A sea of candidates snaked forward, inch by inch, into the central examination hub. The clanging of metal and the static-filled announcements from the loudspeakers created an atmosphere of suffocating tension.
Thanks to her display of strength earlier with the armored truck, Reika was naturally escorted by the guiding officers to a red-carpeted lane reserved for "Elite Candidates."
Before her haughty silhouette vanished behind the automatic doors, Reika suddenly spun around. Her gaze swept through the ranks of ordinary recruits and locked onto Arata. The young heiress tossed her golden hair, stuck out her tongue in a mocking taunt, and finally disappeared inside.
Down in the ranks, a vein throbbed on Arata's forehead. He gritted his teeth with a dry rasp. "Fine... just you wait, you brat."
First Round: The Theoretical Exam.
It was a colossal, sterile room filled with thousands of glowing cyan touchscreens. As the candidates took their seats, sweat began to bead on their brows.
"Theoretical Exam: 20 advanced multiple-choice questions on Kaiju biological structures and Kelyte armor composition. Time limit: 30 minutes. BEGIN!" the cold AI voice announced.
Instantly, the hall was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and frustrated hair-pulling. A question popped up on Arata's screen with a string of convoluted terms: "Identify the mechanical weak point in the biological carbon-bond chain of a Category 2 Kaiju when exposed to a temperature of minus 50 degrees Celsius."
Looking around, the sturdy young men were biting the ends of their pens, looking as distressed as if they were severely constipated. Arata let out a faint smirk, his face a mask of indifference. His fingers blurred across the screen at god-like speed.
"Are they kidding? Does the military really think this academic fluff can stop me?" Arata thought.
For the past six years, he had spent his life scouring the Dark Web, analyzing leaked combat footage, and even stealing classified V.G.U. files to master Kaiju biology. Besides, he carried one of their hearts in his own chest! Understanding the enemy was as natural as knowing his own body. He cleared the first nineteen questions in less than five minutes.
Coming to the final question, Arata's finger hovered over the "Submit" button, then froze.
"Wait. A manual laborer getting a perfect 100% score is way too suspicious. Need to tone it down." With a sigh, he went back, deleted two correct answers, and closed his eyes to pick two wrong ones. The passing grade was 15. He submitted his paper with an 18/20. Perfect. A "just enough to pass" score that wouldn't draw a single eye.
Second Round: The Physical Fitness Test.
A scene of sweat and tears unfolded at the outdoor stadium. The tasks included: a 10-lap armed sprint, 100 push-ups with a 50kg weighted vest, and pull-ups until total exhaustion.
Under the scorching sun, many candidates collapsed on the spot. Some vomited across the track, while others fainted mid-pull-up, forcing medical teams to carry them out on stretchers constantly.
In the left corner of the field, Arata was hanging from the pull-up bar. With his mutated physique, these exercises were nothing more than a light morning warm-up. But to play the part of an average man, Arata had to employ his supreme muscle control. He manually regulated his heart rate, forced his pores to drench him in sweat, strained his face until it was as red as a beet, and made sure to start "trembling" uncontrollably by the thirtieth rep.
It was an Oscar-worthy performance. Once again, Arata finished with a mediocre, middle-of-the-pack score.
Final Round: The Interaction Force Test.
The remaining candidates were herded into a massive arena. Sitting regally in the center of the floor was a gargantuan combat dummy—a simulated robot. Its outer shell was plated with genuine Kelyte armor salvaged from dead Kaijus.
"This is the maximum striking force test!" the proctor shouted through a megaphone. "First up, Lady Reika!"
Reika stepped down from the VIP area with a proud stride. She activated her power-armored gauntlet. The device let out sharp mechanical whines as it charged to maximum capacity. Reika settled into her stance, twisted her hips, and unleashed a lightning-fast punch using her full momentum.
BOOM!!!
The sound of the impact was explosive. The Kelyte plating on the robot's chest shattered, sending electronic components scattering across the floor. The massive digital scoreboard flickered wildly before freezing on bright red text: "DESTRUCTIVE FORCE: RANK A." The crowd erupted in awe at the 16-year-old's power.
In a corner below the observation deck, several elderly men in suits from the board of examiners clutched their heads, tears streaming down their faces. "No! You vandals! That simulation robot cost 5 million dollars of the V.G.U. budget! Logistics! Bring out Unit Number 2 immediately!!"
Several hulking, burly candidates stepped up to try their luck with Unit 2, but most were disqualified. They couldn't even scratch the Kelyte armor, let alone break it.
Finally, the static-filled speaker croaked: "Next candidate... Arata!"
Arata rubbed the back of his neck, strolling onto the platform. Standing before the iron giant, he took a deep breath, whispering to himself: "Easy... just a light tap, Arata. Just a flick to get a Rank D pass so I can go home and sleep."
He slowly pulled his right hand back, calibrating his strength to the weakest possible level.
Right then, from the VIP deck above, Reika tossed a candy wrapper down and cupped her hands like a megaphone, shouting mockingly:
"Good luck, country bumpkin! Make sure to focus your 'inner energy'! Be careful not to punch too hard—you might dislocate your shoulder or snap your spine, and you won't have the money for the hospital bill!"
Hearing that high-pitched voice, Arata's eyebrow twitched. An irritation flared up, causing him to lose focus for exactly one-thousandth of a second. In that split second of distraction, a surge of impulse from the second heartbeat in his chest leaked into his arm.
THUMP.
His fist tapped the robot's chest. There was no loud explosion, only a dull, heavy thud.
The digital board above the robot immediately went haywire. The numbers blurred into a frantic mess, turning bright red as they spiked past all limits before jamming at: "999 - ERROR." A plume of black smoke puffed out from the iron dummy's head, and the screen sizzled into darkness.
Arata broke into a cold sweat, his face turning pale. "Damn it! I went too hard. My secret's going to be out!"
BUT! As the smoke cleared, the robot was still standing perfectly still. The outer Kelyte armor was smooth, without a single scratch or crack. The steel mass looked completely unharmed.
The proctor slammed the table in frustration, yelling into the mic, "What is wrong with the logistics team?! The sensor display is broken again! Candidate Arata: the punch failed to cause any physical damage to the external armor. Rank C. Barely passed! Next person, get up here now!"
Arata let out a massive sigh of relief, clutching his chest. With the heart attack averted, he turned and walked straight toward the exit, not daring to look back. Up in the stands, Reika rested her chin on her hand, muttering disdainfully, "Pfft, I knew it. Such a weakling."
Another candidate, built like a tank, stepped up to take Arata's place. He arrogantly warmed up his knuckles and pointed a single index finger, lightly poking the robot's chest to gauge his target.
Click. His finger barely touched the Kelyte plating.
CRACK... CRUMBLE!!!
There was no explosion. Before hundreds of pairs of eyes, the entire simulation robot suddenly shuddered, and then—it disintegrated into millions of tiny, sand-like grains from the INSIDE. The ultra-hard steel skeleton, the complex circuitry, and the invincible Kelyte armor... all of it had been completely pulverized into fine dust by some lingering destructive internal force. It poured onto the floor in a grey, silent heap of scrap.
The hulking candidate froze in place, his finger still pointing into empty air, his face completely blank with stupidity. At the judges' table, the elderly men's jaws dropped so hard their glasses fell off.
The entire arena fell into a deathly silence. Not a single soul understood what the hell had just happened—except for the man whose back had already vanished behind the exit door.