Graduation Gala

Many pioneers were entering the base today.

Most of them looked travel-worn, just like Tu Ran and her two companions.

Across from them stood the new batch of pioneers, dressed in crisp, brand-new combat suits with their hair meticulously styled.

They were all around eighteen or nineteen years old.

In her world, that would be just about the time for high school graduation and college entrance exams.

Every face radiated hope and dreams for the future, along with the ambition to make a name for themselves across the entire Federation.

The banquet hall was converted from the usual training ground.

Lights blazed, bright as day.

Tu Ran and her group found the seats reserved for pioneers from previous years and sat down.

This section had about five hundred seats, but less than half were occupied. Half were still inside the Threshold, some had been assigned to other states and couldn't make it back, and those present were all from the neighboring states.

They were scattered sparsely.

Compared to the bustling, fully packed area where today's honorees sat, it looked quite lonely and desolate.

At the high platform of the training ground, in plush seats, sat a bunch of leaders.

Men and women alike, all dressed brightly, their faces glowing with vitality.

Looking at the pioneers below, their faces wore genuine smiles of joy.

How could they not smile? Tu Ran thought to herself.

So many more people were willing to risk their lives for them.

If it were her, she'd be laughing in her sleep too.

Among that row of people, Tu Ran spotted Xie Zhao.

He sat right in the center.

After all, he was the chief commander of the Pioneer Team—the man who had single-handedly pushed the team from proposal to establishment to full operation and success. Sitting in the main seat was only fitting.

At the moment, the gala host was inviting him to give a speech.

No matter the world, this kind of pointless ceremony couldn't be skipped.

Fortunately, they'd arrived over half an hour late. Xie Zhao was the last to speak, the grand finale.

The training ground fell silent.

No more of the restless murmuring that had accompanied the previous speakers.

Everyone sat quietly in their seats.

They all held great respect for Commander Xie Zhao.

"The instructors before me have said a lot, mostly to boost your morale, so I won't repeat the same old lines. I want to say something different," he began.

He paused, his gaze shifting to the first-generation pioneers' section where Tu Ran's group sat.

A handful of scattered people.

"Not many of the previous generation's pioneers came," he said suddenly, as if talking to himself.

Following his words, the second-generation pioneers all looked over.

Only then did they notice the exhausted-looking seniors and juniors.

"Do you know why so few came?" Xie Zhao moved his gaze back to the eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds before him.

"No time?" a young man in the audience shouted.

Xie Zhao let out a light laugh. "That's one reason. They genuinely are busy."

"Not worth coming back for?" a young woman stood up.

Her words resonated with the others.

Indeed, it was just a graduation gala; what was there to see? Once they became full-fledged pioneers and left the training base, no rules could restrain them. In their free time, they could go wherever they wanted. Who'd waste time coming back for a graduation gala?

"That reason... might exist too," Xie Zhao said, his voice dimming. "But it's not the main one."

"Then what is the main reason?" someone asked curiously.

"Over these five years, the instructors have shown you only positive things, given you boundless hope, made you trust your profession, believe that the title 'pioneer' will bring you glory, and that your future is bright."

"But we've never told you what the previous generation of pioneers is like now."

"What do you remember most about the previous pioneers?" Xie Zhao looked at everyone below.

"Their unattainable achievements, the record-breaking scores you can't reach no matter how many times you train—the longest sniper shot at 3,460 meters, the unbeatable hand-to-hand record of lasting 35 minutes against all the combat instructors solo, the longest AR alien hide-and-seek record of 27 days, the fastest time for a 40-kilometer weighted march, and many more."

The venue was dead silent; everyone was listening intently, immersed in Xie Zhao's unhurried voice, and in the details of the five years of training they'd shared.

"Some of those records you've already broken, and some you haven't touched yet."

"And besides the numbers you know, there are others you've never heard of, which I've kept hidden."

Xie Zhao lowered his eyes, picking up the electronic screen that had been placed at the center of the table.

Everyone below stared at him, unconsciously clenching their hands. Though they had no idea what the commander was about to say, the thrill and anticipation of the unknown made them all eager for him to continue.

"Number of first-generation pioneers who graduated: 2,261."

"As of the day the second generation graduates, which is today, confirmed remaining: 576."

"Confirmed deaths: 134."

"Those who failed to leave the Threshold more than twice: 1,021."

Xie Zhao looked up. "You should all understand what it means to fail to come out of the Threshold more than twice."

It meant a mortality rate of 95%.

The audience fell into dead silence.

So, in this one year, nearly half of their seniors and juniors from the previous batch had died.

They were so outstanding, and yet so many had died. Then what about them?

A chill ran down everyone's spine.

Xie Zhao didn't stop.

"Number of people severely injured and still in a coma with no signs of waking: 16."

"The 514 not counted just entered the Threshold yesterday, their fate unknown. The data can only be updated when they return."

"There's one more piece of data—a statistical report from the Medical Department on how many times our pioneers visited for treatment over the past year."

"Let me read a few numbers for you."

"The average number of nutrient pod uses is three times per person."

"You might not be familiar with nutrient pods," Xie Zhao looked up, explaining. "They're expensive. In most cases, the Medical Department only recommends them when an injury is life-threatening, or when there's something more critical that requires quick wound repair."

Hearing this, Tu Ran narrowed her eyes. Really?

Her recent uses of nutrient pods had been purely because they healed fast, and she had a free one-year usage right—might as well use it. That was her mindset.

But the first time she'd used a nutrient pod, it had genuinely been recommended by a doctor from the Medical Department.

At the time, she hadn't had anything urgent to handle.

So it must have been because her injury was severe.

She'd hit the back of her head then.

She remembered it only hurt a little.

She hadn't expected it to be that serious.

Xie Zhao kept reading out data, not stopping.