The air in the Jaeger Simulation Dome tasted of ozone and anticipation. It was a cathedral-sized space, dominated by ten massive, humanoid rigs—not full Jaegers, but articulated trainer frames twice the height of a man, each suspended in a gyroscopic cradle. Wires and hydraulic lines snaked from their backs like mechanical umbilicals.
Sergeant Kova stood before them, arms crossed over her chest. "This is the TS-7 Trainer Simulator," she barked, her voice echoing. "It has one-tenth the limbs, one-hundredth the firepower, and one-thousandth the soul of a real Mark-series Jaeger. It is also more than enough to break your mind and your body if you disrespect it."
She paced before the silent, grey titans. "Today, you will perform basic mobility drills. Walking, turning, simple strikes. Your neural link will be established at a low, safe bandwidth. The goal is not to fight. The goal is to not fall over and crush the expensive hardware. Am I understood?"
"YES, SERGEANT!" the recruits shouted in ragged unison.
Ryosuke's assigned rig was TS-7 Delta. He climbed the access ladder into the cockpit—a cramped sphere of holographic displays, haptic feedback plates, and the central neural interface crown. It smelled of cold metal and stale sweat.
"Seal the hatch. Initiate neural handshake on my mark," a technician's voice crackled in his helmet.
The cockpit canopy hissed shut, plunging him into semi-darkness. The crown descended, its prongs making contact with his temples. The familiar tickle began.
[Neural interface established. Bandwidth: Limited (Training Mode).]
[Initiating Synchronization…]
The world dissolved into data. He felt a second body—heavy, hydraulic, immense. He felt the pressure of the gyro-struts against his 'back', the faint tremor of the rig's power core in his 'chest'. It was overwhelming, like being stuffed into a suit of armor made of skyscrapers.
On recruits' screens around the dome, synchronization percentages flickered to life.
Chen: 11%… Stabilizing at 9%
Sera: 8%… Spiking to 15%… Dropping to 5% (Unstable)
Varg: 14%… Holding.
And then, Delta's screen:
Tanaka: 25%… 41%… 58%…
A murmur ran through the observing technicians.
"Stabilize your links!" Kova's voice snapped over the comms. "Tanaka, you're spiking. Dial it back. This isn't a race."
Ryosuke took a mental breath. He imagined the connection as a river, not a flood. He eased his consciousness back from the machine-mind. The percentage dropped, stabilizing at a smooth, rock-steady 34%.
"Better," Kova said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Now, all of you. Stand up."
It was the simplest command. It felt impossible.
Ryosuke willed the machine to stand. He felt the hydraulics in the legs engage with a deep thrum. The world outside his view-screen tilted as the trainer rig rose from its crouch, moving with a surprising, ponderous grace. It stood fully upright, balanced.
On the main monitoring screen, Delta's stability graph was a flat, perfect line.
Other rigs were not so fortunate. Gamma, piloted by Chen, lurched forward, its right leg jerking. Theta, with Sera, managed to get halfway up before a knee buckled, sending it crashing back into its cradle with a deafening clang of metal.
"Recruit Sera! Disengage! You're fighting the machine! You must guide it!"
"Walking drills," Kova commanded. "One step forward. Slowly."
Ryosuke focused. He thought of walking. He didn't think about individual pistons or servos; he thought about the act. The machine obeyed. Its left foot lifted, swung forward, and planted with a solid CLANG that vibrated through the frame. Then the right. It was slow, deliberate, but utterly stable. He took three steps, then stopped on command.
He was walking in a giant robot. The childlike wonder of it hit him, cutting through the cold precision of the Six Eyes. A grin spread across his face, unseen in the dark cockpit.
For an hour, they drilled. Walking, turning, simple arm movements. Ryosuke's sync hovered between 32% and 38%, never wavering. He made it look easy. Chen eventually managed a shambling gait. Sera, after a reset, achieved a trembling stand. Varg's rig moved with aggressive, stomping steps, but he kept it upright.
"Enough," Kova finally said. "Power down and disengage. Report to debrief."
As the neural link dissolved, Ryosuke felt a strange sense of loss, as if a limb had been amputated. He climbed out, his muscles trembling with phantom feedback.
In the debrief room, holograms replayed their performances. Kova pointed out flaws in posture, wasted movement, neural feedback spikes.
Then she pulled up Delta's performance. The graph of its movements was a study in efficiency. "Tanaka. Explain your process."
Ryosuke stood. "I didn't think about moving the machine, Sergeant. I thought about moving myself, and allowed the interface to translate the intent. I treated the sync not as a command, but as a suggestion the machine was eager to follow."
Kova stared at him. "That's advanced pilot theory. Instinctive transference. Most cadets don't grasp that for months." She turned to the group. "He's not a prodigy. He's just not getting in his own way. Your fear, your ego, your overthinking—that's the static in your link. Clear the static."
As they were dismissed for midday sustenance, Chen clapped Ryosuke on the back. "You made it look like dancing, man!"
"It's just balance," Ryosuke said, but he felt a flush of pride. The System's cold analysis was one thing. Human recognition was another.
---
The afternoon brought their first taste of true combat simulation. Not in the rigs, but in the Holo-Tac Arena—a vast, empty chamber that could project immersive holographic environments.
"Squad tactics," Kova announced. "You will be split into fire-teams of four. Your objective: defend a reactor core from simulated Kaiju-spawn for five minutes. You will be equipped with standard-issue pulse rifles—training models. Your awakenings are authorized for defensive use only. This is about unit cohesion, not glory."
Teams were assigned randomly. Fate, or perhaps Kova's design, placed Ryosuke with Sera, Chen, and a fourth recruit—a tall, silent boy named Aris, whose file listed "Low-tier tactile telekinesis."
Their team was designated Fire-Team Kappa.
The holochamber walls shimmered, resolving into a nightmare. They stood on a gantry overlooking a glowing, cylindrical reactor core. The environment was a ruined Shatterdome, all twisted metal and dripping coolant. The air grew cold and damp.
"Simulation beginning in ten seconds. Kaiju-spawn are Class II Bio-Forms. They are fast, agile, and will target the core. Defend it."
Ryosuke's Six Eyes activated without thought. The world sharpened into layers of tactical data. He saw the heat signature of the reactor, the structural weak points of the gantry, the predicted spawn points based on air-current disturbances.
"Chen, high left flank, scout trajectory. Sera, you're with me on the core platform. Aris, watch our backs and the right conduit," Ryosuke said, his voice calm, leaving no room for question. The others, startled by his immediate assumption of command, nodded.
The spawn appeared not from the shadows, but from tears in the air—glowing, green rifts. They were the size of bears, with chitinous plates, too many legs, and snapping beaks. Holograms, but the simulation's force-feedback projectors made their impacts feel real.
Three surged toward the core from the left. Chen was a blur, zipping along the gantry, firing his pulse rifle. He was fast, but his shots went wild. "They're too quick!"
"Aim where they're going to be, not where they are!" Ryosuke called out, his own rifle raised. Through the Six Eyes, he saw their movement patterns, the micro-shifts in weight before they lunged. He fired three times. Three simulated spawn exploded into pixels with satisfying CRUNCH sounds.
Two more clambered up the right side. Aris raised a hand, grunting. A telekinetic shove, weak but precise, knocked one off the gantry. The other lunged at Sera.
She froze, a terrified statue.
"Sera!" Ryosuke shouted.
The spawn leapt. At the last second, instinct overrode fear. A jet of flame, wild and uncontrolled, erupted from Sera's palm. It engulfed the spawn, which disintegrated—but the fire also splashed against the gantry railing, which began to melt and sag.
"Rein it in! You're damaging the structure!" Ryosuke snapped, his voice cutting through her panic.
She gasped, clamping down on the flames. Tears of frustration streaked her soot-smudged face.
A larger rift tore open above the core. A Category I Spawn—twice the size, with a spiked tail—dropped down, directly toward the reactor.
"Focus fire!" Ryosuke ordered. Pulse rounds peppered its hide, doing little. Aris's telekinesis strained to slow its descent. Chen zipped in, trying to stab at its eyes with a combat knife, but was backhanded across the chamber.
The spawn landed on the core housing, its claws screeching against metal. It raised a talon to strike the primary coolant line.
Ryosuke didn't have a clean shot. He dropped his rifle.
He focused. Not on destruction, but on deflection. A modified Infinity barrier—not a wall, but a slope.
[Limitless Technique: Azimuth Deflection.]
The spawn's descending claw hit the distorted space above the coolant line. The force wasn't stopped; it was redirected. The claw's trajectory bent violently sideways, carving a deep gouge in the deck plating instead of the vital pipe. The spawn, off-balance, stumbled.
"NOW, SERA! FOCUSED BLAST! ITS NECK PLATE!"
Sera, jolted by the command, didn't have time to overthink. She thrust both hands forward, envisioning a lance, not a wildfire. A tight, white-hot beam of plasma shot from her palms, piercing the spawn's neck joint. It screeched, pixelated ichor spraying, and collapsed.
"Simulation complete. Core integrity: 87%. Acceptable. Time: four minutes, fifty-two seconds."
The nightmare scenery dissolved back to grey walls. The team stood panting. Chen was rubbing his ribs where the force-feedback had hit. Aris looked drained. Sera was staring at her hands.
Kova entered the arena. Her eyes swept over them, lingering on the melted railing, then on Ryosuke.
"Kappa Team. A passable performance. Recruit Chen, your speed is an asset, but your tactics are chaotic. Recruit Aris, precise but lacking power. Recruit Sera…" Kova paused. "You have a thermonuclear bomb in your hands and you're using it to light candles. You must learn control, or you will be a danger to your own side."
Sera flinched, but nodded.
"Recruit Tanaka." Kova faced him. "You took command. You used minimal force to maximum effect. That spatial deflection was… inventive. It preserved the objective while creating an opening. That is Jaeger-tactical thinking." Her praise was grudging, but real. "However." Her gaze hardened. "You did not use your team's full potential. You saw Sera's instability and still gave her a high-stakes command. That is a risk. In a real scenario, that could have been a catastrophic failure. Leadership is not just about giving orders. It's about knowing the limits of your tools."
The criticism was fair, and it stung more than Varg's insults ever could. Ryosuke dipped his head. "Understood, Sergeant."
"Dismissed. Reflect on your performance."
As they left the holochamber, the mood was somber. They'd passed, but they'd seen their flaws magnified under pressure.
"I'm sorry," Sera mumbled as they walked to the showers. "I almost melted the whole thing."
"You killed the big one," Chen said, trying to cheer her up. "That was awesome!"
"He's right," Ryosuke said. "When it mattered, you focused. That's the part to remember. The control will come."
She gave him a grateful, wobbly smile.
---
The evening was supposed to be for independent study. Ryosuke was in the academy library, a quiet space of data-terminals and holographic archives, reviewing Jaeger schematics—the evolution from the cumbersome Mark-1s to the sleek, single-pilot Mark-XIIIs.
He was studying the neural load distribution of a Mark-X's plasma casters when a shadow fell over his terminal.
It wasn't Varg.
It was a man in the dark grey uniform of the Internal Review Division—the Federation's intelligence and oversight branch. He was nondescript, with a forgettable face, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"Recruit Tanaka. I am Agent Silas. May I have a word? In private."
It wasn't a request.
Ryosuke followed him to a small, sound-proofed consultation room. Silas took a seat, gesturing for Ryosuke to do the same.
"Your progress is… remarkable," Silas began, his voice devoid of inflection. "A two-century displacement, a complete physiological alteration, a System-class awakening of a previously undocumented energy type, and a sync-aptitude that breaks our models. You are, statistically, an impossibility."
"I'm just trying to catch up, sir," Ryosuke said, keeping his tone neutral.
"Of course. The Corps is fortunate to have you. The Federation is fortunate. But with fortune comes… scrutiny." Silas leaned forward slightly. "Your abilities. This 'Limitless' technique. Our cosmologists have theories. It doesn't align with The Force, Chakra, Ki, Haki, or Warp-energy. It seems to operate on a manipulation of local spacetime geometry. A very primordial kind of manipulation."
Ryosuke said nothing. The System in his vision remained silent, observing.
"There are… factions within the Federation," Silas continued, his gaze piercing. "Some see unique assets like you as tools to be wielded. Others see you as existential risks to be contained. And a few… a very few… see you as something else. A sign."
"A sign of what?"
"That the Multiversal Shift isn't over. That it's a process, not an event. And that things from the deepest, oldest layers of reality—things that predate the very concept of universes—are beginning to stir." Silas stood. "You will continue to be observed, Recruit Tanaka. More closely than you know. My advice? Excel. But do not… transcend too quickly. The light you cast also creates shadows. And in this new multiverse, the shadows have teeth."
He left without another word.
Ryosuke sat in the silent room, the agent's words settling like ice in his gut. The academy was a ladder. He'd been focused on climbing it. He hadn't considered who might be waiting at the top, or what might be lurking in the rungs below.
[External Threat Assessment Updated: Political/Observational risk level elevated.]
[Recommendation: Accelerate personal capability development discreetly. Strength is the only true deterrent.]
He left the library, his mind churning. The day's victories—the smooth sync, the tactical command—felt smaller now, overshadowed by a larger, more complex game.
On his way back to the barracks, he passed a large, sealed hangar marked PRIMORDIAL & ANOMALOUS MECH RESEARCH. The door was fortified, humming with containment fields. For a fleeting second, as he passed, he felt a pull. A deep, resonant hum in his bones, like a forgotten song. And in his mind's eye, the System flickered with a single, cryptic line:
[Proximity to Legacy Signature Detected. Incompatible with current clearance.]
He stopped, staring at the imposing doors. Something behind them called to him. Something black, and silent, and hungry.
Shaking off the feeling, he continued on. The path was still clear. Train. Sync. Advance.
But now he knew: he wasn't just climbing for himself, or for the Corps. He was climbing to stay ahead of the shadows, and to answer the call of something ancient waiting in the dark.