CHAPTER 52: RAM TEST CONCLUSION

The second test was a blur of fists, metal, and muscle memory.

Hermes ducked a flying punch, rolled under the outstretched arm of a steel automaton, and countered with an elbow to the gut—well, where a gut would be. The robot’s torso folded with a loud creak, but it didn’t fall. He kicked off the floor and brought his heel down on its head, sparks bursting like fireworks.

"Come on," Hermes panted, shaking out his wrists. "I’ve fought beefier tin cans in my nightmares."

The Endurance Test was brutal. No weapons. No abilities. Just raw stamina and hand-to-hand combat against waves of AI-programmed opponents. He had been at it for ten minutes straight, but it felt like an hour.

He remembered what Somner said before the test: "It’s not about how hard you hit. It’s about how long you can keep standing when everything’s trying to flatten you."

Some of his moves came from his training sessions with Ymir—especially the grounded grapples and sharp elbow blocks. Some came from watching Fiero’s reckless brawls. And some... well, some came from desperate instinct.

Hermes twisted around, grabbing the head of one robot and slamming it into another like an impromptu wrecking ball. Cheers erupted from the crowd as he spun, fists bloody, legs aching, lungs burning.

There were only two robots left.

He rushed one of them—low stance, feint to the left, jab to the center—but the final bot anticipated him.

Whirring servos. A metallic fist cracked into the side of his skull.

Hermes went down.

He came to with the sound of static and applause. His vision doubled, then steadied. He blinked up at a medic rushing over, waving a light over his face.

And then a familiar voice chimed in, too smooth. Too kind.

"I’ll take it from here."

Hermes froze.

The crowd gasped with delight.

"It’s Rewind!" someone cried.

A flurry of camera clicks followed. Hermes tried to sit up, but was gently pushed down by cool fingers.

"Stay still," Eirwyn said softly, crouching beside him. "You’ve done enough. Let me help you."

His hand brushed Hermes’ temple, golden sparks flickering at the edge of his fingertips. That golden clock shimmered behind Hermes’ eyelids, spinning backward.

And in that moment—

A memory came flooding back.

***

It was night. Somewhere sterile. White walls. Clean lights.

Hermes was arguing. Loud. Furious.

"You promised! You said you just needed help with the curse, that’s it!"

Eirwyn stood there, calm and infuriating. "Threats are named that for a reason. If we don’t discipline them, we allow chaos to rule."

"You’re imprisoning her again!" Hermes shouted. "She was free in the Void. Happy. Why can’t you just let her go?"

"I’m protecting people," Eirwyn said. "Including you."

Then the memory twisted again—Hermes sneaking down sterile halls. Opening doors.

Finding Trivia in her jail cell.

Bleeding.

Screaming.

And Eirwyn, smiling.

Then nothing.

***

Hermes jolted, heart hammering in his chest. The pain in his head had dulled, but something new ached in his chest.

He knew.

He had already known before. And Eirwyn erased it.

He sat up slowly, brushing off the concern in Eirwyn’s voice with a distant smile. "Thanks... Rewind. Appreciate it."

Eirwyn smiled gently. "You’re strong, Hermes. That was impressive."

Hermes forced a laugh. "Try not to forget it."

Inside, his stomach turned.

He kept his head down as he limped to the third arena. The Ability Test.

The simulation room looked like it had been pulled from Hermes’ worst déjà vu.

A suspension bridge stretched before him—half-consumed in roaring flame, cracked cables swaying above a molten river. Red-hot wind howled like a beast, pushing smoke and embers into his eyes.

The floor beneath his boots trembled, already half-gone. The flames clawed at the sky like they wanted to swallow the world.

He groaned.

"Really?" he muttered. "The bridge again?"

In his first RAM test, he had been a dumb, desperate fresh graduate. He tried to swallow a rotisserie chicken on the fly, thinking Power Thief would let him grow wings from poultry. All he got were feathers, a coughing fit, and an express trip to the med bay with burns on half his back.

Now?

Now he was smarter. Stronger. And still a little pissed off.

He fished into his jacket and pulled out a sleek metal flask, unscrewing the lid to reveal a handful of ice cubes he’d stored earlier. They clinked like dice.

"Bottoms up."

He popped one into his mouth and crunched it slowly. The moment the ice touched his tongue, the familiar chill of Cryoshift pulsed through his veins. Cold webbed across his skin, frosting his fingers with a shimmer of pale blue. His breath fogged in front of him. Of course, this was just a farce to make people think it’s the ice cubes that gave him ice powers.

The announcer’s voice echoed above: "Copy Cat has entered the terrain. Objective: Escape the collapsing structure using your power. Bonus points for civilian rescue and environment control. Begin."

The simulation roared to life.

The bridge lurched forward, another section collapsing into the lava below. Hermes didn’t hesitate.

He slammed his palms into the scorched ground and released a pulse of Cryoshift outward.

Ice bloomed beneath him.

It surged ahead like a sentient tide, forming a frozen platform over the broken planks and steel beams. Flames hissed and died as the ice spread, turning the river of molten fire beneath into a sea of steam and crackling black stone.

Hermes ran.

With each step, he left a trail of frost. He didn’t just flee—he constructed. He raised jagged ice pillars to support the damaged parts of the bridge. When flaming cables fell, he caught them in nets of frozen thread. A metal beam crashed down ahead—he launched a spike of ice to deflect it mid-fall.

Every move was precise. Calculated.

He heard the fake cries of imaginary civilians from the collapsing tower at the far end of the bridge. Hermes veered left, creating an arched slide of ice up the side of the structure, scaling it like a spiraling staircase.

A simulated civilian—a girl with pixelated features and wide eyes—reached out to him, shaking. He coated her in a layer of insulating frost that warded off heat and carried her over his shoulder as he surfed back down the slope.

He repeated this again and again.

Each new path he built was sturdier than the last. Each time he looped back to save someone, he carved a shortcut through the inferno.

It was no longer an escape.

It was a rescue mission. A reclamation.

By the time he returned to the center of the bridge, the original burning mess had been reduced to a gleaming frostwork of sculpted geometry—archways of translucent blue, icy suspension supports, and glimmering guard rails. He stood in the middle of it all, panting.

"Copy Cat." The announcer finally said, voice hushed with awe. "Simulation complete."

The flames blinked out.

The environment dissolved.

And Hermes found himself back in the white platform chamber, simulation walls fading back into polished chrome. Cold still curled off his body in wisps.

The crowd was stunned into silence.

Then came the roar.

"A-Class!!" someone shouted.

The screen above lit up with scores, rankings, power grades.

Hermes didn’t care.

He was too busy scanning the audience.

There—pale pink hair, round glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Aphrodite sat between Somner and Vera, swaddled in three layers of pastel cardigans and nervously clutching a clipboard he clearly didn’t need.

He met Hermes’ eyes.

And gave the signal—two fingers to his temple, a quick nod.

Hermes exhaled.

He didn’t even hear the official give him his score.

Didn’t care that the staff called him "a rising star." That the announcer said something cheesy like "Copy Cat just froze the competition!" Didn’t care that the cameras zoomed in on his exhausted, frost-dusted form.

All that mattered was that Aphrodite had read Eirwyn’s mind.