Inside the lab, dim lights flickered as Blue sat in a chair, receiving basic first aid.
His bracelet, the meta-bot, lay inside a tiny metallic pod nearby, absorbing the nanoparticles.
As more nanoparticles were absorbed, Blue's bracelet flickered every second. With a final chime, his meta-bot's form morphed into a hologram of a perfect, refined suit. It mirrored the armor of the Rangers, a seamless design that radiated strength and control.
Coco said, "I made some minor adjustments, and your power points reached twenty-seven."
Blue chuckled, their laughter full of satisfaction. "Even gathering enough nanoparticles boosts points?"
Coco stayed quiet.
Blue directed his gaze toward the fully operational meta-bot inside the metal box.
"Well, it seems we're on even footing now," he said with a hint of pride. "We and the Rangers."
Coco leaned against the desk, smiling softly. "Right, just wait until each of us hits 100 percent. Then we'll show them what we're really capable of."
Blue had never heard that having reserves at 100 percent could raise the power points for any meta-bot, which made him pause. He wanted to ask Coco about it.
But before Blue could ask, the AI screen in the corner of the lab flashed to life. The breaking news was impossible to ignore. A steady stream of images flickered across the screen, displaying scenes from the recent battle, the destruction, and the frightened civilians.
The headline shouted: "Rogue Attack Leads to Major Destruction; Rangers Criticized for Insufficient Response."
The camera focused on the aftermath of the battle, showcasing the wreckage of crushed vehicles and damaged infrastructure.
News anchors were babbling, their voices filled with urgency.
"Rogues carried out the attack," one anchor said, as an image of Blue flashed across the screen. "A rogue faction is responsible for the chaos wreaked on this district. The Rangers were caught off guard and are now criticized for their lack of response."
The camera then shifts to a civilian interview. A middle-aged woman appears on screen, her eyes wide with fear.
"They're dangerous," the woman on the screen said, her voice shaking with fear. "I saw it with my own eyes. The Rogues—those people—they don't care about anyone but themselves. It's chaos wherever they go."
Blue laughed, now free from medical treatment but still showing signs of the battle. He winced slightly as he walked around the lab, clutching his abdomen.
"They certainly have a talent for twisting the narrative, right?"
Coco let out a dark chuckle. "Of course. These are the Rangers, after all. The so-called protectors, the saviors. It doesn't matter how many of us sacrificed ourselves in that damn tournament. They get the credit. We get the blame."
Blue's gaze drifted to the screen as the anchor's words blurred into the background, his thoughts more focused on what Coco had said. He stopped pacing and turned to face his leader. "Is this why you became the leader? To give these outcasts a fair chance"
Coco's eyes flickered briefly, the question catching him off guard. He didn't respond immediately, instead gesturing to the scar on his chest.
"Edward gave it to me," he said. "This—from the so-called savior of Elria, the one hailed as a hero in the last tournament. But how many people knew I was there, too?"
Blue said nothing, but the weight of Coco's words did not escape him.
"I helped him," Coco continued slowly. "I helped them earn those sixteen years for Earth. But do they care? No. We helped, we fought, and yet... we are forgotten. Only the Rangers get to wear the crown of respect."
"You see, we Rogues aren't welcome anywhere, yet they still expect us to fight for them in that damn tournament. We're drafted randomly every time. A hundred warriors—Rogues and Rangers alike—fighting for humanity. But what do we get?"
He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "We get nothing. They tell us to be Rangers, to live in misery like they do, and to protect the weak... the very ones who criticize us at every turn, even though we do everything to shield them. Why? Why do we sacrifice ourselves, and for what?"
Blue remained silent, absorbing Coco's words. The room was quiet, except for the hum of the medical equipment.
The world was not as simple as he once believed. The Rangers and the Rogues—there was more to their conflict than mere battles. A history of pain, betrayal, politics, and resentment was woven between them.
He gazed at Coco, his expression serious. "What do you want from me?"
Coco didn't respond right away. Instead, he turned back to the screen, his eyes narrowing at the footage of the battle, now distorted by the media accusations. "I don't want you to be like them, Blue," he whispered, his voice softer now, almost fatherly. "I want you to be better than them. To help them see the truth. To show them we're not the monsters they make us out to be."
Blue nodded slowly, although part of him wondered if Coco's dream was possible. Yet, for the moment, he followed his leader's gaze to the screen, silently absorbing the unfairness of it all.
-----
Tyson sat alone on the terrace, observing his surroundings in silence. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a light all around.
The past few days had been hard for him. Guilt over his actions, the consequences of his impulsive decisions, and his one-week suspension were all too much for him.
He reflected on the battle with Blue. How his anger had consumed him, how he had allowed it to dictate everything. It wasn't just about the fight—he understood that now.
It was about him, the person he had become under pressure, the man who wanted to be more than just a soldier.
The man believed he must be flawless and could not risk making errors. He constantly worried about how the Rogues were held responsible for everything.
The media depicted them as the antagonists, with Tyson fitting into that story.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Nancy walking toward him, her usual calm demeanor.
She smiled, taking a seat next to him on the terrace.
"How are you?" she asked,
Tyson tiredly sighed. "I don't know, Nancy. I'm just... I'm a mess. I let everything go out of control, and now I'm sitting here while the Rogues are being blamed for all the chaos."
Nancy raised an eyebrow. "You're not to blame for the media's spin, Tyson."
"I know," Tyson murmured, his voice filled with guilt. "But it's my fault. I lost control—and now I'm suspended for a week. I should have known better."
Nancy had always seen Tyson as capable of more than just fighting. Yet today, she doubted her ability to connect with him.
Part of her wondered if she was just as lost as he was, trying to be someone she wasn't—someone who could fix everything like her mom does. But she can try.
Nancy gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tyson, your father knows you. He didn't suspend you to punish you; he did it because he wants you to learn. This time is for reflection... and maybe a bit of rest. You've been pushing yourself too hard lately, haven't you?"
Tyson let out a dry laugh, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I suppose I have more than enough time."
Nancy smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. "You've always wanted a chance to relax, and now you have it. Maybe you can find some clarity in all this."
Tyson looked at her. "Since I have an entire week for myself, maybe I could help you find the best coffee shops and restaurants in town."
Nancy was a bit surprised. "Oh? You're offering to be my personal tour guide?"
"Well, yeah. You're still getting to know the area. And I've got all the time in the world. I know all the hidden gems around here. You could call it… an unofficial town guide service."
Nancy playfully lifted an eyebrow, saying, "An unofficial guide. What do you expect in return? Perhaps free coffee or a dinner?"
"I'll leave it up to you, but I assure you, I'll discover the finest places," he responded.
"We'll see, mister," she smiled. "But don't run off just yet. It's a promise."
"Yeah," he smiled, gazing at the horizon.
After their conversation on the terrace, Tyson and Nancy stay quiet for a few moments. Both are deep in thought, but neither felt uncomfortable. They sensed an unspoken connection that they have yet to acknowledge.