My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 703 A Wave Of Terrestrial Partnership

With the global public still riding the euphoric high of the 1,240 pioneers' departure, a restless anticipation settled over LucidNet.

Six billion people were eagerly waiting for the staff to start dropping pictures and videos of the space station's interior—or, at the very least, the public areas they were permitted to access during their orientation.

Because the live construction feed had exclusively showcased the station's dark obsidian exterior, the internal reality of the megastructure remained a tantalizing mystery.

This overwhelming curiosity triggered a massive surge in civilian tour bookings. Everyone who possessed the financial means immediately scrambled to secure a fifty-thousand-dollar spot to visit the station.

The demand trickled down to educational institutions; private schools across the globe began drafting ambitious fundraising campaigns and logistical preparations to take advantage of the 50% educational discount. Humanity did not just want to look at the sky anymore; they wanted to touch it.

While the public was busy dreaming of orbital vacations, the terrestrial corporate landscape was suddenly hit by a massive, unannounced tremor.

Major game storefront companies around the world received an email from Nova Technologies.

For the business development teams who had spent months desperately firing off inquiries into what felt like an untouchable black hole, the sudden appearance of this email was an absolute shock.

But it wasn't just the gaming sector. Nearly all legacy tech companies that manufactured and sold devices—from Apple and Samsung to Xiaomi and Google—found the exact same message sitting in their highest-level executive inboxes. The outreach did not stop at tech, either; cosmetic empires, retail conglomerates, and nearly all major companies worldwide that sold physical consumer goods received the exact same communication.

But it wasn't just the gaming sector. Nearly all legacy tech companies that manufactured and sold devices—from Apple and Samsung to Xiaomi and Google—found the exact same message sitting in their highest-level executive inboxes. The outreach did not stop at tech, either; cosmetic empires, retail conglomerates, and nearly all major companies worldwide that sold physical consumer goods received the exact same communication.

The subject line was a single word: Partnership.

The initial reaction across every corporate headquarters was intense skepticism. In an era of sophisticated deep-fakes and corporate espionage, the first instinct of every IT department was to assume it was an elaborate prank or a highly targeted phishing attack.

Corporate security teams immediately scrambled to authenticate the message, running the headers through their enterprise Sign-in System and cross-referencing the PGP signatures.

The results silenced every boardroom on Earth. The sender's ID followed the exact cryptographic naming style of Nova Technologies, and the routing data proved the email had not originated from a terrestrial server. It was sent directly from the space station's own internal communication mainframe.

It was real. And when the executives read the full content of the email, the skepticism evaporated, replaced instantly by high-stakes corporate panic.

***

At Valve Corporation headquarters in Bellevue, Washington, the ninth-floor executive conference room was dead silent except for the low, rhythmic sound of the HVAC system.

It was 4:15 AM local time. Twelve people sat around the long, dark walnut table—Gabe at the head, surrounded by Valve's core leadership team, lead legal counsel, hardware division directors, and senior Steam infrastructure engineers.

None of them were looking at each other. Every pair of eyes was glued to a single, high-contrast display mounted on the far wall, where an open email sat rendered in crisp, white text against a dark background.

"Run it through the PGP verification one more time," Gabe said softly, his voice low and unhurried, though his hands were folded tight on the table.

A senior infrastructure engineer sitting near the foot of the table didn't look up from his laptop. "Gabe, I've run the cryptographic verification six times since three in the morning. The public key matches the exact PGP signature Nova used to publish the Lagrange 5 space station opening document. The routing headers didn't hit a single terrestrial node—they originated from the space station's internal communication mainframe, routed down through their own satellite array, and dropped directly into our MX records."

He paused, swallowing hard. "It isn't a deep-fake. It isn't a spoof. It's an official institutional proposal directly from Nova Technologies."

A heavy, suffocating silence reclaimed the room.

For months, Valve's business development teams—like those at every major tech giant on Earth—had fired off formal inquiries, integration proposals, and legal inquiries to Nova Technologies through every digital channel they could construct. Every single outreach had been swallowed by an absolute, untouchable void. Nova had built a platform holding 6.8 billion users, created games that pulled in tens of billions of dollars in viewer gifting, and completely ignored the entire global games industry.

Now, without warning, an email had arrived.

"Read it out loud," Gabe instructed quietly. "Every word. Let's make sure no one in this room is assuming something that isn't written on that screen."

The lead legal counsel cleared his throat, pulling his glasses down his nose as he looked up at the wall display.

Subject: Partnership Proposal — Nova Technologies Space Station, Steam Platform Integration

To the Office of Valve Corporation,

Nova Technologies is opening the Virtual Gaming Area of the Nova Technologies Space Station, and writes to propose a purchasing and integration partnership with Steam.

The Virtual Gaming Area is a closed recreational facility aboard the station, serving its research population, resident staff, and civilian visitors. It is an amenity, not a marketplace. Nothing sold, played, or hosted within it leaves the station, is resold, or is redistributed in any form. This proposal is for Steam to reach a place it has never reached — orbit — as a valued platform partner, and nothing more.

The Proposal

Nova Technologies requests the creation of seventy-five Steam business accounts, held and operated by Nova Technologies for use within the Virtual Gaming Area.

Across these accounts, Nova Technologies will purchase the complete Steam library in full, at standard retail price, on every account. Every title Steam lists will be bought seventy-five times over.

As new titles release, they are added automatically to all seventy-five accounts on their release date. Nova Technologies is billed at the point of release and pays immediately, in full, on every account, without exception or delay. This applies to every title Steam publishes, without threshold or selection.

Every purchase, and every in-game microtransaction made through any of the seventy-five accounts, flows through Steam in the ordinary way, to Valve and to the developers, exactly as it would for any customer on Earth. Nova Technologies takes no share of any transaction and diverts nothing. Nova Technologies is, in every commercial respect, a customer.

Presentation Within the Facility

Titles purchased through these accounts are experienced by station guests through Nova Technologies' own immersive rendering technology, which presents legitimately owned copies in an immersive format on Nova Technologies' hardware. Nova Technologies plays only what it has purchased. It does not modify, rebuild, redistribute, resell, or alter the content of any title. No game is copied from the station, and no game is made available anywhere beyond the Virtual Gaming Area. This is the presentation of owned software on owned hardware, within a single closed facility, and nothing further.

Standing

Nova Technologies operates its own gaming platform. This proposal is wholly separate from it. The Virtual Gaming Area does not feed, supply, or promote Nova Technologies' platform, does not function as a competing storefront, and does not exist to draw players away from Steam. It is an amenity through which Steam's catalogue, and the developers who publish on it, reach an audience and a place no storefront has ever reached. The relationship is additive to Steam in full.

What Nova Technologies Asks

That Valve permit the creation and operation of the seventy-five business accounts described above, and support the automatic delivery and immediate billing of new titles as they release.

What Nova Technologies Offers

Guaranteed purchase of the complete Steam catalogue, seventy-five times over, at full price. Guaranteed day-one purchase of every future release, seventy-five times over, paid immediately. Unbroken transaction flow to Valve and its developers. And the permanent distinction of being the first, and the only, storefront present aboard the Nova Technologies Space Station.

The commercial terms are set out in the accompanying document.

Should Valve wish to proceed, confirmation may be returned through the Institutional Terminal credentials provided with this correspondence. Nova Technologies will manage every step of integration from that point forward.

We would be glad to have Steam aboard.

— Nova Technologies.

***

When the lawyer finished reading, no one spoke for nearly twenty seconds.

"Let's break down the math," Gabe said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the polished wood. "What does 'the complete Steam library in full, seventy-five times over' actually mean in figures?"

The head of Steam's business operations tapped a series of keys on his laptop, pulling up active database metrics. "As of this morning, Steam hosts approximately 110,000 active titles—ranging from AAA blockbusters to indie titles, DLC packs, and software suites. The total cumulative retail cost to purchase every single item currently listed on Steam once, at full non-discounted retail price, is roughly $910,000."

He looked up, his face pale under the fluorescent lights. "Multiply that by seventy-five. Nova is offering to write a single upfront check for approximately $68.25 million the moment we activate the accounts."

A low whistle echoed from someone down the table.

"And that's just the backlog," the operations director continued, his voice shaking slightly. "Steam sees about 12,000 to 14,000 new game releases a year. At average retail pricing, auto-purchasing every new release seventy-five times over on day one represents an additional $12 million to $15 million in guaranteed, automated annual revenue flowing straight through our payment gateways. Thirty percent goes to us, seventy percent goes directly to the developers—indie developers, mid-tier studios, AAA publishers. Some small solo indie dev releasing a five-dollar puzzle game on a Tuesday morning will wake up to seventy-five instant full-price sales funded directly from orbit before they've even sold a single copy on Earth."

"And what are they taking from us?" Gabe asked, turning his eyes toward the legal team. "Where is the clawback? Where is the platform fee? Where is the catch?"

"There isn't one," the lead counsel said cleanly. He held up a digital tablet containing the attached commercial document. "I've gone through the accompanying terms three times. Nova explicitly waives any revenue share, platform fee, or distribution cut. They aren't asking to host Steam on LucidNet. They aren't asking to integrate Steam into The Hub. They are treating the space station's Virtual Gaming Area as a closed, physical arcade. They are buying seventy-five full copies of everything we own, running it on their own rendering hardware for station guests, and paying standard retail prices."

"What about DRM?" a senior software architect asked, leaning forward. "Our API relies on standard Steamworks authentication. How are they running PC executables through their off-world immersive rendering engine without modifying the binaries?"

"Read paragraph three again," the lawyer pointed out. "They aren't modifying the software. Their local hardware uses spatial virtualization to render the screen outputs of legitimately owned software into 3D immersive space. To our servers, those seventy-five accounts will look like seventy-five exceptionally high-end PC rigs sitting in a room, logging in, authenticating licenses, and launching games. It violates zero Steam subscriber agreements because they are explicitly asking for Valve's institutional consent to operate the accounts under these exact parameters."

"It's a gift," the hardware director whispered, staring at the screen. "A seventy-million-dollar gesture of goodwill that cements Steam as a official legacy gaming storefront aboard a fifty-five-kilometer space station."

"It isn't a gift," Gabe corrected gently, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "It's a demonstration of absolute, effortless superiority."

The room went quiet again as Gabe's words settled over the table.

"Look at the phrasing," Gabe continued, gesturing toward the screen. "'The Virtual Gaming Area is an amenity, not a marketplace. This proposal is for Steam to reach a place it has never reached — orbit — as a valued platform partner, and nothing more.' Nova doesn't need our money. They don't need our tech. Their own games pull in billions of dollars a month on LucidNet. They could have easily emulated PC gaming, built their own legacy storefront, or ignored us entirely."

He leaned back in his chair. "Instead, they sent us a proposal that pays every developer on our platform full price, gives us zero grounds to sue them, grants us a historical PR milestone as the first storefront in space, and costs them less than what their space station generates in four minutes of operational lease fees. They are showing us that in the new world, they hold all the cards—and they're willing to be a good customer if we're smart enough to accept the check."

"What happens if we say no?" a board member asked quietly. "What if we refuse on the grounds of platform exclusivity or demand different terms?"

The operations director laughed dryly. "If we say no, Epic, GOG, or Xbox will sign the Institutional Terminal credentials within thirty seconds of us declining. Nova will buy their entire catalogues seventy-five times over instead, and Steam becomes the legacy store that refused to go to space because we were too busy reading fine print."

Gabe looked around the table, scanning the faces of his core executive team. Every single person—from legal to engineering to business development—was nodding. There was no debate. There was no counter-offer to draft. In the face of an entity that operated with post-scarcity absolute capital, offering friction-free revenue and zero structural downside, refusal was not just irrational; it was corporate suicide.

"Sign it," Gabe said cleanly.

He stood up from the head of the table, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. "Use the provided Institutional Terminal credentials. Authorize the seventy-five business accounts immediately, bypass the standard bulk-purchase flag limit on our backend, and set up the automated billing integration for all future releases. Give them whatever API access they need to pull the full library down to their station servers."

He paused at the door of the conference room, looking back at the glowing wall display one last time.

"And make sure every developer on Steam gets paid their full seventy percent on time," Gabe added with a faint, wry smile. "It's not every day a solo dev in Ohio makes a sale to a fifty-five-kilometer city floating at Lagrange 5."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Within ten minutes, Valve's lead administrator accessed the Nova Technologies Institutional Terminal portal, entered the cryptographic authorization keys, and clicked confirm.

Across the planet, inside executive suites at Sony, Nintendo and other game storefront platform, similar emergency meetings were concluding with the exact same breathless, unquestioning speed. The old world was signing the papers, grateful for the chance to exist in the shadow of the new one.