25. The First Before

[2 weeks before Exhibition]

The effects of my name spreading were already felt the next day: a barracks 4 kid I’d never spoken to was waiting outside the mess hall. Arms crossed, jaw set, the furrow of the brow.

Oh, he’s been rehearsing this, huh?

“Tiernan,” he said. “I want a round.”

“It’s six in the morning.”

“You scared?”

“I’m not scared, I’m hungry. Now, can I please just go eat without having to deal with the theatrics?”

The kid stared at me with a scowl on his face. “Nope, we’re doing this now.”

“Fine,” I sighed

We found a corner of the yard. The morning air was sharp, our breath visible in the pre-dawn cold. His opening combination had weight behind it; each blow had my arms vibrating. Not as strong as Miller, but this kid meant business,

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to find his rhythm. I slipped inside his guard and tagged him clean. Each time he threw a punch, I mentally logged the drop of his shoulder, the twist of his hips, and the direction his eyes were looking. All of them used to formulate instinctual plans and counters that worked in tandem to tear apart his form.

I’d been getting better at breaking down each individual’s fighting style, though calling them individualistic would be a stretch. Almost all of the Greenies fought the exact same way; the variation came from how aggressive each person was and minor differences in hand-to-hand combat level.

Soon, the fight came to a close; he didn’t land a single punch through my guard.

[XP GAINED: 14]

Fourteen. Before breakfast. The Tiernan name had made me a target, and targets generated XP.

I guess this isn’t such a bad thing.

He wasn’t the last. Over the two weeks before the exhibition, a steady stream of challengers appeared — some curious, some resentful, a few genuinely wanting to test themselves.

[LEVEL 8]

By midweek, Tomás had added a new column to his notebook — AMBIENT PRESSURE (ESTIMATED) — tracking the surplus XP that came from everywhere combat didn’t.

[11 days before Exhibition]

It took Jin four days to come around; she flopped down at our table, tossed the tray onto it and avoided eye contact. The table held its breath before Tomás broke the silence, something about afternoon pairings, and the conversation resumed.

But the air was different; Jin only spoke when required. She moved her seat down a few spaces, having Tomás, Hsu and Ren between us. She didn’t even make a quip or remark when Sato knocked his water into his paste.

Seriously, what the hell is she so mad about?

I decided to pull myself out of there and grab some water from the dispensary, hoping it would ease the tension a little. But instead, she stood up too and followed me. We reached the water station at the same time. When I expected her to speak, she bumped my shoulder, almost hard enough to knock me off balance.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine.”

She filled her water and walked back without looking at me.

[1 week before Exhibition]

The format briefing came at the end of the first week.

“The exhibition operates in three phases,” Kael declared.

He paused for a moment, letting the murmuring calm down.

“Phase one — squad combat. Teams of six, your composition. Multiple rounds, elimination format.” A pause. Shorter than the first. “Phase one establishes baseline rankings and demonstrates unit cohesion for platoon leaders observing remotely.”

Tomás caught my eye from across the formation. He gave me a small nod, and I returned it.

Perfect, just what we’ve been preparing for.

“Phase two — paired combat. Teams of two, drawn from your phase one squads. Phase two narrows the field and tests adaptability under constrained conditions.”

Beside me, Park’s hand tightened around his datapad. Pairs meant splitting the squad. Half the coordination, half the coverage.

“Phase three — individual matches. One on one.” Kael’s voice didn’t change, but the words landed heavy. “Phase three determines final rankings, firmware sponsorship priority, and platoon placement.”

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Platoon placement? That’s not been mentioned before, why do they always give important information as late as possible…

“Additionally, post-exhibition, training transitions to mecha simulation. Platoons of twenty, each led by a C or B-Grade designated leader. Your exhibition performance determines platoon placement. Leaders will be observing throughout.”

Miller’s hand. “Arena specifications?”

“Classified, until day of.”

Well, at least that will keep things interesting.

“Miller’s phase,” Jin said at the table that evening.

“Individual combat favours raw stats,” she added when the silence prompted her. “Miller wins phase three. We need the rest.”

“But if we get paired against Osei in phase one, we might have some trouble,” Ren added.

“You’re right,” I said. “Squad training in the morning, and individual work in the afternoon.”

“Three non-standard openings per person,” Tomás said. “Moves that don’t appear in any rotation. Things nobody in the barracks has a counter for.”

“Three in six days?” Sato raised an eyebrow.

“It’ll take hard work; we sleep when we’re dead.” Jin finally spoke.

Nobody commented.

[Final days before Exhibition]

Morning squad drills — coordination, communication, adapting to unknown conditions. Tomás changed the rules mid-drill, and the squad adjusted without stopping.

Afternoon individual work. Hsu and I sparred against each other without rotations until the movements stopped being choices and became reflexes. Sato worked his southpaw angles razor-tight. Andrew — the kid who’d barely spoken ten words at the table since joining — developed a defensive counter-style that turned aggression back on the attacker.

Evening open spars that left everyone bruised and slightly better than the day before.

Across the yard, Osei’s network was drilling with a new intensity. Their synchronised movements had tightened — whatever coordination exercises Osei had developed for the exhibition, they were running them relentlessly. During one evening session, his entire squad shifted formation three times in ten seconds, each transition seamless, each member arriving at their new position at exactly the same moment.

[LEVEL 12]

Miller requested a spar during an afternoon session. Not through Kael — directly. He walked onto the mat where I was working with Hsu, waited until we finished, and said one word.

“Tiernan.”

Full intensity from the opening exchange. Level 40 against my Level 12. The air around Miller’s fist distorted as it came, the visible signature of Ether flooding muscle fibre beyond natural limits. The strike connected with my guard, and the impact rang deep, a vibration that travelled through my forearms and into my teeth.

The mat buckled under his advancing footwork, each step leaving a compression mark that my boots hadn’t made in six months of sparring on the same surface. He smelled like ozone and sweat.