A/N: Bonus chapter because my date went well. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Mira, the astute independent reporter, knew exactly what she held in her hands. The audio file of her interview with Composer Percival was the journalistic equivalent of a supernova.
Using the sheer weight of the exclusive interview as leverage, she fielded a flood of lucrative offers from massive media conglomerates across the galaxy, all desperate to secure the rights to the scoop. In the end, Mira chose to partner with GalaXtica, the most prestigious, wide-reaching cultural publication in the Core Worlds.
Several days later, the article hit the galactic net.
THE VOICE BEHIND THE MASK: AN EXCLUSIVE SIT-DOWN WITH COMPOSER PERCIVAL
The impact was instantaneous. Within hours, thousands of other media outlets had republished it, syndicated it, or referenced it. Across forums, talk shows, and podcasts, the sentiment of the interview was dissected left and right.
Less reputable media outlets, desperate for viral clicks, ruthlessly cherry-picked his quotes out of context. They ran wild with his vague comments about Round Table Studio, spinning furious conspiracy theories that the indie developer was secretly a massive, shadowy corporate entity bankrolled by Percival's rivals just to spite him.
Meanwhile, reputable critics focused on his vulnerability, his admission of fear regarding the tonal shift of The Sun-Drenched Soul, and his profound, protective loyalty toward artists like Nazir Kal. The article entirely humanized the masked phantom of the music industry.
…
Meanwhile, lightyears away on the agricultural fringes of Friton, the main character of the galaxy's biggest news story was currently covered in dirt and completely ignoring his comms.
Dorian Kepler was officially on holiday.
Between the grueling production schedule of the album, the surprise stadium performance, and the massive, successful launch of Hades, he decided he had worked hard enough. A week off wouldn't hurt the empire he was building. So, he had temporarily locked the doors to Round Table Studio, ordering his entire development team to go home, rest, and actually enjoy the financial success of their game.
Out in the sprawling, sunlit backyard of the Kepler farm, Dorian was currently engaged in a high-stakes wrestling match.
"Get him, Marcus! Flank him!" Dorian shouted, laughing breathlessly.
A massive, incredibly fluffy Muurbeast bleated happily, bounding across the grass. Because of their thick, cloud-like wool and their tendency to leap rather than run, it looked exactly like a giant, bouncing marshmallow.
Marcus shrieked with laughter, sprinting on his little legs to try and tackle the beast, but he bounced right off the wool and tumbled into the grass.
Juno, wearing a simple t-shirt and overalls, effortlessly vaulted over a wooden fence and joined the fray. With her Solar-enhanced speed, she easily caught up to the Muurbeast, wrapping her arms around its thick neck and tackling it into a soft pile of hay with a triumphant cheer.
"I got him!" Juno laughed, her hair messy and full of grass.
A few yards away, near the shipping crates, John Kepler was reviewing an inventory manifest on a datapad. Hovering right beside him was Leo, the household Compadre unit, currently emitting a series of high-pitched, incredibly sassy beeps.
"I'm telling you, Leo, the yield on the south field is only four hundred crates," John argued, pointing at his screen.
Leo whirred, its optic sensor flashing red as it aggressively projected a holographic spreadsheet directly into John's face, insisting its own calculation of four hundred and twelve crates was mathematically absolute.
John sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. You win, you stubborn tin can."
All of this domestic, chaotic warmth was being watched from the shaded veranda of the farmhouse.
Lyra sat in a comfortable wicker chair, a cup of tea resting on her lap. She looked out at the wholesome scenery; her father arguing with Leo, her little brother laughing in the grass, and her older brother, the supposed "genius of the century," currently getting a face full of Muurbeast wool while Juno tried to pull him free.
A soft, hydraulic hiss of the sliding glass door opening made her look back.
It was Manager Ratik. She had traded her sharp, corporate suits for a comfortable, casual sweater and slacks, looking entirely at peace on the farm.
"How are you doing, Lyra?" Ratik asked, stepping out onto the veranda.
Lyra smiled warmly. "I'm fine, sister Ratik. I thought today was my brother's day off?"
"I know," Ratik sighed, walking over to the railing. "I'm not here to make him work. I just wanted to tell him that the GalaXtica interview article is officially out on the net. It's doing incredible numbers."
"Oh? Can I see it?" Lyra asked, setting her tea down.
Ratik handed over her datapad. Lyra scrolled past the massive headlines and the corporate analysis, her eyes scanning the transcript of the interview. She read about the industry drama, the mask, and the pressure.
Then, near the bottom of the article, one specific question struck a soft, genuine laugh from Lyra's chest.
Mira: "If we stripped away the mask, the studio, the EMG rumor, and the millions of screaming fans... what does Composer Percival do on a perfectly ordinary afternoon?"
Lyra didn't even need to scroll down to read her brother's answer. She just looked up from the screen, gazing out across the sunlit yard.
There was the real answer, laid completely bare in the open. Stripped of the mask and the fame, Composer Percival was just a boy covered in dirt, laughing with the girl he loved and wrangling livestock.
Out in the pasture, Dorian finally managed to extract himself from the hay. He brushed off his jeans, looked up toward the veranda, and spotted them. He flashed a wide, bright smile and waved energetically.
Ratik chuckled, leaning against the railing and waving back. "He just noticed me. That rascal."
Ratik stepped off the veranda, walking out into the yard to go deliver the news.
Lyra stayed seated, a profound feeling of pride swelling in her chest. She watched her big brother, the boy who had sacrificed his childhood to take care of both her and Marcus, the boy who had always fought tooth and nail for their family his entire life, finally looking entirely happy and free.
She smiled, taking a sip of her tea, and softly muttered to herself, "He deserves this. And more."
…
Meanwhile, cruising smoothly down the glittering, elevated roadways of Sela, the interior of a luxurious speeder was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of a datapad.
Briane Taleini sat in the plush leather seat, a rare, completely unguarded smile gracing her lips as she scrolled through the GalaXtica article.
Sitting across from her, Kio, her manager, just shook her head in quiet amusement. Briane had never once looked this happy or engaged while reading her own interviews. But reading the words of Composer Percival? She was captivated.
"His answers are so... him," Briane murmured, her eyes scanning the text. "It's just pure honesty. You almost never see that in this industry."
She looked up from the screen, her expression turning curious. "Kio... do you think Composer Percival will ever actually join a record label?"
Kio thought for a second, tapping her manicured fingers against her armrest. "Unlikely. Highly unlikely. Even without a traditional marketing machine behind him, he uses the galactic net far too effectively on his own. He is a masterclass in modern mystique. He is a mysterious composer who rarely talks, so when he finally does announce something on his official account, the public treats it like a volcanic eruption. A label would just dilute that power."
Briane chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. "You wish I could pull off that same trick, don't you?"
Kio smiled, a glint of managerial pragmatism in her eyes. "It is an enticing thought. But for you, my dear, it is far too late to play the mysterious phantom. You are the Crystal Canary."
Briane nodded, returning her attention to the article. She scrolled further down, her eyes catching on one of Mira's sharper questions.
Mira: "An album this intimately romantic doesn't just come from thin air. Tracks like Best Part and Thinking Out Loud feel incredibly personal, like a private conversation the rest of us are just listening in on. Is there a 'sunshine' in Composer Percival's life right now?"
Briane's scrolling thumb stopped.
Best Part. That was her feature song on the album. She couldn't help but wonder, for the hundredth time, why he had chosen to feature her on that specific track. She vividly remembered the first time Percival had played the demo for her in his studio on Friton. She remembered the warmth of the acoustic guitar, the way his voice carried the melody, and how hopelessly, undeniably flustered she had felt sitting beside him.
He had written a song so impossibly romantic, and he had given it to her to sing.
But as she stared at the glowing text on the datapad, a quiet, heavy ache settled in her chest. She knew the truth. In the composer's heart, there was no room for Briane Taleini. That space was already occupied.
There was Juno Park. The fierce, beautiful daughter of the Apex Guild Master.
It wouldn't be fair to Juno, anyway. Briane remembered talking to the Solar girl, remembered Juno quietly, fondly telling the story of how she had first met the composer before anyone knew who he was. They had a history. They had a bond forged in something far more real than the glittering, artificial lights of the music industry.
Briane closed her eyes, a bittersweet knot tightening in her throat. She was too late. Far, far too late.
Kio, observing the sudden shift in the speeder's atmosphere, saw Briane's eyes becoming glassy and watery in the dim light.
"Briane?" Kio called out softly, leaning forward. "Are you alright?"
Briane snapped out of her reverie. She quickly blinked the moisture away, forcing a bright, practiced smile. "Nothing. It's nothing, Kio. It's just... I'm really proud of him."
Kio, knowing very little about Percival's actual private life or the dynamics between her artists, chalked the emotion up to the intense, creative bond they shared. She didn't pry. She just offered a sympathetic nod and shifted gears to their immediate reality.
"Well, get ready," Kio advised gently. "We are arriving. It is your family dinner, after all."
Briane reached into her designer clutch, pulling out a small compact mirror to expertly touch up the corners of her eyes. Her expression hardened, the vulnerability of the heartbroken girl vanishing entirely, replaced by the cold armor of high society.
"Ah, yes," Briane said, her voice dropping a degree in temperature. "We can't let Roger Taleini wait for his own birthday banquet."
Kio just held her tongue. Briane addressing her own father by his full name was a clear indicator of the icy relationship between the pop star and the planetary governor, but tonight was about appearances.
The luxury speeder slowed, its repulsorlifts humming as it pulled into the grand, sweeping driveway of the Taleini estate. The massive mansion was a spectacle of wealth, glittering with extravagant blue and gold ornaments that caught the evening light.
Dozens of other luxury transports were already parked, offloading countless planetary governors, high-ranking Selanian officials, and powerful industry moguls who had gathered to celebrate her father.
As the speeder came to a complete stop, Briane took a deep breath. In her mind, she anchored herself to the memory of the stadium nights ago. She thought of the roar of the million fans, the blinding lights, and the moment Composer Percival had sat beside her in the dark, strumming his guitar and singing with her.
She held onto that warmth.
Kio unlatched the speeder door and pushed it open, stepping out first to offer her hand.
With her chin held high and her posture absolutely flawless, Briane Taleini stepped out of the vehicle into the flash of the awaiting society photographers. She looked every inch a regal queen, entirely worthy of her moniker, the Crystal Canary.
While Briane navigated the treacherous waters of Selanian high society, the galactic net was currently tearing the GalaXtica interview apart piece by piece, analyzing every single syllable Composer Percival had spoken.
The social media reaction was as varied and chaotic as the millions of souls inhabiting the Accord.
[STELLARCAST - Trending Topics: #PercivalInterview #SunDrenchedSoul #WhereIsHeFrom]
@Melody_Junkie:
"I am physically unwell. Did you guys read the part where Mira asked if he had a 'sunshine' in his life right now?! HE DIDN'T SAY NO. I REPEAT, HE DID NOT SAY NO. The pause in the audio log is deafening! Our boy is in love! 😭😭☀️ #BestPart #Perciane"
@CoreWorld_Critic(Verified):
"A masterclass in media manipulation or genuine vulnerability? Percival's answer regarding Nazir Kal is a damning indictment of the label system. He gave him a lifeline and essentially told the major labels their metrics are garbage. Brilliant."
@CryingOutLoud:
"The part where he talked about being restless in the middle of the night, terrified of someone exposing his identity against his will... my heart broke. 🥺 People forget he's a real person behind that mask. The pressure he's under from the whole galaxy must be crushing."
>> Reply from @Hacker_Bro_99:
"Cry me a river. If you're famous, you don't get to hide. I'm running three decrypter algorithms on my system's employee database right now. We'll find out who he is in two days."
>> Reply from @Mask_Force:
"I swear to the stars, Hacker_Bro, if you leak his face, I will personally find your IP address and call a Legion on you. Let the man make his music in peace!"
@Music_Theory_Nerd:
"Okay, but can we talk about the 'Yesterday' revelation?! 15 MINUTES. He wrote the foundational melody and lyrics for 'Yesterday' in FIFTEEN MINUTES because 'Someone' challenged him while he was drunk. That is musically impossible!"
>> Reply from @Skeptical_Steve:
"Fake news. It's a PR stunt to make him look like a god. Nobody writes a song that good in 15 minutes, drunk or sober. It's just marketing."
>> Reply from @Nothos_Alum:
"WHO IS THIS 'SOMEONE'!!"
@RTS_Fanboy:
"HE KNOWS ABOUT ROUND TABLE STUDIO!!! The way he dodged the question about making the Hades OST was so suspicious. 'I'm not saying anything.' HE IS TOTALLY WORKING WITH RTS. The timelines match up perfectly!"
>> Reply from @TiredOfThinking:
"Bro, are you deaf? He literally said 'it was an honor to be compared to a whole studio.' He was being polite to an indie dev. Percival makes pop/soul masterpieces, RTS makes campy combat music. They are not the same person. Let it go."
@Gossip_Galaxy:
"Wait wait wait. We need to talk about the second half of the article. Did everyone just gloss over the fact that he admitted he grew up on the lower levels of an ecumenopolis?! Which one is it?! 🤯"
[Thread: The Ecumenopolis Theory - Where did Composer Percival come from?]
> Neon_Nomad:
"Okay, let's break this down. In the interview, he said he grew up on a city-planet, specifically mentioning the lower layers where 'the sky is just a myth made of exhaust fumes and neon.' That narrows it down to about four major Accord planets: Nexus Prime, Coruscara, Volantis, and Taris."
> Milimeter:
"It has to be Nexus Prime. Remember the album cover for 'The Sun-Drenched Soul'? The boy in the transport ship reaching for the light? Nexus Prime is notorious for its brutal, sunless lower tiers. That cover is autobiographical."
> SynthSnob:
"Impossible. You cannot develop that level of classical proficiency or soul-music understanding in the gutters of Nexus Prime. That place only has street rats. He is probably from Coruscara's middle-upper tiers, playing up the 'rags to riches' story for sympathy."
> NeverInLove:
"Who cares where he's from?! Did you hear how he talks about his music? 'These songs seem so small... but as long as there are people who want to hear them, I'm not going anywhere.' He is literally an angel sent to save our ears. Also, the Gil/Rita rivalry is HILARIOUS. They are basically his divorced grandparents fighting over custody."
The net was an inferno of speculation. They debated his origins, analyzed his relationship with his mentors, defended his right to privacy, called him a liar over his songwriting speed, and furiously shipped him with an unknown 'sunshine'.
…
Several days later, the week-long holiday officially came to an end.
The heavy glass doors of the Round Table Studio Junction slid open with a soft whoosh. Lin Liseli, looking as bright, rested, and energetic as ever, practically skipped into the room.
"GOOD MORNING PEOPLE!!" Liseli shouted, a wide grin on her face.
"Good morning," the team chorused back, though their collective response was muffled and distinctly lacked her sunshine energy.
Liseli stopped, her smile faltering. Instead of being at their individual workstations, the entire team was huddled tightly together around the central holo-table, staring intensely at a projected article.
"What happened?" Liseli asked, dropping her bag and walking over. "Did the servers crash?"
Kasavin pushed his glasses up his nose, looking deeply unamused. "The hottest composer of the century just name-dropped our studio."
Liseli's eyes widened. She hurried toward the holo-screen. "Wait, what? What did he say?"
Across the room, Logan Kim leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at her. "Did you seriously not check the net at all this week?"
"We were on holiday!" Liseli defended herself immediately, crossing her arms. "We were not supposed to check the net or look at work stuff! Didn't Arthur explicitly say so?"
Right on cue, the Junction doors hissed open again.
Dorian walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. "Yup, I did." He walked over to his boss's chair, taking a sip. "Morning, team."
"Morning," they mumbled again.
Dorian settled into his chair, looking at the huddled group. "So, what's this all about?"
Liseli pushed past Bem to read the massive holographic projection floating above the table. It was a highly sensationalized, clickbait article from an unreputable media outlet that had completely twisted Mira's interview.
PERCIVAL CLAIMS INDIE STUDIO 'ROUND TABLE' NEEDS 1,000 MEN TO RIVAL HIS GENIUS!
Liseli's jaw dropped. Her face immediately flushed bright red with protective fury.
"WHAT! HOW DARE HE!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the glass ceiling.
Dorian nearly choked on his coffee, startled by the sudden volume. "What?"
"Look at this!" Liseli pointed angrily at the massive holo-screen. "He didn't even bother to do his research! He thinks we are some massive corporate entity! He doesn't even know we only have a six-person studio!"
She slammed her hands on the edge of the table, her eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. "What an absolute prick. You know what? I bet he's just scared. He heard the Hades OST and realized our Boss and Dalle are actually giving him a run for his money!"
The rest of the team immediately began to murmur in agreement, rallying behind Liseli's fiery loyalty as if Composer Percival were standing right in front of them, ready to fight.
Ross Dalle, the sound engineer, just smiled a quiet, knowing smile. He knew full well that Arthur had composed the vast majority of the masterpieces in the game. He didn't mind the praise, but he found the entire situation highly amusing.
Meanwhile, inside Dorian's mind, a very loud, very panicked voice was screaming: 'I am literally right in front of you!' On the outside, he just cleared his throat and forced a highly awkward chuckle, trying to diffuse the mutiny he had accidentally caused against himself.
"Alright, alright," Arthur said, waving his hands to calm his fiercely loyal team down. "This Percival guy isn't here to defend himself, so let's not waste our energy on clickbait. Let's just focus on our own work. Kasavin, what's on the board?"
Kasavin swiped a hand through the air, dismissing the anger-inducing article and replacing it with their master progression notes.
"Our main work right now is finalizing the Stardew Quality of Life and adding DLC," Kasavin reported, his tone shifting instantly into professional focus. "Specifically, we decided to add 'The Centennial Shower' event from Yustea Prime to the town's seasonal calendar."
Bem leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. "It's easy enough. The framework for town festivals is already there. All Logan and I need is the art, the music, and the story triggers. Once we have the assets, the rest of the coding is easy."
Arthur nodded, pulling up his own terminal. "Alright. How much time do we have before the actual event happens in the real world?"
Dalle checked the Accord news feeds on his secondary monitor. "The official Accord projection says the real meteor shower is about weeks away."
"Perfect timing for a shadow-drop update," Arthur said, shifting into full Game Director mode. He looked over at his lead artist. "Liseli, get on that meteor shower art cutscene. Make it majestic. I want a sky full of colors, but make sure to add that signature 'Yoba' flare so it fits the lore of Pelican Town."
Liseli, her anger immediately evaporating at the prospect of a new artistic challenge, offered a sharp salute. "Got it, Arty!"
Arthur turned to his writer. "Kasavin. Are the Yustea traditions and the lore correlating to The Centennial Shower ready for the narrative? Have you adapted the 'Silent Vow' mechanic for the NPCs?"
Kasavin tapped his datapad confidently. "Written, reviewed, and ready to be implemented."
"Excellent," Arthur said, finally turning to his sound engineer. "Dalle, use the audio guide I sent you for the Stardew stems. I want the music for the night event to feel mystical, but keep it grounded. Acoustic guitars, light synth-flutes. No heavy orchestral stuff."
Dalle gave a thumbs up. "Okay, Arty. I'll have a mix ready by tomorrow."
…
Meanwhile, high above the atmosphere of Yustea Prime, the cold, silent void of space was broken by the massive, angular silhouette of an Accord siege cruiser.
Inside the dimly lit, state-of-the-art command bridge, Senior Lieutenant Verza Zal stood with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She wore the immaculate, grey uniform of the BSO, the Bureau of Stellar Order, the Accord's elite intelligence and enforcement branch. She stared out the massive viewport, her icy eyes tracking the swirling storms on the lush planet below.
The hiss of the bridge doors opening signaled an arrival, followed by the heavy, undisciplined footsteps of an Accord Army officer.
Major Zelru Benna, the man who had been officially in charge of the Yustea Prime garrison for decades, walked up behind her. He wore a decorated but slightly rumpled uniform, his posture reeking of a man who had grown entirely too comfortable in his undisputed planetary authority.
"Major Zelru Benna," the man announced himself, his voice thick with unearned arrogance. He looked around the advanced, pristine bridge of the cruiser and let out a derisive snort. "I heard that for this year's showers, the BSO decided to send their best."
Verza remained completely silent.
She slowly turned around on her heel, her expression an absolute, terrifying mask of calm, and looked him straight in the eyes.
Zelru stared back, lifting his chin defiantly. But as the silence stretched on; one second, three seconds, five seconds, the psychological pressure of the BSO operative's dead, unblinking gaze became a physical weight in the room. Zelru faltered. His confident smirk vanished, and his eyes nervously darted to the side.
"Major Zelru Benna," Verza finally spoke, her voice cold and sharp as a vibro-blade. "Need I remind you that the Bureau of Stellar Order stands above both the Stellar Accord Army and the Navy?"
She took a slow, deliberate step closer. Her eyes never left his.
"While you have been stuck on this backwater planet for your fifty miserable years of service," Verza said, taking another step, "I cracked down on heavily armed smuggler syndicates in the sunless depths of Nexus Prime."
She took another step. "I rooted out and revealed major, systemic corruption within the Korila system's entire military apparatus."
She took one final step until there was barely a palm's distance between them. Zelru was visibly sweating now, completely paralyzed. He hadn't expected a mere Lieutenant to fight back against a Major, forgetting entirely what the grey uniform of the BSO represented.
"And I have done much, much more in my eight years of career than you have in your fifty," Verza whispered venomously. Her face curled into a look of absolute, unfiltered disgust. "Even your uniform has begun to smell like the Yustean primates down there."
Zelru swallowed hard, taking a desperate, shaky step backward to put space between them.
"I am here to control those primates," Verza continued, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. "There will be hundreds of thousands of our most elite citizens landing there in the coming days. And looking at your abysmal track record, those natives have been attacking our garrisons every year. This year, with the centennial preparations, the frequency of their attacks seems to be going up. So, here I am. Cleaning up your trash."
She didn't wait for his response. She snapped her fingers over her shoulder.
"Ret," Verza commanded. "Set Major Benna to our operational plan."
"Yes, Supervisor," Ret Briend, Verza's loyal adjutant, stepped out from the shadows of the tactical holotable. He gestured politely but firmly. "This way, Major."
He guided the pale, sweating Major Benna to the main control panel, where a massive, glowing holographic map of the Yustean valley was laid out, dotted with red and blue tactical markers. Verza turned her back to them, returning her gaze to the beautiful, tragic planet below.
The bridge fell into a tense, quiet hum as Ret swiped through the operational phases.
Several minutes later, the silence was shattered.
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
It was Zelru Benna. His face was completely drained of color. He rushed away from the holotable, practically stumbling toward Verza's back.
"This is madness!" Zelru shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
Verza didn't turn around. "Oh, I thrive in madness, Major."
"You are choking out this entire civilization!" Zelru yelled, pointing a shaking finger back at the map. "Not only are we cutting off their ancestral routes, but this plan... you're damming the primary rivers! You're scorch-bombing their agricultural lands! Without that water, there will be a catastrophic drought in the valley within weeks!"
Verza smiled a cold, bloodless smile at her reflection in the glass. "We count on that."
"They will die!" Benna gasped, horrified not by the immorality of it, but by the sheer, audacious scale of the atrocity she was casually initiating under his jurisdiction.
Verza finally turned around, her face completely stern, devoid of any empathy.
"Some," Verza stated clinically. "But the majority will not. We need cheap hands to mines, build the dam, and the new resort expansions in the highlands, don't we?"
Zelru's eyes widened as the true, horrifying depth of her strategy clicked in his mind. She was breaking them.
"You..." Zelru breathed, staring at her as if she were a demon. "You want to use them to tie their own noose. How... how can you be so sure they will come to us?"
Verza turned her head back toward the massive viewport. She looked down at the lush green planet, soon to be starved of its lifeblood, and smiled.
"What other choice do they have?"
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**