To be honest, the current situation was a bit troublesome for Onjah.
Two years ago—though his sense of time was often muddled, he remembered this clearly because he had just sifted through Falin’s memories—he had originally prepared a follow-up to the probe he sent Bunker to conduct.
However, at that time, everything had been complicated from the start by the power level of that unlucky bystander, Raytin.
Later, Valen had already boarded the *Solaris*. No matter how weakened the Academy was, it remained a place where Onjah’s reach could not easily extend. Consequently, all plans that might have caused direct physical harm to anyone were suspended...
...Unfortunately, once those methods were stopped, they became entirely unusable.
That man, "Bunker," had his own role to play. After his shattered bones were replaced and he recovered, he was sent to Onjah’s secret research facility. He was merely a disposable blade; Onjah didn't care what he thought.
Of course, Valen’s socially expected display of anger on the ship, followed by his equally expected decision to stand down and remain a bystander after a few words of persuasion, was another reason Onjah had backed off. That choice was diametrically opposed to the "Ivanheiler" of the past.
Now, that reason had been replaced: the relationship between "Enan Valen" and the "Double S" seemed extraordinary. This exceeded Onjah’s understanding of Ivanheiler and, constrained by the latter’s immense inherent value, prevented him from issuing an arrest warrant for "Valen" or the potential Ivanheiler without concrete evidence.
Naturally, none of these were the primary reason. The biggest reason was...
...He was busy! He was a Federal Vice-Speaker!
As one of the Vice-Speakers of the Federation, no matter how important his personal affairs were, they could never interfere with his duties or damage the Federation's core interests. This was the first tenet for any member of the Federal Council. Even if everyone defined "Federal interests" differently, this was an absolute, inviolable rule.
Every Council member knew that while protecting these core interests didn't require total adherence to the law, if one couldn't discern the specific boundaries in certain matters, it was best not to meddle. It was far too easy to get oneself killed.
The Federation had its own internal checks and balances, so Onjah would not delay his official work for anything. At least for now, he wasn't tired of living.
The white-haired Vice-Speaker rubbed his brow and put his external optical computer back on. "Begin your report."
His team naturally wouldn't send everyone out just to deal with an ordinary person. There would always be someone stationed in the shadows to guard the Onjah faction’s domain—well, perhaps the word before "faction" could be changed at will, but as long as it remained "Onjah," it was his most reliable right hand.
Most information across the Federal star sectors could not escape the grasp of this right hand. They would tear through any obstacle for Onjah, and for the Federation.
They proceeded with their report in an orderly fashion. Onjah was actually a bit thirsty, but he didn't drink any water because he knew his people well. Sometimes, the things they reported were so bizarre that he couldn't maintain his composure upon hearing them. Although it was currently his break time—he never handled private matters during work hours—and there were no political figures around...
...He hadn't expected the news this time to be *this* bizarre.
"The Yondell and Abrizak envoys got into a fight on Yondell’s turf?!" Onjah bolted upright in shock. "Where are they fighting? I have to go see... cough, I mean, go check the situation!"
***
After his internship ended, Raytin, now a prospective third-year student, returned to the Academy headquarters. Amidst the ubiquitous flattery and incessant interruptions, he heard a piece of news that, due to the vast distance, reached him a month late.
"...The Abrizak Empire’s envoys and prince were severely disrespectful to Vice-Speaker Yondell and were nearly beaten to death by him? And in the end, it was Vice-Speaker Onjah who saved them?"
Raytin was stunned. He recalled Yondell’s gentle, approachable face and those eyes full of steady reliability. For a moment, he felt as if he had slipped into the wrong timeline. Good heavens, "severely disrespectful"... just how disrespectful did one have to be to make a top-tier power player with those eyes tear off a mask he had maintained for nearly a century? What on earth did those space-aquatic creatures from Abrizak do?
"Specific intelligence has been blacked out. I didn't try to hack the system managing that information." Sandro, who had cut his hair short, shrugged. He looked significantly more weathered after the break, but the warm smile remained on his face. "Mostly, I was just watching you guys 'fishing'..."
"Huh?" Raytin was taken aback, his expression turning serious. "...But you weren't in the First Legion."
"Yeah, I was in the Second Legion. It’s pretty boring over there—a lukewarm, sluggish atmosphere. Even their patrol zones are among the smallest. If it weren't for the protection of its former reputation, it might have vanished long ago..." Sandro scratched his head. "When I have nothing to do, I naturally worry about my friends! Don't worry, I can't see your internal systems. I can only see what's out in the open. Strictly speaking, I didn't hack a military system, but a livestream system."
"...Livestream?" The overly commercial term puzzled Raytin.
"Yes, a livestream. A specific line facing the interior of the Council. I was actually discovered by the owner of that line, but they permitted my presence." As Sandro spoke, he leaned back into the sofa. "What, is the great 'Double S' going to hand me over to the regulators?"
He looked at Raytin. The two sat opposite each other in a narrow booth. The simulated suns, built everywhere to keep students healthy, cast a warm glow. Raytin suddenly smiled. "Since you were permitted, why would I have an objection? So, how did you do it?"
"...Eh?" Sandro blinked. "Aren't you afraid there's something wrong with me? What if I lied to you, and no one actually gave me permission?"
"No, there is. Someone definitely did." Raytin finished his juice in one gulp and stood up to wash the glass himself, preventing anyone from using his saliva for anything.
When he returned to the booth, he brought back a biscuit set for Sandro. Due to his excellent—no, powerful—performance during the internship, he had more points than he could ever spend and didn't mind treating someone. Moreover, he had always been one to share and look after others.
Then, he asked the question again: "So, how did you do it? A second-year student, hacking the Federation’s classified network..."
"I calculated it," Sandro replied succinctly. He picked up a small biscuit and smiled. "I’m naturally sensitive to anything related to numbers. That’s my 'superpower.' Everything with a trace can be calculated. Ray, I’m the most outstanding student the Information Engineering Department has seen in decades."
"Everything with a trace can be calculated..." Raytin stood by the table, hands leaning on the edge, deeply pondering the logic of the phrase. He marveled, "I didn't realize you were actually this smart."
"I just didn't have the heart for serious business before..." Sandro popped a biscuit into his mouth, the crunching sound following quickly. He paused. "Wait, no... are you complimenting me or insulting me? Also, are you really not afraid that I wasn't actually permitted?"
Raytin shook his head and patted his shoulder with a smile.
"I know there was permission. That’s enough," he said. "I have things to do. I’m heading out!"
He turned and left without hesitation.
Sandro watched him leave the drink shop in a daze. "..."
After a long while, he crunched down hard on a biscuit and grumbled through gritted teeth, "Riddle-makers... I've seriously had enough of them..."
***
Two months away, and the Academy was still the same. A few storefronts in the commercial district had changed owners; Raytin didn't understand the business struggles involved. Regardless, he was a part of the market, not a merchant, so there was no need to overthink it.
The drink shop was very close to the botanical garden. In less than two minutes, he could step into that vibrant, multicolored world of wonders. Across different levels, chambers, and environmental isolation boxes, various plants from different planets bathed in different lights.
The higher one went, the brighter the light became. The topmost layers housed iridescent, fantastical flora.
But in the increasingly dark spaces below, all sorts of dangers lurked—from eerie predatory plants that mimicked the cries of their last victims, to flowers that could fire a single plasma cannon blast in their lifetime before dying on the spot, to mushrooms that looked dull and edible but were actually lethally toxic...
And upon his return, Raytin discovered something at the very bottom.
Or rather, he discovered that this entire botanical garden—thousands of floors deep within the interior of a small planet, spanning kilometers in diameter—was, in its entirety, a massive life-support system.
Countless pipes were laid throughout. Red blood and a strange, similarly colored liquid filled the tubes, permeating the outer walls and every internal support structure of the garden, ceaselessly maintaining a certain powerful life form.
The lower levels used poison to fight poison, filtering the toxins rising from below. The upper levels absorbed various energies and trace elements, then self-circulated them back to the very bottom—the "center" where the planet's core should have been.
None of this was governed by artificial gravity. The blood and the red medicinal liquid, imbued with immense power, circulated at a fixed rate. It was quiet, potent, and orderly.
And Raytin...
The black-haired youth blinked, looking at the information displayed on his optical eyepiece.
Just moments ago, the Principal had sent a message to him, who had only just returned to the Academy.
She chatted with him briefly about various matters and told him that students who reached a certain level of excellence would receive a degree of immunity, provided they didn't intentionally harm others—this included him, Sandro, Susanna, and others...
Then, she invited him to her office for a talk.
And the location she provided was at the very end of the space visible to students, on the edge of the maintenance department—the lowest level of the botanical garden.
