Chapter 5: Ten Years of Preparation
Age 8 - Year One: Foundation
Lin Feng's first year in his new life was a study in patience and discipline. Every morning before school, he woke an hour early to exercise—push-ups, sit-ups, running in place. His child's body protested, weak and uncoordinated, but he pushed through. Mecha pilots needed physical conditioning, and he wouldn't waste a single day.
At school, he maintained the appearance of a normal student. Not too smart—that would draw unwanted attention—but consistently above average. He made a few friends, enough to seem normal, but kept most relationships at arm's length. Trust was something he'd have to relearn slowly.
In the evenings, after homework, he studied. Mecha theory from the library books his father helped him check out. Combat footage from public archives, watching how pilots moved, how they fought, trying to identify patterns. And every night before bed, he spent an hour training his mind—memorization exercises, mental math, anything that would sharpen his analytical thinking.
His father kept his promise and began teaching him the basics. Not combat—Lin Feng was too young for that—but theory. Energy management principles, the importance of positioning, how to read an opponent's body language. They'd sit in the living room after dinner, his father sharing stories from his deployments, each one containing a lesson if you knew how to listen.
"The strongest pilot doesn't always win," his father said one night. "The smartest one does. The one who makes fewer mistakes. Remember that."
Lin Feng remembered everything.
Age 9 - Year Two: Building Habits
By his second year, the routine had become second nature. Wake up, exercise, school, study, train his mind, sleep. Day after day, week after week, month after month. It would have been monotonous if not for the clear sense of progress.
His body was getting stronger. Not dramatically—he was still a child—but noticeably. His stamina improved. His coordination sharpened. The exercises that had left him gasping in year one now felt manageable.
More importantly, his mind was adapting. The mental exercises he'd started as deliberate practice were becoming automatic. He could track three conversations simultaneously in a crowded cafeteria. He could memorize a page of text with a single focused reading. His pattern recognition was getting faster—watching a combat video, he could spot repeated behaviors within minutes.
He expanded his Analysis Protocol framework, adding new observations from everything he learned. What worked in combat? What didn't? How did successful pilots think differently from failed ones? Each piece of knowledge went into his mental database, organized and cross-referenced.
His younger sister Xiao Yue turned five and started asking questions about mechas. Lin Feng watched her with a mixture of affection and concern. In this timeline, she'd awaken in nine years. He made a mental note to help her prepare when the time came, to share everything he learned so she'd have advantages too.
His mother noticed the changes in him. "You're so serious all the time," she said one day, worry in her voice. "It's okay to just be a kid sometimes, Lin Feng."
But Lin Feng couldn't afford to just be a kid. He had two years left before his father's accident. Two years to figure out how to prevent it.
Age 10 - Year Three: First Setback
Lin Feng hit his first major obstacle at age ten: information access.
He'd learned everything he could from public sources—library books, educational videos, his father's basic teachings. But the really useful information—detailed combat tactics, advanced mecha theory, the specific training regimens used by elite pilots—was restricted. Military classified or corporate proprietary.
He tried to find workarounds. Befriended older students whose parents were pilots, hoping they'd share restricted knowledge. Searched online forums for leaked information. Even attempted to hack into a public database once, though his child's limited computer access and rusty technical skills made that impossible.
Nothing worked. There were hard limits to what a ten-year-old could access, no matter how determined.
The frustration ate at him until his father noticed. "What's bothering you?" he asked one evening.
Lin Feng hesitated, then decided on partial honesty. "I want to learn more about combat tactics, but all the good information is restricted."
His father studied him for a long moment. "You're ten years old, Lin Feng. You're not supposed to be studying advanced combat tactics."
"But I want to be ready—"
"And you will be. When you're older." His father's voice was firm but not unkind. "There's a reason some information is restricted. Combat knowledge in the wrong hands is dangerous. Even in the right hands at the wrong age, it can be harmful. Trust the process. Learn the fundamentals thoroughly before worrying about advanced techniques."
It was sensible advice. Lin Feng hated that it was sensible.
But his father had a point. He'd been so focused on accelerating his learning that he'd neglected to master the basics. Pattern recognition was useless if you couldn't identify what you were looking at. Tactical analysis meant nothing without understanding the fundamental principles of energy management and positioning.
So Lin Feng changed his approach. Instead of reaching for advanced knowledge he couldn't access, he dove deeper into the fundamentals. He studied basic combat theory until he could recite it in his sleep. He practiced mental exercises until tracking five variables simultaneously became trivial. He analyzed beginner-level combat footage frame by frame, identifying every detail.
Master the basics first. Build an unshakeable foundation. The advanced techniques could wait.
Age 11 - Year Four: The Accident
Lin Feng turned eleven in the spring, and with each passing day, his anxiety grew. His father's accident had happened when Lin Feng was twelve in his original timeline—late summer or early fall. That meant it would happen soon. Within the next year and a half.
But Lin Feng still didn't know the specifics. What training exercise had gone wrong? What had caused the mecha damage? Who else had been involved?
He tried to gather information subtly. Asked his father about his training schedule, about safety protocols, about past accidents. His father answered patiently but revealed nothing concerning. Everything seemed routine, safe, professionally managed.
Lin Feng started having nightmares. Dreams where he watched his father's mecha explode, where he tried to warn him but couldn't speak, where he arrived too late to change anything.
Then, one humid August evening, his father came home early from the base. Lin Feng looked up from his homework and immediately knew something was wrong. His father's face was gray, his movements stiff.
"What happened?" Lin Feng's mother asked, appearing from the kitchen.
"Training accident," his father said quietly. "Chen Wei... his mecha's energy core malfunctioned during the simulation. Catastrophic failure. He's in intensive care."
Chen Wei. Lin Feng remembered the name vaguely from his original timeline—one of his father's squadmates. The room spun slightly as understanding dawned.
"Will he be okay?" his mother asked.
"They don't know. The mecha damage was severe. Even if he survives physically, his soul space might be..." His father trailed off, sitting heavily on the couch. "It was supposed to be a routine drill. Low-risk. But the equipment wasn't properly maintained. Someone in logistics cut corners, used substandard replacement parts."
Lin Feng's hands clenched into fists. This was it. This was the pattern that led to his father's accident. Not a single catastrophic event but a systemic problem—poor maintenance, corner-cutting, equipment failures during training.
In his original timeline, his father had been the one in that training accident. But here, now, Chen Wei had taken his place.
Had Lin Feng's presence in this timeline somehow changed things? Had his father's squad rotation shifted because Lin Feng had been different, had taken more of his father's time and attention, had somehow butterfly-effected the schedule?
Or would his father's accident still happen, just delayed?
"Dad," Lin Feng said carefully, "you use the same equipment, right? For your training?"
His father looked at him, and something in his expression suggested he understood what Lin Feng was really asking. "Yes. We all do."
"Then maybe... maybe you should request a full equipment inspection. For everyone. Before the next training session."
His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's a very specific suggestion, Lin Feng."
"I just... I don't want what happened to Uncle Chen to happen to you." The words came out more desperate than Lin Feng intended, eleven-year-old emotion breaking through adult control.
His father's expression softened. He reached over and pulled Lin Feng into a hug—rare physical affection that said more than words could. "I'll request the inspection. And I'll be careful. I promise."
Three days later, the full equipment inspection revealed substandard parts in forty percent of the training mechas, including the one assigned to Lin Feng's father. The logistics officer responsible was court-martialed. New protocols were implemented. Training was suspended for two weeks while everything was checked and replaced.
And Lin Feng's father came home every night, safe and whole.
Lin Feng didn't know if he'd prevented the original accident or merely delayed it. But for now, his father was alive, and that was enough.
Age 12-13 - Years Five and Six: Deeper Understanding
With the immediate crisis averted, Lin Feng threw himself back into preparation with renewed intensity. His father's near-miss had driven home how fragile life was, even for strong pilots. Power wasn't enough. You needed awareness, caution, and the ability to see problems before they became fatal.
He was twelve now, entering middle school, and the social dynamics shifted dramatically. Students were segregated by predicted potential—those from pilot families in advanced tracks, those from civilian families in standard tracks. Lin Feng, as the son of a Tier 15 military pilot, was placed in the advanced track automatically.
The competition was fierce. Everyone was preparing for their awakening, now only six years away. Students compared family lineages, debated which mecha types were superior, formed alliances and rivalries that would probably persist into their pilot careers.
Lin Feng watched it all with the detachment of someone twice their age. These children—because that's what they were, despite being his peers physically—had no idea what the real world was like. They thought awakening would solve everything, that power would come easily if you just had the right bloodline.
He knew better. Power came from preparation, discipline, and the willingness to do what others wouldn't.
His Analysis Protocol framework had evolved significantly. What had started as simple pattern recognition now encompassed energy efficiency calculations, probability assessments, multi-opponent tracking theory, and tactical decision trees. He couldn't test any of it practically—still six years from awakening—but the mental framework was becoming solid.
He also began studying psychology and decision-making theory. Combat wasn't just physical—it was mental. Understanding how people thought, how they made choices under pressure, what biases clouded their judgment—all of this was data he could use.
At thirteen, Lin Feng was starting to see the complete picture of what he was building. Not just a combat system, but a complete tactical philosophy. A way of approaching fights that transformed them from chaotic violence into solvable problems.
Age 14-15 - Years Seven and Eight: Physical Transformation
Puberty hit Lin Feng like a hammer. His carefully maintained exercise routine suddenly bore dramatic fruit as his body began its adolescent growth spurt. Muscles developed where before there had been only childish softness. His coordination improved radically. His stamina doubled, then tripled.
By fifteen, he'd grown twenty centimeters and gained fifteen kilograms of lean muscle. He no longer looked like a child playing at preparation—he looked like a young athlete in serious training.
His father, noticing the change, began teaching him actual combat fundamentals. Hand-to-hand fighting, weapon basics, how to move efficiently in combat situations. "Mecha fighting follows the same principles as human fighting," his father explained. "Master your body's movements first. Then, when you awaken, you'll already understand the fundamentals."
The training was brutal. His father showed no mercy, treating him like any other recruit. Lin Feng collected bruises and pulled muscles and the occasional split lip. But he learned. He learned how to read an opponent's stance, how to exploit openings, how to conserve energy during extended engagements.
More importantly, he learned how to apply his Analysis Protocol in real-time. During sparring sessions, he'd try to track his father's patterns, predict his next move, identify weaknesses. He failed more often than he succeeded—his father was too experienced, too skilled—but the practice was invaluable.
"You fight like you're solving a math problem," his father observed one day after knocking Lin Feng flat for the third time. "That's not necessarily wrong, but you can't think your way through every exchange. Sometimes you need to trust your instincts."
"Instincts come from experience," Lin Feng countered, climbing to his feet. "I'm building experience."
His father smiled, and there was respect in that smile. "Yes. Yes, you are."
At school, Lin Feng maintained his careful balance—good grades, some friends, no exceptional achievements that would draw too much attention. But privately, he was pulling away from his peers. Their concerns felt trivial. Their dramas felt manufactured. They were children preparing for awakening.
He was a man preparing for war.
Age 16-17 - Years Nine and Ten: Final Preparations
Two years left. Then one year. Then months.
Time accelerated as Lin Feng's eighteenth birthday approached. His Analysis Protocol framework was as complete as he could make it without actual soul space access. His physical conditioning was at its peak for a pre-awakening teenager. His tactical knowledge, while still theoretical, was comprehensive.
He'd done everything possible to prepare. Now he just had to wait.
His sister Xiao Yue was fourteen now, and Lin Feng had begun mentoring her the same way he'd trained himself. She absorbed everything eagerly, grateful for the attention and knowledge. "You're going to awaken something amazing," she told him one day. "I can tell."
"Awakening is random," Lin Feng reminded her. "I might get something weak."
"Maybe. But you'll make it strong anyway. That's what you do—you make things better through sheer stubborn effort."
Lin Feng smiled. His sister understood him better than most people.
His father was approaching fifty now, graying at the temples, moving a bit more stiffly after training. Still strong, still Tier 15, but showing his age. He'd survived the period when the accident should have happened, was still alive and healthy at a point in the timeline where he'd been dead in Lin Feng's original life.
That alone made everything worth it.
Three months before Lin Feng's eighteenth birthday, his father sat him down for a serious conversation.
"I need to tell you something about awakening," his father began. "About what to expect, and what not to expect."
"I've read all the books—"
"Books don't prepare you for the reality." His father's expression was unusually serious. "When your mecha awakens, you'll feel a connection unlike anything you've experienced. It will be part of you, an extension of your soul. But it will also be its own entity, with its own... personality, almost. Some mechas are aggressive, some defensive, some balanced. You can't control what you get."
"I understand."
"No, you don't. Not yet." His father leaned forward. "What I'm trying to say is: don't be disappointed if your mecha isn't what you hoped for. Don't be discouraged if your tier is lower than you expected. The initial awakening is just the beginning. Growth, improvement, advancement—those come from effort, not from natural talent alone."
Lin Feng met his father's eyes. "Dad, I know. Whatever awakens, I'll make it work. I've spent ten years preparing for this."
"Yes. You have." His father's expression softened. "I'm proud of you, son. Whatever happens at your awakening, know that I'm proud of who you've become."
They didn't speak more about it, but the weight of those words stayed with Lin Feng through the remaining months.
Age 18 - Awakening Day
The morning of his eighteenth birthday, Lin Feng woke before dawn. He couldn't sleep, his mind racing despite his best efforts to stay calm.
Ten years. Ten years of preparation, training, planning, building mental frameworks and tactical systems. Ten years of waiting for this day.
In a few hours, he'd attend the awakening ceremony. His mecha would manifest. He'd finally be able to access his soul space, to test all the theories he'd spent a decade developing.
The uncertainty was maddening. Would his Analysis Protocol work? Would his systematic thinking translate into practical advantages? Or had he wasted ten years on an approach that would prove useless?
No. He couldn't think like that. He'd done the work. He'd prepared as thoroughly as humanly possible. Whatever happened today, he was ready.
Lin Feng got out of bed and went through his morning routine one last time as a non-pilot. Exercise, shower, breakfast with his family. His mother was nervous, fidgeting with her tea cup. His father was calm but watchful. Xiao Yue was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Are you nervous?" she asked. "I'd be terrified."
"I'm ready," Lin Feng said simply.
And he was. After ten years of preparation, after everything he'd learned and practiced and planned, he was finally, truly ready.
The awakening ceremony awaited.