My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 495 Workshoping Ideas

A full ten days had elapsed following the conclusion of the training exercises in Antarctica.

Liam had dedicated the majority of this period to orchestrating the impending announcement and its various components. While the tasks of drafting, organizing, and carefully curating the content were straightforward, they still demanded his full concentration.

Although he could have offloaded the work to Lucy, he opted against it, knowing she was swamped with existing projects.

She was currently juggling multiple high-priority tasks: managing concurrent builds for the Emperor Class-II Starship, retrofitting the Emperor Class-I drive, and finalizing the bespoke luxury space shuttle he had requested. This was all in addition to the work she was doing on his latest exosuit.

Drafting an announcement was not something he wanted to burden her with, given her exhaustive workload. The announcement could wait for him; her engineering projects certainly could not.

Consequently, he managed the process alone.

Throughout this period, his thoughts frequently wandered back to the shuttle. He wasn't dwelling specifically on Matt’s ship—even though Matt had flooded their chat with seventeen increasingly elaborate messages concerning the interior of the Titanium Eagle. The most recent proposal included a hot tub, which Liam had pointedly ignored.

Instead, Liam was captivated by the broader potential of the shuttle itself. The very first time he had stepped into a shuttle within the Dimensional Space and piloted it toward the moon, a realization had occurred to him—a notion he hadn't revisited since.

He considered selling them.

He didn't mean selling them to governments or for institutional fleets, but offering private space shuttles to individuals, akin to a super-yacht or a private jet, albeit on a fundamentally different scale.

He had toyed with the concept briefly before setting it aside. The world simply wasn't prepared, the necessary infrastructure was absent, and the sheer cost would render it commercially unviable for all but a tiny fraction of the global population.

A Nova Technologies shuttle was in a league of its own, with engineering, materials, and propulsion systems that had no earthly equal.

The base price for an entry-level, non-customized model would likely start around $10 billion. That already dwarfed the cost of his $2 billion private A380, and compared to the shuttle, an A380 felt like a standard commercial liner.

While the ultra-wealthy might spend hundreds of millions on property or nearly a billion on a custom yacht, a $10 billion price tag for a spacecraft was a figure that would cause even that elite tier to hesitate.

Furthermore, even if a buyer could afford it, the political fallout would be instantaneous. No sovereign state would allow a private citizen to retain control of a spacecraft with such advanced capabilities; seizure would be inevitable. No legal loophole or asset structure could prevent it. The situation would devolve into legal and political chaos, and ultimately, the shuttle would only end up in a government facility.

Thus, private sales were off the table.

However, the experience of space travel was an entirely different commodity.

Private space tourism already existed, but by Liam’s standards, it was little more than a proof of concept. Short, forty-minute orbital hops that provided a glimpse of the curved horizon before a quick return. Travelers paid millions for that, calling it spaceflight.

He didn't judge them, as it met the current standards of humanity.

But his own perspective had changed drastically since he traversed the Oort Cloud.

He had crossed that vast, light-year-spanning region in a single week. To him, the current human standard of space tourism—mere orbital loops and brief zero-gravity—felt like a child’s ten-minute boat ride compared to a trans-Pacific voyage.

He didn't minimize human achievement; the engineering required to reach orbit on their current timeline was impressive. But there was a distinction between what was impressive by Earth’s standards and what was truly, objectively remarkable.

Genuine space tourism, he decided, meant true exploration: leaving Earth’s orbit entirely. It meant landing on the moon to watch the Earth rise, walking on Martian plains under the moons of Phobos and Deimos, or grazing an asteroid that had drifted through the void since the dawn of the solar system.

That was a product worth selling. The pricing he envisioned—$150–250 million for lunar or Martian excursions and $300–500 million for deeper routes—was steep, yet arguably affordable for what was being offered. Spending $200 million to walk on another world was, in reality, a bargain.

Liam might eventually pursue this, but it remained years away. His immediate priority was the Medical Nanites. Launching anything beyond Lucid Studio and the impending activation of its phone features would be a strategic error.

The timing had to be precise. Inserting space tourism into the current climate, while nanite debates raged across every media platform, would only create unnecessary noise and fragment public attention.

Turning back to Matt’s shuttle, he had already decided on the designation: the Vanguard Class.

Matt’s ship would be the prototype—not by initial design, but it felt fitting. It would serve as the inaugural model for the nascent space tourism venture.

He was also contemplating another long-term idea: bringing digital in-game items into the physical world. The concept remained unrefined, bogged down by material constraints and logistical hurdles, so he hadn't committed yet. If the business case proved solid, he would pursue it months after the nanite rollout had stabilized.

"There is still the Reactive Cinematic," he mused. "Though no one has managed to trigger a quest yet."

Nova Technologies planned to release a series, but the Reactive Cinematic wouldn't be a conventional episodic format. It was designed to be integrated into Lucid’s native titles during the routine, silent updates performed on the platform and its connected devices.

The Reactive Cinematic was targeted at games like Frontline: Starfall Dominion and Eternal Realms, specifically tied to NPCs with deep, complex lore. When a player satisfied certain conditions, a cinematic sequence would trigger, centered on that NPC’s history.

The innovation lay in its personalization: the player's own avatar would feature in the scene, with their past choices and actions woven seamlessly into the narrative. The cinematic would function simultaneously as unique content and a personalized chronicle of the player’s journey.

Crucially, the player would earn a share of the resulting profits, as the content would not exist without their participation.

The challenge was that these trigger quests were intentionally rare, requiring specific, improbable player behavior. Someone in the current user base was likely hovering on the brink of triggering one without even knowing it.

Furthermore, because the game systems provided no guidance in order to maintain immersion, the discovery process would be gradual.

"I wonder how they will handle something like that?" Liam chuckled, imagining the reaction of the gaming community.

He refocused his attention on the screen. The announcement draft appeared clean and ready for publication. He reviewed it once more—not because he suspected errors, but because the habit of diligence was too deeply ingrained to abandon.

Everything was set. He planned to release the announcement in a few hours.

He was ready for the familiar, chaotic, and fascinating wave of public reaction.

"Hehe boi," Liam smiled with a glint of mischief.

Honestly, part of him wished he had a shuttle just like the one being constructed for Matt.

What are your thoughts on Liam's commercial ventures? And what do you make of the Reactive Cinematic?