“Why does it have to be exactly three degrees?”

  “No idea.”

  “…Then why are we doing it?”

  “Because the professor said to trust the math.”

  — Overheard at Kallum Inc. R&D

  My holoband buzzed, the haptic feedback pulsing against my wrist in a specific pattern that meant an incoming call.

  I glanced down at the display, and Omar’s face materialized in holographic projection above my wrist, three-dimensional and detailed enough that I could see the worry lines creasing his forehead. His eyes darted to the side, checking something off-screen, before focusing back on me.

  “Dash,” he said. “We need to talk. In person.”

  I frowned, still standing in my workshop surrounded by half-unpacked crates and the gleaming Orbital projector. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, just—” He stopped, glancing to the side again. When he looked back, his expression was serious. “I looked into your… problem. Probably shouldn’t talk about it over the phone. System stuff.”

  System stuff that couldn’t be discussed over a call. My drain? “How soon can I come over?” Omar asked, cutting through my speculation.

  I looked around the workshop. The Orbital was set up but unused. The pants design was barely started, I had just scanned my dimensions for the basic blueprint. My mana had regenerated fully, and the Erika figurine waited on the TABLO, ready for another practice session.

  “Give me a couple hours?” I said. “I’ve got some work to finish here first.”

  Omar nodded, relief flickering across his holographic face. “Yeah, okay. Two hours. I’ll be there.” He paused. “I’ve got your back, habibi.”

  “Of course,” I said. “See you soon.”

  The projection winked out, leaving me staring at my empty wrist.

  I stood there for a moment, trying to parse what could be urgent enough that Omar needed to see me in person but not urgent enough that he couldn’t wait two hours.

  System stuff.

  That could mean anything. “Right,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Speculation is useless. Focus on what you can control.”

  I turned toward the TABLO, where the Erika figurine waited patiently, and walked over to my rune practice station. The book sat open beside it, silver patterns shifting across pages that hurt to look at directly.

  Third attempt.

  I settled into my chair, feeling the mana flowing beneath my skin. Full reserves this time, ready to be channeled. I’d done this twice already. Understood the basics. Knew what the equation wanted from me.

  Time to push past fifty percent.

  I sprinkled fresh mana dust over the figurine, watching it cling to the wood with a slight magnetic pull. The particles settled into place, coating the surface in a thin, glittering layer.

  I placed my hand on the figurine and let my vision unfocus, looking at the book without looking directly at it.

  The text crystallized.

  The Rune of Durability appeared in my mind, mathematical expressions flowing and shifting. Variables and relationships.

  Object dimensions… constant.

  Material properties… eh, known?

  Desired reinforcement level… adjustable, kind of.

  I could do this.

  My hand glowed with a soft, warm light, and the mana dust responded instantly, brightening, connecting to the flow radiating from my palm, and the circuit completed.

  I adjusted the mana flow, channeling it along the grain of the wood. More here, less there, avoid the delicate details of the carved hair and armor, reinforce the structural points—

  My holoband buzzed.

  The sensation broke my concentration like shattering glass. The mana flow stuttered, the equation destabilized, and I felt the whole thing collapse.

  “No, no, no—” I tried to salvage it, pushing more mana through to compensate, but it was like trying to catch water with my bare hands.

  The glow faded, and the connection severed. The mana dust fell off the figurine in a cascade of glittering particles, no longer held by the incomplete enchantment.

  I slumped back in my chair, breathing hard, staring at the figurine that was once again just wood. I lifted my wrist with a groan, ready to tell whoever it was to go away, and saw the notification.

  [Erika: Hey! How’s the gear prep going? :)]

  I stared at the message, my frustration evaporating, replaced by something warmer and infinitely more complicated. Of course it was Erika, and of course she’d texted at exactly the moment I was trying to focus on enchanting a figurine of her.

  The universe had a sense of humor, apparently.

  I typed back with my free hand, trying to keep it casual.

  [Me: Going well. Just got the workspace set up and about to start on the actual builds.]

  The reply came almost immediately.

  [Erika: That’s amazing! Can’t wait to see what you make!]

  [Me: Yeah, I can send you some holos tomorrow. Afternoon?]

  [Erika: Perfect! Don’t work too hard today!]

  I set my holoband down, staring at the Erika figurine on the table. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I told it.

  The figurine did not respond.

  I took a deep breath, centering myself. The interruption had cost me a full attempt; wasted mana, wasted time, wasted focus… but I still had reserves. Still had energy for another try.

  I couldn’t let myself get distracted again.

  I sprinkled fresh mana dust over the figurine; the particles clung once more. Placed my hand on the wood and let my vision unfocus.

  The Rune of Durability appeared.

  This time, I was ready.

  The mana flowed smoothly, following the paths I’d carved mentally through the previous attempts. The equation resolved faster now, variables falling into place.

  I could feel it working, feel the wood changing beneath my hand, becoming more than it had been. The equation balanced, the solution crystallized, and my mana reserves guttered out, exhausted.

  I opened my eyes.

  The golden rune mark gleamed on the figurine’s base again. The wood itself felt different under my fingers.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  A notification appeared.

  [Rune of Durability - LEARNING IN PROGRESS]

  Progress: 73%

  Estimated time to completion: 2.5 hours

  I let out a long breath, slumping forward over the TABLO. Seventy-three percent was better than halfway… but still not complete.

  And Omar would be here in less than two hours.

  “Right,” I muttered, pushing myself upright. “Back to the Orbital. Make something useful while the mana regenerates.”

  I stood, joints protesting slightly from the sustained focus, and walked across the workshop to where the Orbital was. It hummed to life as I stepped back into its projection field, the saved design materializing in the holographic space.

  The cargo pants rotated slowly, showing off all the pockets and conduit routing I’d added earlier.

  It looked good and was almost ready.

  Almost.

  I walked over to the crates, searching for the shield components. I found them in a smaller container labeled MIRAGE (Multi-Index Refraction Adaptive Graphene Emulator). When we’d talked, Asti had mentioned FutureTech Systems made something that could make my clothes hard to spot, so that was the reason I’d gone for universal projectors. I could swap the shield system and camo at will.

  Well, if I designed it right. And I’d also have to add micro-cameras into my clothes, making them even bulkier.

  The next crate had the label MICHALSKI HEXAGON HYBRID SYSTEM. Inside was the shield matrix itself, exactly as Asti had described. A few centimeters of a flat rectangle, densely packed circuitry and exotic materials. The Kallum logo was etched discreetly in one corner.

  Beside the chip was a design card. Well, cart, because “DESIGN CART” was written with a black marker on the other side, not the holographic surface. Normally there was corporate branding, but apparently this was cutting-edge.

  I blinked at it, a bit confused by what that meant. Was this a professor’s handwriting?

  With a shrug, I grabbed it and went to the crate, where I found the universal projectors; small cylindrical devices maybe a centimeter long and half of one wide. Compact, designed to be embedded in clothing or armor with minimal bulk. The micro-cameras were tiny in comparison, like a tenth of the size.

  Yeah, Asti was right; these wouldn’t matter at all for the weight.

  I carried everything back to the Orbital and set it down beside the projector field. Time to scan them in and see what I was working with.

  The scanner accepted the MIRAGE system first, blue laser sweeping across the small emitter module. Data populated on my holoband: adaptive refraction angles, graphene layer specifications, power requirements for active camo mode.

  The scanner accepted the DESIGN CART, blue laser sweeping across its surface. Data populated on my holoband, power requirements, output specifications, effective range. Then I scanned one of the universal projectors. More data: projection angle, mounting specifications, multiple-mode capability, and already calculated for both my shield and camo functions.

  The micro-cameras went last, their specs appearing almost instantly. Resolution, field of view, data throughput rates. The Orbital added all the components to its material database, and new options appeared in the design interface.

  I selected the pants template and started placing projectors.

  One on each hip seemed logical, close to where I’d mount the matrix on my belt. Another two on the outer thighs, for side coverage, four projectors total. Should be plenty for pants, right?

  I finalized the placement and told the Orbital to simulate the shield coverage.

  The holographic pants flickered, and translucent blue planes materialized around them, showing where the shield would project. The coverage looked... incomplete. Large gaps appeared at the back of the legs, the inner thighs, and the rear waistline.

  A warning message appeared in glowing red text:

  ? COVERAGE INADEQUATE SHIELD PROJECTORS CANNOT COVER SPECIFIED AREA

  RECOMMENDATION: ADD ADDITIONAL PROJECTORS OR REDUCE COVERAGE ZONE

  I stared at the warning, then at the gaps in the coverage map.

  “Seriously?” I muttered.

  And at the bottom, in a small text that appeared when I zoomed in, was a note: “Engineer, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably already placed your projectors wrong. Don’t feel bad; everyone does on their first try of my beautiful creation. Follow these patterns instead. Trust the math, not your intuition. - Prof. Michalski.”

  I stared at the note, then at my pants design still rotating in the projection field with its four projectors placed exactly where my intuition had told me they should go.

  “Well,” I muttered. “Shit.”

  I pulled up Professor Michalski’s recommended projector placement patterns and overlaid them on my design, calculated on the spot. Math… MATH. I started hating that word.

  And… twelve projectors.

  Twelve.

  Distributed in a specific pattern that accounted for body movement, fabric flex, coverage overlap zones, and about seventeen other factors I hadn’t even considered.

  The placement looked almost random at first glance; projectors at weird angles, seemingly arbitrary positions on the hips, thighs, knees, and waist. But when I ran the coverage simulation using Michalski’s pattern, the shield field was perfect. Complete coverage with minimal power draw, because the projectors were positioned to maximize overlap efficiency.

  And the micro-cameras had their own placement pattern, offset from the projectors to capture visual data from angles that would feed into the MIRAGE system’s adaptive algorithms.

  I looked at my original four-projector design.

  Then at Michalski’s twelve-projector pattern.

  Then back at my design.

  “Trust the math, not your intuition,” I read aloud.

  Right.

  Time to start over.

  I deleted all my projector placements and started following the professor’s specifications exactly. Hip projectors at thirty-degree angles, not straight horizontal. Thigh mounts offset precisely 4.2 centimeters from the centerline. Knee projectors positioned to track joint flexion with built-in flexible mounting channels.

  The micro-cameras went in next, tiny things that would be almost invisible once embedded in the fabric. Sixteen of them, because apparently twelve projectors needed sixteen cameras to feed the MIRAGE system proper coverage data.

  Then came the conductive threading.

  The professor’s “design cart” included optimal routing patterns for this too, and they were... complex. The threading didn’t just connect components; it formed a distributed power network with built-in redundancy. If one path failed, the system could reroute through alternates.

  I spent the next forty minutes carefully routing every thread path, following the specifications exactly. Up from the waist where the power source would mount, branching to each projector, connecting the micro-cameras, creating the backup routes.

  The back of the pants became a web of conductive paths, all carefully designed to avoid interference with the fabric structure or the pockets I’d added.

  When I finally finished and ran the full systems check, the Orbital displayed results that made me smile despite the complexity.

  ? Shield Coverage: 98.7% (Excellent)

  ? MIRAGE Coverage: 96.3% (Excellent)

  ? Power Distribution: Optimal with 2x redundancy

  ? Flexibility Index: 94% (Minimal movement restriction)

  ? Component Integration: No conflicts detected

  But then a new warning appeared:

  ? DESIGN CART SPECIFICATION DETECTED Shield projectors configured for WIP HEXA SHIELD protocol

  Warning: Projectors cannot project full shield coverage over specified surface area without complete hexagonal matrix coordination

  Recommendation: Distribute projectors according to hex-pattern for optimal field generation

  I stared at the warning, then pulled up the technical details.

  The Michalski Hexagon Hybrid system wasn’t called “hexagon” just because it sounded cool. The shield worked by creating overlapping hexagonal force fields, with each projector contributing to multiple hexagons simultaneously. The pattern I’d just painstakingly implemented? It was optimized for a different shield protocol entirely.

  For the Hexagon system to work properly, I needed to completely rearrange the projectors into a hex-pattern distribution. That stupid professor set the default “math” for the first prototype, not the last. It wasn’t the only one in the file; I hadn’t noticed it at first.

  Which meant starting over.

  Again.

  “Trust the math,” I muttered, pulling up the WIP hex-pattern specifications. It was just the next link. “Trust the math. Don’t throw the Orbital through a wall. Trust the math.”

  I took a deep breath and started redistributing the projectors for the third time.

  The hex-pattern was different from both my intuitive placement and the professor’s default pattern. The projectors needed to form interlocking triangular relationships, each one positioned to create hexagonal overlaps with its neighbors.

  It looked almost organic when I finally got it right, like a honeycomb structure wrapped around the pants. Twelve projectors, now arranged in a specific geometric relationship that would let them generate the hexagonal shield fields.

  The micro-cameras had to move too, repositioned to capture the angles for adaptive coverage.

  And the threading... the threading became even more complex, because now the power distribution needed to account for the hexagonal field generation patterns. Certain projectors needed synchronized power delivery. Others needed isolated feeds to prevent field interference.

  I rerouted everything again, following the technical specifications for the Hexagon system, making sure each connection was exactly where it needed to be.

  My holoband buzzed.

  I ignored it, too focused on getting the last few thread paths correct.

  It buzzed again.

  “Not now,” I muttered, adjusting a connection point on the back hip projector.

  A third buzz, and this time it was accompanied by a notification that appeared over my wrist.

  [Omar: Outside. Where are you?]

  I blinked, checking the time.

  Two hours had passed.

  Two full hours of redesigning the same pair of pants over and over because apparently I didn’t understand shield projector coverage patterns and definitely didn’t understand hexagonal field generation.

  [Me: Be right there. Front door.]

  I saved the design, the Orbital working locally, and looked at the result rotating in the holographic field.

  Twelve projectors in a hex-pattern. Sixteen micro-cameras. A web of conductive threading that looked like abstract art. Enough pockets to carry a small arsenal. And complete coverage for both shield and adaptive camo modes.

  It was beautiful.

  It was also way more complicated than I’d ever intended.

  But it would work.

  I dismissed the projection and headed for the stairs, my legs protesting slightly from standing in one spot for so long.

  Time to see what Omar couldn’t tell me over comms.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Professor Michalski

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