“Your registered status has always been tied to Capital Star, so ‘Butterfly’ has authority to amend your marital status. This is extremely dangerous for you,” the old minister from the Navi Military District’s legal department chattered on as he trailed behind Adrian. “Once you have a spouse, they automatically gain a series of rights, including, but not limited to, shared debt, joint property management, and inheritance priority—Commander! Are you even listening? This is a serious matter…”

“I’m listening, I’m listening. Marriage is scary, I shouldn’t get married, I got it. I won’t get married,” Adrian replied, exasperated, stopping in front of his office. “Besides, I have some genuinely important work to handle right now, Minister Wender. How about we save the legal lecture for next time?”

The old minister, clearly dissatisfied with Adrian’s dismissive attitude, huffed and glared. “Commander, marriage isn’t the scary part! The scary part is marrying the wrong person at the wrong time! At a crucial juncture like this, we can’t afford any slip-ups! If a fine needs to be paid, just pay it. Temporarily yielding to AI authority isn’t the end of the world. Sometimes, knowing when to bend is…”

Seeing that he was about to start yet another lengthy lecture, Adrian hurriedly interrupted, “Yes, yes, I’ll make sure to handle the fine promptly. Now, I need to work, so please take your time on your way out.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, Adrian slipped into his office and shut the door behind him.

Finally, peace and quiet.

Many people speculated that Adrian had been dragging out the fine payment simply because he was unwilling to give “Butterfly” any money. This rumor was widespread throughout the Navi Military District, and after high-level meetings, several colleagues subtly suggested he could avoid unnecessary conflict by just paying the fine.

For the sake of the greater good, Adrian was willing to compromise with anyone in the Federation—even “Butterfly,” if artificial intelligence could count as “anyone.”

But not Zhong Yan.

He was even willing to pay hundreds of thousands to “Butterfly” just to cancel a useless marriage contract, but he refused to spend a single cent for Zhong Yan. He had already invested so much money, effort, time, and emotion into Zhong Yan in the past, and he absolutely would not let himself make that mistake again.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Adrian opened the virtual screen on his terminal, found Zhong Yan’s account in his blacklist, and quickly typed out a line of text with nimble fingers.

“The fine is due in twenty-seven days. I’m warning you, if I don’t receive this money by the deadline, you’ll be owing me a lot more than just 360,000.”

He figured the message wouldn’t go through anyway; Zhong Yan had surely blocked him as well. Adrian casually hit “send,” expecting to see the “unable to send message” prompt.

But that prompt didn’t appear. It took Adrian a few seconds to realize what had happened.

The message had actually gone through. He wasn’t on Zhong Yan’s blacklist.

Just a few minutes later, a reply came back: “Handle it however you want. I have no money. There’s a meeting starting soon; it might take a while.”

Adrian glared darkly at the message.

In the past, whenever Zhong Yan couldn’t respond to his messages immediately, he would always let him know what he was doing and how long it might take, just to keep him from waiting anxiously.

Even now, he kept up that habit, though this “long meeting” was probably to discuss how best to deal with him. He seemed so unaffected—it cut Adrian to the core.

This person was always like this. He could attend alumni events, visit juice shops, and mouth their old secret codes as if… nothing had ever happened. So heartless.

I’m such a fool, Adrian thought, as he promptly re-blocked the account.

The Supreme Council building was nine stories high, with the central round-table conference room located on the eighth floor.

Zhong Yan arrived on the eighth floor early. The area outside the central round-table conference room was split into two zones. The inner circle, right next to the conference room, was a waiting area for the twelve council members to rest or make final preparations. The outer circle was a walking zone where the council members’ assistants had to stop.

Zhong Yan and Byer walked along the eighth floor in tandem, the sound of their leather shoes tapping rhythmically on the polished marble floor, echoing through the silent outer circle.

They stopped before entering the waiting area, and Byer said, “Once inside, double-check the materials. This is the first round-table meeting where you’re the main speaker; you mustn’t make any mistakes. Is your terminal on silent?”

Zhong Yan hesitated for a moment and then replied, “Just a second.”

He checked his messages; there were no new ones. The last message was still his own: “Meeting starting soon; it might take a while.”

Adrian used to never let him end a conversation first. But that was in the past. Zhong Yan pressed his lips together and pulled up Adrian’s profile. He couldn’t afford to take chances—what if Adrian messaged him during the meeting?

He’d just undo the setting now and put it back after the meeting.

Byer noticed Zhong Yan’s finger hovering over the virtual screen, his face expressionless, unmoving for a few seconds. With the one-way transparency set, Byer couldn’t see what was on the screen and asked, dissatisfied, “Mr. Zhong, what are you doing? The eighth floor isn’t a place to daydream!”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Zhong Yan’s eyes. Just as he was about to press the button, another set of footsteps echoed from a distance.

Two people soon appeared around the corner. Leading them was a man who looked about sixty but walked with steady steps and wore a tailored suit, evidence of his attention to fitness. His square face and thick eyebrows projected an air of integrity. Though the years had left their marks on his face, his handsomeness was still apparent. Following him was his chief assistant, a younger middle-aged man.

“Councilor Zhong.”

“Councilor Kaman.”

Fowler Kaman and Zhong Yan greeted each other, and Fowler said pleasantly, “Seems we’re all early—there’s still quite a wait. Care to join me for a smoke?”

Byer was about to decline, but Zhong Yan accepted immediately.

Byer’s expression turned sour.

Inside the smoking room, Zhong Yan followed Fowler, locked the door behind them, and said flatly, “I don’t smoke.”

“I know, and I don’t either.” Fowler said, settling into a comfortable soft sofa and gesturing to Zhong Yan. “No need to stand; sit.”

“No, thank you. What is it you wanted to discuss?”

“It’s awkward for me if you don’t sit—consider the comfort of an old man approaching his twilight years.”

Zhong Yan took a seat on the sofa opposite, unsure of Fowler’s intentions, and, after some hesitation, reminded him, “Councilor Kaman, there’s no difference between here and outside.”

The smoking room seemed like it was just the two of them, but they both knew it was under the same level of tight surveillance as the outer area.

Though vague, Fowler understood his meaning. “Doesn’t matter. I just didn’t want that old fossil eavesdropping—wouldn’t take him five minutes to relay everything to his master.”

Fowler was also from an influential family, and the Kaman and Atte families used to be close. However, an old grudge between Fowler and Steven had severed all ties between the two families once Fowler became head.

“Not quite that fast,” Zhong Yan said, pausing before adding, “From my observations, it’s more like every half hour.”

“Haha! Really?” Fowler laughed, shaking his head. “That old geezer… Zhong Yan, I told you long ago—his need for control has become pathological. Steer clear of him.”

Zhong Yan didn’t respond, and Fowler, seeing no need to press the point, continued, “But that’s enough prying on my part. Zhong Yan, I wanted to ask… you’ve met with Adrian, right?”

Zhong Yan remained silent, quietly watching him.

“I know you don’t like him or people asking about the two of you.” Fowler leaned forward, his tone sincere. “I won’t pry further. Just… is he doing okay?”

Back when they were just freshmen moving into their second year, Fowler had visited with bags of snacks and supplies for Adrian, who had finally accepted them after some prodding.

Later, while they shared the snacks, Adrian had told him about Fowler Kaman, the councilor with a storied past.

Before Zhong Yan, the record for the youngest council member had been set by Fowler Kaman, who had taken office at only thirty. Unlike Zhong Yan, Fowler had a family backing him and connections across Capital Star. However, not even six months after becoming a council member, he turned down “Butterfly’s” ideal marriage match, setting a historic record for divorce-related fines at over 90,000.

In the more rigid society of that time, his refusal had caused quite a stir, and the steep fine alone was a testament to its impact. In hindsight, his act also led to the decline of the Kaman family, and while he’s now the longest-serving councilor, his influence remains limited.

His then-lover had been his childhood friend, Kelly Atte—the only direct descendant of the Atte family.

The rest of the story turned tragic. Though Kelly loved Fowler dearly, she was frail and deeply feared her father. The following year, under pressure, she tearfully wed a stranger, and soon after, “Butterfly” issued a recommendation for them to have a child. Steven then orchestrated events, ensuring they shared a room, sealing the man’s decision to escape. During Kelly’s pregnancy, he knocked out the household servants, stole their private ship, and fled to the Navi Star Zone.

Adrian’s birth was perhaps Steven’s only moment of joy. But in Adrian’s memory, his mother remained distant, drowning in tears until, after a few years, she ended her life with a single plunge of a knife into her heart.

Since then, Fowler had refused every other marriage recommendation and remained single to this day.