CHAPTER 552: THE TRIBUTE

Instructor Moore, for one, wasn’t sure what was better.

Was it the fact that they couldn’t exactly hear the clanging from inside the testing area?

Or was it the fact that they’d been mercifully spared from witnessing each dangerous, heart-stopping hit and cut?

Because with every precise slice made by the cadet he recommended, Moore could feel his knees buckling. And at the tender age of "still single," maybe it was time to get his joints checked.

He refused to look left or right.

He knew—he just knew—that several of the other instructors were itching to ask him questions. Their faces probably looked like they’d just learned their breakfast was poisonous.

But what could he say?

Moore was just an instructor in one of Luca’s general classes. And really, he was mostly there because being a pilot does require a certain know-how of the mecha’s inner workings. But it wasn’t like that was enough to repair anything!

He hadn’t even known the boy could build entire mechas until literally the other day! He only ever taught according to the curriculum, and maybe allowed them into the restricted section of the library that one time because he’d asked to learn from them.

He hadn’t trained him. In fact, he’d done the opposite.

Heck, he believed he was lucky Luca even remembered his name, because frankly, many of the noble students didn’t—especially when he wasn’t teaching one of their major subjects.

So, really, save for knowing how brilliant and rich the kid was, he really didn’t know more than the rest of them!

If they wanted answers, they should be asking that blonde over there with the giant heart-shaped signboard that was flapping like a distress signal.

Now that kid looked like he had answers.

Not Moore.

How was he supposed to know that House Kyros had that much of THAT resource?!

Well, technically, the members of House Kyros actually had no idea.

Take Master Quinn, for example—sitting there pretending like his eye hadn’t twitched the moment Luca brought out that material.

Everyone around him probably assumed he’d given Luca a bit of help. Maybe offered guidance. Maybe snuck him the material to impress everyone today.

But that was bollocks.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Master Quinn had done none of that.

Aside from talking about historical mechas and relics of the past, he hadn’t taught the boy much of anything. It’s really more like he couldn’t. Not at this stage.

If anything, Luca was the one showing him things!

Although—maybe, just maybe—he could’ve mentioned that it was a little too attention-grabbing to use a sacred material like that in front of an audience of master mechanics.

Then again... the other options Luca could’ve used from his stash might’ve caused an even bigger uproar.

So this? This might actually have been the least scandalous option.

Still.

Quinn looked like the picture of calm.

But Instructor Moore, who had a better angle, could see that his back was sweating through his coat.

Which was in sharp contrast to Luca, who had started to enjoy today’s build.

Originally, Luca had only come over to ask the instructors a simple question.

Was he allowed to request a volunteer mecha pilot?

That was it. Just a small request.

However, before he could talk to Instructor Moore, someone gently nudged him forward, and the next thing he knew, he was standing face to face with Marshal Julian.

Instructor Moore blinked, pity rising in his chest. He hadn’t meant to put the usually shy cadet under the spotlight, but that was nearly impossible when the Marshal managed to spot him first.

He was even about to apologize when he noticed something strange.

Luca wasn’t nervous.

In fact, he didn’t even look remotely afraid. He stood there, calm and composed, offering the Marshal a polite nod and greeting. And if Instructor Moore wasn’t hallucinating, then he’d say that Luca was even smiling?

Well, that was odd.

Most cadets would have melted into a puddle of stress by now. But then again, most cadets hadn’t already met the Marshal several times under strange circumstances.

Marshal Julian, for his part, returned the greeting with a rare glimmer of warmth. It wasn’t the kind of interaction anyone expected from a man who commanded legions, especially not in front of so many people.

Then again, even Eden, who was likely born with a permanent scowl that usually just alternated with a smirk, was on her best behavior. Because really, anyone who had visited that daycare would understand why.

"Cadet Kyros," the Marshal said, his voice low and steady, "are you done preparing? Do you need anything?"

Luca started to shake his head, then hesitated.

Actually...

There was something he might as well ask. Because who better to ask than the man who commands the most mecha pilots?

So he jumped the gun.

"I was wondering if I could request a volunteer mecha pilot. Someone who might want to keep the mecha I build today."

The room did not immediately react.

The silence lingered just a little too long.

At first, people assumed they had misheard him.

But no. Luca, ever the polite one, clarified.

"I don’t want to waste the mecha. I thought it would be better if it went to someone who would actually use it."

Still no reaction.

Until finally the bubble popped and the stunned silence broke into a few gasps and frantic whispers.

"Did he say own it?"

"Is this part of the exam?"

"Is he even allowed to do that?"

Luca looked back at them, a little confused.

Normally, he’d have asked someone from his house, but he was already building biomechas and an entirely new base mecha for them.

Also, it would be a logistical nightmare to decide ownership once again. And he was pretty sure they didn’t have enough time for another competition.

But more importantly, if he chose by himself, the people may consider it a bias, especially if he decided to pick from House Kyros. So instead, he turned to the instructors to ask for permission first.

Simple. Logical. Reasonable.

Except not really.

Because who gives away a fully functional mecha?

Not lends. Not offers for testing. Gives. As in permanently.

And not just any mecha. It was a mecha of someone taking the licensure exam at the tender age of nineteen.

"I thought it would be helpful," Luca said sheepishly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

One of the instructors mouthed the words, "helpful?"

Another began to raise a hand, possibly to object, possibly to ask if they could also volunteer as tribute.

Then, just before the room could erupt into complete chaos, Marshal Julian raised his hand.

That was enough.

The room went quiet again.

Well, Marshal Julian wasn’t actually sure what he wanted to say about that.

But based on the waves of cold, determined energy coming from that conspicuous side of the auditorium, he figured this might actually be the most peaceful solution.

He’d felt it even before he looked.

But when he did glance toward the Kyros section before intervening, sure enough, there it was—his only nephew. Looking a bit too murderous for the morning.

That was a sign, alright.

Something was definitely going on with that boy. But Julian wasn’t one to wish more work upon himself. He was already busy as it is, so he might as well choose the easier option.

He volunteered.

The words weren’t loud. In fact, he said them in a calm tone. Yet, they might as well have been thunder.

The people within earshot turned toward him like they couldn’t believe what they’d just heard.

Even Eden blinked. That alone could cause structural damage if recorded.

Before the whispers could ripple through the rest of the auditorium, Marshal Julian cleared his throat and added, "Please keep this quiet for now." Or as quiet as a haphazard spiritual barrier would allow. But that was the Marshal, so they might as well sew their mouths.

Everyone nodded. No one dared disobey.

That was when Master Colton stepped forward, face tight with the effort of diplomacy.

"Marshal," he said carefully, "he’s still a student... Are you certain that’s acceptable?"

It could’ve sounded condescending to some. But Colton’s tone wasn’t mocking. He was worried. Deeply, spiritually worried, and was trying to ask for a verbal guarantee.

Because if Luca somehow built the world’s weirdest, most unusable mecha—like one with flailing arms or a dramatic cloak that did nothing, they couldn’t afford to lose him.

What if this whole situation turned into a court matter? What if the Empire filed charges for "mecha defamation" just because Luca dared give his first build to a man who technically commanded entire fleets?

But Luca, bless his pure and trusting heart, completely missed the court talk and subtle panic in the air.

Instead, he gave both men a bright, grateful smile and said, "Thank you for the reminder! I’ll try to do well!"

Colton looked like he needed to sit down.

Marshal Julian gave a small nod, barely hiding the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I’m doing this in part to support the legitimacy of the exam," he said, maybe to lessen the pressure that apparently didn’t mount.

That part was entirely true.

If anyone questioned the evaluation later, the Marshal’s firsthand experience as a test pilot would silence most critics.

It was a clever move. A powerful one.

It was also terrifying.

Master Colton and Instructor Moore just paled, although Moore did so for a totally different reason. This to him sounded waaaay too familiar.

But maybe it was just an illusion to both mortals, because Luca didn’t really seem fazed, and only asked the oddest possible question.

Marshal Julian, "What’s your favorite color?"