CHAPTER 544: EMERGENCY COUNCIL

Some meetings began with grace.

This was not one of them.

"What do you mean he rewrote the calibration thresholds?! Who let him do that?!"

"Sir, it was the exam..."

"Don’t give me that! We’ve been calibrating since before he was born! I thought it was a prank!"

Several masters were already pacing; one had his head in his hands, and another was standing on a chair, trying to get a better signal for his terminal, as if that had ever been a problem.

Instructor Moore sat quietly at the corner of the chaos, watching them spiral like well-aged tops. His expression said it all.

He’d warned them.

"Are we sure this isn’t some setup?" someone muttered.

"Oh, please," said Master Colton, who was currently trying to yell into his terminal. "I’ve seen scams. This isn’t one. This is a catastrophe! Quinn! Pick up the call, damn you!"

Across the room, one of the older masters grunted, "Well, the first exam was to repair, and his second exam was supposed to be making a part."

"Yes," said another, pointing at the shared screen. "But he already did both. At the same time. And then some!"

"Then why are we still here yelling?! Just pass him! And talk to him about the real problems! Like how in the name of all holy circuitry did he calibrate like that?!"

"Exactly! We’re meeting because we want to talk to him, but how do you even start a conversation with someone like that?! That kid just redid an entire power grid like it was embroidery!"

"Oh? You think that’s easy? Then you try calibrating his setup!"

"Gladly!" the other huffed—and promptly shut up when someone pulled up footage of his earlier calibration dud.

Moore watched the spiraling storm with a sigh. Advisor Arlow, who had joined the room halfway through, slowly leaned over.

"Are they always like this?"

"No," Moore said, pinching his nose. "This is unusually coherent."

"...Oh."

He stood, raising his voice. "Masters, right now Cadet Kyros is outside waiting to take his second exam. What would you like me to tell him?"

Groans. Actual groans from grown men.

Then finally—

"QUINN! You son of a gun! It took SIX calls for you to pick up?! What if I were dying?!"

"Then die faster!" came the gravelly voice of Master Quinn from the holographic screen.

"Why would you be stupid enough to call someone so far away when you have an emergency?! Why are you even calling me?! Is someone actually dead?!"

"No, bastard! But I’m calling because we have a problem!"

"Then solve it! You’ve got enough masters in that room to fix a collapsing reactor! Or ten!"

"Well, this is different! Is the heir to the House Kyros not important enough, you stuck-up old man?!"

There was a pause.

Then Master Quinn leaned into the screen. "Colton. Why didn’t you say so? This is why you’d die early! How could you not start with the important things first!"

"Shut up! We’re deliberating on his status. We need an honest opinion."

"...How much have you taught him?" someone asked, eyes wide.

Quinn barked out a laugh. "Taught him?! Me? Teach him?"

The entire room froze.

"We’ve all known each other for decades. I could replicate all your builds in my sleep. So tell me. Do you see any of my techniques when he builds mechas?"

"Or are you asking because you haven’t seen his work?"

The room fell quiet.

Not from tension. But from realization.

Then the murmurs started again.

Until Moore, ever the quiet observer, finally asked the question that everyone had been dancing around.

"Master Quinn," he said slowly, "he’s capable of building a mecha? As in, from scratch?"

Quinn tilted his head, squinting thoughtfully from the holographic screen. "A mecha?" He gave a noncommittal hum, as though they had just asked him if Luca could boil water.

It was a harmless question. Or at least, it started that way.

But then, the old master scratched his beard and gave a noncommittal shrug.

Honestly, that was one of the points he brought up during a meeting about the order of issuing biomechas.

If these mechas were going to be used by Imperial pilots regardless of them belonging to the banner of the House of Kyros, they would still need to be registered.

Although normally, a single mecha wouldn’t be much of an issue. However, with this many? Not to mention all those base models? The moment they’re used, someone would definitely start asking.

And while it was possible to claim it as a patent under his name, Master Quinn couldn’t stomach the idea of taking their Young Lord’s work. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to live it down.

Not that one. Especially not when he had only been learning how to repair it.

How would he even explain how the mecha came about once these masters witnessed its majesty?

And so he mentioned the need to get their Lord a proper license.

Not the mercenary one, but the one that allows for proper patenting and registration.

Then again, it wasn’t as though Luca had plans to patent any of the designs he purchased from the trove.

No, if anything, he said he would only take credit for mechas he actually designed, like that one that he seemed to be really busy with.

However, for this entire thing to be possible, the experienced master mechanic instructed Luca to showcase a bit more of his skills.

It’s just that Quinn didn’t expect the other masters to react this fast! But then again, maybe he should have, because this was Luca after all.

Eventually, he said, "Just a mecha? How cute. Think mechaS," carefully enunciating that part.

"WHAT?! Isn’t he nineteen? When did he start building? At age seven?!"

The conference room practically shook from the outburst, and several pens went flying. One of the master mechanics actually knocked over his mug, cursing as nutrient solution seeped into a pile of diagnostic reports.

"HAHAHA!" Master Quinn’s laugh roared through the holo-call like thunder. He didn’t even bother hiding how pleased he was. "That’s actually a fair guess! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised."

He leaned back with an audible creak of his chair, the kind only old, overworked geniuses dared to own, and looked them straight in the eye through the screen.

"But are you asking because you’re thinking of testing him? Then I suggest you bring your friends. It’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime event."

The line went quiet.

Then—

"Quinn, that’s a very loaded statement," one of the older instructors said suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "Are you seriously that confident?"

Master Quinn didn’t blink. "Over your dead body. That confident, my friend."

Groans erupted. Someone slapped their hand on the table. Another gripped their collar like they needed to loosen it for air.

"Dammit, Quinn. That sounds like something you say when you’ve got a prototype hidden up your sleeve!"

"Don’t joke like that," muttered a grizzled old mechanic who hadn’t stood up for anything other than calibrations in a decade. "Because I swear, if he can build from scratch... I’m going to need a drink."

"You already need a drink."

"Then make it two!"

Moore, who had been watching the chaos unfold like a father surrounded by very loud, very dramatic uncles, finally stepped in with a sigh. "Masters, the issue at hand is that Cadet Kyros is waiting for his second exam. If we want to change the requirement or cancel it altogether, I need to tell him."

"Then tell him we’d like to talk to him about his mechanic licensure exam."

"An actual exam?"

"Yeah. That old geezer never sounded more sure in his life. So what else could we do but check?"

"Might as well call in the other ones. Don’t want to be blamed for eternity for missing an important moment!"

Outside the room, Luca sat patiently on a bench with Ollie.

He swung his legs quietly as he waited, hands folded neatly on his lap. There was a polite, almost apologetic smile on his face, as if he was worried he was causing too much trouble just by existing.

"Brother," Ollie whispered, glancing at the meeting room doors, "do you think they’re still arguing?"

Luca tilted his head slightly. "Maybe they’re still deciding."

Ollie nodded, then leaned back and pulled out a snack. "Want one?"

"No, thank you, brother," Luca said. "I might get called in soon."

"True," Ollie murmured. Then after a beat, "I hope they’re not crying."

Luca blinked. "Crying?"

"I dunno. But they looked like they were about to."