The Millennium Falcon hovered gracefully over the orbital landing pad of Astra Nova Academy. Lyra grabbed her bag and gave Dorian a quick wave from the boarding ramp before jumping down.
"Thank you!" she called out.
"Don't get into trouble!" Dorian's voice called back from the cockpit. The ramp hissed shut, and the Falcon, with a deep, powerful thrum, angled up and shot into the sky.
Lyra waved, watching the ship that already felt like a piece of her family disappear.
"Little Lyra!"
Lyra's cheerful face immediately turned into a pout. She turned to see Hana Vhan, a tall, elegant girl with a bright, easy smile, rushing over to hug her.
"Hana, why do you keep calling me that?" Lyra grumbled, though she returned the hug.
"Because you are!" Hana said, laughing as she let go. And she was. At 14, Lyra was the youngest freshman to be accepted into the Law program this year. Even Hana, a senator's daughter from the Core Rims, was two years older.
They walked together into the grand, sunlit atrium of the Law Major's wing. "Is that your new ship?" Hana asked, still looking in the direction the Falcon had disappeared.
"No, it's my brother's," Lyra said. "He just bought it."
"Ugh, that must be nice," Hana sighed, a wistful look on her face.
Lyra's brow furrowed. "You? Jealous? You can buy a whole platoon of ships with your parents' money."
"It's not the ship, dummy," Hana said, nudging her. "It's the brother. I don't have any siblings. It must be nice to have someone to drop you off and pick you up."
Lyra thought about Dorian's constant teasing, his over-protective nature, and his recent, annoying habit of being right. She just shrugged. "Meehh. You're not missing out on much."
Hana just laughed as they walked into their faculty wing.
…
Meanwhile, Dorian and Marcus were back in the Falcon, soaring through the blue-white tunnel of hyperspace. Marcus was in the co-pilot's seat, his heliopad in his lap, quietly swiping through images.
"You seem pretty interested in Lyra's school," Dorian said, glancing over from the pilot's controls. "Do you like Astra Nova that much?"
"It's not the school," Marcus said, his eyes glued to the screen. "It's the buildings. Look."
He angled his heliopad towards Dorian. Marcus was swiping through a high-resolution gallery of Astra Nova's architecture. Dorian saw buildings that looked less like they had been built and more like they had been grown. The support columns looked like the stylized, swirling trunks of giant, metallic trees, their beams branching out like elegant vines to support the roofs. The windows weren't simple squares; they were sweeping, asymmetrical curves, framed in ornate, flowing metalwork that looked like blooming flowers and twisting leaves. It was beautiful, organic, and looked completely, wonderfully impractical.
"It's good, I guess," Dorian said with a noncommittal shrug.
Marcus scoffed, a sound of pure, unadulterated disdain. "You guess? Tsk tsk. This is why your buildings in Stardew Valley all look like generic, boring boxes."
"Oookkayy," Dorian said, feigning offense. "Everyone's a critic now, huh? Even my ten-year-old brother."
"I'm not wrong, though," Marcus said with a smug chuckle.
Dorian just shook his head, smiling. The ship's nav-computer chimed, and he pulled the lever, the Falcon dropping out of hyperspace into the orbit of a calm, green-and-blue planet. "Alright, we're here," he said, beginning the descent toward Marcus's new school. "So, you want to be an architect at Astra Nova, then? Is that the plan?"
"Nooo," Marcus said, stretching his arms. "Too much work." He gave his brother a sly grin. "I just wanna relax and take things slow."
Dorian raised an eyebrow as he guided the ship down. "Just don't be too relaxed."
Marcus just grinned, his signature, mischievous reply echoing in the cockpit. "Ehe."
…
A short time later, Dorian landed the Millennium Falcon back at their Friton home, the engines whining as it settled onto the simple, grassy patch of land they used as a landing area. An unfamiliar, bulky freighter was already parked near the house, its cargo bay open, and a crew of massive, ape-like Nemans was unloading a large, complex piece of machinery.
As Dorian came down the boarding ramp, he saw John talking to the Neman crew chief. John waved, calling him over.
"Dorian! These gents are here to install that converter thing you ordered."
"Ah, the high-energy ion converter," Dorian said, realizing. "Great timing." He looked around, then pointed to a flat, stable area of ground near the ship's landing pad. "You can install it right over there."
The Neman crew chief, a mountain of muscle with thick, hairy arms, grunted. "You heard him, boys. Move it."
"Dad, I'll overlook these guys," Dorian said.
"Okay," John replied, already turning to walk towards the pasture. "I'm going to sheer the Muurbeasts' wool. They seem irritated lately."
As John walked off, the Neman chief stomped a heavy boot on the patch of dirt and grass. "This is all you got for a landing bay, huh? Pity."
Dorian looked back at his new house. In his mind, it was a mansion, especially now that the Stardew Valley apple and peach trees he had planted from Gacha seeds were growing strong around it, making the property feel homey and almost magical. "Well," he said, "we just bought the land. It was just a pasture before this."
The Neman looked around, his eyes taking in the vast, rolling property. "Whoa. Your father owns a big piece of land, huh? From where to where?"
Dorian pointed. "From that ridge of apple trees over there, to the peach grove on the horizon."
The Neman whistled, impressed. "Well, how about it?" he said, pulling out a datapad. "Want us to build you a proper landing bay?"
"Does a ship really need one?" Dorian asked.
The Neman shrugged, his massive shoulders moving in a complex wave. "A ship this size was made to handle deep space. A little rain won't hurt it. But," he added, a salesman's glint in his eye, "it's... convenient. Tidy. Keeps the engines and landing gear clean of mud."
"Hmm. Talk to me about this landing bay," Dorian said.
The Neman's professional smile widened. "I can assure you, little boss, I'll give you the best price and quality." He showed Dorian several holographic models on his datapad. A simple, reinforced plasteel slab. A small, covered hangar. And then... one that caught Dorian's eye. It was an access schematic. An underground bay.
"This one," Dorian said, pointing.
The Neman's eyes went wide. "Whoa," he said, clearly impressed. "This... this is a big project. This is a multi-level subterranean hangar. With this layout," he said, manipulating the hologram, "we could fit two large ships like your Falcon, maybe three medium freighters, and at least five small personal ships."
"How much?" Dorian asked, his voice quiet.
The Neman punched up the numbers. The quote that appeared on the datapad made Dorian's blood run cold.
"Goddamn," he whispered. "That's... that's several times what I paid for the Falcon."
The Neman shrugged, sensing the sale. "The quality speaks for itself. Price includes a climate-controlled environment, full automated maintenance droids, and," he added the final, killer feature, "yes, a private underground transport tube directly from your house's basement to the bay."
Dorian's eyes lit up behind his casual expression. "So... like my own personal Batcave."
"I don't know what that is," the Neman said, catching his murmur, "but this is too high-tech to be called a cave."
"Sorry, never mind," Dorian said, pulling out his datapad. "I'll direct you to my family's advisor. You can talk to her." He sent Ratik's contact information.
The Neman's smile returned, wider than ever. "So you want this bay?"
"Yes," Dorian said. "You can talk the... formal, financial talk with her."
"You got it, little boss!" the Neman said, ecstatic. He turned to his crew, who were just finishing the converter installation. "Boys! Say hi to the little boss!"
The crew all turned, their massive, hairy bodies waving in unison. "Hello, little boss!"
…
After the Neman freighter had installed the converter, it flew up, its engines roaring as it left the atmosphere. Dorian watched it go, a tiny speck of light, until it vanished. He then turned his attention to the newly installed, slightly dusty machine.
He said, "System."
His inventory was full. He had been a Gacha-spamming machine, but since the BSO chase, he had not dared to equip his "Bepoo" profile or sell a single mineral. His untraceable, physical credit income had dried up, but his mineral stockpile had become mountainous.
He sighed, then reached into his "inventory" and materialized a large, heavy [Gold Ore]. He walked over to the converter and fed it into the intake chute. The machine, a "failed" Accord invention, whirred to life. Its indicator lights, which had been red, flickered, and then turned a steady, efficient green. A moment later, a display on the side lit up, showing the Falcon's power cells, and the house's main battery, both beginning to charge.
He fed it another chunk of ore. The charge rate climbed. A handful of minerals, he realized, was enough to fuel the Falcon for a round trip to the Core Rims. And his minerals were, for all intents and purposes, free.
He let out a short, delighted, almost manic laugh. "Ehehe... this is great."
…
Time passed. Dorian was no longer just a musician; he was a developer. He was in his new studio, a wing of the house he and Ratik had designed. It was sectioned off: one room for his music, with the producer's desk and acoustic paneling; a general-use office; and this room, the game-dev studio, a high-tech space with multiple holo-monitors and Leo's own, custom-built docking bay.
He was deep in "Project Underworld."
"Dorian," Leo's voice came from the docking bay, "the procedural map generation for the 'Tartarus' level is getting out of hand. The array is becoming too complex to guarantee a solvable path."
Dorian, who was coding a new weapon mechanic, slid his chair over to Leo's bay. "Leo, did you do what I told you? To make the outline of the branch? The point of these runs is to make the player have a new experience, but also to give them a sense of familiarity. That is how they feel their own skill growing."
"The current net has no references for this design philosophy," Leo replied, its sensor flickering.
"Ughh, duh," Dorian said, rubbing his eyes. "They all make military shooters. This is a new genre, Leo."
"What genre is it?"
Dorian, already turning back to his own terminal, smiled. "Roguelike. Hehe."
Just then, there was a polite, sharp knock on his studio door. "Dorian," Ratik's voice called out.
"Come in!"
Ratik opened the door, her datapad in hand, and walked into the game room. "Did you read the letters I sent you?"
"Huh?" Dorian said, his eyes still locked on his lines of code. "What mails?"
Ratik let out a long, patient sigh. "The album release. The one we discussed on Sela."
"Oh, that?" he said, still typing. "Isn't that, like, six months from now?"
"It's in three months, Dorian," Ratik said flatly. "And the singers you approved for the tribute album have already sent in their demos. They require your notes."
"Uh huh," Dorian said, his mind clearly a million miles away, deep in the code of Tartarus.
Ratik, seeing she had lost the battle, sighed again. "Fine. I will handle them for one more day." She did not leave. Instead, she walked over and sat down on the small couch in the corner of his office, pulling up her own datapad and beginning to work. She, too, was researching. The gaming industry.
"While I am here," she said, her voice multitasking, "I have compiled a list of the potential hires you need for the studio. Concept artists, 3D modelers. For now, we can have them work remotely, but we will need to establish a physical studio sooner or later. But that is a matter for another day."
She saw that he was still not listening, his focus absolute. With a final, exasperated sigh, she stood up, walked over, and held her datapad directly between Dorian's face and his monitor, blocking his view of the code.
"You need to pick which one of these artists you would like me to hire first," she said.
Dorian stopped typing. He leaned back, his focus finally broken. He blinked at the datapad, then at her, his mind slowly, painfully climbing out of the code.
"Huh?"
…
Bem Lendu's eyes burned. He was staring at the same line of code he'd been staring at for an hour, a generic AI pathing script for an Accord-sanctioned shooter, Legion Duty: Xylos Prime. His life had not been kind to him.
He had graduated top of his class from a prestigious engineering college. His life should have been good. He had been fast-tracked, landing a high-level engineering post on an Accord naval base. He was set.
But one moment of hesitation, one simple, honest report, had unraveled his entire perfect life.
He was a technical guy, socially awkward, more comfortable with machines than people. He had found a defect, a critical flaw in the life-sustaining compactors on an Imperator-class Super Dreadnought. He did his duty. He quietly reported it to his superior. But his superior was in the middle of a major progress review with a visiting Director from the capital. Though Bem had whispered, his superior heard it as an interruption, as an embarrassment. He was dragged out of the room, berated, and, as a "lesson in timing," demoted to a ground-level maintenance engineer.
Then, the Dreadnought launched. And the defect he had pointed out, the one his superior had ignored, turned out to be far bigger, far more catastrophic, than even he had reported. The ship suffered a cascading life-support failure on its maiden voyage. Hundreds died.
His superior was put on trial. And in a final, desperate act of self-preservation, he shifted all the blame to Bem, producing falsified reports that showed Bem had "signed off" on the faulty system.
Bem Lendu was stripped of his ranks and convicted of treasonous negligence. He was sentenced to fifteen years in an Accord hard-labor prison.
He had gotten out three years ago. But that prison record was a life sentence for an engineer. No corporation would hire him. He ended up here, in a tiny, bare-bones apartment, working for a bottom-feeder game company that churned out the same Accord-propaganda trash, year after year. The industry of the wave. Flood the platform with your game until it makes a profit.
He closed the Legion Duty dev kit with a disgusted sigh. He needed a break. He needed... peace. He opened Stardew Valley.
The simple, gentle music washed over him. He loaded his farm. He had been playing for months. It was more than a game; it was therapy. He went to talk to Maru, his in-game wife. The simple, kind dialogue, the lack of judgment... it was genuinely helping him re-learn how to interact with people, even if they were just pixels.
He checked the community forum, just as he did every night. And he saw it.
A new, pinned post from "Round Table Studios." WE'RE HIRING.
His heart, which he thought had died in that prison, gave a painful, hopeful thud. He clicked the link. Systems Engineer. Gameplay Programmer. He read the requirements. His fingers, which had felt so sluggish coding the trash shooter, began to fly across the keyboard. He filled out all the categories. He got to the basic coding questions. They were not basic. They were complex, beautiful problems about procedural generation and AI behavior trees. He had not used this part of his brain in nearly two decades.
He finished, his mind alight, his hands trembling with a forgotten excitement. He clicked Send.
And then, the excitement vanished, crushed by the cold, heavy weight of reality. He stared at his own tired reflection in the dark monitor. 'What am I doing?' he thought, his hope souring into self-loathing. 'They'll run a background check. They'll see the conviction.'
He was a criminal. A traitor. He was just a broken man in an empty room, dreaming of a life he could never have. He put his head down on his desk, supported by his arms, defeated.
…
[The Round Table Studios - "Hiring!" Sub-Forum]
The forum was on fire.
User: PixelPlower
"OMG THEY'RE HIRING! Just submitted my application for the artist role! Wish me luck, everyone! #TeamRoundTable"
User: ArtBrat99
"Good luck! Did you see the technical test for the animator role, though? They were asking about 2D physics rigging and 'dynamic dismemberment systems'. What kind of farming update are they making??"
User: AudioBard
"I'm just hoping they hire a new musician. My application is IN."
User: SoundGuy_Cal
"I applied for the sound design role. The questions were weird. They asked me to 'describe how you would create the sound of a forgotten god's sigh using only organic sources.' I... I used a slowed-down recording of wind through a cracked seashell? Hope that was right??"
User: LoreMasterKez
"The Narrative Designer application was intense. The task was: 'Write a 500-word backstory for a character who knows they are a ghost but is trying to throw a dinner party for their living relatives.' Are they making new game? Is it not just Stardew update, is it? HYPE!"
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮:
- Stardwey Valley: Completed.
- 'Project Underworld?': ◌ loading...
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**