"After today, those mech manufacturer stock prices are going to crash through the floor."
You nod along outwardly, but inside you're grinning ear to ear. Your sonic scan wiring map got mistaken for elite piloting skill.
Just then, the news cuts to footage of the military suppression operation. A figure drops from the sky. A short dark gold curved blade orbiting around them. The blade moves like a teleporting sword. In under three seconds, it punches straight through the cockpits of three enemy mechs.
What in the world is that thing? This time, you're genuinely stunned.
"The Sky Ring. The planetary guardian's signature weapon." Director Yu lowers his voice. "Its core is forged from a resonance core. A resonance core syncs perfectly with the user's own energy frequency. The silver armor Count Crimson wore today uses the same tech. It lets you wield a weapon like it's part of your own body." A flash of fervor crosses Director Yu's eyes. "Jin Han, do you understand what that means?"
Everything clicks at once in your mind. No wonder piloting the Blade felt like swinging your own arm. That mech's plasma blade was forged from resonance metal all along.
If a mech can resonate with your own energy, doesn't that mean you could go invisible even while piloting it?
The thought of a 119-ton heavy mech vanishing into thin air for an assassination makes your heart race.
"Breaking update." The female anchor's voice suddenly sharpens. "The Crimson Count terrorists have been confirmed to all originate from Crystal Logistics, the Federation's second largest shipping conglomerate."
It suddenly makes sense why they were so easy to beat. Turns out they were just logistics workers in disguise.
Director Yu grins suddenly at the news, like a jackal catching a delicious scent. "Jin Han, our chance to strike it rich just arrived."
You blink. "What do you mean?"
"The Crimson Count company is finished. All their hidden illegal operations are about to get carved up by every major power around. But before anyone takes over, someone's got to clean out the dirty laundry first, right?" Director Yu leans in, his tone dripping with temptation. "You're a cleaner. I run a cleaning company. How about we go scrub up after those unlucky bastards? Weren't you trying to buy a place? I can lend you the money."
You set down your cup, ice sharp, cutting him off. "Forget buying anything, boss. I'm a failed gene injection case. Does a second injection even stand a chance?" You stare at him, faking desperation.
Director Yu puts on a thoughtful look and starts dangling promises. "Tough call. Unless we use an extremely expensive forbidden art. But work hard and I'll report it to headquarters. Get the company to fund your treatment. If it works, you pay it back slowly. If not, you owe nothing."
You smirk inwardly. This guy's calculations are loud and clear. Gene warriors live long lives. He's trying to chain you into decades of debt-bound labor, eighty years straight.
But outwardly, you straighten up, all gratitude. "Don't worry, boss. I'll devote myself to the company from now on."
"All right, take a week of paid leave first. I'll sort out your trauma compensation from the dome." Director Yu waves you off.
Back home in no time, you sink your entire body into the bathtub. With a thought, you pull up your skill panel, skipping past the cluttered base stats. Your eyes lock onto the two skills that just spiked.
Warship engineering, advanced. Warship piloting, intermediate.
You suck in a breath. Those Crimson Counts you took down yesterday were actually carrying warship grade skills. What does that mean? These lunatics have already riddled the military fleet through with infiltrators.
You glance down at the mech's spatial button in your palm. The resonance core flickers with a faint glow. You can sense it clearly. The mech stored inside is self-repairing yesterday's battle damage. That's the raw dominance of resonance metal.
You lick your lips, eyes hardening. Every credit you have now needs to go toward getting a resonance melee weapon, fully arming this mech.
The next morning, the whole city is locked down. The sky is packed with patrolling air-ground fighters. Anyone who tries to fly gets shredded in seconds.
You suppress the urge to rush out and buy weapons, deciding instead to scout your community first. But just a few steps out, humming drifts over from the lake.
A woman in an oversized hoodie and sunglasses sits on a bench. The moment the sound reaches your ears, your mind buzzes. Your Grandmaster-tier sonic manipulation flares like radar under threat. The melody carries an extremely subtle interference frequency designed to agitate the mind.
It's Lena Park, the same pop star who could control a crowd with her voice yesterday. She's been placed in this very community too.
Without hesitation, you turn and walk briskly away.
"Sir." The humming behind you cuts off abruptly. Lena Park can't help but speak up, surprise plain in her voice. "My ability. Ordinary people can't resist it. How could you just walk away?"
"Busy." You don't stop walking. Just toss her a cold half glance.
"Did my humming bother you?"
"It's annoying." You drop those two words. You disappear around the corner without looking back.
You know full well your reaction just raised her suspicion. But that's not important. Right now, you have a far more deadly problem to deal with.
Something hits you suddenly. Your old apartment still has a fake button identical to the mech device, plus an ornament and that strange scroll painting on the wall. If internal security traces things back through the dome incident, you won't be able to escape suspicion.
You sprint straight into the underground garage. Confirming a blind spot, you strip off your clothes and activate stealth. You merge with the air instantly, racing toward the old apartment like a gust of wind.
You snap a sharp finger click, sonic waves rippling outward to confirm the apartment's empty. You skip the key entirely. Instead, you channel force into your palm. A sharp crack as you shatter the lock's internal mechanism with raw strength.
Rushing inside, you grab the fake spatial button from the table and shove it in your pocket. Then your eyes lock onto the old scroll painting on the wall. Instinct tells you it's nothing but trouble.
You yank the scroll off the wall and retreat immediately.
Ten minutes later, you're back in your own basement.