01-02-2345 Celestial Era,22:34
T+08:00
The eager gaze of the audience fixed on the center of the arena — a rugged battlefield of soil and uneven stone, illuminated under the bright, artificial lights of the Astral Foundation Academy's stadium.
On both sides stood two teams of Astral Gears, each composed of three units. Massive humanoid machines, piloted manually, pointed their short-barreled rifles at one another with a single goal in mind —to destroy the opposition.
Their movements were chaotic yet precise, propelled by thrusters mounted on their backs and legs. They dashed, pivoted, and slid through the dust with bursts of power that shook the ground beneath the spectators' feet.
"Come on, fire again! Don't stop— shoot!" yelled an enthusiastic businessman from the front row, waving his arms.
Revan ignored the noise around him. His eyes tracked the battle with calm detachment as one of the blue team's Gears was struck squarely in the arm, the impact tearing the limb apart before a follow-up shot blasted through the head. The machine fell backward, its massive frame crashing against the rocky ground in a violent tremor.
"Yes! That's it!" another executive shouted in excitement. "Now that's a proper match! The red team's strategy is flawless!"
Revan exhaled quietly, glancing to his left. Rows of middle-aged men in formal suits sat with paper cups of soda and popcorn, cheering as though watching a sports broadcast rather than a live military simulation.
He turned back toward the battlefield as the final moments unfolded — the remaining blue team units were cornered, their last-ditch defenses crumbling under a barrage of gunfire. The final Gear's head sensor exploded in a flash of blue sparks.
"Victory to the Red Team!" declared Steiner, his voice echoing over the arena speakers.
A massive display screen flickered overhead, showing the victorious team's three Gears bathed in spotlights while the losing team's units were lifted away by recovery drones. The victorious pilots climbed out of their chest-mounted cockpits, waving proudly to the crowd.
"How fascinating," murmured Asterius, his tone cool and analytical. "A live training match at this level. However, our purpose here is field research. What are your impressions?"
One of the government officials in attendance adjusted his tie. "Time-consuming, perhaps, but enlightening. The industrial potential of Astral Gear combat is undeniable. I suggest we meet the talented athletes who demonstrated this exhibition."
The group of executives rose from their seats, discarding their empty popcorn containers into paper bags as they followed Asterius and Steiner down toward the arena floor — Revan and Kiana among them.
On the field, the two teams had gathered with their crew members. Murmurs spread as they recognized the arriving figures.
"Founders of the International Astral Gear Federation— what brings you here in person?" asked the Red Team's coach, his voice tight with surprise.
"Of course, we have good reason," Steiner replied firmly. "An excellent match, I must say. In fact… I came to deliver a little surprise."
A government officer stepped forward, his expression sharp, addressing a pilot in a brown and gray uniform.
"Maxirus Nurmas, as part of the Federal Internal Police, we require your cooperation. Anything you say may be used in court, and you have the right to legal representation under current jurisdiction."
The young man — around twenty, dark-skinned with blonde hair — froze, panic flashing in his eyes as his teammates backed away nervously.
"W-wait, I haven't broken any laws!" Maxirus protested.
"You are under investigation," the officer continued sternly, "because your account received a transfer of 300 million bits — traced back to the Carlonzo Mafia Organization. Where were you between 21:50 and 22:30?"
Maxirus clenched his fists, his voice trembling with anger. "That account— my savings book was taken by the student youth organization! They claimed it was for 'social equity' among students. Why am I suddenly involved in a criminal case now?"
"If that's true," said the officer, "then you are a victim. But we'll need your testimony. Who took it by force?"
Maxirus hesitated, his breathing heavy. "If I say the name, they'll call me a traitor — weak."
"You have my word," said the officer gravely, "you'll be protected. This isn't some petty school drama. This case is linked to a terrorist act — a bombing in Germestown, East District."
A heavy silence fell over the field. The young pilot's eyes widened in disbelief.
Maxirus swallowed hard, his voice trembling but defiant. "I don't know much… but there's one name that keeps coming up. They've been after me for months. They call themselves the Templars — self-proclaimed 'holy purifiers' who believe only the pure and perfect deserve to exist. Some of the academy students have already started following them in the main building."
"Templars…" the official repeated gravely. "We'll process that information immediately. This could be vital for maintaining peace within the colonies."
Around them, the crowd of technicians, pilots, and engineers grew restless. Murmurs turned to whispers, and soon even the businessmen watching from the stands exchanged uneasy glances.
"Wait a second," the Blue Team's coach suddenly spoke, his voice cracking with tension. "We're just a small competitive team! If this is a criminal investigation, please— we'll donate part of our prize money to the International Astral Gear Foundation! We don't want any trouble!"
Asterius turned his cold eyes toward him. "First— we don't rely on profit-sharing. We make our fortune from technology patents, not small tournaments. Second— your logic is reversed. It's the Federation that pays you. And third— we are here for one reason only: to ensure that the spread of terrorist influence does not reach the student population. If you cooperate, we can certify your record as clean."
The coaches exchanged uncertain looks before forcing nervous smiles.
"So… if that's the case," said the Red Team's coach carefully, "then what's the real reason for your visit?"
Asterius's expression softened just slightly. "We came to witness the excitement of live Astral Gear combat — and to test the viability of new divisions in the coming league season. Tell me, would any of you be interested in competing professionally?"
The Red Team coach blinked, clearly stunned. "We're just a small amateur team. We don't have the funding or high-end Gears like Avalon. Competing against them would be impossible."
"Not necessarily," Asterius replied, his tone measured. "We're establishing a new division — below the main professional tier. It's not as glamorous, and the funding is modest, but the matches will be regional. The proposal was drafted before the recent bombing incidents. Division Six — the semi-professional league. Of course, each team will receive operational funding."
The coach's eyes widened. "You mean— we could actually join? We accept, absolutely! When does it start?"
Asterius folded his arms. "Facility clearance is currently underway and will be completed within twenty hours. Therefore, no events can be held here. The official opening season begins in spring. A representative will be dispatched later to handle the logistics — along with a two-hundred-million-bit grant per team."
The Red Team coach hesitated. "Hold on. Did you say facility clearance?"
"Correct," Asterius replied firmly. "Evacuation procedures have already begun. Military command has confirmed the presence of sabotage — explosives planted in the colony's central reactor. The detonation countdown has already started: thirty hours. All experimental Astral Gears, data archives, and vital instruments have been relocated to secure sites. Don't worry — military personnel are en route to initiate your evacuation."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Kiana's eyes widened, while Revan frowned and turned toward one of the officials.
"Excuse me," Revan asked in a steady tone, "is that information verified?"
"Of course, young man," replied the officer firmly. "The earlier detainment was based on suspicion that you might be the bomber, but a full background check cleared you. Your flight records with the Astral Gear prototype matched consistent behavioral data — and yes, the unit you piloted was self-assembled, not registered in any known database."
Revan exhaled slowly. "Then shouldn't we evacuate all students immediately?"
"Already in progress," the officer assured him. "While we speak, safety protocols are being executed. Through cargo exchanges with trading spacecraft, we've secured emergency passage for student transport. Now, it's best that all of us return to the ships before time runs out."
The stadium, moments ago filled with cheers, was now drowned in a thick silence broken only by the mechanical hum of distant servos. The realization began to sink in — that this match, this evening of excitement and pride, had been taking place under the shadow of impending disaster.
Revan looked once more toward the glowing scoreboard, its bright red "VICTORY" banner flickering in the night air.