Luna gazed at the Angola Funnel, a look of appreciation on her face.
How long had it been since the Federation last witnessed a genuine technological breakthrough?
Back in the days of the Old Federation, technology advanced in leaps and bounds on a daily basis.
But in the era of the New Federation, it was as if all creativity had been stifled. Progress remained steady—consistent, but uninspired.
While steady development wasn't necessarily a flaw, in the context of the Federation—amid the vast, competitive landscape of the Milky Way—Luna understood that they still needed innovation. Breakthroughs.
The Federation needed new technology if it wished to maintain its standing as a Type 2.6 civilization.
Everyone saw only the flaws in the Angola Funnel. No one bothered to recognize its advantages.
True, its energy utilization rate was a mere three ten-thousandths—but even that fraction was sufficient to accelerate a warship to 80,000 km/s.
That was no trivial feat.
What if the efficiency were increased to one in a thousand? One in a hundred? Even one percent?
The potential would be immeasurable.
"This is only a first-generation prototype, built by a modest research team of a few hundred people."
"Their goal in uploading the footage was to draw attention—better to be known than ignored."
Luna offered a brief explanation of the lab's background.
Then she extended her hand and generated a new object nearby.
It was a flowing substance, resembling mercury—shifting form constantly in midair.
Both Chu and Hossie, well-versed in material science, immediately recognized it.
Mojin.
This exotic matter was commonly used in instruments operating near black hole surfaces.
"This isn't Mojin."
Luna corrected them before they could speak.
"Its physical properties are similar, but it incorporates another metallic element—or perhaps an entirely different form of material engineering."
This advanced material technology was known as anomalous liquid metal.
Giotto had failed to make any progress with it, but that didn't mean the Federation couldn't.
After thousands of years of dedicated effort, Federation scholars had finally unraveled the secrets of anomalous liquid flow.
Here in the Eternal Cycle Star Nation, Luna held relatively high clearance—enough to access the Federation's confidential research archives on the subject.
She had been contemplating its potential applications.
One obvious use was in dimensional gateways.
Now, however, she had identified another.
"This new substance is called Kijin."
Luna didn't know who had come up with the name, but she found it dreadful.
Why not just call it Mojin-2?
"The Angola Funnel's main challenge is that it requires enormous energy just to neutralize negative energy fields. That process generates a flood of waste particles."
"Those particles don't aid acceleration—they actively harm the funnel's internal structure."
The criticism directed at the Angola Funnel wasn't entirely unwarranted.
The device had a lifespan of only six uses.
It was prohibitively expensive.
Economically, it was nonviable—just an experimental construct, born from the enthusiasm of a handful of young researchers at an obscure lab.
But who said there wasn't gold in garbage?
"However, once Kijin is activated, the energy required for countering external forces will be significantly reduced, as most of it will be absorbed by Kijin's outer shell."
"This not only conserves energy, but also further improves the Angola Funnel's overall energy efficiency."
"According to our calculations, with Kijin active, the energy utilization rate increases to five per thousand."
A 166-fold increase.
An utterly staggering improvement.
But more importantly—
"After completing acceleration, the warship will retain a 30% energy surplus."
While the warship is capable of self-generating energy, and acceleration occurs within their own operational zone, unpredictable variables—like enemy ambushes—must still be considered.
If a ship depletes its energy reserves during acceleration and is left with inoperative weapon systems, it becomes an easy target.
Still, that wasn't the most critical point.
"What's the maximum velocity it can reach?"
Chu and Hossie were both certain—given Luna's emphasis—it had to exceed all existing Federation acceleration engines.
Surely it would surpass 100,000 km/s?
That benchmark already exceeded the top speed of nearly all Federation vessels.
Yes, some specialized crafts could reach or exceed that figure—some even approached half the speed of light—but they were fringe technology, not the backbone of Federation logistics.
The speed of kilometer-class warships remained the primary benchmark for technological capability.
"You've both underestimated the Angola Funnel."
"This is a true technological breakthrough," Luna said with quiet conviction.
"Could it break 120,000 kilometers per second?" Hossie asked hesitantly—voicing a number most wouldn't dare even consider.
In truth, a few Federation ships had hit that mark, but not through traditional engines. They relied on acceleration rings—magnetic lanes that provided initial thrust, after which ships switched to internal propulsion to reach 100,000 km/s or more.
To his surprise, Luna shook her head.
Then, with perfect composure, she spoke a number:
"220,000 kilometers per second."
Hossie had drastically underestimated the Angola Funnel's capabilities.
This wasn't just a new engine. It would push the Federation into an entirely new era of interstellar speed.
Currently, the peak velocity for single-engine acceleration across the Federation maxes out around 90,000 km/s.
220,000 km/s—more than double that—was unthinkable.
Chu and Hossie's translucent forms flickered with shock.
"You're not serious!"
The number was beyond comprehension.
150,000 km/s had once been regarded as the absolute limit.
The mass of kilometer-class ships made propulsion a nightmare. Balancing power, mass, and space constraints had always been a bottleneck.
Acceleration rings helped bridge the gap—but they weren't omnipresent across the stars. They were small, required queuing, and were prone to bottlenecks.
But the speed Luna quoted?
That was the raw output of the acceleration engine itself.
Hossie asked, his voice unsteady:
"If paired with an acceleration ring... what's the theoretical maximum?"
Luna had already run the simulation.
She answered without hesitation.
"Due to the Angola Funnel's acceleration mechanism, it must replenish energy after each acceleration burst to counteract the black hole's gravitational influence. Therefore, it needs to engage the acceleration ring afterward. This will have a slight impact on acceleration efficiency."
"However, the final velocity will still exceed 240,000 kilometers per second."
270,000 kilometers per second approaches the speed of light.
And 240,000 kilometers per second—roughly 80% of light speed—was officially designated by the Federation as sub-light speed.
A ship reaching sub-light speed.
They had once assumed such advancements would take at least another 100,000 years.
No one expected the timeline to accelerate this drastically.
Chu and Hossie felt as though they were dreaming.
"If this is a dream, don't wake me up," Hossie muttered, dazed.
Chu replied dryly, "We're not organic beings. We don't dream."
Hossie ignored the jab.
He turned to Luna and asked, "How long will it take to manufacture?"
Luna smiled.
"That depends on the productivity of your Eternal Cycle Star Nation."
The Eternal Cycle Star Nation had immense industrial capabilities.
With the exception of Kijin, which required a dedicated production line, the nation had access to all necessary materials and infrastructure.
Kijin—an exotic material that could only be synthesized under extreme pressure—was notoriously difficult to produce.
Hossie had spent over 200 years just laying the groundwork for the factory.
The facility itself was a mechanical colossus:
A massive iron sphere with a diameter of 140,000 kilometers, housing internal systems capable of generating extreme pressure.
In Hossie's words, it wasn't a factory—it was a Devouring Beast.
It consumed four years' worth of the Eternal Cycle Star Nation's energy reserves every single day.
To produce enough Kijin for one ship, it had to operate for 65 days.
That equated to 260 years' worth of energy reserves—for just one vessel.
If the subject were a warship, or worse, a sub-planet-class or planet-class warship...
The energy costs would be staggering.
Fortunately, what it consumed were stored reserves, not the nation's entire ongoing energy output—otherwise, the strain would have been catastrophic.
Aside from this behemoth task, construction time for other components was remarkably short: only 304 years total.
As for the Angola Funnel itself, it required another 100 years to complete.
410 years later, after all components were manufactured at Star City 1, the project entered the assembly phase.
Assembly took 2 years and 9 months. A brand-new 1,327-meter-class spacecraft was completed and stationed at the Starport of Star City 1.
The ship featured a teardrop-shaped design. Its hull was enclosed in a silver-white outer shell with a hollowed-out structure. The inner core—shaped like a bullet—had been rendered optically transparent by unknown means, making it difficult to observe directly.
From a distance, the vessel resembled a mass of swirling silver-white metallic filaments suspended in the void. Its exaggerated appearance made it seem almost ornamental.
Hossie admired the design. Luna and Chu, however, were unable to appreciate its aesthetic.
Perhaps, if they had been younger by a hundred—or two hundred—thousand years, their taste might have been different.
"Although this Dancer is a bit flamboyant, it's actually quite functional," Hossie said, introducing the ship to the others.
He had personally designed the ship's appearance.
"The transparent middle section helps with detection evasion. The silver-white outer shell remains because it houses most of the weapon systems, which are difficult to conceal optically."
In short, the ship's appearance was more form than function—but not entirely without merit.
The most important component, of course, was the Angola funnel.
It was mounted at the rear of the ship.
To minimize interference with the main hull, the funnel was structurally detached and suspended by the silver-white threads of the outer frame.
Hossie had encased the Angola funnel in a shell with sharp, angular contours—he considered its original design far too unsightly.
"No more introductions. Let's just get onboard and launch."
"There's no one waiting at Star City 4."
Even though over 400 years had been spent, if this ship truly reached 240,000 kilometers per second—or even slightly below that—it would take only 768 years to arrive.
All told, less than 1,200 years of travel—a better option than using a subluminal flight vehicle.
And if the Angola funnel functioned as expected, then even in the worst-case scenario—if Star City 4 was gone—Hossie wouldn't be too distraught.
Of course, the ideal outcome would be for Star City 4 to remain intact.
"All right, I'm going," he said.
Hossie boarded the ship with several others.
The spacecraft was docked in a specialized Starport designed specifically for it.
This Starport provided direct external energy input to the Angola funnel, bypassing the ship's internal power channels.
The original plan had been to charge the ship first, activate the Angola funnel, then replenish energy again before the black hole at the funnel's core decayed—using the replenished energy to counteract the energy surge caused by black hole collapse.
But the timing window for this process proved too narrow.
The revised design allowed direct energy infusion into the Angola funnel from the outside.
The downside: if the ship came to a stop mid-flight, it would be completely stationary and require a separate engine to restart.
Hossie powered on the main server and issued the launch command.
As the Angola funnel ignited, immense energy was drawn inward—compressed directly into a black hole with a diameter of just 6 millimeters.
That may sound small, but for perspective: if Earth were to collapse into a black hole, its diameter would be only 1.77 centimeters.
Theoretically, the Angola funnel required energy equivalent to a significant fraction of Earth's mass.
And that didn't include the counteracting forces and other mixed-energy expenditures.
A single burst of acceleration consumed the equivalent of half an Earth's mass in energy.
This was the cost of achieving sub-light-speed travel.
And even then, this staggering amount of energy was only sufficient to accelerate a kilometer-class vessel.
If the ship could utilize 100% of that energy efficiently, it might be possible to reach 97% or even 98% the speed of light.
But the Angola funnel couldn't achieve such efficiency.
According to Luna's calculations, the system had already reached its theoretical limits.
Even with another 100,000 years of development, the Angola funnel would, at best, approach light speed—but never reach it. Let alone surpass it.
Still, for present-day human civilization, this was more than sufficient.
Crossing into the sub-light-speed era marked the transition toward becoming a high-tier civilization.
Two days later, the black hole began to collapse.
And its collapse was instantaneous.
The entire Angola funnel trembled. Fortunately, the metallic "decorations" on the outer structure were not purely aesthetic—they were structurally functional, mitigating the shock transmitted to the main hull.
Behind the main structure sat a massive energy relay system, aligned directly with the Angola funnel.
As the funnel destabilized, it opened its conduits to transfer energy.
This allowed it to counteract the death throes of the black hole.
At that moment—
A massive energy wave was discharged from the tail of the Angola funnel.
The wave was so intense that it contained gravitational distortions. Across Star City 1, numerous systems detected and were affected by these gravitational waves. Some were even damaged outright.
Fortunately, the waves weren't especially destructive. They primarily disrupted anti-gravity and anti-repulsion systems.
"We're going to need to start integrating anti-repulsion shielding into the starport itself," Luna commented.
More systems. More complexity.
Perhaps this was the inevitable price of technological progress:
An ever-increasing complexity.
As for simplification—that philosophical "return to elegance"—it would have to wait until the exploration phase had been completed.
"Calculation complete. Acceleration reached 452 kilometers per second," Chu reported beside her.
That was the acceleration, not the ship's current speed.
But it was still staggering. At this rate, the vessel could reach light speed in just 11 minutes.
And to reach the Angola funnel's theoretical velocity limit?
Nine minutes.
"Fortunately, we used the latest model of Kijin material. Most of the main hull components and systems are also top-tier. Hossie isn't a biological entity either."
Luna thought that if even one of those factors had been different, this ship wouldn't have been able to fly at all.
The Federation's so-called "instantaneous" accelerations—reported as reaching tens of thousands of kilometers per second—were only instantaneous by comparison.
Typical acceleration ranged between 50 to 90 km/s.
And yet this ship had leapt forward at nearly five times that speed.
It had approached the theoretical maximum acceleration a vessel could structurally withstand.
"There's still one more round of magnetic ring acceleration!"
The Dancer's performance was only just beginning.
The magnetic rings of Star City 1 were installed far beyond the system's outer boundaries.
Luna and Chu watched as the Dancer first accelerated to 221,456 km/s, completing its internal acceleration cycle. The Angola funnel cooled, its energy reserves fully depleted.
Then, the Dancer activated several auxiliary thrusters, adding another 74 km/s to its velocity.
Even at this speed, it still had 180 billion kilometers to cover before reaching the outer edge of the star system.
Ninety-two days later, the Dancer arrived at the magnetic rings.
Each magnetic ring—an acceleration unit—had a diameter of 20 kilometers, and could only accommodate one ship per hour.
This applied universally—whether it was a 10,000-meter warship or a 100-meter class starship, the rule was the same.
Originally, the rings were spaced roughly 100,000 kilometers apart.
That provided each vessel with 1 to 2 seconds of acceleration time per ring.
But to test the Dancer, the spacing had been extended to 300,000 kilometers.
A total of 15 rings had been deployed.
Each ring delivered an acceleration boost of 1,200 km/s.
There were variants with even more rings—the most advanced configurations had up to 24, capable of accelerating a vessel by 28,800 km/s.
However, only a handful of Capital-tier Star Cities in the Federation had access to such setups.
The main challenge lay in maintaining magnetic field stability.
Each acceleration event released an enormous magnetic force, which—even at a 300,000-kilometer spacing—could still interfere with adjacent rings.
Magnetic force propagated only slightly faster than the ship's travel speed. This meant that the further back a ring was in the sequence, the more often it would be affected by residual magnetic interference from previous accelerations.
With 15 rings in total, the final ring had to endure the cumulative influence of 14 prior activations.
In fact, every ring had to absorb similar levels of interference, but the last one had to fire its acceleration sequence while still under maximum magnetic stress, whereas the earlier rings could go into cooldown.
It's important to note that acceleration rings aren't only active during their brief firing window. Even in standby, they maintain operational status.
These magnetic pulses inflicted substantial wear on sensitive electronic systems.
As a result, acceleration rings remained one of the few pieces of equipment in this era that still required annual inspection and maintenance.
Finally, the Dancer reached a final velocity of 239,530 km/s.
"What a shame, it didn't reach sub-light speed." Chu sighed as he looked at the figures.
Luna, however, wasn't concerned.
Even approaching that speed was already a success.
But she suspected Hossie wouldn't be satisfied.
"Once he finishes replenishing energy, Hossie will probably keep using the rocket engine to push the ship up to 240,000 kilometers per second."
Chu froze, then nodded after recalling Hossie's personality. That did sound like something he'd do.
Hossie used to be reserved, withdrawn. But ever since learning about Chu and Luna's connection, he had gradually let go of some burdens, becoming more energetic, even slightly reckless.
"You're right."
"Then there's nothing to regret."
In theory, a warship capable of recharging itself could eventually reach near-light speed, as long as it had enough time to keep accelerating.
But in practice, it wasn't so simple.
Such ships required vast amounts of energy. Self-recharging took far too long—tens of thousands of years for a full cycle. To approach the speed of light, maybe even 100,000 years.
That wasn't realistic.
A warship wasn't meant for that. After acceleration, it still needed energy for combat. A second round of acceleration—let alone a third—was impossible.
Luna had considered mid-flight refueling early on in the design phase. Theoretically, it could raise the final velocity.
But it proved unnecessary.
The speed gain wasn't substantial. After all, to refuel mid-flight, the ship first had to accelerate to half its maximum speed—already consuming half its total energy.
And if the lead ship had already reached maximum velocity, how could any secondary ship keep up to refuel it while also carrying excess energy?
Luna had also explored the idea of setting up a network of refueling stations along the flight path.
But in the end, that wasn't much better than simply building more acceleration rings.
So she shelved the idea.
Technically viable, yes—but the gains were marginal, and the drawbacks considerable.
"All we can do now is wait. Star City 4 has recently gone dark. The situation is serious." Luna and Chu left the surface world, returning to the underworld.
Back in the underworld, Luna turned to Chu, seeking his thoughts on the Star City 4 incident.
"I think it was premeditated," Chu said bluntly.
"Even after nearly a thousand years, something has always bothered me."
"And that is—we've never received any actual information about what went wrong in Star City 4."
They all knew something was wrong there.
But no one knew what exactly was wrong.
Each of the three held absolute authority over the Eternal Cycle Star Nation.
And yet, none of them had been informed.
That was more than just strange—it was unnatural.
"Indeed," Luna nodded.
What Chu didn't know was that he had unknowingly contacted one of Ayla's sub-units regarding Star City 4.
That sub-unit, too, had received no data from Star City 4.
It was important to note that Ayla's sub-units operated with authority only slightly below that of Ayla herself.
"If this wasn't premeditated, it would've been impossible to cut off communications so cleanly, without leaving any trace."
"Most importantly, the personnel inside Star City 4 don't even seem to realize anything is wrong."
It was like something being off in your own home—you know something's wrong, but no matter how hard you try, you just can't identify the problem.
You can't even clearly describe what feels off.
Star City 4 had been reachable before.
Now, it was entirely silent, suggesting that the situation there had entered a new phase.
In fact, both Luna and Chu had previously advised Hossie not to go.
But Hossie insisted.
Given the strange phenomena surrounding Star City 4, the possibility of interference by a high-level civilization couldn't be ruled out.
Hossie's decision was dangerous.
But his words had silenced both Luna and Chu:
"If my star nation cannot resolve this, then no one can."
He was essentially telling them not to interfere.
Among the three of them, someone had to go.
Would Chu go?
Highly unlikely.
Would Luna go?
She wanted to—thanks to her Metacellular, she was nearly immortal.
But she didn't want to waste time.
Her goals were already defined: forging a civilization alliance, and establishing contact with the Flyer Civilization. The matter of Star City 4 was no longer central to her mission.
She hoped to understand the situation there in full first—then intervene remotely, if possible.
But that would take time.
And Hossie wasn't willing to wait.
In short, their positions on this matter were at odds.
"Actually, it's not just Star City 4," Luna added. "Similar anomalies have appeared in several other Federation sectors."
"There may be a connection between them."
"But we haven't been able to investigate further."
Luna was aware of many of these incidents—Kehua Star City, among others.
"Isn't it already confirmed that high-level civilizations are behind this?" Chu asked. "Aren't they worried about the core-tier civilizations intervening?"
Luna considered.
"They're probably testing boundaries."
The war in the galactic core had stirred unrest—enough for some civilizations to grow reckless.