The assignments completed forty minutes later. Sixty-one squads stood in their designated positions. Three hundred and seven students sorted into tactical units of five, with two squads containing six.

  Commander Thrace surveyed them with the expression of someone who'd seen this thousands of times and knew exactly which squads would thrive, which would struggle, which would produce exceptional pilots and which would barely survive to graduation.

  Behind her, the display screens cycled through more propaganda: historical battles, heroic sacrifices, pilots standing firm against dimensional threats. HONOR THROUGH SERVICE. STRENGTH THROUGH UNITY. VICTORY THROUGH SACRIFICE. Words meant to inspire but that mostly reminded Valoris of how badly she was about to fail at living up to them.

  "You have thirty minutes to conduct initial squad meetings in designated spaces," Thrace said. "Use that time to establish basic communication protocols, exchange contact information, discuss training schedules. Do not use it to complain about assignments or question algorithmic determinations. You are dismissed to squad meeting rooms. Report to your assigned locations efficiently."

  Valoris checked her tablet for Squad Kade-07's meeting room assignment: Conference Room 7-K, Level 4, East Wing.

  "This way," she said, keeping her voice level. Professional. Trying to sound like a leader instead of someone actively having an internal crisis. "Level 4, East Wing."

  Milo moved ahead with purposeful strides, already examining the corridor's architectural features with the kind of attention that suggested he was reverse-engineering the building's systems in his head. Quinn walked with precise measured steps, lips moving silently with counts. Saren followed at exactly the minimum distance that could be considered compliance; close enough to not be insubordinate, far enough to communicate her contempt. Zee moved with tactical efficiency, already mapping the route like someone preparing for potential combat.

  They navigated corridors in awkward silence punctuated only by Milo's occasional observations about structural features or system inefficiencies.

  "--the dimensional dampening fields are integrated into the load-bearing architecture, but the resonance distribution is suboptimal. If they adjusted the harmonic frequency by maybe three percent–"

  "Renn," Saren said flatly. "Your commentary is unnecessary."

  "Just observing the engineering choices. Some of them are really interesting, some are–" He caught Saren's expression. "Right. Shutting up now."

  The corridors displayed more messaging as they walked: framed photographs of distinguished pilots, memorial plaques for those who'd died in service (THEIR SACRIFICE ENSURES OUR FUTURE), tactical quotes meant to inspire discipline and dedication. The propaganda was so ubiquitous it became wallpaper, a constant reminder of what they were supposed to aspire to and what would be expected of them.

  Conference Room 7-K was a small space designed for exactly this purpose: squad meetings. Five chairs arranged around a rectangular table. Whiteboard on one wall showing tactical formation diagrams from previous occupants. Window overlooking the training grounds and, beyond them, the dimensional rift's ragged scar across reality. On the wall, a single poster: EXCELLENCE THROUGH COOPERATION.

  They filed in. Took seats.

  Valoris sat at the head of the table by default – where else would the squad leader sit? – and tried not to feel like an imposter. The others arranged themselves with varying degrees of deliberation: Zee claiming the seat with best view of the door, Quinn choosing the chair directly across from Valoris with geometric precision, Milo taking a seat and immediately pulling out a small tool from his pocket to fidget with, Saren positioning herself with rigid military posture exactly ninety degrees to Valoris's left.

  Silence settled over the room. Heavy. Expectant. Valoris could feel them waiting for her to say something, do something, demonstrate that she deserved to be sitting at the head of this table. Her mind was blank with panic. What did squad leaders even say during initial meetings? What was she supposed to–

  "So. We're Squad Kade-07. We should–"

  "Establish baseline capabilities assessment," Saren interrupted. "Individual strengths, weaknesses, specialized skills. Tactical relevance, not biographical information."

  "I was going to suggest–"

  "We know what you were going to suggest. Social pleasantries. Introductions. Getting to know each other." Saren's contempt made each word cut. "That's what someone who's never had to fight for their position would suggest. What we actually need is functional assessment."

  Valoris felt something tighten in her chest. Stay calm. Stay professional. You're the squad leader. Except she wasn't, not really, not in any meaningful sense. She was just the person who'd scored well on tests and had the right last name, and Saren knew it, could see right through her to the inadequacy underneath.

  "Fine," Valoris said, keeping her voice level despite how it wanted to shake. "Functional assessment. Renn, you're good with engineering and systems. Zavaretti, combat and tactics. Maddox, academics and–"

  "I accessed the data already," Quinn interrupted, looking up from their tablet. Their voice was flat, clinical. "Academy database security was inadequate. All squad member performance metrics are available."

  "You hacked academy records," Zee said, something like impressed horror in her tone.

  "Accessed. Not hacked." Quinn didn't look bothered by the distinction. "Renn, Milo: 97th percentile engineering, 94th percentile dimensional theory, 73rd percentile tactics, 41st percentile physical conditioning, 79th percentile meditation sensitivity. Seventeen disciplinary violations for unauthorized equipment modification."

  "That's going to affect our squad metrics," Saren said, looking at Milo with cold assessment.

  "I know," Milo said, still fidgeting with whatever he'd pulled from his pocket. "Working on it."

  "Zavaretti, Kessa," Quinn continued. "93rd percentile combat, 87th percentile tactics, 81st percentile physical conditioning, 79th percentile academics, 79th percentile meditation sensitivity. Scholarship recruit, Industrial Sector Seven background."

  Zee's expression remained neutral, but something in her shoulders suggested tension at having her background announced so clinically.

  "Maddox, Saren: 99th percentile academics, 91st percentile tactics, 80th percentile physical conditioning, 79th percentile combat, 77th percentile meditation sensitivity. Scholarship recruit, Resource Mining Territory background. Entered preparatory academy age thirteen via competitive merit examination. Both parents deceased, killed in–"

  Saren's jaw went rigid with fury. "That information is private."

  "All data is accessible with adequate methods." Quinn kept typing, unbothered. "Sterling, Quinn: 94th percentile meditation sensitivity – highest recorded in current year – 92nd percentile academics, 81st percentile tactics, 78th percentile physical conditioning, 67th percentile combat. Psychological evaluation flagged for concerning identity formation issues and reality perception concerns. Parents: Dr. Helena Sterling and Dr. Marcus Sterling, both dimensional engineers at the Rift Research Institute. Childhood exposure to dimensional materials in controlled laboratory environment from age six. Personal history indicates dimensional contact caused increased sensitivity. Recommendation for continued monitoring."

  They paused only briefly before continuing.

  "Kade, Valoris: 98th percentile academics, 95th percentile tactics, 84th percentile meditation sensitivity, 64th percentile combat, 67th percentile physical conditioning. Legacy recruit, fifth-generation Kade pilot family. Extensive private preparation documented beginning age eight. Private tutors for dimensional theory, tactical assessment, and mech engineering fundamentals. Psychological evaluation flagged for performance anxiety related to family expectations, impostor syndrome, and unclear personal motivation requiring continued monitoring."

  The room went silent.

  Valoris felt heat crawling up her neck, spreading across her face. Her inadequacies laid out like anatomical diagrams for everyone to examine. The psychological evaluation she'd tried to navigate carefully – pay attention to why you're doing this – now reduced to clinical assessment that her squad could judge. The private tutors that had given her academic advantages but made every success feel unearned. The impostor syndrome she'd been trying to hide, now confirmed and recorded and shared with four people who were depending on her to lead them.

  They know, she thought, something between panic and shame twisting in her chest. They know I don't deserve this position. They know I'm only here because of family advantages. They know I'm inadequate.

  "Initial squad ranking projections," Quinn continued, still typing as though they hadn't just exposed everyone's deepest inadequacies. "Based on aggregate performance metrics and comparison with other squad compositions: We're middle tier. Twenty-fifth to fifteenth projected placement out of sixty-one squads. Our academic and tactical capabilities are strong but physical performance metrics create a deficit."

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  Quinn finally looked up, meeting Valoris's eyes with disturbing directness.

  "What's our target ranking? Top ten? Top five? We need to establish goals and training protocols to achieve them. Rankings are published monthly. Everyone will see where we stand."

  There was something hungry in that flat affect. Something desperate underneath the clinical assessment. Like rankings were the only thing keeping them tethered to reality, the only structure that made existence feel solid.

  "Rankings matter," Zee added. "They determine training track priority, resource allocation, deployment assignments after graduation. They're–" A pause, brief but present. "They're important. We need to be high-ranked. Top ten minimum. Preferably top five."

  "The academy assigned you as leader because your tactical scores are high and your family name carries weight," Saren said, voice cold enough to freeze water. Each word felt calculated to cut, to expose, to confirm everything Valoris feared about herself. "Not because you've demonstrated actual leadership capability. Not because you've earned anyone's respect. Because you tested well on paper and have five generations of Kade pilots in your bloodline giving you advantages the rest of us never had."

  "Maddox–" Valoris started, but her voice came out smaller than intended.

  "Don't." The single word cut like a blade. "Look at this squad. Actually look at us. Zavaretti has higher combat scores than you. Her tactical assessment rivals yours. Sterling has the highest meditation sensitivity in our entire year. Renn has engineering capability that could provide significant advantages. I have–" She stopped, jaw working. "I worked for every percentile. Every score. Three jobs while attending preparatory academy. Study groups until midnight. Mock assessments until I could execute them perfectly. I earned my place here through merit, not through family connections and private tutors who prepared you for these exact tests since you were eight years old."

  Valoris sat very still, trying to keep her expression neutral even as something twisted in her chest. Everything Saren was saying was true; the advantages she'd had, the preparation others couldn't access, the name that opened doors before she'd proven she deserved to walk through them. The fact that she was sitting here, designated as leader, while people who'd actually fought for their positions were expected to follow someone whose greatest achievement was being born into the right family.

  She wanted to argue. To defend herself. To say that she'd still worked hard, that the training had still been brutal, that she was trying her best. But every defense felt hollow when measured against Saren's truth. She hadn't earned this the way Saren had. She had been given advantages that made success more likely. She was sitting in a position she probably didn't deserve.

  "She's not wrong," Zee said finally, voice carefully neutral. "About the scores. You're tactically strong, but you're not the strongest combatant. Not exceptional at physical training. Not the best at anything except academics and having the right last name."

  The words landed with brutal honesty. Not cruel, accurate. Valoris wanted to disappear.

  "However," Zee continued, before Valoris could spiral further into shame, "leadership isn't just about being the best at everything. It's about coordination. Making the people under your command function better as a unit than they would individually. Whether you can do that..." She shrugged. "We'll find out."

  "We'll find out quickly," Quinn said. "First squad evaluation is this afternoon. Results factor into initial ranking calculations. Sixty percent of squads fail first evaluation. That would drop us significantly in rankings. Below twentieth, possibly. That's unacceptable."

  The pressure was building. Sixty percent failure rate. Afternoon evaluation. Squad depending on her to coordinate them. Saren's contempt. Zee's pragmatic doubt. Quinn's desperate need for structure. Milo watching everything with worried assessment behind smudged glasses.

  "Then we don't fail," Milo said, and his tone had gone serious. He'd stopped fidgeting, glasses pushed up, full attention on the conversation. "Look, I don't know if Valoris is the right squad leader. Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. What I know is we're all good at different things, and arguing about who deserved what position won't change the assignments."

  He gestured at the table as though laying out components.

  "I'm terrible at fighting but I can engineer solutions. Quinn struggles physically but has meditation sensitivity none of us can match. Saren's academically exceptional but needs people who can execute plans under fire. Zee's a natural combatant but benefits from tactical coordination. Valoris can do strategic planning but needs people who can make those plans work in practice."

  "Functional specialization," Quinn said, typing again. "Individual weaknesses become less relevant when squad capabilities are properly aggregated and coordinated."

  "Exactly." Milo nodded. "We're designed to cover each other's gaps. Whether we like it or not. Whether it's fair or not. We're Squad Kade-07 now. We can spend four years fighting about who should have been leader, or we can figure out how to not get each other killed. Those are the options."

  "Here's my assessment," Zee said, looking directly at Valoris. "I don't know if you earned this position or if your name got you here. What matters is whether you can coordinate five very different people into something functional. Whether you'll make decisions that get us through training and into graduation. Whether you'll prioritize squad success over personal reputation or family expectations."

  She paused, then added with careful precision: "I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here to survive four years, become a pilot, and send eighty percent of my pay home so my family escapes poverty. That's my goal. Clear, simple, non-negotiable. Can you lead a squad that helps me achieve that?"

  The directness was startling. No pretense about duty or honor. Just economics and survival. Valoris met her eyes and saw something there that was almost like a challenge: Prove you can do this. Not for glory. Not for your family. For us.

  "I can try," Valoris said, voice barely above a whisper.

  "Try isn't good enough," Saren said flatly. "Either you can or you can't."

  "Then I'll make it work," Valoris said, forcing her voice firmer despite how much she wanted to crawl under the table and hide from their collective assessment. "I'll coordinate us. I'll learn what I don't know. And we'll become functional enough to not fail."

  Even if I have no idea how, she thought. Even if I'm terrified I'll make the wrong call and get someone killed. Even if every word out of my mouth feels like lying because I don't actually believe I can do this.

  But she didn't say that part. Kept it locked behind neutral expression and shaky determination.

  "Acceptable starting framework," Quinn said. "We should establish training protocols. Academy provides baseline requirements but squad-specific supplementary training could improve performance metrics. Better performance means better rankings."

  "I could work on equipment optimization," Milo offered. "Within approved parameters. Maybe improve efficiency of training gear–"

  "No," Saren, Zee, and Valoris said simultaneously.

  Milo held up his hands. "Offering. Just offering."

  "Later," Valoris said. "After we've proven we can function as a basic unit. Right now we need to focus on immediate assessment. What do we know about squad formation evaluations?"

  "Combat simulation, probably," Zee said. "Tactical scenario requiring cooperation. They want to see if we can communicate and coordinate under pressure."

  "Historical success rate is forty percent on first attempt," Quinn added. "Failure would drop us in initial rankings. Possibly below twentieth place. We need to succeed."

  "Then we will." Valoris tried to sound more confident than she felt. Tried to project authority she didn't possess. Tried to be the leader they needed even though she had no idea what that meant. "We'll go out there and demonstrate that we can function. Even if we just met. Even if we have... disagreements about assignments. We coordinate because the alternative is unacceptable."

  "Professional cooperation," Zee said. "Squad first. Personal feelings secondary."

  "Performance-driven optimization," Quinn agreed. "Rankings depend on it."

  "Adequate framework," Saren said, which might have been the closest thing to approval Valoris would get. The contempt was still there, lurking under the words, but at least it was contempt willing to work within the system rather than actively sabotage it.

  Milo pushed his glasses up. "Then let's make it work."

  A knock on the door interrupted. An instructor poked their head in. "Five minutes. Conclude squad meetings and report to training ground for afternoon assessment. Squad formation evaluation beginning at 14:00."

  "Acknowledged," Valoris said, and was surprised when her voice came out steady.

  The door closed.

  They stood. Filed toward the exit. Five people who'd spent thirty minutes together and were now expected to coordinate as a tactical unit.

  Valoris followed them into the corridor, watching the way they moved: Zee with tactical awareness, Quinn with geometric precision, Milo with focused energy, Saren with rigid control. All of them carrying their own goals and fears and resentments. All of them depending on her to somehow make this work despite having no idea how.

  Past more propaganda posters (YOUR SQUAD IS YOUR STRENGTH), under more inspirational banners (HONOR THROUGH EXCELLENCE), through corridors that reminded them constantly what was expected even when those expectations felt impossible.

  I don't know how to lead them, Valoris thought, the panic still present but pushed down deeper now. I don't know how to make this work. I don't deserve this position. They're all right, I'm only here because of my name and my advantages and algorithmic determination that didn't account for actual capability.

  But she kept walking. Kept her expression neutral. Let none of the uncertainty show.

  They had four years together. She would figure it out. She had to.

  Or fail spectacularly in front of everyone, disgrace the squad name and her family name and prove every doubt correct. No pressure, she thought bitterly. Just the weight of five generations, four squadmates' futures, and her own crushing inadequacy.

  Squad Kade-07 walked toward the training ground together, and Valoris wondered if they could see how terrified she was underneath the neutral mask. Wondered if anyone could lead them or if she'd doom them all through her incompetence. The afternoon sun hit the training ground posters at an angle that made the metallic letters shine: VICTORY DEMANDS SACRIFICE. Valoris looked at that message and thought: I hope sacrifice isn't literal. I hope I don't get them killed. But she suspected the academy didn't make promises about survival.

  Only about duty.

  And she'd just been given a duty she had no idea how to fulfill.

  ? Phoenix Flight [Lite LitRPG - Dungeon Diving - Slow Romance] ?

  by RainyLiquid

  Weak to Strong, gathering of powers, skills, and spells.