The System Mecha is so unscientific

The journey back to Greenland City felt surreal, as if Da were caught in a vivid dream—one that twisted and curled around him like a sinister fog. The once-familiar streets now loomed like ghosts of his past, each corner filled with the echoes of laughter, ambition, and ambition now dashed by bitter reality.

He had left behind the dust of Blood Valley, but in its place, he carried the weight of defeat, the loss of Fireboy—his first mecha, the physical manifestation of his passion and intelligence. It was more than just machinery; it was a piece of his soul that had been forged in the fires of want and ingenuity. Now, it was gone, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness that threatened to engulf him.

With every step through the city, Da reflected on the lesson he had learned the hard way: power, position, and wealth were not just tools but weapons wielded to suppress those who had neither. Paul’s endorsement of ruthless ambition had opened his eyes to the harsh realities of their world. It wasn’t just about triumph in battle; it was about how one played the game—and he had become the unwilling pawn in a grand machination that he could not control.

When Da arrived at the front line of the grim buildings of the city, memories washed over him like waves crashing against the shore. The bustling streets once filled with dreams of possibility now felt suffocating, each towering structure casting long shadows over his ambitions. Every turn reminded him of his naïveté—the misconception that he could carve out a place in this world without confronting the deeper truths of loyalty and sacrifice.

He struggled to maintain his composure, chaos swirling within him. Each passerby felt distant, like echoes in a bad dream. He watched people move with purpose, laughing and talking as if they hadn’t just survived the storm of Blood Valley. They looked so intact, so vibrant, while he felt a part of himself frayed and worn out.

“Back to square one,” he muttered, hands jammed deep in his pockets as he ambled through the familiar streets.

The faces etched into his memory—friends, opponents, mentors—all seemed to watch him from behind the barriers of his consciousness, their voices buzzing like bees. Had it all meant nothing? Had the sacrifices made in the pursuit of power been all for naught? In moments like these, he felt smaller, perhaps even weaker, than the non-awakeners Paul had so disdainfully called him.

He knew he had made a deal with the devil, and the cost had become painfully apparent. Every privilege extended to him by the Grimheart family felt tainted now, a blood-stained inheritance that came with invisible chains. The power Paul wielded—the wealth, the connections, and the status as an awakener—had suppressed him at every turn. It was a testament to a system that valued dominance over integrity, combat over camaraderie.

Determined, Da made his way to the heart of the city, his thoughts whirring with ideas, ambition, and a sense of renewed purpose. There was still a flame flickering within him, one that refused to be extinguished by defeat. Even stripped of Fireboy, the ingenuity he had cultivated remained inside—a potential waiting to be harnessed.

As he walked the streets, he found himself gravitating toward the workshop he had once considered a second home. The workshop stood silent and idle, a relic of the past that radiated both sorrow and hope. He pushed the door open, its old hinges creaking ominously.

The sight took his breath away. Tools lay scattered amidst a haze of dust, machines half-finished, and the faint aroma of metal and oil still lingered in the air. Memories rushed in, of countless hours spent tinkering, crying in frustration, and finally succeeding in bringing his creations to life. Yet, it was also a reminder of loss—how easily ambition could morph into regret.

“Hey, you came back,” a voice called out, breaking the stillness.

Da turned to find Ada, a fellow engineer, standing at a workbench, her eyes softening with recognition. “I didn’t think you’d return after… everything.”

“Neither did I,” he replied, leaning against the doorframe. “But I couldn’t bring myself to stay away forever.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” she said, her voice steady. “I saw what happened with Fireboy. It’s a tough loss.”

“It’s more than just a mecha to me,” he confessed, moving deeper into the workshop. “It was my first real creation. I’ve learned some harsh lessons. Power isn’t everything. It can destroy as quickly as it can empower. Paul manipulated me, played me like a fool, and I paid the price.”

Ada stepped closer, concern etched on her features. “You’re not alone in this, Da. We’ve all felt the weight of his influence. But you have something valuable—your knowledge, your skills. That’s a power of its own.”

Her words struck a chord within him, resonating louder than the dark whispers of doubt filling his mind. “What’s the point? I lost my way. I made a deal I never should’ve made.”

“You can still find a way back from this,” Ada urged, her voice rising with a spark of passion. “Even if Paul thinks he has all the power, he doesn’t know what you’re capable of when you’re truly determined. You can build something better. Take that lesson and work with it. Move forward.”

Da closed his eyes, envisioning the future she painted—a future where he reclaimed his agency, where engineering became a means not just of power but of freedom. With each heartbeat, the embers of possibility reignited. “Yeah, but how?”

“Start small.” She gestured toward the tools spread across the benchtops. “Rebuild your foundation. Create again. Don’t chase after someone else’s definition of power. Build something that’s uniquely yours, something that speaks to who you are.”

The flicker of hope ignited into a flame as Da scanned the workshop; it had been dormant long enough. Amidst the remnants of failure, he saw the potential for a fresh beginning. “You’re right, Ada. I have to start over, embrace this fire instead of letting it burn out.”

As Da dove into the workbench filled with tools and remnants, he felt a physical urge to create, to reclaim the lost essence of who he was. With every turn of a wrench, every adjustment, the memories of defeat began to dissolve, replaced with the resolve of rebuilding.

Day turned to night, and the workshop wrapped around him like a cocoon—a space of solitude, creativity, and burgeoning strength. The achievements of others, even his own past failures, no longer haunted him; they became his stepping stones, urging him forward.

Time slipped into a soulful rhythm, the clinks and clatters of instruments aligning with the beat of his heart. He sketched designs anew, guided by the passion that once lit the spark for Fireboy. Each schematic spoke not just of machines, but of resilience and rebirth.

He could feel the city humming outside, unaware of the fire igniting within its shadows—a fragile flame that would not be extinguished. Da might have lost Fireboy, but he had found something far more vital: himself.

With each passing moment, he reclaimed his power. He would not allow Paul, or anyone else, to suppress him again. The road ahead would be filled with challenges, but he would no longer live in the shadow of another’s ambition. He had paid the price for folly; now, he would pay the cost of growth.

And as the night thickened, Da vowed within the walls of his workshop that he would rise again, stronger and more resolute than ever, carving a path of his own amidst the chaos of Greenland City.@@novelbin@@