24. The Nth Name

Names have weight, and I seemed to have forgotten just how much mine carried.

Tomás was in a good mood this morning. He’d spent the previous evening refining the approach with his predictive model, utilising the new data from our experiments.

“I’ve been thinking about the diminishing returns,” he said between bites. “If the same opponents give less XP over time, we need to rotate your sparring partners more aggressively before the exhibition.”

“Makes sense, at least we have plent—” I said.

Brrrring

The flicker of the noticeboard caught our attention mid-conversation, revealing a new posting.

| EXHIBITION EVALUATION: CONFIRMED SPONSORS AND OBSERVERS |

Almost instantly, people rose from their seats and rushed over. I made a mental note to check it after the drills, when it would be less crowded. Makes no difference whether I check it now or later.

My eyes flickered back to Tomás, who gave me a wry smile, and we kept eating.

The morning continued into the afternoon, sparring with Kael this time. He paired me with a Barracks 7 kid. We squared up and traded combinations. A clean exchange, maybe forty-five seconds of genuine work before I found his timing and tagged him.

The notification bloomed in my peripheral vision, level 2. I suppressed a smile from tugging at my lips and carried on. I couldn’t find the time to place the points anywhere just yet; this required active consideration with Tomás and the gang.

But I was determined to keep up my XP gain, and so I moved on to my next opponent. The Second pairing was one of Osei’s guys. It was a better fight, with real pressure. I lost by a single point, but the result was much better than I anticipated.

I was getting better with my style, able to beat people at a much higher level than before. Though for the past few days, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I chalked it up to one of Osei’s goons keeping an eye on me. The weirdo still hasn’t let me go, even after he caught me on the Gauntlet all those months ago.

After the second round, we had a water break, and Park appeared at my shoulder.

“There’s a weird sponsor on the exhibition list,” he said.

“Weird how?”

“Out of place. Too high-tier for our bracket.” He paused. “I’m trying to figure out why they’d bother with F and D-Grades.”

“Which sponsor?”

He opened his mouth. Adjusted his glasses again. “I’ll tell you later. Probably nothing.”

I read the list at lunch, standing at the noticeboard, tray in hand.

Haldane Logistics Group — Bulk firmware allocation, screening element supply.

Reeves Industrial Supply — Support-class firmware, short-term operational contracts.

Kepler Defence Solutions — Frontline screening packages. Note: candidates should expect a minimum 18-month deployment.

That last one drew my eye. Eighteen-month deployment minimum. The average F-Grade survival window was fourteen months. Kepler was buying firmware for people they expected to outlast the warranty by four months, which will definitely garner some interest.

Federal Procurement Office — Standard issue assessment. All unsponsored candidates automatically enrolled.

I kept scanning. Most of the names blurred together. Mid and low-tier firms with mid-tier descriptors, each one confirming what F and D-Grade recruits already knew about their place in the machine.

Takeda Regional Armoury — Defensive systems, fixed emplacement platforms.

Tiernan Military Trust — Military Contractors, multi-role evaluation.

Vasquez-Herrera Logistics — Transport and supply chain firmware.

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.

I read the line above it, read the line below it, and read it again.

My grip on the spoon had tightened.

The Tiernan Trust don’t even sponsor C-Grades. Why the hell are they here?

I wandered over to the table where we usually sat, deep in thought. Park and Ren were already there, though the rest were notably absent.

The afternoon continued, and tactics gave way to more sparring. I assumed that Vance and Okafor wanted us in tip-top condition for the exhibition and pushed the non-combat classes to the end of the matches.

I was sloppy this afternoon, my thoughts elsewhere. I gave up three points to a kid I could beat in my sleep.

“You alright, Tiernan?” the kid asked between rounds.

Tiernan. Had he always called me that? Had everyone? No… It was rabbit, right?

Across the yard, I could see Park at the edge of the training area, datapads out, hands dancing across the screens. I thought I could read Tiernan on his lips as he spoke to himself.

Is he investigating the Tiernan Military Trust? Makes sense, I suppose.

“Hello? You in there, Tiernan?” The kid asked again.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

We squared off and continued sparring.

Tomás found me at the water station as the afternoon light began to fade.

“Park figured it out,” he said. “Or rather, Park asked enough questions that a C-Grade kid with actual military history education connected the dots. It’s spreading.”

“Figured what out?” I asked sceptically

“You know what I’m talking about, Marcus. The fact that you’re a legacy kid.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Wasn’t that common knowledge?”

Tomás shook his head. “Not at all, people know the name, but they didn’t connect the dots. I mean, it’s not like Tiernan is an uncommon name.”

“Shit…”

“Yeah, shit, everyone’s gonna know soon. And once they do… well, I imagine people will be gunning for the bragging rights of beating a legacy kid in the exhibition.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“And, how long have you known?” I asked.

“Day one, bravest or dumbest bastard remember?”

“You never said anything.”

“It wasn’t mine to tell.”

“Thank you, Tomás. I appreciate it, seriously.”

“Don’t get all soppy on me now, Marcus, wait till after the exhibition.” Tomás waved me off, but I could see the hint of a smile creeping on his lips. For a moment, he looked just like Alexei.

By dinner, the entire barracks knew.

Not officially — nobody confirmed anything. But the greenies had their own information network, and by the time I walked through into the mess hall, the current of conversation had shifted.

I sat down. My squad was already there. Jin’s jaw was set. Park was cleaning his glasses with the concentrated focus of someone avoiding eye contact.

“So,” Jin said.

“So,” I said.

“When were you going to tell us?”

“My surname’s been Tiernan since day one. It’s on every roll call—”

“Your name was on the roll call.” Jin’s voice was flat and precise. “The forty-one generations weren’t. The A-Grade grandfather wasn’t.” She leaned forward slightly. “You let us sit at this table for months, thinking you were just another F-Grade nobody.”

“I am just another F-Grade nobody.”

“Don’t. You don’t lawyer me, Marcus.”

She was right, and I let the defence fall.

“They disowned me,” I said. “After the testing. Father told me I was no longer his son. I enlisted because there was nothing left. I didn’t mention the dynasty because I didn’t want to be the dynasty anymore. I wanted to be just another kid at the table.”

“I’m sorry I spread it, Marcus. I didn’t know. I was just trying to figure out why a top-tier trust was on our sponsor list. I didn’t realise I was—” Park said quietly.

“It’s not your fault, Park.”