My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 491 Demolished Matt (2)

Matt lunged toward the frozen plains, choosing to strike the ground instead of Liam. Concentrating the exosuit's immense power into his fist, he drove a punch deep into the ice with every ounce of force the gear could summon.

The impact was devastating. Shards of ice exploded in a vast radial pattern, scattering debris into the air and creating an immediate, swirling cloud of white dust. A crater three meters wide and deep now marred the surface, the thick mist of pulverized ice acting as a makeshift screen that effectively blinded any observer.

It was a clever maneuver. By manipulating his surroundings, he aimed to disrupt Liam’s tracking abilities and manufacture the distraction needed to finally land a blow.

For a fleeting two seconds, victory seemed plausible.

Then, Liam’s fist tore through the icy haze. His movement was so surgical that the debris seemed to part for him, his strike finding Matt’s chest with the same controlled intensity he had maintained throughout the entire engagement.

Sent flying backward from the cloud, Matt skidded across the ice. His momentum was bleeding away far faster this time, and he finally slid to a halt on his back, eyes fixed upon the pale sky.

"Three minutes and thirty seconds," Liam’s voice echoed via the comms. "Ninety seconds to go. That ice cloud was a stroke of creativity, truly. Environmental manipulation is a fine tactic for unpredictability. However, I do not rely on vision alone—my spiritual sense and my telekinetic sense track you far more accurately than sight ever could. Consequently, your visual obstacles are somewhat redundant."

Matt let out a sound that sat somewhere between a chuckle and a whimper of despair. Tracking him with his spiritual sense. Of course. Because being faster, stronger, and more seasoned wasn't enough; Liam possessed supernatural perceptions that rendered such physical schemes utterly moot.

He remained down for a beat longer than necessary, allowing the exosuit to run diagnostics while his mind desperately hunted for a solution that simply did not exist. The five-minute requirement now appeared like an impossible summit, an eternity of punishment that his pride could barely withstand, let alone his battered body.

Yet, there was the Titanium Eagle—his personal shuttle. The dream of traversing the stars and claiming that level of absolute freedom was within his grasp.

For that prize, he could endure another minute and thirty seconds of this torment.

Matt hauled himself into a seated position before staggering to his feet. His movements were mechanical, driven by sheer, stubborn willpower rather than any tactical ingenuity. He raised his fists again, though his guard was visibly trembling and his stance lacked its former stability.

"You possess true heart," Liam remarked, his tone laced with genuine respect.

"One minute and thirty seconds," Matt wheezed, his voice raw. "I can endure that. I have braved far worse for far less."

Liam’s expression flickered with a hint of sympathy. "The tragedy here, Matt, is that you have been focused on the wrong variable this entire time."

Matt’s enhanced sensors registered the shift before his conscious mind caught up. Liam was suddenly inches away, close enough for Matt to clearly perceive his resolve through their visors.

There was a look in Liam’s eyes that sent a jolt of alarm through Matt’s gut.

Ignoring his guard, Liam launched a precise uppercut, moving with a speed that defied Matt’s heightened reflexes. The fist connected flush beneath his chin.

The blow snapped Matt’s head backward. While the exosuit’s safety protocols prevented a broken neck or spinal catastrophe, nothing could shield his brain from the violent shock of a perfectly placed knockout strike. The neurological disruption was absolute.

Matt’s world bled into white, then total darkness. His legs collapsed, his arms fell limp, and his consciousness flickered out like a snuffed candle.

He tumbled rearward, though the exosuit intervened to catch him before he slammed back into the ice, gently lowering him to the ground. His breathing remained steady, the suit’s life support systems tending to his vitals.

Liam watched over the fallen fighter with an expression of profound regret mixed with lingering guilt.

"I am sorry, Matt," he murmured, unheard by his ward. "But you were not measuring how long you could remain standing. You were measuring how long until I determined the lesson was complete. The purpose was to grasp your boundaries, not to break your spirit against them."

He turned his gaze to the other seven observers, who watched the aftermath with faces reflecting a mix of horror and empathy.

"The terms were five minutes of consciousness and combat capability," Liam announced, his voice carrying clearly. "He dropped at three minutes and forty-five seconds. Therefore, by the letter of the agreement, he failed."

A heavy silence gripped the onlookers, as they expected Liam to enforce the technicality and deny Matt his shuttle despite his impressive display of grit.

Then, a faint smile graced Liam’s lips.

"However, the spirit of this trial concerned determination and the willingness to sacrifice for one's desires. Matt exhibited these in spades. Even though he fell short of the technical requirements, I shall honor the intent of our deal."

He gestured toward Matt’s limp form as the suit's automated revival protocols began to whir.

"When he awakens, inform him that the Titanium Eagle is his. It will be constructed and docked at the Lunar Base Sanctuary within the month, complete with remote-summon capabilities and every upgrade he requested. He earned this through his refusal to yield, even when he was clearly outclassed."

Stacy was the first to find her voice. "Are you truly gifting him the shuttle?"

"I gave my word," Liam answered simply. "Moreover, he proved he has the heart required to handle such responsibility. Matt will surely execute some reckless stunt with that craft eventually—likely several—but he will approach them with the same grit he showed today. That is worth rewarding."

Matt’s eyes fluttered open precisely then, his consciousness returning with the groggy haze of deep slumber. His first words, slightly thick from the stun, were utterly characteristic.

"Did I make it?"

"No," Liam replied, his smile softening. "You lasted three minutes and forty-five seconds before I brought you down. You failed the technical parameters."

Matt’s face fell, his internal disappointment clear even behind the visor.

"However," Liam added, "you are still receiving the Titanium Eagle. My congratulations, Matt. You are now a spacefaring vessel owner. Try not to ignite any international incidents."

Matt’s expression rippled through a sequence of emotions—confusion, dawning realization, shock, and finally, a surge of pure joy that made him look like a child on a holiday, despite having just been systematically dismantled.

"I am getting the shuttle?"

"You are getting the shuttle."

"The Titanium Eagle?"

"The Titanium Eagle."

Matt attempted to sit, his movements shaky; his friends rushed to steady him.

"I cannot grasp it," he muttered, wonder washing away his disorientation. "I actually did it. Well, I didn't, but I did. This is the greatest day of my life."

"You were literally pummeled into unconsciousness," Harper noted, though his tone was devoid of malice.

"But I secured a space shuttle," Matt shot back. "That is a profit by any sensible standard."

Warm, genuine laughter erupted from the group across the frozen Antarctic landscape. They were clearly taken aback by Liam’s unexpected leniency.

Deep within the recesses of Matt’s concussion-fogged weary brain, he was already plotting the maiden flight of his Titanium Eagle—somewhere reckless, somewhere unauthorized, and guaranteed to induce severe migraines in some high-ranking official.

But that was a challenge for a future version of Matt. The current version was ecstatic to be awake and the proud theoretical owner of a starship that would manifest within the month.

It was, he concluded, definitely worth the beating.