Chapter 74: God’s Right Foot

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are now seeing is the first round of the Hephaestus Mecha Design Competition. Contestants are already in place, building their mecha digital models…”

Over fifty teams had been selected. In the grand hall beneath the soaring dome, dozens of A101 computing units hummed, and countless pale-white screens separated each team into its own space. Media reporters from across the platforms—whether human or AI broadcasters—floated through the rows of screens, live-streaming the event to viewers across the entire Pan-Galactic Federation.

It was Lu Yao’s first time encountering a mecha design contest that required on-site model construction and restricted team numbers. The news broadcast was loud and chaotic. With an impassive expression, he stood and moved to shut off the channel. Four or five senior technicians and researchers in the hall instantly turned their eyes toward him. Lu Yao pressed his brows together and waved, “Continue.”

“To my left is the team from Jaeger Industries, led by their Chief Mecha Engineer, Jiang Wei. Their technical strength is formidable…”

As a reporter introduced them, retreating backward while keeping his floating camera in view, Jiang Wei glanced up, then gave a polite smile to the lens.

“It seems Chief Jiang is almost certain to win. Let’s wish him the best…” The reporter continued, “Next, the only individual entrant in this competition, Verrièr Gran, a mecha design student from the Ninth Military Academy on the Green Isle of the White Mountain Constellation. This young man’s intelligence, courage, and perseverance are truly remarkable. Let’s send him our encouragement.”

“Now, in front of us is the team from the Federation Mecha Research Institute’s First Development Base,” the reporter’s voice grew excited. “Many of you have probably seen the recently released Steel Titans documentary series. Chief Engineer Lu Yao’s poise is unforgettable. Truth be told, this is my first time seeing Chief Engineer Lu in person. However…”

The floating camera moved slowly toward Lu Yao’s position. “It seems Chief Engineer Lu’s team has encountered some difficulties.”

On camera, a few technicians looked visibly troubled as Lu Yao and Shen Zishen worked at the A101 terminals, inputting and debugging code.

“Now seated before the device are Chief Engineer Lu and Senior Technician Shen Zishen from the base’s Integrated Craft Department…” the reporter continued quietly, scanning the hall with his eyes.

Shen Zishen was inputting the underlying NTL architecture. From the reporter’s angle, the low-level algorithm structure was somewhat visible, but he could not understand what Lu Yao was doing. He seemed… to be modifying the logic architecture of the A101 itself?

Lines of code flew rapidly across the screen, reflecting in Lu Yao’s focused eyes. He was loading the household AI, D, and upgrading the internal logic of the A101 to parse the simplified NTL input, speeding up computation.

The base’s AI, Deus, had been Lu Yao’s creation, but the A101’s computing power couldn’t run it. So Lu Yao had loaded the simpler home version, D, into the machine. Next, he would install the Torque mecha’s operating program. This was a solution he had only recently devised.

Torque’s tiny mecha body was minuscule; its chip carried only a thousandth of a normal mecha’s processing power. Lu Yao had encoded the program in multiple ways to fit inside the chip, keeping the small mecha functional. Now, the same approach worked on the A101.

Shen Zishen finished inputting the low-level architecture and began the run check. A rarely seen buffer circle spun at a glacial pace. Loading…

Several technicians broke into a cold sweat, tugging at their hair. The reporter glanced between the thinning hairlines of the techs and Lu Yao’s thick black hair, sighing at the contrast.

“Ah!!!” A young technician suddenly screamed, making Lu Yao jump. He hit a row of characters wrong. “What’s wrong?” Lu Yao asked. The technician was on the verge of tears. “Chief Engineer Lu, it’s frozen! The screen’s flashing…”

These junior techs, used to smooth interstellar-era electronics, had never seen anything like this. The load had stalled; the screen blinked black and white in chaos. They were on the edge of a breakdown—and they hadn’t saved their work. Shen Zishen stayed calm but looked grave, glancing to Lu Yao for help. “Chief Engineer Lu, this…”

Lu Yao said nothing. He stared at the flickering screen for a moment, then stood. All the technicians and researchers leaned back to give him room. He stepped across the screens to the A101 itself, about half a meter away, and raised his hand.

Everyone held their breath, including the reporters, watching his every movement. Then, Lu Yao slapped the top of the A101, tapping a few times. The sudden loud noise made everyone’s hair stand on end. He glanced at the screen. It still flickered. He stepped back and kicked the A101’s chassis. Bang— Dust leapt from the floor. The screen flickered a few times, then stabilized. The loading bar resumed.

“All set.” Lu Yao glanced over, confirmed the result, and returned to his station to continue inputting the cat mecha program. On B13, he often encountered equipment like this. Loose connections, dust, overheating—it was routine. He had learned how to handle it.

After a brief silence, the reporter’s live stream chat exploded with comments, scrolling so fast it was nearly impossible to read. Everyone—inside and outside the camera frame—was stunned by Lu Yao’s action.

“Th-This is… this is…” the reporter stammered. Shen Zishen swallowed hard, explaining, “This is roughly the legendary secret of ancient Earth computer engineers… the God’s Right Foot.”

The reporter blinked, “???”

Next door, Verrièr sat at a massive A101, holding his face in disbelief. The loud bang drew his gaze. He paused, then stood and kicked his own sluggishly loading device. Nothing happened. Verrièr pondered: was Lu Yao’s foot really the only thing that could make it work?

After the day’s competition schedule ended, Lu Yao did not, as usual, head home at the end of his shift. Instead, he took advantage of the vast, open autumn night and rode his motorcycle back to the research base.

Facing the expansive wilderness, the long wind trailed behind him, tugging at his leather jacket. Thirty kilometers beyond the dark shadows of the mountains, the base’s high-powered searchlights pierced the night, casting the surroundings in almost daylight-like brilliance.

Lu Yao didn’t even go to the parking lot. He slammed on the brakes at the base gates, dust spiraling in an arc from the wheels. He stopped, removed his helmet, tossing it to a nearby intelligent robot, and strode quickly toward the indoor maintenance bay.

After hours, the base was almost deserted. Lu Yao ran across the corridor bridge; the massive gunmetal gray mecha grew nearer, the intricate knee structures becoming clearer with each step.

But this time, the mecha no longer held his attention. When that lean, sharp-shouldered silhouette came into view, Lu Yao halted, gripping the bridge railing. From above, he called down to the figure lifting a personal AI assistant to check the time: “Zhou Yunchen! I’m here.”

Zhou Yunchen turned, no longer looking at the time. Lu Yao, still panting, bit his lip and ran again, bounding down the stairs two steps at a time, until he reached Zhou Yunchen.

He had run so fast that the night wind from the plains seemed to follow, swirling into his clothes. Unable to stop in time, he collided into Zhou Yunchen’s arms. The familiar scent filled Zhou Yunchen’s embrace.

Distant Star was preparing to depart, and several technicians and maintenance staff gathered near the repair station, watching in astonishment—but no one dared to interrupt.

Zhou Yunchen wrapped his arms around Lu Yao’s waist, steadying him. He felt the satisfying weight of the body in his embrace, but as his hands brushed over the visible bone structure along Lu Yao’s back, a twinge of worry crept in. Lu Yao should eat more, yet he had grown accustomed to relying on nutrient tubes and lacked motivation to consume more. Zhou Yunchen began contemplating how to feed Lu Yao once the exercise concluded.

“I’m late,” Lu Yao said, holding Zhou Yunchen’s arm to stand upright, tilting his face up toward him. “Three minutes late.”

His voice remained cold, but the exertion of running left a slight breathiness. His lips were tinted red, and the motion of opening and closing them made Zhou Yunchen forget entirely about feeding schedules. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to devour the cool, cherry-red lips before him.

Lu Yao blinked, and as his lashes flickered, Zhou Yunchen regained composure. He realized that the bustling maintenance bay was hardly an appropriate place for indulgence. “Not late. Want to sit in the cockpit for a bit?”

Tonight, Distant Star would head to the exercise area. Zhou Yunchen had told Lu Yao a time earlier than the actual departure by half an hour. Since Lu Yao had gone straight to the base after the competition, he had no chance to discover the snow leopard’s secret. Lu Yao nodded.

“I’ll pilot Distant Star to rendezvous with the fleet. Zhao Minghe has already departed with the snow leopard,” Zhou Yunchen said, draping his arm around Lu Yao’s shoulder as they walked forward.

It was Lu Yao’s first time being led this way. Unfamiliar with Zhou Yunchen’s stride and pace, he stumbled a little but did not resist. Only when they reached the elevator and no longer needed to step did Lu Yao’s tense muscles finally relax.

The cockpit door hissed open. Distant Star had not yet powered up. The interior remained dark, save for the external light streaming through the front viewport, catching the quiet dust particles in the air. Zhou Yunchen gestured for Lu Yao to enter first. He followed behind, stepping into the shadows.

Lu Yao reached the console, waiting for Zhou Yunchen to start Distant Star. He would then rise into the observation seat nearby. Zhou Yunchen indeed moved over, sitting in the pilot’s chair, yet he did not fasten the X-shaped safety harness, nor did he issue the startup command.

“Not starting Distant Star?” Lu Yao asked.

“No rush. You can sit here.” Zhou Yunchen sat upright. Light from the viewport fell on his sharp, sculpted face, steady and commanding, without a trace of jest.

Lu Yao hesitated for a moment. There was only one chair in the cockpit—where could he sit? His frown eased as realization dawned. With a small push, Lu Yao perched atop the inactive console.

“???” Zhou Yunchen blinked in surprise.

Author’s note: Zhou Yunchen actually wanted Lu Yao to sit there…

 

 

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