I woke up rich.
Four million units.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my account balance—the system had sent a notification during the night, and the moment I woke up, it flashed before me in massive numbers:
New funds have been deposited into your account:
17.05.3225 00:01 +4,000,000.00
Looks like the School had kept its promise. Official insurance for memory loss, plus my own "fortune" of nearly nine thousand—I was rich.
And yet, no euphoria. No thrill.
On Old Earth, that would have been enough to last a lifetime.
Here? How long would it last?
Somehow, Kate found out about the money before I even told her. I hadn’t told anyone—not even the guys. They were jealous enough already.
Incoming message from: K. L. Wong
Subject: Fitting
Content: Funds arrived? Armour will cost 30k.
I stared at the message for a moment, then called her.
"I'm not getting the plastic anymore?"
"You are. I don’t have time for this right now. Did the money come in?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Alan’s workshop. 9:00. I’ll explain everything."
Well. I really wanted to hear that explanation.
A sudden jump in expenses with no warning? Annoying. People making financial decisions for me? Infuriating. Even if it was the logical choice. Which I wasn’t sure it was.
Alan’s workshop was nothing like I had imagined.
I expected something like the School’s Hall of Armour—a sterile space with rows of equipment and dressing platforms.
What I got was a cramped, dimly lit room, cluttered with parts. The air smelled of metal and something burnt. Along the walls hung armor plates, helmet prototypes, coils of wiring, and even some tools that looked… medical. The same scanning pens Doc used.
Alan was sprawled out on a couch—an exact copy of the one in Robinson’s office—while Kate was inspecting a suit of armor on a nearby stand. She was already wearing her own.
"Sullivan! Right on time," Alan was the first to react.
He looked much happier than the last time we spoke.
Not hard to guess why—my order had suddenly jumped in price by more than ten times.
With a casual gesture, the armorer pointed toward a platform with mechanical arms in the corner of the workshop. It wasn’t as spacious as the ones in the School’s armor hall, but I was pretty sure it worked the same way.
I stepped onto the platform, placing my feet on the white foot markers.
Nothing happened.
I glanced at Alan, silently asking what was next.
"Spread your arms," he said.
I did.
With a sharp clack, clamps locked around my ankles, holding me in place. I flinched, even though I’d expected something like this. Because of that, one of the manipulators—the one reaching for my right hand—missed, and I flinched again when I felt the pressure around my left wrist. My body swayed, thrown off balance. I didn’t fall—three solid points of contact kept me upright—but my instincts screamed at me to move.
"Relax!" Alan ordered. "Don’t try to regain balance. Just stay still."
I froze.
The manipulator caught my wrist and pulled it into position, stretching my arms out.
Somewhere deep inside me, a primitive fear stirred—like this machine was about to tear me apart. But the feeling was pointless. The system worked methodically, pressing a black-and-yellow chest plate with a lotus emblem to my torso and locking it onto a matching backplate.
From there, the machine worked its way downward, attaching lightweight plates that felt almost toy-like. Once only my feet and hands were left uncovered, the clamps shifted to my forearms and shins. The system lifted me slightly, fitted boots onto my feet, then set me back down and slid gloves over my hands. Last came the helmet.
A short beep sounded, and the clamps released me.
I instinctively took a step forward.
"Walk around," Kate said.
I stretched, testing my range of motion.
Moving was… easy. Too easy. I took another step, and then it hit me.
The feeling was strange. I could hear my own breathing. No, not hear—feel. Not just as a faint hum in my chest, but as…Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
I wasn’t even sure how to describe it.
When I turned my head, the sound of my jumpsuit rubbing against the armor was too sharp—like dragging a finger across a microphone.
I clenched my fists.
Shit…
I could feel the texture of the material through the gloves.
No—with the gloves.
I looked down at my hands, noticing every tiny imperfection on the plastic, every uneven patch where the yellow paint had settled.
I grimaced.
"What is this?"
My own voice blasted through the helmet like a megaphone.
"Heightened Sensory Formation," Kate answered just as obnoxiously loud, hopping off the table. "It’ll help you sense Fist Qi faster."
I looked at her. Then at Alan.
"That’s why this armor costs thirty thousand?"
"Exactly," Alan grinned.
"Do I even need this formation on a cheap suit like this?"
"You definitely don’t want it on battle armor," Kate said. "Imagine getting injured—a fracture, a break…"
A shudder ran through me. I took another step, trying to get used to the armor. The sensations were unnerving. My body felt both light and hyper-aware.
When I touched the wall, I could feel every tiny roughness on its surface.
"Feeling nauseous?" Alan asked.
"A little," I admitted.
"You’ll get used to it," he said. "But for now—open your helmet. Just in case."
"How do I—Oh!" The armor responded to my intent, and the faceplate lifted.
Breathing instantly got easier—so did keeping my eyes open.
Alan handed me a plastic bucket.
"Just in case," he repeated.
"Don’t stand still. Walk around, jump a bit," Kate suggested.
The workshop wasn’t big enough for me to really move, and the nausea wasn’t helping, so my motions were sluggish at best.
"What do you think?" Alan asked. "Satisfied with the work?"
"Satisfied," Kate answered for me. "As long as the next adjustment is free."
"The next adjustment on this suit?"
"Of course. He needs time to adapt. I doubt he can properly assess anything right now."
They settled it without me, and Kate made me pay.
With the nausea clawing at my stomach, I didn’t even argue. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted this thing off me. But my mentor had other plans.
Instead of letting me take off the suit, she led me straight to the metro—ordering me to keep the damn bucket close.
The ride to Fist Garden was pure torture. Still, I was starting to get used to the heightened sensations. With that, the discomfort dulled a little. But I still felt everything—the vibrations of the train, the movements of the mechanisms.
Thank God this metro was nearly silent. Otherwise, I would have gone deaf.
If this armor was supposed to help me sense Fist Qi, its first job was clearly to drive me insane.
This time, we didn’t stop to admire the garden through the panoramic windows.
Kate headed straight for the airlock and sealed her helmet.
I ordered my armor to do the same—but Wong stopped me.
"Open it. I want you to understand the danger."
"I do understand," I tried to argue.
Apparently, my mentor had a very extreme idea of training.
"Open it," she ordered.
"Are you a sadist or something?" I muttered—
And suddenly, the ground wasn’t holding me anymore.
"Whoa!"
"What?" Kate asked. "We haven’t even stepped out yet."
I gave a small hop and touched the ceiling with my hand.
"Oh…" she realized. "Gravity. No jumping outside. And hold onto your bucket."
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled.
It had completely slipped my mind that Verdis was a moon. Which meant gravity here was different.
For everyone else, that was common knowledge.
For me?
A surprise.
The compressors hissed as the chamber equalized the pressure inside and out.
The first thing I felt—
Was the change. Like something invisible was slowly pulling the air from my lungs. Reflexively, I took a breath and realized I’d made a mistake.
The air was thin. Almost weightless.
It filled my lungs slowly, like I was high in the mountains.
My head spun instantly, my heart hammered faster.
I pressed my lips together and focused on exhaling, trying to keep my breathing steady.
"Uncomfortable?" Kate’s voice was muffled—like she was speaking through layers of cotton.
"It’s bearable," I admitted. "But why do I need endure it?"
The airtight exit doors slid open. A faint scent of violets rushed in.
"Let’s go," Kate said, stepping out first. "Thin atmosphere. Lower gravity, lower pressure, different air composition. Without preparation, you won’t last long."
I grimaced as a dull throbbing started forming in my head. Trying to focus on my breathing while dealing with hyper-sensitivity was throwing me off. I took a few careful steps, and still almost fell.
"Can I close my visor?" I asked.
"Not yet," Kate said, but she held out a hand for support.
"Sadist," I muttered.
I glanced at the cadets and thinhorns in my line of sight. All of them were either wearing full armor or masks. Not a single open helmet.
A light tingling in my fingers. A heaviness in my chest. My head felt lighter—but at the same time, a slow fog was creeping in.
"Screw this," I said and shut my helmet.
The difference was instant. The air was thicker, richer.
I took a deep breath and felt my lungs working properly again. The dizziness started fading—along with most of the discomfort. Well… except for the part caused by the hypersensitivity formation. On the downside, the glare from the metal irrigation pipes stung my eyes, and the smell of my own sweat hit my nose like a punch.
"Now do you understand?" Kate asked.
"I already understood!"
"Hmm, I don’t know… Some geniuses try to adapt."
"You could have just shown me a video! Why the hell did I have to go through this?!"
"Personal experience is the best teacher," Kate declared confidently.
"Sadist," I grumbled again. "Or… wait. Were you one of those geniuses who—"
"Hey! Who do you take me for?!" she snapped and let go of my hand. "Walk on your own, then! Follow me!"
"Wait!" I shouted.
With my support gone, I tried to find my balance. At that moment, I really wanted to blame hypersensitivity…
"Give me a few more minutes!" I said, shuffling in place, trying to adjust to my new weight—
And at the same time, taking in my surroundings.
Fist Garden…
It was a vast plain, divided into small sections, each filled with low-growing flowers, twisted trees, or raised platforms.
On the platforms, armored cadets practiced their strikes—either in the air or against specialized targets that looked like compressed metal blocks.
The flowers near us were violets.
A thinhorn in a mask stood nearby, overseeing a group of spider-like drones that moved silently, collecting the blossoms.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do here?" I asked.
"You’ve got two options," Kate said. "Now come on…"
I followed.
She led me further from the metro station, closer to the platforms with the targets. Some of them were completely shattered. Others were dented—caved in as if someone had slammed a concrete battering ram shaped like a fist into them.
"Option one—repairing the targets. The frames get replaced every few days, but the steel plates wear out even faster. That’s what you’ll be doing—swapping plates, fixing broken mounts. Drones handle it too, but…"
She gestured at one, jabbing its plasma cutter into the ground next to a platform.
"They tend to break down."
"And option two?"
Kate nodded over her shoulder at the thinhorn tending to the violets.
"Harvesting. Flowers, root crops… Something like potatoes, but charged with energy. They’re used to make Qi essence."
I glanced at the field. Didn’t look too hard.
The drones moved between the rows, picking flowers, digging up roots, and tossing them into containers.
"You said this was physical work," I noted. "But that thinhorn doesn’t look like he’s breaking a sweat."
"The drones glitch constantly. Sometimes you have to fight them to keep them from destroying the crops."
I looked back at the plasma-cutter drone.
"How often?"
Kate let out an amused snort.
"Depends on your luck."
I gave her a skeptical look.
"Why not just use normal equipment?"
"This is normal! The Qi concentration here is too high, so cheap electronics glitch out. And expensive ones aren’t worth it—especially when we’ve got people like you."
"Fantastic."
I looked at the field.
Then at the targets.
"I’m picking harvesting. I don’t feel like fighting a drone with a plasma cutter."