Chapter 169 – Parsec High Club (Patreon)

The mandatory two-week holiday for Round Table Studio was still in full swing, and Dorian chose to spend this quiet stretch with Juno on a peaceful planetary getaway.

They stood together on the surface of Goa, capturing holographic photographs against a backdrop of crumbling, moss-draped stone temples. Goa was a designated historical preserve located deep within the Core Rims, the central seat of power for the Stellar Accord. Its tragic history was well known across the quadrant. The indigenous Goa civilization had been wiped out by premature contact rather than open warfare.

Many centuries ago, the Stellar Accord discovered the planet while the native populace was still in its earliest infancy. Most of the indigenous tribes had yet to master basic agriculture when survey ships landed.

Forcefully pushed to assimilate into a galactic society before their culture could mature, the population rapidly dwindled until the native went extinct. Persistent rumors claimed that a handful of survivors still lived in the deep, unmarked wilderness of the southern hemisphere, yet the official registries considered the world entirely dead.

A cluster of off-world tourists leaned over the safety barriers, angling their cameras for close-up shots of the ancient masonry. Several Accord preservation wardens stepped forward, politely instructing the visitors to maintain a respectful distance from the fragile structures.

Dorian lowered his camera, staring at the weathered carvings. "Such a shame, huh?"

Juno blinked, turning her head toward him. "What was that?"

Dorian snapped out of his reverie, rubbing the back of his neck. "It feels like a genuine shame. If they had been left alone, they could have truly thrived."

Juno opened the digital guide on her wrist console, skimming the historical overview. "The informational pamphlet says their extinction would have occurred during their modernization era anyway. Their cellular physiology simply had a fatal incompatibility with ambient plasma out in space."

Dorian kept his eyes on the vine-choked archways. In his mind, they simply needed time. It would have taken generations of natural development, yet no one could ever know what heights they might have reached on their own.

Juno looked up at the stone towers, letting out a soft sigh as she breathed in the damp, sweet forest air. "Yeah. Alas."

She reached out and looped her arm snugly around Dorian's. Juno was a tall Solar standing several inches above him, which made resting her chin on his shoulder a bit awkward, so she leaned her side against him instead.

Her purple eyes grew reflective as she watched the mist drift over the silent ruins. "Do you think we will end up like them in the distant future? Relics of a forgotten past, where future travelers only catch a fleeting glimpse of who we were?"

Dorian shifted his posture, looking up at her with a gentle expression. "I'd say we ought to enjoy what we have right now, and make the most of it."

He leaned in and planted a soft, affectionate kiss on her cheek.

A creaky, amused voice called out from the edge of the path. "What a remarkably beautiful couple."

An elderly Zynar woman approached them, her skin weathered by decades under the sun. She wore a bright woven shawl and a pleasant, grandmotherly smile. Reaching into a cloth pouch at her hip, she produced a simple braided bracelet woven from polished native reeds and handed it to Juno.

"Here, my dear," the old woman said warmly. "Take this to commemorate such a tender moment."

Dorian offered a polite bow of his head. "Thank you very much."

Thinking the exchange was a lovely gesture of local hospitality, Dorian and Juno turned to continue down the cobblestone promenade.

Before they could take two steps, the elderly Zynar swiftly shuffled into their path. She blocked the way, held out an open palm, and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in an unmistakable demand for payment.

Dorian and Juno froze. They exchanged a wide-eyed glance, then burst into sheepish, awkward laughter. A classic tourist trap had caught them completely off guard.

Dorian chuckled, pulled his credit puck from his coat, and tapped a generous transfer into her handheld reader.

The old woman beamed, tucked the reader away, and stepped aside with an elegant wave of her hand to let them pass.

As they resumed their stroll down the tree-lined path, Dorian shook his head with a dry grin. "Well, that was brilliant. Now whenever I remember that sweet moment, it will forever be associated with an old lady shaking me down for credits."

Juno let out a melodic laugh. She stepped ahead, spun lightly on her heels to face him, and leaned down to press a firm, lingering kiss against his lips.

She pulled back with a playful wink. "There, new moment to replace it."

Dorian cleared his throat, coughing awkwardly as a warm blush crept up behind his ears. He looked past her shoulder toward the tree line. "Right. Well, I believe there are a couple more temples over on that ridge we have yet to explore."

…

The soft hum of high-end cooling fans blended with the vibrant ambient soundtrack of the lobby interface inside Roric's streaming room. Holographic chat windows cascaded down both sides of his central display, scrolling so rapidly that the text blurred into a continuous river of light.

Roric leaned back against his ergonomic seat, his headset resting comfortably over his ears while the matchmaking queue counter ticked past forty seconds.

"Dearlord13, thank you for the gifted subscription," Roric said, giving a quick two-finger salute toward his optical pickup. A melodic chime sounded through his speakers as an automated text-to-speech donation broke through the chatter, an artificial voice reading out a viewer query: Roric, what are your honest thoughts on Pokemon Arena so far?

Roric chuckled, tapping his fingers against the edge of his command console. "Hmm. Are you secretly an undercover scout on the RTS payroll? Did Arthur send you into my chat to gather field research?"

The chat room immediately flooded with laughing emotes and playful spam.

"In all seriousness, the pure combat focus is fantastic," Roric continued, leaning forward as his tone shifted into genuine analysis. "I love the loyalty requirement. The game forces you to build your trust rating with a partner before the system unlocks full manual control. You have to earn the right to step into the ring and pilot their movements directly, which makes the bond feel earned."

A sharp chime rang through the audio channels.

Match Found.

The display cleared instantly, plunging Roric into the preparatory arena lobby. The opposing trainer was a high-ranked contender piloting an intimidating lineup. The match initiated, dropping both combatants into an expansive holographic colosseum complete with cracked stone pillars and localized hazard zones.

Roric took direct command of his Gengar, his fingers flying across the controls. The combat was remarkably fast and fluid, demanding the tight precision of a dedicated fighting game. Roric initiated with a rapid Shadow Punch, weaving between the opposing Alakazam's kinetic barriers before using a feint to slip through the arena floor in a pool of living darkness.

"You see, this is why the absence of a campaign mode makes total sense," Roric explained while evading a devastating burst of Psychic energy by a hair's breadth. "RTS knew exactly what they wanted to build here. The entire platform exists for competitive matchmaking, mechanical execution, and split-second strategy. If I wanted narrative lore, I would boot up FireRed or tune into the animated series. Here, it is all about execution."

He executed a clean status combo, tagging the opposing creature with a sudden Will-O-Wisp to cut its physical damage output before capitalizing with a close-range Hex. The opponent adapted instantly, rotating to their reserve Tyranitar and summoning a harsh localized sandstorm that chipped away at Roric's remaining health pool.

The final exchange came down to slivers of vitality. Roric timed an evasive roll around a crushing Stone Edge, sliding through the dust to land a decisive, point-blank Focus Blast just as his own shield meters flashed crimson.

The victory banner flared across the sky in brilliant gold.

Roric let out a breathless laugh, slumping back against his headrest while his heart hammered. "Man, that was way too close."

The chat erupted into frantic reactions.

VoidDrifter: Pure luck on that roll! KantoChamp99: Bro was one stray pebble away from losing his mind. StarlightSniper: Is this going to be another famous win streak stream that ends in a catastrophic throw on match ten?

Roric shook his head with an amused grin. "I just hope the studio considers adding more match types down the line. Having a dedicated two-versus-two duo queue would be an absolute blast with friends."

Before he could hit the button to queue for the next challenger, a new donation banner pinned itself to the absolute top of the broadcast feed.

The donor name was highlighted: 

{Bedivere_RTS.}1000 credits.[Another match type, huh? We will see what we can do, Roric ;)]

Roric stared at the screen, his hand freezing inches above his console. He slammed the cancel button on his matchmaking queue.

"Wait. Ayo!" Roric shouted, pulling off his headset and staring directly at the floating badge. "Is that actually Bedivere? Bedivere from the Art Department at Round Table Studio? Thank you so much for the thousand credits!"

The chat room collapsed into complete bedlam. Messages flew by at ten times their normal speed as thousands of viewers attempted to tag the legendary developer, peppering the feed with questions, awe, and desperate pleas for sneak peeks at upcoming updates.

…

Light-years away from the chaos of the streaming networks, Liseli strolled down the sunlit marble concourse of a high-end commercial district on Sela.

Her two-week holiday had evolved into an unapologetic shopping expedition. She stood beside the polished display counter of an upscale boutique, watching with quiet satisfaction as an attendant carefully packaged several designer boxes into sleek carrier bags.

The attendant looked up, offering a polite, practiced smile. "Will this be everything for today, ma'am?"

Liseli paused, tapping her chin with a manicured finger as she glanced at a pair of display mannequins near the front window. Both figures wore tailored coats that an average shopper would describe as identical shades of bright red.

To Liseli's trained eyes, the two fabrics told completely different stories. The garment on the left carried a cool, dignified crimson undertone, while the coat on the right possessed a warm, fiery vermilion luster that seemed to capture the sunlight.

"Actually, I will take both of those as well," Liseli said with a bright smile. "Those two colors will work wonderfully for different occasions."

The clerk blinked in brief surprise before nodding courteously and retrieving the garments.

Liseli accepted her shopping bags, stepping out into the warm afternoon breeze with a light, cheerful bounce in her step. As she walked toward the central promenade, the subtle contrast between the two fabrics began mixing with the playful exchange she had just dropped into Roric's livestream. Her creative mind was already spinning, sketching out vibrant color palettes and dynamic team-based visual markers for the next major content update.

…

The live viewer counter in the corner of FramePerfect's streaming overlay steadily climbed as synth-wave background music drifted through his audio feed.

FramePerfect adjusted his boom mic, glancing over the twin chat windows that scrolled past his terminal. The mechanics of Pokémon Arena had sparked endless debates among high-level players, specifically regarding its two distinct combat styles.

Players who maxed out their bond rating to one hundred percent unlocked the synchronization mode, allowing them to take direct control of the creature in full real-time action.

The alternative kept the player firmly in the boots of the Trainer on the sidelines. 

In Trainer Command mode, the player had to read the flow of battle from the perimeter, shouting timing windows, positioning shifts, and attack combinations while the creature interpreted those orders based on its own temperament and temperament alone.

For FramePerfect, that secondary style held all the magic. Watching Ash Ketchum scramble on the touchlines in the animated pilot had convinced him that commanding from the edge was the true essence of the franchise.

"Alright, chat," FramePerfect said, leaning closer to the optical sensor with a grin. "While we wait for the rest of the viewers to fill in, let me give you a preview of what I spent my morning preparing."

He opened his in-game storage terminal, cycling the view to show an entire digital box packed with identical team compositions. Every single monster on the roster had been freshly caught in standard balls, sporting completely blank stat histories and zero values on their friendship meters.

FramePerfect tapped the desk. "That's right. Tonight we are running the zero-friendship gauntlet. Twenty-five consecutive wins, Trainer Command mode only."

The chat feed instantly erupted into collective ridicule.

VoidCrawler: Might as well legally change your stream tag to MasochistKing right now. PulseBlade: Cannot be me. Here I am feeding three hundred Berries a day just to control my Girafarig directly, and this guy chooses pure suffering. StarDrifter: Some people are simply born weird.

The sudden flood of banter drew hundreds of new lurkers into the channel. FramePerfect chuckled, bringing up his channel dashboard and updating the stream title to 0 Friendship Battle: Road to 25 Win Streak.

Before jumping into the main event, he followed his usual pre-show routine to give latecomers time to arrive. He booted up Monster Hunter to warm up his mechanical reflexes.

Taking rapid-fire requests from the chat, he queued up a series of high-difficulty hunts. He displayed ruthless efficiency with his Great Sword, predicting spatial hitboxes and stagger thresholds with pinpoint accuracy. 

During a featured Rathalos run, he shaved four full seconds off his previous best time, clean-cutting the tail mid-flight before bringing the beast down with a charged slash. The run automatically submitted to the Avalon network leaderboards, sliding his username back into the number one slot.

With his hands properly warmed, FramePerfect closed the hunting client and reopened Pokémon Arena.

The viewer chat accelerated immediately.

IronGrip: Finally, the suffering begins! KantoDropout: Start the prediction pool! NebulaRider: Dropping five gifted subs on him crashing out before match five. HyperBeam99: I have ten gifted subs saying he needs at least twenty attempts to clear this.

FramePerfect held his hands up in mock offense. "Look at the sheer lack of faith in this room. That's perfectly fine by me. The more doubters lining up against me, the more gifted subs your broken pride will feed into my channel."

A chorus of supporters pushed back in the feed, urging him to secure the twenty-five wins so their own wagers would stay safe.

In the middle of the chaotic chatter, a new alert banner dominated the top of the interface.

Agravaine entered the prediction polls. The developer locked in an enormous wager of 200 gifted subs squarely on the Doubter side, attaching a brief three-word message to the transaction.

Agravaine: Go FramePerfect.

The chat room shattered into complete hysteria at the sight of another Round Table Studio developer casually trolling a creator on live air.

…

Light-years away, inside a quiet home on Friton, Logan Kim leaned back on his sofa with a quiet chuckle.

Beside his shoulder, Misdreavus drifted lazily through the air, letting out a cheerful chime as the colorful lights of the livestream reflected across its crimson beads.

As an Accord citizen bearing a Class F designation, crossing sector lines required endless stacks of bureaucratic permits. Leaving Friton for a holiday was far more trouble than it was worth, so he preferred to spend his mandatory time off in familiar surroundings.

He had his teebu, his Pokémon, entertaining streams to watch, and comfortable holodramas to pass the hours.

Resting on the auxiliary display beside his couch, lines of distributed networking code and regional partition maps scrolled in steady loops. Logan picked up his warm mug, taking a leisurely sip while watching FramePerfect struggle through his opening match. 

Even during his vacation, laying down the technical foundation for Final Fantasy Online brought him a deep sense of satisfaction.

…

The peaceful planetary holiday eventually reached its final day.

Dorian and Juno walked up the boarding ramp of the Millennium Falcon at the orbital transit station, hauling several large cargo containers packed with souvenirs. Over two weeks of wandering regional bazaars, open-air markets, and historical reserves, their collection had ballooned far beyond their original plans. Handcrafted accessories, jars of delicacies, woven soft natural blankets, and local keepsakes from several systems filled the crates to the brim.

Dorian hoisted one of the containers against his chest. "Let's just pile everything in my quarters for now. The cargo bay is full of spare engine parts."

Juno blinked, her thoughts suddenly wandering in an entirely different direction. Her cheeks warmed slightly. 'Wait. In his quarters? Are we actually going to do something on this ship? Nothing happened during our entire stay at the resort hotel.'

She quickly caught herself, clearing her throat to hide the sudden flutter in her chest. "Right. Yes. Your quarters are fine."

Dorian didn't mean a single thing she thought. He carried the heavy crate down the narrow corridor with an easy stride, dumping the boxes onto the corner storage rack of his cabin before returning to the cockpit.

Dorian settled into the pilot seat, his hands moving across the familiar console switches. The instrument panels glowed to life with cheerful amber readouts. He pulled his comm headset over one ear and opened a channel to the planetary orbital control tower.

After a brief back and forth with the flight dispatcher, the repulsor coils hummed beneath the deckplates. The Millennium Falcon lifted smoothly from the landing cradle, sliced through the high cloud layer, and punched out into the dark vacuum of space. Dorian aligned their vector with the primary jump beacon and pushed the hyperdrive throttle forward.

The stars stretched into vibrant azure tunnels of light outside the cockpit canopy.

The navigational console chimed softly, calculating their transit vector. The display locked in an estimated journey time of twelve hours to reach Friton.

Dorian leaned back against the headrest, interlocking his fingers behind his neck as he stretched out his shoulders. "I honestly still find it hard to believe how far your name has traveled. People recognize Juno Park even in a secluded transit world on the far side of the quadrant."

Juno rested her chin in her hand, arching an eyebrow from the co-pilot chair. "And whose fault is that, exactly?"

Dorian chuckled, holding his hands up defensively. "Hey, don't look at me. Percival was the one who decided to dedicate an entire orchestral track to you."

They shared an easy, familiar laugh.

"To be fair," Juno said, turning her golden eyes toward the blue hyperspace lanes, "most people I've met are just wanting to find out who Percival is."

"While the rest want to track down Dorian Kepler and give him a black eye for being the luckiest guy in the Accord," Dorian added with a lopsided grin.

Juno reached across the center console and nudged his bicep. "Don't say that."

The galactic gossip feeds had spent weeks stirring up sensational tabloid headlines. Old money clashed with new money in the rumor mills. Several trashy entertainment tabloids had even cooked up a wild narrative claiming Dorian was scheming to orchestrate a corporate takeover of the Apex Guild from the inside.

Dorian simply laughed whenever those articles popped up on his feed. With game launches, engine development, and hardware distribution filling his daily schedule, he lacked the time or patience to care about petty tabloid gossip.

Juno shifted restlessly in her chair, adjusting her posture two or three times within a single minute.

Dorian glanced over, completely misreading her agitation. "If that flight chair is getting stiff, you can head back to the main cabin lounge. The passenger sofa back there is much softer."

Juno stared at him in utter silence.

It was almost comical how someone who possessed a brilliant mind for galaxy-shaping software, complex narrative, and high-level music could remain this astonishingly oblivious to romantic cues. She had spent two weeks sharing quiet hotel suites with him while he respectfully slept on his side of the mattress like a monk.

She decided patience had run its course.

Juno unbuckled her safety harness with a firm click. She rose from the co-pilot seat, took two deliberate steps across the cockpit deck, and sat down squarely on Dorian's lap, turning her body so she faced him directly.

Dorian stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands hovered awkwardly above the armrests as his mind finally caught up to the reality of the situation.

Juno leaned in close, her golden eyes sparkling with fierce amusement. "Tell me something, Dori. Is that head of yours filled entirely with brilliant symphonies and video games?"

Dorian parted his lips, instinctively ready to retort that his brain also held an other-worldly extensive collection of books. The words evaporated before he could speak them.

He cleared his throat softly, his heart beginning to drum against his ribs. "I thought you wanted us to take things slowly."

Juno didn't waste time with further debate. She leaned forward and captured his lips in a deep kiss, silencing every logical argument in his mind. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer while her other hand reached down, taking his wrist and pressing his palm firmly against the curve of her hip.

She parted from his lips just enough to breathe, her gaze dark and brimming with tender heat.

"Yeah… But not that slow," she whispered against his mouth.

Inside the private cabin of the Millennium Falcon, surrounded by the silent, mesmerizing flow of hyperspace, their first time together welcomed them warmly into the ranks of the Parsec High Club.

A/N: Befitting for chapter 1(69) to be this theme don't you think ;)