Chapter 16: Back to Reality

Finn didn't buy into Devil Goldie's rigid training philosophy—not one bit. To that robotic mind, a true warrior was a blank-faced zombie, executing combat techniques with cold, mechanical precision. But Finn wasn't having it. That's not human, he thought. He wanted to be a warrior, not a soulless fighting machine. Two months had passed since the brutal training began, and now there was a new edge to Finn's demeanor—maturity etched between his brows, a dash of reckless defiance in his eyes, and, oh yeah, three passing scores of sixty-one.

He smirked, leaning back lazily. "Hey, Devil Goldie, what's the deal? Basic training's done, right? Time to let your ol' pal hop into a mech. How about we skip the BS001 and you whip out one of those fancy rigs from your stash instead?"

The golden hologram flickered, its voice as flat as ever. "Master, you've completed the first half of the Warrior Program. Next comes mobile suit training, divided into two phases. Phase one: theory. A skilled mobile pilot must possess matching theoretical knowledge to truly master the controls. Pass the exam, and you'll be cleared to pilot a mobile suit. The BS001 remains your training model for now. Once you complete this stage, you may choose any unit you like."

The moment Finn heard "theory exam," everything else faded into a dull buzz. It hit him like a thunderbolt on a clear day. God, seriously? A theory test in a place like this? His brain and those rigid, rule-bound frameworks had never been on speaking terms. Failing back home might've earned him a scolding from Mom, Dad, and maybe Maka, but here? Failure could cost him his life.

Ignoring Finn's grumbling, the mobile suit theory course kicked off. To his surprise, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared—way better than he'd blindly guessed. Devil Goldie wasn't droning on about building mechs from scratch or dissecting circuit and energy principles. Instead, it focused on the essentials every pilot needed: core components, illustrated with vivid diagrams. In this virtual world, Goldie could break down any part with ease, answering Finn's every question. The knowledge wasn't leaps ahead of Earth's current theories, but Goldie's explanations were cutting-edge, pointing out flaws and insights that transcended humanity's tech level. Finn found himself hooked—like a master surgeon slicing open a body, every detail laid bare.

Goldie didn't waste words, but Finn still picked up on the gaps between them. The robot casually analyzed humanity's existing models—even unreleased ones—laying out their strengths and weaknesses with eerie clarity. It favored NUP designs over USE's, claiming they held the edge. Finn, though, knew why USE didn't copy them. Sure, elite pilots could handle those high-end machines, but wars weren't won by quality alone—numbers mattered too.

He thought back to history. World War II: Germany's tanks were top-tier, meticulously crafted, built to last. Soviet tanks? Slapped together, thin-armored, lucky to survive a couple of years. Yet for every pristine German tank, the Soviets churned out a thousand. Quantity crushed everything. Same deal with mobile suits. NUP's mechs had the edge back in the day, but they didn't come out on top. Why? One NUP pilot faced five or more USE grunts. The Maya civilization, with its ability to craft anything it wanted, wouldn't get that.

Those two months of theory were Finn's paradise. He dove headfirst into the ocean of knowledge. Goldie's lessons weren't like any classroom drivel—paired with his love for mechs, astronomy, and geography, Finn soaked it all up. Studying felt effortless when he was this invested, though the daily four-hour physical training never let up. No slacking there.

The theory phase he'd dreaded flew by, leaving him hungry for more. But what came next lit a fire in him: piloting a mobile suit.

Sure, the cosmic war games he'd played had decent simulations, but this? This was a different beast. In Devil Goldie's world, everything felt real. A five-meter-tall BS001 loomed before him. Even with mental prep, his heart raced at the sight.

This was the final hurdle: mobile suit training. His foundation was solid, but there was still a mountain to climb. To Goldie, flashy moves like the Thomas Spiral Slash were child's play. The course had already shown off jaw-dropping killer techniques, and now Finn would experience them firsthand.

Moves meant nothing without a fight. Environment and enemies shaped everything. Taking down one mech versus a swarm demanded different tactics. Terrain was king—thirty percent of a battle's outcome hinged on it. Sea, desert, sky, space stations—each a unique beast. Goldie's intel claimed NUP and USE had all-weather mechs in the works, top-secret and unmassed-produced for now. But with humanity's tech speeding along, that'd change soon. Training had to account for it.

Goldie demanded perfection in practice—every move crisp, every action drilled. But in real combat? Flexibility ruled. Take the Thomas Spiral Slash: three spins maxed out its power, but Finn's second win came from half a turn, catching the perfect moment. Sticking to the script was for idiots.

Piloting hit him hard. The mech's force fed back into his body—without a tough physique, he'd be better off gaming at home. Exhaustion piled up, but his passion for mechs burned hotter, drowning out the pain. He was in the zone.

Then, mid-thrill, the world wavered. A low whine filled the air.

"Energy warning. Energy warning. System entering sleep mode in ten seconds. Master, please exit immediately. Please exit immediately."

Finn knew Goldie well enough by now. Training was cut short—its energy reserves were tapped out. But one question screamed in his mind: How the hell do I get out?

Before he could think, darkness swallowed him. His body jolted, flung out of the void.

Cliffhanger

Finn blinked, disoriented, the virtual world gone. Had he made it out? Or was this some new test? The silence pressed in, heavy and unnerving. Whatever came next, one thing was clear: his journey was far from over.