The Greatest Mecha-Chapter 49: The Professor’s Favour

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?"

Alto blinked. "And that would be...?"

She smiled, but it wasn’t just any smile—it was mischievous, unsettling. His stomach fluttered. The professor’s idea of fun had never been comforting. "When was the last time you left the mech division grounds?"

His head practically exploded. "What?" The idea sounded illegal. Students like him weren’t allowed beyond the division’s boundaries without permission, clearance, and some divine favor.

Meanwhile, Charles Vans entered the department, blinking in disbelief as he saw Eleven fabricating a piece of mech armor—actually working. It was a rare and jarring sight. But what struck him harder was the professor’s absence.

Something inside him twisted.

He made his way to Eleven with the kind of forced confidence that never reached his eyes. "Eleven, have you seen Master today?"

"Yes," Eleven replied flatly, without looking up from his task.

Charles sighed. "Did she head out?"

"She took Alto with her. To the city."

Those words crashed into Charles like a mech’s piston. His face drained of color. "That troublemaker and Master? But... that’s absurd! She’s never taken anyone out before. Just why is this boy corrupting her judgment?"

Eleven finally paused and gave him a long, slow stare. "You think you’re better than him? Then prove it to her."

The words struck deeper than Charles expected. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Deep down, he feared it was true—Alto was becoming more than a mere student to the professor. And he? He was the legacy, the model pupil... but was he already being replaced?

While Charles stood drowning in his insecurity, Alto found himself ushered into one of the transport vehicles parked in the hangar. The moment he stepped inside, his breath hitched.

It was nothing like the rust-colored, clunky transports used by trainees. This was something else entirely. The vehicle’s interior glowed with a soft, ambient light that adjusted as he moved. The seats were a supple, cloudlike material that reshaped itself to his weight and posture, emitting a soothing warmth. The panels on the walls shimmered with pulse-reactive hues, and the interface was silent, responding to the professor’s biometric commands with a barely audible chime, almost like a whisper from the machine itself. The whole space felt alive, aware—and yet welcoming.

The hum that followed when the vehicle powered up was deep, rich, like a living engine singing in a language Alto didn’t understand. It was luxury and precision melded together—nothing he’d ever imagined the mech division possessed. He sank into the seat, stunned, even a little intimidated by the elegance of it.

Alberta stepped in moments later, brushing past a technician with a curt remark about clearance. She took her seat across from him with all the nonchalance of someone who did this every day.

"You look comfortable," she said with a small smirk.

Alto only nodded, unsure of how to behave in a room this... elevated. He felt like an imposter in a nobleman’s carriage. The moment the doors slid shut with a liquid hiss and the thrusters kicked in, erupting in sleek blue fire, the hovercar rocketed forward. Alto jerked back into the cushion.

"Who’s driving this thing?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Alberta merely raised an eyebrow. "What driver? This transport is piloted by an advanced AI system. Think autopilot, but smarter, sassier, and less prone to crashing."

Alto stared at her, trying to process just how unfazed she was. If she wasn’t panicked, he shouldn’t be either—probably. He peered out the window as the mech division shrank into the distance, the buildings forming jagged silhouettes against the early light. Memories of his first day here tried to creep back, unwelcome, but he shoved them down.

Now wasn’t the time.

"Do you always do that?" Alberta asked suddenly, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Do what?" he asked, puzzled.

She mimicked an exaggerated shift of expression—from curious to serious to surprised—then laughed. Alto felt a sudden flush rise to his cheeks.

"You change your face so often," she teased. "Is that a special talent or some strange generational tic?"

He frowned slightly, trying not to be too self-conscious. Was it really that noticeable?

"See? You’re doing it again." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You sure it’s not a mental condition?"

Alto let out a long breath, forcing his face to relax. "Sorry. I’m used to thinking a lot."

Alberta leaned back, her attention drifting toward the window. The silence felt heavier now. He didn’t know if he had said something wrong. Truth be told, he wasn’t used to spending this long alone with a woman—especially not one as commanding as her. She occupied space differently, like she didn’t need permission to do so.

"Um... ma’am," he ventured, hesitating, "will we be back by lunchtime?"

Alberta turned to him, eyes narrowing with amused disbelief. "Excuse me, young man—just who do you think is in charge here?"

Alto melted into his seat with a weak chuckle, silently praying she wouldn’t make him answer that.