Less than a day remained before the deadline for submitting mecha‑grade handheld weapons. Ye Cheng didn't dare waste even half a second. She snatched an energy drink from Yang Yu as he caught up, drank it while sprinting, and tossed the empty bottle into a sanitation bot's bin mid‑run. At the same time, she brought up her dimensional ring to draft a materials list.
Her greatest advantage was that she already knew by heart every type, quantity, and assembly step needed for her mech greatsword. Factoring in her usual failure rate, she doubled—no, tripled—the required material quantity just to be safe.
The Mecha Engineering Department's workshop was only just lighting up when Ye Cheng arrived. The storage warden, clearly dragged from bed, stumbled out half‑awake, still yawning. Before he even understood what was happening, Ye Cheng had already charged past him like a gust of wind.
Moments later, she sprinted back out and half dragged, half pulled the poor man to the door, thrust her long list of materials in his face, and stared at him with burning urgency.
"I'm picking up my order — right now!"
Ten minutes later, she was pushing a loaded cart of supplies at a near‑run toward the assembly line.
While the other Combat Class students were still waking to the devastating news of the fire, they, too, rushed in one by one. Soon the entire Engineering workshop was a frenzy of work.
Ye Cheng had arrived first, but she wasn't the first to finish her components. She was, after all, an ordinary human. Even drinking Astral‑grade juice by the gallon couldn't make her a master craftsman in a few days. After nearly a week of hell‑level cramming, she had only just reached the level of a mecha manufacturing novice.
Among the elite students, many had literally grown up beside mechas. By dawn, several had already completed their sets of parts and moved on to the assembly bays.
Ye Cheng paid no attention to any of that. She didn't even spare time to wipe her sweat. Without Yang Yu or Suo‑Luo's help, she could rely only on herself — and she knew it. No distractions. No wasted seconds.
By noon, she finally completed two full sets of components, stretched her aching shoulders, steadied her breathing, and pushed her parts into the assembly room.
Thanks to the past few days of practice, her success rate had soared: over 90% qualified parts, with a 35% high‑grade yield. She carefully separated the best sets for the final run and started assembling first with the standard pieces.
Two hours slipped away before she completed her first mechanical greatsword—at the cost of more than twenty damaged parts. After a short break, she began again, this time using only her finest pieces.
By sunset, Su Tie awaited her students at the Mecha Testing Ground. One by one, they arrived, presenting their finished Night‑tier weapons. Ye Cheng was the seventh‑to‑last to make it before the gates sealed.
As soon as the timer expired, Su Tie closed the testing field. Latecomers had to leave in silence.
One enraged boy refused to go. He glared through the fence, shouting hoarsely.
"You damn hybrid! How dare you make things harder for us! That fire was your fault! I already finished my weapon — let me in!"
Earlier that midday, the culprit behind the arson had already been caught — and immediately expelled, now facing judicial transfer to Elan Star's courts. The boy, from another colony, had fallen far behind in progress and set the workshop ablaze in a moment of desperation—hoping to delay everyone else's work or ruin the entire evaluation outright. The fire had ruined parts and projects belonging to many students, including the privileged elite who'd used connections to enter the Special Class. Without their slaves to help, some couldn't possibly remake their pieces in time. For them, losing this assessment meant losing an entire year.
Those who knew the expelled student's background also knew: even if the Elan legal system didn't sentence him to death, his family's enemies would make sure he never left the planet whole.
Ye Cheng didn't care for politics. She was too busy to bother. Upon hearing the news, her only thought was a brief curse — hoping the arsonist's instant noodles would forever come without seasoning packets.
Inside the training field, the assembled students stood at attention as Su Tie swept her icy gaze across them before turning away. She climbed into a testing mecha without so much as acknowledging the roaring boy outside.
Face reddened, the boy slammed his ring. A half‑beast‑type mecha materialized beside him. Ignoring the blaring alarms, he jumped into the cockpit and aimed his weapon, blasting apart the steel fence between him and the testing ground.
In one smooth motion, Su Tie's test mecha lifted a nearby gun that was awaiting calibration, aimed, and fired. Her shot struck the intruder's shoulder cannon dead‑on, sending the half‑beast mech reeling backward.
"Weapon #1—Qualified. Precision: Average. Fifteen laps."
The test mecha tossed that gun aside, grabbed the next one, and fired again—another explosion of smoke from the rogue mech's opposite shoulder.
"Weapon #2—Qualified. Precision: High. Stand aside."
The half‑beast mech roared, opening fire in rage—but in that split second, Su Tie's machine blurred, vanishing off the targeting sensors. The volley hit nothing. A deafening crack followed as the student's gun was struck and nearly blasted from his hands.
"Weapon #3—Failed. Out."
"Weapon #4—Qualified. Precision: Average. Power bonus granted. Five laps."
Calmly, systematically, Su Tie tested each student's weapon in turn. The mecha pilots waiting in line groaned as more than half of them were sent running lap penalties. The rebellious half‑beast mech, riddled with smoke, collapsed at the gate—not having taken even a single step inside the training yard.
"Weapon #33—Qualified. Structural weakness noted. Thirty laps."
By the time over half the weapons had been tested, the rogue mecha's power system had fried completely. It lay as a smoking heap while Su Tie picked up a massive mechanical axe and hurled it in a single, spinning arc. The impact cleaved one of the mech's arms clean off.
Every close‑combat weapon was thrown like a spear, turned into a projectile test. Bit by bit, the half‑beast mech was carved down to scrap metal. When Ye Cheng's turn arrived, her heart climbed into her throat.
"Weapon #75—Qualified. Structural strength: High. Bring your other one."
Ye Cheng hesitated before summoning her first sword—the one built from standard components. The test mecha lifted it, walked over to the crippled target, and swung. The blade drew an icy arc through the air and buried itself in the mech's head.
Without even pausing, Su Tie retrieved the other weapon.
"Weapon #75—Qualified. Structural strength: Low. Thirty laps."
Ye Cheng pouted faintly but made no objection, joining the long line of students running endless circles.
"Weapon #81—Excellent. Stand aside."
When all weapons were finally tested, the trial mech powered down. Su Tie stepped out of the cockpit, opened a holographic panel, and a light screen expanded before everyone — both those still running and those resting by the field. It displayed the names and scores of every Special Class trainee.
The top of the list went to the last student to submit a weapon—a boy named Ran Xia.
Still jogging, Ye Cheng glanced up at the board, chest heaving.
Good, she thought. My first rival appears.
Then her gaze drifted to the bottom—where her own name sat, without surprise, dead last.
"From this moment," Su Tie announced, "you are all officially Special Class cadets. Unless you violate Academy regulations, I will not dismiss any of you. Work hard. Do not disgrace this title. Finish your laps, retrieve your weapons, and you're dismissed."
Even while gasping for air, Ye Cheng could hardly suppress her joy. She'd been acknowledged. She was really part of the Mecha Combat Special Class.
But the celebration was short‑lived. After ten straight days of back‑breaking labor, nearly two days without proper meals, and now thirty penalty laps—it was more than a test of strength. It was a brutal trial of will.
Her steps slowed, body swaying, until she was dead last, dragging herself across the fading field.
The sun dipped below the horizon. Only Ye Cheng remained, her shadow stretching long across the ground as her heavy, lead‑filled legs dragged her forward.
Outside the field, Yang Yu and Suo‑Luo stood silently, watching her sweat‑soaked figure without a word.
When she stumbled again, Suo‑Luo instinctively stepped forward—but Yang Yu's voice came, firm and cold.
"Slaves are forbidden to enter."
Suo‑Luo froze, then silently fell back. Yang Yu softened his tone.
"It's not time yet. Unless you hide everything… you'll never even reach the chance to change."
From the very first day he'd met Suo‑Luo, Yang Yu had been shaken by the other's defiance of the absolute rule — that every native slave's life belonged wholly to their master. In saving the two children with his own blood, Suo‑Luo had carved out a fragment of selfhood no chains could erase.
Over the months, Suo‑Luo's lifeless obedience had slowly turned to genuine will. It was due to more than just Ye Cheng's kindness or Yang Yu's guidance—it was his own striving.
And yet, precisely because of the secrets and worth they both carried, Ye Cheng had been forced to align herself under Kyle Ald, the very man they wished to keep at bay, and to walk the path of a combat mecha pilot instead of a craftsman.
In the end, all their efforts had been pocketed by Kyle Ald with effortless indifference.
A deep, wordless resentment coiled within Yang Yu's chest—but he understood. As slaves, and as a commoner among nobles, there was only so much they could do.
From that moment, he'd resolved to work twice as hard—not just for himself, but to cultivate Suo‑Luo into a true strength for Ye Cheng, rather than another burden.
Suo‑Luo's talent and progress amazed him. Lately, something in the young man had awakened. Sometimes, in the middle of tidying the house, he would drift toward the study doorway, silently watching the two children study and play. Then, during practice, his elemental control surged with astonishing leaps—growing stronger by the day.
Watching the children laugh, Yang Yu finally understood.
Suo‑Luo has a wish too — to make sure his descendants never relive his chains.
At last, Ye Cheng staggered across the finish line. Her steps faltered, her vision dimmed, and she all but collapsed toward the field's edge where Yang Yu and Suo‑Luo waited.
Before she could fall, Yang Yu caught her, scooping her into his arms.
"Forgive me, Master," he murmured, lifting her effortlessly.
Through the haze, Ye Cheng blinked up at him, recognizing the familiar scent of metal and warmth. Relief softened her expression.
"...Potato‑bean," she mumbled sleepily, "so tired…"
Yang Yu adjusted her position to cradle her more comfortably.
"Rest now, Master," he said gently. "You've done enough."
Ye Cheng didn't reply. A faint cough escaped her lips, and then her breathing evened.
Suo‑Luo followed beside them, taking Ye Cheng's hand lightly.
A moment later, the tension left her face, and the faint trace of a smile returned as they carried her home through the dusk.