Chapter 27: Hardening Fists

At eight o'clock in the morning, Yuxing arrived punctually at the Institute of Cosmic Technology, relieving Senior Ayu from his shift. Twelve hours of night duty had left Ayu looking utterly exhausted—he simply patted Yuxing on the shoulder and departed without a word. Yuxing, meanwhile, made his way to the president's office on the third floor of the institute’s main building, taking up his post behind the president’s chair, standing vigil.

At last, he wouldn’t have to be running around everywhere…

Yuxing stood ramrod straight, entirely professional, his eyes lowered in silent composure.

The office, facing south on the third floor, measured about thirty square meters. Its décor was minimalist: one desk, one office chair. Against the wall stood two rows of glass cabinets filled with neatly arranged folders, each shelf organized by the color of the folders—a sight to soothe any perfectionist’s heart.

Opposite the cabinets was a sofa set, flanked by two pots of artificial greenery. In front of the sofa sat a low table, on which were stacked brochures introducing the Institute of Cosmic Technology, alongside several bottles of mineral water.

At present, besides the president seated at his desk, the only people in the office were Yuxing, standing silently behind him, and the president’s two personal bodyguards.

With a soft electronic beep, the president’s assistant swiped his badge to unlock the office door and hurried in, carrying a tablet. He cast the latest public opinion monitoring data onto the large screen.

Upon noticing the significant uptick in concern over “the risk of the birthday rocket endangering the space station or satellites,” the president chuckled and folded his arms. “They’re just jealous of me, aren’t they? Not even allowed to celebrate a birthday now? We got the rocket launch permit last month—if there’s any danger, it’s the fault of whoever signed off on the permit. What’s that got to do with me?”

The assistant’s face tightened under the president’s impatient gaze. Hesitantly, he replied, “President, when we applied a month ago, it might have been fine, but since then, the space station has adjusted its orbit…”

The phone on the desk rang just then. The president reined in his impatience, glanced at the caller ID, and frowned before picking up.

“…No problem, we can postpone the launch. But your word alone isn’t enough. First, I’ll need concrete evidence of a potential collision. Second, postponing the launch will negatively affect the impact of our promotional campaign. We have a contract, don’t we? Since you issued the permit, you’re responsible for any losses—so you’ll compensate accordingly.”

“Don’t talk to me about human lives. We’ll handle things by the book.”

With that, the president slammed down the receiver.

The assistant stood ashen-faced, cold sweat beading on his brow.

Yuxing, standing quietly just behind and to the right, caught every word. He frowned, a wave of nausea rolling in his stomach. Clenching his fist until his nails dug into his palm and the pain steadied him, he kept his expression unchanged.

The assistant wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to persuade again: “There must be a lot of people watching to see how we respond. We could use this publicity to release a statement saying that, as a socially responsible company, we’ve decided to postpone the launch given the situation in low-Earth orbit. That way, we could still…”

The president raised a hand to cut him off, then stood and strode over to the wall-mounted safe, unlocking it with fingerprint, iris scan, and three keys.

Yuxing caught a glimpse of the safe’s contents from the corner of his eye, then shifted his gaze, maintaining his composure.

The president took a document from the safe. Only then did he seem to realize, belatedly, that aside from himself and his assistant, three silent bodyguards stood behind the chair.

He mulled it over, then signaled for the bodyguards to wait outside.

Obeying the employer’s order, Yuxing and the other two bodyguards left the office and took up positions in the corridor—one on either side of the door, Yuxing leaning against the wall a bit further away.

The corridor was silent, but inside, the conversation continued.

Those whispered words, faint as they were, penetrated the six-centimeter-thick soundproof glass and reached Yuxing’s ears with perfect clarity.

Had his hearing improved? Was it a side effect of the “physical enhancement”?

“…As long as the rocket is launched at the designated time, in that exact direction, we’ll acquire these advanced space technologies. I’ve reviewed them—they’ll rapidly fill our gaps and obstacles in space development. We can patent them and monopolize the field. Just imagine: space electron gun technology, low-orbit communication solutions, cold atom clocks…”

The more Yuxing listened, the colder his expression became.

So it wasn’t just for a birthday celebration, nor merely for corporate publicity…

Someone was using advanced space technology as bait, manipulating the president into launching the rocket in a specific direction.

That method, that style…

Yuxing nearly couldn’t help but blame Torekia for this mess. Of course, it was just a thought—he lacked both the courage and the grounds to act on it.

He heard the president continue: “So, we’ll just sit tight and see what the space station decides. It’s impossible for us to halt the launch, but they could always adjust their orbit to avoid it.”

Yuxing bowed his head, deep in thought.

Indeed… If the mastermind’s purpose was to orchestrate a disaster, with the birthday rocket destroying the space station, they’d have to control far too many variables.

For the birthday rocket to launch precisely on schedule and in the right direction, while the frequently maneuvering space station arrived at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time to collide—at twenty-nine thousand kilometers per hour, no less—that would require an unimaginable coincidence. Unless some omnipotent scriptwriter was pulling the strings, it simply didn’t add up.

Which meant… perhaps his assumption about the mastermind’s aim was off.

Yuxing silently replayed the conversation in his mind.

—As long as the rocket is launched at the designated time, in that exact direction…

In other words, the real goal was not to destroy the space station, but literally, simply “to launch a rocket at a specific time in a specific direction.”

Just to launch the rocket!

And regardless of where the rocket actually went, as long as it was launched, that was enough!

So, “launching a rocket at a specific time in a specific direction” was merely a means, and the true objective was some consequence that would result from that action.

By that logic, in the original Ultraman Taiga storyline, the rocket destroying the space station may have been… nothing more than a coincidence. It was even possible that this incident had ruined the real mastermind’s plans, and Torekia merely took advantage of the aftermath.

The rocket…

A flash of insight sparked in Yuxing’s eyes.

Could it be—

A signal rocket, calling a thousand armies to gather?

At that moment, the president’s grating voice sounded again from within the office, filled with barely suppressed excitement, lowered as if speaking to himself:

“If the rocket really does blow up the space station… now that would be spectacular!”

Yuxing’s fists clenched even tighter.

Grinding his molars, he barely managed to restrain himself from kicking down the door and storming in.