Chaos. Panic. Dread.

  The entire class was caught off guard.

  The vibrant flower field withered in seconds. Colourful petals blackened, crumbling like ash as a strong gust of unnatural wind swept them away. The sky, once a soft pastel blue with fluffy clouds, darkened into a sickly bruise, veins of red and violet crackling across it like lightning.

  The ground beneath the students’ feet trembled, then split open, releasing toxic vapour.

  [-5 HP]

  [-5 HP]

  Every second they remained, their Hit Points drained. At zero, they’d be considered dead.

  But instant death was the best-case scenario. There were fates worse than dying – being paralysed, unable to act, with brutal death looming over you.

  “Help me! Someone! Anyone!”

  On one side of the field, Emilia and a few others were chased by a band of mutated goblins, their tentacle-lashed backs whipping through the air. One student took a hit from behind; his body sliced in half. He vanished, his corpse dissolving into pixels.

  “Arggh! Get off me, doggy!” Timothy’s shout blared through the comms.

  On the opposite side, a pack of wolves surrounded Timothy and his group. The self-proclaimed leader, who was brave at first, now cowered on his backside begging for mercy, both of his legs and left arm now replaced by pixels.

  “No! No! Don’t eat me!”

  But the worst was Shinohara’s group. The hornet swarm had merged into a grotesque, eyeball-like chimaera, its thousands of stingers firing with deadly precision.

  Within seconds, a quarter of the class had disappeared.

  “Ironshield?!” Jin shouted through the comms. “What the hell is this?! This isn’t training!”

  No answer came. He didn’t need one.

  Jin could’ve logged out. Ended it all with a single system command.

  But the kids?

  Their faces were twisted in terror, fingers clawing at empty air as if they’d forgotten how to fight. How to run. How to survive. How to do anything else but scream. Their minds, drilled with lessons and warnings, had shut down, drowned beneath the weight of their fear.

  This wasn’t training anymore.

  It was a trap.

  And for them, there was no escape.

  Gritting his teeth, Jin moved toward Timothy’s group. Children come first. Armed with only a single sword, he lunged and drove the wolves back before pulling the boy away to safety.

  “Safety Eject Protocol. Initiate!”

  The first lesson Ironshield had taught them.

  Timothy vanished in an instant. The remaining wolves surrounded Jin, but he ignored them, activating the safety protocol for the rest of the children while swinging his weapon around, acting as an offensive barrier.

  Once they were safe, he turned to Shinohara’s group. The most annoying of monsters, but there was a weakness to it. Too slow. Almost as if it floated on the same spot, barely moving.

  Acting as a decoy, Jin ordered Shinohara and her group to engage with the system safety protocol. They didn’t need to be told twice.

  Last was Emilia’s group. Being the oldest clique in the class, they could at least fend for themselves when push comes to shove. Better still if they were not overwhelmed by fear in the first place.

  Six of them were running away from the crazed band of mutated goblins with tentacles. As Jin chased after them, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the monsters back then, the Jiggypuffs.

  He might not have Viridiana’s flash-bang skill to turn them blind for a while, but he knew that a shove from the back on just one of them would create a falling domino effect. Their tentacles would do the rest for him.

  In the end, Jin was the last to exit the virtual e-RIFT, minor virtual injuries the least of his concerns.

  But what hurt the most wasn’t the damage.

  It was what he’d witnessed – something that shook him to his core. And he wasn’t keeping quiet about it.

  Once he exited his pod, Jin stormed toward Ironshield, who stood at the front of the class, his expression solemn.

  “You fucking arsehole!” Jin grabbed the man’s collar. “You call that training?!”

  “For them to survive the real RIFT? Yes.” Ironshield didn’t flinch. “If they can’t handle this, how will they face real danger?”

  “So what?! Keep it to the adults! Not the children!”

  “The RIFT doesn’t care-”

  Jin shoved Ironshield to the floor. The hulking instructor landed on his backside, making no move to defend himself.

  “I care! Their parents care! Look at them!”

  Jin pointed at Timothy’s pod. The boy and his friends huddled together, sobbing. The other younger students were also inconsolable. Even Shinohara, stifling her own sobs, tried to comfort her juniors. Emilia, usually snobbish, now looked dejected, offering half-hearted encouragement to her classmates.

  “Training is supposed to nurture! Not destroy!” Jin snarled. “What kind of arsehole does this to children?!”

  “The kind who survived!” Ironshield’s voice boomed, silencing the room. All the other students turned to them. “If they want to be Players, this is a lesson they must learn. Better here than in that damned world.” His voice cracked at the end.

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  Jin saw the momentary lapse in the man's stoic glare – a brief, awful flicker of pain that pulled at the scarred lines around Ironshield’s eyes. Jin didn't need to read his mind; the man's dedication to this terrible logic was evident in his old wounds.

  As the saying goes, needs must when the devil drives. The next generation must be prepared, come what may.

  As someone who experienced RIFT his whole life, Jin understood that all too well. Worse yet, he was the one who cleaned the bloodied aftermath.

  He turned away, his fists clenched. He hated Ironshield’s methods. But hated himself more; for at the back of his mind, that madness had strong reasons.

  But as a father?

  Seeing the kids broken had pushed him over the edge. Emotional. Virtual or real, it didn’t matter.

  The fear. The terror. The sight of staring death in the face. No one ever forgot that. Not even Ironshield, the man who’d led his team to clear an evolved RIFT many years ago. In fact, Jin saw that very same look on him now, as if time had rewound itself.

  “If these kids have nightmares, I’m telling their parents it’s your fault, Ironshield.”

  “As it should be,” came the reply. “Good job in there, Frank.”

  “Good job?” Jin scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh.” He walked away, leaving his parting reminder. “There’s always a better way to teach kids. You might have a point, but I don’t like how it’s done. Never.”

  ***

  [Ironshield’s POV]

  “So, how is this year’s batch?”

  The man with neatly combed white hair and an impressive, thick moustache steepled his fingers. Chairman Heihachi’s voice was calm, but his gaze was still sharp as he glanced around the boardroom.

  “Other than the Lowenhald’s princess and Wong’s little nephew, the rest are pretty much useless. Even the Sinclair’s youngest boy is utterly hopeless.” Professor Mille began with her report. “And you know what’s worse? We even got a zero CP Player. Botched up all our data and system.”

  Her words stunned everyone who attended the meeting.

  “Zero CP? That’s crazy! It never happened before, right?” An instructor by the name of Lila asked. “Who’s he? Or she?”

  Professor Mille didn’t say anything else. Instead, she brought up the data displayed from a hologram projector. When Ironshield laid eyes on the data, he was dumbfounded.

  “Frank Stein. Wow. What a bizarre person. What kind of a Player is he?” Instructor Lila continued to ask. “Do you know anything, Instructor Cho?”

  “Registered Class, Herbalist. Age, twenty-one. He’s one of Old Man Sid’s relatives. Cousin from his ex-wife’s family on her sister-in-law’s side. Whatever that means.”

  “Why are we talking about this zero CP newbie anyway?” Another instructor who went by the name Hanma chimed in. “We should be talking about our future Star Rookies instead. 60k and 40k CP, wasn’t it, Prof?”

  Professor Mille silently nodded. “But Emilia’s still no Valkyrie for sure.”

  “Valkyrie? You mean that girl?” Instructor Lila asked. “I thought her name was Elle or something. Since when do we call her Valkyrie?”

  “Because she is,” answered Instructor Hanma. “Came out of nowhere, to guide us… our warriors into paradise.”

  Instructor Cho added. “And because of her, other members of the Alliance can no longer look down on us. Weakest, they said. Hah. This will show them.”

  Instructor Lila shared the same sentiment. “If she improves more in the next few months, we might have a proper chance at the World Player Tournament! Oohh… I’m getting excited already.”

  Her words put a smile on everyone’s faces. All except for one.

  “Why are you so quiet, Ironshield?” Chairman Heihachi asked. “Very unlike you.”

  “Well, Chief. This Frank Stein guy got me thinking. That’s all.”

  “Oh? That’s rare.” Instructor Lila leaned in, licking her lips. “Is he good-looking?”

  “Very.”

  “Oh my… I can’t wait to see him. So odd… and so mysterious. I like him already!”

  “Lila. Keep your habit to yourself.” Instructor Cho interrupted the two. “The Chief is asking Ironshield a serious question here. And please, Ironshield, stop entertaining that bimbo.”

  Ironshield let out a smile. “Well, you know we recently changed our training syllabus, right? For us to examine them inside the training classes instead of solely relying on the usual examination.”

  “What about it?” Professor Mille asked. “You still have a problem with it after all these years? We have all the data and-“

  “It’s not about the data. It’s about us. Humans.”

  ‘Huh? What are you talking about, Ironshield? Humans?”

  “Yes, Professor. Humans. We are all humans, no? And we’re doing this for our future generations, too. Am I right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “It’s simple.” Ironshield leaned forward, his fingers tapping the table. “Frank Stein’s right. You can have all the data you want. But if they freeze in a simulation, they’ll freeze in a real RIFT. That’s a death sentence.”

  “Are you trying to mock my life’s work?”

  Ironshield scoffed. “Mocked you? Far from it. Have you seen Emilia’s face after that simulation? Sixty thousand CP, and she was one second away from pissing herself. That’s not a Player. That’s a liability.”

  “Nonsense. I will not tolerate your slander!” Professor Mille stood up and pointed at Ironshield, who sat across the table.

  The man stared straight, his expression remained stoic. “We’re not simply training fighters, Professor. We’re training survivors. And if the way we do it breaks them before they even start? Then we’re failing.”

  “That’s not data!” Professor Mille slammed her tablet onto the table. “We can’t rely on-“

  “But that’s my data!” Ironshield answered back, his voice sent shivers down the other instructors. “You’re an unawakened scientist! But us? We are the ones risking our lives inside the RIFT! I might’ve retired, but I’m sure as hell not going to send any traumatised kid back into that damned place!”

  Everyone fell into deep silence.

  After a while, Chairman Heihachi spoke. “Powers corrupt. And absolute power corrupts absolutely. I have often been told about that saying since I was young.”

  The boardroom kept its silence. The chairman continued.

  “Attitude triumphs aptitude. This boy… Frank Stein seemed to have lots of attitude if he could move our Ironshield to such a state.”

  “But no aptitude.” Professor Mille added, still indignant. “For a Player, he’s useless. What we need now, more than anything else, is new Players like the Valkyrie. Both aptitude and attitude. Else, what’s the point?”

  Ironshield let out a sigh, shaking his head. “What’s the point, you say? You really don’t understand anything, do you, Professor Mille?” He pulled out a video from his virtual reality training class earlier in the day. “Since you like data so much, here, have a look yourself. This Frank Stein you speak ill of.”

  Everyone kept their silence the whole time, their eyes glued to the holographic display.

  At the end, they were left speechless. The scene where Jin rescued Emilia and her group from the mutated goblins took their breath away. Even Chairman Heihachi couldn’t believe his eyes, muttering under his breath that the monster he designed should be beyond even experienced Players.

  Except for Lila, who was back to her usual self, now swooned over a certain Frank Stein.

  “So, what’s your verdict?” Chairman Heihachi said after a brief moment of reflection. “Who passes and who fails?”

  “Hmm… excuse me, Chief. A mo’ please?” Lila, after wiping her drool away, raised her hand. “What happens if we pass them now and not during the examination? What if they fail?”

  Her question was met with a collective sigh. Even the chairman shook his head before cracking into a small smile.

  “Nothing,” Instructor Cho answered on their leader’s behalf.” The only difference it makes is that if they pass the eventual exam, then they’ll start with a higher rank. Else, they begin at Bronze I.”

  Instructor Hanma added, “For example, Valkyrie started at Silver IV when she got her license.”

  “Silver V,” Instructor Cho corrected. “But you get the point.”

  Lila clutched her chest. “But I want my Frankie to pass. Now and then some. Make him Gold I. Or V. Better still, let him replace Hanma, Chief. Or Cho.”

  “The hell, Lila?”

  “What? Am I wrong? Just look at you two,” Lila said, pointing at Instructor Cho and Instructor Hanma before pursing her lips in disgust. “About time we girls have some eye candies too. Gotta keep motivating us.”

  “Oi!” The two men expressed their dissatisfaction in unison.

  “Are you saying we’re ugly?” Instructor Cho slicked his hair back to prove a point. “We’re handsome too, you know. In our own ways.”

  “Besides, we can’t do whatever we want, Lila,” Instructor Hanma said, shaking his head. “This involves our reputation, too. SeComm’s. What would the public think if we pass a guy with no CP?”

  “Public smublic. I don’t care.” Instructor Lila pouted. “I mean… look at that! I wish I were the one being carried like that. H-He’s my hero.”

  She then turned around and blew a raspberry at Professor Mille, who had suddenly gone quiet.

  “And Prof? I don’t care about your data! He gets my vote!”

  “All of us will vote. And Lila? You are one of our more senior instructors. So, please remember the exam protocols. Especially one about passing your favourites,” Chairman Heihachi said, much to everyone’s amusement. “Now, let us get on with the verdict.”

  And that list started with the one that set a record, but for all the wrong reasons:

  Frank Stein.