Chapter 38 : First Victory
The Rank Wars arena blazed with light — holographic displays showing the virtual battlefield where three squads would compete for points that translated into organizational standing.
I stood at the deployment zone, trigger activated, watching Tamakoma-2's icons appear on the tactical map alongside our opponents. The positions were randomized, but Combat Evolution was already analyzing the terrain for optimal approach vectors.
"Tamakoma-2, deploying," Usami's voice came through the communication channel. "Mamiya Squad and Yoshizato Squad confirmed. Match starting in thirty seconds."
Thirty seconds. I used them to finalize positioning calls.
"Chika, elevated position at grid reference 7-4. That building gives sightlines to both chokepoints."
"Understood."
"Yūma, hold at 5-3 until my signal. When Mamiya commits to their usual aggressive push, you'll have a window."
"Got it."
The countdown reached zero. The match began.
Mamiya Squad moved exactly as predicted.
Their captain charged forward within the first fifteen seconds, seeking to establish early pressure against whichever opponent presented themselves first. His aggressive style had won matches before — momentum built from confident attack often demoralized less decisive opponents.
Tamakoma-2 wasn't less decisive. We were waiting.
"Movement on vector four," I reported. "Mamiya's flanker is repositioning toward the eastern corridor. Chika, adjust two degrees left."
"Adjusting."
Yūma held position with the patience of someone who understood that timing mattered more than speed. His combat instincts wanted engagement — I could sense the tension in his acknowledgments — but he trusted my calls.
Yoshizato Squad played their expected conservative game, holding defensive positions while the aggressive teams sorted themselves out. Their patience would become liability once we handled the immediate threat.
"Mamiya captain entering kill zone in three... two..."
Chika's Ibis shot tore through the virtual battlefield, its trail of light visible from every camera angle. The Mamiya captain's trion body dissolved before he could complete his charge — eliminated in the match's forty-second mark.
"Captain down!" The Mamiya squad's communications would be chaotic now. I'd watched their coordination collapse in canonical footage whenever their leader fell early.
"Yūma, go."
He moved. The speed that had impressed me since our first training sessions carried him through gaps in the enemy formation before they could adjust. Two eliminations in six seconds — the flanker who'd been repositioning and the supporter who'd lost their coordination anchor.
Mamiya's sniper tried to respond, but her position had been predictable from the start. Chika's second shot arrived before the counterattack could form.
Four eliminations. Ninety seconds. One squad completely wiped.
"Yoshizato is repositioning," Usami reported. "They're trying to establish defensive formation at the central structure."
"Expected." I studied their movements on the tactical display. "They'll anchor their captain in the building's second floor with overlapping fire support from the ground positions."
The formation was solid. Against opponents who attacked directly, it would hold. But direct attack wasn't our approach.
"Chika, can you penetrate the building's exterior walls from your position?"
"The Ibis should punch through at that range. Maybe two shots to guarantee elimination."
"Do it. Yūma, circle to their escape route. When the building becomes compromised, they'll retreat toward the eastern evacuation path."
The coordination flowed naturally — months of training translating into real-time execution. Chika's first shot punched a hole through the building's wall, narrowly missing the captain who scrambled for new cover. Her second shot tracked his movement, eliminating him before he could establish defensive position.
The remaining Yoshizato members tried to retreat exactly as predicted. Yūma was waiting.
Three eliminations in twelve seconds.
"Match complete. Tamakoma-2 wins."
The victory screen materialized across the arena. Four minutes, fourteen seconds total. Zero casualties for our squad.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The commentary booth's confusion was audible even through the arena's speakers.
"That was... remarkably fast." One analyst's voice carried genuine bewilderment. "Mikumo's directions seemed to anticipate formations the opponent hadn't revealed yet."
"Lucky reading?" The other commentator offered the explanation without conviction.
"Four minutes of luck? Against two squads simultaneously?" A pause. "Tamakoma-2's captain just announced something. I'm not sure what, but I suspect other B-Rank squads are paying attention."
The audience murmured. I could see other squad members in the observation sections — faces I recognized from canonical knowledge, expressions ranging from curiosity to concern. The Analyst had just demonstrated that his reputation wasn't limited to invasion response.
My hands shook slightly as the adrenaline faded. The victory had gone exactly as planned, which should have felt satisfying. Instead, it felt exposing. Every success made the pattern more visible; every demonstration of impossible accuracy invited questions I couldn't answer.
But the joy was real too. Watching the simulation translate into victory, seeing the pieces move exactly where they needed to be — the strategist in me had wanted this for months. The satisfaction of a plan executed perfectly, even knowing the execution raised its own risks.
"That was efficient." Yūma materialized beside me, his flat expression carrying something that might have been amusement. "You didn't miss anything."
"The opponents were predictable."
"They were." He studied me with the directness that characterized their relationship. "But you knew exactly how they'd be predictable. That's different from just being ready."
"Good analysis."
"Good deflection." He didn't push further — he never pushed, not since the conversation about choices made during the invasion. But his awareness matched Chika's, matched Replica's, matched everyone who watched closely enough to notice patterns that didn't quite fit.
"Let's debrief with the squad," I said. "We have three days until the next match."
Three days to prepare for opponents who'd just watched our tactics. Three days for pattern recognition to begin working against me instead of for me.
The easy wins wouldn't last. Smart opponents adapted.
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