The reporters murmured amongst themselves, was the Wolf's Den no longer the force it once was? Was this a signal of some major move they were about to make? No, ever since General Molin of the Tubar Galaxy fell, Zi Ye hadn't been seen at all. Could it be that Red Hair was merely employing a feint? Perhaps they were diligently working on a clone of Zi Ye, set to silence them all in half a month?

Just as the reporters thought they had unearthed the true story and were about to pose their questions, Red Hair had already walked away.

Red Hair walked on, messaging Zi Ye all the while: "Check the news."

Zi Ye was deeply engrossed in work at the Air Force assembly hangar. Seeing her message, she was somewhat surprised and dutifully opened the newsfeed. The sight made her spit a mouthful of blood onto the screen.

Red Hair was clearly pushing her to the absolute limit!

An exhibition of works within a month? Was she joking?

Generally, only designers newly transferred to a legion would host an exhibition to demonstrate their prowess, or a new legion would do so to assert its presence. After all, these were strategic weapons; displaying the latest designs meant they would soon be copied or surpassed.

For Red Hair to dare say such a thing—was she overly confident in herself?

Zi Ye collapsed backward onto the floor, cursing Red Hair under her breath! An exhibition required at least ten different classes of warships—where on earth was she supposed to conjure so many?

Meanwhile, Red Hair returned to the VIP area, where the heads of various legions were scattered about, mingling and chatting.

The VIP area was a microcosm of space; the placement of each individual seemed random, yet held intricate meaning. Red Hair had no desire to force her way into the thick of it. She stayed at the periphery, partaking of some refreshments and casually chatting with some of the lesser, neutral legions, nursing a drink or two.

It wasn't that she was putting on airs.

The truth was, anyone who wanted to speak to her, anyone who sought to curry favor, would approach her the moment they spotted her. There was no need for her to humble herself, right?

Stas caught a glimpse of her with the corner of his eye. He abandoned the President of the Interstellar Federation, strode towards her with his glass of red wine, and smiled like a wolf draped in sheep's clothing, "Hello, Zi Ye's sister?"

Red Hair returned a faint smile: "Greetings."

Stas drawled, "You’re saying Zi Ye isn't dead?"

Red Hair nodded: "She definitely isn't."

Stas sighed: "I thought so."

Red Hair shot him a sidelong glance: "What do you mean by that?"

Stas merely smiled: "Nothing."

Reporters were barred from the main hall, and there were few people nearby. Red Hair felt no need to be polite with Stas. "It would be better to do something practical than waste time with pleasantries here. The war is at this stage; is your Integration Command just there to eat?"

Stas helplessly rubbed his nose: "Is the war something I can control?"

Anyone with eyes could see that this war would only end one of two ways: either the Hope Legion would be swallowed whole and the Wolf's Den Legion become history, leading to negotiations between the Angel Legion and the Federation-Fia coalition forces, or the coalition forces would be utterly annihilated.

The Integration Command was simply in no position to intervene.

Recently, the Integration Command had consistently proposed sitting down to talk things over, but when the fighting was at its peak, who was willing to halt?

Red Hair was about to say something, but she noticed Lan Li approaching and swallowed the words forming on her lips.

That detestable Lan Li—would it kill him to let her talk to other people?

Stas had no interest in engaging Lan Li; he nodded once and turned to fetch a drink.

The gaze Red Hair fixed on Lan Li brewed with intensifying anger, leaving Lan Li utterly perplexed. How had he offended her again? Ah well~

Stas returned with his wine, then suddenly remarked, "Has anyone ever told you that you two look perfect together?"

Red Hair choked down a response, pretending she hadn't heard.

Lan Li beamed, "Your eyes are wonderful, she's my gir—" Before the word left his mouth, he took an elbow to the gut. He stood perfectly straight, though Heaven knew he was nearly blinded by the pain. Chasing women was never easy.

Seeing the three of them standing there, others came over to join the crowd, and the private conversation ceased. They shifted the topic to the current situation or the upcoming wedding between Karu and Fia.

Rainer had been hiding in a closet. Once he was sure no one was nearby, he snuck out, smoothed his clothes, and headed toward the VIP area. The assembled media reporters were waiting by the door like fishermen waiting for a bite. When they saw him approach, a sharp-eyed reporter recognized him: "Isn't that the former Interstellar Federation designer? He's showing up again."

The reporter next to him hissed, "Tch, natural."

But no one approached him for an interview.

Rainer held no journalistic value.

Many reporters were currently drafting copy in their heads: Who would be tomorrow's headline? The beautiful director of the Wolf's Den? A summit of world leaders on the new situation in space?

Rainer walked deliberately slowly as he entered, waiting for reporters to swarm him.

To his frustration, he shuffled sluggishly to the entrance of the hall, yet not a single reporter even glanced his way. He was thoroughly depressed.

He craved a headline!

But why was no one paying attention to him?

Too proud to ask directly, he commanded the guide robot leading him.

The guide robot maintained a perfect smile as it relayed Rainer's question to the reporters: "Are you waiting for someone specific?"

The reporter replied: "We're waiting for someone with newsworthy value."

The guide robot pressed: "And this gentleman just now had no newsworthy value?"

The reporter scoffed: "What news is an aging designer? In this venue, he's not even a fart. A dog biting a man is never news; a man biting a dog is news. Unless he goes and bites a dog."

This statement was harsh, but brutally accurate. The media operated without sentimentality; they chased those with news value and considered those without it an unwelcome distraction.

Rainer finally stormed into the hall in a huff.

As soon as he entered, Peizhe approached him, his expression utterly flat—so flat it seemed inhuman. He asked, "Why didn't you attend the wedding?"

Rainer laughed in anger: "Why the hell would I attend that slut's wedding!"

Peizhe's expression instantly turned frigid: "Go die."

Rainer instinctively leaped back. He had trained on Silver Rune Star, and his agility was extraordinary, yet he couldn't evade that punch.

Peizhe's fist slammed heavily into Rainer's abdomen. Rainer staggered back a few steps before collapsing onto the carpet.

There was news!

This was the unanimous thought among all the reporters. Like a quiet grove struck by a gale, they all suddenly sprang into motion—snapping photos, grabbing microphones, diligently recording the scene unfolding before the door of the VIP hall.

An assault certainly wouldn't make the front page, but it could certainly pad the inside pages with live coverage, right?

None of the reporters recognized Peizhe. Compared to the washed-up designer Rainer, Peizhe wasn't even considered washed up.

As the reporters rushed off to report, the beaten Rainer was ignored.

Peizhe, not satisfied with one punch, hauled Rainer up and continued the assault.

Rainer realized with terror that Peizhe's strength was inhumanly great. A single punch felt capable of shattering one of his bones.

Good heavens, his little brother was damaged again—his ribs had been broken once, and now... He wanted nothing more than to roar at the heavens: Everyone has betrayed me, and I will have my revenge!