Chapter 10: Family Reactions
The smell of his mother's cooking filled the house that evening, rich and savory in a way that meant she was making something special. Lin Feng emerged from his room after a few hours of rest—his mental fatigue from synchronization training had faded with proper recovery—and found the dining table set for a celebration.
His mother had prepared all his favorite dishes: braised pork belly glistening with sauce, stir-fried vegetables still crisp and bright, fish steamed with ginger and scallions, and her special egg drop soup that she only made for important occasions. The table practically groaned under the weight of food, far more than four people could reasonably eat.
"Mom, this is too much," Lin Feng said, though his stomach growled in appreciation.
"Nonsense." His mother emerged from the kitchen carrying another dish—sweet and sour ribs. "Your awakening is a once-in-a-lifetime event. We're celebrating properly."
Xiao Yue was already seated at the table, bouncing in her chair with barely contained energy. She'd gotten home from school an hour ago and had immediately bombarded Lin Feng with questions until their mother had shooed her away to let him rest.
"Is Dad coming home?" Lin Feng asked, checking the time. It was already past six, and his father's shift typically ended at five.
"Emergency training drill ran late," his mother said, setting down the ribs. "But he called ten minutes ago. He'll be here in fifteen minutes, and I quote, 'Don't start eating without me or I'll never forgive you.'"
Lin Feng smiled. His father took family dinners seriously, especially important ones. In his previous timeline, after his father's death, family dinners had become quiet, somber affairs. His mother had gone through the motions of cooking, but the joy had been absent.
Having his father alive and well, running late because of work rather than dead in a training accident—it never stopped feeling like a miracle.
"Can we at least talk about Lin Feng's mecha while we wait?" Xiao Yue pleaded. "I have so many questions!"
"Some questions," their mother allowed. "But save the detailed ones for when your father gets home. He'll want to hear everything."
Xiao Yue immediately turned to Lin Feng, her eyes bright with excitement. "What's it like? Being synchronized? Does it hurt? Can you feel everything the mecha feels? What happens if the mecha gets damaged? Do you get hurt too?"
"Slow down," Lin Feng laughed, sitting down across from her. "One question at a time."
"Okay, okay." Xiao Yue took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to slow down. "What's synchronization like?"
Lin Feng thought about how to explain it in terms a fourteen-year-old could understand. "It's like... you know how when you move your arm, you don't have to think about it? You just want to move it, and it moves?"
Xiao Yue nodded.
"Synchronization is like that, but with a fifteen-meter tall combat mecha instead of your arm. When you're properly synchronized, the mecha feels like part of your body. You don't pilot it like driving a car—you just move, and it moves with you."
"That sounds amazing," Xiao Yue breathed. "And scary. What if you forget which body you're in and try to pick up something small with your mecha hand and accidentally crush it?"
"That's why pilots train," their mother interjected, setting down plates. "New pilots practice with fragile objects precisely to learn that kind of control. Your brother will spend months learning to judge the mecha's strength relative to what he's handling."
"Does it hurt when the mecha gets damaged?" Xiao Yue asked, returning to her earlier question.
Lin Feng shook his head. "Not physically. The mecha isn't made of flesh and nerves. But you feel it mentally—like a sense of wrongness, of something being broken that should be whole. If the damage is severe enough, it can cause psychological trauma. That's why pilots with heavily damaged mechas need medical treatment even if their physical bodies are fine."
Xiao Yue absorbed this information with the seriousness of someone taking notes for her own future awakening. Lin Feng had noticed this pattern over the past few years—ever since he'd started his own preparation, Xiao Yue had been watching and learning, determined to be ready when her time came.
"What's your sync rate?" Xiao Yue asked. "The kids at school were talking about how that's super important. Someone's older brother only managed 25% on his first week and everyone said that was really bad."
"Xiao Yue, that's rude," their mother said, though her tone was more tired than angry. "Sync rates are personal information."
"It's okay, Mom." Lin Feng didn't mind the question. "I hit 49% peak today during training. Sustainable baseline around 40%."
His mother's hands stilled on the plate she was arranging. Xiao Yue's eyes went wide.
"Forty-nine percent?" their mother repeated. "On your second day?"
"Is that good?" Xiao Yue asked, looking between them.
"It's excellent," their mother said quietly. "Most pilots take weeks to reach 40%. Some never get past 35% their entire lives." She looked at Lin Feng with an expression he couldn't quite read. "How did you manage that?"
"Ten years of preparation," Lin Feng said simply. "Mental clarity exercises, meditation techniques, systematic training. I've been building the foundation for this since I was eight."
"We know," his mother said, and there was something sad in her voice. "You've been so focused for so long. Sometimes I worried you were pushing yourself too hard, that you'd forgotten how to just be a child."
Before Lin Feng could respond, the front door opened.
"I'm home!" His father's voice carried from the entryway, followed by the sound of boots being removed. "And if you started eating without me, I'm disowning everyone!"
"We waited!" Xiao Yue called back. "But barely!"
Their father appeared in the dining room doorway, still in his military training uniform, his hair slightly damp from a quick shower at the base. He looked tired—the emergency drill had clearly been intense—but his face lit up when he saw the spread on the table.
"Now this is a proper celebration," he said, moving to his seat. But before sitting, he walked over to Lin Feng and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations, son. Officially, this time. How are you feeling?"
"Good. Ready." Lin Feng met his father's eyes. "I submitted my academy application today. National Defense Academy, Tactical Analysis track."
His father nodded approvingly. "Smart choice. Tactics win wars, not just raw power." He sat down and immediately started serving himself. "Now, tell me everything. The officials gave me the basic stats from the ceremony, but I want to hear it from you. How was the awakening? What's Logic Frame like? Have you tested synchronization yet?"
Over dinner, Lin Feng recounted the experience in detail. His father listened intently, occasionally asking technical questions that revealed his military expertise. His mother interjected with concerns about safety and proper rest. Xiao Yue contributed enthusiastic commentary and more questions.
It felt normal in a way Lin Feng had almost forgotten was possible. Just a family sharing a meal, celebrating an achievement, talking about the future with hope instead of dread.
"Forty-nine percent sync rate," his father repeated when Lin Feng mentioned his training results. He set down his chopsticks and looked at Lin Feng seriously. "That's not just good, Lin Feng. That's exceptional. I've been a pilot for twenty-five years, and my peak sync rate is 62%. Most pilots my age are lucky to maintain 45%."
"Really?" Lin Feng had known his rate was above average, but he hadn't had context for how it compared to experienced pilots.
"Really." His father picked up his chopsticks again, but his expression remained thoughtful. "You're starting with nearly the same rate I had after a decade of active service. If you keep improving at even a normal pace, you could hit 60% within a few years. That's... that's the kind of synchronization that elite special forces pilots achieve."
"Does that mean Lin Feng will be super strong?" Xiao Yue asked.
"It means he'll have excellent control and efficiency," their father explained. "High sync rates don't directly increase power, but they make you faster, more precise, and more energy-efficient. In a fight between two equally strong mechas, the pilot with better synchronization usually wins."
"Your father is being modest," their mother added. "High synchronization also means you can handle more complex equipment and execute more sophisticated techniques. It's a force multiplier."
Lin Feng absorbed this information, mentally adding it to his Analysis Protocol's knowledge base. Every piece of practical insight from experienced pilots was valuable data he could use to optimize his training.
"Have you thought about your equipment path?" his father asked. "With that modular design, you have a lot of options. You could specialize in weapons, defense, mobility—any direction would work."
"I'm thinking versatility over specialization," Lin Feng said. "Balanced loadout that can adapt to different situations. The modular design lets me swap equipment based on the mission, so I want to build a diverse arsenal rather than committing to one combat style."
His father nodded slowly. "That's a mature approach. Most new pilots want to specialize immediately, to be the best at one thing. But versatility is harder to counter. If your opponents don't know what to expect from you, they can't prepare optimal strategies."
"Exactly." Lin Feng felt satisfaction that his father understood his reasoning. "I'd rather be good at everything than excellent at one thing and weak everywhere else."
"It'll be expensive," his mother warned. "Building a diverse equipment set means buying multiple pieces instead of focusing your credits on one category. And you'll need to master multiple combat styles."
"I know. But I think it's worth it long-term."
"Smart kid," his father said, pride evident in his voice. "Thinking three steps ahead. That's how you survive as a pilot—not just by being strong, but by being prepared."
The conversation shifted to lighter topics as dinner continued. Xiao Yue shared gossip from school about other students whose older siblings had recently awakened. Their mother talked about a student in her class who'd awakened a Tier 3 support mecha and was being recruited by every major corporation. Their father complained good-naturedly about the new training protocols the military had implemented.
It was comfortable. Normal. The kind of evening Lin Feng had taken for granted in his childhood and lost too early.
After dinner, when the dishes had been cleared and tea had been served, Xiao Yue worked up the courage to ask the question Lin Feng could see had been bothering her all evening.
"Lin Feng... do you think my awakening will be good? Everyone says children of high-tier pilots usually awaken strong mechas, but there are exceptions. What if I'm an exception?"
The fear in her voice was real. At fourteen, with four years until her awakening, she was at that age where the uncertainty must feel crushing. Every day at school, she'd be surrounded by mecha culture, hearing stories of successful awakenings and cautionary tales of weak ones.
Lin Feng set down his tea cup and looked at his sister directly. "Xiao Yue, awakening is random. You can't control what tier you get or what type your mecha will be. But here's what I've learned: the awakening is just the starting point. What matters is what you do after."
"But—"
"Let me finish." Lin Feng kept his voice gentle but firm. "If I'd awakened a Tier 3 assault mecha with overwhelming power, that would have been easier in some ways. I could rely on raw strength. But I got Tier 1 with unique advantages. So I'll build on those advantages, work harder than the Tier 3 pilots, and eventually surpass them. You'll do the same, whatever you awaken."
"Your brother's right," their father added. "I've seen Tier 1 pilots reach Tier 20 through dedication, and I've seen Tier 3 pilots stall out at Tier 8 because they relied on talent instead of effort. The awakening gives you tools. You decide what to build with them."
Xiao Yue nodded, but Lin Feng could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. That was fine. She'd understand better when her own time came.
"Besides," Lin Feng added with a slight smile, "I've been taking notes for ten years. When you awaken, you'll have every advantage I can give you. Training methods, optimization techniques, tactical insights—all of it. You'll start way ahead of where I did."
That made Xiao Yue smile. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Their mother stood, beginning to collect the tea cups. "Alright, enough serious talk. Xiao Yue, you have homework. Lin Feng, you should rest—I know you did synchronization training for two hours today. And you—" she pointed at their father "—need to shower properly. You smell like the training grounds."
Their father laughed but didn't argue, and the family dispersed to their evening routines. Lin Feng helped clear the remaining dishes, then retreated to his room.
But before he could settle in, there was a knock on his door. His father entered, closing the door behind him.
"I wanted to talk to you privately," his father said, sitting on the edge of Lin Feng's bed. "About your synchronization rate."
Lin Feng felt a flicker of concern. "Is something wrong?"
"No. But I need you to understand something." His father's expression was serious. "Forty-nine percent on day two is going to attract attention. When you get to the academy, when you start taking contracts and missions, people will notice. High synchronization rates are rare enough that they mark you as exceptional."
"I was trying to avoid standing out," Lin Feng admitted.
"I know. And your tier and stats are average enough that you'll blend in at first. But if you demonstrate that sync rate in combat, word will spread." His father paused. "That's not necessarily bad—recognition can open doors. But it also makes you a target. Other pilots will want to test themselves against you. Corporations will try to recruit you aggressively. And some people... some people don't like seeing someone younger and less experienced excel where they struggle."
Lin Feng thought about this. In his previous life, standing out had gotten him killed—literally. But this wasn't the same situation. Combat prowess was valued here, not scorned.
"What do you recommend?" Lin Feng asked.
"Be honest about your abilities, but don't show off. Use your synchronization when it matters, hide it when it doesn't. Build a reputation slowly, on your own terms." His father smiled slightly. "You've been patient for ten years. A little more patience won't hurt."
"I understand."
His father stood to leave, then paused at the door. "Lin Feng? I'm proud of you. Not because of your sync rate or your tier or any of that. I'm proud because you've approached this with maturity and dedication. You've earned whatever success comes your way."
After his father left, Lin Feng sat on his bed, thinking about the evening. The celebration, the advice, the warmth of family that felt more precious now than it ever had before.
In his previous life, he'd died alone and betrayed, full of regrets.
In this life, he had a family worth protecting, goals worth pursuing, and the tools to achieve them.
That was worth more than any tier or synchronization rate.