Yawn.
It was the kind of yawn that echoed across centuries – slow, regal, and painfully dramatic.
"By heavens… did the sun rise already?"
Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Took you long enough.
Ren was already halfway through breakfast, chopsticks mid-air, legs kicked up, steaming rice bowl in hand.
Soren blinked. Or at least that's what he thought he did.
"You're up? Of your own volition?"
Yeah. Crazy. I know.
Ren took another bite.
Kendo's been doing wonders for my schedule. I actually have to be productive now.
"Aha! So it was my influence all along."
Not saying that.
"A contradiction!"
Shut up and let me eat.
Ren scarfed down the last bit of his rice bowl, letting out a resounding burp.
"How ungentlemanly."
Oh yeah, that reminds me. We have Futaba's thing today, remember?
"I'm surprised you recall. I was intent on scolding you for not remembering."
Nah, dude. When it matters, I show up.
The kitchen door slid open. And a high-pitched yawn followed.
"Good morning, sunshine."
Shock. Awe. Then a scream.
"Ren? Why are you up so early? Is there a videogame drop today or something?"
Ren chuckled. "Glad to see you're shocked too."
"Too?"
"Uh, nevermind. Nah, I just had stuff to do, so I thought I might as well get up."
Aki tiptoed for the shelf, grabbing a bowl, then giving out a rough cough. "I dunno, man. Seems fishy."
"You good? You don't seem too hot yourself."
"Nah, I'm fine. Just that classic spring flu."
"That's a thing?"
"Yeah. Probably a combination of some lingering influenza strain mixed in with the nasty environmental factors that hit this time of the year."
Ren whispered under his breath. "Nerd alert."
Aki pouted, putting her hands on her waist in a defiant fashion. "Just because I know things doesn't mean I'm a nerd!"
"Says the girl who goes to Shirosei Academy."
Aki stormed off in a half-offended, half-dramatic strut. "I like you better when you're a loser."
"Thanks!" Ren replied, waving his hand behind him in a dismissive manner.
Well. That settles that. We should probably get ready, huh?
"That'd be wise."
Cool, I'll–
"Ren."
Hm? Yeah?
"I just wanted to say – well done. For this morning, that is."
Am I dreaming, or is THE Sir Cassian Soren giving me a compliment?
"Of course, it is in part largely due to my excellent training. But alas–"
And there he is.
Ren smirked to himself: he didn't completely hate hearing it.
Oh wait, I still have to shower.
This is gonna suck.
***
HANEGAWA HIGH – 3:57 PM
"In the 1830s, thousands of Native Americans were forcibly relocated under the 1830 Indian Removal. Act. At the time it was called 'progress', but really, it was only progress for the oppressors. Consequently—"
The TV was playing something educational. Probably important. Ren didn't care. He carried on spinning his pen in his fingers, counting down the minutes to salvation.
3:59 PM
…
4:00 PM
KIIN-KOON-KAAN-KOON.
"Alright, y'all," Mr. Hirata drawled – Ren didn't know why he liked to pretend he was from the Kansai region, "that should be it for today! Homework is on page… 357 of the textbook: looking at the 1862 Homestead Act and its implications. Have a good rest of your day, y'all!"
Thank god. One more minute and his brain would've turned to mush. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
Who even cares about that crap, am I right Soren?
"I disagree. History is vital for learning from past mistakes – especially oppressive ones such as your world's Indian Removal Act."
Oh. That's what they were talking about.
"You weren't paying attention?"
No, I was, it's just–
THUD.
Pens, books, and a bit of Ren's dignity clattered to the floor.
"Shit. Sorry – that was totally my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going–"
Ren looked up.
Alina Fujisawa.
"Oh. Alina, right? I didn't know you were in this class?"
She gave her classic, Alina-polite smile. "No, don't worry. It's totally my fault. And maybe it's because you twirl that pen all day instead of paying attention!"
She laughed. Casual. Effortless.
The fuck?
"...It's a joke, Ren."
Oh. Shit.
Ren rubbed the back of his neck and gave a goofy grin.
Awkward.
Ren tried to keep the conversation going. "So, history…"
"That's right, this is American-history after all." she chuckled.
Fuuuuuckkkkkkk.
For perhaps the only time in his life, Ren wished he could be like Haruki.
"...What'd you think of it?"
Alright. The ball's not dead yet.
She paused – this time, Ren could see her thinking.
"I think it's super important. People can learn from history's mistakes. Especially bad ones, like what we're learning about now. This kind of history helps stop oppression from happening again. It helps justice get served."
There was something different about her. Like a burning passion in her eyes. He'd seen it once before – during Kendo.
"The lady agrees with me! How wondrous!"
"So, Ren," she asked, "what do you think?"
Fuuuuuckkkkkkk number 2.
The one time I don't pay attention–
"Many times you don't pay attention."
Soren corrected.
Fine, fine.
"Ren?"
Come on, Soren. Help a brother out.
"It would not be dignified. They would be my thoughts. Not yours."
I'll buy you a new cape.
Ren straightened up.
"Well, personally, I think that the relocation of over 60,000 Native Americans to east of the Mississippi River had massive cultural implications on the native people, resulting in loss of sacred land, hunting patterns, and, most importantly, their homes." Ren rattled off.
She blinked.
"Wow. There's more to you than meets the eyes, Ren."
He chuckled. "Yeah, well, what can I say? Full of surprises."
"Anyway – I've got to catch the bus now. It was fun talking with you. I'll see you around!"
Alina gave a warm smile this time. Not polite. Not practiced. Real.
Then she turned and walked off.
You're the best.
"I know I am."
"That the exchange student?" Futaba called out from behind.
Small jump.
"Seriously. Where do you come from?" Ren turned, hand still on locker. "Is this where you ask if I'm seeing anyone?"
Melon bread in mouth, half muffled sentence. "Please. I wouldn't date anyone who thought the Louisiana Purchase was a type of burger."
"The what purchase?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's time to go. We need your help loading stuff on the bus."
Ren gave out a triumphant chuckle. "Need a strong guy like me to carry the boxes?"
"No. It's because if you get crushed, the world keeps spinning."
Ouch, Futaba. Ouch.
***
SHIROSEI ACADEMY: 5:21 PM
"Damn. Those boxes– they're– kinda heavy." Ren sputtered out.
"Told you."
"So, which one's yours?" Ren asked, slamming the last box down and pointing toward the wide array of lined up robots.
"The purple one."
"You mean the one with the big, fuck-you saw?"
"The overhead rotary saw," she corrected. "But yes, that's mine – RX-9."
Ren stepped closer, eyes scanning the machine.
RX-9 sat low and compact, its body a sleek, matte violet reinforced with carbon-plated panels. Every surface looked like it had a purpose – no fluff, no flash, just a lean, mean, mechanical machine. Very Futaba.
Mounted at the top, an articulated arm curled forward like a scorpion's tale, ending in a large 'overhead rotary saw' (the big fuck-you saw), polished to a mirror shine. The blade was tucked in now, but even idle, it looked hungry.
Beneath it, twin omni-wheels sat wide apart for stability, with two rear boosters tucked under the chassis – not actual rockets, but high-speed motors she'd probably salvaged from somewhere. Ren was sure he saw a faded Toyota logo somewhere there.
"It's… terrifying."
Tell me about it.
"And she summoned this? Herself?"
More or less.
"You got a name for it? Other than RX-9, I mean?"
"That'd be stupid. It already has a name."
Right. Catchy one too.
"So, how's Mr. RX-9 going to do the navigation tests? Or problem-solving tests?"
"She's not."
"Oops, sorry."
"The other club members are handling those sections. RX-9 has one goal. To destroy."
Yep. Even more terrifying.
Ren looked around. "So, when's this thing starting?"
He was right. The gym was packed now. But this wasn't any gym. This was Shirosei Academy – which meant, naturally, it looked less like a high school gym and more like the opening ceremony of a sci-fi tech expo.
The floors gleamed under the overhead LEDs, polished to near-military perfection. Foldout bleachers had been swapped for tiered seating with individual monitors at each spot, letting spectators zoom in on bots mid-match like some kind of mecha fantasy sports league.
At the center, a square arena – sunken and surrounded by a transparent barrier – buzzed with anticipation. Everything here felt expensive.
And above it all, a digital display ring cycled through team names and brackets.
Drones zipped quietly along the ceiling beams. Commentators prepped behind a booth at the front.
Shirosei does not mess around.
"Soon. 5:30 PM. Not long left."
"Great."
"Speaking of, doesn't Aki go attend this school?"
"Yeah, but I doubt she's here. Don't get me wrong, she's a giga-nerd so she'd love this, but she was feeling a bit under the weather this morning."
"Oh, is she alright?"
"Yeah. Nothing too major. I hope at least."
The intercom crackled to life:
"Welcome to Shirosei Academy's 11th Inter-School robotics competition!"
A cheer rolled through the gym, by an overly enthusiastic announcer:
"Today, teams from across the region will compete in three categories: Navigation, Programming, and – everyone's favorite – Combat Robotics."
Another cheer. Louder this time.
"Over the next three hours, you'll witness innovation, engineering brilliance, and some absolutely savage mechanical mayhem. Stay tuned for bracket announcements, and may the best bot win!"
Ren leaned toward Futaba. "You sure this isn't like Hugh Jackman's Real Steel?"
She ignored him. "Wait for it."
"For what?"
"Just.. wait." Futaba got up and left.
6:49 PM
Ren had waited.
And then some.
Navigation trials? Boring.
Programming puzzles? Worse.
RX-9, of course, didn't enter either. It just sat in the prep zone like a coiled predator while the other club members bumbled their way through search algorithms and line-following maps.
Ren was about to doze off…
"Ren. Wake up."
Whatever, Soren…
"Ren."
…
"REN!"
Alright, alright! I'm here! What?
"I believe Futaba's summon is about to begin fighting."
Soren was right. The monitor in front of him now displayed the first fight – Futaba's.
ROUND ONE:
Futaba stepped up, cool as ever, and RX-9 zipped out like it had something to prove.
Ren blinked and the match was over.
One bot flipped. Divided into two. One saw humming. One crowd screaming.
Damn.
ROUND TWO:
RX-9 spun under a clunky walker – god knows how it made it to round 2 – sliced its legs off, and sent its upper half skidding across the arena.
Wow.
ROUND THREE:
Done in thirty seconds.
...This has to be rigged.
"What excellent battle prowess! I would gladly stand beside Futaba's summon in battle!"
RING RING! RING RING!
Ren answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Join me on the stage-side."
"Okay, sure, want me to–"
The line went dead.
Great. We better make our way down there then.
Ren pushed through a crowd, weaving past over-excited first-years, and a vending machine trying to sell him 'carbonated miso-flavoured energy gel'.
Shirosei really is another world.
He reached stage-side just as the announcer's voice boomed out again, this time with less enthusiasm and more reverence.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are down to the final match of the day."
A cheer rolled through the stands. Bright lights dimmed, then cut to sharp white spotlights as the final bracket loaded onto the overhead arena display.
FINAL ROUND:
RX-9 - HANEGAWA HIGH - FUTABA KUROSE
FORTREX - SHIROSEI ACADEMY - MASARU KOBAYASHI
Ren squinted at the opposing bot. Tall. Bulky. Tank tread base.
Its outer frame was reinforced with dull silver plating, and a wicked-looking pincer blade protruded from the front like a mechanical beak.
"Wow, that thing's ugly."
"Looks don't win you tournaments." Futaba commented, cold as ever.
"So this… thing, has won tournaments before?"
"Yes. The last three. It beat RX-8 last year in the semis."
There's an RX 1,2,3,4,5,6, and 7?
Ren couldn't believe anything beating that purple monster. "How?"
"Armour. It wears you down, then strikes when you're weak."
"Damn. You nervous?"
Futaba gave a small smirk. "Not at all."
5… 4… 3… 2…
"Ren."
Yo.
"Do you feel that?"
… Feel what?
"Something's off."
Ren darted his eyes around the crowd.
I don't see anything.
"Nevermind."
Ren looked back to the display. The match had started.
RX-9 charged forward, saw arm flexing down like a scorpion ready to strike. Across the pit, Fortrex didn't move – it crawled. Slow. Steady. Tank treads churning as if it had all the time in the world.
The first clash came hard. RX-9 slammed into Fortrex's front armour.
SCREECH!
The saw violently dug into the bot's steel plate. Sparks flew.
Ren gripped the rail.
It's armoured. Real armoured.
"It is playing defensive – just as Futaba said – it wants to wear it out."
RX-9 pulled back, circled. Tried another angle. Fortrex just absorbed it, every strike bouncing harmlessly off its impregnable shell.
Then came the voice – from the opposite booth, cutting through the crowd with smug precision.
"Giving up already, Futaba?"
Ren looked over.
Masaru Kobayashi.
Tall, buzzcut, a bit fat, Shirosei Academy, Prodigal-sponsored jacket zipped up like a badge of arrogance.
Damn. Sponsored too?
"Didn't learn from last time?" he taunted across the floor. "Guess some people don't belong in engineering."
Futaba didn't flinch.
"It's cute, though. You try so hard. But physics and coding? That's a guy's game. Girls will never succeed – even if they're hot."
Ren felt the heat rise in his face. His grip tightening on the railing. He spotted a wrench and snatched it from its toolbox.
"Ren…"
I just want to talk to him.
"Ren."
This assholes asking for it.
"He is not worth it."
In the pit, RX-9 struck again – harder this time – but Fortrex twisted and pushed back, ramming RX-9 into the arena wall. The saw scraped, slipping, clawing for a grip.
"Predictable," Masaru said. "Your bots are always the same. RX-7, RX-8. They're all easy."
Fortrex surged forward again – trying to pin RX-9 into the corner.
"Futaba, just say the word. I'll beat this bastard to a pulp–"
"She doesn't need you, Ren. Yield."
Soren was right. Futaba's wasn't blinking. She was completely concentrated.
"Don't. Underestimate. My. Bot." she whispered.
RX-9 twitched.
Then spun.
Hard.
The overhead saw didn't aim for Fortrex's face – it dropped under, curling under its unprotected axle.
CLANG!
The sound of metal giving way. The torque arm she'd been holding back on – now unleashed.
CRUNCH!
Fortrex's left tread detached completely.
The crowd exploded.
Masaru jolted forward in disbelief. "What?!"
RX-9 pivoted – slamming its full chassis into the crippled bot – following with a final, clean, sparking slice straight down the center plate.
Fortrex collapsed into two.
RX-9 calmly reversed.
The buzzer rang.
WINNER: RX-9 - HANEGAWA HIGH - FUTABA KUROSE
Ren let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The crowd was on their feet. Futaba exhaled – then smirked.
Masaru slammed his controller on the desk, chair toppling behind him, and stormed up to Futaba.
"How'd you beat me?"
"You used the same model as last year. I realised your weakness then." Futaba calmly stated.
Masaru was boiling red. "But you're just some stupid whore bitch! There's no way you could've beat me!"
Soren?
"Yes. Now is appropriate."
"Yo. Fuckface."
"What?"
THUD.
Ren's fist slammed straight into Mr. Misogonistic's face. He crumpled onto the floor.
"Thanks for holding out on that for me, Ren."
"No problem. Now, I think I see security coming. So I'm going to run. Send me pics of you on the podium!"
"Thanks, will do–" Futaba answered, but Ren was already halfway to the door.
***
The night air bit at his skin as Ren lingered just beyond the reach of Shirosei Academy's security cameras.
BZZT-BZZT! BZZT-BZZT!
His phone.
HARUKI: yo dude.
REN: ?
HARUKI: jus got news. some strike team just took down the last gate
REN: fr?
HARUKI: yea.
REN: so that means…
HARUKI: yep. the orc king is open.