F-Rank Soul Eater-Chapter 123: Neuralink Mechanics 101

Soren could not believe his eyes. Something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong. Or was he seeing things?

He frowned. Eyes turning to the black cloth and needles.

If Soren had not recovered these things, even he would have thought that he was crazy.

His brows creased. He wanted to say more, but he held his tongue.

Fortunately, the security footage showed him opening the door for the second time and the cadet simply falling without him doing anything.

This much proved his case.

However, was it enough?

One of the attendants that took the cadet away came back into the room. He gave Soren a side glance. Then he leaned in, whispering something into Eagle-wing Eyebrows’ ear.

"His Shade was Stolen?"

Soren caught it with his Blackfield.

The victim’s shade was missing from the Glassheart.

The work of the Shade Stealer.

Eagle-wing eyebrows frowned. Then he turned to the Red Sword Inquisitor, nodding.

"Cadet Soren, until this case is resolved, you will have your Glassheart taken from you, and your connection to your Shade servered." Eagle-wing eyebrows nodded towards the Red Sword.

"Hand over your Glassheart." The red sword bellowed.

Soren frowned. He hesitated.

Or at least he gave the impression.

The Glassheart containing the Shade is supposed to be the most important thing to a Soulbound warrior.

Soren knew he had to act the part.

"Please." He pleaded. "How do I defend myself?"

"It’s an F-rank Shade. Your kind don’t do much." Instructor Eagle-wing eyebrows replied.

Soren stepped forward. "But I have a Gauntlet battle in two days."

"Then better pray we solve the issue in two days." Eagle-wing eyebrows replied coldly.

The Red Sword stretched out a hand, and Soren reluctantly placed his Glassheart in his palm.

And then he brought out his sword.

Swish...

The sight of it subconsciously made Instructor Eagle-wing eyebrows take a step back.

The Red Sword brought his sword down.

"Ahhh," Soren fell to his knees.

The Red Sword frowned a bit.

Instructor Eagle-wing eyebrows noticed. "Something wrong?"

"No... it’s just." He paused. "That’s the weakest connection I have ever felt."

"Well, don’t let the first-place room deceive you. He is still F–rank."

The Red Sword nodded. As if that was more than enough explanation.

They turned to leave the room.

Soren remembered something. "Wait..."

They stopped.

"This proves that Tommy is innocent, right? I mean, he slept in a cell yesterday."

Instructor Eagle-wing eyebrows raised his head to the red sword, exchanging a silent glance.

"As of this morning, it was reported that Cadet Tommy’s cell was found unlocked and empty.

He has escaped. His whereabouts are unknown. All that was left behind are some scribble writings on the wall we are trying to decode.

If anything, we suspect him now more than ever.

If what you said about this so-called attacker is true, then all indications point to him."

Eagle-wing eyebrows gaze focused on Soren. "Cadet Soren, if you have any additions that could help make this investigation any easier, including but not limited to the whereabouts of Tommy—I suggest you let us know... right now!"

Soren froze.

Then he shook his head.

The instructor nodded, and then they left the room.

His voice came once again from the hallway. "This incident is not a pass to skip class for the day. You have already missed morning drills. I just want you to hurry."

Soren stood there for a few seconds, mind playing everything that had happened.

So many things were not right. He could tell he was missing essential parts of the puzzle.

"Tommy." He muttered worriedly.

....

Soren didn’t waste another second.

On his wristwatch, he tapped the class schedule.

"Neuralink Mechanics... Hall C-9," he muttered as he moved.

"Wait—wait for me!" Pencil wheezed behind him.

They hurried down the long corridors, boots slapping against the polished stone floors.

Soren kept a fast, purposeful pace, while Pencil lumbered after him, face already red, breaths coming in heavy bursts.

"Slow down—!" Pencil puffed. "I’m... not... built... for so much running—!"

Soren shot him a glance. "You’re A-rank. Just take it as training your lungs."

"I’d rather train my lovable heart." Pencil protested weakly. "—which you are killing right now."

They turned a corner, nearly colliding with a group of second-years, then rushed down a stairwell and into a wide academic wing buzzing with low chatter and holographic signage.

Soren checked his wristwatch again.

"Damn it. We’re late."

They skidded to a stop in front of a tall double door.

A glowing label hovered above it:

[Hall C-9—Neuralink Mechanics]

Pencil bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping. "Soren... please... five seconds..."

"We’re already here," Soren said flatly, pushing the door.

Pencil’s eyes widened. "Wait—! Don’t go in yet—!"

Too late.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

And Soren stepped straight into the front of the lecture hall.

The room was massive.

Its seating was arranged in rising tiers like a university amphitheater.

Hundreds of cadets of different academy years sat in curved rows, all facing a wide teaching platform and a towering holographic screen.

On it glowed the lesson topic in crisp blue letters:

NEURALINK MECHANICS

Every head turned towards him.

Soren froze mid-step.

So did the instructor giving the lecture.

She stood at the center of the platform, draped in standard instructor red robes—but a thin black veil covered her head all the way to the upper half of her face, shadowing her eyes.

Long black hair spilled out from beneath it in smooth waves, framing her pale cheeks.

Dark makeup lined her eyes and lips, giving her an almost funeral, gothic elegance.

Her expression was utterly indifferent.

Cold.

Unimpressed.

She slowly turned her head toward Soren.

The room went silent.

"...Cadet," she said calmly.

Soren felt every gaze in the hall burn into his back.

"Yes, ma’am," he replied automatically.

"You’re late."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Do you know what happens to cadets who interrupt my lectures?"

"...No, ma’am."

"Good," she said flatly. "You’ll learn shortly."

A low ripple of nervous laughter moved through the class.

Behind Soren, Pencil finally staggered in—face sweaty, chest heaving.

"Sorry—we—" he began.

The instructor’s veiled gaze slid past Soren to him.

"And you," she added. "You look like you’re about to die."

Pencil straightened instantly. "No, ma’am!"

She gestured lazily toward the back of the hall.

"I was already informed of your issue... this morning. But next time, even if the emperor passes away, I won’t tolerate tardiness.

Take your seats. Quietly. If you make a sound, I’ll deduct points for every step you take."

They didn’t wait to be told twice.

Soren and Pencil shuffled awkwardly through the front row, climbing the aisle while dozens of cadets whispered and stared.

No doubt news of what happened this morning had already spread.

Even the sponsors were interested in the matter.

Only when Soren finally reached his seat did he realize why Pencil had tried to stop him.

They were supposed to enter from the back door.

Not the front.

He sank into his chair, exhaling slowly.

"...I hate this place," he muttered.

The instructor turned back to the holographic screen.

"Now," she said coolly, "where were we?"

Her fingers flicked.

The glowing diagram of a neural interface expanded in midair.

"Neuralink Mechanics," she continued, "is the foundation of Soul Mecha synchronization, Shade-server stability, and long-range Shade projection. Fail this course, and you might as well forget ever piloting anything more complex than a training drone."

The class went pin-drop silent.

Soren leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.

And then she turned to the holographic board. "But first tell me. Why does the empire make the worship of the God of the Neuralink its official religion?"