GETTING A TECHNOLOGY SYSTEM IN MODERN DAY

{Robert Watson of Icarus Airlines, please proceed,}

Their industry closely mirrored Hermes, with the key difference being that they transported people instead of cargo. However, their expansion potential was more limited—no matter how many ships or planes they added to their fleet, the number of travelers remained relatively consistent each year. Unlike Hermes, they also faced competition, as any company with ships meeting safety standards and proper permits could enter the passenger transport market.

What set Icarus Airlines apart was its exclusive service offering trans-star system travel between the Solar System and the Alpha-Proxima Centauri system. Only a handful of companies were wealthy enough to purchase ships capable of such a journey.

Despite the two-year-long trip, demand remained high, thanks to VR integration. Passengers spent the journey in VR pods, allowing them to continue their work and daily activities as usual, eliminating the need for extended leave. This feature made interstellar travel far more appealing for those moving between Proxima and Earth.

Additionally, they had implemented a ticket installment plan, allowing passengers to pay gradually throughout the journey rather than upfront. This made travel more accessible to those who couldn’t afford a full ticket in advance.

Like Hermes, they were also preparing for the Stargate program, ready to adapt once it became available for public use.

Their profit for the year was 0.743 trillion END.

With no questions from Aron, Nova moved on as usual.

{Ryan Walker of Asclepius Biotechnology, please proceed.}

Many had expected Asclepius Biotechnology to decline following the introduction of med pods and genetic enhancements provided to all imperial citizens. However, this never happened—they were the ones supplying these technologies to the empire.

Beyond that, they addressed persistent health concerns, such as obesity, which, while reduced due to genetic enhancements, remained an issue for some. They also provided the nutrient solution for long-term VR pod users, essential for anyone spending extended periods in virtual reality.

Their research expanded into mana-based biotechnology, leading to the development of mana replenishment potions for awakeners, stamina restoration potions usable by both awakeners and regular individuals, and many other innovations made possible through the integration of mana with their advancements in genetics.

Additionally, they were tasked with supplying the mandatory vaccine for those entering the Trade Hub and all Astral Conclave citizens wishing to visit imperial territory.

Their profit for the fiscal year was 2.3 trillion END.

With most of the reports delivered, only two remained. Nova moved to present hers.

{Plutus Ventures.}

As the sole operator of the empire’s largest investment firm, Nova handled everything herself. There were no board meetings, no analysts, no middlemen—just her. That alone made Plutus Ventures a unique entity among the empire’s corporate giants.

Unlike traditional corporations, Plutus Ventures didn’t manufacture goods or provide services. It existed purely to invest—to seek out promising companies and give them the financial backing they needed to survive and grow. Many of the empire’s most successful businesses owed their success, at least in part, to Nova’s investments.

But with that power came limitations. By its very nature, the firm operated on long timelines, with some investments not expected to yield returns for over a decade. Compared to others in the room, it was slow-moving, its impact felt over generations rather than fiscal years.

Still, despite its cautious, long-term approach, Plutus Ventures had earned 200 billion END this year through dividends. A small number, at least when compared to industrial giants—but it was almost pure profit after taxes. With no employees beyond Nova herself, expenses were practically nonexistent, leaving the firm with a clean and efficient operation.

With her report concluded, she turned her gaze toward the final speaker.

{Jai Chakrabarti of the Coeus Foundation, please proceed.}

Unlike the others, the Coeus Foundation wasn’t here to talk about earnings. It was here to talk about spending.

Jai straightened in his seat, his voice calm but firm. “As always, our focus remains on the people.”

Coeus was unique—it was the only entity in the room whose sole purpose was to spend money rather than make it. But that spending had a purpose: it built the foundation upon which millions of lives depended.

At the heart of its mission was House of Hope, the empire’s largest orphanage program. Every abandoned or orphaned child found themselves under its care, shielded from the harsh realities of a rapidly expanding empire. But it was more than just a safety net—it was an opportunity. House of Hope provided the best education, medical care, and personal development resources available, ensuring that no child was left behind.

The empire itself had partnered with Coeus, recognizing its critical role in shaping the future. The collaboration ensured strict oversight and quality control, making House of Hope not just a refuge but an institution that actively produced the next generation of skilled individuals.

And the results were undeniable. Millions of alumni had already entered society, contributing to industries, science, and governance. Each year, more followed, bringing a return that couldn’t be measured in simple currency.

Still, the numbers were staggering. In this fiscal year alone, the Coeus Foundation had spent 2 trillion END, with the imperial government subsidizing an additional 1 trillion END.

Unlike the others, Jai had no profits to announce. No balance sheets to flaunt. But in a way, his report carried more weight than any of the others. Where the corporations built the empire’s economy, Coeus built its future.

And with that, the final report was complete.

The meeting room fell into a brief silence as all eyes turned to Aron, waiting to see if he had any final remarks. His expression remained composed, his gaze sweeping across the room. But from the look on his face, it was clear—he had nothing more to add.

“Thank you for your attendance,” he finally said, his voice steady. “I hope you continue with the same dedication and hard work as before. With that, I bring this meeting to a close.”

The official proceedings were over. But despite his words, no one moved to leave.

Instead, the tension of formality faded, giving way to an entirely different atmosphere. The room, once filled with discussions of profits, policies, and projections, now transformed into something far more relaxed. Conversations resumed in softer, more casual tones. Laughter began to ripple through small groups as colleagues took the opportunity to catch up.

It was no longer a meeting room—it had turned into something resembling an after-party.

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