The harsh morning sun pricked through the cracked window, beaming directly onto Arata's slumbering face.
He groaned as he opened his eyes, feeling as if a small army of Kaiju were holding a disco inside his skull. The throbbing hangover from last night's "all-out" drinking session refused to let go. Arata reached out a hand blindly, only to find the sofa cold. The room was empty, draped in an uncharacteristic silence.
"Yawn... I wonder when that kid Kaito left?" Arata let out a long, weary yawn, scratching his stomach as he muttered. "Probably got summoned back to base early. Elite soldiers sure are busy..."
His eyes accidentally drifted to the recruitment invitation on the table, its blood-red Skull seal staring back at him. Instinctively, he glanced at the rusted wall clock above the bookshelf.
The short hand was on the 7. The long hand sat smugly on the 9. It was exactly 7:45 AM.
Arata's pupils nearly rolled into the back of his head. Every ounce of sleepiness and every lingering drop of alcohol vanished in a heartbeat.
"AAAGH!!! THE EXAM CENTER GATES CLOSE AT EIGHT!!! I'M DEAD!!!"
Arata's horrified scream rattled the entire apartment. Within three and a half minutes, he performed a frantic sequence of actions: throwing on his work clothes, brushing his teeth at light speed, and lunging out the door like a hurricane—completely forgetting to lock it.
Arata sprinted down the sidewalks of Kōtetsu. Exam Center No. 7 was located in the suburbs, nearly 15 kilometers away. For a normal person, running there would take at least an hour. He was guaranteed to be late.
"No choice... using just a tiny bit of power shouldn't attract too much attention," Arata gritted his teeth and told himself.
He paused for a split second, lowering his center of gravity. For a fleeting moment, his dark eyes flashed with a brilliant blue light—the color of a biological synchronization exceeding all limits.
BOOM!
The brick pavement beneath Arata's feet shattered as if struck by a meteorite. He launched forward with the terrifying acceleration of a cannonball leaving the barrel. The violent gale trailing behind him swept up scrap paper, leaves, and street dust, creating a blurred wake that stretched for hundreds of meters.
Pedestrians only caught a split-second, ear-piercing whistle of wind. An old man waiting for a green light had his helmet blown clean off by the air pressure, staring blankly in the direction where the shadow had vanished.
"W-What the hell just flew past? Did a tropical storm just hit the city?!"
7:58 AM.
A figure streaked onto the scene, shoes screeching and smoking as he skidded to a halt right before the colossal iron gates of Exam Center No. 7. Arata immediately suppressed his body temperature, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, deliberately gasping for air like a man who had barely cheated death to avoid suspicion. Before him, hundreds of young candidates, equipped in polished armor, were still snaking through the line for entry procedures.
As he tried to squeeze into the line, Arata accidentally bumped into someone.
THUD!
"Oh, sorry!" Arata blurted out as he realized he had collided with a young girl, causing the designer handbag in her hand to hit the ground.
The girl turned around. She was a teenager, roughly 16 years old, radiating an aura of aristocratic elegance. Her brilliant golden hair was tied into twin tails with expensive ribbons, and her arrogant blue eyes narrowed with intense irritation. Despite being at a military selection, she wore a custom-designed, high-end athletic outfit that screamed wealth.
"Hey, old man!" Reika frowned, her voice sharp and condescending. "Where do you think you're going? Are your eyes on top of your head? How dare you bump into me?"
"Haha, sorry about that, kid," Arata scratched his head with a goofy grin. "I was in such a rush, I nearly missed the deadline."
At the word "kid," a vein on Reika's forehead throbbed. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin toward an armored military truck that had stalled, blocking half the entrance near the gate.
"You dare call me a kid? Listen here, you country bumpkin—if you're so tough, why don't you compete with me?" Reika smirked mockingly. "Whoever moves the rear of that armored truck aside to clear the road wins. The loser has to bow down, apologize, and admit they're a useless nobody in front of everyone here!"
Cold sweat dripped down Arata's temple. "Huh? What kind of weird competition is this..."
Before Arata could even agree or refuse, Reika stepped toward the heavy truck. She lightly tapped a technological bracelet on her wrist.
BEEP!
A lightweight power exoskeleton (Basic Exo-suit) immediately activated, encasing her slender arms and legs. A small HUD flickered in the air: "Neural Sync: 4.7." An incredibly impressive number for an untrained rookie.
Reika slid her hands under the truck's chassis and let out an effortful grunt.
CRASH!
The rear of the three-ton truck was hoisted off the ground by mechanical strength and tossed aside with a heavy thud, earning gasps of admiration from the surrounding candidates. Reika dusted off her hands, flipped her golden hair smugly, and threw Arata a disdainful look.
Arata stepped forward, looking completely outclassed. He had no power armor, and he certainly didn't look like a warrior. He placed his calloused hand on the truck's bumper.
"Lifting this piece of scrap metal would take one finger..." Arata thought. "But getting into a serious match with a 16-year-old would be weird, and it'd draw way too much attention. Better play along."
Arata began to turn red in the face, the veins in his neck bulging as if he were in absolute agony. He exerted "every ounce" of his strength, managing to lift the truck exactly... five centimeters, before faking exhaustion and dropping it with a heavy THUD.
He fell back onto the ground, clutching his lower back and yelping in pain. "Ouch! My spine! Youthful strength these days is terrifying! I lose, I lose! My apologies, My Lady!"
Reika put her hands on her hips, laughing triumphantly at her opponent's "pathetic" display, but deep in her eyes, there was a spark of curious confusion.
"Hmph, at least you know your place, old man. Remember my name: I am Reika! And what's yours?"
"Arata," he said, dusting off his pants as he stood up with a gentle smile. "Just a garbage collector who got lucky enough to get a ticket in."
Suddenly, the loudspeaker system across the entire area let out an ear-piercing screech. A deep, masculine voice, carrying the killing intent of a veteran of a hundred battles, echoed through the assembly grounds:
"ALL CANDIDATES, ASSEMBLE! LINE UP IMMEDIATELY! The first round of the V.G.U. Selection officially begins. Warning: If you're afraid to die, the exit is behind you!"
The bustling atmosphere froze instantly. Arata and Reika both looked toward the colossal steel doors of the exam center as they slowly groaned open. Inside lay a vast, cold darkness—much like the maw of a giant beast waiting for its prey to step inside.