Days passed, and the galactic net was officially ablaze.
When Composer Percival suddenly released a fully orchestrated rock cover of the Pokémon theme song, the internet practically broke in half. It acted as premium, high-octane fuel poured directly onto the roaring fire of the "Percival is Round Table Studio's audio director" conspiracy theory.
Of course, in the grand scheme of the Accord, there was only a relatively small, highly vocal group of people who truly believed the tinfoil-hat theory. But whether they believed it or not, one thing was absolutely certain: the two massive fanbases had started interacting.
Gamers were suddenly listening to Percival's songs, and Percival's fans were suddenly debating the competitive viability of an Alakazam. It was a cultural crossover unlike anything the galaxy had ever seen.
Then, GalaXtica dropped the bombshell.
Mira, the independent journalist, published an exclusive "leak" regarding Percival's upcoming debut concert. Because she was the only journalist in the entire Accord who had ever successfully landed a face-to-face interview with the elusive composer, her page carried an immense, undeniable legitimacy.
Within hours, her leak was validated by an official announcement from Percival's management.
It was a massive, five-system planetary tour across the Core and Mid Rims. The tour would open on the tranquil garden planet of Sela, followed by the bustling hubs of Proxima, then two other major systems, before culminating in a grand finale at... Nexus Prime.
Inside his recording studio at the Kepler estate, Dorian stared at the finalized tour setlist on his datapad. His jaw practically hit the floor.
"WHAT!!" Dorian shouted, nearly dropping the device.
Standing across from the mixing desk, Ratik didn't even flinch. She just calmly pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Why are you so shocked?"
"Ratik, look at this guest performer list!" Dorian said, frantically gesturing at the glowing screen. "I thought the guest appearances were just a done deal with the artists I actually wrote songs for! Like Briane and Nazir! Why are there so many other massive names on here? Some of these people have never even sung my music!"
Ratik let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh. "Dorian, do you even realize the sheer gravity of your current brand? There is a line of A artists begging their agencies to get them into your tour setlist. Just standing on the same stage as Percival right now is considered a massive career boost. Everyone wants a piece of the spotlight."
Dorian slowly lowered the datapad. He blinked, staring blankly at the wall as the reality of the situation finally settled over him.
He had truly made it. He slowly became the absolute center of the galactic music industry.
He looked at the dates. The tour was exactly four months away. The venues were booked, the stages were being built, and the logistics were locked in.
He looked down at his datapad, then slowly looked up at his manager. The sharp, professional armor she constantly wore couldn't entirely hide the faint, lingering signs of exhaustion around her eyes.
"Thank you," Dorian said, his voice dropping its usual playful cadence, replacing it with something deeply earnest.
Ratik blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "For what?"
"To make these happen," Dorian said softly, gesturing to the staggering tour logistics displayed on the screen.
Ratik quickly adjusted her posture, crossing her arms defensively to maintain her strict professionalism. "It's my job, Dorian. I am your manager. I take my cut, and I do my job."
Dorian didn't accept the deflection. He walked around the massive mixing desk, stepping directly into her personal space. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling the strict manager into a tight, incredibly sincere hug.
He could feel Ratik instantly stiffen in surprise. But after a second, the rigid tension in her shoulders slowly began to melt away. She let out a small breath, finally relaxing into the embrace.
"You didn't have to," Dorian whispered, pulling back slightly to look at her. "You could have just booked a single venue and called it a day. But you poured your absolute all into this. Thank you."
Ratik looked at him, a rare, genuinely warm smile breaking through her usual stoic mask. She gently patted his shoulder.
"Alright," Ratik murmured, clearing her throat to hide the slight waver of emotion in her voice. "This is nice. Thanks."
…
The next morning, Dorian woke up with a profound sense of absolute certainty.
Today was the day.
The player base of Pokémon: FireRed had been grinding relentlessly for weeks. The Avalon forums were flooded with late-game discoveries. Millions of players had conquered the Elite Four, and started to explore the Unknown Dungeon.
Dorian stood in the middle of his bedroom and summoned the System.
He stared intensely at the bright red Pokémon Gacha banner. The price tag still made his eye twitch: 1,000,000 Resonance Points for 100 Pulls. He glanced up at his total Resonance balance. Thanks to the monumental, compounding success of his games and Percival's music, he currently sat at 10,018,824 Points.
Dorian bit his lip, his finger hovering nervously over the holographic interface. A million points was about 10% of his entire savings. Should he hold off for a little more time? Was it a massive waste? He kept looking back and forth between his massive Resonance pool and the astronomically expensive 100-pull button.
His terrible luck from the launch day still haunted him.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"I'll farm more resonance on my tour," Dorian muttered, firmly steeling his resolve. "Screw it."
Without giving himself another second to hesitate, Dorian aggressively tapped the 100-pull button.
And then, chasing the ultimate high, he tapped it a second time.
FLASH!
The system interface practically exploded with blinding, incandescent golden light.
Two hundred digital capsules popped open in rapid succession across Dorian's vision. The sheer volume of items raining down into his inventory was staggering. There were dozens of Miscellaneous Items like Nuggets and Stardust, a massive stockpile of Recovery Items, and stacks upon stacks of standard, Great, and Ultra Pokeballs.
But Dorian ignored all the items. His golden eyes were locked entirely onto the center of the screen, where three distinct silhouettes were slowly spinning, ready to be materialized into the physical world.
The first silhouette was a plump bird with a crested head. The second was a confused-looking duck holding its own head in its hands. And the third was a fluffy puppy.
"LETS GOO!!!" Dorian shouted at the top of his lungs, leaping into the air and pumping his fist.
A Pidgey, a Psyduck, and a Growlithe. He was completely hyped, his fingers practically vibrating as he reached out to press the 'Materialize' button on them.
But his hand suddenly stopped inches from the holographic panel.
Dorian blinked, the rush of adrenaline abruptly crashing into a solid wall of logical reality. How on earth was he supposed to explain this to his family?
He ran a hand nervously through his messy black hair. Ever since the terrifying incident where the Identifier, Tala Felaeon, had sent him straight to the hospital, Dorian had promised himself he would loosen up. He knew he could no longer hide absolutely everything from his family. But dropping a literal, fire-breathing orange puppy into the living room without any prior explanation was a recipe for a heart attack.
He needed an excuse. A flawless, scientifically plausible excuse that fit seamlessly into the existing laws of the Accord.
An idea suddenly sparked in his mind. He remembered his grueling study sessions back at the Aethelgard Academy.
Dorian rushed over to his computer terminal and quickly pulled up one of his archived military syllabuses containing the detailed classifications of the Paths of Solar. He scrolled past the standard combat branches: Striker, Bulwark, Weaver, and Scout. He scrolled past the Nullbreaker path.
He stopped at the very bottom of the document. The Irregular Path.
Tala Felaeon had been an Irregular. According to the syllabus, Irregulars were true anomalies. They were highly rare individuals with powers that completely defied the established curriculum of the Solar academies.
Because their abilities were so unique, they could never be neatly categorized. There were recorded Solars whose power consisted solely of looking into the future in terrifying detail, while others could instantly teleport across massive distances.
Dorian stared at the screen, a brilliant scheme forming in his head. Should he simply reveal himself as an awakened Irregular Solar?
Yes. That was the perfect cover. But what exactly was his power?
Dorian sat down and began to meticulously outline his fabricated Irregular Solar profile. After a full hour of drafting and tweaking the tactical terminology, he saw absolute perfection in one specific excuse.
He would tell them his awakened Solar power was 'Reality Manipulation'.
However, to make it sound believable and balanced, he added a heavy, restrictive caveat. He would claim that his power was entirely dependent on collective cognitive resonance. He could only manipulate reality and materialize objects if a massive amount of people already knew what that reality looked like. He needed millions of minds to visualize the exact same thing to act as an anchor for his power.
That was the reason he made video games. That was the reason the magical crops, the infernal weapons, and the monsters from his games could suddenly become real. He was using the games to build a galactic collective consciousness, harvesting the belief of the Accord's players to fuel his Irregular Solar manifestation!
Dorian smiled brightly, incredibly proud of his own genius. It was the perfect lie, primarily because it was basically just a localized, scientific translation of how his System actually worked.
With his airtight excuse finally prepared, he confidently called back the System interface.
He selected the third silhouette.
Materialize.
A beam of warm, crimson light shot out from the interface, striking the wooden floorboards of his bedroom. The light swirled and condensed, forming physical mass and biological tissue in real time.
The light shattered into harmless, glittering sparks.
Sitting on the floor was a two-foot-tall canine with a bright orange coat, black tiger stripes, and a tuft of incredibly soft, cream-colored fur on its chest and head.
The Growlithe blinked, shaking its head before looking up at Dorian. Its large, intelligent dark eyes shimmered with absolute loyalty and affection. It let out a happy pant, wagged its tail, and let out a sharp, joyful bark.
"Woof!"
…
Meanwhile, lightyears away from the warm, chaotic joy of the Kepler estate, the atmosphere was absolute zero.
Deep within the heavily fortified, sterile metallic halls of the Bureau of Stellar Order headquarters on Ardota Prime, the annual Mid-Rim Sector Report was currently underway.
Inside a massive, dimly lit amphitheater, dozens of BSO Majors took turns standing at the central podium, broadcasting their sector's localized pacification metrics and intelligence yields.
It was Major Kalzor Darvek's turn.
The Gunnossian intelligence officer stepped up to the podium. He maintained his species' infamous, chillingly calm aloofness. His pale silver eyes scanned the massive room with the detached precision of a targeting laser. When he spoke, his voice was a low, synthetic baritone that echoed flawlessly across the acoustic dampeners.
"Superiors," Kalzor began, his chrome prosthetic hand moving deliberately to adjust the holographic projector in front of him. "The preservation of the Stellar Accord is not a passive state. It is an active, continuous calibration of localized variables. Brute force is a useful tool, but it is fundamentally expensive. True suppression requires the control of perception."
He tapped his metal finger against the console. A massive hologram of the planet Yustea appeared in the center of the amphitheater.
"I draw your attention to my sector's most recent breakthrough in maintaining the status quo: the Yustea incident," Kalzor stated coldly. "As you know, a severe miscalculation by local Navy and Army commanders nearly resulted in a full-scale planetary uprising. A violent suppression would have cost us millions of credits in infrastructure damage and localized labor strikes."
Kalzor's silver eyes gleamed in the blue holographic light. "However, the crisis was averted by supreme narrative improvisation. We seized the localized media, redirected the cultural outrage into a fabricated target, and peacefully dispersed the population. It is a highly efficient methodology of psychological pacification that can, and should, be implemented across every sector in the Accord."
He stepped back from the podium, gesturing his chrome hand toward the wings.
"The operative who engineered this successful pacification is here to present the logistical breakdown," Kalzor announced. "I present to you, Senior Lieutenant Verza Zal."
Verza stepped out from the shadows, her crisp grey uniform immaculate, her expression a perfect mask of BSO discipline as she took her place at the podium.
High above the main floor, suspended on an elevated, heavily guarded platform, sat the true elite brass of the Stellar Accord.
The Commander-level officers observed the proceedings in silence. They were the apex of the military hierarchy. On the right side sat the highest echelons of the Accord Navy: Admirals, Vice Admirals, and Rear Admirals. On the left sat the commanders of the Accord Army: Generals, Lieutenant Generals, and Major Generals.
Among the Navy ranks, sitting with an incredibly straight, flawless posture, was Rear Admiral Ganea Rallizas. Her greying hair was pulled back into a severe bun, her face unreadable as she watched the young Senior Lieutenant down below.
To everyone in this room, Ganea was a decorated, ruthless hero of the suppression fleets. None of them knew she was secretly the highest-ranking architect of the galactic Revolution.
Beside her, Major General Vavlal Tex of the Army leaned back in his plush seat, crossing his arms.
"This is interesting," Vavlal muttered, his voice a low rumble.
Ganea did not turn her head. She merely side-eyed the Army General. "What is?"
"It has been a very long time since we have seen a junior officer level on that specific podium," Vavlal noted, his eyes locked onto Verza. "Normally, the Majors take all the credit for themselves. Do you think she actually has what it takes to lecture us on pacification?"
"She could handle Yustea," Ganea replied, her voice cool and level. "If Kalzor is not bluffing, and the narrative shift was entirely managed by her... I cannot see why not."
Vavlal chuckled, a dark, cynical sound. He leaned slightly closer to the Rear Admiral. "Well, you had better listen to her presentation closely, Ganea. From what I have heard from the intelligence feeds, your specific naval sector has had a massive influx of revolutionary activities lately."
Ganea's expression did not change by a single microscopic fraction. She looked down at Verza, her tone perfectly bored and dismissive.
"It is nothing to worry about, General," Ganea stated smoothly, the dramatic irony completely lost on the man beside her. "They are everywhere. There is only so much I can do."
Vavlal Tex snorted in agreement, looking back down at the stage. "Yeah. Just like rats."
Verza Zal stepped up to the podium. The vast, circular amphitheater of the Bureau of Stellar Order was deadly silent.
She pressed a sequence of commands on the glass console, dimming the house lights and illuminating the massive holographic projector hovering above the center of the room.
"Seventy years ago," Verza began, her voice carrying a calm, unwavering resonance, "the Accord engaged in the pacification of the Verdan Canopies. We deployed six hundred thousand ground troops to quell a localized rebellion. We saturated the continent with orbital defoliants to eliminate their cover. The cost was four point two trillion credits. The result was a radicalized populace that utilized asymmetrical, subterranean warfare to bleed our armed forces for over a decade."
A low murmur rippled through the Navy and Army commanders. Several older generals shifted uncomfortably in their plush seats. They remembered Verdan. It was a textbook quagmire.
Verza swiped the console. The holographic display shifted, showing the jagged, snowy peaks of a different world.
"Forty years later, the Highland sieges of the Krykov Systems," Verza continued, pacing slowly behind the podium. "We occupied the region to stabilize the local government and eradicate a religious insurgency. We possessed absolute air superiority. Yet, the friction of our prolonged presence achieved the impossible: it united eighty disjointed, warring clans into a single, highly cohesive resistance. Ten years. Three point eight trillion credits. Thousands of Accord casualties."
She looked up, meeting the gaze of the Commander-level officers on the upper platforms. She was preaching to the choir, and they knew it.
"Kinetic force breeds martyrs. Martyrs breed ideology. And ideology breeds endless insurgency," Verza stated softly, her tone carrying the absolute conviction of someone discussing a cure for a disease. "We rely heavily on structured narrative to soothe the masses after these conflicts. But stories has a strict plateau. The citizens eventually tune out the broadcasts. If we are to preserve the peace of the galaxy, if we are to genuinely protect these people from their own self-destructive tendencies, we must evolve past simple suppression."
Up on the command balcony, Major General Vavlal Tex rested his chin on his knuckles, his heavy brow furrowing in genuine intrigue. Beside him, Rear Admiral Ganea Rallizas remained perfectly still, her eyes locked onto the young Lieutenant.
"We do not need more propaganda," Verza proposed. "We need managed friction. A controlled insurgency."
Verza let the words hang in the air.
Just a few months ago, she would have never dared to propose something so unorthodox. Her paralyzing perfectionism would have demanded a flawless, overwhelming military strategy to present to the brass. But her perspective had fundamentally shifted.
A simple farming simulator had grounded her mind, teaching her that every planet, every sector, was just a small, isolated ecosystem. Just like Pelican Town, every society had its own unique routines, distinct relationships, and hidden pressure points. You managed it by controlling the climate and weeding out the pests before they took root.
And from a prince repeatedly fighting his way out of the Underworld, she had learned patience. She had learned to detach her ego from the battlefield. Failure was merely data. It was an iterative lesson on how to assess the enemy's patterns.
"To achieve absolute societal balance, we must control both sides of the conflict," Verza explained, projecting a visual breakdown of the Yustea Prime incident. "During the recent Centennial Showers, a highly subversive piece of interactive media swept through the Yustean population. It romanticized rebellion. It made them feel oppressed."
"Standard protocol dictates an absolute communication blackout and mass arrests," Verza noted, her hand gesturing smoothly to the data streams. "That would have validated their feelings of oppression. Instead, my team orchestrated a localized, contained threat. We allowed a radical, highly violent splinter faction, one that we covertly funded and directed to loudly threaten the planet's most sacred cultural festival."
The silence in the amphitheater deepened into something incredibly heavy. The sheer, terrifying pragmatism of the strategy was slowly washing over the room.
"You cannot simply tell people that the Accord is good," Verza said gently, her eyes reflecting the pale blue light of the hologram. "You must show them something they truly hate, and make them terrified that it will take away something they deeply love. We gave them violent radicals threatening their families and their heritage."
She swiped the console one final time. The hologram displayed the aftermath of the Yustea festival. Millions of citizens from the neighboring system, weeping with joy, cheering for the Accord soldiers who had stepped in at the final hour to arrest the 'terrorists.'
"And that's when our forces descended, we arrived as their saviors," Verza concluded, her voice carrying a profound, quiet nobility. She truly believed she had saved millions of lives by avoiding a war. "We controlled the threat, and we provided salvation. If we implement this doctrine of social engineering across the Mid-Rim, we can permanently maintain the peace our citizens deserve, entirely of their own free will."
Verza offered a crisp, flawless salute and stepped back from the podium.
Up on the elevated platform, Major General Vavlal Tex slowly let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A sharp, predatory grin spread across his scarred face. "Brilliant," he whispered under his breath. "Absolutely bloodless."
Beside him, Ganea Rallizas kept her face locked in a mask of stern military approval, but beneath the heavy fabric of her uniform, the hidden architect of the galactic revolution felt a spike of pure, freezing dread.