Things turned out much easier than Wu De had feared.
At first, the school flatly refused to lend out a mecha for "disassembly." They only had a few units, each carefully maintained — lending one out was unthinkable.
Then Wu De brought his father to campus, claiming he wanted to donate their family's display mecha — but since it wasn't for combat, they needed to study one of the school's units to learn how to rebuild it into a battle‑type.
That made the school hesitate.
If the modification succeeded, 3212 Academy would gain an extra mecha; if it failed — or worse, destroyed their current one — they'd lose dearly.
After some debate, they offered a compromise: the school would lend out a unit, but the dismantling and modification had to be done by faculty members.
Wu De immediately objected. "What teacher here could turn a display mecha into a battle one?"
He'd only said the work would be done by a "hired engineer," not that this "engineer" was Vera Warde.
After more back‑and‑forth, the school compromised again — they'd allow Wu De to take the mecha, but two teachers would accompany him as assistants.
(Clever move: one, to supervise; two, to learn a thing or two if the Tai family's mechanic was truly talented.)
That evening, Wu De messaged Vera happily — he'd secured the machine. They decided to work nightly after classes.
When the mecha arrived at Wu De's home, Vera immediately began taking it apart.
The two supervising teachers could only stare, eyes wide, as she dismantled the machine with effortless precision.
"…Aren't you a B‑class student?" one finally asked.
"Yes," Vera answered without pausing, carefully removing major components. The internals were far more complex than the display model — practically two different systems.
She had thought the job would be quick, but now it looked like it would take a month at least.
"The engine of a battle‑type mecha is impossible to buy and costs a fortune," the other teacher warned. "Modification's basically impossible."
Carrying the engine to the workbench, Vera replied matter‑of‑factly, "I'm not buying one — I'll make it."
The teachers exchanged a look — part pity, part derision. Clearly, she had no idea what she was talking about. Building a mecha engine from scratch? Absurd.
Vera didn't notice or care. She kept working through the night, dismantling every piece she could. By morning, the several‑meter mecha was a neat sea of parts.
"I'll make a purchase list — get everything on it," she told Wu De, scribbling for an hour before handing him a two‑meter‑long sheet.
He almost choked. Twometers?!We'regonnagobankrupt!
But then, reading carefully, he sucked in a breath again.
Every single part — from tiny screws to metal joints — had a precise source and price noted.
Was she a machine herself?
At the bottom, the total made him blink. Only two million credits — and that included ten grams of Yaojin. Meaning the rest of the materials cost barely a million.
Expensive for Star 3212, but for a potential battle‑ready unit? Practically a steal.
"We're done for today. Buy everything on that list within two days. Don't touch these piles," Vera ordered, pointing at the disassembled heap.
"Got it."
Back home, Vera told Li Pi she might not return nights for a month.
He frowned. "You seriously think you can modify a mecha?"
The school didn't know yet, but word would spread by morning that their mysterious mechanic was a B‑class student.
"I already tore the school's mecha apart," she said between sips of soup his wife gave her. "It's fine — the engine's the hard part. Give it a month."
"Something even faculty can't do, and you say it like it's nothing," he grumbled. "Drink your soup and sleep."
Vera shrugged. For her, it really was nothing. Still, there were designs she didn't fully understand — some would have to be reconstructed by guesswork.
From then on, she attended classes by day and spent nights at Wu De's, sometimes working straight through till morning. Even Wu De admired her stamina.
The school, meanwhile, was a nervous wreck. Upon learning that the person in charge was a B‑class student, they immediately regretted it and spent each day in dread of a report that their mecha was ruined.
Luckily, Vera reassembled the machine flawlessly and returned it on schedule.
The faculty inspected it thoroughly. A‑class instructors reviewed the data while B‑class teachers tested its movement.
When they stepped out, their expressions were odd.
"Well — it feels different."
"You noticed too?"
"Yeah."
The school representative went white. "What is it? What's broken?"
One teacher hesitated. "It handles better than before."
"What??"
Others nodded. "It's much more responsive."
Then the A‑class teachers looked up from their readouts. "The attack output has increased significantly."
The administrator swallowed hard. "What do you mean, increased?"
"Mr. Li, could you test its attack function?"
Li Pi stepped into the cockpit, swung once at a steel plate — and the panel dented deeply.
Everyone stared. That plate was supposed to be reinforced — old mechas could barely scratch it.
Except now.
Li Pi emerged later. "Apart from being smoother, not much else."
The teachers debated without answers, so they called the two supervising teachers for explanation.
Both looked bewildered. "We watched her assemble it. She didn't add anything."
"This mecha's attack stats have spiked. Look at that plate."
The assistants gawked at the dents. "All the materials she bought went into the other mecha. This one's untouched."
"Maybe ask Vera," someone suggested.
"No," Li Pi said. "She's in class. Message her later."
When they did, she replied briefly: "Didn't do anything major — just tweaked the elbow and arm joints. Attack shouldn't be that different."
Now the school had its machine back, and it was better than before. Peace returned — and a lot of administrators suddenly wanted their mechas "tweaked" too.
Vera promised to finish Wu De's first.
A month later, his display mecha was officially reborn as a combat model — and in two more days, Vera even upgraded the others' elbow systems.
"They're not exactly the same as a real B‑class, but fine for practice," she said, unimpressed. She'd done it, but too many principles still escaped her.
"Practice is enough. In a few months we'll graduate and get tested for perception — then it's off to the Five Academies. They say everyone there gets a personal mecha," Wu De said wistfully.
"Each student gets one?" Vera raised a brow. "Those schools that rich?"
He nodded. "My uncle told me — five academies are loaded."
Vera found herself looking forward to that day.
Now that more students could control their units, the training shifted to mecha duels — basically, robot brawls. Wu De's machine was drafted for use.
Fighting was something Vera had only learned in this world. She considered herself average.
Anyone who'd seen her fight in the future would say otherwise — because she fought like she didn't care to live.
With mechas, she was a little gentler — so as not to break them.
"Vera! You coward, stop running!" Wu De yelled through the comm channel.
This lunatic fought by mood: sometimes rushing in for brawls, sometimes just spinning around the arena dodging everything.
"Catch me if you can," she taunted. "Loser buys barbecue."
The neural link drained their energy; after a while, Wu De's head spun, his hands a blur. "Just stop and fight! Win or lose — I'll treat you to every skewer on the street!"
Vera clicked her tongue. "When have you ever won? Daddy's not in the mood to sweat today."
Wu De: Unbelievable.Bullyingagain!
When time was up, he still hadn't caught her — and nearly crashed into an obstacle leaving the field.
By now, the A‑grade students needed no teaching; Li Pi, once qualified for the military district himself, had nothing more to teach. The top B‑class students were simply left to train on their own.
Two months passed in this free‑range fashion.
Then came the day of perception testing.
Parents waited outside the school, hoping for good news.
Each class lined up as they had on the first day years ago — ten classes, ten lines.
Nine years earlier, each had hundreds of students; now only dozens remained.
Wu De, from Class B1, stood first — the opening candidate. He was calm; he already knew his results.
"B1108001."
Name called, he walked in, and five minutes later stepped out.
Face steady. "A‑grade."
The announcement rang through the campus. Cheers erupted.
Even though expected, hearing it confirmed still sparked envy.
"B1108002."
"A‑grade."
A second one — the field burst with voices. Everyone dreamed of being next.
But reality settled fast.
"B‑grade."
"B‑grade."
"C‑grade."
Two whole classes passed before another A appeared.
"B3108598."
"A‑grade."
Three total — the top performers every year.
Time ticked on. Then came Class B5. One after another — B, B, B — until the final name.
"B5108429."
Vera looked up.
Her turn.