The Greatest Mecha

Alto walked into the mech engineering department to find everything perfectly arranged, the air crisp and quiet with the scent of polished steel and lubricants. The day had clearly not begun yet, the humming heart of innovation still asleep. It always gave him a strange sense of calm and anticipation—like he’d stepped into a sacred forge before the gods of machinery stirred. The professor spotted him and waved him over with a subtle flick of the wrist. At another workbench, Eleven was already toying with some mech parts, unusually focused. Charles Vans had yet to show up, which was a small relief.

He made his way toward the professor, whose nod was brisk, professional. Her face, as always, carried that unwavering mask of seriousness, but there was something lighter today, almost imperceptible. "You seem more happy than usual this fine morning," she remarked. Alto blinked, a little caught off guard. Happy? Was it that obvious?

He had felt something unfamiliar bubbling inside him all morning, and her words poked at that strange joy he hadn’t dared label. Maybe it was because he’d actually finished the entire stack of books she had recommended, maybe it was something else. He wasn’t quite sure.

"Don’t tell me you finished all those books in a single day."

Alto gave a sheepish nod, the corner of his mouth twitching in a reluctant smile. "Well... I did finish them. They were interesting." He avoided mentioning the slip of paper she’d hidden in one of the books. He wasn’t even sure if she’d meant for him to find it, and the notes scribbled on it still swirled like an unsolved riddle in his mind. They weren’t just theories—they were personal, too personal.

The professor gestured for him to drop the books on the table. Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than usual, probing. "Did you find my personal notes helpful?"

Alto forced his expression into neutrality. He didn’t want to reveal how deeply the notes had unsettled him. "It was conventional thinking... though it mostly confused me," he said, masking his thoughts under a veil of polite detachment.

But his mind wouldn’t settle. Why would she hide something like that in the books? Was it a test? Or maybe... a trust exercise? He couldn’t figure her out. Professor Alberta was brilliant, confident, intimidating—and somehow, behind all that, almost human. Almost.

Sensing the slight shift in atmosphere, Alberta offered him a seat. He sat down, a bit too stiffly, feeling like a lab mouse under a microscope. "You’re still worried about the duel tomorrow. I can see the stress on your face."

She was right, though he hadn’t realized it showed. It was starting to dawn on him that his face betrayed too much, too often. He needed to learn to keep things in.

As if sensing this inner turmoil, she added, "Look here, measel, why don’t we do something fun to take your mind off this?"