The battle raged on, stretching from half-past five in the afternoon until the stroke of midnight. Waves of trainees arrived at the base, completed their training, and departed, yet Ziye remained locked in combat with Platinum Tycoon.
She had never maintained such a prolonged engagement.
It felt like being forced into the ocean during military training: the shore nowhere in sight ahead, her comrades invisible behind her—only by conquering herself could survival be assured!
Bran watched the combat feed quietly from the research institute.
Ziye's pristine commemorative basic model mech, upon engaging Platinum Tycoon, began accumulating scars—one hole after another, until it was riddled with gaps, on the verge of disintegration at any moment.
Initially helpless, Ziye gradually started to anticipate Platinum Tycoon’s rhythm, managing to evade one out of every ten shots.
The owner of Platinum Tycoon was surprisingly considerate; he never struck the same spot twice, otherwise, the poor commemorative basic model would have surely been severed in two long ago.
Bran smiled, relieved. Tang Wen was indeed gentle with his students, wasn't he!
Indeed, the pilot of Platinum Tycoon was Tang Wen himself.
Although Platinum Tycoon was nominally registered to Li Chunyu, Bran knew there was only one person suited to pilot that mech: its designer, Tang Wen.
Across the stars, only Tang Wen could pilot Platinum Tycoon with such elegance, so detached from the mundane, moving like an immortal descending from the heavens—a flawless, natural masterpiece.
He had a military background, surrounded by men of iron will where mech piloting emphasized speed, precision, and ruthlessness. Few ever focused on grace.
—Only by making oneself stronger could one survive, regardless of how devious or wretched the necessary tactics were, as long as they saved one's life.
Tang Wen’s style of piloting unlocked an entirely different door in his life: the door labeled Elegance.
Many aristocrats practiced their piloting to appear graceful for the sake of image, but beneath the ostentation lay a lack of genuine substance.
Tang Wen possessed substance.
His elegance seemed innate; beneath the razor-sharp skill, Bran was certain that if he ever chose to become a professional pilot, most others would simply fall at his feet.
Few pilots in the galaxy commanded his respect, but for Tang Wen, Bran had only four words: utter admiration.
However, Tang Wen consistently avoided revealing his capability as a pilot, never taking the controls in public. When necessary, he would task his assistant—Bran—to step in.
That he would personally take the field to instruct Ziye today made her presence there astonishing to him.
He must have confirmed Ziye’s identity...
The duel ended only when Ziye finally managed to land a blow on Platinum Tycoon, halting the fight.
Both mechs were teleported out of the arena. Ziye dragged herself, utterly depleted, back to the lounge in the research institute. The lights were bright inside, and Bran was waiting. All her pent-up frustration erupted, and she choked out, “Bran, I was demolished!”
Bran, fully aware of the behind-the-scenes details, couldn't suppress the twitch at the corner of her eye upon hearing this, forcing a look of surprise mixed with indignation. “Who could possibly beat you so badly? Did you challenge the top one hundred?”
Ziye collapsed onto the sofa, too exhausted even to lift her neck, completely missing the fleeting smirk in Bran’s eyes. She mumbled, “Not the top hundred, some very mysterious pilot. I ran into him once before; his positioning was incredible, his execution fierce, his mech seemed like an extension of himself. It’s a real shame you didn't see it.”
Bran stifled her laughter. She would never know that the pilot with the “incredible positioning” and “fierce execution” she spoke of was currently in the room right next door.
He instructed gently, “Alright, don’t dwell on being beaten. Go back and analyze your mistakes. I’ll take you home.”
Ziye climbed off the sofa and, seeing only her and Bran in the lounge, asked, “Did Teacher Tang Wen already leave?”
Bran subtly turned her face away and nodded. “Yes, he has a dinner engagement he couldn’t miss. Since you hadn’t returned, he asked me to wait here for you.”
A blush crossed Ziye’s face, and she scratched her head. “Sorry for causing you both trouble.”
The two stepped out of the lounge. Tang Wen emerged from the adjacent room, a hint of weariness on his face. He watched their receding figures, a slight curve forming at the corner of his lips.
—
Over the weekend, Ziye stayed at the Doumiao Villa and rewatched her recorded match against Platinum Tycoon. The more she reviewed it, the more she realized he had accomplished everything she deemed impossible.
For example, after executing a perfect Thomas Spin Kill in zero-g, she would be completely spent, needing time to stabilize before launching the next attack. But Platinum Tycoon could follow up immediately after the spin kill.
It seemed the concept of limits simply did not apply to him.
Humiliated by the failure, Ziye recognized her vast deficiencies, tempered her inflated confidence, and returned to the Virtual Mech Pilot Training Base to seek out more punishment.
Experience proved that wanting to be punished actually led to being punished.
Challenge 1200 ended in a crushing defeat.
The opponent was impossibly strong and favored swift, decisive battles. She didn't last thirty moves before her mech had a leg sheared off, rendering it immobile, and she was forcibly ejected from the arena.
Her ranking began to slide.
The 100% win rate was finally broken.
In truth, it should have been broken during the fight with Platinum Tycoon, but the astonishing Platinum Tycoon had engaged her in an epic battle without leaving any trace in her records—her rank, match count, or win percentage remained untainted by his presence.
In the Mech Pilot Training Base, information flows rapidly, and pilots obsessively watch the leaderboards.
Previously, Ziye’s win rate had held the top spot. When it dropped, many people noticed.
Kicking a fallen dog is a common human instinct, and after Ziye’s loss, the number of PK requests she received tripled. Unable to challenge the top 100, she accepted a match against a relatively high-ranking contender, 1377, from the queue.
As soon as the match started, 1377 charged in without any pleasantries.
Perhaps taking out frustrations accumulated from losses elsewhere, he came at Ziye with overwhelming aggression, clearly intending to end the fight with a single, decisive blow.
Ziye was momentarily stunned, unable to react effectively. 1377 seized the chance, spun his mech 360 degrees, kicked off the ground with his left foot, and launched a horizontal kick toward the chest plate of the commemorative basic model mid-air.
It was a reckless, all-or-nothing attack.
Ziye hadn't adjusted to his rhythm; she was struck and sent stumbling backward uncontrollably. 1377 brutally rammed into her, knocking her over, before cleanly exiting the arena.
The system automatically declared 1377 the victor!
As she was forcefully ejected, Ziye was engulfed in shock and fury.
What kind of combat style was that!
It was pure chaos!
High-level duels resembled games of Texas Hold'em; if both participants were masters, they would instinctively gauge their opponent’s strength and play the hand that offered the greatest advantage. But encountering a complete novice or a frenzied player who threw all convention out the window often resulted in a disadvantage because the opponent simply refused to play by the rules!