Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit

Chapter 7 – Endless Banters

The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sleek, towering structures of Orbital Technology Applied Kinetics University. It was the second day of classes, and the crisp morning air hummed with energy. I navigated the familiar hallways with ease, already accustomed to the route that would take me to my classroom. Being familiar with the layout now, I arrived without a hitch, making it just in time.

I stepped into the classroom fifteen minutes early, and the atmosphere was noticeably different from the day before. The room buzzed with conversation and movement as students settled into their places. There was an undeniable liveliness in the air, the stiff tension from the first day melting away. I suppose most of the students had already adjusted to their assigned partners by now.

I realized that perhaps the same could be said for me. Yesterday felt like a stroke of fate, a surreal day when I managed to speak to the person who had, for so long, been the bane of my existence. My thoughts drifted back to Myrrh.

She was already seated in our usual spot, her profile framed by the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the window. Her gaze was distant, eyes unfocused as she stared outside, lost in thought. One hand propped up her chin, and she looked almost serene, though her expression remained unreadable. I approached silently, not intending to break the delicate quiet, but as I pulled out my chair, something unexpected happened.

"Good morning, Zaft," Myrrh greeted, her voice soft and distant, like a leaf drifting lazily in the wind.

For a moment, I stood frozen. Hell must have frozen over for her to actually speak to me—let alone greet me first. Then, I remembered our reluctant agreement from yesterday. We had promised to try and make this partnership work, no matter how much we loathed the idea. After all, our grades depended on it.

"G-Good morning, Myrrh," I stammered, still caught off guard.

Myrrh turned to face me, her lips curling into a mischievous smile, her narrowed blue eyes gleaming with playful malice. “Next time, greet me with more respect," she said, her voice dripping with mock grandeur. "'A fabulous morning, Your Royal Highness Myrrh Alicent’—that would be the proper greeting from now on. It’s only right that a hooligan like you show some respect.”

Without missing a beat, I met her gaze with a deadpan expression. “Good fucking morning, you snotty brat Myrrh Alicent. That’s the best I can do.”

Her smile faltered into a pout as she leaned back in her chair. “I don’t get why you hate me so much. Everything I’ve done was in the name of duty and honor.”

A bitter laugh slipped from my lips before I could stop it. “That’s exactly why Ephraim left you. You’re so narcissistic and selfish that you can’t see past your own reflection.”

“Hmph.” Myrrh crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her chin jutting out defiantly. “Speak for yourself, gremlin. You never even had a girlfriend in high school. Girls avoid you like the plague—it's a miracle you're even allowed in the same room as one.”

Fantastic. It wasn’t even eight in the morning, and my day was already on a downward spiral. I could already feel the headache forming, the kind of dull throb that only Myrrh could conjure. I sighed inwardly, praying that midterms would breeze by so this torturous partnership would end as soon as possible.

“Oh, before I forget,” Myrrh suddenly chirped, clapping her hands as if a thought had just struck her. Her face lit up with a smile that was far too innocent for someone like her. She reached into her bag with deliberate slowness, pulling out a small object that glittered in the light.

She held out a pink handkerchief, the fabric neatly folded in her palm. “Here!”

"Wait, this is..." I trailed off, my eyes widening as I recognized the familiar fabric.

Myrrh's cheeks flushed with a soft, rosy hue that made her look oddly innocent. "I guess I never properly thanked you for this. So, thank you," she murmured, glancing away shyly.

In an instant, memories from my high school days on Earth rushed back to me like a flood. It was the very same pink handkerchief I had lent her during prom, back when her ex-boyfriend had callously dumped her. I could still picture her, sitting alone in the corner of the ballroom, using that handkerchief to wipe her tear-streaked face. Sweat and snot mingled with her tears as she blew her nose into it, sobbing uncontrollably.

Yeah, I remembered it all too well. And as much as I might be a fool for a beautiful girl, I drew the line at revering Myrrh’s snot. No thanks.

"You know you didn’t have to return this," I said, gingerly pinching the corner of the handkerchief between my thumb and index finger, holding it as if it were a biohazard. Who knew what microscopic remnants of Myrrh’s snot still lingered within its fibers?

"It would be rude not to return it," Myrrh replied with a haughty tilt of her chin. "Besides, that handkerchief is a luxury brand, isn’t it?"

"You should’ve just tossed it in the trash," I muttered, still holding the pink fabric at arm’s length. "We both know what you used this for."

"Wow, rude. Even my snot is a thousand times cleaner than your face," she shot back, her lips curling into a pout. "FYI, I handwashed it over and over again, with the finest fabric conditioner money can buy. It’s practically brand new! I even made sure it smelled extra nice for you."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Myrrh continued, her tone softening. "I actually meant to give it back during our graduation, but things got so hectic, and I kind of... forgot."

"Really?" I drawled, examining the handkerchief from every angle with exaggerated suspicion. I tentatively rubbed the fabric between my fingers, and to my surprise, it was smooth and soft—practically brand new. There wasn’t a single blemish on it, not even a stain from that chaotic night. Reluctantly, I gave in, set aside my inner germaphobe, and held the handkerchief normally.

"Go on, smell it!" Myrrh teased, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I made sure it smells like lavender!"

"Not a chance," I scoffed, shaking my head in mock horror. "Who knows what kind of plague might awaken if I breathe in the wrong particle."

I cringed at the thought and quickly stuffed the pink handkerchief into my bag, hoping to banish any lingering mental images. Myrrh pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she tried—and failed—to look both cute and annoyed. Her narrowed eyes hinted at an incoming retort, but before she could launch into another comeback, the sharp ring of the first bell echoed through the classroom.

The start of the day. Saved by the bell.

Our Technology Subject professor strode into the room just as Myrrh was about to open her mouth, cutting off whatever sarcastic remark she had brewing. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, sinking into my chair as the chatter in the room died down.

<><><>

Professor Isadora stood at the front of the classroom, a tall, slender woman with a tan complexion. Her face was meticulously made up, her features accentuated by layers of makeup, and her lips gleamed a striking, swollen red from the heavy coat of lipstick. She wore the standard office attire, professional yet unremarkable, but her presence was commanding as she launched into the day's lecture.

"Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Units are the pinnacle of cybermystic innovation," she began, her voice steady and authoritative. "When humanity unlocked the secrets of the Reality Code, we gained the power to alter not just the fabric of reality but the very building blocks of genetics. This universal programming language allowed us to modify life itself on a cellular level, opening up new possibilities."

She paused, a holographic image flickering to life above her desk—a sleek, futuristic device materialized in midair. "These," she continued, gesturing to the image, "are morphers, tools most of you are already familiar with. These devices contain pre-programmed codes designed to modify your bodies, allowing you to transform into giant mechs known as Frame Units."

The hologram shimmered as it rotated slowly, its gleaming surface reflecting the classroom lights. Professor Isadora’s tone grew slightly more serious as she went on. "However, morphers only function with individuals who possess XX chromosomes—biological females. That means males, gays, transgender individuals, and others in the LGBTQ community are unfortunately incompatible with the morphing process."

A brief sigh escaped her lips, subtle but audible, as if she were disappointed by the limitations of the technology.

The guy seated in front of me leaned back and whispered, "Hey, that sigh… does that mean the professor's transgender?"

I raised an eyebrow, amused, and shrugged. "Beats me," I whispered back with a smirk. "Maybe that explains her disappointment."

For a moment, I caught Myrrh's gaze. She was staring at me, her blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that I couldn’t quite decipher. I had no idea what was going on in her head, but after a tense second, she turned her attention back to the professor without a word.

<><><>

For our next class, we were brought to an open field, the crisp air and wide expanse stretching out before us. It was time for Weaponry Basics, a subject that required hands-on training. This meant donning the official battle suits for actual combat practice. As a support unit, I was given a standard black military uniform—loose enough to move freely, but durable and practical. The matching hat added to the formal look, though the uniform was comfortably functional.

The WAIFUs, however, were designated to wear white skin suits. That’s right—skin-tight suits. These outfits clung to their bodies like a second layer of skin, accentuating every curve, every contour. I glanced around at the other WAIFUs; the suits fit them well, sleek and streamlined for combat, but functional.

But then, I caught sight of Myrrh.

When she walked onto the field in her skin suit, something primal and instinctual stirred inside me. My rational thoughts faded for a moment, replaced by an overwhelming, almost animalistic reaction. Her long legs moved with a grace that was almost hypnotic, each step causing her hips to sway in an undeniably alluring way. Her figure was nothing short of jaw-dropping—her ample curves, the way her breasts and hips moved with every step, the smooth, hourglass waistline that led down to hips that screamed fertility. It was like my body had been jolted to life, and I felt heat rise to my face.

Before I could compose myself, Myrrh caught me staring. Her eyes twinkled, and for just a moment, I saw her blush, her cheeks faintly tinted pink. But that innocent expression quickly shifted into something more mischievous as her lips curled into a teasing smile.

“Oh, the hooligan is blushing,” she cooed, her voice dripping with amusement. "Did I make your heart skip a beat?"

"No fucking way," I muttered, quickly turning away to hide the deep flush that had overtaken my face. But Myrrh wasn’t done. She leaned forward, pressing her face closer, refusing to let me escape her teasing.

"Hehe!" Myrrh laughed, flipping her long lime-blonde hair, which caught the breeze and danced effortlessly around her shoulders. She turned to me, her eyes gleaming with playful confidence. "You know, I’m accepting suitor applications, but only from those who meet my high standards. Naturally, the bar is set way too high for you, so you should probably prepare yourself for rejection in advance."

"Just fuck off and get to the red line," I muttered, finally allowing my true feelings to surface—irritation. Every word she spoke seemed designed to poke at my nerves.

Myrrh smirked, undeterred. "You know, it wouldn’t kill you to praise me every once in a while, Zaft. I seem to recall you rating me a perfect ten out of ten?"

"Yeah, yeah. You’re beautiful. Ten out of ten. Moving on." I waved her off, the sarcasm practically dripping from my words. "Too bad your personality’s a solid zero. If only you could distribute some of those points from your looks to your character, but even then, you’d barely scrape a five at best."

Myrrh’s playful pout deepened, her lips forming an exaggerated frown. "Geez, you’re so annoying," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Sorry for being all looks and having a trash attitude! Hmph!"

She turned away in mock offense, but I could still see the glint of amusement in her eyes. She enjoyed this back-and-forth as much as I did, though I’d never admit it.