"Even if they did, it would eventually be traced, and the account would get banned. The person could just make a new one without us knowing, sure, but what’s the point? No one’s that bored."

"Then how do you explain [Gravy] acting like a complete noob at the start? This guy was a legend before he disappeared. Top-ranked with inhuman reaction times. Now he’s stumbling through basic movement drills?"

The group fell silent, watching as [Gravy]’s mecha executed a flawless dodge roll that contradicted everything they had just said.

"There’s only one answer," someone finally offered. "He’s putting on a show. Trying to look cute in front of his date."

"Stop with the romance theories! Give me something concrete!"

"Fine. If you rule out romance—which you really shouldn’t, looking at the way they’re bantering—then there’s only one explanation I can think of. They changed the virtual pods they’re using."

"You mean..."

"Yes. [Gravy] was probably using a military-grade neural sync pod right now with full integration and different calibrations. Before, he was just using what we all had been using. So, earlier, he had to relearn everything through manual inputs."

"That would explain the initial fumbling and the rapid adaptation. After all, if you already know how to pilot, relearning is way faster than learning from scratch."

"But that means [Gravy] has access to military equipment. That’s not exactly something you can buy at the StarNet Shopping Center."

The implications hung heavily in the air.

In the professor’s monitoring station, the conversation had taken a similarly analytical turn.

"[Gravy]’s adapted completely to the manual controls," Professor Iona murmured into her recording device. "Note the timestamp—he went from fumbling through tutorials to executing advanced combination attacks in less than thirty minutes. The learning curve should be impossible for a standard human neurological profile."

"Maybe he was sandbagging earlier," Professor Krenn suggested, though his tone suggested he didn’t even believe it himself. "Testing his opponent’s reactions before revealing his true capabilities."

"It’s also possible, but the motor pattern irregularities in his early attempts were too consistent to be faked. His hands were genuinely struggling with the control mapping." Iona pulled up a secondary analysis window. "Look at the input latency data. His keystroke timing improves exponentially rather than linearly. That’s not practice—that’s recall. He’s remembering how to do this, not learning it."

"The neural sync theory, then. If he usually pilots with direct neural integration and was forced to switch to manual controls—"

"Then this performance becomes even more impressive. He’s compensating for a fundamental control paradigm difference while simultaneously fighting someone of clearly comparable skill." Iona’s eyes narrowed as she watched the display. "I want a full cognitive mapping when this session ends. If this subject’s adaptive combat cognition is as advanced as I suspect, we may be looking at a genuine anomaly."

On the display, the two mechas clashed again.

○●○●

Grayson moved first.

His mecha surged forward, thrusters flaring as it closed the distance in seconds.

Neville barely managed to sidestep the initial slash, the plasma blade singing past his cockpit close enough to leave afterimages on his retinas.

’Left pivot, boost back!’ Neville barked.

But Shelly’s response came half a heartbeat late—long enough for Grayson’s follow-up strike to catch his shoulder.

Warning lights flared across his display.

[WARNING: MOBILITY REDUCED]

Already? Neville gritted his teeth.

He returned fire with his pulse gun, the light blue projectiles streaking through the air like angry fireflies.

Grayson dodged them with insulting ease, his mecha weaving through the barrage as if dancing to music only he could hear.

[Your shoulders drop before every shot.] Grayson’s voice came through, with a little hint of disappointment.

"Thanks for the tip!" Neville snapped back sarcastically, dodging another blade strike by centimeters. "Any other advice while you’re trying to kill me?" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Keep your center of gravity lower. You’re too rigid."

Ugh! Is he seriously coaching me mid-fight?

[He’s definitely going easy on you, Host. (￣▽￣)ノ]

Neville didn’t have time to feel insulted.

A volley of missiles screamed toward him—three projectiles trailing smoke and fury.

He threw himself to the side, sand exploding around him as two of them detonated harmlessly.

The third clipped his leg.

His mecha was already limping.

Grayson pressed the advantage, driving forward relentlessly. No wasted movement, no unnecessary flourishes with each strike.

This really showed his experience.

Neville blocked what he could and dodged what he couldn’t, his hybrid control system screaming under the strain.

By the time the one-minute-thirty-second mark rolled around, his mecha looked like it had gone through a meat grinder.

[WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE IMMINENT]

Grayson’s unit sported a single scorch mark on its left arm. His energy reserves remained carefully managed, barely dipping below eighty percent.

They stood twenty meters apart now, waves crashing behind them. The ocean spray caught the light, creating tiny rainbows that felt almost mocking under the circumstances.

[One minute twenty seconds remaining,] Shelly announced. [Host, if you have a plan, now would be a great time to execute it! (ﾟДﾟ;)]

Neville checked his displays.

His mecha was falling apart. His energy reserves were critically low. His opponent was barely scratched and clearly had more to show.

By any logical assessment, he had already lost.

But I’ve never been one to rely on logic alone.

They moved simultaneously.

Grayson went high, his boosters flaring as he angled for the killing shot. The triple-shot missiles on his shoulders locked onto Neville’s battered frame.

Classic maneuver of height advantage combined with overwhelming firepower to end the match in one decisive blow.

But then, Neville moved forward.

But not towards Grayson.

His mecha drove forward at maximum thrust, plasma blade extended at full length,

—and plunged it directly into the sand.

The effect was immediately obvious.

A massive spray of particulate matter erupted into the air, golden grains catching the sunlight and creating a wall of visual chaos.

The sandstorm lasted only a fraction of a second, but in combat, fractions were everything.

Neville launched his missiles, blind.