Leo wasn't in a rush to open the email. He entered the machine room, climbed into the cockpit, and heard the hiss of the hatch sealing shut.
Bleem Mission No. 127: Six months to reach an EMP score of 3000.
Anyone else seeing this kind of spam would have deleted it instantly. Whoever sent this was either a lunatic or off their meds.
Leo didn't care much about the content; he cared about the mail itself. Just as he tried to trace it, the message vanished from the Link—not deleted, but simply erased, leaving no digital footprint behind.
He didn't know who was behind it. A person, a ghost, or something else entirely. All he had was the codename: Bleem.
It started on Leo's fifth birthday. Something had hijacked his dreams, dragging him into indescribable worlds for bizarre training sessions. Once, he fell into a "coma" for a month, hovering near death in a hospital bed. The doctors found nothing wrong, and the orphanage was already preparing for his funeral when he suddenly woke up. He was perfectly healed—unnaturally healthy, in fact—save for a circular scar near his heart. If the headmaster hadn't stepped in, the hospital would have kept him as a lab specimen.
This had been his life for over a decade. He'd grown used to it. Someone was training him for a purpose, and while the methods were brutal, there was no apparent malice. He had once wondered if some shadow organization was using him as an experiment, but he eventually dismissed the idea. The tech involved was beyond anything he'd ever seen. If a major power wanted him, they wouldn't go to such lengths; he was just an orphan with nothing to lose but a worthless life.
When he was twelve, the headmaster gave him a Link device. The first "Bleem Mission" arrived shortly after. The tasks ranged from finding lost pets to high-stakes assassinations. Fortunately, the targets were always people Leo felt deserved to die several times over.
They lived in a sort of cold peace. Once, testing the waters, he deliberately failed a mission. His heart stopped instantly. He woke up to an email—his first real piece of information from the source: Complete 200 missions, and you get your answers. Fail again, and you will be decommissioned.
Decommissioned. As if he were just a piece of faulty hardware.
Later, as his skills peaked, he learned to dance on the edge of failure, figuring out the sender's patterns. The missions became less frequent. No. 126 had been a year ago: Get into the Tianjing Academy of Combat Mecha. Life before the academy had been a thrill ride; this past year had actually been his quietest.
Leo opened his eyes and took a deep breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. After a long silence, Bleem was moving again. And he was ready.
The EMP interface popped up with his records.
ID: Puppet Total Score: 853 Win Rate: Hidden Matches played: 4,900
Next to his ID sat a glowing five-pointed star—Survival, Output, Teamwork, Duel, and Mecha Pool were all maxed out.
Initially, he just wanted to enjoy the game, but things got out of hand. Before Bleem gave him a mission, he had to suppress his score to avoid drawing attention. Being high-profile in the past had nearly blown a major mission—the kind where one failure outweighs ten successes.
Controlling a score is an art form, and Leo had found a loophole.
Virtual Mode. As long as one person in a room chose Virtual, the entire match was scored as such. So, Leo almost exclusively played in Virtual rooms—except while the others were playing a game, he kept his own settings on "Realistic."
He wasn't using Virtual mode, yet technically, he was.
His score stayed right where he wanted it: around 800. Unremarkable, yet passing.
He selected Battle Mode, Arena, and Random Matchmaking.
An opponent appeared almost instantly, their profile also hidden. ID: Eternal Starlight.
Leo didn't care. As the mecha selection countdown ticked away, he hit "Random."
Puppet vs. Eternal Starlight
Mecha: Kylon Fighter Gen 3 (USE) Class: Medium, 80 tons Specs: Nuclear fission drive, standard laser rifle, titanium alloy blade.
VS
Mecha: Silver Knight Gen 5 (NUP) Class: Light, 65 tons Specs: Nuclear fission drive, silver laser rifle, beam saber.
The two mobile suits entered the arena, facing off. A three-second countdown began.
3... 2... 1...
Battle Start.
The Silver Knight moved first. Its footwork was light; the pilot clearly handled the G-force with ease. At twenty meters, the knight suddenly accelerated, its shoulders twitching slightly—not a loss of balance, but a feint to throw off the opponent's timing. Cautious. Professional.
At ten meters, the Kylon hadn't moved. The Silver Knight vaulted into the air, beam saber unsheathed, bringing it down in a full-force overhead strike.
At this distance, it was too late to dodge. Mecha combat differed from human brawling; anticipation and lead-time were everything. The entire Pan-Solar Championship was about seizing the initiative and controlling the tempo—areas where the NUP excelled.
The Silver Knight pilot didn't hesitate, thrusting the blade faster. The Kylon let out a muffled mechanical roar, its chassis shuddering as it lunged forward half a step. Its left arm braced upward, catching the beam saber near the hilt to jam the stroke. The Kylon's body slid into the gap, and its right arm drove upward in a 45-degree elbow strike. A concentrated burst of kinetic energy.
BOOM.
The Silver Knight reeled back. The pilot fought for control, but the mecha slammed into the ground. Its engines roared, trying to slide away and create distance. In the next heartbeat, a shadow flickered across the screen.
CRACK.
Puppet (Kylon Fighter Gen 3) WINS.
The match was over. Leo felt a bit annoyed. Usually, Realistic mode matchmaking provided better opponents. This guy was a total amateur. It was probably because his own score was too low. It'll get better as I rank up, he thought. He casually kicked the opponent from the room and hit "Re-match."
The Moon. Stellar Academy.
"Damn it! He kicked me! What a sore winner!" Feynman slammed his fist against the console door. "I was careless. He just got lucky with a cheap shot."
"Ha... hahaha! Feynman, my god, are you kidding me?" Arles, a tall guy with curly flaxen hair, was laughing so hard he was sitting on the floor. "The pool of pros is small. If he was good, we would've heard of him. Puppet? Who is this rookie? You just got smoked by a nobody, and he didn't even draw his weapon!"
"Arles, that didn't count! I'm going again!" Feynman ignored him and frantically sent a rematch invite.
Puppet, you little punk, you dare go again? I was careless. This time I'll fight you with one hand!
System Notification: The recipient has enabled 'Do Not Disturb.' Your message could not be delivered.
Feynman slammed his thigh in frustration. Arles crawled over, saw the notification, and laughed even harder. "Oh man, the great Feynman of Stellar Academy just got ghosted. What did the Captain say? Don't let victory go to your head. You've had a very comfortable holiday, haven't you?"
"Feynman, Arles. What's so funny? I'd like to hear it too." The voice was crisp and decisive. Arles scrambled to his feet instantly, and Feynman climbed out of his cockpit.
"Captain!"
The two stood at attention, saluting. The girl before them was sharp and commanding. They looked at her with a mix of genuine respect and a hint of suppressed infatuation.
Stellar Academy was one of the NUP's top ten military schools. In this year's championship, only one person from Stellar had earned the "Ace Pilot" title: their Captain, Tita Vantis.
The NUP had won big, but every match had been a struggle. It was Tita who had dragged the team through the fire to secure their glory.
"Straighten your uniforms. We have a guest." Tita held immense authority at Stellar, mostly because she could outfight anyone. Right now, she had a rare, playful smile that left the two boys dazed.
"Arths, come on out. These two are idiots, but they actually have some skill."
A figure slipped through the door—wearing a tracksuit and oversized sunglasses, head bowed. When she looked up, Feynman and Arles nearly jumped out of their skins. Tita gave a small huff, and the two boys covered their mouths, though they still rushed forward.
"Arths! I've been a hardcore fan for ten years! Can I get an autograph?"
"Get lost, Arths only debuted seven years, three months, and eighteen days ago. Princess Arths, I am Arles, the sniper for Stellar Academy. It is an honor—ouch! Captain, why did you kick me?"
Arths' eyes crinkled into a smile. "Sis, don't be so rough. They're my fans."
The two boys froze, the words dying in their throats. Her voice over the Link was beautiful enough, but hearing it in person...
Wait... Sis?
Usually, friends call each other "sister" casually. But could they be related? Now that they looked closely, there was a resemblance. What kind of godly genetics was this? Their Captain had kept this secret well hidden.
"Arths is my cousin. Just so you two know. If a third person finds out, you'll regret it. She wanted to see how you guys train," Tita said. She knew she couldn't hide it forever with these two gossips.
The two men were instantly revitalized. "I'll go! Like the wind, a single lethal strike—Arles, the God of Snipers, at your service!"
"Nobody wants to watch a camper. Watch me. A real man fights face-to-face. Arths, I'm the Vanguard. I'll put on a real show for you!" Feynman wasn't about to back down. An opportunity to impress an idol, maybe a handshake and an autograph? He could brag about this for a year.
"Give it a rest, Five-Second Man. Didn't some 'rookie' just smoke you?"
"Shut up! That was an accident, I was being care—"
"Feynman. Pull up the footage of that match." Tita's voice turned cold, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Feynman and Arles snapped out of it. Their Captain was a girl, but "gentle" was not a word in her vocabulary. She was a fanatic when it came to training. Losing? Being careless? Not allowed.
Reluctantly, Feynman pulled up the replay. Arths leaned in curiously to see what the "daily life" of a mobile suit pilot looked like.
The video played. The Silver Knight charged, vaulted, and took full control of the engagement. Arths had watched plenty of matches for the championship and played in Virtual mode herself; she had enough of an eye to see that the Silver Knight had the advantage.
Then came the moment no one saw coming. In the blink of an eye, the Silver Knight was gone.
"Captain, I admit I was sloppy. The guy played dirty—hit me and ran. Give me one more chance..."
"Feynman."
"Yes, Captain."
"With that attitude, you'd die even faster the second time," Tita said. "The USE lost, but they lost mostly to their own arrogance. The next tournament will be the real test. A triple crown would be historical."
Feynman and Arles exchanged a look.
"Performance-wise, the Kylon Gen 3 is inferior to the Silver Knight Gen 5. Watch it at one-third speed. When you made your move, the opponent didn't budge. Look at his line of sight—magnify the head unit by ten. See that? A slight twitch. He didn't move because he felt he had read you completely."
The Silver Knight attacked. The Kylon lunged forward half a step.
"To pull off an explosive lunge like that requires high-intensity manual override," Arths suddenly remarked. That meant the opponent was no rookie.
The key was what followed. The override lunge jammed the Knight's position. The Kylon's left arm blocked the beam saber near the hilt—stripping Feynman of his leverage. The follow-up strike flipped the Knight entirely. To topple a mecha with one blow requires perfect timing and angle. Feynman's reaction was actually fast; he used a forced stabilization and thrusters to put distance between them. A textbook crisis response.
Yet it seemed to be exactly what the opponent had predicted. The small distance he created exposed his weak point. The opponent moved just a fraction earlier. Just a fraction. A kick. In slow motion, that foot landed at the exact moment the mecha was weightless—Feynman had essentially delivered his own head to the opponent's foot.
The Silver Knight's head was kicked clean off. Even in a low-tier match, that kind of move was insulting.
The entire sequence was brutal and fluid. The Silver Knight looked like a puppet on a string.
Feynman and Arles stopped joking. A cold sweat broke out. They understood now. Feynman was still fuming—this style of fighting was like being nutmegged in soccer; it wasn't just a loss, it was a humiliation.
Arths could see the broad strokes but didn't understand the mechanics. She looked at Tita with confusion. Tita didn't explain immediately, pointing back to the screen.
"Arths, the Silver Knight's defense isn't bad. Feynman is a Vanguard; he's built to take hits. Even with a lapse in concentration, an elbow strike shouldn't have completely destabilized him. His recovery was correct—usually, it's impossible to kick a mecha's head off. But at that moment, the mecha was out of control, and his choice to use thrusters made the chassis weightless. Look." Tita rewound and paused at the kick. "After the elbow, the Kylon pre-emptively moved and delivered a side-kick, catching the exact window of instability. A 'side-kick guillotine.' Feynman, he wasn't just insulting you. He was insulting Stellar Academy. We have to take this back."
Feynman grit his teeth. "Yes, Captain. My mistake. I'll take the penalty."
Tita nodded. A Captain had to be decisive. "Go take your punishment. Five times gravity, ten kilometers. Arles, find out who this is."
Arles shrugged. "Captain, I already checked. He's hidden his profile. All we have is the ID: Puppet. I haven't heard of him in the last two years. And he kicked Feynman immediately after, like it was intentional."
In the EMP, people used real names or IDs, and many hid their data. But once you reached a certain score, it was impossible to remain anonymous; you'd eventually leave a trail. Besides, what's the point of being a young ace if you aren't a little flashy?
"Feynman, keep challenging him. We have to reclaim Stellar's honor. Arles, look for experts who specialize in the Kylon; there has to be a trace. Hmph, Earthlings love these little tricks." Anyone who could pilot a Kylon to that level was likely from the USE, and that was a very short list.
"Yes, Captain. But one thing is weird..." Arles looked a bit puzzled. "Captain, he didn't turn off 'Spectator Mode'."
The three of them froze. Hidden profile, yet open to spectators?
"Open it. Project it."