The Allbright System - A Sci-Fi Progression LitRPG Story

Thea watched Karania draw in a shaky breath, visibly wrestling her emotions back under control as she took a moment to steady herself. She could feel her friend’s grip tighten, and then release just enough for her fingers to stop trembling.

Then, Kara finally forced a small, wavering smile as she turned towards Thea, though it never even got close to reaching her eyes, which remained dark and clouded.

She let out a sigh and waved off Thea’s concern with a quick flick of her cybernetic hand, but her voice—usually so firm and sure—came out as an uncharacteristic mumble.

“It’s nothing, really. Just… too fucking messed up, that’s all,” she murmured, the words barely audible and far from her usual confident tone.

Thea blinked, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.

She wanted to say something, anything, to reassure her friend, but this—this was something new. She’d never seen Karania seem so… vulnerable.

To Thea, the whole incident in the recording appeared as little more than a minor oversight, the sort of error absolutely anyone might make under the circumstances.

But as she glanced at Kara’s face, she saw a deeper conflict there, something that made her friend’s words feel strangely heavy; that she couldn’t quite parse.

Her mind raced, trying to find the right thing to say, but she felt thoroughly out of her depth.

Interpersonal conversations, especially ones like this, were still completely unfamiliar territory for her. On Lumiosia she had only really talked to Thomas or James on a regular basis, neither of which had ever really shown her any emotions like this.

She could clearly sense that there was something more behind Karania’s reaction, a weight that went beyond the momentary lapse on screen, but she had no idea where to even start.

“Kara, it’s okay… It was just one mistake,” she ventured, the words sounding uncertain and hollow even to her own ears. “We all make them.”

But even as she said it, Thea knew it sounded too hollow, completely inadequate for whatever was weighing so heavily on her friend’s mind.

Despite that, however, Karania’s eyes softened a bit at Thea’s attempt, and she gave her hand a light squeeze.

"Thanks, Thea," Karania said softly, her voice carrying a note of warmth that managed to break through the tension between them. A small, fleeting smile touched her lips, but Thea saw the pain that still lurked just beneath the surface.

It was unmistakable, a quiet hurt that her words hadn’t managed to reach.

‘Why is this so fucking hard?!’ Thea’s thoughts churned with frustration. ‘Kara always knows exactly what to say or do to help me, and now that she’s hurting, I’m just sitting here like a clueless idiot?!’

The bitter taste of self-reproach filled her mouth.

She’d tried so hard, ever since joining the UHF, to make strides in understanding people, in connecting with them on a deeper level, but it felt like there was still an insurmountable gap in her knowledge—a gulf she simply couldn’t bridge, no matter how much she tried.

‘Maybe… maybe I could ask the Sovereign for advice…?’ she wondered, recalling how the AI had helped her navigate her first bonding experiences with Kara. But the memory of Kara’s clear stance on the Sovereign’s overreaching role crept in from their conversation last night, making her reconsider. ‘No, I can’t. Kara wouldn’t want that—she didn’t want me relying on the AI’s help unless absolutely necessary. This is something I have to handle myself… I think.’

But that left her grasping for solutions. Maybe she could talk to Corvus?

Out of everyone in Alpha Squad, Corvus was by far the best at handling people, after all.

He had a downright uncanny knack for knowing just what others needed to hear, even better than Kara sometimes. But going to him felt like she’d be exposing a part of Kara she knew her friend was trying to keep hidden, keeping her pain private.

‘Would that be a betrayal of her trust…? Going behind her back to ask for help she didn’t ask for?’ Thea’s chest tightened as she considered the implications. ‘Or is it just me she doesn’t want help from because she knows I’m terrible at this…?’

Glancing briefly toward Corvus, she caught him already watching them out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was discreet, almost invisible to anyone but someone with her levels of Perception, but it was there, carefully attuned and already aware.

Before she could decide whether to signal for his help, Kara’s hand tightened around her own, pulling her focus back.

Thea looked up, surprised to find the familiar brightness in Kara’s eyes once again, as if the momentary lapse had never happened.

“I’m fine now,” Kara said, her voice calm but insistent. “Thank you, Thea. I’m okay now. I really am okay.”

Her gaze was steady, a gentle reassurance that seemed more for Thea’s sake than her own.

Thea held her friend’s gaze a moment longer, searching for any hint of lingering hurt, but Kara’s expression had settled, her composure restored.

Karania gave Thea’s hand one final, comforting squeeze, her expression softening as she gestured subtly toward the stage.

Her lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “This one’s yours, isn’t it?” she murmured, a hint of teasing warmth in her voice once again.

Thea held her gaze for a second longer, feeling a pang of worry pierce through the distraction of the ceremony.

Something in Kara’s reassurance had felt… off.

Although Thea was far from being a natural at understanding people’s emotions, she’d spent enough time with Karania by now to pick up on the subtle cues in her friend’s behaviour.

The slight tension in her shoulders at all times, the way her fingers occasionally tapped in irregular patterns against her leg or in the air as though playing an invisible piano—Karania’s unique tells were usually easy to miss, but impossible for Thea to overlook by now.

But this time, it wasn’t just that.

Karania’s tone had an unusual repetition to it, a redundancy that seemed out of character. Kara, who was precise and exact with her words practically at all times, almost allergic to saying anything twice in the same way, was trying too hard to convince her that she was “okay”.

The realisation sank into Thea like a lead weight: Despite her friend’s calm exterior, Karania was struggling; a lot.

‘She’s putting on a brave face… for me,’ Thea thought, a wave of guilt and sadness washing over her. ‘She knows I’m terrible at this kind of thing and doesn’t want me worrying about her.’

It stung heavily to realise just how little she could offer Karania in return when her friend so often read her like an open book, anticipating her needs with a practised ease that Thea could never seem to match.

Out of options and resolving to play along for Karania’s sake, Thea returned her nod, hoping the gesture conveyed the silent support she couldn’t find the right words for.

Then, forcing herself to refocus, she turned her gaze back toward the front of the hall.

By the time she fully tuned back into the ceremony, Major Quinn was already well into her enthusiastic praise of the latest Gold-medal recipient.

Her voice carried smoothly through the hall, warm and full of praise, though Thea had missed enough of the buildup to still feel a flicker of confusion.

Her eyes drifted to the enormous screen behind Major Quinn, where the emblem of the award gleamed in crisp detail.

The design was unmistakable, even without having heard any of the introduction—a set of crosshairs centred over a small figure whose helmet appeared to be splitting open from a precise bullet hole. The back of the helmet was depicted mid-explosion, fragments of metal and visor frozen in the moment, emphasising the lethal accuracy of a true marksman.

Seeing the gleaming crosshair emblem flash on the screen, Thea felt her pulse quicken, a thrill of anticipation humming through her.

This was the kind of award she might actually make an appearance in—assuming, of course, she’d met whatever criteria the UHF had set for it.

“Yeah… maybe,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, as she tried to gauge her chances. Thinking back, the opportunities for sniping in her assessment had been limited, at least in the classic sense. She’d had a few long-distance shots, but most had been at objects rather than individuals.

The true “sniper” moments—long-range, critical targets—had been rare.

Her encounters with high-value targets had been anything but typical either.

The Stellar Republic Ace had cut her down before she’d even fully realised what she was dealing with, and the deadly Psyker-Duo had been taken out in brutal, close-quarters combat.

Neither scenario quite fit the textbook sniper role, where the objective was a single, distant target taken out with precision.

Just then, Karania’s voice drifted over, a soft and steady reassurance amidst her doubts.

“I think you won’t be in this one until the Recruit Awards,” she said, her words measured and confident. Thea felt a pang of mixed relief and unease at the unresolved tension between them, yet was grateful for her friend’s insight.

“Criteria for this one disqualify a few of your bigger moments,” Karania continued thoughtfully. “They’re focusing on distance and individual impact—just one clear target. But they didn’t say it had to be a person, so the stealth generator from the start or maybe one of the anti-armor cannons on the wall should count. I’d wager Gold-medal Recruit, maybe even Platinum, if nothing big went down on the western battlefield.”

Thea simply nodded wordlessly, not sure what to say.

She was harbouring doubt about being featured at all, still, but Karania’s unshaken confidence was almost overriding those doubts entirely.

Karania’s words rang true as the ceremony continued.

When Major Quinn finally announced the Platinum winner for the Surgical Strike award, it wasn’t Thea’s name that rang out, but that of another Marine entirely.

“This year’s Platinum Surgical Strike award goes to… Recruit Anders Holt from Iron Squad!” The crowd erupted in applause as a tall, lean Marine from the back row made his way up to the stage, his confident stride suggesting he’d expected this.

Thea forced a small smile, clapping politely as Holt accepted the medal.

The room hummed with energy, and Thea couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment of not being up there, receiving this very same applause.

Karania might be right about her being featured later, but it didn’t soften the sting of seeing somebody else get celebrated in a category you should be good at.

Thea turned her attention back to her thoughts, her mind whirling as she searched for a way to address the unspoken tension between her and Karania.

If Kara was hiding her pain for Thea’s sake, then Thea needed to find a way to reach her without making it worse.

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But how?

The answer continued to elude her, gnawing at her with every passing moment.

Major Quinn’s voice carried over the clamour, introducing the next award. “And now, we turn to those who embodied the spirit of resilience and unwavering care in the heat of battle. The Emperor’s Touch award is for the medics who not only saved lives but made a critical difference in the outcome of their missions. The criteria focus primarily on the number of lives saved and Marines brought back into the fight, as well as the impact the ones you have saved have made with the lives you have granted!”

Thea barely registered the announcement, as she was too focused on the thoughts inside her own head. She didn’t even consider that Karania was going to be part of this award any time soon, likely pocketing an Assessment award, at the very least.

Her attention only half-tuned to the Marine who rose to collect the Platinum Medal a couple minutes later.

“Recruit Dalia Reyes from Hawk Squad!”

The recipient, a short, muscular woman with sharp eyes and a confident gait, strode confidently up to the stage, but Thea barely registered the applause that filled the hall.

The sound felt distant, as if muffled by invisible walls, while her gaze drifted back to Karania.

Kara sat beside her, poised and collected, her face betraying none of the earlier vulnerability that Thea had caught.

But Thea knew better. A month ago, she would’ve missed it entirely.

Now, however, after countless hours spent together pre-assessment and during the missions, she’d learned enough to catch Karania’s earlier slip-up, and the fact that her friend was far from okay.

She took a quiet breath, finally making up her mind.

‘I need to do something.’

Karania had been her rock, always steady, and this was a rare moment for her friend to need the same in return.

Glancing to her left, Thea tried once again to subtly catch Corvus’s eye, but without alerting Kara.

She had waited, stealing a look here and there, hoping for a random moment when Corvus would turn her way throughout the ceremony, each award met with the crowd’s applause, but throughout the entire Emperor’s Touch award, he hadn’t looked her way even once.

‘Alright, no other choice then,’ Thea thought somewhat ruefully.

She would’ve preferred not to have to rely on this option, but with time pressing on and her natural impatience taking over, she made an executive decision. Her cybernetic fingers moved almost imperceptibly as she accessed her datapad nestled in her pocket.

Without looking, she typed carefully, relying on the mental map of the keyboard she knew like the back of her hand. She had no way of contacting anyone specific this way, not without looking, but for what she wanted to achieve, she didn’t need to.

She just needed to type it.

It was a simple message; but one that needed neither target nor to be sent in the first place.