In his office, the granite-like mask of General Carrick's face was replaced by a broad, almost paternal smile. He gripped Jack's hand tightly, as if welcoming a long-lost son.

  "Lieutenant Harlan," he boomed, "you've taught me a lesson. You can't judge a man by his appearance. A hero is a hero, no matter where you put him."

  Jack, the strategic actor, slipped effortlessly into his role. He put on a look of humble, awestruck gratitude and began to kiss the General's ass with practiced skill.

  "Not at all, sir. This was all thanks to your brilliant leadership. Without your discerning eye, my simulation would have just been another piece of junk data."

  The two of them, a General and a Lieutenant, performed a nauseatingly perfect scene of heroes recognizing heroes. But beneath the layers of mutual admiration and false modesty, a cold, unspoken political bargain had been struck.

  "Lieutenant," Carrick said, his expression turning serious. "Colonel Madsen tells me you've requested that your commendations for this operation be kept strictly classified. May I ask why?"

  Facing the curious stares of the other generals, Jack adopted a noble posture.

  "It is my duty to contribute to the Commonwealth, sir. The real heroes are the soldiers who suffered in that POW camp. I was merely a soldier on a rescue mission. I shouldn't steal their spotlight."

  The generals all smiled. This fat bastard didn't just know how to fight; he was a master of words.

  "Lieutenant," General Carrick's expression became solemn, "while you request anonymity, your contribution cannot be ignored. Therefore, after careful consideration, the Commonwealth government and High Command have decided to award you the Star of Obsidian in recognition of your extraordinary contributions to the war effort. Of course, per your request, this award will be classified at the highest level."

  As General Carrick personally pinned the five-pointed star—forged from a rare alloy mined from an asteroid in the Obsidian Belt, a black metal that absorbed all light like a miniature singularity—to Jack's chest, every General in the room, including Carrick himself, snapped to attention and saluted him.

  The surge of pure, intoxicating vanity was so overwhelming that the struggling warrior within couldn't suppress a smile that lasted all the way out the command building door.

  His new assignment came through immediately. His rank remained unchanged. He was being assigned to the Sixth Research Office of the War Planning Department.

  The Sixth Research Office was the leper colony of High Command, a place everyone else avoided. Its previous director was Colonel Frederick, the traitor who had committed suicide. His new boss was a plump, perpetually smiling middle-aged colonel named Parker.

  "Welcome to the shadows, Lieutenant," Colonel Parker had said when he reported for duty, a knowing, cunning smile on his face. "The quiet ones live longest. It's an art form."

  Jack loved his new job. No one noticed him. It was quiet, safe, and the hours were flexible.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  When he wasn't at his desk, his only destination was the Seventh Lab. There, he navigated the delicate, charged new reality of his relationship with the beautiful queen of the lab, and poured all his energy into what truly mattered: upgrading Thor.

  He had a recurring nightmare: the shimmering blue ion blade, just ten centimeters from his cockpit. He could still hear the blood-curdling shriek of metal being torn apart, a sound vibrating between 10 and 100 kHz, specifically engineered to disorient the human brain.

  "Upgrading it," he told himself, his hands tracing the lines of the mech's holographic blueprint, "is my reason to stay alive. It's the only thing I can control. The only thing I can rely on."

  Nova leaned against the lab doorway, watching his obsessive state with a complex smile.

  "Well, well," she said, her voice laced with a tenderness she hadn't realized was there. "If it isn't my great hero. Aren't you supposed to be enjoying your comfortable new office?"

  Jack turned, and seeing her, a slow, genuinely mature smile spread across his face. "Nova, my queen," he said, his gaze focused and intense. "My Thor needs more upgrades. And in the entire universe, I believe you're the only one who can do it."

  Nova walked over to him. She didn't twist his ear. Instead, her long, elegant fingers gently traced a new scar on his forearm.

  "So," she whispered, her tone dangerously playful, "are we going to talk about the floor? Don't forget, that night… that was my choice. Or are you going to pretend it was just another one of your personal simulations?"

  The direct, inescapable question made Jack's carefully constructed composure crumble. He scratched his head, unable to meet her eyes. “That… that wasn’t…”

  "What was it?" Nova pressed, her fingertips sending an electric current up his arm. "Wasn't it a fantastic… technical exchange?"

  Seeing Jack's utter helplessness, Nova finally burst out laughing. But then her smile softened. She stepped in front of him and, with an almost reverent gentleness, pressed a soft kiss onto the scar on his arm.

  "Your fear," she said, looking up, her clear-spring-water-blue eyes staring directly into his, "that night on the floor… it was the reason I chose to get closer to you. Your scars… they let me see your soul."

  Jack was stunned.

  "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, you tactical genius," Nova said, placing a data-slate in his hand. "Look at this."

  It was a research proposal she had just completed: A Study on the Instantaneous Fortification of AMS Lattice Density Under Stress Conditions.

  "While you were gone," she said, her voice low, her eyes shining with a pride that only he could understand, "I've been analyzing the 5TB of combat logs you extracted from the Kong's wreckage, specifically optimizing its ion blade trajectory data with a 0.01-second precision. You were right. Speed and defense are key. This proposal outlines a way to, at the moment of impact from a high-energy particle weapon, triple the lattice density at the point of contact."

  She paused, pulling up a complex energy-flow diagram.

  "Of course, there's no free lunch. Each triple-density enhancement requires an instantaneous output of 3 megawatts from Thor's 18-megawatt quantum fusion core. The waste heat would melt a normal mech. But… I optimized the heat-sink algorithm. The AMS system's own quantum field can be used as a temporary heat sink, with a dissipation efficiency of 90%. It means it can withstand an energy impact of over 1.5 GW/m2 and complete a nano-scale self-repair in 0.15 seconds. And I've added a quantum field barrier to the cockpit lining; it will dampen acoustic waves by 90% to protect you from the disorienting shriek of an ion blade strike."

  She looked at him, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "It can take a direct hit from a Kong's ion blade. At least once."

  Jack looked at Nova, at her eyes, slightly bloodshot from sleepless nights, and his voice was filled with a genuine gratitude that was no longer an act.

  "It seems," he said, "that I'm in your debt. Again."

  On the corner of the data-slate, for the briefest instant, the simulation notes flickered—an extra line of text not written by Nova:

  [VARIANCE LOG // Anomaly detected: Fear → Resilience. Pattern stored.]

  Jack blinked. It was gone. Nova hadn't noticed.