"Out of your rooms, cadets!" The sharp rap of fists on metal doors echoed through the corridor, accompanied by the instructor's bark. "Grab your breakfast and assemble in the main arena at exactly eight hundred hours!"
The banging moved to another door as I stepped out, already washed and dressed. I stretched, feeling the early-morning stiffness in my muscles loosen. Traveler had instilled a strict regimen in me—bed at 2300 hours, up by 0400. Some cybernetic enhancements in my brain made it easier, though last night had been an anomaly. Traveler had ended training early, and for the first time in months, I'd gotten over five hours of sleep. It felt... strange.
Heading to the cafeteria, I found it nearly empty. Early risers like me were rare among cadets. I picked up the standard breakfast—a nutrition bar packed with protein, carbs, and vitamins. Its bitter, paste-like taste never improved, no matter how many mornings I endured it. I chewed mechanically, running through combat techniques Traveler had drilled into me, each maneuver replaying in my mind like a mental sparring match.
Gradually, other cadets filtered in, their groggy footsteps heavy on the floor. Most shuffled to the benches, clutching their own breakfast bars, eyes half-closed. One boy from the AKP group slumped onto the bench opposite me, letting his face fall against the table in a desperate attempt to steal a few more moments of sleep.
I ignored him until he spoke, his voice muffled against the metal. "Three... can you just sit there, please?"
Caught off guard, I froze. "Excuse me?"
Lifting his head slightly, he groaned, "Nine and Seven wouldn't let me leave the party the cadets were holding last night."
Ah. He wanted me to shield him. "And you think sitting with me will keep them away?"
A faint, tired hum of agreement escaped him.
"Since you were polite, Zero, fine. But for the record, I don't go by Zero-Three anymore."
"Yeah, I noticed," he muttered, unwrapping his breakfast bar. "The tag on your door got changed to 'Firefly.' Everyone's been talking about it."
Halfway through my own tasteless bar, I noticed shadows bobbing nearby, signalling we weren't alone. "Where was this party, anyway? I'd have heard it if it was in the dorms."
"On the mountain," he mumbled through a yawn. "Pilot Exzen snuck about forty kids out for it. It was fun, but... freezing cold. I'm really regretting it now." He finally looked up at me, blinking in surprise. "You seem... happier than the last time we talked."
His words triggered an unwelcome memory: me, running off in tears after the ranks were announced. Heat rushed to my face, and I stammered, "W-well, I've had some help. Traveler's been... good to me."
Zero smirked faintly before his gaze flicked to something behind me. "Pilot Dante showed us a recording of one of your training sessions. You were running from a carnivorous turtle with just a dagger while someone threw rocks at you."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, that. Traveler just so happened to of adjusted my training that day. I remember Pilot Dante asking him for permission to record it before we started."
"Yeah, he mentioned that. We tried the same drill in the First Group. Only three of us lasted as long as you before getting pinned under the turtle's shell."
Curious, I asked, "How long did it take everyone to pass it?"
"Two and a half weeks."
A flicker of pride warmed me. "It took me five days. The trick is to sever the limbs first so they can't spin or snap at you. Then, climb the shell and cut into the main artery at the neck."
Zero's face twisted with a mix of awe and discomfort. "You... figured that out by yourself?"
"Trial and error," I said casually, finishing my bar. "Traveler made sure I got plenty of practice. It was one animal a month at first, then two a month, each with unique dangers."
Zero shook his head in disbelief. "You might surprise people today if that's what you've been doing."
"Maybe." Standing, I hesitated before offering, "...Do you want to walk to the arena together?"
"See you there." Zero waved me off with a fleeting smile, one that quickly vanished when the same five girls from earlier swarmed around him, taking their seats nearby. Their voices were venomous, their words sharp.
"What were you doing with her?"
"He was probably just being nice to that defect on her last day."
"Oh, Zero, you're too sweet!" one cooed mockingly. "I wish the other boys were as kind-hearted as you!"
I didn't look back, though their sneers echoed in my mind. Heading toward the arena, I caught sight of my reflection in a section of the corridor's metal wall, polished to a mirror-like sheen. For a moment, I lingered, studying the girl staring back at me. I adjusted the headband that kept my long hair from falling into my eyes, then forced a warm, smiling expression. It felt foreign, like a mask. Dropping it, I let my face settle into its natural state—a blank canvas.
The arena was buzzing with activity when I entered. Pilots and instructors huddled together, whispering over the logistics of the trial. At the far end, Major-General Tatelov presided from a raised judge's desk, his presence as imposing as ever.
High in the stands, apart from the mundane conversations, Traveler reclined in a patch of sunlight streaming through the ceiling, his fedora tipped low over his face.
"Did you become a plant overnight?" I teased as I approached.
Lifting the brim of his hat, Traveler squinted at me, his expression a mix of amusement and mild surprise. "There's still twenty minutes until the trial starts. Honestly, I half-expected you to arrive late after the cadets locked you in a storage room or something."
The remark caught me off guard, and my eyes widened slightly. Seeing my reaction, Traveler's tone shifted, growing serious.
"You lack a motive to live," he said, each word measured. "I wanted them to see you enter—bruised, exhausted, barely on time, but still standing. It would've proven something important. That you don't need a grand reason to fight. Sometimes, the hardest and most beautiful thing is to fight for nothing other than the act itself."
I bristled. "You think I'm doing this for nothing? I'm doing this to survive."
"Surviving isn't living," Traveler countered, his voice heavy with conviction. "Surviving is scraping by, choking down scraps, and hoping your body doesn't give out. Living—truly living—is more than that. It's having the freedom to be curious, to laugh, to savor every moment, even in the face of adversity."
His words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. For a brief moment, the mask Traveler wore every day cracked, and I glimpsed the man beneath—a vagrant, desperate and broken, yet somehow still standing.
"Hatred kept me alive for a long time," he admitted, his gaze distant. "Then, for a little while, it changed. But when that faded, I was left with... nothingness. Now, I live for curiosity, for the memory of those who gave everything for me. And for how I gave everything for them."
I struggled to find a response. His words hit deeper than I cared to admit. Finally, I managed a soft, tentative question. "What does living mean for me, then?"
Traveler smiled faintly. "You tell me."
The weight of his gaze made me avert my eyes. "Then... maybe I've only started living since I met you," I murmured.
The memories of the past year and a half flashed through my mind—gruelling training sessions, moments of quiet camaraderie, the first time he handed me an ice cream cone or taught me to smile at myself in the mirror.
A warmth spread through me, and before I could second-guess myself, I asked, "Would it be okay if I called you... Dad?"
Traveler chuckled, a low, genuine sound. "You really want me as your father?" He reached to his side and pulled something into view. "The same man who strung you up like a fish? Well, if you're that determined..."
He held out a leather jacket—slightly too big for me, yet undeniably tactically beautiful. Its short, open sleeves reached just to the elbows, and the thick, brown leather body contrasted sharply with its vibrant turquoise lining. Two amber scarves were stitched into the collar, cascading like a firefly's glowing trail.
"I asked the designer to base it on a firefly," Traveler explained. "This is what they came up with. Tough material, fireproof, tear-resistant—it'll survive anything you throw at it."
I stared at the jacket, mesmerized. "You've been with me almost every day. When did you have time to get this?"
Traveler raised an eyebrow. "Ever heard of a telephone?"
Flustered, I buried my face in the jacket, hiding my embarrassment as his laughter rumbled beside me. "Don't laugh," I muttered, though my voice lacked conviction.
"Sorry, but you're cute when you're clueless." He tilted his head toward the arena. "Go. Take your gift and show them what you've got."
I hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Dad." Then, slipping on the jacket, I descended to the arena floor. now full of cadet's prepared for the exam.
The whispers began immediately, swirling like a storm around me.
"Does she think that washed-up pilot taught her anything useful?"
"That jacket's probably just a pity gift."
"So what if her teacher's a myth? It's probably all a lie."
Their voices grated against my ears, but something within me snapped. The ridicule, the judgment—it didn't matter. They had no right to insult Traveler. None.
"Attention!" Major General Tatelov's voice thundered, silencing the crowd. "Cadets, you are the 178 survivors of Nymphas Empire's most advanced Knight Pilot training program. Her Majesty is proud of each of you. But your journey is far from over!"
His words resonated through the arena, each syllable a command that demanded obedience.
"This trial marks the beginning of your final knighthood exam. Today, you will prove your worth in a chain-elimination tournament. The only rule: no killing or serious injuries. Performance matters more than victory. Show us why you've made it this far!"
As Tatelov took his seat, the first pair of cadets was called to the arena floor. The rest of us moved to the stands, but not before I caught Cadet 407's nervous smile as he glanced in my direction. Why was he looking at me like that?
The instructor stepped forward. "What weapon would you like?"
"Long axe," Cadet 55 said confidently.
"Spear and shield," Cadet 407 replied, swallowing hard.
The match was about to begin.