Level one."
"Not bad huh?."
"Not bad at all, you're growing as fast as a C-Grade right now." He stood. "Get some sleep."
He walked toward the bunks. For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. The True-Noosphere. The connection. The visions. The copper. All of it, right now, before tomorrow changed things.
Jin was still at the table. We were the last two people in the mess hall.
"Jin."
She looked at me. I held her gaze for a few moments and contemplated.
How do I fix this? Is there a way to remedy this? Fuck it, let's give it a go.
"After the exhibition," I said. "I'll tell you everything. The system, the things I haven't told anyone."
She studied me for a long time.
"You said that to Tomás once. In a corridor."
"How did you—"
"Tomás tells me things. When he thinks I need to hear them."
She stood. Walked toward the door. Paused.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Marcus. Just fight well tomorrow."
She left.
Shit.