"Annihilation Lord Fenghuo?" The director's pupils snapped tight. "Are you sure?"
The technician hurriedly pulled up the data feed, voice tight with nerves.
"The energy signature resembles residual traces recorded at several Fenghuo incident sites. I can't confirm it with absolute certainty, but that kind of pure Destruction-type fluctuation is extremely rare across the galaxy…"
The director shot to his feet and began pacing the conference room. The claws of his boots clicked against the deck with an impatient rhythm.
The Astral Express had not only resolved the Stellaron crisis and the Nihility contamination—it had also driven Fenghuo back?
If that got out, it would shake interstellar society.
"Prepare a landing team," the director decided in a sharp, decisive tone. "Highest-grade relief supplies. We establish official contact with Qilan Star at once."
"Director, what about the Astral Express—"
"That's the key," the director cut in, eyes glittering with calculation. "The Express has been silent for far too long. This is the company's best window to re-establish a relationship with the Nameless."
He looked to the star-map, at the point representing Qilan Star—numbers climbing, entropy dropping, value returning like blood to a pale face. His smile sharpened.
"And a planet that's just crawled back from Nihility? The reconstruction phase alone is an opportunity that's… difficult to quantify."
Then he issued another order, fast and clinical.
"Activate emergency protocol. Dispatch a civilization-reconstruction and resource-evaluation vanguard to Qilan Star orbit and hold position. We need a full re-appraisal of the planet's post-event value profile—especially after a conceptual disaster of this type."
This was the IPC.
Capital never truly lost the scent.
When the fog of risk thinned and profit glimmered, they were always the first to turn around.
The IPC vanguard arrived in Qilan Star orbit quickly—but they didn't land immediately.
Because another ship, utterly different in style, arrived almost at the same time.
Sleek lines. Rational, almost mathematical elegance.
A vessel belonging to Screwllum, Genius Society's 76th member.
Screwllum's appearance was no coincidence.
As a thinker fascinated by rare phenomena and unusual civilizational forms, he had long since flagged Qilan Star on his personal monitoring list.
A planet where emotions could be sensed, shaped, and turned into visible spectra wasn't just a "resource"—
It was an evolving work of living art.
When Qilan Star's parameters spiked and shifted, his own systems sounded an alarm.
Unlike the IPC's purely profit-driven motive, Screwllum's arrival carried both curiosity and a sincere intention to help. He wanted to understand how the Paintlight people survived and adapted under such extreme conceptual pressure—and whether their civilization would collapse… or be reborn.
The IPC vanguard captain attempted to negotiate via the open channel.
"Honored Mr. Screwllum, the Interastral Peace Corporation is conducting humanitarian assistance and commercial assessment for this planet. Please understand and cooperate with our operations."
Screwllum appeared on the screen—upright and graceful. His metal face showed no expression, yet his bearing was impeccably courteous.
"Greetings, Captain." He dipped his head slightly. "According to the Pan-Cosmic Civilization Contact Code, Article 7, Clause 3: For civilizations that have suffered major conceptual disasters, initial assessment should be conducted by a neutral body possessing relevant academic authority and technical capability, in order to prevent secondary harm."
His voice was calm and precise, like a theorem.
"I believe that before your company conducts large-scale 'assistance,' it would be more responsible—for all parties—if I first perform a comprehensive technical evaluation that is not guided by profit."
The argument was airtight.
And behind it stood the Genius Society—an entity the IPC did not wish to offend.
The vanguard captain had no choice but to agree and hold position in orbit.
On Qilan Star's surface, Wei Qing, Granholm, and Acheron all sensed the orbital shift.
"An IPC ship… and Screwllum," Wei Qing said, brow lifting. "Fast."
Granholm gave a faint, weary smile.
"Expected. Capital never misses a chance to profit. As for Mr. Screwllum… he is someone worthy of respect."
Acheron didn't react. She stood to the side, as if none of it mattered.
Wei Qing glanced at Granholm.
"So, old sir—what's your plan?"
Granholm drew a slow breath, forcing his body upright.
"I need to meet them. But not here."
He looked at Wei Qing.
"Yi Qing. Can you help me? Take me to the highest observatory in Spectrum City."
Wei Qing nodded. Trailblaze power stirred. The three of them vanished from the ruins—
and reappeared atop a half-destroyed tower at the city's highest point.
This had once been a site for observing emotional spectrum shifts. Broken now, weathered, but still the tallest vantage in the city.
Granholm pulled a small device from his coat.
A dedicated Astral Express communications beacon.
He activated it. A thin, unmistakable signal shot upward like a needle through the sky.
In orbit, both the IPC fleet and Screwllum's ship locked onto it instantly.
"That frequency—Astral Express exclusive!" an IPC technician blurted.
The director's eyes flashed.
"Patch me through. Immediately."
Screwllum responded at the same time, measured and polite.
"To the Nameless: my respects. I am Screwllum. I request essential pre-contact communication prior to any civilizational engagement."
On the observatory tower, two communication windows unfolded before Granholm.
"Representatives of the Interastral Peace Corporation—and Mr. Screwllum," Granholm spoke, voice hoarse, but carrying an unmistakable authority. "I am Granholm, navigator of the Astral Express."
The IPC director instantly pasted on a respectful smile.
"Navigator Granholm! Your reputation precedes you. The IPC extends its highest salute to you and the Astral Express. We detected abnormal changes on Qilan Star and have come to provide humanitarian aid—"
"State your terms plainly," Granholm cut in.
His tone wasn't rude—just efficient, like someone counting down an invisible clock.
"Qilan Star has not fully recovered. For now, I am qualified to act as their intermediary. But I have limited time."
The director choked for half a beat, then recovered with professional speed.
"The IPC is prepared to fully support Qilan Star's reconstruction: technical assistance, supply delivery, and restoration of interstellar connectivity."
"As compensation, we request exclusive commercial development rights to Paintlight emotional spectrum technologies, as well as priority trade rights for Qilan Star's specialty exports for the next fifty years."
Classic IPC: short-term "aid" in exchange for long-term control.
Granholm's expression didn't change. He turned to Screwllum.
"Mr. Screwllum. Your intent?"
Screwllum inclined his head.
"Answer: Observation and research, Navigator Granholm."
"The Paintlight spectrum technique is unique in the cosmos. I wish to record and study its evolutionary changes after Nihility exposure."
"Additionally: I will provide necessary technical support and will not demand commercial privileges."
The contrast was immediate—and brutal.
The IPC channel went tense.
Great. Perfect. Now the Genius Society is making us look like villains.
Screwllum's "spotless virtue" made the IPC's demands look like naked greed.
Wei Qing, standing slightly behind Granholm, couldn't help thinking:
You're so ice-pure and untainted it makes the rest of us look shameless.
Granholm remained silent for several seconds, thinking.
Then he said, evenly:
"I have a proposal."
"Qilan Star will accept Mr. Screwllum's technical evaluation and support, and accept the IPC's humanitarian materials."
"But emotional spectrum technology remains the property of the Paintlight people. No external party will monopolize it."
"The IPC may receive most-favored trade status for the next twenty years, but must guarantee Paintlight autonomy in all trade terms."
"And the IPC must assist in establishing a fixed communications chain linking Qilan Star back to the wider galaxy."
The IPC director's smile stiffened.
"This… Navigator Granholm, conditions like these may be difficult for the corporation to—"
"If you refuse, you may leave now," Granholm said coldly.
No anger. No theatrics. Just a door closing.
"I am certain other organizations would be interested in cooperating with a reborn planet."
The director's jaw tightened. He weighed the numbers.
Even without exclusive tech rights, long-term trade access alone was valuable—especially if it came with a chance to publicly reconnect with the Astral Express.
"…The IPC accepts your terms," he said at last.
"Wise," Granholm replied, voice softening by a fraction.
He turned to Screwllum.
"Mr. Screwllum?"
Screwllum bowed in agreement.
"I fully concur."
"Conclusion: Knowledge and technology should serve a civilization's continuation and growth—not become a shackle around its neck."
"I will assist the Paintlight people's recovery to the best of my ability."
The agreement was reached—clean and fast.
IPC ships began precision-dropping the first wave of relief supplies to designated zones. Screwllum's vessel released multiple delicate probe units that started comprehensive scans and assessments of the planet.
On the observatory tower, the communication windows faded.
Wei Qing clicked his tongue, impressed.
"Old sir, that was smooth. You lined up the IPC and Screwllum with a few sentences."
Granholm exhaled, faintly amused.
"Only by using what they want—and where their bottom line lies."
"The IPC seeks profit. Screwllum seeks understanding. As long as we protect the core interests of the Paintlight people, compromise is easy."
He looked toward the descending ships.
"And I only built them a stage."
"The future… must still be written by the Paintlight people themselves."
Acheron, quiet until now, spoke once:
"You've cleared the road for them."
It wasn't praise or criticism. Just a statement.
Granholm nodded.
"Only removed a few obstacles."
"Like you did for me, when you stopped Fenghuo's blade."
"We each do… what we believe should be done."
At that moment, Wei Qing sensed movement from the stairway below.
Several figures were carefully climbing to the observatory.
Paintlight people.
Unlike the hollow-eyed citizens in the streets, these ones still carried stable, distinct emotional spectra—not bright, but clear. Their eyes were tired, yet unextinguished.
The ones Granholm had mentioned. The stubborn core that had held through the worst.
An older Paintlight stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Navigator Granholm… and the two beside you…" His voice shook. "We felt the sky change. We heard what you did for us."
"Thank you. Truly—thank you."
Granholm steadied himself, gentle.
"No thanks are needed. This is what the Nameless do."
"The road ahead is yours to walk."
He briefly explained the terms reached with the IPC and Screwllum.
As the Paintlight leaders listened, their spectra flickered—then settled into something heavier: responsibility.
"We understand," the elder said, voice firm. "We will not waste what you've given us—nor forget those who disappeared in the dark."
"We will rebuild. We will recover our colors."
Granholm's last strand of tension seemed to ease. He nodded.
"Good… then it is in your hands."
His body swayed—harder this time. Even Wei Qing's gentle Vitality of Abundance barely held him.
Wei Qing's expression tightened.
The Paintlight leaders noticed the sudden drop and their spectra wavered with worry and grief.
"I… am fine," Granholm waved weakly. "Yi Qing… Miss Acheron…"
"We should return to the train."
He didn't want to spend his last strength collapsing in front of a civilization that had just regained hope.
Wei Qing understood at once.
"Alright. We're going back."
He supported Granholm and looked to Acheron.
Acheron gave a small nod.
Wei Qing turned to the Paintlight leaders.
"The navigator needs rest. We will return to the Astral Express first. Mr. Screwllum and the IPC teams will coordinate further arrangements with you."
The Paintlight leaders stepped aside and bowed again, solemn.
Wei Qing didn't linger. Trailblaze power wrapped the three of them—
and the observatory tower was left empty.
Pom-Pom was scrubbing the coffee table with a small cloth, trying to bury anxiety under chores.
When the spatial ripple arrived, Wei Qing appeared—supporting Granholm—Acheron beside them like a silent shadow.
Pom-Pom threw the cloth aside and sprinted over.
"Passenger Yi Qing! Passenger Granholm! You're back—pa!"
Then Pom-Pom's ears drooped the moment it sensed Granholm's condition.
The little conductor's voice went sharp with panic.
"Passenger Granholm… you… you look like you're going to die, pa!"
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 155)
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TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
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I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter230)
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Uma Musume: I Want All 110
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Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 45
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 45
The Uma Musume Who Became 40
I'm Definitely Not the King of 45
After Maxing Out Every Class 45
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