Who The Hell Is Main Character?

[Operator Profile --- Updated]

Name: Marcellus Severan

Species: Human

Sex: Male

Age: 18

Status: Alive | Unconscious | Neurologically Unstable

Affiliation: Severan Military Group | Main Family

Cadet Rank: #117 (Ranked | formerly Unranked)

Core:

Status: Active — Overexertion Flagged

Classification: Axiom

Development Stage: Awakening

Combat Grade: 5

Force:

Total Capacity: 100%

Current Capacity: ~3%

Circulation Stability: 21%

Output Efficiency: 61%

Physical Condition:

Skeletal Integrity: Minor fractures (left forearm, two ribs)

Muscular Condition: Severe bruising, deep tissue trauma

Internal Injury: Moderate (concussive shock, minor capillary rupture — self-inflicted, blast proximity)

External Injury: Moderate (surface burns, shallow lacerations — healing)

Neurological State:

Cognitive Function: Suppressed (unconscious)

Neural Fatigue: Critical

Adaptation Load: 41%

Force Adaptations:

Axiom: Observation (active) — Reconstructive Force Replication (provisional, unstable, dormant this cycle)

Registered Techniques:

+ Oscillation | Combat-grade disruption technique.

+ Zero Point | Force circulation hijack via reverse-flow mapping.

+ The Weeping Garden | Signature technique.

+ Blood-Crystal Conversion | Reconstructed via Observation (dormant since last use)

Emergency Override:

Status: Available.

[--------------------]

The first thing Marcellus saw opening his eyes was his profile.

Followed by severe ache throughout the body, and aftermath of burning sensation in his chest.

He waved his hand, making the profile disappear, and looked at the white ceiling. Not the hospital white, but beige.

Smooth stone, broken by narrow lines of dark metal, a recessed strip of light following the edge of the ceiling. A luxury, yet again.

He stared at it for several seconds.

His throat was dry. He moved his fingers and they responded, he checked his motor functions, his limps, and except slight burns and wounds, nothing was quite excessive.

He felt lead wires snapped onto sticky pads on his chest, arms, and legs. The classic ecg wires.

He pushed himself upward.

"Uh---" Pain was severe in his ribs.

He sat upright, the bed beneath him was wider than necessary for a patient.

No nurses were present, or any sound of machines. He looked toward the window, and the room was bright with afternoon light.

He turned his head to the dark panel that had been embedded into the wall beside bed. It displayed several lines of information.

’Core circulation, current capacity, stability, throughput...’ Every term related to core was displayed on it.

The information it carried was wildly vague, but enough to treat a person with no severe injuries if it comes to cores.

He tightened his abdomen, and stood up from the bed, placing his bare feet on the tiles.

’Postural instability detected,’ the display changed.

He reached out towards ECG devices and shut the monitoring of his body off.

’Primitive,’ he thought.

He walked, slowly, step by step. Getting used to the pain.

He moved around the room. A table stood beside the window, several instruments had been arranged across it.

He reached out for the tablet on the table, and the screen opened without a password.

Patient: Marcellus Severan.

He scrolled, looked at his injuries, his medical profile.

’ESR?’ He was confused.

’Was there even a need to measure this?’ he thought.

Then there were time stamps of his medical recovery.

Everything looked normal.

Marcellus then looked at the signature at the end of the file.

’Zuri Frost,’ he repeated the name in his thoughts.

He put the tablet down, and reached out for a notebook.

They were...notes. The handwriting was compact, and some entries were only a sentence. Other covered several paragraphs.

’Oh? A research draft?’ he thought.

He scrolled further, and a diagram appeared. Circulation models, baseline, post-stress, long-term adaptation...it was a model to probe more about the existing cores.

A model to map the cores. Something the world has not yet succeeded in.

Marcellus read it paragraph by paragraph. Corrections had been overwritten multiple times.

And there was an obvious question on which the research existed.

A question circled so many times that it left imprints on several pages beneath.

’What’s a better method of observing circulation without contaminating signal?’

And the one that had severe amount of doodles was...

’How do we solve observer’s problem for cores?’

Marcellus sighed, and continued reading. It appeared as if the author of this draft was continuously loosing their cool.

Frustration was evident, Marcellus understood everything.

*Click*

With a soft click, someone opened the door to the room.

A woman entered with a glass of strawberry shake, and several printed pages in other hand.

She stopped when she saw him standing.

She looked like someone in her late twenties. Her hair was cut in bob, pale blonde, a few strands had fallen loose from the side of her face. With eyes deep emerald.

She wore a white medical coat over a dark fitted shirt and jeans. There was no ornament except a small silver identification badge.

She looked at Marcellus, then at the bed.

"You are?" Marcellus questioned.

"Ah, why wasn’t I notified...wait, how did you shut the monitoring off?" She raised her brows, crossed the room fast with her coat flaring once, and went straight to the monitoring panel.

She turned on the devices, and they seemed to be working fine.

Only then did she look at him properly.

Marcellus stood barefoot on the tile, trousers low on his waist. Small fine patches of healing burn marked his chest.

"Zuri Frost?" Marcellus guessed her name.

"Yes. Oh...Sorry. Mr. Severan. Name’s Zuri Frost. You can say I somewhat handle the medical facility for royal wings," She turned around and said.

"You’ve got quite the research over here," He waved the file, and placed it on back on table.

"I must say your frustration is really visible through your doodles---Oh you even have a stress ball," he reached out for a yellow smiley sponged ball on the table.

"It’s something I’ve been trying to workout for years now, but nothing worth your time, honestly. How’re you feeling? Any pain, or difficulty in circulating your force?" She asked.

"I don’t understand..." Marcellus murmured, playing with the soft yellow ball in his hand.

"...What do you not understand?" Zuri paced slowly, and placed the file back in the drawer as if trying to hide it.

"Women already have two big stress balls, what’s a need of one like this?" He questioned.

"..."

Zuri stared at him like he was an idiot. Which she already somewhat believed since he tried to argue with Professor Kyson, and that rumor was widespread in the academy. But he’s an heir, and now, unofficially a ranked cadet, so there’s not much she can do to him.

"Was that thought impractical?" Marcellus scoffed and then looked at her. "Just like your research?"

She clutched the corner of the table, already furious.

"Mr. Severan. That statement can get you in problems you wouldn’t want to be in," She said.

"Fair." He tossed the ball onto the table behind, it rolled once and stopped against the tablet. "But I mean no offense. Think about it."

He moved from the table, and walked closer to her. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes off his bare chest.

"Force has been read for generations by families who guard their own technique. Imperfect readings occur because force cannot be directly interacted with. So what would any primitive civilization do? What would be it’s next step? Use several of those imperfect readings, and average them out." He began.

"I’m not saying you’re dumb. This is mature science. But it’s executed poorly."

"Are you suggesting you have a better way to probe the core?" Zuri asked.

Marcellus put a hand on his chest and looked at her with exaggerated shocking expression.

"Do you want to steal my thesis now? Goodness there’s no rest for the wicked!"

"..."

"Sigh--- People do hate humor nowadays," He dropped the act and murmured.

"Your brain...it never gets a clean read of the world either," He said.

"Every time your eyes move, the image on your retina jumps constantly, dozens of times a second, which should make your vision a blurry mess, but it doesn’t. Because your brain isn’t passively receiving what your eyes see, it’s continuously predicting what it should see, given the motor commands it to your own eye muscles, and it builds your actual perceived reality out of the gap between the prediction and what actually arrive. That’s the error signal, not the raw signal."

"This isn’t perturbed and read the reaction to determine force and core in a primitive manner. This is a completely different category."

"Stop treating the measuring instrument as a passive recorder and start treating it as a predictive model with its own expectations."

"Anyone with time could invent an EMG alternative to study the cores. Problem is not probing; it’s perceiving without constantly disturbing your own input. And that can give you a major leap in the study of force." He said.

"...Your words are impeccable for any thesis," Zuri murmured. It was an angle she had never thought of.

But what Marcellus described might have sounded easy, practically implementing it could take several living subjects just to train perception model.

It was a method that could only be derived by someone who have worked on living humans with cores. To a level that he could summarize it so easily.

The number of subjects to train that prediction model would be significant. And there’s no saying of how much pain the subjects would have to go through.

It was in no way practically ethical.

But as a thesis. It was something that could change the view of the whole world when it came to cores.

"But..." She whispered, with a slight blush on her face.

"But?" Marcellus repeated.

"You’re standing too close," she said.

"People usually tend to listen carefully when they’re slightly intimidated. Personal experience. If I were to be standing afar, and criticizing your research, you wouldn’t have paid much attention to my words, is it?" He said and stepped in close.

*Click*

Just then...the gates of the room opened again with a soft click.

Both of them looked at the doors and there stood a woman in neat and long black flowing hair, over violet coat, a loose black shirt with top buttons undone, and black leather leggings that always looked criminally brutal to Marcellus.

"..." Maeve stared at Marcellus and it looked like he was forcefully leaning on Zuri, while not wearing a shirt at that.

’This motherfu-’

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