The transport ship slowly departed Canglan Star’s orbit.
Ryan didn’t stay inside the cabin.
He stood directly on the ship’s cold outer hull.
Invisible electromagnetic forces held him firmly against the metal surface.
The friction from the planet’s thin atmosphere felt like a breeze to him now.
He could operate briefly in space now.
Not for long, but still—wasn’t that impressive?
He looked down.
Canglan Star was completely shrouded in the massive green aurora.
The blue oceans and white clouds seemed unreal beneath the green glow, the whole planet like an enormous emerald.
The sight reminded him of the Land of Light from some tokusatsu show, and he found it amusing.
Both involved clever people creating clever things to solve planetary problems.
The Land of Light had an artificial sun; Canglan Star had a genius who’d saved it multiple times.
Both scientists, both with absurd combat power…
Sometimes the results were truly unexpected.
This was his first time completely leaving the aurora’s range, his first time seeing from space the planet that had sheltered him for five years.
An indescribable feeling rose in him—like a fledgling leaving the nest for the first time.
Fortunately, no Aeon’s gaze arrived as he’d feared.
It meant he was temporarily safe.
Inside the ship, crew and passengers saw Ryan standing calmly on the hull through the viewports and showed expressions of astonishment.
Surviving in vacuum without any protection was beyond their common sense.
Some whispered among themselves—was Herta’s assistant perhaps an Emanator of some Aeon?
How else to explain such an impossible sight?
In their eyes, anyone capable of this could no longer be called human.
A monster.
Diamond—one of the Ten Stonehearts in the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department—was an Emanator of the Preservation.
Just receiving a portion of that power made someone terrifyingly strong, though the story hadn’t shown much of it.
The only demonstration was Aventurine getting one-shot.
Ryan ignored the stares behind him and turned toward the depths of space.
He couldn’t see it with his naked eye, but he knew Aerido Star lay in that direction.
This trip home wouldn’t be long.
Herta had only given him a brief vacation.
Once the station was fully built, he’d have to return immediately.
To “participate in management”—or less charitably, continue as labor, handling maintenance and whatever problems arose.
He smiled self-deprecatingly, felt a bit cold, and turned back toward the airlock.
Spending too long in vacuum wasn’t comfortable, even with his current constitution.
The transport ship made several short jumps.
The journey wasn’t long.
The scars of war had mostly vanished, replaced by standardized IPC buildings and facilities.
Towers lined the streets, various aircraft zipped through the air.
Order and efficiency reigned, but the planet’s original character was gone.
The massive company logo appeared everywhere, reminding people of who owned the place now.
According to the coordinates, the company’s regional headquarters stood exactly on the area where he’d conducted his electromagnetic research.
The laboratory where he’d worked, the streets where he’d lived—all bulldozed, covered with alloy foundations and energy conduits.
Ryan walked the new, uniform streets, his gaze calm as it swept the surroundings.
Five years was enough to completely change a world.
The people he’d known—former colleagues, neighbors—had likely perished in the nuclear blast and subsequent chaos.
He didn’t feel much sadness or nostalgia.
Not because he was cold, but because warfare had been so frequent on Aerido Star that death was simply the norm.
He’d long since grown accustomed to change.
He came to an area planned as a park—roughly where his old home had stood.
Now there was only artificial grass and a few simple benches.
He sat on a bench, watching IPC employees and the few remaining locals hurry past.
Then, an aged voice sounded beside him: “Young man, by the look of you, you’re not from around here, are you?”
Ryan turned to see an old man in outdated clothing sitting on the adjacent bench, holding an old data pad.
“I used to be,” Ryan answered.
“Haven’t been back in years.”
The old man sighed.
“Big changes, right? Since the company came, the fighting stopped, but… the flavor’s changed too.” He gestured around.
“It wasn’t like this before.”
Ryan nodded, saying nothing.
The old man seemed starved for conversation and continued unprompted: “Me, I used to be a security guard at the old research institute near here. Shame it’s gone now. Most of those old folks didn’t survive the war either…”
Ryan’s interest stirred.
He asked casually, “Wasn’t there an electromagnetic research team there?”
“Ah, yes, there was such a group.” The old man reminisced.
“All bookworms, but good people. Later… well, they say the institute was a priority target. Not many survived. There was a young researcher named Ryan—quite talented. No word from him either. Probably gone.”
Ryan remained silent.
The “young researcher named Ryan” the old man mentioned—that was him.
Though honestly, he hadn’t been that talented.
He’d seen true genius.
He…
was nothing.
“But strange thing,” the old man added, “they say when clearing the rubble, they never found his body. No body, no trace. Some said he ran. Others said he was vaporized.”
Ryan still said nothing.
He couldn’t tell the old man that “Ryan” hadn’t died—that he’d gone to Canglan Star, survived a nuclear explosion, and was now Herta’s space station assembly worker and aurora administrator.
After sitting a while longer, the old man rose and left.
He stood and took one last look at the familiar land.
Revisiting his hometown brought little comfort; instead, it clarified that the past truly was past.
His ties to Aerido Star had dwindled to almost nothing through the nuclear blast and the passage of time.
He was Ryan now—Herta’s assistant, half-owner of Canglan Star’s aurora.
Aerido Star was merely a waypoint in his journey.
Ryan sat on the bench, head lowered, hands before his face.
A question gradually surfaced.
Why had the IPC come here?
The Interastral Peace Corporation never did business at a loss.
They’d invested in Herta Space Station because the name “Herta” was priceless.
Every invention from a Genius Society member could revolutionize technology.
But Aerido Star?
A war-torn, technologically backward, resource-poor fringe planet—what was worth their effort?
Even being a genius’s assistant shouldn’t warrant this.
Connections weren’t built through someone like him.
When he’d left five years ago, this place was rubble.
If the company had intentions, they should have intervened then, not now.
Something must have happened in these five years—or they’d discovered something.
He recalled the old man mentioning the institute was a “priority strike target.” He’d assumed it was routine military action at the time.
But now, that nuclear strike seemed far too precise.
Ryan stood.
Across from the park stood an IPC office building.
He walked over and stopped before the information screen at the entrance.
It scrolled with recruitment ads, department introductions, and promotional videos for the “Aerido Star Revitalization Plan.”
In an inconspicuous corner, he caught a line of small text: “Special Resource Development Division.”
Special resources?
What special resources could Aerido Star possibly have besides smoke and rubble?
He remembered the last research project in his lab five years ago—a theoretical survey of a unique electromagnetic ore vein.
It had only been theoretical back then, never verified before the nuclear blast interrupted everything.
Could it be…
Ryan’s gaze sharpened.
If the company was here for that, everything made sense.
They’d waited until the war settled to take over, maximizing profit at minimal cost.
After all, for profit, there was practically nothing they wouldn’t do.
He looked toward the company building’s depths, green aurora light flowing within his eyes.