About ten minutes later, Patrick's limousine arrived at a large data center.
After waiting briefly in the reception room, Patrick's driver brought over a small storage device about two knuckles in length.
"Sir, this is the combat data that was just transmitted."
Patrick took the storage device, connected it to the laptop on the table, and opened it. A flood of data combined with first-person combat footage appeared on the screen.
His eyes rapidly scanned the information as his fingers clicked the mouse to flip through pages. His expression shifted from surprise to delight.
Finally, he couldn't help but burst into laughter: "Good, very good! This kind of combat talent, these operational techniques—this is exactly what we Coordinators need. Where is this pilot? I want to meet them."
"Sir, the one piloting that Mistral was Siegel's wife, Ogsha."
"Impossible." Patrick dismissed the idea without hesitation. "Ogsha might be able to keep the Mistral stable and handle target practice, but there's no way she could perform the maneuvers in this data."
His face turned stern, his hawk-like gaze piercing the driver. "What else aren't you telling me?"
The driver instinctively stood at attention and replied loudly, "There was also a five-year-old child in the cockpit. Some rumors say it was the child who piloted the Mistral, but—"
Patrick raised a hand. "Enough. It's not your place to judge. Just report the facts."
Removing the storage device, Patrick stood up. "Let's go to Siegel. He'll give me the answers."
An hour later, the artificial sun in the Satellite dimmed, signaling the approach of night.
Inside a memorial hall, Siegel, dressed in a black suit, solemnly received grieving family members one after another.
Some couples clung to each other, weeping silently. Elderly parents, now alone, gripped Siegel's hand and refused to let go. Others, their parents hospitalized from shock, left only siblings to vent their fury at Siegel with curses...
Siegel endured it all in silence.
This was the scene Patrick walked in on. Seeing Siegel's state, he frowned, his expression turning cold. Finally, he snorted in frustration and turned to leave.
Another hour passed. After handling these matters, Siegel, exhausted and sorrowful, entered the reception room where Patrick was waiting and collapsed onto a black sofa with a long sigh.
Siegel leaned his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling in silence.
Patrick grew even angrier at the sight. "What are you mourning for? The struggle with the Council of Nations isn't child's play. Some sacrifices are unavoidable."
"I know." Siegel straightened up. "But this is my fault. If I'd been more careful, they wouldn't have sacrificed themselves for nothing."
"Our conflict with the Council of Nations hasn't escalated yet, but one day it will come to armed confrontation. What will you do then?"
Siegel sighed. "I don't want it to come to that. We're all human beings. Once we're dragged into the quagmire of war, we'll be the ones who suffer. The Whale Stone is still out there—we should be wary of these extraterrestrial lifeforms."
"Hmph, shortsighted Naturals can't foresee such distant matters. These things still depend on us Coordinators."
Siegel opened his mouth to retort, but Patrick abruptly changed the subject. "Enough of that. I came to see you about something. Who was piloting that Mistral on your shuttle?"
Siegel's expression immediately turned serious. "Don't even think about setting your sights on that child."
Patrick's stern face relaxed, his lips curling into a smile. "So it really was that five-year-old kid? To have such skills at such a young age—he'll become our ace Coordinator in the future."
"I won't allow it. That child just wants to live a peaceful life. Don't drag him into this mess."
Patrick's face darkened, his brows furrowing. "As a Coordinator, this is his destiny. Do you think we don't want to live peaceful lives? It's the Council of Nations causing trouble and oppressing us without reason, forcing us to resist."
Siegel shook his head in silence.
Patrick slammed the table, causing the teacup to wobble before toppling over, spilling tea across the surface.
"Have you seen the combat data? He's a born warrior. An ordinary Mistral in his hands can easily take on an entire MA Squad and battleships."
Patrick grew more agitated as he spoke, standing up and waving his arms. "I've been wondering how we'd fight if war broke out with the Council of Nations. Our population and resources are too scarce to win. But now, this child has given me an answer."
"What we need are elite warriors and weapons. If we had a machine surpassing the Mistral's performance, we could achieve one against ten, one against twenty."
"Let me talk to him. In the future, he'll be the sharp blade we wield to tear the Council of Nations apart."
"Enough!" Siegel suddenly stood, his face dark with anger, brows tightly knit. "I won't hand that child over to you. Right now, what he needs most is an ordinary, peaceful life—to grow up safely, not to become a soldier or warrior."
The two glared at each other, the atmosphere in the room growing heavy.
After a moment, both calmed down.
Patrick looked displeased. "You're wasting that child's talent."
"That's for the child to decide. Aren't we running around working so hard for the sake of the children? If we drag them into this, everything we've done will be for nothing."
After a brief silence, Patrick exhaled deeply. "Sorry, I did get carried away. That child really did solve a problem that's been troubling me. I'll go see him once. If he refuses, I'll give up."
Siegel met Patrick's gaze, finally relenting with a sigh. "I'll give you the address in half a month. The child is undergoing treatment right now—don't disturb him until his condition stabilizes."
Frowning, Patrick showed concern. "Is he badly injured?"
"It's nothing, just some physical deficiencies from a poor childhood environment that need proper recuperation."
Patrick narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "It must be those jealous Naturals again, even targeting children. How despicable."
Siegel opened his mouth to explain but hesitated before closing it again.
With the matter settled, Patrick left swiftly without delay.
Siegel clutched his head in agony. "Every single one of them... sigh~"
...
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, it was September 22nd. Zhou Tianming's recuperation treatment had lasted half a month.
For Zhou Tianming, these past two weeks had been pure torment. The herbal medicine made him nauseous, and his whole body seemed steeped in its bitter aroma.
Then there were the rehabilitation exercises with unclear purposes—from simple movements to running and jumping—each day requiring a full set of standardized postures with precise force, engaging every muscle, tendon, and bone.
After enduring this torture for half a month, he was finally free.
Standing at the hospital entrance, Zhou Tianming took deep breaths of liberating air.
Compared to half a month ago, his complexion was rosy, and he had grown taller, now standing over a meter tall.
His arms, exposed in a black-and-white short-sleeved shirt, were no longer gaunt but fair-skinned with well-proportioned muscles.
He radiated vitality.
Zhou Hanxiang stood behind him, amused. "Although the rehabilitation, massages, and acupuncture are over, you st
ill need to take your medicine on time. It's not easy to transition your body from five years of dormancy."
"I know, I know."