The night in Orléans was deep and silent, with only the dim yellow light of street lamps glowing outside the window. Nangong Wentian sat at his desk, the screen of the "Star Core" casting an eerie blue light on his face.
He was doing something he had never done before—creating a personnel screening model.
This required massive data input and algorithm tuning. He accessed Orb's public database, searching for information on all eligible individuals. Age, education, work experience, family status, credit history, social networks… every dimension was quantified and fed into the Star Core's analytical system.
On the screen, data cascaded down like a waterfall.
He set a series of screening criteria.
First layer: Technical background. Must have a higher education background in science or engineering, preferably with experience in materials science or energy engineering. This would allow them to understand the technology he provided and handle public-facing business independently.
Second layer: Economic situation. Must have sufficient financial pressure to be willing to accept this job. However, the pressure couldn't be too great, or they might take desperate risks.
Third layer: Moral baseline. Must have no criminal record, no history of fraud or corruption. This person must be trustworthy.
Fourth layer: Controllability. Preferably with a vulnerability—family, debt, or other factors that could be reasonably constrained. This would ensure they wouldn't betray him.
Fifth layer: Secrecy awareness. Must not be the type who likes to show off or socialize excessively; preferably someone taciturn and tight-lipped.
Six hours later, the Star Core screened out seventeen candidates from Orb's population of tens of millions.
Nangong Wentian reviewed their files one by one.
The first: A former military officer who failed in business after retirement. Upright, but too rigid and inflexible. Eliminated.
The second: A bankrupt businessman with a record of fraud. Credit issues. Eliminated.
The third: An unemployed engineer, out of work for two years due to company closure. Technically skilled, but reclusive and difficult to cooperate with. Pending.
The fourth…
He went through them, eliminating most. Finally, only three names remained on the screen.
First: Kijima Takashi, 38, materials science engineer. Studied in the Atlantic Federation but returned to his home country dissatisfied with Federation policies. Served as a technical supervisor in several small-to-medium enterprises, unemployed after company closures. His daughter, Kijima Mayu, suffers from a rare disease requiring expensive medical treatment.
Second: Sato Kenichi, 45, mechanical engineer. Worked at Morgenroete for fifteen years, left due to conflict with superiors. Highly skilled, but harbors resentment toward Morgenroete, potentially emotionally unstable.
Third: Nakamura Hideki, 52, energy engineer. Worked at the Morgan Reti Corporation before retirement, experienced. However, age is advanced, and energy is limited.
Nangong Wentian stared at these three names, lost in thought.
Sato Kenichi had the best technical skills, but his resentment toward Morgenroete could become a hidden danger. Nakamura Hideki had the most experience, but he was too old and might not adapt to the high-intensity work pace. Kijima Takashi was moderate in all aspects, but his daughter...
He pulled up Kijima Takashi's detailed file and read it word by word.
Kijima Mayu, 13 years old, suffering from a rare genetic disease requiring long-term treatment. Medical expenses amounted to approximately 2 million Orb Yuan per year. After losing his job, Kijima Takashi relied on odd jobs to make ends meet and had already fallen into debt with loan sharks.
"This is a father's struggle," Nangong Wentian murmured softly.
He continued reading. After his most recent unemployment, Kijima Takashi had not given up on learning. Every night, he studied new technologies on his own—cutting-edge papers in materials science, design theories for new energy systems, and even the fundamentals of artificial intelligence.
"A man nearing forty, still learning new things," Nangong Wentian felt a slight stir in his heart.
He accessed Kijima Takashi's social media records. There were almost no updates, only occasional shares of technical articles. No complaints, no grievances, no anger toward society. Just living silently, learning silently, and silently caring for his sick daughter.
"He's the one," Nangong Wentian made his decision.
But he needed more confirmation. Paper knowledge alone felt shallow; he had to see this person with his own eyes, hear his voice, and gauge his character.
He shut down the Star Core and lay down on the bed.
The crack in the ceiling was still there, resembling a bolt of lightning in the darkness. Staring at the crack, he began outlining the next steps of his plan in his mind.
First, contact. Meet Kijima Takashi as an anonymous investor to test his technical skills, stress tolerance, and moral boundaries. He couldn't reveal his age or identity; he had to maintain the disguise throughout.
Second, observation. After reaching a preliminary agreement, observe him for a period. Study his lifestyle, his social circle, and whether he was trustworthy.
Third, collaboration. If everything went smoothly, propose a formal cooperation plan. Kijima Takashi would serve as the legal representative, while he would act as the behind-the-scenes technical consultant. A salary plus bonuses would ensure his daughter received the best treatment.
Fourth, establish firewalls. All core technologies had to remain in his own hands, with Kijima Takashi only accessing public business operations. Even if he were to betray them in the future, it wouldn't cause fatal damage.
Fifth, register the company. In the summer of CE.64, the Colossus Group would officially be established.
"Three years," he told himself. "I must accomplish all of this within three years."
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. There was still much to do tomorrow.
Over the next three days, Nangong Wentian prepared for his meeting with Kijima Takashi.
Using the Star Core, he generated a virtual identity—Nangong, 26 years old, a new energy technology investor with overseas funding. He purchased a voice changer, disguise glasses, a wig, and even a suit that looked quite expensive.
Perhaps due to awakening as a Newtype and his martial arts training, his height had now reached nearly 1.75 meters. What he currently lacked were the appropriate manner of speech, body language, and social etiquette.
He repeatedly practiced the speech patterns, body language, and social etiquette from before his transmigration. His past experiences had taught him early on how to read people, but to convincingly pose as a genuine investor, he needed more training.
He practiced in front of the mirror. "Hello, Mr. Kijima. I am Nangong, an investor interested in new energy technology." After being processed through the voice changer, his voice sounded like that of a man in his twenties—steady yet vibrant.
He practiced over a hundred times until every gesture and expression flowed naturally.
On the fourth day, he sent an encrypted email invitation to Kijima Takashi.
The email was brief: "Mr. Kijima, I am very interested in your technical background. If you are willing, please meet me this Saturday at 3 p.m. at the 'Dawn' café in Orleans Station Square. An investor will be present. Please bring your resume and portfolio."
After sending the email, he began to wait.
The reply arrived three hours later. It contained only one sentence: "I will be there on time."
Nangong Wentian looked at the words, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth. No unnecessary words, no probing questions—just a simple confirmation. This indicated that Kijima Takashi was a pragmatic person who didn't waste time on meaningless socializing.
At 2:30 p.m. on Saturday, Nangong Wentian arrived early at the Dawn café.
It was a small shop on the edge of the station square, not particularly eye-catching but with a good view. He chose a corner seat by the window, where he could clearly see everyone entering.
He wore the newly purchased suit, along with disguise glasses and a wig, his voice altered by the voice changer. In the mirror, he looked like a man in his early twenties—much older than his actual age, yet younger than his true 26 years. It was just right.
At exactly 3 p.m., a middle-aged man pushed open the café door.
Nangong Wentian recognized him at a glance—Kijima Takashi.
He was thinner than in the photos, with prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes, clearly the result of long-term malnutrition. But his eyes were bright, carrying the focus and sharpness unique to engineers. His hair was somewhat messy, and he wore a faded but clean shirt.
He stood at the entrance for a moment, scanning the entire café. When his gaze swept over the corner where Nangong Wentian sat, it paused slightly before he walked over.
"Mr. Nangong?" he asked, his voice somewhat hoarse.
"Please, have a seat." Nangong Wentian gestured to the opposite chair. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Black coffee, thank you." Kijima Takashi sat down, placing his briefcase beside his feet.
Nangong Wentian noticed that the briefcase was old, its corners worn, but meticulously cleaned. A small detail that showed this man cherished his belongings, even if they weren't valuable.
The server brought the coffee. Kijima Takashi didn't rush to drink it but instead looked at Nangong Wentian, waiting for him to speak.
"Mr. Kijima," Nangong Wentian got straight to the point, "I've reviewed your resume. You studied abroad in the Atlantic Federation and served as a technical supervisor at several small and medium-sized enterprises. Why did you return?"
"I didn't fit in," Kijima Takashi replied succinctly.
"Didn't fit in with what?"
"The atmosphere there. The hostility toward Coordinators, the utilitarian attitude toward technology. I didn't like it."
Nangong Wentian nodded slightly in his mind. "And what are you doing now?"
"Odd jobs. Technical consulting for small companies, and some tutoring." Kijima Takashi said this with a calm expression, neither complaining nor self-pitying.
"I heard your daughter isn't in good health?"
Kijima Takashi's expression finally shifted slightly. His brow furrowed a little, and he tapped his fingers lightly on the coffee cup twice. "Yes. She needs long-term treatment."
"The costs aren't low, are they?"
"Not low."
"Do you hate the world? Hate the people who made you lose your job? Hate those who made your daughter sick?"
Kijima Takashi was silent for a long time. Finally, he looked up and met Nangong Wentian's eyes. "No. Hatred is useless. All I can do is keep moving forward."
Nangong Wentian looked into the man's eyes. They held weariness and helplessness, but indeed no hatred. Only a calm, almost stubborn persistence.
"If I gave you an opportunity," Nangong Wentian said slowly, "a chance to change your current situation, would you accept it?"
Kijima Takashi stared at him, his gaze sharp. "What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing bad," Nangong Wentian said. "I want to start a company focused on new energy and aerospace technology. I need someone to manage the public-facing operations. You have a technical background, management experience, and have seen the world. I think you're the right person."
Kijima Takashi didn't answer immediately. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Why me?"
"Because you have the skills, the experience, and a sense of responsibility," Nangong Wentian said. "And because you have someone to protect. A man who refuses to give up for his daughter won't easily betray a partner."
Kijima Takashi set down his coffee cup and remained silent for a long time.
Outside the window, the fountain in the square sparkled in the sunlight. A few children chased pigeons, their laughter drifting through the glass.
"I need to think about it," Kijima Takashi finally said.
"Of course." Nangong Wentian stood up, took a business card from his pocket, and placed it on the table. "This is my contact information. Once you've decided, reach out anytime."
The card bore only a name and an encrypted email address—Nangong.
He turned and left. At the door, he glanced back. Kijima Takashi was still sitting there, staring at the card with a complex expression.
After leaving the café, Nangong Wentian sat on a bench in the square for a while.
The sunlight was warm, and the fountain's mist refracted tiny rainbows in the light. A few children chased pigeons, their laughter clear and bright.
He removed his disguise glasses and rubbed his slightly tired eyes.
The first contact had gone relatively smoothly. Kijima Takashi was more composed and rational than he had imagined. That calm persistence wasn't an act.
"Need to observe a bit longer," he said to himself. "See if he contacts me, see what choice he makes."
He stood up and walked toward the subway station.
For the next week, he disguised himself every night to observe near Kijima Takashi's residence.
It was an old apartment building, its exterior paint peeling. Kijima Takashi lived on the third floor, his window facing a narrow alley. Every night, the light in that window stayed on late.
Nangong Wentian stood in the shadows across the alley, observing with a miniature telescope.
He saw Kijima Takashi reading under the lamp, thick professional books spread across the table. Sometimes he would pause to write or sketch in his notebook. Occasionally, he would stand up and walk to the adjacent room—his daughter's room.
Once, he saw a teenage girl emerge from the room, her face pale but her smile sweet. She handed Kijima Takashi a cup of tea and said something. Kijima Takashi patted her head and smiled.
That was the first time Nangong Wentian saw Kijima Takashi smile. It was a warm smile, like that of an ordinary father, not a man crushed by life and unemployment.
"He's the one," Nangong Wentian confirmed in his heart.
Back in his apartment, he opened the Star Core and marked Kijima Takashi's file: Trust Level B+, pending further confirmation.
Then, he began drafting the cooperation proposal. An annual salary with bonuses, guaranteeing the best treatment for Kijima Mayu. As a condition, Kijima Takashi would have to sign a strict confidentiality agreement and refrain from inquiring about core technical details.
"If he accepts, the Colossus Group will take its first step," he said to himself.
Outside the window, the Morgenroete building stood silent in the night. Inside that building, people like Erica Simmons were struggling with Orb's Mobile Suit project. Unbeknownst to him, just a few days earlier, the latest version of Morgenroete's Gundam Astray Frame test had failed due to material strength consistently falling short of design requirements.
This was precisely one of the reasons he had chosen Kijima Takashi—an engineer who had once delved deeply into the field of materials science and had witnessed Orb's technological bottlenecks firsthand would truly understand the value of the technology he held.
He turned off the Star Core and lay down on the bed.
Tomorrow, he would send the second email. This time, he would discuss the specific terms of cooperation.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind, the image of Kijima Takashi reading under the lamp appeared, along with his smile as he patted his daughter's head.
"A person with a weakness is the most reliable person," he whispered. "Because that weakness is their bottom line."
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