?“Ah, brilliant! You’re a genius, an absolute—”? Schneider’s eyes sparkled as he shouted unsparingly, ?“You’re the best prodigy I’ve ever seen—still a notch below me, but impressive. Now, take another step… slowly… forward…”?

  Emboldened by his first success, Lassam eagerly stomped ahead. But as his foot landed, the supporting leg suddenly softened, as though a gust of wind had toppled the hollow steel giant.

  ?“Great, just like that! Come on, dar—oh no—”?

  Schneider, frantically directing from the front, froze as the ten-meter mech swayed. With veteran reflexes, he rolled backward—only to curse inwardly. The towering machine didn’t collapse forward as expected. Instead, it crashed straight toward him.

  He reacted swiftly, but his miscalculation left him staring at an expanding shadow.

  ?BOOM!?

  The impact echoed through the training chamber. Schneider’s avatar dissolved into streams of data.

  ?“HAHAHA!”?

  A roar of laughter erupted from spectators drawn by the commotion. ?“Well done, kid! You took Schneider out!”? ?“Woo! Do it again!”?

  Ripples shimmered in the air as Schneider’s avatar reformed. ?“Enough! Stop laughing!”? he bellowed, his fury reverberating through the camp. The jeers only intensified, fuel to the fire.

  Schneider shrugged, muttering ?“Freaks,”? before storming into his training pod. He slapped on a helmet, and white light enveloped him, materializing a mech identical to Lassam’s. ?“Forgot one rule: trainers need mechs too. Safety first,”? he explained with exaggerated gestures.

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  ?“I know,”? Lassam said guiltily. ?“Schneider… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to—”?

  ?“Drop it. Let’s move on.”? Schneider cut him off. ?“Try another step.”?

  Lassam hesitated.

  ?“Watch me.”? Schneider paced steadily across the room, demonstrating basics. ?“No fancy tricks. Just walk. Every rookie falls. No shame.”?

  ?“Alright… I’ll try.”?

  ?“Go on.”?

  ?“Really doing it.”?

  ?“Yes!”?

  ?“I mean it.”?

  ?“For stars’ sake—MOVE!”?

  The mech’s leg rose, and Lassam lumbered forward.

  ?“Yes! Perfect! Steady… no, wait—relax! Let instinct take over. There! Goo—”?

  ?CRASH!?

  Schneider, bent backward mid-gesture, slammed into the virtual chamber’s energy barrier. He glanced at the wall, then at Lassam’s mech, and blurted: ?“Who… are you?”?

  Inside the cockpit, Lassam tilted his mech’s head. ?“Who’re you asking?”?

  ?“Lassam… is that REALLY you?”? Schneider gaped.

  ?“Who else?”?

  ?“But…”? Schneider swallowed. Something had felt off. Now he realized: Lassam’s movements were too smooth, too controlled for a rookie.

  ?“How… can you already walk?”? he muttered, staring.

  Lassam nearly kicked him—but held back, remembering Schneider’s generosity with the training credits.

  ?“No, friend,”? Schneider backtracked, ?“I meant… how’d you master walking so fast?”?

  Lassam paused, then smirked. ?“Maybe I’m a genius.”?

  Schneider stared at the identical mech. ?“Maybe you are,”? he conceded. ?“…Almost as good as me.”?

  Lassam knew he wasn’t a genius. His sudden skill came not from talent, but from relinquishing control. During his first fall, panic had severed his connection—and the mech’s dormant AI interface seized command.

  Schneider’s initial prediction was right: the mech should’ve collapsed forward. But the AI adjusted mid-fall, channeling reactor energy to recover. When Lassam’s consciousness abruptly reclaimed control, the mech froze mid-air for 0.1 seconds before crashing sideways.

  By the time Schneider respawned, Lassam had pieced it together. He surrendered control again, letting the AI guide the mech with effortless precision. Its movements—fluid, natural—left Schneider baffled. How could a rookie mimic veteran grace?