The auction for Vermilion Grace concluded almost as soon as the staggering bid of fourteen million credits flashed across the virtual marketplace, truncating its intended three-day run. The transaction, facilitated by the auction platform, was swift and secure, with the buyer's contact details promptly relayed to Baisha under the site's oversight.
Baisha hesitated, then sent a message: [LuckyStar: Hello.]
The response was immediate: [z3218: Greetings, Master!]
Noticing the buyer's handle—a default string of letters and numbers—she surmised they were either a rare visitor to the site or a first-time bidder.
[z3218: Your work is flawless. I was just browsing the site and stumbled upon such perfection…]
A fervent, two-hundred-word paean followed, extolling the design's virtues.
Baisha was taken aback by their zeal. Exemplary-grade mech weapon blueprints were rare, their value tied to scarcity and cost. Most buyers willing to pay such sums preferred custom commissions for a slight premium. Finding a design that perfectly matched one's needs at standard auction prices was a coup—albeit a rare one. Yet this buyer's lavish bid had obliterated any savings.
[LuckyStar: Thank you. I can tell you truly admire the design.]
[z3218: Absolutely. I feel this weapon and I are destined to sync perfectly. I'm headed to the frontlines to fight starbugs soon, and it's the ideal time to upgrade my mech's arsenal. Your design is incredibly practical.]
Such earnest praise warmed anyone's heart, Baisha included. She paused, then typed: [Given your decisive bid, I'm happy to fine-tune the weapon for you. If you trust me, send over your mech's peripheral specs.]
This was a complimentary service. Buyers typically adjusted purchased blueprints to their mech's configurations themselves, but Baisha offered to handle it, ensuring the design was ready for immediate fabrication.
[z3218: I'd need to pay an adjustment fee.]
[LuckyStar: No need. You're clearly not short on funds, but consider this my gesture. It's my first time selling a blueprint.]
[z3218: I have the data. One moment.]
The buyer sent a detailed schematic and data sheet for a beast-form mech—a massive, pink gorilla. Despite retaining the raw power structure of a beast mech, its exterior had been stylized to resemble a plush toy, its rounded contours absurdly endearing.
Baisha: [...]
She could almost picture this pink behemoth wielding her blade with ferocious grace amidst a swarm of starbugs.
[z3218: What do you think, Master? Isn't my mech adorable?]
[LuckyStar: It's… distinctive.]
[z3218: Don't get me wrong—I'm serious. But veterans know starbugs are the antithesis of beauty. Staring at them day in, day out, either exhausts you or makes you sick. My mech's look is a small comfort. Without it, I wouldn't survive the grind.]
Baisha understood: a devotee of aesthetics.
[LuckyStar: Fair enough. I'll tweak the design. Do you prefer ornate or cute?]
After clarifying their preferences, she promised a revised blueprint soon.
[z3218: I'm in the Four Schools Election, so I may not reply promptly. Send the updated design, and I'll check it as soon as I'm free.]
Baisha: [...]
A fellow cadet? Likely two years her senior, set to intern in a warzone post-election. She'd never heard of such a flamboyant mech at Tianquan, suggesting they attended another academy.
She bid them farewell and logged off.
Half of the fourteen million—seven million credits—had been deposited as a down payment. Gazing at the new zeros in her account, Baisha mused: Mech design really pays.
Having lingered on Youdu Star for days, with the Four Schools Election nearing its end elsewhere, she resolved to finish the modifications quickly. She barricaded herself in her workshop, meals delivered to her door by attendants, retrieved only when inspiration permitted. Interruptions during a creative surge were unthinkable.
Forty-eight hours later, Emperor Cecil Ronin stormed in.
"What's this?" he demanded, yanking her from the console. Baisha swiveled to face her irate uncle. "Are you planning to sprout roots in here like some workshop fungus?"
Baisha twirled her stylus with practiced ease, stretching her stiff neck. "It's not that bad."
"You've been glued to this place since you returned," Cecil retorted. "Name one day you haven't spent here."
"I'm working," Baisha said. "It's what mech designers do."
Cecil: [...?] Pointing to a sleep pod nearby, he snapped, "Who needs you slaving away like this?"
Baisha glanced at the pod, feigning gravitas. "You wouldn't understand, Uncle. Ever heard of Jiang Gui, the legendary mech designer? He slept in his workshop—on a chair, no pod."
"And the pod's purpose?" Cecil's brow furrowed. "Have you used it for more than five hours these past two days?"
Baisha blinked, startled. Had she slept so little?
Reflecting, she realized she'd been caught in a strange fervor. The blueprint's high sale, her exchange with the buyer, had rekindled a past life's workaholic instincts. Or perhaps, after her visit to the Han family, she sought distraction to avoid dwelling on the Grand Princess and the Silver Core.
Yawning, she said, "I'm busy with the auction and redesigns. My blueprint sold for fourteen million—"
"I'll double it," Cecil cut in. "Now, immediately, get to your chambers and sleep."
Baisha sprang up, saluting. "Yes, sir."
Twenty-eight million credits? She'd be a fool to refuse.
In her palace quarters, she indulged in petting a dozen cats—varied breeds, some sleek, others plush—circling her with coquettish meows. She chose a fluffy one, and an attendant, as if escorting a favored consort, carried it to her bedroom.
The cat bounded between sofa and bed, boldly exploring its "new domain," sniffing every corner.
Baisha sat on the bed's edge, restless despite her fatigue. Opening her design software—she'd promised Xino a mech weapon—she was interrupted by a sharp "meow."
Turning, she saw the cat crouched on the bed, delicately pawing at something glinting like metal.
Fearing it had dislodged a decorative fixture, Baisha crawled over to check, her elbows sinking into the deep blue velvet bedding. Her fingers brushed a cold object.
It was a pale gold chip, etched with intricate black patterns, designed to slot into a light-brain.
Pensive, Baisha inserted it into her device. After a clean scan, she accessed its contents.
A crackle filled the air as the light-brain activated holographic scene mode. Blue light streams wove into a vivid tableau: a training room, its floor lined with exercise gear, weapons, and a compact mech. A silver-haired woman sat cross-legged on the gray floor, her deep blue eyes lifting toward Baisha.
Dressed in a simple combat suit, she radiated an effortless charisma.
"Ahem, this video is a training course for my brother, Cecil Ronin," she said, smiling. "I intended to archive this chip in my 'royal assets' for my heirs to access, but Cecil's not one to share… Oh well, I'll assume others might view this."
Baisha stared, transfixed, recognizing her instantly.
Sipes Ronin.
"Just kidding, Cecil. Don't sulk—this is tailored for you," Sipes continued, scratching her temple. "If my descendants find this chip, browse the course catalog as needed. I'll probably keep recording these, I suppose."
The hologram's fidelity was uncanny, rendering Sipes's image and voice with lifelike clarity. For a moment, Baisha felt seen.
But Sipes's gaze fixed on a distant point, continuing: "I'll be interning in a warzone next year, unable to return to Youdu Star. You, Cecil, are at a pivotal moment entering the academy. I'll share my knowledge, especially battlefield insights, from both a commander's and a warrior's perspective."
"Don't fret about lagging behind, dear brother. My prowess is unmatched, after all," she teased, then softened. "But I believe, given time, you'll be a Ronin I'm proud of. I've never doubted that. So stop brooding."
Starlight danced in her eyes.
"I promise, wherever I am—be it the empire's frontier or a distant star—I'll wait for the day you catch up."
"We'll fight side by side."