“Approved partners may disseminate System education under Alliance guidelines to ensure consistency, accountability, and safety.”

  — Sol Alliance Accredited Institutions Framework

  I stared at her, mind racing. “Million sols? I could get—”

  “Oh.” Asti’s eyes widened as she read something on her interface. “There’s a catch.”

  Of course there was. I let out a long breath, feeling the brief spark of hope gutter out like a candle in a vacuum. “What’s the catch?”

  “Academies snatched the general subsystem I had, and I can offer you… The one John had learned himself, but you need a compatible trait,” she explained, still reading. “The book requires a tinkerer-based trait to function properly. Like great-grandpa had.” She glanced up at me apologetically. “It won’t even work otherwise. The system locks it based on trait compatibility, so—”

  “I have it,” I interrupted.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Tinkerer trait.” I grinned at her. “Not sure how to use it properly yet, but I’ve got it.”

  Asti stared at me for a solid three seconds, holographic mouth ajar. Then her entire face lit up like I’d just told her she’d won the lottery.

  “Dash!” She practically bounced, the projection flickering with excitement. “Of course you do! You always loved the way he did things! I remember you taking apart that annoying alarm, finally stopping it, but we were late for breakfast!” She laughed, the sound warm even through the projection. “No wonder you got the tinkerer trait! That’s perfect!”

  She turned back to her interface, fingers flying across the controls. “Okay, okay, let me pull up the details. This is preem, Dash. Really preem.”

  Preem again. Had I been transported into a holo-movie or what? Shaking that thought away, I stepped closer to the table, eyeing the eight books. They looked innocuous enough. Old leather bindings, gilded text, what belonged in a museum display case, not a warehouse inventory system.

  “So what does it do?” I asked.

  “It’s a mana subsystem,” Asti said, still typing. “Focused on enchanting items, and personal combat magic, specifically noted for tinkerers. Let me see...” She pulled up a window that projected beside her, showing what looked like a rating system. “Okay, so it’s rated SSS tier in the Solar System, S tier in the Milky Way Galaxy, and A tier in the universe.”

  I blinked at the cascade of letters and categories.

  “Uh,” I said carefully. “What does that mean?”

  Asti froze mid-gesture. She turned to stare at me, and I watched her expression shift from excitement to disbelief to genuine anger. “Your academy didn’t teach you comparative ratings?” she snapped. “That’s literally System Basics 101! What the hell are they teaching at Creston?”

  I shrugged helplessly. “Mining techniques, how not to die to bugs?”

  She muttered something under her breath that definitely included the word “useless,” then took a visible breath to compose herself.

  “Okay. Comparative ratings.” She gestured at the projection, highlighting each tier. “If you have the plugin, skill or perk, or whatever weird subsystem, the system compares everything against similar items or abilities in an area. I think humanity got unlocked: Locals, Solar System, Galaxy, Universe.” She pointed to each letter in sequence. “SSS means it’s exceptional compared to other mana subsystems in the Sol System. S means it’s outstanding in the Galaxy. A means it’s excellent in the known universe. Mine is S, A and B+.”

  I stared at the ratings, trying to process that. “So... it’s good?”

  “It’s very good,” Asti corrected. “Not the absolute best in the universe; there’s probably some ancient civilization out there with something slightly better. But among the Milky Way galaxy? It’s pretty much peak performance and in the Sol System?” She grinned. “Nothing comes close. This is the mana subsystem people would kill for, Dash.”

  My chest tightened.

  Almost half of million credits for one week of borrowing. I could buy so much with that money. Armor upgrades, or a better rifle. Hell, I could probably pay off half of Mom’s debts and still have enough left for—

  “You’re hesitating,” Asti said.

  I looked up at her. “It’s half a million credits, Asti. That’s—”

  “Gear is temporary,” she interrupted. Her tone shifted, becoming serious in a way I rarely heard from her. “You’ll outgrow whatever armor you buy. You’ll find better weapons. You’ll break equipment, upgrade it, replace it. That’s how it works.” She gestured at the book on the table. “But this? This mana subsystem will serve you until you die, Dash. It’s not something you replace. It’s not something you upgrade. Once you integrate it, it’s yours. Permanently…ish.”

  I stared at the book.

  She was right. Of course she was right. I could spend a million credits on gear that would last me a few years, maybe ten if I was careful. Or I could invest it in something that would define how I used the system for the rest of my life.

  “Well,” I said slowly, grinning despite the nervous knot in my stomach. “When you put it like that, it’s kind of a no-brainer, isn’t it?”

  Asti’s face broke into the widest smile I’d seen from her yet. “That’s my cousin!” She pulled up another interface window, fingers flying. “Okay, now we need to get you gear. Or materials for one, I presume?” There was a wild glint in her eyes that I recognized. The same look I got when I had all the parts laid out for a new build and just needed to start assembling.

  “You’re enjoying this,” I said, surprised. Don’t get me wrong, Asti was one of the few friends I had in my family. But we weren’t this close. We exchanged messages, sure. Showed up at the same family gatherings and made small talk. But this?

  This felt different.

  She let out a long sigh, and her holographic shoulders sagged. “You have freedom, Dash.” Her voice went quiet. “If I want to move anywhere, I have an army on my back and at least two operators monitoring me from the shadows. Getting into a shard? Hah!”

  She straightened, her voice dropping into a deep, authoritative tone that was clearly mimicking someone. “‘Apostra, we’re the executives of Sol Fortune 15. We lead the Alliance. You can’t even imagine the dangers you would face!’”

  She shook her head, her own voice returning with bitter frustration. “Bullshit. We could make sure I’m alone in a shard if we wanted to. Set up controlled conditions, hire the best support, monitor everything remotely. But they won’t allow me to do anything.” She turned to face me fully, holographic eyes meeting mine. “I envy your freedom.”

  My mind flashed back to Alice and Cecilia. The bodyguards closing in and the resigned looks on their faces. Alice’s theatrical groan when she’d been told they had to leave.

  “We agreed you could move in gray areas. This is a light-green zone. You can’t go here alone.”

  It was the same situation, wasn’t it? Corpo kids locked in cages, surrounded by security and restrictions and people who claimed it was all for their own good. I thought it was only me, caged, because the Mars was dangerous, but nope.

  Now I didn’t have to talk to tutors, but… “It’s not a walk in the park either,” I deflected, uncomfortable with where this was going.

  “Which is exactly why you need some serious firepower and armor!” Asti’s energy returned in an instant, the moment of vulnerability vanishing behind enthusiasm. “I can get you system-grade components. You’ve got enough money left for a decent haul.”

  I froze.

  “System-grade?”

  The words came out more excited than I’d intended. But hell, who could blame me? I’d always dreamed of building system-grade weapons. Ever since I was a kid watching Grandpa work in his workshop, seeing him handle components that glowed faintly with that telltale shimmer.

  The designation didn’t mean it was better than regular gear, not necessarily.

  A well-crafted mundane rifle could outperform a poorly made system-grade one. But system-grade meant the system recognized it, registered it and made it part of your load-out in a way that normal equipment never could be.

  And if the holo-movies were anything to go by, and I really hoped they were, you could teleport between star systems, but would arrive naked.

  Apparently, FTL was restricted by system protocols. But personal gear? If it was system-grade, it went with you through teleports.

  In the movies, the heroes always chased bad guys across the galaxy, their weapons and armor teleporting alongside them. Instant deployment, no logistics delays, credits conversion, no waiting for buying local gear at each planet.

  Now I could be one of them.

  “Yeah,” Asti said absently, already pulling up inventory screens. “But... there’s no good bench for you in Tago. Not a public one you can borrow, anyway.” She glanced at me. “You’d need to buy your own.”

  “My own?!” The words came out louder than I’d meant.

  “Yeah, with all the tools, TABLO, Kallum family design actually, fabricators, well, everything you need to craft up to level 99, but... it cost three hundred and fifty thousand credits. Just the tools, and… Eh? CEO granted you special discount? Like massive on TABLO and basically entire category, tiered.”

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  “That... that...”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  My own workshop with my own crafting bench. Not having to rely on Eddy’s generosity or Mom’s connections or sneaking into the school workshop during off-hours. My own space. Where I could work whenever I wanted, on whatever I wanted, without anyone looking over my shoulder or asking questions about what I was building.

  The thought made my chest tight.

  “That would leave me with only hundred fifty,” I managed, doing the mental math.

  Asti nodded. “Leave hundred for a shield, so basically only about fifty. But you’d be buying materials, not finished weapons. Cheaper. We charge a premium for completed gear.” She pulled up a comparison screen showing identical rifle components. One finished, one with raw materials. The price difference was staggering.

  “People are stupid, and if they put gear together themselves, it fails when they need it the most. Imagine shields not working and getting you killed. We offer a 100% guarantee that it will work. But… you’ve got the skills to build it yourself, right? Some fabrication, some hammer clanking, and you're done.”

  I stared at the numbers, mind racing.

  “Grandma knew this,” I said and glanced at Asti. “This is one of her tests, isn’t it? That I won’t buy things that are instantly useful, but that I can plan ahead. Book and bench, leaving me for what? At most low-green equipment.”

  She pretended not to see or hear me.

  Then, a thought hit me. Grandma didn’t know I could use a system, right? RIGHT?! So either coincidence, or she had planned this as an eventuality?

  Scary.

  Actually, I could confirm that theory. “How much for the level 150 bench? Anyone can use it, right? You don’t need to be a system user?” I asked Asti.

  She thought for a second, her fingers whirling on the virtual keyboard. “Nine hundred, actually your discount is larger here. I still think the book is a must. You can always buy a better bench… and yes. Anyone can use it, but why?”

  “Just curious.” With a groan, and turned back to the warehouse.

  Fifty thousand credits in raw materials could get me... what? Enough components for a full armor rebuild? A new rifle? Maybe both if I were smart about it and salvaged what I could from my current setup?

  I always wanted to make a trash bazooka, basically a system to use trash as ammo, and shoot it at bugs. Grandma was one sneaky bitch, as always.

  “Show me the bench first,” I said.

  We talked for a long while about what materials and gear to get. Asti pulled up spec sheets, comparison charts, compatibility matrices. I countered with build plans, weight distribution concerns, and power requirements. She suggested alloys I’d never heard of. I explained why certain configurations wouldn’t work with my current armor frame.

  Before we scraped the armor altogether and we settled on a jacket… thingy? There were system fibers that were weird, and movement was the most crucial. At least according to Asti.

  It was... fun, actually.

  Really fun. Like talking shop with someone who understood not just the technical side but the why behind it. As sales chief, she knew why you’d choose a lighter material, even if it meant sacrificing some durability.

  Why modular components were worth the extra cost.

  Why sometimes the “inferior” option was actually better for your specific build.

  We settled on a parts list that made my tinkerer brain practically sing. High-grade exotic alloys for my new pistols and rifle, fibers I never heard of and enough misc components, wiring, circuits, fasteners, the unglamorous stuff that actually held everything together, to rebuild my entire load-out twice over.

  Asti turned to me. “So this leaves the shield, and we left only a hundred thousand for it. That’s… enough for a C- tier shield.” She looked worried. “Shouldn’t we scrap some nice-to-have items, like the twenty g-servos?”

  She showed me about a hundred variants of shields.

  I shook my head with a sigh. “I know changing from armor to… uh, civilian-armor? Is going to make me vulnerable, but one hundred thousand should be enough…”

  I saw something there.

  “Wait. You’ve got Michalski Hexagon Hybrid Shield? For only a hundred?” I couldn’t believe it.

  Asti glanced there. “It has… uh, an experimental tag with a price of a hundred million,” she said. “Rating - none? What is this? And apparently it’s worse than a regular shield, or a pure magic shield.”

  I laughed, but then a call interrupted us. Asti blinked, glancing at her band. She looked genuinely confused but confirmed something with a tap. “Professor Michalski?”

  A new holographic projection materialized beside us: a man in his mid-forties wearing a pristine white lab coat with the Kallum Inc logo embroidered on the breast pocket. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes had a manic gleam I recognized from my own reflection when I got deep into a build.

  “Ah! Kallum themselves finally showed interest in my device!” He beamed as if it were Christmas morning, practically bouncing on his heels.

  “I’ve been trying to—” He stopped himself, taking a visible breath. “Sorry, sorry. Professor Adrian Michalski, Advanced Shielding Division. You’re looking at the Hexagon Hybrid?”

  “Your invention was marked as ineffective, and the advice is to buy two individual shields.” Asti said. “Magitech is interesting, but your matrix is inferior to specialized shields.” He got a pained expression as she continued. “You also need a mana-battery AND a normal battery.” She turned to me. “Dash, even if you could afford it, this—”

  “Is genius,” I finished for her. “Instead of calculating bonding shields for every specific point, you calculate for each hexagon, reducing the load!”

  “Young man, have you read my work?” Michalski’s smile returned, at least a bit. “I know the downsides, but I could work them out...”

  “If someone risked their life?” Asti asked.

  “I have willing subjects, but nobody is willing to buy even the low-compute grade shield. It’s only a hundred thousand!”

  She glanced at her board. “It says a hundred million.”

  He swallowed. “...for anyone below S3 security clearance, that is.” He adopted a stiff, bureaucratic tone. “‘We cannot risk losing the funding put into this project; thus, the price reflects the investments.’”

  I let out a sigh. “I would buy it...”

  “Then why not? You’re Kallum, right? You should have S3, no?”

  Asti shook her head. “Just because...” Her eyes widened. “S4, Dash?!”

  “Oh, it stayed?” I blinked. “Thought I lost that because a random Kallum elevator refused me.”

  The Professor smiled. “Will you build it? Yourself?” I nodded. “If you decide to buy my matrice, I can offer to personally answer any questions. And if you report findings to me, we can cooperate—”

  “That will be enough, Professor Michalski. Thank you for the information.” She actually hung up on him. “You shouldn’t, Dash.”

  I grinned. “I’ve got the clearance for the discount, no?”

  She reluctantly nodded. “But it’s inferior to standalone—”

  “Which costs ten times that? I see no problem. Win-win.”

  She pondered that. “Do you trust this...?” She pointed at the listing. “With your life?”

  I sighed. “I promise to test it heavily?”

  “Okay, only if you tell me how you got S4.” She sounded resigned.

  But I grinned. “Oh, easy. I liked to watch Grandpa in his workshop, and he got tired of sending me away when he got a call, or had to handle sensitive tech. Instead of risking anyone finding out I overheard something, he just asked counter-intel to clear me... and they did after teaching me how to shut up, or how to shut someone up.”

  “Nice Dash! Huh...” She laughed, then her expression shifted as she read something on her interface. “You need to disclose S4 information for it to be even considered for removal—” Her brows furrowed. “Someone asked to put you on a watchlist, but they only had S3, so it was auto-declined.”

  I perked up. “When?”

  “This morning. Same time as the attempt to block your access...”

  “Someone is after me,” I said. It had to be.

  Before my thoughts could spiral into full conspiracy mode, Asti hesitated, but then shook her head. “Since you have S4 and this connection is secure up to S5... I can tell you that… we’re under attack.” She was serious now, the playfulness gone from her voice. “Someone inside our system is paralyzing us with random requests. Shipments going to wrong places, people getting lost in the warehouse, inventory marked for disposal. Counter-intel is working overtime.”

  “Interesting,” I said, but didn’t elaborate that someone had been draining me. It might be unrelated. Or not. “Sorry.”

  Asti waved her hand dismissively. “Not my problem, but big bro won’t shut up about it. Annoying.” She laughed as if being under attack was completely normal. Well... for a corpo like Kallum, it was.

  As I was pondering Kallum politics, Asti’s alarm went off.

  She glanced at something I couldn’t see, and her expression shifted to genuine sadness. “Okay, Dash. We need to wrap this up.” She pulled up the final confirmation screen. “So, here’s how this works. The bench and materials will be delivered separately to your home by Kallum Transport. Standard shipping should arrive tomorrow from the orbit. Sound good?”

  I nodded, still half-dazed by the shopping list we’d just compiled.

  “Preem.” She tapped something on her interface. “The book is more complicated. I need to go through some security bullshit; you know how it is. Priceless artifact and all that.” She made a face. “So it’ll come when it comes. By one of our elite operators, who will stay in Tago for the week. And in a week...” She met my eyes, her expression deadly serious. “In a week, they will take it back.”

  I nodded again, my mind already racing ahead to integration schedules and—

  “Dash.” Her voice cut through my thoughts like a plasma cutter. “They WILL take it back. Even if they have to kill you. Corporate policy.”

  I froze. Right, of course. A five-hundred-thousand-credit loan for a system artifact that was rated SSS in the Solar System. They weren’t going to just trust I’d return it on time. The operator wasn’t there to help me.

  They were there to ensure the book came back.

  Period.

  And if I tried to keep it? If I got too attached, or decided a week wasn’t enough, or thought maybe I could just... hold onto it a little longer? They’d kill me and take it back. No negotiation or warnings. Just corpo efficiency at its finest. “Got it,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Seven days. I’ll be done by then.”

  Asti’s expression softened slightly. “I know you will. And hey—” She grinned, some of that earlier enthusiasm returning. “It was so fun seeing you like this. All excited about gear and builds. Reminded me of when we were kids and you’d show me whatever project you were working on.”

  I felt myself smile despite the casual death threat she’d just delivered. “Yeah. Same, Asti. This was... really preem.”

  She laughed, then gave me a small wave. “Take care of yourself, cousin. And Dash? Don’t die before I get to see what you build with all this.”

  I nodded.

  “Measure twice, stay safe and nice,” we both said before she vanished. Like in the shard, not faded, or walked away.

  Just vanished, like someone had flipped a switch and turned off her projection mid-sentence, just as a door materialized in front of me. I blinked at it. Standard corporate door, brushed steel, with a simple handle. It definitely hadn’t been there five seconds ago. And behind me, where the endless warehouse had stretched into impossible distances...

  Nothing. Just white walls and fluorescent lighting. The generic, soul-crushing aesthetic of a corpo office building.

  The Holo-Sale room was gone. The shelves, the inventory, the books, Asti… all of it had disappeared the moment the connection ended, leaving me standing alone in a small, empty room that couldn’t have been more than five meters square.

  I stood there for a moment, trying to process the shift from an impossible warehouse to a beige corporate box.

  “Surreal,” I muttered.

  I pushed open the door and stepped through, and I started walking, armor clanking softly with each step. My holoband buzzed, and I glanced down.

  TRANSACTION COMPLETE

  ITEMS PURCHASED!

  TOTAL COST: ￠500,000

  DELIVERY: 24 HOURS

  SHIPPING ADDRESS: [REDACTED - KALLUM RESIDENCE, TAGO]

  Below that, another notification:

  LOAN CONFIRMATION:

  - Kallum Mana Subsystem

  - Duration: 7 Days

  Delivery: ?

  RETURN MANDATORY

  I stared at the last line.

  RETURN MANDATORY.

  Yeah, they’d definitely kill me if I tried to keep it.

  But for seven days? For seven days, I’d have access to a mana subsystem that was rated SSS in the Solar System. Seven days to integrate it. Seven days to make it mine.

  I could do that.

  I had to.

  I found an elevator that wasn’t rejecting me, pressed the button for ground level, and watched the floors tick by as I ascended back toward the real world. The doors opened onto the main lobby. The massive KALLUM sign still gleamed on the wall. People still moved through the space with corporate purpose.

  And somewhere above the Earth 2.0, in an office I’d never see, Apostra was probably already moving on to the next crisis, the next meeting, the next item on an endless list of executive responsibilities.

  Surreal.

  I walked toward the exit, past the empty reception desk, and pushed through the doors into Tago’s afternoon heat. The train station was right there, connected to the building. I checked my holoband.

  1:47 PM.

  Omar was expecting me at 2:00.

  I had thirteen minutes to get to Café Orbital, and I still did not know how I was going to explain any of this.

  [Incursion Predictor activated!]

  Note: Imminent incursion detected in nearby area, forcibly activating your plugin. You can disable this behaviour in the plugin settings.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Apostra Kallum

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