The moment the starskiff touched down within the designated docking bay of the interstellar port, Julian led Yanqing down the boarding ramp. The massive, jade-and-gold crest of the Sky-Faring Commission painted across the transport's hull was exceptionally eye-catching, instantly triggering a flurry of whispers and taking the port's security staff by surprise.
There was no avoiding the attention. The official administrative branches of the Xianzhou Alliance held virtually zero historical or diplomatic ties with the jurisdiction of Asdana; under conventional circumstances, their starskiffs never crossed into Family airspace. The sudden arrival of an official Xianzhou vessel in Penacony naturally set off the curiosity of every faction monitoring the arrivals lounge.
Having received Julian's encrypted arrival logs in advance, Robin had arranged for an executive welcoming party, waiting near the terminal gates alongside her brother and a formal cadre of Family attendants.
While Julian Reed wasn't the single largest financial investor in the planet's real estate, the Family was approaching his arrival with the absolute highest tier of corporate sincerity. They recognized his blueprints offered a rare, mutual-benefit vector—a creative partnership capable of expanding Penacony's dreamscapes into a completely unmapped market. He was a stark contrast to predatory mega-corporations like the Interstellar Peace Corporation, entities that arrived carrying smooth promises of development while subtly manipulating the contracts to siphon the planet's sovereign wealth.
Because of this crucial distinction, Sunday had manually cleared his executive schedule, personally arriving at the starport to assess this "distinguished guest."
From fifty yards away, Julian spotted Robin waving her slender hand toward him, her pristine white wings fluttering slightly with excitement. He returned the greeting with a polite, measured smile.
Yet, beneath his practiced composure, a thread of confusion short-circuited his thoughts. Is my rapport with Miss Robin truly dense enough to warrant this level of unadulterated joy? He replayed their previous communication logs in his mind. In his memory, the songstress's public persona was notoriously guarded—a quiet, deeply empathetic figure who rarely let her true emotions bleed past her professional mask, a lingering behavioral reflex born from the heavy burdens of her global tours.
His thoughts drifted back to the archive recording of the Golden Hour showcase, specifically the hour they had spent sitting together on the starlight observation deck after the curtains fell. At the beginning of that dialogue, her posture had been intensely reserved, her eyes carrying a quiet, melancholy weight.
But the exact microsecond she had reached out to touch the soft, crackling fur of his projected Pikachu, the psychological filters had vanished, her expression melting into the innocent, radiant light of a carefree girl.
Could it be that the sensory data of the Pokémon project possesses a therapeutic capability to soothe a troubled mind? Julian wondered.
Sunday, standing a half-step ahead of his sister, caught the intense familiarity of the exchange. His elegant brow furrowed by a fraction of a millimeter, his golden eyes narrowing as he tracked the developer's approach.
His younger sister had undeniably transformed into a far more vibrant, expressive individual over the last week, occasionally slipping back into the cute, unblemished innocence of the child he had protected during their youth in the cathedral. But until today, she had strictly reserved that radiant warmth for their private family quarters; toward the corporate directors and external delegates, her public mask remained perfectly intact.
Why has the creative director of Arceus Studio triggered such an instantaneous, unguided breach in her defenses?
The Harmony's premier director felt an immediate spike of protective vigilance. The moment Julian cleared the security gate, Robin stepped forward to offer the initial greeting, but Sunday seamlessly adjusted his vector, cutting off her advance to catch Julian's hand in a firm, unyielding executive grip.
"Welcome, Mr. Julian Reed, to the sovereign domain of Penacony," Sunday said, his voice a perfect, melodic baritone that carried the absolute weight of the Oak Family. "I am Sunday, Representative of the Great Sept. We are honored by your presence."
"The pleasure is entirely mine, Mr. Sunday," Julian replied smoothly, maintaining the grip without a single sign of intimidation. "Miss Robin's correspondence frequently touches upon the remarkable strategic vision of her brother; matching your profile in person is an exceptional privilege."
He utilized the classic diplomatic loop, weaving Robin's casual praise into a formal compliment to ease the tension.
"Mr. Reed! Please do not weave tall tales," Robin gasped, her cheeks instantly staining with a brilliant scarlet flush as she stepped around her brother's wing.
While they shared an unbreakable familial bond, the very nature of their high-profile positions made expressing mutual admiration out loud intensely awkward. Furthermore, her memory files were absolute: she had never discussed her brother's daily habits with the developer. Even when she had referenced Sunday during their design workshops, the conversation had been strictly confined to the structural allocation of the Dream Time server blocks, completely devoid of personal anecdotes.
Watching his sister's flustered, crimson state, Sunday's fingers tightened around Julian's palm.
Is it possible that...
A sudden, chilling calculation flashed through Sunday's mind as his gaze flicked between Julian's calm eyes and Robin's burning cheeks. For a single, dark second, he wondered if it would be more efficient to terminate the entire contract and order the starskiff back to the Luofu.
But as the thought settled, the reality of Penacony's global reputation forced his hand. Julian Reed was the first independent pioneer to sincerely offer a collaborative blueprint to enrich the dreamscapes rather than plotting a hostile takeover; the contracts had already cleared the legal queues, and the developer was physically standing on their soil. To sever the transaction over a protective brother's instinct would be an unmitigated disaster for the Family's commercial prestige.
Forcing his porcelain poker face to remain perfectly rigid, Sunday smoothly let go of the hand. "You have crossed multiple star-systems to reach our terminal, Mr. Reed. Let us transition to the luxurious suites of the Daydream Hotel. A formal welcoming reception has been organized to ensure your comfort before we open the ledger for business."
"I shall defer entirely to your arrangement, representative," Julian nodded.
Sunday gestured for an attendant to guide the baggage detail, stepping into the primary corridor to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with the guest.
They had cleared only a dozen paces when Robin suddenly broke formation, slipping away from Sunday's flank to trot alongside Julian. "Mr. Reed... um, this request might carry a trace of professional presumption, but... would it be possible for me to play with an Eevee while we transit to the hotel? A Pikachu would also be wonderful!"
"A request from our premier ambassador is never a presumption," Julian smiled, a warm wave of his hand breaking the digital air. "How could a craftsman deny the simple wish of a beautiful young lady?"
POP. POP.
Two brilliant flashes of light materialized on the move. A pristine, crackling Pikachu settled cleanly onto Robin's velvet shoulder, while a small, fluff-necked Eevee tumbled directly into her waiting arms.
A soft, breathless gasp escaped the songstress. She immediately buried her face against the Pikachu's cheek, her hands cradling the tiny Eevee against her chest, lifting the creature up every few seconds to lock eyes with its large, watery brown irises. The sheer, unadulterated cuteness of the assets completely melted her professional distance, her wings fluttering in a chaotic, synchronized rhythm as she squeezed the fox-like creature tight against her collar.
Had the little Eevee not possessed the robust physical stats of a high-spec model, enabling it to actively wiggle its head free of her embrace, the poor normal-type might have faced a peaceful suffocation within her gentle arms.
Julian watched the interaction, his mind instantly logging the data. For a creator who wished to see his work centralize the galaxy's entertainment markets, satisfying the small personal requests of his handpicked promotional ambassador was a mandatory investment. Building a flawless, unblemished rapport with the Halovian superstar was infinitely more valuable than a few server credits.
Looking at her natural, unguided interaction with the two models, Julian's commercial marketing modules clicked shut on a brilliant concept. This isn't just a casual interaction; this is the single highest-value promotional asset the studio could dream of.
"Ahem... Miss Robin," Julian began, his voice dropping into a professional, collaborative register as they approached the luxury transport bay. "Seeing your natural synergy with the roster, I wonder if your schedule would permit a secondary, high-tier marketing contract? The parameters are exceptionally clean: a specialized promotional photoshoot featuring your profile alongside our core evolutionary lines, preferably coordinated with a series of custom, Pokémon-themed high-fashion gowns."
Robin's initial appearance during the launch trailer had already broken the galaxy's visibility metrics. Despite sharing the frame with high-profile historical figures like Lady Fu Xuan and the IPC's Topaz, her individual star power remained a force of nature.
If they could deploy a dedicated, high-concept visual portfolio ahead of the Johto expansion's master tournament, the market saturation would outscale their previous campaigns by a factor of ten.
"Oh? A dedicated portfolio?" Robin's eyes illuminated with absolute excitement, her hands still smoothing Eevee's velvet ears. She had spent the last week agonizing over how to politely ask Julian for more access to the physical projections without appearing greedy; now, the master developer had delivered the keys straight to her menu. "Of course! As we established during our Kanto launch, I shall extend a permanent 50% executive discount on all personal appearance fees for Arceus Studio."
"That will absolutely not do," Julian interrupted, his tone firm.
Robin's wings dipped slightly, a faint trace of disappointment clouding her expression as she assumed he was rejecting the terms.
"The contract must be cleared at absolute maximum original value," Julian explained, a genuine warmth returning to his eyes. "Our studio designs our partnerships for long-term galactic stability. We do not build our success by forcing our core creative allies to absorb a financial markdown."
The currency required to settle Robin's standard appearance fee was a microscopic drop within Julian's commercial reservoir; with the second-generation game modules clearing billions of credits per hour, he would recoup the expenditure within a single refresh cycle. He had zero interest in exploiting her personal kindness to save a handful of pennies. By ensuring her agency received every single credit of its baseline value, he converted a simple business transaction into an ironclad relationship that money couldn't buy.
Robin's breath hitched, a deep, radiant smile breaking through her caution as she began to softly decline the higher payout. The two creators slipped into a lighthearted, rapid-fire banter, their voices blending seamlessly as they negotiated the stylistic details of the upcoming shoot.
Behind them, Sunday's expression turned utterly subterranean.
He had listened to his sister spend hours detailing the developer's "profound, unblemished sincerity toward the artistic integrity of the dreamscapes," and he had arrived at the port prepared to welcome a legitimate corporate visionary.
But looking at the current layout, the calculation changed completely. The creative director didn't carry the pristine, sterile mind of a software engineer. The entire Pokémon collaboration looked like an elaborate, hyper-expensive front—a multi-trillion-credit pretense engineered for the sole purpose of manufactured excuses to linger within Robin's personal orbit.
The collaborator carried impure, calculating motives.
"Robin," Sunday's voice cut through the playful chatter like a sheet of absolute ice, his wing physically sweeping forward to intercept her path just as the luxury limousine leveled out at the curb. "Since Mr. Reed has extended an executive courtesy regarding the valuation, it is a breach of protocol to decline further. Furthermore, our guest has endured a grueling interstellar warp; do not drain his remaining acuity before he clears the check-in counters."
Without granting Julian a single window to parry the dialogue, Sunday caught his sister by her elbow, his movement smooth and unyielding as he ushered her into the secure rear cabin of the lead executive vehicle.
Julian stood on the concrete plaza, a single amused brow raised as the limousine's tinted glass rolled up. A polite Family waiter immediately stepped up to his flank, bowing low as he gestured toward the secondary transport idling behind the lead car.
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