The investigation chamber on Youdu Star was a stark contrast to the palace's opulence, its walls lined with matte-black panels that absorbed light, lending the room a claustrophobic intensity. The holographic table at its center glowed with a sterile blue, projecting the arena's blueprints and Bai Sha's annotated discrepancies. The lead investigator, his face taut with determination, clutched the two conflicting designs, his breath shallow as he addressed his aide. "Contact the arena's architects and engineering team immediately."
"Yes, sir," the aide replied, already pulling up a database of contacts compiled during the initial probe.
The investigator hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "No—bring them here. I want face-to-face interrogations."
If the Silver Core was involved, digital communications were suspect, vulnerable to interception or manipulation. In-person questioning was the only way to ensure clarity. Hours later, the room buzzed with the arrival of four architects, their assistants, and key engineering staff, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The investigator wasted no time, transmitting the official blueprint to their light-brains.
"Examine this," he said, his voice clipped. "Is there anything amiss?"
The architects, seasoned by prior scrutiny, approached the task with caution, their eyes scanning the holographic lines with practiced precision. One, a wiry man with a shock of gray hair, traced every contour, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It's clean," he said finally, his tone confident. "No issues."
The investigator's gaze hardened. "This was the blueprint you used during construction?"
The architect nodded, but a voice from the engineering team cut through. "Hold on—that's not right." The verifier, a stout woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, stared at her light-brain, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm. "The blueprint we received for verification doesn't match this one. Some details are off."
The investigator leaned forward. "Do you have the system records?"
"I kept some files," the verifier said, pulling up a cached document. "We used a custom network for the joint project—Empire and Federation tech don't always play nice. Once the match ended, that network was decommissioned, but I saved what I could."
She displayed her "verification blueprint" alongside the investigator's "design blueprint." The differences were subtle but undeniable—angles slightly altered, structural supports shifted. The architect's face paled. "That's not the blueprint I sent you."
A heavy silence fell as realization dawned. "Someone swapped the blueprints mid-process," the investigator said, his voice steady but laced with grim satisfaction. "We have a lead."
The next question was critical: which blueprint had the workers followed? The investigator turned to his team. "The construction crew's too large to summon tonight. Send agents to their homes. Find out which blueprint they used."
The response came swiftly. Every worker confirmed they'd followed the architect's original blueprint, not the altered one received by the verifier. Fury erupted from the gray-haired architect, his fist slamming the table. "The Federation tampered with it! The modified sections were their crew's responsibility!"
"It's our fault," the verifier admitted, her face ashen. "I didn't realize the verification blueprint was fake."
The architect's anger cooled into analysis. "The changes are minimal, cleverly hidden in structural blind spots. The finished arena looks identical to the original design from the outside. This was deliberate—'dark modification.' Whoever did this is an expert."
The investigator's mind churned. Or not human at all. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said, his tone measured. "Now, recall every detail about the Federation crew handling those modified sections. Names, appearances, behaviors—anything."
An architect opened his light-brain. "I have the crew assignment roster."
The investigator nodded, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Excellent. Thank you."
The roster was a goldmine, but confronting the Federation directly was a diplomatic minefield. The attack had endangered Federation personnel too—engineers, guards, spectators. Bai Sha's "resonance" had saved countless lives, but the investigator suspected Silver Core sympathizers had infiltrated the Federation crew, unbeknownst to their leaders. Investigating without Federation cooperation was impossible, yet bypassing their military to target the roster's names was equally fraught.
The investigator compiled his findings, presenting them to Cecil Roning with a candid admission of his concerns. "We need a trusted intermediary to pursue this," he said.
Wei Li, adjusting his monocle, nodded gravely. "This lead is too valuable to lose. We must choose carefully."
"Who should receive the roster?" Cecil asked. "Does Intelligence have a shortlist?"
"There are Federation parliamentary factions sympathetic to the Empire," Wei Li said. "We could pass the roster to them, but that risks tainting the investigation. To anti-Imperial factions, our involvement screams bias—or worse, a setup to frame the Federation."
The Empire and Federation's fragile alliance was riddled with mistrust. Handing the roster to a pro-Imperial group could backfire, fueling accusations of sabotage or scapegoating. The resulting chaos would bury the truth, letting the real culprits slip away.
"It's a mess," Bai Sha said, her eyes flicking to her light-brain. "What if I pass it to my friends?"
Wei Li shook his head, his tone gentle but firm. "Your Federation friends are trustworthy, but they're students, lacking the clout or backing to drive this forward."
Bai Sha's closest allies, the Zhou brothers, carried weight, but their family's ambiguous stance—and their uncle Ning Hongxue's outright unreliability—made them risky. Intelligence had flagged Ning, the Federation's military chief, as a high-risk figure, his motives opaque.
"I don't mean for them to investigate," Bai Sha said, her brow arching. "They'd be messengers. Zhou Ying sent me the original arena scan. If we frame this as their discovery, the Empire stays out of it, and the Federation can pursue it internally."
Wei Li's eyes lit up, a slow smile spreading. "A workaround, but it could work. Your Majesty?"
Cecil nodded, his expression one of quiet approval. Bai Sha wasted no time, messaging Zhou Ying to outline the plan and ask if he knew a reliable contact.
"It's tricky," Zhou Ying replied, his voice thoughtful. "Can't use Zhou resources—my uncle would sniff it out. But I have someone in mind."
"Who?" Bai Sha asked.
"Gongzhili," Zhou Ying said, a smirk in his tone. "Former Federation military chief. Ring a bell?"
Bai Sha's lips twitched. Gongzhili, the iron-fisted general who'd once pushed to interrogate her, was a name etched in her memory. "He's retired, isn't he?"
"Retired, but not powerless," Zhou Ying said. "His influence lingers, and he's a thorn in my uncle's side. If he pushes this, no one will tie it to the Empire."
Gongzhili's feud with Bai Sha was public knowledge, making him an ideal conduit—his involvement would deflect suspicion from the Empire. Bai Sha chuckled. "Not a bad pick. Can you get the info to him cleanly?"
"I've got people," Zhou Ying said. "And it's for humanity's sake—clearing a threat. My motives are pure."
Meanwhile, in the Federation's military headquarters, Ning Hongxue sat in his private office, a fortress of dark steel and muted light. His black-gloved hands clasped before him, the star on his shoulder glinting coldly. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes churned with a storm.
A razor-thin light-screen flickered to life, revealing a figure in a deep purple robe, half their face obscured by a silver mask. The man's hair was immaculate, his attire dripping with wealth, but his presence carried a serpentine menace.
"Good evening, Commander Ning, my friend," the masked man purred.
"You've got nerve showing your face," Ning snapped, his smile venomous. "You said even Imperial royalty wouldn't escape the Starbugs. And yet?"
"Blame the Empire's secrecy," the masked man said, his expression a grotesque mix of mirth and sorrow. "A royal heir versus a minor noble—worlds apart."
"Your plan was a waste," Ning said, each word a shard of ice. "And I've spent too much cleaning up your mess."
"You're cautious, meticulous—that's why the Undying Cicada chose you," the masked man said, his tone soothing. "Patience, Commander."
"If your side delivered, I'd have all the patience in the galaxy," Ning retorted, his eyes narrowing. "Your tech, your plans—riddled with flaws. If the Undying Cicada is truly guided by the Silver Core, it's a joke."
The Silver Core, a nightmare woven into humanity's psyche, was no laughing matter. Ning's mockery was a blade, and the masked man's gaze flickered with danger before softening into a saccharine smile.
"The Silver Miracle's glory is beyond question," he said, his voice honeyed. "But let's be honest, Commander. Without us, could you topple the Empire alone?"
Ning's silence was a storm gathering, his presence a palpable weight across the screen. The Silver Core's shadow loomed, and the game was far from over.