Chapter 9: First Synchronization
The academy application took less time than Lin Feng expected. National Defense Academy's online portal was straightforward—basic personal information, awakening statistics uploaded directly from the ceremony database, a short essay about why he wanted to attend, and a selection of preferred training tracks.
Lin Feng chose the Tactical Analysis track, which focused on strategic thinking and combat optimization rather than pure fighting prowess. It seemed the natural fit for someone building an analytical combat system.
With the application submitted, Lin Feng found himself with the rest of the day free. His father had already left for his shift at the military base. His mother was working from home in her study. Xiao Yue was at school, complaining loudly at breakfast about how unfair it was that Lin Feng got to skip while she still had four more years of classes.
Which meant Lin Feng had time for what he'd been thinking about all morning: proper synchronization training.
During the awakening ceremony, he'd achieved basic synchronization instinctively. The connection had formed naturally, and the officials had measured it at 45%—significantly above the average 30% for new pilots. But Lin Feng knew that had been beginner's luck combined with his decade of mental preparation. Maintaining and improving that synchronization rate would require dedicated practice.
And unlike most new pilots, Lin Feng had resources to draw on that others didn't. Meditation techniques from his previous life, mental clarity exercises he'd practiced for years, and now the Analysis Protocol that could potentially track and optimize his own synchronization process.
He headed to the backyard, which offered enough space for what he had in mind. The morning sun was warm, birds sang in the trees, and the neighborhood was quiet. Perfect conditions for focused training.
Lin Feng closed his eyes and entered his soul space.
The transition was becoming smoother each time—barely a thought, and his consciousness shifted from physical reality to the infinite white void. Logic Frame stood waiting, its blue-silver form gleaming under the sourceless illumination of this mental dimension.
But instead of approaching the mecha immediately, Lin Feng called up his Analysis Protocol. The holographic screens materialized around him, their blue wireframe interfaces glowing softly.
"New function," Lin Feng said aloud, organizing his thoughts. "I need to track synchronization metrics. Connection strength, mental clarity, energy flow efficiency, response time between thought and action."
He focused on the problem systematically, thinking through what data would be useful. Synchronization wasn't a single value—it was a composite of multiple factors, all working together to create that seamless connection between pilot and mecha.
A new screen manifested, separate from the combat analysis modules. This one displayed a series of gauges and graphs, all currently empty:
SYNCHRONIZATION MONITOR
Connection Strength: -- %
Mental Clarity: -- %
Energy Flow: -- units/second
Response Latency: -- milliseconds
Overall Sync Rate: -- %
Lin Feng studied the interface, then modified it slightly, adding sections for tracking synchronization over time so he could identify patterns and improvements. Once satisfied, he turned his attention to Logic Frame.
The mecha stood motionless, but Lin Feng could feel its presence through their connection—a constant, subtle awareness at the edge of his consciousness. Right now, that connection was passive, like a phone call on hold. Synchronization meant making it active, opening the connection fully so pilot and mecha became one unified system.
Lin Feng approached Logic Frame slowly, remembering the feeling from the awakening ceremony. That moment when his consciousness had merged with the mecha, when he'd stopped being separate from it and became it instead.
He reached out and placed both hands against the mecha's leg. The metal was cool under his palms, solid and real despite being a mental construct. Through the contact, Lin Feng felt the connection strengthen slightly—still passive, but more present.
Alright. Let's do this properly.
Lin Feng closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In his previous life, during particularly stressful coding marathons or difficult problem-solving sessions, he'd learned meditation techniques to calm his mind and improve focus. Simple techniques, nothing mystical—just controlled breathing and mental clarity exercises.
He applied them now. Breathe in slowly, counting to four. Hold for four counts. Breathe out for four counts. Hold empty for four counts. Repeat.
With each breath cycle, Lin Feng felt his thoughts settling, becoming quieter. The constant background noise of his mind—random observations, tangential thoughts, worries about the future—gradually faded into silence.
When his mind was clear and calm, he focused on the connection to Logic Frame. Not forcing it, not grasping at it, just observing it. Feeling how it flowed between his consciousness and the mecha's existence.
The connection was like a river—or rather, like the potential for a river. Right now, it was just a dry channel, waiting for water to flow through it. Synchronization meant opening the gates and letting that flow begin.
Lin Feng visualized the connection opening. Not as a physical action, but as a mental intention. Like relaxing a muscle you'd been holding tense, like letting go of something you'd been gripping tightly.
The connection surged.
Information flooded through the newly opened channel—Logic Frame's sensory data, its systems status, the feeling of its energy core pulsing steadily. Lin Feng gasped as his awareness suddenly expanded, his consciousness stretching to accommodate the mecha's presence.
His Synchronization Monitor activated automatically, numbers appearing on the gauges:
Connection Strength: 38%
It was working. The connection was active. But Lin Feng could feel the strain immediately—his mind was trying to process two bodies' worth of sensory input simultaneously, and the cognitive load was intense. It felt like trying to listen to two conversations at once while also solving a math problem.
His connection strength wavered, dropping to 35%, then 32%.
No. Focus. You've trained for this.
Lin Feng returned to his breathing pattern, using it as an anchor. With each breath, he visualized the connection stabilizing, becoming smoother. He thought of it like debugging code—finding the points of friction, the places where the flow was interrupted, and smoothing them out.
His meditation training helped immensely. Where other pilots might panic at the overwhelming sensory input and instinctively pull back, Lin Feng had years of practice maintaining mental clarity under cognitive strain. He observed the discomfort without reacting to it, acknowledged the difficulty without being consumed by it.
Gradually, the connection stabilized.
Connection Strength: 41%
Better. Lin Feng pushed a bit further, trying to deepen the synchronization. He imagined the barrier between his consciousness and Logic Frame's existence becoming thinner, more permeable. Not disappearing entirely—some separation was necessary to maintain individual identity—but becoming less rigid.
The mecha's presence in his mind grew stronger. He could feel its energy core not as an abstract concept but as a tangible sensation, like feeling his own heartbeat. He could sense the tension in its frame, the way its weight distributed across its legs, the potential energy stored in its actuators ready to convert into motion.
Connection Strength: 44%
Lin Feng's breathing remained steady. His mind stayed calm despite the increasing cognitive load. He was in that state of flow he'd sometimes achieved during intense coding sessions—completely focused, thoughts crystal clear, operating at peak mental efficiency.
One more push. Just a bit deeper.
He visualized the connection as a spectrum of light, and he was currently accessing only part of the spectrum. There were wavelengths still unavailable, frequencies he wasn't quite tuned to. He adjusted his mental state, finding the right frequency through careful, patient focus.
Connection Strength: 47%
And suddenly, something clicked.
The synchronization didn't just deepen—it transformed. One moment, Lin Feng was a person connected to a mecha. The next, the distinction blurred. He was still himself, but he was also Logic Frame. His human body existed somewhere in physical reality, but his primary awareness was the mecha's fifteen-meter frame.
He raised an arm—his arm, Logic Frame's arm, both simultaneously—and the motion was perfectly smooth. He took a step, and despite the mecha's mass, it felt natural. He clenched his fist, and the mecha's fingers responded with precision.
This was true synchronization. Not just a connection, but genuine unity.
His Synchronization Monitor displayed the final metrics:
Connection Strength: 47%
Mental Clarity: 89%
Energy Flow: 2.1 units/second
Response Latency: 12 milliseconds
Overall Sync Rate: 47%
Forty-seven percent. Lin Feng opened his eyes—both his physical eyes in the real world and his mecha's visual sensors in soul space—and felt satisfaction wash through him.
Forty-seven percent on his first real attempt was exceptional. Most new pilots struggled to maintain even 30% initially, and it typically took weeks of practice to reach 40%. Lin Feng had exceeded that on day two of being awakened.
But he also felt the strain. Maintaining this level of synchronization was mentally exhausting. It was like holding a complex mental calculation while simultaneously juggling—possible with intense focus, but tiring.
Lin Feng carefully reduced the synchronization, letting it settle back to a more sustainable level around 35%. The deep unity faded, but the connection remained active and stable. This was the level he could probably maintain for extended periods without mental fatigue.
He spent the next hour practicing—raising and lowering the synchronization rate, finding the sweet spot between depth and sustainability, training his mind to handle the cognitive load more efficiently. His Synchronization Monitor tracked everything, and Lin Feng could already see patterns emerging in the data.
Mental clarity was the key factor. When his mind was calm and focused, synchronization deepened naturally. When he let thoughts scatter or emotions intrude, the connection weakened. It confirmed what he'd suspected: synchronization was primarily a mental discipline problem, not a technical one.
Which meant his meditation training gave him a significant advantage.
By early afternoon, Lin Feng had pushed his peak synchronization to 49% and could maintain a comfortable 40% for up to thirty minutes before mental fatigue set in. His Synchronization Monitor had collected extensive data, and patterns were becoming clear.
He was sitting cross-legged in his soul space—a purely mental posture since he had no physical body here, but it helped his focus—when he noticed something interesting in the data.
Synchronization rate correlated directly with how clearly he visualized the connection. But more than that, it correlated with how systematically he thought about the connection. When he approached it logically, breaking it down into component parts and optimizing each one, his sync rate increased. When he tried to rely on pure intuition or emotion, it decreased.
Other pilots probably had the opposite experience. They'd achieve better synchronization through emotional resonance with their mechas, through trust and instinct rather than analysis.
But for Lin Feng, logic was the path to power.
He made notes in his Analysis Protocol, creating a new section specifically for synchronization optimization. The system flagged several insights:
Optimal breathing pattern: 4-count cycles maintain highest mental clarity
Peak synchronization window: 45-50%, beyond this point cognitive strain increases exponentially
Sustainable synchronization: 35-40% can be maintained indefinitely with current training
Key factor: Mental clarity > emotional state for this pilot's profile
Lin Feng studied the notes with satisfaction. Every training session now would be data-driven, optimized, systematically improved. While other pilots fumbled through synchronization training by trial and error, he'd have objective metrics guiding his development.
A voice broke through his concentration: "Lin Feng? Are you out here?"
His mother's voice, coming from physical reality. Lin Feng opened his eyes and found himself back in his body, sitting in the middle of the backyard with his eyes closed. He'd been so deep in soul space training that he'd lost track of time.
"I'm here, Mom," he called out, standing up and brushing grass off his pants.
His mother emerged from the house, carrying a glass of water. "I saw you sitting out here for the past two hours. What were you doing?"
"Synchronization training," Lin Feng said, accepting the water gratefully. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. "Practicing the connection with Logic Frame."
His mother's expression shifted to concern. "Two hours straight? Lin Feng, you just awakened yesterday. You need to pace yourself. Mental fatigue from over-synchronization can cause headaches, disorientation, even temporary dissociation if you push too hard."
"I know, Mom. I was being careful. Monitoring my limits." He smiled to reassure her. "I'm fine. Just focused."
She studied him with that look mothers had, the one that could detect lies and evasions with uncanny accuracy. Whatever she saw in his face must have satisfied her, because she sighed and handed him the water.
"Your father called. He'll be home late tonight—emergency training drill. But he wanted me to tell you that National Defense Academy's advanced applications are being reviewed tomorrow. If your stats are as good as you say, you should hear back within two days."
Two days until he'd know if he'd been accepted. That was faster than Lin Feng had expected, but academy admissions were competitive and they moved quickly to secure promising candidates.
"Thanks, Mom."
She turned to head back inside, then paused. "Lin Feng? I know you're driven. I know you've been preparing for this for years. But remember—you're still young. You have time. Don't burn yourself out in the first week."
"I won't," Lin Feng promised, though he knew his definition of "burning out" was probably different from hers. He'd spent fourteen-hour days coding in his previous life. A few hours of mental training felt manageable by comparison.
After his mother went inside, Lin Feng remained in the backyard, sipping his water and thinking about his progress. In just over 24 hours since awakening, he'd:
Successfully manifested his Analysis Protocol in soul space Achieved 49% peak synchronization (well above average) Established sustainable 40% baseline synchronization Begun collecting optimization data Submitted his academy application
Not bad for day two of being a mecha pilot.
But Lin Feng knew this was just the beginning. These were foundation-level skills, the basics that every pilot needed to master. The real challenges would come later—actual combat, equipment acquisition, facing opponents stronger than himself, building a team, navigating the political and economic complexities of the mecha world.
For now, though, he had clear short-term goals: get accepted to National Defense Academy, continue refining his Analysis Protocol, improve his synchronization rate, and start learning real combat techniques.
Lin Feng finished his water and headed back inside. His Synchronization Monitor had flagged that he'd reached his training limit for the day—any more mental exertion and he'd risk the fatigue his mother had warned about.
Tomorrow he'd train again. And the day after. And every day until synchronization was as natural as breathing.
Because while talent might give you a head start, discipline would carry you to the finish line.
And Lin Feng had discipline to spare.