Within the hallowed walls of the Imperial Mech Design Institute, the dean's office exuded an air of quiet authority. At the head of the conference table sat a man whose silvered temples belied a visage youthful enough to defy precise aging. His silver badge gleamed, proclaiming him "Wang Chongming, Dean of the Imperial Mech Design Research Institute." Flanking him were three others—two men and a woman—each a master mech designer of the empire's highest echelon.
The empire boasted fewer than a hundred such elite designers, their time devoured by secluded research or endless queues of custom orders. At Tianxu Star's premier institute, only these three—Clive David, Zhu Sheng, and Taishi Rong—possessed both the availability and the prowess to serve the royal house. They sat apart, engrossed in their optic computers, silent yet alert, their ears attuned to the anticipation that hung heavy in the room.
At length, a red exclamation mark flashed on Dean Wang's optic screen. His slender fingers tapped the display, and after a brief scan, he spoke. "The Little Highness's data report is ready."
The three designers froze, their eyes snapping to the dean.
"I've sent it to you," Wang said, his fingers flicking the report to their devices. His gaze swept over them, measured and deliberate. "You all know the royal physique and mental strength far surpass the common standard. Crafting a mech for them is no small feat—it demands precision, ingenuity, and resilience. The empire's expectations are unforgiving."
He paused, his tone sharpening. "This is a chance to prove your mettle, a rare honor. But your client is the imperial house, not some merchant or noble. They are not your equals in this exchange—the choice lies with them. Prepare to be scrutinized, perhaps even rejected."
The designers, undeterred, studied the report. Their expressions betrayed a flicker of excitement, each undaunted by the prospect of failure. Clive David, the first to speak, leaned back with a wry smile. "No need to belabor the point, Dean. You've gathered us here to compete, to crown the best among us. Competition breeds victors and vanquished alike—if we weren't ready for that, we wouldn't be here."
At their level, technical rivalry was superfluous; each excelled in distinct domains, their exchanges more about mutual growth than one-upmanship. Yet they knew this commission would shift their standing. The royal house's favor was a tide that lifted all ships—honors, funding, and influence awaited the chosen. To design for the emperor himself was to be hailed as the era's preeminent mech designer. Baisha, though not yet titled, was the emperor's sole heir, her ascension to crown princess all but assured. The stakes were clear: a gamble for glory, with the promise of ascension for the victor.
Wang raised an eyebrow. "You're all prepared, then?"
The trio nodded in unison.
"Then follow me," he said. "The Little Highness awaits in the test chamber."
After her physical assessment, Baisha and Uriel were ushered into the test chamber, a vast hall where unpainted mechs stood in silent ranks, their silver hulls gleaming under the sterile light. Mech classification, Baisha knew, followed two primary schemas. The first divided them by form: humanoid, versatile for most combat scenarios, and beast-shaped, tailored for imperial warriors with exceptional spirit synchronization, amplifying their prowess. The second sorted by tonnage: light, medium, and heavy, with further subdivisions based on energy systems and weaponry.
The test chamber's purpose was to match a novice to their ideal mech type. Designers observed, analyzing the tester's combat style to craft a machine in perfect harmony with their instincts. Baisha gazed at the mechs, her breath catching with quiet awe, intoxicated by their latent power.
The chamber's doors parted, admitting a group in white lab coats. At their head strode a man of poised dignity, his bearing as steadfast as the mechs themselves. He extended a hand to Baisha. "A pleasure, Your Highness. I am Wang Chongming, Dean of the Imperial Mech Design Institute. These are our master designers: Clive David, Zhu Sheng, and Taishi Rong."
Baisha's eyes flicked to the trio. Clive David, with his golden hair and green eyes, embodied the scholar's pristine clarity. Zhu Sheng, more robust, radiated warmth, his smile disarming. Taishi Rong, the sole woman, was striking—her chestnut curls framed a face alight with quiet intensity. Despite their differences, each exuded unshakable confidence.
Baisha shook their hands in turn. "So, you'll all design my mech together?"
Wang coughed lightly. "Our master designers typically work independently on a mech's core structure. Only after the foundation is set do we collaborate to refine its components."
Baisha nodded, understanding the process. "Then let's begin. Any preferences I should consider?"
"Try them first," Wang suggested. "Do you have a favored type?"
"I've never piloted a real mech," Baisha admitted, rolling up her sleeves. "Let's find out."
Wang blinked, stunned. The designers, poised to record her performance, faltered. A royal, only now touching a mech? It was unthinkable. Their optic computers lowered, their expectations dimming. Without operational familiarity, today's data would be meaningless. Another visit seemed inevitable.
Yet none dared halt her. Baisha climbed into a 35-ton light mech, the cockpit sealing with a hiss. The machine stirred, its limbs testing basic motions—arm raises, steps—before erupting into a frenzied dance, twisting as if possessed.
The designers exchanged bewildered glances.
Inside the cockpit, Baisha exhaled, grappling with the unfamiliar controls. Imperial mechs differed sharply from Federation designs, their sensitivity and interface alien to her simulator training. Her late-night study of imperial mech manuals proved her salvation, coaxing the machine to life. After a shaky start, she found her rhythm, the mech's high mental sync rate mirroring her commands with near-perfect fidelity.
The mech steadied, drawing its light-sword in a poised salute. The designers exhaled, relieved—until it spun wildly, slashing mid-leap, only to crash in a 270-degree tumble. Undeterred, it rose, hopped twice, and executed a flawless backflip.
With a screech, the cockpit opened, and Baisha leapt out. "One moment," she called, striding to her optic computer. She opened two files—Mech Transmission Stress Analysis and Standard Use of Mech Control and Propulsion Components—scanning them with ferocious speed. Nodding to herself, she returned to the cockpit.
Brandishing the light-sword, she piloted the mech toward the chamber's dynamic targets. A low-flying drone swooped near; her blade cleaved it in two. Two more charged, firing projectiles. Baisha parried the shots, sparks flying, then vaulted onto a metal wall, using it to launch a precise 360-degree spin, skewering both drones with lethal elegance.
The designers gaped. She was learning on the spot.
"The Little Highness has grasped basic operations," Wang said, a note of pride in his voice. "Let's proceed with the trials."
The tests comprised two challenges: Sky Ladder and Target Elimination. Sky Ladder required scaling a towering, increasingly complex framework, testing operational finesse. Baisha, having tackled drones with the light mech, found the ladder a nuanced challenge. She climbed methodically, her movements deliberate yet fluid, the light mech's agility an asset.
But as she switched to medium and heavy mechs, the designers grew uneasy. Her performance improved with each attempt, shaving thirty seconds off her time—a leap no mech type could explain. Her mental strength, syncing at over ninety percent with every machine, rendered her movements preternaturally swift, a dragon in flight, flawless.
Abandoning their notes, the designers asked which tonnage she preferred.
Baisha shrugged. "Any of them."
Speechless, they moved to Target Elimination, letting her choose her weapons. Guns were her forte; with her awakened 3S mental strength enhancing her dynamic vision, she felled vibrating, elusive drones without moving a step. Guns, then, were a must.
Banning firearms, they tested her with melee weapons. Baisha wielded familiar blades before trying a rotary war-blade, its static form two curved knives. She hunted drones with precision, each strike felling a target. Impatient with the pace, she fused the blades into their second form—a spinning disc of light. Hurling it, she carved a crescent arc, shredding drones and herding others toward her. The blade returned, and she unleashed a barrage, sparks illuminating the mech's ferocious silhouette.
The designers scrambled to log her data. "The rotary blade's strike count and efficiency are exceptional," Clive remarked, impressed. "Truly royal blood."
Zhu Sheng massaged his neck. "Her best is always the next attempt—she's still unlocking her potential. How do you design for someone whose limits are invisible?"
Taishi Rong smiled. "Her true strength is unclear, but we've seen an hour of her combat. We know her strengths and style. Now it's our insight that matters."
They agreed: design for the highest tier—Baisha could handle it. The question was whose vision would win her favor. Tactile feedback would come later, once the mech's frame was built. For now, they needed a blueprint to captivate her.
Sweating lightly, Baisha emerged from the cockpit, exhilarated. The session, though not a full release, had vented her study-induced frustrations. "What do you think?" she asked the designers.
They exchanged glances, admitting they had initial concepts but needed time to draft blueprints. "How long?" Baisha asked, eager.
"Two weeks," Clive said.
"One week," Zhu countered.
"Six days," Taishi declared.
Clive glared at his colleagues, irked by their competitive fervor. Zhu and Taishi exchanged defiant looks, their composure unshaken. Baisha, familiar with drafting, knew they meant structural sketches, not detailed schematics. "I'll await your work," she said.
Wang escorted her from the chamber. In the lounge, Cecil Ronin rose as they entered. "Done?" he asked.
"The designers are drafting blueprints," Baisha replied.
Cecil mused. "We'll see the results. If you like them, take all three."
Wang blinked, awed by the emperor's largesse—three 3S-grade mechs, claimed without hesitation. Yet the designers knew Baisha's first mech was merely a starting point; her growing strength would demand evolving designs.
Baisha demurred. "One's enough. I'm loyal like that."
Cecil smirked. "Your choice, then."
They bid Wang farewell and returned to Youdu Star. In her palace, Baisha raised a concern with Cecil. "Since awakening my spirit, I feel stronger, but… not by much."
"You're stuck studying, not fighting," Cecil said, glancing at Uriel. "You've got the perfect sparring partner right there."
Baisha sipped her tea, skeptical. "You want me to fight an angel? Some uncle you are."
Yet his logic held. Who better to hone her skills than a Silver Age veteran? She turned to Uriel, her eyes alight with expectation.
The angel blinked, his emerald gaze serene. "As you command," he said softly. "If you wish, I can devise a training regimen, like your steward."
Baisha hesitated, sensing a spark of rivalry in his tone. "Let's try it," she agreed.
She soon regretted it. Uriel trained her like a soldier, his regimen merciless. Han Xiao's academic gauntlet had already stretched her limits, and though she'd completed her science courses within a month, Uriel filled the freed hours with brutal sparring. They fought without mental powers, in exoskeletal armor, and in mechs—each time, Uriel dominated, allegedly holding back. Even piloting a mech against his bare hands, Baisha lost.
A week of this torment yielded one victory: she parried a single move. Elated, she celebrated with extra dessert.
Two weeks later, the designers' drafts arrived. Zhu Sheng and Taishi Rong submitted theirs simultaneously, both light mechs. Zhu's was conservative, armed with sniper and assault guns, enhanced by force-field components for agile, unpredictable maneuvers, its light-wings a stylish flourish. Taishi's prioritized speed, using lightweight, durable materials and an optimized engine for explosive bursts, paired with the rotary war-blade and a bow for ranged combat.
Clive's, arriving last, was a medium mech, its defense surpassing most heavy models with an added shield. Its arsenal—energy beam cannons, electromagnetic guns, and a piercing lance—boasted devastating armor-breaking power.
Baisha studied the drafts, lost in thought, her future taking shape with each line and curve.