Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit
Chapter 100 – Grappling Hook

Chapter 100 - Grappling Hook

I feel hollow today. Not tired. Not sick. Just... empty. It’s that kind of weightless nothing that makes even lifting a pencil feel like a chore. I’m not being lazy—it’s deeper than that. 

The thought of going to Orbital Tech and sitting through another lecture feels like dragging myself through fog. This place, this school, was supposed to be exciting. A gateway to my dreams. Instead, it's become a carnival of stress, absurdity, and existential dread.

I signed up for Orbital Tech’s Applied Kinetics University with the starry-eyed hope of becoming a reliable support unit for the WAIFUs. That was the plan. I never imagined I’d get swept up into a conspiracy involving terrorist cells, political intrigue, and worst of all... a love triangle that I am absolutely losing. There’s no contest. I’m not the rival. I’m the comic relief on the sidelines, watching someone else win her heart.

And let’s not even start on the Machine God—the cosmic enigma that decided to hand me cheat codes like I’m the chosen one in some overclocked JRPG. I didn’t ask for divine hacks or to be branded as the user of the WMD series. These "blessings" have turned into burdens, and the glow of those so-called gifts now feels more like the spotlight in an execution chamber.

It’s Monday. That means a new Weapons Clearance level. Ironically, the mystery of what new toy we’ll unlock today is the only reason I bothered dragging myself to class. If I’m being honest, I was this close to skipping and blaming it on a system error. Maybe I still will. One more dull subject and I swear I’ll bail.

We’re standing in the simulations room now—me, the other support units, and our WAIFUs. The sterile hum of machinery, the faint buzz of anticipation in the air, and the ever-serious Professor Bao clicking away at her tablet.

“For today’s activity and practical exam, I will now upgrade your clearances to Level 9,” she announced, her tone as crisp as ever.

A familiar ping echoed as our WEEB Systems synced, and a glowing hologram flickered to life before our eyes. The HUD sprang up in pixelated glory.

[Clearance Level Up]

[New Weapon Unlocked]

[Level 9 – Grappling Hook]

“Um, Zaft?” Fei Xian’s voice barely rose above a whisper as she leaned closer, her soft black hair brushing against her cheeks. Her eyes scanned my Bios nervously, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her uniform. “What’s the next weapon?”

“Grappling Hook,” I replied, my voice flat—cold, like frost biting at a windowpane.

“Oh.”

Just that. One word, and then silence. She didn’t press further. She didn’t need to. We both knew where we stood now.

The weight of her confession still hung in the air like smoke after an explosion—unspoken but impossible to ignore. Fei Xian, my partner, my WAIFU… the Red Meteor. The girl behind the mask that shattered a hundred alliances and probably more hearts. I could tell she was trying to shrink herself, as if by standing quieter, she could vanish. 

The guilt lingered on her face—not loud or theatrical, but present. Real. And even though I could never be sure of what she truly felt, I sensed a kind of shame in her. Maybe it wasn’t just betrayal she carried. Maybe it was regret. Not just for what she did to me, but for what she did to all of us.

At least she wasn’t pretending. No fake smiles. No damage control. Just a quiet understanding that some wounds take time to stop bleeding.

Professor Bao, ever the no-nonsense anchor in this sea of chaos, tapped away at her tablet with practiced ease. “For today,” she said, her voice slicing through the tension like a scalpel, “you WAIFUs and support units will learn to operate the Grappling Hook.”

She continued, arms crossed behind her back as the lights dimmed slightly. “This tool is fairly self-explanatory. Use it to navigate dense urban jungles and the canopies of towering skyscrapers. Ideal for low-altitude operations where jetpacks are ineffective or too risky. Precision. Agility. Speed. Learn all that in tight spaces.”

And then, with another few taps, the sterile, white-paneled walls of the simulation room shivered—like reality itself was peeling back. Machinery groaned softly beneath our feet, and the floor pulsed with holographic energy. Panels shifted. Lights refracted. Before long, the entire space morphed into a sprawling cityscape of monolithic skyscrapers that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, their reflective glass facades catching virtual sunlight like blades of light.

The sky overhead turned a deep sapphire, dotted with pixel-perfect clouds. Narrow alleys twisted between the chrome giants, tight gaps that begged for reckless momentum and acrobatic maneuvering.

“WAIFUs, proceed to your designated red lines and initiate Frame Unit transformation,” Professor Bao commanded with crisp authority, her eyes sweeping over the room like a scanner.

“Roger!” came the unified response from the WAIFUs, each one snapping into a perfect salute—a practiced motion, yet tinged with pride.

In seamless synchronization, the WAIFUs stepped onto their respective red lines embedded in the simulation floor, glowing faintly beneath their feet. With a practiced flourish, each of them raised a morpher into the air, catching the artificial sunlight pouring through the simulation’s faux sky.

“Frame Unit, Awaken!”

The air shimmered with surging energy as their voices echoed in harmony.

What followed was a symphony of light, metal, and transformation. Arcane circuitry spiraled around their bodies, breaking them down and rebuilding them in a breathtaking flourish of technology and magic. In a matter of seconds, each WAIFU towered over us as a twenty-meter-tall Frame Unit—sleek, powerful, and battle-ready. Their armor plating gleamed, and the faint hum of activated power cores filled the air like a low, comforting growl.

“You know the drill, support units,” Professor Bao called out, already turning her attention to her tablet. “You’ve got thirty minutes to calibrate your weapons and sync before the practical exam begins.”

“Roger,” we support units answered, though mine came out weakly, like a dull thud echoing in a void. My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore.

I exhaled, tapping my WEEB System almost automatically. The glowing HUD flared to life, and I selected the Level 9 weapon module. In an instant, my arm pulsed with energy. Neon-gold circuit patterns surged from my shoulder down to my wrist, wrapping around my arm like living light.

Then, with a sharp thrust, I pointed my hand toward Fei Xian’s Frame Unit. I didn’t look at her directly. I couldn’t.

“Grappling Hook, Equip!”

A web of cybernetic glyphs formed in midair like a magical sigil, then locked into position around Fei’s wrists. The light solidified with a hiss and flash, revealing twin gauntlets—mechanized, sleek, and gleaming like they’d just been forged in a plasma forge. Her metallic arms adjusted slightly as she tested the weight, fingers clenching and releasing with subtle whirrs.

Fei Xian raised her right gauntlet, aiming it toward the side of a nearby skyscraper. With a sharp metallic clack, the grappling hook launched forward in a blur, the steel cable zipping out and latching onto the building with a heavy thunk.

The moment it connected, the engine in her gauntlet roared to life.

Whirrrrrrr—SHOOM!

Fei rocketed forward, the sudden acceleration catching her completely off-guard.

“W-waaaaah!” she squealed, her voice rising into panic as she became a blur of orange and white hurtling through the air like a ragdoll caught in a slingshot.

I blinked. “Huh.”

A scoff escaped me, dry and unimpressed. So she was still playing the klutzy airhead act. Even now, after everything, she was still clinging to that persona—like a little girl pretending everything’s fine in the middle of a minefield.

“W-Waaaah! Zaft, help meeee!” Fei screamed again, this time less comedic, more desperate. There was a crack in her voice that sounded... real.

My smirk faded.

She might actually crash.

“Fei, listen!” I barked into our comms, my tone sharp and direct. “Use your feet to absorb the landing—bend your knees and brace! Let your Frame Unit act like a spring!”

“R-right!” she stammered, fumbling with her trajectory as the building loomed closer and closer.

In the last few meters before impact, Fei adjusted. Her Frame Unit’s legs dropped downward, metal heels locking into shock-absorption stance. With a resounding THOOM, her mech landed feet-first against the vertical surface. A spray of concrete and dust erupted from the point of contact, chunks of cement flying outward in a gritty explosion.

But the Frame Unit held. Legs intact. No damage reports flashing on the HUD.

“Phew!” Fei let out a breathless laugh over the comms. “That was close… hahaha…”

I didn’t reply.

My eyes had already shifted elsewhere—drawn, as always, to her. The one who never fumbled. The one who didn’t need second chances or quick advice through the comms. Every time a new weapon was introduced, all eyes naturally drifted to her. A walking demonstration. A prodigy with unshakable poise.

Even now, most of the support units around me had stopped what they were doing just to watch her. She moved with fluid grace across the simulation space, her grappling hook slicing the air cleanly as she zipped between buildings like it was second nature.

I clenched my fists.

Not out of jealousy. But out of that dull ache that came from being reminded—once again—that no matter how hard we try, there are always people who make this look easy.

I am, of course, talking about no other than Myrrh Alicent.

Her Frame Unit glided through the simulation like it was born in the air—alternating grappling hooks with flawless timing, swinging between glass towers with the grace of a pendulum in motion. Each launch, each release, was smooth and precise, no wasted movement, no hesitation. Just effortless mastery.

All around me, support units stared in quiet awe. Even the WAIFUs themselves had paused to watch. It was just another day of Myrrh being Myrrh—the prodigy, the golden girl, the one who somehow made twenty-meter-tall mechs look like dancers in the sky.

Soon enough, the others tried to follow her lead.

The simulation space became a playground of aerial movement. Frame Units began launching themselves from building to building, mimicking Myrrh’s technique with varying levels of success. Some nailed the rhythm. Others flailed and smacked into concrete like oversized action figures. Fei, to her credit, took it slow and careful. One hook at a time. Left, right. Left, right. Zip, pause. Zip, land.

I watched her as she gradually gained confidence, her movements tightening with each swing. It wasn’t flashy, but it was progress.

Then her voice came through the comms again, brighter this time. “Hey, Zaft?”

I blinked. “Yeah?”

“This grappling hook is actually so fun to use,” she said with a soft laugh, her Frame Unit now coasting between mid-rise rooftops. “It reminds me of my favorite superhero.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

“Batman!” she chirped, clearly proud of her answer. “Remember his motto? ‘With great power comes great responsibility!’”

I paused. She said it so confidently, too.

“…That’s not Batman. That’s—” I sighed and stopped myself. What was the point?

Instead, I gave her what she wanted.

“My favorite superhero?” I replied in the driest tone I could manage. “Pikachu. His most iconic quote? ‘I am Groot.’”

There was a split-second of silence on the other end before Fei burst into giggles, the sound warbling through the comms like digital bells. “You’re such a dork, Zaft!”

And maybe I was. But hearing her laugh like that—unfiltered, sincere, even after everything—it almost felt normal again.

Almost.