"What... what was that?" Hain Zossare breathed, his deep voice slicing through the heavy silence of the viewing room.
As if waiting for the cue, the hovering Compadre unit chimed. It projected a crisp, glowing holographic document into the center of the room, displaying the full submission spec sheet for Spirited Away.
The veteran directors and elite producers leaned forward, their eyes hungrily scanning the scrolling text to find out exactly who was responsible for the masterpiece they had just witnessed.
Animation Studio: Lady in The Lake Production.
Writer and Director: Arthur Pendragon.
Lead Composer: Percival.
A collective, sharp gasp sucked the remaining air right out of the room.
"Percival?!" one of the producers exclaimed, almost dropping his wine glass. "The masked prodigy? That Percival?"
"It... it makes perfect sense," Frémar Louboo murmured, his eyes wide as he stared at the glowing name. "The way the music didn't just accompany the animation, but completely integrated with the narrative... it felt like the score itself was a living, breathing character. Only a musical genius operating at his level could have achieved that kind of harmony."
"But who on earth is the director?" Hain Zossare demanded, his brow furrowing as he looked at the top of the sheet. "Arthur Pendragon? Who is this man?"
The Compadre unit's optical lens whirred, processing the inquiry. It pulled up the public registry data for the name.
"Inquiry acknowledged," the Compadre reported smoothly. "Arthur Pendragon. Age: Unknown. Origin: Unknown. No verified photographic records exist. Current Title: CEO and Founder of Round Table Studio, and Lady in the Lake Productions."
The room went dead silent again.
"This tells us absolutely nothing," the director from earlier complained, waving a dismissive hand at the hologram. "No background? No previous cinematic credits? Are you telling me this is their first-ever feature film?"
"Wait," another director squinted at the floating text. "Round Table Studio... isn't that the independent company making those interactive holonet programs? The thing called video games?"
The pretentious director scoffed loudly, leaning back into his plush chair. "Heh. A gaming studio. So he has zero knowledge on film at all. Who does he think he is to play pretend in a sophisticated medium."
Hain Zossare slowly turned his head. He fixed the arrogant director with a cold, terrifyingly sharp glare.
"A third-rate industry," Hain noted quietly, his tone dangerously flat.
The pretentious director smiled, thinking the legendary filmmaker was agreeing with him. "Exactly. Great minds think alike, Hain."
Hain's eyes narrowed into absolute, piercing slits. "And fools seldom differ."
The arrogant director's smile instantly vanished. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he realized he had just been ruthlessly insulted by one of the most powerful men in galactic cinema.
"Regardless," Frémar Louboo interrupted, clapping his hands once to break the sudden, suffocating tension. "We have spent far too much time on this single submission. It was only our first film, gentlemen. Write down your official evaluations and let's clear our palates. HG-1, continue to the next screening."
The projection vanished, and the lights dimmed once again.
The heavy, dramatic intro of an action film began to play on the screen.
But as the hours ticked by, the lingering, haunting effect of Spirited Away became undeniably clear. As the committee watched the second film, and then the third, and then the fourth, a strange, unprecedented phenomenon occurred.
They couldn't stop comparing them to the "joke" submission.
When something happened on screen, they involuntarily thought back to the terrifying, hand-drawn fluidity of Haku the dragon. When a famous A-list actor delivered a dramatic monologue, it somehow felt flat and hollow compared to the raw, genuine desperation of a 2D animated child trying to save her parents.
The magic of Arthur Pendragon had entirely ruined their palates. The standard had been violently raised.
…
Time passed.
A full week later, the highly anticipated official announcement for this year's Cyris Film Festival lineup finally dropped on the galactic net.
The festival was always a massive cultural event, but this year, the press release caused a complete, system-wide meltdown. It wasn't just the film critics and the high-society elites who were talking about it. The gaming sphere, the music industry, and the mainstream media completely exploded.
Because right there, listed on the official premium screening schedule, was a feature-length animated film named Spirited Away.
And the internet completely broke over a single, undeniable fact: Percival had returned.
After nearly a year of complete public silence, doing nothing but quiet, behind-the-scenes composing for other artists... the masked prodigy had suddenly emerged from the shadows. And he was officially a movie composer.
…
Meanwhile, lightyears away from the corporate battlegrounds of the Cyris Film Festival, the man secretly behind all of it was currently shaking in his boots.
Dorian Kepler stood frozen on the bustling plaza of Rodia 4, a prosperous planet located deep within the Core Rim. Looming in front of him was a monolithic, awe-inspiring fortress of polished steel and glowing energy barriers: the Main Headquarters of the Apex Guild.
Juno Park stood right beside him, completely unfazed by the intimidating architecture. She gently squeezed his hand. "You ready?"
Dorian swallowed hard, his mismatched eyes nervously scanning the massive courtyard. He could practically feel the heavy, predatory stares of the veteran mercenaries and guild employees burning holes into the back of his head. They were all looking at the unknown civilian boy who currently had his fingers laced with the beloved heir of the Apex Guild.
"Juno," Dorian whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Why do I feel like they are actively planning to tear me apart limb from limb?"
Juno chuckled charmingly, giving his hand another reassuring swing. "Relax, Dorian. That's just in your head."
Dorian's eyes flicked to the left. A massive, burly man clad in heavily scarred, modular power armor was glaring at him with narrowed, bloodshot eyes. To the right, a grease-stained guild mechanic stopped working on a hover-bike, aggressively clutching a heavy hydro-wrench in his fist while staring Dorian down.
'Yup. Nope,' Dorian thought miserably. 'Definitely not just in my head.' But Dorian took a deep breath, forcing himself to steel his nerves. He needed to do this. He absolutely needed the ironclad protection that the Apex Guild provided.
Ever since his physical attributes had begun to skyrocket from the System's training and passive stat boosts, he had been living in constant paranoia. He needed to legally register as a Solar to explain his newfound strength, but if he registered through the standard public channels, his name would immediately flag in the Stellar Accord Registry. And if that happened, Tala Faelon, the terrifying Identifier who had invaded his home on Friton around a year ago would instantly know.
But the Apex Guild was one of the few elite factions in the galaxy that possessed the legal privilege of private registration. If he registered as an exclusive member of Alexei Park's guild under his 'Irregular' cover story, his identity and power metrics would be entirely shielded from the Stellar Accord's public logs.
He sighed. 'It is what it is. With this license, I can finally be a little more open about my powers without looking over my shoulder.'
As they walked toward the grand entrance, Dorian took in the sights. He was seeing more Solars in one place than he had ever encountered in his entire life. It was a completely different world.
Above them, several Weaver-path Solars casually flew down from the high landing pads, using glowing tethers of hard-light energy to lower themselves as if it were the most natural thing in the universe. In the courtyards, heavily scarred Bulwarks and Strikers were eagerly swapping hunting stories, comparing exotic weapon attachments, and trading highly classified mission bounties.
It was an absolute marvel of combat culture.
Juno led him through the massive automated blast doors. The interior of the HQ was even crazier. The way the cutting-edge Accord technology flawlessly integrated with the ambient, localized Solar energy of the building's occupants was breathtaking. Glowing conduits ran along the ceiling, physically powered by the passive auras of the veterans in the lobby.
Suddenly, Dorian felt something.
It was a strange, subtle prickle at the base of his neck. Instinctively, he focused his vision, channeling the permanent sensory upgrade he had earned from his 100% synchronization.
Eagle Vision.
The bustling, vibrant lobby instantly washed out into a shadowy, high-contrast grayscale. The physical bodies around him vanished, replaced by glowing thermal silhouettes. Dorian looked down at the polished floor.
Trailing along the ground were several faint, glowing blue plasma strands. He traced the energy lines, his breath catching as he realized one of the strands had bypassed the crowd and stopped directly on his own shadow.
Right before his eyes, the darkness of his shadow began to stretch and grow upwards, forming into a solid, three-dimensional silhouette directly behind him. The glowing blue figure slowly reached a hand out toward Dorian's shoulder.
In a fraction of a second, the grueling, brutal muscle memory forged by the God of War flared up. Adrenaline spiked in Dorian's veins. His center of gravity instantly dropped, his right arm tensing to perfectly execute a devastating, close-quarters counter-throw.
But before his fist could move, a calm, commanding voice echoed in his mind.
'Attack without wisdom is a reckless weapon.'
Athena's tactical logic overrode Ares's bloodlust. In a split-second deduction, Dorian realized where he was. He was standing in the most heavily fortified room of the Apex Guild, holding the hand of the Guild Master's daughter. There was absolutely zero chance an actual hostile assassin would try to kill him right here, right now.
Instead of attacking, Dorian simply relaxed his shoulders and casually glanced backward.
His Eagle Vision faded. Standing directly behind him, having flawlessly emerged from the literal shadows, was a tall, lean man dressed in an immaculate dark suit.
The shadow-operative looked slightly surprised that Dorian had noticed him without flinching, but he quickly regained his professional composure.
"Madam wants to see you both," the man stated quietly.
Juno blinked, turning around in surprise. "Oh, Gena. I thought Mom was still overseeing the outpost in the Mid Rim?"
Gena offered a perfectly practiced, slight bow to the heir. "She is currently in the building, Young Miss. She returned early."
Juno smiled brightly. "Alright then."
Gena turned, gesturing politely with a gloved hand to lead the way toward the VIP elevators.
Juno tugged on Dorian's hand, entirely oblivious to the sudden, catastrophic internal crisis currently happening inside her boyfriend's head.
Dorian's mind violently reeled, pure panic flooding his system.
'Wait. What is going on?!' Dorian screamed internally as he numbly followed the shadow operative. 'Am I going to meet Juno's mom right now? Without any warning?! RIGHT NOW?!'
Dorian's mind immediately began to assess the situation.
Despite his mounting panic, Athena's grueling tactical drills had permanently rewired his brain. Without even thinking, his eyes passively analyzed the shadow-operative standing in the elevator with them. 'Phantom Class,' Dorian deduced silently. 'One of the many branching paths of the Scout archetype. High evasion, relies on physical concealment and sensory manipulation.' As the glass elevator shot up the side of the massive headquarters, Dorian mentally mapped out the emergency exits on every floor they passed.
Juno's palm was warmly pressed against his, her thumb gently stroking his knuckles to give him all the silent support she could muster. She knew she couldn't properly brief him on her mother right now, so she opted for a slight tangent to lighten the heavy mood.
"Dorian, this is Gena," Juno introduced casually. "He is one of the top operatives here."
Gena offered another slight, perfectly measured bow. He exuded the aura of an elite, high-society butler, incredibly professional, entirely no-nonsense, but not cold or rude either.
The elevator chimed, coming to a halt on one of the highest administrative levels.
Gena led them down a pristine hallway, stopping in front of a heavily reinforced door. Dorian took a deep breath. Behind that door was Olena Park. According to the late-night stories Juno had shared with him, while Alexei Park was the absolute brawn and the booming charismatic leader of the Apex Guild, Olena was the undisputed brain. Almost every massive structural and logistical improvement the Guild had implemented over the last few decades had been meticulously planned out by her.
The door opened with a soft hiss.
Dorian stepped inside. For a woman of such immense power, the office was shockingly simple. There were no extravagant decorations or vanity trophies. Every single object in the room served a distinct, practical purpose.
But the air... the air was impossibly heavy. The passive, ambient pressure of a true veteran Solar saturated the room, pressing down on Dorian's shoulders like a physical weight.
Sitting behind a sleek metal desk was a sharply dressed woman wearing elegant, wire-rimmed reading glasses. She was currently scrolling through a dense holographic report on her datapad. Hearing them enter, she looked up, offering a faint, reserved smile.
Juno pulled Dorian along, stepping up to the desk. "Mom."
Olena's sharp eyes focused entirely on her daughter. She reached across the desk, gently touching the end of Juno's ponytail. "You should let your hair out more, Juno. It looks so unkempt tied back like that."
Juno just smiled, completely used to the maternal critique.
"How was your training?" Olena asked, her tone softening slightly. "Do you need me to requisition more plasma minerals for your reserves?"
"I'm all good, Mom," Juno replied. She then took a small step to the side, gesturing to the terrified boy standing next to her. "Mom... this is Dorian Kepler. My boyfriend."
Dorian's brain experienced a complete, catastrophic short-circuit.
Faced with the terrifying, calculating mother of the girl he loved, the CEO of Round Table Studio entirely forgot how to act like a normal human being. In a sheer, blinding moment of panic, Dorian stepped forward.
"It's so nice to meet you!" Dorian blurted out.
And then... he went in for a hug.
He leaned across the desk, awkwardly wrapping his arms around the matriarch of the Apex Guild.
Olena stiffened entirely, her sharp eyes widening behind her glasses in absolute shock. Gena, standing by the door, physically twitched.
Dorian realized his colossal, humiliating mistake before he even completed the embrace. He violently recoiled, backing away with his hands raised defensively, his face burning hotter than a dying star.
"I–uh, sorry!" Dorian stammered frantically. "It's our first time meeting, but I, uh, I would love to know more about you! Ha ha."
Just as the agonizing awkwardness threatened to suffocate him, a guild staff member knocked rapidly on the open door, rushing in to hand Olena a physical datapad that required an immediate security signature.
Olena smoothly adjusted her glasses, taking the stylus. As she signed the document, she didn't look up, her voice returning to its calm, calculating baseline. "I believe you are here to privately register as a Solar, Mr. Kepler."
"Yeah!" Dorian answered a bit too quickly. "I, uh, I had a very late awakening. But don't worry, I haven't done any illegal missions or unregistered mercenary work or anything!"
'Why the hell did I just say that?!' Dorian screamed internally. 'I sound like a criminal!'
But Olena simply let it pass. Either she genuinely didn't care, or she was simply too busy verifying the logistics report to fully focus her interrogative gaze on him.
She handed the datapad back to the staff member and finally looked directly at Dorian.
"You are young," Olena noted, her sharp eyes scanning his posture, his clothes, and the callouses on his hands. "With so many branching roads ahead of you. What is it that you are currently doing with your life, Dorian?"
Dorian straightened his back, finally finding his footing. "Well, I actually run a company of my own. We are doing quite great lately."
Olena raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Inherited?"
Dorian smiled softly, a genuine, grounded warmth returning to his mismatched eyes. He shook his head.
"No, ma'am," Dorian answered honestly. "I grew up in the lower-level ecumenopolis of Nexus Prime. My mother left when I was very young, and my father was a plasma miner out in the Mord Tida system."
Olena paused, letting the information settle. Her sharp eyes remained unreadable behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "A self-made man," she finally said. "Your father must be very proud of you."
Dorian could hardly judge her stance based on that reaction alone. Was it a slightly condescending tone from a high-society matriarch, or was it simply a polite corporate acknowledgment? It was impossible to tell. Either way, it was incredibly clear that the woman was exceptionally busy.
Olena glanced back down at her glowing datapad, already moving on to the next set of guild logistics. "I will not hold you up any longer. Juno can lead you down to the testing chambers."
Juno smiled brightly. She leaned over the desk, giving her mother a quick, affectionate hug. "Alright! Bye, Mom!"
Once the heavy doors hissed shut behind them, Dorian let out a breath he felt he had been holding for an hour. He looked at Juno, his shoulders slumping. "Do you think she likes me?"
Juno chuckled charmingly, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked down the hall. "Yes, she does. Just give it some more time. The more she sees you, the more she will see who you truly are."
Dorian smiled, his nerves finally settling.
They soon arrived at the designated testing wing. Since Dorian was officially registering under the highly abnormal 'Irregular' path, the guild assessors required a brief practical demonstration. Unlike the rigidly documented combat branches of Strikers or Weavers, Irregulars possessed highly unique, anomalous abilities. The assessors needed specific reference tags to properly categorize his power level in the private database.
"Is there a reference to what class of Irregular you might be, Mr. Kepler?" the lead staff member asked, holding up a holo clipboard.
Dorian stepped into the center of the reinforced room. He focused his mind on his spatial inventory, specifically selecting a basic, low-level item from his Stardew Valley storage. With a faint shimmer of atmospheric energy, a simple, crude iron dagger materialized perfectly into his grasp.
"For now, I can conjure up physical weapons," Dorian explained, casually flipping the blade. "It's just small, crude items at the moment, though."
The staff member simply nodded, rapidly typing notes onto the datapad. He did not look particularly shocked. A 'Crafter' class Irregular was rare, but it was certainly something the Guild had encountered in the past.
Combined with the undeniable VIP privilege of having the Guild Master's daughter standing right there to vouch for him, the bureaucratic process absolutely flew by. The staff assured Dorian his official, encrypted Solar license would be ready for pickup the very next day.
Later that evening, the two of them returned to the private hangar bay of the Millennium Falcon.
Sitting comfortably in the ship's quiet lounge area, Dorian looked over at Juno. "Tell me more about your mother."
Juno took a sip of her water, a fond, reflective look entering her eyes. "Ah. Well, she is easily the most hardworking person I have ever seen. Ever since I was a kid, she was constantly working. I actually stayed at my grandparents' house for most of my childhood. My mother was always busy supporting my father, making sure the Guild held together through every crisis."
Dorian frowned sympathetically. "So you didn't get to spend a lot of time with your mom when you were a kid."
Juno smiled softly, shaking her head. "She did absolutely everything she could for me. And I love her for that."
…
Several hours later, the ship was completely silent.
Dorian was sitting up in his bed, the pale blue glow of his datapad illuminating the dark room. He had fallen down a massive digital rabbit hole, actively searching up his potential mother-in-law on the galactic net.
He found a trove of old, archived news articles. There were sprawling pieces detailing Alexei Park's wedding, wild rumors of the Apex Guild nearly breaking apart during its years under Alexei Park's, and scandalous tabloid notes highlighting that Alexei's own parents had completely boycotted the wedding ceremony.
Dorian paused his scrolling, rubbing his tired eyes. Was it even ethical to internet-stalk his future mother-in-law like this?
A sudden rush of freezing air brushed against his arm. Articuno, the majestic legendary bird, fluttered down from its perch on the high bookshelf and landed softly on the mattress. It gently nudged Dorian's shoulder with its beak.
Dorian looked down at his icy companion. "Yes?"
Articuno simply raised its wing and pointed its beak directly at the digital chrono glowing on the wall. It was incredibly late.
Tomorrow was the highly anticipated, critical test day for the Animus 2.0. He couldn't afford to be late or sleep-deprived for something that monumental.
Dorian sighed, finally shutting the datapad down. He gently patted Articuno's soft, frost-tipped feathers, pulled the heavy blankets up to his chest, and went to sleep.