“Reactive problem-solving addresses immediate crises.

  Strategic planning identifies root causes.

  Both require resources most students don’t have.”

  — Deleted post, student productivity forum

  The train hummed beneath me; the vibration of magnetic suspension was kind of soothing. I’d claimed a window seat by habit, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon and concrete as we sped up toward Ashford Terminal Mall.

  My chest still ached from the mining run.

  Not bad, the impact foam had done its job, but enough to remind me with each breath that I’d let bugs get close enough to bite. Multiple times. I shifted in the seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make my ribs complain, and stared out at the passing cityscape without really seeing it.

  There was too much going on.

  The thought hit me with the weight of something I’d been avoiding for days now. Too many threads, too many problems, too many things demanding attention all at once. Sitting here, watching the city slide past while my brain tried to juggle a dozen competing priorities, I realized I was approaching this all wrong.

  I was being reactive. Letting circumstances guide my decisions instead of making actual plans.

  That’s not how you solve complex problems.

  I pulled out my holoband, the interface springing to life, and navigated to the notepad app. The screen immediately filled with an advertisement for Jeup Nutritional Products?, featuring a smiling athlete who’d probably never eaten their protein paste in his life.

  “Fuel your potential with—”

  I waved it away and looked at a blank page that floated in front of me like an accusation. Empty. Ready for me to organize my thoughts the way I should’ve been doing from the start.

  I stared at it.

  Where do you even start when everything feels urgent?

  The cursor blinked at me, patient and unhelpful.

  Think like a tinkerer, I told myself.

  When you’re debugging a complex system, you don’t just randomly poke at components hoping something works. You identify the root cause. The primary failure point. Fix that, and the downstream problems often solve themselves.

  So what was my primary failure point?

  My fingers hovered over the holographic interface, not quite touching. Someone was draining my system compatibility. Artificial suppression of something that should’ve manifested naturally, keeping me locked out of the one thing that defined success in this world.

  Everything else traced back to that; the compatibility drain was the root cause.

  Once that was fixed, everything else would become easier.

  1. Draining Compatibility

  So, how to solve it? Dante was still my number one lead, but after talking to Omar... something didn’t add up.

  Dante had claimed he’d never heard of compatibility draining. Omar had found references in a day. So either Omar was a world-class researcher—which, all credit to Omar, probably not—or Dante was lying.

  Yeah. Dante was lying, or at least not telling me the whole truth.

  Counter-intel operatives not being forthright wasn’t exactly groundbreaking, but it meant trusting him as my only option was stupid.

  Which led to number two.

  2. Aurelia heist

  When I’d agreed to the twins’ request, it wasn’t only because Alice was cheerful and enthusiastic and made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely failing at social interaction.

  It was also selfish.

  Aurelia was THE school for healers. Omar said a psionic could detect the drain. Alice attended Aurelia and had connections, probably good ones given her family’s resources. So after I helped them with their infiltration problem, they’d owe me a favor. A favor I could cash in for exactly the kind of specialized medical assessment I needed.

  I bit my lip, staring at the words on my holoband.

  Using them like this felt wrong. It felt like corpo politics, transactional relationships where everyone was just an asset to be leveraged. I wanted friends I could trust completely, not useful allies I was manipulating for personal gain.

  When they needed help. I would help them.

  When I needed help. They would help me.

  The logic was sound even if it made my chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with bug bites.

  Okay.

  Before we break into anything, I’d tell them. Full disclosure. No manipulation, just honest exchange. They deserved that much.

  Both points also hinged on the third one:

  3. Fixer

  Dante had told me he knew one, and they’d contact me. Yeah, sure. But I was a sitting duck while waiting. More importantly, I’d promised the twins I’d ask the fixer about finding a netrunner.

  This needed fixing immediately before I did anything else. I had to find a fixer, and I had to find them yesterday. It was almost as if Dante was trying to sabotage me. He was head of counter-intel, so he probably did it in a way that was under the radar. Like asking a person who was backlogged, or adding it to a slow queue.

  And if I asked why? “Oh, standard protocol, kid.” Yeah, Dante wasn’t on my side. Maybe Asti could help?

  Asking my cousin for help was corpo politics again, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I’d visit her when I could afford moon transport for sure, maybe even take her out to have some fun.

  Finding a fixer was fine, but without proper gear I wouldn’t be able to handle their gigs. And I did not know if gigs meant “go to this gang area and kick over this trashcan” or “steal the holy grail from a museum.”

  Diving into gray shards? Weird reality-bending adventures, but at least I knew what to expect. Incursions? Every week I could somehow manage those—

  Settings! I’d completely forgotten about the plugin settings!

  I shook my head, filing that away for later. Right now I was thinking about gigs. They were supposedly the most lucrative income source, at least if net chatter could be trusted... which it couldn’t, but it was the best information I had.

  4. Gear

  I had solid protection already, and a rune in reserve to enchant the gear further if I could get my hands on more mana dust, so that wasn’t an issue. My mine run had revealed a glaring weakness though: the shield system and my sword technique.

  Sword technique I was already working on. Cecilia had promised to teach me... something. Yeah, that would have to do for that part.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The shield?

  I lacked a mana battery, but I only had vague ideas about pricing. Expensive, sure, but how expensive?

  I navigated to the Aurelius Powerframe Systems site. Their prices ran higher than Eddy’s, but it would give me a baseline. “What?!” I blurted out loud, which people around me ignored, just another weirdo on the train.

  Apparently there were two types of mana batteries: rechargeable and disposable.

  The one-time-use batteries had denser capacity but still cost anywhere from ￠800 to ￠2,000. Rechargeable ones ran from ￠5,000 to ￠50,000.

  Damn. Getting this shield really had been a mistake.

  I slumped in my seat, glancing around. We weren’t even halfway to Ashford Terminal yet.

  Asti had been right. If I had money, I could afford a rechargeable and recharge it myself... probably? But what if my mana output wasn’t enough, and I had to rely on disposables? Every bug hit costing me like ￠10?

  Electricity was dirt cheap, but mana... How did you even get mana except from yourself? I had no idea.

  More questions for Omar, then. Poor guy.

  Also, I’d have to learn how to make bullets myself, maybe from Traninum? As far as I knew, it was slightly better than steel, and I could get as much of that as I wanted from mining.

  Or was it better to sell the Traninum and buy cheaper materials for bullets?

  Damn math.

  Making bullets was one thing, but I needed a weapon first. Making a sniper rifle right now was doable... but foolish. Better would be to learn how to fabricate a rifle coilgun, then take what I’d learned and scale up to a proper sniper coilgun.

  The materials were expensive though, and I definitely hadn’t ordered everything I needed from Asti. Which meant I’d need to beg Eddy for supplies when I visited him on Monday.

  5. System

  Yeah, there were so many things I didn’t know about the system. Where to even start?

  Attributes were locked, so I could get chrome in theory, right? Erika had mentioned that chrome conflicted with attributes. No attributes meant no conflict.

  I opened the system window.

  [Minor System - Status: LIMITED]

  [Personal Trait: Hoqalo]

  [Level]

  [Attributes: DISABLED]

  [Skills]

  [Magic]

  [Plugins]

  [Magic]

  LP Progress: 17% [SELECTED]

  If I understood correctly, working on my magic was the right choice. Eventually I’d be able to cast spells. Not sure what spells though.

  Tinkerer’s wrath? Summon Better Gear?

  There were so many questions about the system... but it seemed like the best approach was to wait, talk with people around me who actually understood this stuff, and eventually piece it together.

  Maybe I could look for books, but knowing the Alliance, they’d be either restricted or prohibitively expensive.

  That left me with the last item I could think of.

  6. The Door

  My great-grandfather’s door. It could be the key to solving everything, or it could be nothing, because he’d left before finishing whatever he’d started. Either way, I couldn’t afford the things he’d specified for opening it. Last I’d checked with Asti, some of those items cost in the millions range.

  Yeah. Not anytime soon.

  I stared at the list, satisfied. This was a plan. Even if I’d forgotten something, I could add it later when it became relevant.

  The train deposited me at Ashford Terminal Station with the usual hydraulic hiss and crowd of exhausted workers flowing onto the platform.

  [Paid: ￠4]

  “Damn peak pricing,” I complained as I joined the stream moving toward the terminal entrance, passing beneath that crooked “Ashford Terminal” sign still clinging to the wall beside the massive Palistra corporate propaganda plaque that dominated the entrance.

  Even though there was an incursion, the terminal looked exactly as it had on Monday: fifty stories of steel and grime wrapped around that central shaft, the yawning hole in the middle letting you see straight down through bent rails and rusted protective mesh.

  More people today, though. Friday meant payday for a lot of workers, which meant the terminal was actually busy instead of just inhabited.

  I took the stairs again, descending two at a time, boots clanking against hollow steel grates.

  The small café was still squeezed between the escort parlor and gear shop, its sign still not glowing, floor still not clean, still lacking the Palistra seal of quality.

  Still perfect.

  [Paid: ￠6]

  The old guy behind the counter nodded at me like he actually remembered me, which was either good customer service or concerning surveillance, and I ordered the same bowl of steaming noodles.

  I carried my bowl toward the “official dining area” at ground level, those metal slabs pretending to be tables.

  This time several were actually taken up; workers hunched over their own meals, speed-running against the twenty-minute timer before the retractable spikes reminded them about turnover encouragement.

  I found an empty table and sat down, the motion sensor immediately activated with a soft beep that started my countdown.

  My eyes drifted up toward the higher floors, specifically toward the level where Eddy’s shop sat tucked away in its corner. I could just make out the edge of his storefront from here.

  I looked away, focusing on my noodles instead.

  Not yet. I had a plan now, an actual organized approach to my problems instead of just reacting to whatever crisis came next. Eddy would be there when I was ready. Monday, probably, when I’d had time to think through exactly what materials I needed and how to ask for them without sounding desperate.

  I pulled up my holoband, navigating to Asti’s contact, starting the call.

  The interface took a moment longer than usual to connect, that telltale lag of routing through public channels all the way to the Moon. Her face materialized above my wrist; her face was immediately bright.

  “Dash!” she grinned, genuinely pleased. “You called!”

  “Hey, Asti.” I felt awkward suddenly, like I’d interrupted something important. “How’s... how’s it going?”

  She let out a long sigh, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. “Oh, you know. Corporate sales chief things.” She made a face. “One of my warehouse staff accidentally shipped a Mk6 stabilizer rig to Fitro Inc instead of the Mk9 they ordered. Had to call their procurement director personally to apologize.

  “That doesn’t sound too bad?”

  “She spent twenty minutes explaining how my ‘incompetence’ reflected poorly on Kallum’s ‘supposed reputation for excellence’ and that perhaps I should ‘consider whether management was really my calling.’” Asti’s voice took on a mocking, high-pitched tone for the quote. “All because someone grabbed the wrong box. But work is work, right? Can’t exactly tell the procurement director to shove it.”

  I winced sympathetically. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.” She studied me through the holographic connection. “So what did you really call about?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  She nodded, grinning now. “You’ve got that ‘I need something but don’t want to be rude about asking’ face. How are things going? The shipment arrived yet?”

  “Amazing, actually!” I felt myself brighten, the genuine excitement breaking through. “I got Orbital set up, and I designed my first pieces already!”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. “Show me!”

  I stood slightly, angling my holoband to capture my yellow hoodie and tactical pants. “Impact foam, Series-7 combat fiber, the whole build.”

  Asti’s face lit up. “Dash! That’s incredible!” She leaned closer to her screen, as if she could see the details better. “How does it feel? Is the weaving stable?”

  “Really stable, actually.” I laughed, then lowered my voice slightly, glancing around the dining area. Nobody was paying attention to me, but still. “Also, about the book...”

  “Oh! Right, Dante insisted on coming personally to deliver it.” She waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about the scary old man. He’s all intimidation and corpo posturing. Just return it on time, okay? It’s not normally lent out like this.”

  I paused, catching on something in her phrasing. “Thanks. But also... normally not?”

  Asti’s grin turned slightly sheepish. “You’re family, so you can actually take it out of the facility. The Kallum librarian was absolutely furious when I filed the request.” She laughed. “Normally you have to micro-lease a secured reading room inside Kallum’s Library facility on the Moon. Can’t even bring the book outside the building.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  She shrugged. “I think if it isn’t your first look inside you can get a repeat booking for like... ten thousand credits a day? Something like that. First-timers pay way more for getting to learn the subsystem.”

  “...I didn’t know that.” My voice came out flat.

  Asti’s smile shifted to genuinely apologetic. “Sorry? I was so excited to actually help you with the order, I probably forgot to explain half the details. It’s just... normal for me, y’know? I deal with this stuff every day.”

  “No, it’s fine. I appreciate it.” I hesitated, then added, “Dante also said he’d get in touch with operations and connect me with a fixer. To earn ‘trust’ for Kallum or whatever.”

  Asti blinked. “Yeah, standard procedure for field operatives. Who’d he assign you to?”

  This time I was the one confused. “Uh... nobody? I haven’t heard anything yet.”

  She sighed, her eyes tracking something on a screen I couldn’t see. “Found the request. Oh, right, he just filed it as your priority. That would take like a month to process.” Her fingers moved, presumably adjusting something in whatever interface she was viewing. “There. Bumped it up. You should hear back in like... half an hour tops.”

  “Just... like that?”

  She shrugged, grinning. “Perks of being a manager. I can move things around when it matters.” She winked. “Hey, if you come up to the Moon for a book visit sometime, you need to come see me! I’ll show you the real warehouse, not just the holographic tour.”

  “I will,” I said, meaning it. “Thanks, Asti. Really.”

  “Anytime, cousin. Now go do something amazing with that gear!” She gave a little wave, and the connection terminated, her holographic face winking out of existence.

  I turned back to my noodles, speaking to them as if they might have opinions. “I really, really owe her one.”

  The bowl didn’t respond, which was probably for the best. I had a plan now, an actual organized approach to my problems instead of just reacting to whatever crisis came next.

  Right now, I just needed to eat, review my list, and—

  [Paid: ￠1]

  I tapped the payment terminal without looking, buying myself another twenty minutes.

  My holoband buzzed.

  Unknown number.

  I stared at it for a moment, my brain immediately suspicious of unexpected calls from unlisted contacts. Could be spam. Could be corpo sales. Could be—

  I answered it.

  A voice came through, male, professional, completely neutral in a way that suggested either customer service or something significantly more dangerous.

  “Hello, is this Dash?”

  “...Yeah?”

  “Mister Guildmaster would like to see you.”

  I blinked at my noodles, taking a moment to process that sentence. “Um, sorry, who?”

  “A fixer you requested.”

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY The Guildmaster

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