Even Elias gave Jian Ci a look like he was watching a man walk to his own execution. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a line, eyes flicking with the kind of pity that made Jian Ci's skin crawl.
Jian Ci ignored it. He had mech matches to prepare for. In the locker room, the air was thick with the scent of coolant and adrenaline. Jian Ci stood before his locker, slipping into the inner weave—psi-conductive fabric that clung to his body like a second skin. Every movement was precise, practiced. He tightened the straps across his chest, locked the seals at his wrists and ankles, and adjusted the neural ports along his spine with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
Elias who had come in a minute ago, hovered behind him, shifting from foot to foot.
"Buddy," Elias said finally, voice low. "I know, I know—I am overstepping—but I got you this appointment."
Jian Ci didn't look up. "What are you talking about?"
