The air in the Old District clung thick with the stench of rotting electronics and cheap prosthetic oil. Lin Ye crouched beside a trash heap, his knees digging into the cracked pavement, clutching a crumpled bill so tight his knuckles whitened. His mother's medical pod was due for another payment—*today*—but the money he'd earned delivering takeout this month had just been stolen by Chen Mo and his crew.
"Hey, trash picker!"
A shrill screech tore through the dusk as a silver hovercar skidded to a halt, splashing murky water from a puddle. The window slid down, revealing Chen Mo's sneer, his face half-hidden under neon-blue tattoos that glowed faintly—the mark of the Chen family's mecha bloodline. Beside him slouched two purple-haired lackeys, one grinding a mechanical gear underfoot with a smirk.
"Chen, this the loser who wrecked your mecha parts last week?" the purple-haired thug drawled, popping a glowing energy bar into his mouth. Metal glinted on his teeth. "Heard your new 'Yin Yi Sun' mecha's core could power a whole slum for a year. Too bad some gutter rat's too stupid to know what's valuable."
Lin Ye's throat tightened. Three days ago, he'd swerved to avoid Chen's hovercar, knocking over a toolbox the bully had left in the street. Inside were parts he didn't recognize—shiny, intricate, *familiar*—and he'd stuffed a few into his bag, hoping they might fix his mom's pod's broken stabilizers. Now Chen was here, red-faced and furious.
"Apologize," Chen said, removing his sunglasses. His pupils flickered with the holographic ads flickering on the street corner. "Get on your knees and say, 'I'm sorry.'"
Old Man Zhou, the junkyard keeper, lurched forward on his cane. "Chen, the kid's mom's sick—"
"Shut up, old man!" The purple-haired thug kicked Zhou's mechanical leg. Metal clanged; Zhou grunted, his cane clattering to the ground. Under it lay a half-unwrapped cloth bundle—Lin Ye's, from this morning. It spilled open, revealing a glint of dark silver.
A watch.
Lin Ye's breath hitched.
The case was plain, dark silver, but etched with a delicate pattern of stars along the edges. Before he could think, his fingers brushed the chain. The watch flared to life, a cool blue glow spilling out. Chen's laugh died mid-snort. He lunged forward, staring at Lin Ye's palm. "That's… the Xingqiong Watch lost by the Chen family!"
"Give it back!" Chen lunged, but a blue barrier snapped up, hurling him backward. Lin Ye gaped as the watch hovered, its screen spinning with a starfield that projected into his mind—a mecha.
Thirty meters tall, its armor flowing like stardust, nine sapphire energy cores embedded in its shoulder plates, and thrusters blazing with a galaxy-like sheen. Most striking of all was its face: no metal mask, just a vague, human shape woven from starlight.
"Suitable host detected," a mechanical voice boomed in Lin Ye's skull. "Activating 'Xingqiong' mecha. Sync rate: 1%."
Chen's hovercar blared an alarm. His wristwatch—emblazoned with the Chen eagle—flashed red, screaming: *UNKNOWN MECHA INTRUSION!*
"Run!" the purple-haired thug yelped, hauling Chen into the hovering vehicle. It lurched upward, leaving a scorch mark on the pavement.
Old Man Zhou stooped to pick up his cane, his voice trembling. "Kid… that watch… it's an artifact, isn't it?"
Lin Ye didn't answer. Heat surged from his wrist to his chest. The mecha's image sharpened, its armor now *real*—pressing against his skin, heavy and alive. When his mind brushed the controls, the Old District trembled.
The Xingqiong mecha stepped forward, its foot crushing a rusted car. Its knee slammed into a convenience store, collapsing the wall. Lin Ye's head spun—he could *feel* every rivet, every energy line, every flaw in its armor. The core glowed dim, only one sapphire lit.
"Energy reserve critical for basic mode," the voice warned. "Terminate sync now."
But Lin Ye's fingers were already on the controls. He thought of his mom's pod, its red warning light blinking. Of Chen's boot in his face. Of the way the watch had felt in his palm—*like it belonged*.
And so he didn't stop.