CHAPTER 553: HEART PALPITATIONS

Black.

Just black.

Plain and simple black.

Noted.

A big win. Well—sort of.

Thankfully, the lucky Marshal managed to answer.

And more than that, thankfully, Sid managed to remind and convince the little master before disaster struck.

In truth, Sid had been praying the entire time. Whispering urgent hopes to his long-departed brothers-in-arms. Begging either for the Marshal to be decisive or to flat-out decline the offer altogether.

Because while it would be a tragic loss for the Empire to forgo a mecha built by the most talented mechanic Sid had ever known, it was still his solemn duty to protect not just the little master’s reputation—but also the eyes of everyone present.

Thus, a vomit green mecha with orange accents was not the best way to showcase his greatness. And while Lord Jax would likely desire the color of a carrot, the Marshal might actually have a different opinion.

That man might file for treason.

Because who wouldn’t?

And so, with one final spiritual nudge before the request was made, Sid had whispered his dying wish to the little master.

"Please, just ask his favorite color."

Thankfully, D-29 had chimed in, backing the request with suspiciously academic justification. Apparently, there were studies. Important ones. Studies that claimed relationship breakdowns often started with people not knowing each other’s favorite colors.

This was a groundbreaking discovery for Luca, who had never once considered that color preference could be a cause of war. But if the learned system said it was important, then it must be. Therefore, it might be a good idea to ask the mecha pilots about their favorite colors.

Most definitely.

So yes. He asked.

It was rare for the guardian mecha to be in complete agreement with D-29, but in the light of protecting the dignity of the Imperial family, one must agree.

And that was how they ended up here.

With a prototype that looked as sleek and commanding as the dark of space, designed with a base of deep black and only the barest hint of golden accents—carefully negotiated and approved by D-29 after extensive simulation.

Because Luca, bless his heart, originally wanted to give it golden biceps.

"Just like how Princess Kira likes to accessorize," he’d said with absolute confidence in his friend’s fashion statement.

The suggestion was rejected instantly.

Order was restored.

And peace briefly returned to the lands.

But only for Luca.

The lone examinee. The lone builder inside his safe and relatively isolated place.

The only peaceful soul in the entire auditorium.

And that peace?

Only arrived after he’d nearly taken out a good handful of senior citizens.

The crime?

Overachieving.

But what to do, when in the eyes of a particular father—and even one white-haired husband—the cadet in question looked all too dainty as he delicately and lovingly assembled a mecha meant for someone else.

Such careful hands. Such precise movements.

It was enough to make a man emotional.

They could only wish he’d take a break. Maybe eat. Maybe hydrate. Maybe just blink.

But to the rest of the audience, especially those whose faith was grounded in mortal limitations, they were witnessing something else entirely.

Carnage.

If an octopus could hold power tools, that would be terrifying. But if said octopus can use all of those wielded tools at the same time, then that was Luca.

Accurate, with purpose, and with a speed that could maybe embarrass light, but maybe not just yet.

That was how he approached the exam.

Now, for context, a typical mecha has three central systems: the core systems, the defense and chassis, and the mobility system.

This roughly breaks down into twelve major components for a standard combination mecha.

And the national licensure exams?

They’re designed with twelve separate sessions. One for each part.

One day, each candidate would build the cockpit module. The next day? Maybe the power core. Then the energy canister. And so on. Each session was its own ordeal, and each time they prepared way in advance.

No one—and this must be emphasized—no one is supposed to make all those parts in the same day.

No one was expected to flow from crafting the joint rotors and stabilizers into shaping the armor plating, all because they had just finished installing the thrusters and boosters.

That was not how the exams worked.

That was not how humans work. They don’t do it like this, not because they don’t want to, but because they just couldn’t.

And yet here they were.

Master Allan’s eyes had gone dry.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t blinked in more than ten minutes, as his mind seemed to allow blinking at scheduled intervals so he wouldn’t miss much of this...display.

When suddenly, one of the thrusters was tossed—just slightly—to the side so that Luca could polish a different part.

To the untrained eye, it might’ve looked like a graceful move.

But to the master mechanics?

It was synchronized horror.

They bobbed in place—in sync with the landing of each thrown component—like their collective willpower might somehow cushion the fall that wouldn’t happen after they’d witnessed it for the nth time.

But it was instinctual.

With every part that took flight, the entire group jolted and sagged in unison—a rare moment when master mechanics, who usually couldn’t agree on anything, suddenly shared one collective brain cell.

That maybe if they moved with the parts, their prayers could catch them mid-air. Perhaps they could prevent a crack. A scratch. Or a scratch-induced aneurysm.

Where was the daintiness now? Where was the serenity?!

Because this—this—was the stuff of night terrors.

That kid over there looked like he was juggling parts. Parts he was making at the same time.

Most sensible mechanics would rotate components slowly, with painstaking caution, gently easing out any flaws and making sure every smaller bit stayed intact.

But Luca?

Luca had a different philosophy.

If a component rattled easily just from being shifted around, then how was it supposed to survive a battlefield?

And while that logic made sense, it also meant that someone needed to survive his dramatic toss of a fully forged headpiece made out of gravemaw chitin.

Master Allan visibly flinched.

He wanted to eat his fist. Just to stop himself from screaming every time something priceless got hurled across the platform and caught like a dodgeball.

Surely, this was it.

Surely they were all called here today to die together in one glorious, communal stroke.

But then again...

Master Quinn, who had been quiet the entire time, didn’t think they had it that bad.

Because in their collective panic over Luca’s very casual treatment of legendary materials, none of them had realized something important.

Luca hadn’t scanned a single part.

Not one.

No CF checks. No calibrations. No system syncing.

He was just connecting things.

And as Quinn had hoped—because he really was trying to protect their sanity—it was probably better that way.

Because if even one piece registered at maximum CF?

If the system publicly displayed what kind of power levels those parts held?

Then yes.

They wouldn’t just panic.

They’d need a mass grave.

Master Quinn continued to look forward. His pulse was steady only because it had passed the point of no return and entered a strange kind of medical emergency.

Because had he not witnessed this before, he’d be of the same opinion.

This wasn’t an exam.

It was an incident.