“Ion- Ionic? Where’s the column that works with it again?” Ben mumbled to himself.

His eyes darted up and down. Hydrogen? Was it ‘earth’ metals? No, it was a gas. It was on the left side. Nothing on the left was a metal-

Wasn’t ‘Li’ a metal? What was that doing beneath hydrogen? The RIGHT side. Gasses were on the right! What was hydrogen doing on the LEFT?

“Gah, I give up!”

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. Chemistry was stupid. Mechs were about destroying stuff. What kind of pilot needs to understand ions when they were going to control a giant piece of metal?

Rubbing his head, Ben brushed his wild flint-colored hair from his face and sighed, looking at the wrought-steel ceiling of the ceiling.

“Are you reviewing the material too?” A loud voice asked.

“Wha- !” Ben jerked his head towards the new source of sound. “Who, what are you… Hello.”

A delicate boy his own age in well-fitted and trendy clothing was leaning over Ben’s knapsack.

Real smooth. He could feel a nervous pressure squeezing his chest tight. Fast thoughts were going through his mind. Did he watch him act crazy earlier? Could he have seen Ben use the system? What did he want from him?

Examining the content of Ben’s browser, the newcomer frowned. “That’s further back, but the basics are important I guess.”

“I’m just… reviewing, like you said.”

“Sorry for surprising you. I just got excited at seeing another Trium applicant; I thought I was the only one in Kilcade Range to be enrolling.”

Kilcade Range. The rich side a few kilometers from the border of their farm that was part of the city center. The main mag-train was between their sectors, leading to this total misunderstanding.

Slowly, Ben opened his mouth, choosing his words carefully.

“No I was just shocked, that's all. I didn’t catch your name?”

“Cael. Cael Alaric. And you?” Cael grinned with an imperious look.

Ben stared blankly at the other boy. Was the name supposed to mean something to him?

“Ben Murdock, nice to meet you.”

He was homeschooled by his father. Granted, Ben might’ve been missing some social cues that he should’ve known, but since when were people this forward?!

Leaning back into his seat with his arms behind his head, Cael stared outside the grimy windows with a glint in his eye.

“Ben, I have a feeling that we’re going to face each other.”

“Pardon?”

“Think about it. Two rising stars from the same star cluster. Both top-level valedictorians from their star-cluster making it big in the sector’s biggest and most influential academy of the Novas Sector, above all the rest of Churgeon bumpkins that couldn’t make the cut. Doesn’t it sound perfect?”

“Sure does.” Ben dryly responded.

No matter what Ben said, he was 90 percent sure that Cael was hyping himself up in his own power fantasy and didn’t actually care about his input.

Edging away from the snob, Ben turned back to his problem, itching the back of his head.

“So moles are the ‘number’ of an element, the atomic weight is the mass of neutrons and protons, and everything plugs together with a ‘valence shell’? The rest of the stuff is just extras? I just need to focus on the numbers. Gas, metal or otherwise.”

This was… not what he thought he would be doing with mechs.

Ben glumly stared at the figures.

The sharp noise of the intercom turning on caught his attention, followed by a slow, bored voice. “Attention, now arriving at: Heirloom Avenue.”

“We’re here, finally!” Cael exclaimed, wheeling his luggage bag into the glaring yellow light of the afternoon sun.

Ben followed him half-heartedly down the off-ramp, away from the clamor and sounds, through a sea of bodies.

- - -

1928 credits were what he had left from what Croix and Ben had left in their joint banking account. All things considering, not too much damage. Ben thought it was a tidy sum.

It turns out it wasn’t. A few ebooks here, a required annual fee to eat at the cafeteria there, and a very insistent receptionist’s argument to make a ‘small’ donation to the Triumate student council left him with 712 credits. Ben didn’t protest and let himself get herded from each station to the next.

1200 credits. They didn’t even earn that much in a year. All these people bandied it around like it was chump change. Ben felt dizzy.

Was this how real candidates spent money?

At this point he couldn’t even respond to all of the confusing questions and inquiries anymore. He kept a smile frozen on his face while mechanically nodding his head.

He’d be broke in a year at the rate this was going. His stomach growled.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ben blinked and he appeared in his new dorm, laying in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place.

He felt the rough-hewn texture of his bag and squeezed it tighter to his chest, curling into a ball.

Tears crept from his eyes.

So what if he had some world-defying system? The hills of his troubles seem so insurmountable to him. Academics weren’t his strong suit, how was he going to even pass his classes? He only knew how to grow potatoes; how was he supposed to make 10 million credits?

How was he going to fix everything?

Ben missed the simple life of their little prefab home, working until spring ended. He missed the rusty wall of their storage shed that he got yelled at to scrape. He missed the busted terminal in their home that could barely run movies. Most of all, he missed his father.

He didn’t bother trying to call him. Croix’s face was gray on his contact list. That meant his communicator was off. Not that he answered Ben’s messages in the last day.

“Where are you, dad?” His voice muffled by the thick synth-leather.

No one answered him.

The weight of responsibility was suffocating. Ben vaguely felt an alarm vibrate.

Washing his face in the sink, he combed his unruly hair and got ready for the entrance ceremony.

A dull whining tried to worm its way into his ear, but he ignored it.

It was an auditorium full of people far more well-off looking than Ben, whom he shied away from in favor of staying in the back rows. The announcer cleared his throat, the din of the assembly falling to silence.

The Triumvate Academy. A centuries-old institution that was the fulmination of the tri-star cluster effort to create the best mech pilots that would serve in the capacity of a tremendous heritage.

Ben stared with glassy eyes.

“Hey, are you alright?” Cael whispered.

A spike of annoyance surged in him. The spoiled man-child he sat next to in the mag-train found Ben.

“What do you want?!” Ben snapped.

Cael stopped speaking, studying his face. “...You’re homesick.”

“Am I? How are you so sure, genius?”

“Yes! I knew it!” Pumping his hand in the air, Cael readjusted himself. “I mean, we’ve been together almost all day, I was wondering why you were ignoring me.”

Ben blinked blearily at him. He had been, hadn’t he?

While he was thinking about the monumental costs he was paying, he didn’t notice the hyperactive guy pulling him along through customs and registration.

Oops. Ben turned away from him.

“I appreciate your help, but I’d like to be alone.”

Cael frowned. “That is exactly the sentence that would signal me to not leave you alone.”

“You wouldn’t understand my situation, not even in the smallest way.” Ben muttered.

“Give me a try.” Cael crossed his arms. “Nothing is impossible.”

It was now that Ben finally got a good look at the voice that had been plaguing him all day. Golden locks of hair on a porcelain face. Soft gray eyes. An earnest expression.

“Fine.”

Ben sighed, rubbing his temples. He’d butcher it, it would be dumb to mention the Mech Pilot System.

“Imagine your life was turned upside down, falling on it’s metaphorical ass. Everyone you know is gone or put you in crippling debt. What do you do?”

“That is a tough one, I’ll give you that.” Cael said, rubbing his hairless chin.

“It’s impossible! There’s nothing you can do!”

Cael stuck out his hand. “Now hold on, I think I can help you with one of those problems. Become my partner.”

“...How is that going to change anything?” Ben quietly whispered.

Blocking his view of the main stage, Cael grinned. Tapping his bare wrist, a high resolution image of a stylized tournament bracket materialized with a smooth flourish.

“The Pre-course Triumate Games!”

He dimly looked through it. It was a 2-man pairing of mech duels in a 16 participant setting. Mechs used would be provided and maintained by Triumate technicians.

Prizes included.

That sent a shock through his body. 50,000 credits to the winning duo, 25,000 for the runner up, and a cool 10,000 for third. His eyes narrowed at the entrance fee.

“It costs 1000 credits to participate in the tourney. We aren’t even guaranteed to win.”

“I mean, you’re right we could totally wipe out.” Cael pouted at him. “But you’re not even going to think about it? 50/50 split.”

Ben arched an eyebrow.

“Why are you so insistent on convincing a total stranger?”

Instead of answering him directly, Cael gave him another smile. He looked towards the pale red of the sky through the window and pointed at the horizon.

“It’s a long way from home, stranger. We’re here to pilot mechs, aren’t we?”

That gave him pause. Ben shook his head.

“You’re cheesy dude.”

Cael chuckled. “You’re boring.”

Ben didn’t get this guy. At times Cael seemed mature, but at the same time, he made no sense. Touching his cheek, he realized he was smirking; the heavy feeling in his chest was less suffocating.

His fingers twitched when he thought about the price of the competition. 500 credits would take almost everything he had left. There was the other matter of the 50,000 tantalizing him in his mind’s eye.

“Fine, I’m in.” Ben sighed.

“Hell yeah-! Ahem. Then let’s go to the sim room.”

“Sim room?”

Cael stared at him with a bewildered look. “You’re telling me you joined one of the top-of-the-line institutions for war-machine piloting and you haven’t used a mech simulator.”

This was not a good look for him.

“...Yes?”

“This was part of the introduction in the email. You read the whole email right? You didn’t just spend 3 hours on that train looking at the periodic table?”

Ben looked away ashamedly.

The blonde man shook his head, walking back into the main building.

“Hey, Hey! Don’t leave me behind you damn cutworm!”

Even as he was panting chasing the now-speeding-up back of his new partner, Ben felt something invisible in him release, like he’d been holding his breath. Feeling his boots pound the pavement bloomed that sense of relief into joy.

It reminded him of the old fantasies of the future he had, watching the adrenaline-pumping live-feed of pilots launching into battle. Imagining himself in that cockpit.

Real life wasn’t so exciting, but it was fulfilling. After 23 years of having his hopes tempered and impulses checked, he’d subconsciously made it an unattainable goal for himself. Even when everything changed and Ben got a tangible chance, he kept making excuses, however real they were, and held himself back.

He chided himself.

All this time, he’d never taken this seriously, he’d been ready to accept failure so easily all day.

It was time to win.