After all the gifts were collected, the ss reunion truly began.


    People spread across the hall, greeting one another, exchanging stories about their lives, their failures, their victories. Some spoke with genuine nostalgia.


    Others smiled while quietly calcting profit, scanning the room for connections to exploit—like multi-level marketers, insurance agents, and investment salesmen hunting for their next target.


    Every conversation carried tension beneath theughter.


    Then the announcement dropped.


    The Winchester Stadium officially revealed this year''s Mobile Suit Tournament.


    A ripple of excitement swept through the room.


    From the VIP area reserved for the reunion, the entire stadiumy open before them —vast, gleaming, alive with light. At the center stood the machines themselves.


    Mobile suits.


    War machines built for human pilots. Three to five meters tall. Capable of flight, space travel, andbat in nearly any environment.


    To most people, they were simply giant robots. To those who understood power, they were dominance given form.


    Some premium models could even transform into spacecraft.


    Only a handful of entities in Prussia were allowed to build them-barely tenpanies from selected noble houses held official military licenses.


    Every year, those ten showcased their newest innovations in the tournament. Speed. Design. Efficiency. Battery endurance. And finally, rawbat capability.


    One name surfaced immediately.


    Tobias Bluthelm.


    He was their ssmate.


    Everyone knew the story. Two centuries ago, House Bluthelm had been a giant in mobile suit manufacturing. A legend.


    But that glory belonged to history books. For the past forty years, the Bluthelm entry had ranked deadst in the tournament.


    Theirpany stood on the edge of bankruptcy.


    "Tobias!" Ragnar shouted, loud enough to draw attention. "I heard you designed


    your own mobile suit this year. What''s it called again? Trash?"


    Tobias-short, thin, with the look of a lifelong engineer-met Ragnar''s gaze. His jaw tightened.


    "It''s called Phantom."


    Ragnarughed. "Phantom. How poetic. Invisible. Unseen. Built on a bankrupt


    budget.” He sneered. "Are you sure it can even move? Or fly? Or did you forget to install the engine?"


    A few people chuckled.


    Tobias clenched his fists. "Ragnar Eisenwall," he said sharply, "if yourpany hadn''t sabotaged our contracts and stolen clients through underhanded tactics, my family wouldn''t be standing on the brink of copse."


    Ragnar''s smile widened, cold and arrogant. “Oh? So now you want to cry?" He spread his hands.


    "Eisenwall is Prussia''s number one military manufacturer. Weapons. Spaceships. Mobile suits. We make everything. And in this industry, anything is fair-crushing you, owning you, or erasing you."


    He leaned closer, voice dripping with mock generosity. "I already offered to buy yourpany. One hundred million. That''s a generous price for scrap metal and a dying name. You should be thanking me."


    "You-" Tobias snapped, fury burning through his voice.


    “Oh, right,” Ragnar said, feigning thoughtfulness. "That wasst year''s offer. One hundred million."


    He grinned viciously. "Now it''s fifty million. And after you lose this tournament-deadst again—I''ll buy what''s left of yourpany for twenty million."


    Ragnar lowers his voice. "You know what happens if you lose this year, Tobias."


    He smiles thinly. "Your house disappears. Officially.”


    Tobias swallows. His hands tremble. "I know."


    Ragnar watches closely. "Then why aren''t you afraid?"


    Tobias closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they''re hollow-but steady.


    "Because I already buried my family."


    Ragnar stiffens.


    "I buried them when yourwyers circled us like vultures. When my mother sold her wedding ring to pay sces. When my father died in a workshop instead of a hospital.”


    Ragnar scoffed, but a flicker of unease shed in his eyes. "You''re just ming the


    world for your own weakness."


    Tobias shook his head slowly. "No. I''m thanking it."


    Ragnar frowned. "For what?"


    "For teaching me that mercy is optional."


    Ragnar exploded into harsh, cruelughter. "Mercy is for the strong. Weak people


    like you exist only to be stepped on."


    Tobias''s eyes burned with fury, but he said nothing.


    The Phantom stood silent in the stadium below.


    Then the tournament began.


    The first test was flight speed and endurance. Ten mobile suitsunched into the air,


    racing through the entire stadium for fifty fullps.


    Engines roared. Thrusters red. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation.


    For the first hundred meters, the Phantom flew smoothly.


    Then it stopped.


    Its engine cut out without warning. The machine froze midair, lost bnce, and dropped from ten meters high.


    It mmed into the ground with a thunderous crash. Metal screamed. Sparks exploded. The stadium gasped.


    Thementatorughed openly.


    "Let''s take a look at Bluthelm''s new model, proudly named Phantom. Supposedly designed to save apany already on the brink of bankruptcy."


    His tone turned mocking. "But it seems they won''t be making it this year either."


    As the Phantomy broken, the center section suddenly opened. The pilot climbed out, shaking with rage.


    "Damn this piece of garbage!” he


    shouted as he climbed out and


    stormed away from the Phantom.“ should never have signed a contract to pilot this shit. I''m done. I''m not touching this thing ever again."


    “Well,” thementator continued smoothly, "this Phantom suit appears to be truly defective-or perhaps someone sessfully


    sabotaged apany with a


    questionable safety standards Either way, that''s fatal for a military manufacturer."


    He paused. “Whatever the cause, this may be the final year we ever see Bluthelm


    Ragnarughed so hard he nearly doubled over.


    “See?” he sneered. "This is your ''best model''? Your pride and hope? It can''t even


    stay airborne for a hundred meters."


    Tobias''s face wentpletely pale.


    His hand trembled as he touched his bracelet, linking directly to the Phantom''s systems on the tournamentwork.


    His eyes hardened. Screens exploded into existence before him as he forced open every circuit.


    Diagnostics. Securityyers. Control code.


    He had tested the Phantom countless times. It had performed wlessly. It should


    have shattered tournament records.


    But overnight, at Winchester, something had gone terribly wrong.


    This wasn''t a malfunction.


    Someone had tampered with it.


    More than twenty holographic screens filled the air in front of Tobias-lines of code,


    security protocols, encrypted systemsid bare.


    And the truth was waiting inside them.


    Most people stared at what Tobias was doing, but none of them understood it. The cascading symbols and code meant nothing to them-aliennguage, meaningless noise.


    Alex understood every line.


    To be honest, Eden Group had already tried to build mobile suits of their own. But


    the Prussian Empire had never granted them a license.


    So the work continued in the shadows, hidden, unofficial, dangerous.


    Looking at Tobias''s blueprint-level ess and exposed systems, Alex leaned closer


    and whispered, almost admiringly, "Beautiful."