The sounds of celebration filled room 401. Copelan and Patter had transformed the usually spartan space into a makeshift banquet hall, desk surfaces crowded with purloined delicacies from the Academy kitchens.

"Best part about being a noble?" Copelan smirked, arranging plates of roasted meats and fresh bread. "The kitchen staff never questions when you ask for extra portions."

Annes snatched up a dusty wine bottle, her grin fierce in the lamplight. "Nice! I haven't touched a drop since enrollment. Academy's got that stupid 'no alcohol' rule." She twisted the cork free with practiced ease.

"Had to sneak into the city for those." Patter stretched her long legs under a desk, looking pleased with herself. "Figured we'd earned it."

The next round starts at dawn, I cautioned through Mind Speech. Try not to overindulge.

But my warning came too late. My companions descended on the feast like a pack of starving wolves, the day's combat having awakened ravenous appetites. Genta's squeal of delight pierced the air as she discovered a bowl of crispy pork rinds.

"My absolute favorite!" She clutched the bowl possessively, sharp teeth crunching through the snacks. "We never get these in the dining hall!"

I watched from my corner as they ate, drank, and laughed together. My mechanical body hummed softly, processing the scene before me. Something ached deep in whatever remained of my organic parts; it was a yearning for what I could no longer experience. The simple pleasure of sharing food and drink with friends, the warm buzz of wine, the satisfaction of a full belly... all of it lost to me now.

Yet seeing their joy, their camaraderie... perhaps that was enough. My tendrils curled slightly, an unconscious expression of contentment despite my limitations. They were my friends, my team. Even if I couldn't join their feast, I could still share in their celebration.

Copelan approached my corner, his steps slightly unsteady from the wine. "You're looking rather gloomy over here." He fumbled in his pocket. "But I brought you something that might cheer you up."

A small brass key glinted in his palm. "Your shipment arrived. Three crates of gold, waiting in the usual storeroom."

My mechanical parts whirred with sudden excitement. And the mythril? Did it sell?

His grin widened. "Better than we hoped. Father's contacts are absolutely mad for it. They're calling it 'star metal.' It's perfect for high-end jewelry. They want more, actually. As much as we can provide."

The implications sent my mind into overdrive. More gold meant more auric steel. More auric steel meant enhanced weapons, upgraded chassis components, perhaps even a complete overhaul of my war frame. The possibilities sparked through my processors like lightning.

Copelan, I could hug you right now! My tendrils waved enthusiastically. Though in this body, it would probably crush your spine.

He took a careful step back, eyeing the writhing golden appendages. "I... appreciate your restraint."

How about this instead? I extended one tendril, ever so gently patting his head. The auric steel moved with perfect precision, barely disturbing a single hair.

Copelan endured the gesture with admirable composure, maintaining his noble bearing despite the indignity. Only the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Yes, well. Just remember who your favorite supplier is when you're crafting those fancy new upgrades."

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I withdrew the tendril, watching him return to the others. My friend might play at being a proper nobleman, but he'd proven himself far more. He'd given me the means to grow stronger, to protect what mattered. And for that, I'd gladly pat his head any day.

The basement workshop hummed with activity as I guided the flow of molten metal into carefully crafted molds. A flash of movement caught my attention as Rolly made another break for freedom through the half-open door.

Back inside, you troublemaker, I commanded through our mental link. The spherical construct rolled backward with a petulant whir, joining its siblings in the corner.

My tendrils worked methodically, repairing the deep gouges Arctur's mysterious spear had carved into my war frame. The damage had been extensive, but nothing beyond my Assembly ability's capacity to fix. More concerning was how that red weapon had damaged auric steel at all. Even though they had only been scratches, it was worrying. I'd thought the alloy nearly indestructible.

The solution, naturally, was more armor. With Copelan's gold shipment, I'd forged fresh plates of auric steel to reinforce my frame's vulnerable points: the joint where torso met shoulders, the exposed sections of my upper chest. Each new piece gleamed with intricate patterns, both decorative and functional.

But I hadn't stopped there. My friends deserved better weapons for the battles ahead. Annes would receive a longsword perfectly balanced for her aggressive style. Yulios's battle axe incorporated subtle curves that would amplify his powerful swings. Loland's rapier featured an elaborate guard that matched his noble sensibilities. Genta's smallsword was lightweight but deadly, while Sven's new daggers would channel mana with unprecedented efficiency.

Even those who couldn't compete deserved recognition. For Copelan, a broadsword worthy of his family name. Patter's shortspear incorporated everything I'd learned about weapon design. All of the pieces represented hours of careful crafting, auric steel shaped by gratitude as much as skill.

My tendrils traced the finished weapons laid out before me. They weren't just tools, they were thanks made manifest, appreciation forged in gold and mythril. For the first time since I had entered this school, I had allies. Allies that would help me thrive in this cut-throat institution.

The least I could do was help keep them alive.

I held an auric steel ingot up to the light, admiring how the golden metal caught the glow of the workshop's lanterns. Thirteen more identical bars sat ready for forging, enough material to double my current number of tendrils. The design modifications were already clear in my mind: additional mounting points along the spine, reinforced hydraulic systems to handle the increased load, upgraded spring distribution...

But those improvements would have to wait. The tournament's second round began in less than three hours, and my current configuration would have to suffice. At least the repairs from Arctur's attack were complete.

Scout Spiders Three, Eight, and Thirteen perched on my shoulders as I ran final checks on their systems. Their enhanced sensors would give us a crucial advantage in the Hellzone's twisting passages. Remember, I transmitted to them, stay hidden and alert. We need to know where the other teams are at all times.

Three chirped an acknowledgment while Eight, or Chonsey, as Annes insisted on calling it, performed an eager backflip. Thirteen simply cleaned its front legs, projecting calm confidence through our link.

Bringing the three scouts was a bit of overkill. I knew those tunnels better than anyone, having spent countless nights exploring their depths. The upper floors would hold very few surprises for us now. But every little bit helped, and my little children could spread out and help us search for the hidden artifact we needed to find. They could even keep an eye out for the other teams and prevent them from trying to ambush us in those dark tunnels.

My tendrils coiled and flexed as I sorted tools and stored spare parts in my Depository. The other teams would be relying on their combat abilities alone, but we had advantages they couldn't match. Between my scouts' surveillance and our extensive experience fighting in those passages, we could avoid unnecessary confrontations while seeking the hidden artifacts.

Unless, of course, someone decided to make things interesting by placing the prizes in unexplored areas. That would certainly level the playing field...but it would also make the hunt far more dangerous.

I doubted the tournament organizers would go that far, though. If it were just the Academy participating, then such a dirty trick would be expected. But the Vocation Institute was also in the tournament, and I doubt that they wanted to see any of their students die.

Scout Spider Three trilled, telling me that the hour had come. I needed to leave. Every participating team was required to gather at the Academy Hellzone's entrance for the tournament's second phase. My squad stood ready, thoroughly equipped for what lay ahead. Victory would be ours, propelling us into the final round. I yearned to demonstrate to both students and teachers alike what those in Gutter House could do.

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