After the whole morning had passed, all the B-class students exchanged information and found out which class would be the first to have the mecha class. Their envy was almost overflowing—they all wanted to see a real mecha as soon as possible.

Brian Walker was also very excited, because it was said that the school's mechas were combat-type mechas.

At lunchtime, when they went back to eat, Brian Walker couldn't help but ask Peter Thompson about it.

Peter Thompson lifted his eyelids and looked at her for a while. "They really are combat-type mechas."

Brian Walker didn't say anything, waiting for his next sentence.

The next second, Peter Thompson said, "They're B-class mechas from many years ago, basically obsolete now."

Brian Walker thought to herself, as expected. When she heard that every class had a mecha to practice with, she already felt something was off—when did the school get so rich?

Peter Thompson looked at Brian Walker seriously. "If... you can get into one of the five major military academies, this mecha won't be of much help to you. There's a world of difference between A-class and B-class—it's true for people, and it's true for mechas."

"Getting familiar with mechas early is always a good thing," Brian Walker said with a smile.

Peter Thompson nodded, then asked, "I heard you helped the Tai family fix their mecha?"

"Mm."

"When did you learn to repair mechas, Xiao Wei?" The master's wife brought the dishes to the table and asked curiously.

Brian Walker was a little embarrassed. "Actually... I wanted to sign up for the mecha technician prep course before, but I was being cheap and signed up for the wrong major."

Peter Thompson: "..." No wonder she was always at the bottom of the class for the past few years, barely passing all the training, totally perfunctory.

"You really had it tough," Peter Thompson snorted coldly.

...

The neighboring class was the first to have the mecha practical class. As soon as the break started, many students who were on good terms with them ran over to ask what it was like.

Brian Walker's class and the neighboring class had never gotten along, so no one really went over, but they couldn't stop the other class from strutting around and showing off, standing at the door loudly discussing and describing the mecha.

"Damn, Edward Harris Sr. from next door is coming over."

"He's definitely here to show off too. Seriously, we'll get to use the mechas sooner or later—what are they so proud of?"

Edward Harris Sr. swaggered in, holding a skewer in his left hand and a box of cut fruit in his right, looking around the room and successfully drawing everyone's angry glares.

"Brian Walker!" Edward Harris Sr. darted over to Brian Walker, put the fruit on her desk, and handed her the skewer. "Want some?"

"What's up?" Brian Walker sniffed it—the skewer smelled even better than before.

Edward Harris Sr. gave a little laugh, trying to please her. "We're all friends here. This sinful thing—how about you help me get rid of it?"

"If you have something to say, just say it." Brian Walker took the skewer and took a bite, shaking her head. "This thing is way too sinful."

Edward Harris Sr. coughed. "Here's the thing: we're all going to have to learn mecha practicals, right? I was thinking we could all share tips and work together."

He figured that since Brian Walker could even repair mechas, she must be good at operating them too.

Brian Walker bit into the skewer and looked up at him. "Sharing tips is fine, but working together as a team? Forget it."

Author's note: Brian Walker: Leave the sinful things to me to handle!

Chapter 8

When it was finally Brian Walker's class's turn for the mecha practical, Brian Walker was excited too. This was her first time coming into contact with a real combat-type mecha. Even though it was just an obsolete B-class mecha, it was impossible not to be excited—especially since deep down, Brian Walker was a mecha fanatic.

"First, everyone, let's get to know the main parts of the mecha, so it'll be easier to operate later." Peter Thompson pointed at the gray-green mecha, introducing several external parts, then opened his light-brain and projected the mecha's internal cockpit. "The cockpit is generally controlled by both the head connection and manual operation. This means that perception and hand speed are the two most important factors in evaluating a mecha pilot."

Everyone held their breath, listening to Peter Thompson's explanation, afraid to miss a single word.

"...Did you all get that?" After finishing the introduction, Peter Thompson pressed something, and the mecha's hatch suddenly opened. "No matter how much I say, it's better for you to experience it yourselves. Now, go up one by one according to your student number—fifteen minutes of practice time each. 108009, you're up."

Their student numbers were assigned based on the year and the order they lined up on the first day of school. For exams, more numbers were added in the middle. Students who transferred or died no longer used their numbers, but everyone else kept their original numbers.

Everyone watched enviously as 108009 was the first to go up, but they quickly realized that operating a mecha was not easy. After fifteen minutes, 108009 barely managed to get the mecha to take a single step, and came down drenched in sweat.

"Not bad, you got it to move on your first try," Peter Thompson praised.

Everyone thought Peter Thompson was just being nice, but as more students went up, each one came down looking like they'd just sprinted ten kilometers, soaked in sweat—yet the mecha had barely moved.

Dozens of students took turns practicing from early morning to evening, but only a handful managed to get the mecha to move at all. And those few were always the top scorers in every test, students ranked B-class or above, with a shot at reaching A-class.

"108429, you're up." Peter Thompson's gaze fell on the last student.

Brian Walker stepped forward and quickly climbed into the mecha's cockpit.