My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 702 A Wave Of Well Wishes

Two hours had passed since the sleek hulls of the Nova Express shuttles punched through the clouds and vanished into the blue sky. On Earth, the news was already moving across LucidNet with the speed and force of a planetary shockwave.

Because Nova Technologies had notified only the designated authorities of the regional international airports twenty-four hours in advance, there had been no weeks of public buildup, no official press barricades, and no crowds waiting at the gates. The departure had been carried out swiftly, silently, and entirely unannounced to the general public.

Yet, in an era where billions of eyes watched the sky and tens of thousands of Lucid device holders carried 64K autonomous tracking cameras, secrecy was impossible the moment a starship touched terrestrial soil.

The few hundred bystanders who happened to be at those specific airport terminals when the shuttles landed—tarmac workers, travelers waiting at gate windows, taxi drivers outside international arrivals—had captured everything.

Within seconds of the first shuttle descending onto a commercial runway, high-resolution photos and steady, breathtaking video clips began flooding LucidNet. By the time the shuttles were clearing Earth's atmosphere, the media had accumulated tens of millions of shares, dominating every trending feed on the platform.

The visuals were radically different from the media circuses that had surrounded the return of the clinical trial volunteers. There were no weeping crowds pressing against chain-link fences or police barricades struggling to hold back swarms of reporters. Instead, the footage captured a quiet, almost surreal dignity.

One viral video, shot from a gate window at Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila, showed Grace stepping onto the shuttle's wide boarding lift. She was wearing simple jeans and a cardigan, carrying a single small duffel bag over her shoulder.

Standing on either side of the platform were two synthetic humanoids in crisp, dark-grey suits, standing with fluid, welcoming posture.

Grace turned once, offered a brief, nervous smile toward the terminal glass, and stepped onto the lift. The platform rose, the airlock sealed with a silent pressurized hiss, and sixty seconds later, the white vessel lifted vertically into the clouds without making a sound.

Another clip, captured from a maintenance balcony in São Paulo, showed Rafael walking across the tarmac toward his shuttle. He didn't look back at the city skyline behind him; his gaze was locked entirely on the sleek, iridescent hull ahead.

The comment sections beneath the videos moved in a blinding, emotional blur, accumulating hundreds of thousands of replies per minute.

For the general public, the primary emotion was not jealousy or bitterness, but a profound, overwhelming sense of awe and vicarious pride.

"Look at what they're carrying," a top-voted comment read beneath a thread compiling departure videos from twelve different airports. "No bulky spacesuits. No heavy gear. No years of military astronaut training. Just ordinary people carrying small overnight bags, stepping onto a platform in their street clothes and flying to a fifty-five-kilometer city at Lagrange 5. This is the moment humanity officially stopped visiting space and started living there."

"They aren't soldiers or billionaires," another user posted, attaching a screenshot of Grace boarding in Manila. "She's a junior nurse. The guy before her was a baker from Lyon. The woman in London was a bookshop curator. Nova didn't fill that space station with politicians or corporate executives. They filled it with the people who actually keep a society alive. Godspeed to all of them."

Across six continents, in the exact workplaces those 1,240 pioneers had departed hours earlier, the emotional impact was immediate and deeply personal.

In the overcrowded hospital ward in Manila where Grace had worked eleven-hour night shifts for over a decade, her former colleagues gathered around a tablet in the breakroom during a rare lull in admissions.

When the video of Grace stepping onto the shuttle platform played, two senior triage nurses burst into tears. They didn't feel abandoned; they felt a fierce, unadulterated joy for a woman who had given her youth to an exhausted medical system and was now stepping into a world with Recovery Pods, Advanced Tier Nanites, and twenty-five thousand dollars a month in pure net savings.

"Represent us well up there, Grace," a senior doctor muttered softly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he watched the white shuttle vanish into the clouds. "Show them what Manila nurses can do."

In São Paulo, inside the grease-stained kitchen of the churrascaria where Rafael had labored for six years, the head chef paused the dinner prep and pulled up the footage of Rafael's departure on his phone. The entire back-of-house staff—line cooks, dishwashers, prep hands—crowded around the prep table.

When the video showed Rafael stepping onto the platform with his head held high, the kitchen erupted into a chaotic, roaring cheer. Dishwashers banged metal spoons against stainless-steel sinks, and the head chef wiped down Rafael's old station with a clean towel, leaving it pristine.

"Our boy is cooking at Lagrange 5," a junior line cook shouted, laughing through tears. "Fourteen thousand dollars a month and free food in every restaurant on the station! Don't forget where you learned to sear steak, Rafael!"

Similar scenes played out in a hundred different cities. In a distribution warehouse outside Chicago, Marcus's former shift crew watched his departure clip during their ten-minute break, cheering for the logistics operator who had traded a brutal terrestrial quota system for an automated maglev transit grid. In a luxury hotel in Dubai, a team of pastry chefs toasted glasses of sparkling water to their former colleague who was now heading to the station's Fine Dining District.

The public sentiment quickly coalesced into a unified, global send-off under the trending hashtags `#First1240`, `#PioneersToL5`, and `#SafeJourney`.

Unlike the fierce debates that had surrounded Nova's policy clauses or the geopolitical posturing of national treasuries, the reaction to the staff's physical departure was almost entirely wholesome, protective, and celebratory.

Everyday people viewed the 1,240 pioneers as their personal representatives—the first wave of ordinary humanity stepping through the door into a post-scarcity future.

"May the stars treat you well," read a post written by a teacher in Nairobi that climbed to the top of the LucidNet global feed. "You are carrying the hope of eight billion people who are still standing on the dirt. Work hard, live well, look at the Earth from 384,000 kilometers every day, and build a community up there that makes us proud down here."

"Send us pictures of the parks!" a user from Tokyo commented. "Show us the oak trees grown in orbit! Show us what a city looks like when there is no rent, no medical bills, and no pollution. You are living the dream for all of us!"

Even the cynicism of legacy news networks was completely drowned out by the sheer volume of public well-wishes.

When a political commentator on a major cable channel tried to frame the departure as a "concerning brain drain of vital terrestrial talent," the clip was immediately ratioed on LucidNet, bombarded with millions of comments telling the anchor to let working people enjoy their success.

As night fell across Europe and the Americas, millions of people stepped out onto their balconies, backyards, and city rooftops, shielding their eyes as they looked up toward the bright, silver disk of the Moon.

They couldn't see the sleek white shuttles with the naked eye, nor could they discern the fifty-five-kilometer black chassis parked at the Lagrange 5 point 384,000 kilometers away. But they knew that inside that glowing, dark leviathan, 1,240 line cooks, nurses, waiters, technicians, and bakers were probably picking out their new residential quarters, and looking back down at the blue marble they had called home.

Humanity had officially placed its first permanent human community among the stars. And on Earth, six billion people watched the night sky with a strange, quiet warmth in their chests, wishing them nothing but peace, success, and clear skies in the void.