The main meeting room fell quiet once the lottery winners had left.
Then, like someone had finally let air back into the space, the stiffness in the Propositions Group dissolved almost instantly.
Camille Dreyer leaned back in her chair, abandoning the strict posture she had held moments before, her shoulders finally dropping as she allowed herself to breathe again after holding herself rigid through the entire session.
A hand moved toward her without hesitation.
Dr. Lucian Harrow stepped in beside her, his presence calm and controlled compared to the earlier tension of the room.
"Let me help you," he said. "You're still too stiff."
Before Camille could respond, he adjusted his position and began to massage her hand carefully, applying steady, deliberate pressure along key points, working through the built-up tension in her muscles, his movements precise and medically controlled, focused on releasing the stiffness accumulated during the meeting rather than anything superficial.
Camille exhaled slowly as the pressure in her hand began to ease, her posture softening slightly as the tension gradually released under his hands.
"Finally gone," Vivienne Carrow muttered within from the proposition. "That took way too long. Seriously."
The room loosened further.
Vivienne Carrow stretched lightly, rolling her shoulders and tilting her neck to get the blood flowing again, easing out the stiffness that had settled during the prolonged session. She wasn't alone. Others followed suit, full-body stretches breaking out across the room like a synchronized release, the entire group shifting from rigid formality into physical relaxation almost at once.
In one corner, Serena Veylan and Selene Veyra were quietly discussing responsibilities, already scanning documents and coordinating handover procedures so nothing would become a future headache, their voices low and efficient as they worked through tasks while the room itself loosened.
Elsewhere, Cassandra Riel and Isolde Farren spoke in subdued tones, briefly discussing updates, commentary logistics, and what would be required later once the immediate session was fully cleared.
Angel Piao and Lena Corviss were speaking in low, controlled voices, reviewing the same set of audience-raised questions from the recording session, analyzing both the content and intent behind them, and discussing possible structured responses or system adjustments that could be introduced during the next meeting in order to properly address the concerns rather than leaving them unresolved or partially answered.
Angela Piao, however, still remained slightly apart from the broader group in posture.
For once, she had very little immediate work.
After a final check to ensure the meeting had fully and officially concluded, Angela Piao reached out and lightly tapped PewPew on the head, signaling him to stop recording.
"Stop recording," she instructed.
PewPew complied immediately.
A confirmation signal followed shortly after, indicating that the recording had been successfully saved and transferred to her device.
Only after receiving the confirmation that the file had been properly sent did the system fully finalize the shutdown process.
The faint red tint in PewPew's lens slowly faded as recording mode fully disengaged, the internal system powering down in stages before settling back into its neutral black, glass-like pupil state.
Angela's movements did not go unnoticed.
Lena Corviss observed quietly, then offered a calm smile.
"How are your system upgrades going?" she asked.
The question, though mild, shifted attention across the room. Heads gradually turned.
Angela adjusted her posture slightly, then responded.
"It's been… progressing," she said. "I've been implementing a shock-barrier style defense system in PewPew. The goal is protection during emergency activation."
She continued, voice shifting into technical explanation.
"The main issue has been safety during non-emergency mode. I needed to ensure there are no accidental activations or unintended harm, especially to the host or bystanders, so most of the calibration work has been focused on stabilizing baseline behavior and preventing misuse."
While she spoke, Lena listened closely, along with others who had moved subtly closer.
Some even leaned in to observe PewPew more directly.
Lena's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Have you completed safety verification?" she asked.
"Yes," Angela replied.
She gently placed her thumbs at PewPew's mouth and prompted him.
"Close."
PewPew complied.
A brief pause followed.
Then she instructed again.
"Open."
Her hands withdrew cleanly.
No scratches. No injuries. No trace of damage.
A quiet confirmation spread through the group.
"May we now see the true function?" Lena asked.
Angela hesitated briefly.
"I'm not sure it would be appropriate here," she said. "It might make some people uncomfortable."
Camille Dreyer let out a faint, easy exhale, as if the concern itself was already being dismissed before it could take root. She gave Angela a gentle smile, almost like looking at a younger sibling, though her eyes were already assessing the hesitation and quietly preparing to erase it before it could settle.
"Right," Camille said lightly. "We're fine. Please continue."
She turned slightly.
"Right, honey?"
Dr. Lucian Harrow didn't hesitate.
"Yes, of course, dear. We're all good. Quite interested, actually."
He adjusted his posture, expression calm, composed, and openly supportive.
"See?" he added smoothly. "We're all very interested."
The group collectively nodded in agreement, attention fully fixed on Angela.
Angela paused again.
Then she glanced toward Grace Piao.
Grace did not respond. She did not even look up.
That silence was enough.
"PewPew," Angela said. "Activate emergency defense mode."
The transformation was immediate.
PewPew's mouth expanded beyond its normal limits, unfolding into a reinforced internal structure that revealed razor-sharp metallic teeth embedded within layered mechanical architecture.
Not a single defensive layer, but multiple nested formations, each containing smaller razor-edged structures, creating a complex, controlled system of containment and deterrence.
Angela carefully passed PewPew around for inspection, ensuring he was held securely as others observed.
"Even in stabilized mode," she said, "there is still risk if handled improperly."
Vivienne Carrow tilted her head slightly, studying the structure closely.
"Ingenious design," she said. "What material did you use for this?"
Angela's expression brightened instantly.
She began explaining in detail, moving into material composition, structural reinforcement, safety balancing, and integration logic, the explanation naturally expanding as she spoke, clearly capable of continuing for a long time without interruption.
Meanwhile, the room slowly drifted back into fragmented conversation around her.
Camille Dreyer stood slightly apart when Cassandra Riel leaned in with a mischievous expression.
"Miss Dreyer," she asked, "who exactly did you call 'honey' earlier?"
A beat of silence.
Camille froze visibly.
Dr. Lucian Harrow immediately stepped in.
"Miss Riel," he said, "mind your manners."
Camille exhaled.
"Not yet," she admitted. "After this is over… we were thinking of making it official."
The room reacted instantly.
"What?"
"Since when?"
"When do we get invitations?"
Serena Veylan tilted her head slightly.
"So it's real?"
Dr. Lucian Harrow, previously composed, now looked noticeably less professional.
Camille sighed, walked over, and gently pressed her document stack against his face, careful not to disturb his glasses.
"That expression," she said, "is for me. Not public property."
From somewhere nearby:
"This is adorable."
"I fully support this."
"I've been supporting this since the beginning of time."
Cassandra Riel and Isolde Farren immediately drifted into debate over ship naming conventions, arguing over legitimacy, structure, and terminology as if it were a formal academic discipline rather than casual speculation.
Across the room, others offered quiet congratulations, already anticipating future invitations once formalities were complete.
Time passed again.
Then Lena Corviss raised her voice slightly.
"Where is the guide?"
The atmosphere shifted.
"What's taking so long?"
"They should've been finished by now."
Impatience spread through the room.
Grace Piao remained silent, signaling her assistant instead without looking up.
Jessie responded immediately, contacting the relevant channels.
After a brief exchange, she returned.
"Approximately twenty minutes," she reported. "The guide will arrive shortly."
A pause.
"…Twenty minutes?" Lena repeated.
A collective sense of irritation settled in.
The delay was now fully acknowledged.
Grace finally looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly as a clear, silent warning settled over the room. It wasn't loud, it wasn't dramatic, but it didn't need to be.
The effect was immediate.
Whatever complaints had been building up died on the spot, swallowed back down before they could even form into words.
Silence held for a moment longer.
Then—
Grooowwww~~~
Isolde Farren's stomach growled loudly in protest.
She froze, immediately covering her stomach, her face turning red. "I… need food," she murmured.
That single moment seemed to snap something loose in the room.
Jessie, ever professional, quickly stepped forward and cleared her throat to regain attention.
"Since there is a significant delay on our end," she said evenly, "you may forward any kitchen requests to me. By the time you are escorted out, your meals will be prepared and ready."
For half a second, there was stillness.
Then the entire room moved at once.
People began speaking over each other, listing preferences, combinations, dietary requests, and completely unnecessary luxuries as if a banquet had just been declared on the spot.
"Hey," Serena Veylan said suddenly, cutting through the noise, "if we all order separately, the kitchen is going to take forever. Why don't we just request a shared banquet-style meal instead? Large portions, shared dishes, faster preparation."
The room went quiet again.
Everyone slowly turned toward her.
The idea hung there for a moment, suspended, like it was either genius or completely unhinged suggestion.
Then Cassandra Riel clapped once, nodding slowly.
"Oh. I see what you mean, Serena. That's actually smart."
A pause.
"…But also slightly dangerous," someone added under their breath.
Cassandra ignored it.
"I agree," she continued. "We should do the banquet. We actually have something to celebrate anyway."
She raised a finger.
"One, the youngest finally completed the system implementation she's been working on."
Another finger.
"And two… the most important announcement of all."
A dramatic pause.
"Our baby girl is getting married."
A beat.
The room erupted.
"WHAT—"
"That escalated fast."
"It's not marriage," Camille Dreyer cut in immediately, blinking hard.
"Or an engagement," she added. "It's not even a formal process yet."
But nobody was listening anymore.
"That's even better," someone said happily. "We're early."
"Oh my goodness, we need invitations."
"Baby shower planning starts now."
Camille buried her face in her hand. "This is getting out of control."
The atmosphere, however, had already shifted completely into celebratory chaos, the earlier tension dissolving into overlapping conversations, laughter, and half-serious planning.
Despite still feeling mildly irritated after earlier burying her face in her hand, Camille Dreyer was now in a surprisingly good mood, chatting easily with others, discussing her plans, and casually exploring what would look best for the big day.
Jessie, who had quietly been forgotten at the edge of the room, simply exhaled.
She moved over to Isolde Farren without comment and placed a small box into her hands—
Mini osmanthus chocolate cakes, neatly packed in rows.
Isolde blinked. "What is this?"
"Stomach mitigation support," Jessie replied professionally.
Isolde stared at her for a second.
Then, very carefully, she accepted the box like it was a peace treaty.
Jessie turned back toward the group and finalized the request.
A banquet order was sent.