The Arena

The underground arena wasn't at all like Yuka had imagined. Far from being a secretive, unmentionable club, it was brazenly situated right beneath the capital's Central Square.

Getting there was a breeze. Just stroll into the big supermarket on the square's edge, hop into an elevator, and hit the basement button - no secret handshake required.

At basement level, burly guards in black suits flanked a massive black door, letting Yuka and her two companions in after a quick weapons check.

Yuka fiddled with 'the butler' in her pocket, her ears catching the din ahead:

"I'm betting on Number 11!"

"Well, I'm backing Number 8!"

In the hall, a massive panoramic screen showcased two mechas – a sleek black Number 8 and a vibrant green Number 11 – squared off in a silent standoff.

Below the holographic display, rowdy bettors clutching their chips shouted support for their chosen mechas, wagering all they had.

Yuka approached the betting table where a bald man, upon seeing her, asked with a grin, "Fancy a bet, miss?"

The butler, peering out from its virtual hideaway, warned, "Master, a lady shouldn't gamble."

Ignoring it, Yuka asked, "What are the rules?"

The man's gaze swept over Yuka's flawless complexion and posh attire. "First time at the underground arena? It's simple – pick the mecha you think will win, place your bet. One chip equals a thousand astracredits. No refunds once you've bought in."

"The match is starting soon. There's still time to bet, but don't hesitate, or you'll have to wait for the next round," he added.

Nodding, Yuka asked, "Do the mechas' numbers mean anything?"

The man chuckled, "First timer, huh? The number is their current ranking. Here, your rank is your identity. Today, you might be Number 8, but if someone surpasses you in points, you could become Number 9, or 17, or whatever."

"I see," Yuka pondered. "I'll bet on Number 8. Give me ten chips."

The man's smile widened. "Certainly! Here you are."

Yuka transferred ten thousand astracredits via her opticomputer, pocketed the chips nonchalantly, and then asked, "Could you tell me more about the rules? Like, what's the mecha battle format?"

"Of course," the man replied, his eyes greedily fixed on Yuka.

Gambling, once tasted, becomes an addiction hard to shake off. The bald man eyed Yuka, a golden goose in his eyes. If he could hook her on betting, she would keep pouring money in. And him being the bookie, would never run short of cash then.

Yuka gestured for Ayoi and Alex to come closer and listen in.

The man didn't mind; the main prize was Yuka. The other two didn't seem to carry much weight in his eyes, so he didn't bother with them.

Suddenly, the screen flashed with a countdown.

15 seconds to match start.

"As the match is about to start, let's watch and talk," the bald man suggested. "Battles between higher-ranked contenders have live commentary. Lower ranks? Well, that's hit or miss."

The countdown ended, and the start buzzer sounded, yet the mechas stood still.

The commentator, a girl with a sweet voice, sounded thrilled, "What we have here is a battle between the 8th and 11th ranked contenders. Number 8, a familiar face, excels in melee weapon combat, having defeated twenty higher-ranked contenders with a longsword!"

"And Number 11, a rising star undefeated since the qualifiers, specializes in firepower, particularly short cannons and guns, with a staggering 95% accuracy rate!"

"Who will prevail today—And they're off! Number 8 initiates the attack, wielding his signature longsword, rumored to be a heavy knight's sword from the pre-galactic era, with a unique approach to mecha combat!"

"Number 11 dodges and retaliates with his short cannon... Direct hit! Number 8's left arm is struck!"

Below the screen, Number 8's supporters erupted in shouts, hurling insults as if they could reach through the screen and scold Number 8 themselves.

The bald man smacked his lips, turning to Yuka. "What you see is the most common format, a one-on-one arena battle. The objective is simple: either throw the opponent's mecha off the arena or dismantle it to win, earning one point."

"Arena battles are quick, so most prefer this to save time," he continued. "Then there's the map mode, featuring varied terrains like forests, barren mountains... In map mode, you must dismantle the opponent to win. It's more complex but offers higher points – five per victory."

"Oh, right," the man glanced at Yuka and her companions, "Besides the solo matches, there's also team play. Teams consist of three members, and you three could form one. Team battles follow similar rules to solo matches: if all opponents are defeated, even if just one of your team remains, you win. Points are divided equally."

"Points from solo and team matches are cumulative, so a team player can also top the solo rankings," he shook his head. "But no one has yet managed to be first in both solo and team matches."

He squinted, "After all, those truly ambitious for the top spot don't team up."

On the screen, the battle raged on.

Despite losing an arm, Number 8 remained composed. His mecha wielded the giant knight's sword in its right hand as if it were as light as a feather. With deft wrist twirls, he parried all bullets shot by Number 11.

Commentators and bettors cheered.

Number 11 transformed its arm into a short cannon again, this time aiming for Number 8's right arm. But Number 8 anticipated this, dodging the cannon fire.

In the few seconds it took Number 11 to switch arm functions, Number 8 raised his sword, previously dragging on the ground, and thrust it deep into the gap between Number 11's head and chest!

The commentator stood up, excited. "Number 8 has unleashed his signature move! Number 11 couldn't dodge! The sword is stuck between Number 11's head and chest, and it's moving downward... Number 8 aims to destroy the power source and claim victory!"

Yuka turned to the man, "What's the power source?"

He pulled out a cigarette and took a deep drag, "The power source of a mecha is its pilot."

"High-level firepower needs advanced fuel, and mecha piloting relies on the pilot's psychic power," he pointed at the screen. "Number 8's sword is headed for the cockpit, aiming to kill Number 11. Number 11's left hand is blocking the sword, but it won't last. If he doesn't move soon, he'll lose."

Yuka and Ayoi exclaimed in unison, "Kill?"

Before the man could respond, Alex explained, "Don't worry, the battles here are virtual. Similar to our school's simulation arena, they enter holographic pods and connect to the battlefield. No one gets really hurt."

"Exactly," the bald man put out his cigarette and said. "Since it's virtual, the pilots' appearances in the cockpits are randomly generated to protect privacy."

On the screen, after a long stalemate, Number 11 finally got through his cannon's cooldown. He was out of bullets, with only one shot left. If he missed, he'd have to engage in close combat with Number 8.

And that would spell certain defeat.

Biting down hard, Number 11 slightly relaxed his left arm, which had been blocking the heavy sword from moving further down.

With the resistance gone, the sword slid down sharply, shearing off a third of Number 11's mecha!

The commentator screamed, "Number 11 is in dire straits! With his left arm and a portion of his body gone, can he continue to fight?"

The tide turned. Those who had cursed Number 8 now grinned broadly, while Number 11's supporters erupted in anger, the area beneath the screen once again erupting into chaos.

Number 11, quick to react, discarded the damaged portion of his body and put some distance between himself and Number 8, lifting his right hand's short cannon.

The cannon's muzzle flashed red, unleashing a powerful shot at Number 8.

The audience held their breath, fixated on the screen, not daring to blink.

But Number 8 was just as fast. Lifting his heavy sword, he slashed fiercely at Number 11—

Explosions and the sound of a mecha breaking apart filled the arena, flames engulfing the platform. The commentator stood up again, trying to see through the smoke, trying to determine the winner.

"It's... Number 8!" the commentator shouted. "Let's look at the replay!"

The big screen showed the slow-motion replay. Yuka saw that in the final moment, Number 8 had slightly shifted, causing Number 11's cannon shot to only blow off half of his mecha, while Number 8's sword pierced the cockpit, taking out Number 11's pilot.

On the platform, only half of Number 8's body, an arm, and a leg remained standing in the center. Number 11's mecha was completely destroyed and automatically cleared from the platform by the system.

"Congratulations to the ultimate victor—Number 8!" the commentator exclaimed with a smile. "What a thrilling, spectacular battle!"

Below, the bettors were a jumble of emotions, some weeping bitterly, others laughing wildly, embodying the unpredictable nature of life.

Yuka turned to the bald man.

The man grimaced and, somewhat reluctantly, pulled out twenty chips, saying to Yuka, "These are your winnings, doubled."

"Convert them all to astracredits," Yuka motioned with her opticomputer.

The bald man, grudgingly transferring the credits to Yuka, forced a smile when she looked his way. "Come back again, eh?"

Yuka shook her head. "A real lady should not gamble at all. I won't be coming back."

The man was perplexed. 'Then why gamble in the first place?'

The butler, in its virtual abode, felt reassured. 'Master still listens to reason.'

Yuka pocketed her opticomputer, thinking to herself. 'I only bet to gather information. Would he have explained the rules if I hadn't placed a bet?'

Alex, who had guessed Yuka's intentions, suggested, "Let's check it out ourselves."

Yuka nodded in agreement.

They left the bustling hall and headed towards a side door.

Inside, Yuka found several enclosed rooms. Some indicated ongoing use, while others were green for unoccupied. She chose an empty room, revealing a holographic pod inside.

Just as Yuka turned around, the door of the room in front of her opened.

Morris, looking tired, stepped out and brightened upon seeing Yuka. "Yuka? What brings you here?"

"Morris," Yuka greeted with a smile, "I'm here with friends for some fun."

Morris smiled. "Make sure to compete well; the prizes here are quite substantial. Don't miss your chance to win."

Alex, intrigued, asked, "What kind of prizes?"

Morris glanced at Alex. "Your Highness, if you top the scoreboard by the end of this year in December, not only will you win a substantial prize money, but also a new model mecha, and an [Answer]."

"An Answer?"

"Yes," Morris confirmed. "You can ask the owner a question here. If he can answer, he'll commit to doing so. Once you secure the first place, he'll provide the answer."

"How about that?" Morris winked at Yuka. "Sounds intriguing, right?"

Yuka asked, "Where can I ask this question?"

"Just enter the virtual arena, and the guiding system will relay your question to the owner here," Morris replied.

After wishing Yuka fun, Morris left.

Ayoi, eager to try, exclaimed, "Let's go in and play!"

Yuka and Alex agreed.

Choosing a pod, Yuka noted the charge. After creating a contestant account, any remaining time would automatically be credited.

Yuka charged ten thousand astracredits, laid in the holographic pod, and connected her psychic power.

The pod door sealed automatically, displaying Occupied.

"Welcome to the arena. I am Min, your guide," the system's voice greeted Yuka.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a pitch-black space. A white light appeared before her, explaining, "Here, since the mechas are virtual, we've adjusted the parameters. Players with psychic power at C-tier can enter and compete."

"In the arena, players with psychic power above A-tier will use their normal psychic abilities. Those below A-tier will compete using standardized A-tier psychic power."

Yuka blinked.

This place was strikingly similar to the virtual arenas at her school.

She waved at the light and posed her question.

After a minute, the light replied, "The question can be answered. Please strive to win the championship."

Yuka's lips curled into a smile. "Alright."