Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 130: AMAT Begins

Chapter 130: AMAT Begins

The day before their departure, Debbie finally got a breather from the never-ending prep work for the new shop’s launch.

She hurried to the hotel lobby, eager to update Lyra. But while she was there, she threw in a question, "Boss, you’re heading to that closed-off island for the competition. Should we keep Mr. Frei on board?"

Mr. Frei wasn’t just any regular hire. He was a level-eight Peculiar, an elite bodyguard known for taking on high-end protection gigs. Lyra had hired him at a steep price, asking Debbie to ensure he’d protect her discreetly from the moment they landed on Elden Prime.

But, honestly, they hadn’t even needed him. Even when things went sideways after their arrival, Lyra didn’t call him for backup. He stayed in the shadows, inactive.

Debbie had been puzzled ever since picking up Lyra from the hospital. ’Why pay thousands a day for a bodyguard who just watched from afar?’

It wasn’t even her money, but still, the waste made Debbie’s stomach twist. She wanted to ask Lyra directly: "Are you enjoying getting beat up, or what?"

"Keep him until I’m off Elden Prime," Lyra replied, her focus locked on the stack of receipts she was approving. "Set him up with an internal comm and have him stand by at the nearest point to the competition area."

Debbie nodded. After witnessing an attack in broad daylight in the city center, she knew tampering with the competition was more than possible.

After Lyra signed the final document, Debbie’s curiosity got the best of her. "Boss, why didn’t you have Mr. Frei step in the other day?"

She’d seen the footage—Lyra came dangerously close to dying.

"I needed to see how many people were in bed with the Shedd family," Lyra replied, capping her pen as her gaze shifted to the bustling streets outside.

It was clear. Beneath the city’s busy surface, the corruption ran deep.

It wasn’t that the Shedd family had unmatched power. No, the real issue was that every family had skeletons in their closet, and no one wanted to expose anyone else’s unless they had to.

Old allies of her parents? Silent. Former subordinates? Useless.

Even her extended family offered no support for her future goals.

Ironically, Frederick—the very man responsible for her parents’ deaths—was the only one who had, unknowingly, given her a leg up. But his aid came with strings attached.

In the end, Lyra was truly alone.

Lyra wondered what might’ve happened if she had rushed to the government building that day.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. "You’re handling the business on Elden Prime now. If anything comes up, check in with Morrison." She tapped the table for emphasis. "There’s one more thing. I need you to track someone down for me."

She pulled up a picture on her opticomputer and sent it to Debbie. "The former medical team leader for the Legion Skywalkers."

This doctor was the one responsible for implanting the Soul Spikes in her all those years ago.

To regain her former superpower, Lyra needed to find the person who performed her Soul Spike surgery.

She couldn’t move directly against the Shedd family yet, and the masked researcher had vanished. This doctor might be her best shot.

Debbie gave a sharp nod. "And once I find them?"

"Track them. I’ll handle the rest."

Given Ansel’s brutal tactics, it was a small miracle the doctor had even survived this long. If he was still alive, he was probably well-hidden by now.

Lyra waved Debbie off, signaling she could leave.

Leaning back into the couch, Lyra massaged her temples, releasing a deep, tired sigh.

She had to work her way into the military—without any support—and fight off those trying to block her every step.

She needed to uncover the real reason behind her parents’ execution.

She had to reclaim her superpower and bring down the Shedd family.

It was a long road ahead, but she’d have to tackle it one step at a time.

Lyra stared at her slender hands, slowly curling her fingers as if squeezing an invisible mountain of skeletons. A faint, almost crazed smile crept onto her lips; she was like a demon lurking in the abyss.

AMAT? Just another small step in her climb.

On the day of the grand opening, drones hovered over the central city, flashing massive screens with messages like, "To the successful launch of AMAT!" Street-side advertisement boards displayed similar words, amplifying the buzz.

The opening ceremony was set in the central square—right in the heart of the Alliance’s power. A place every tourist made a point to visit.

To one side, the military headquarters loomed; to the other, rows of government buildings stood tall. And off in the distance, nestled at the foot of the mountains, sat the royal palace, a quiet but powerful symbol of tradition.

The square itself, paved with pristine milky-white stone, radiated authority, even in the tiniest cracks between the slabs.

Outside, reporters and spectators swarmed the area, armed with cameras and recording devices. Some waved banners and balloons in support, others held up microphones for interviews.

The place was jam-packed.

When sleek mechas streaked across the sky in a display of raw power, trailing colorful smoke behind them, the ceremony officially kicked off.

As the host began introducing the cadets, the atmosphere turned electric. Each cadet entered with boundless energy, their presence hyping up the crowd even more. But when the Admiral finally appeared and stepped up to give his speech, the place erupted.

With the constant pressure of all kinds of beasts and the looming threat of the Empire, the Alliance’s people revered strength above all. And no one embodied that more than the Admiral.

Lyra sat quietly in her designated seat, her head starting to throb from the noise.

"Lyra, are you alright?" Elsie leaned over and whispered, concern lacing her voice.

Lyra shook her head, wincing. "It’s too loud."

At that moment, Anton flashed a grin and subtly passed them something. "Good thing I came prepared. Here, put these in."

They were soft rubber earplugs—Anton’s survival tactic after attending one too many AMAT events.

Lyra slid the earplugs in, instantly muffling the overwhelming noise. She took a quick glance at the instructors around her, noticing that none of them seemed curious about the recent assassination attempt against her.

Not that it mattered to her. She had bigger things to focus on. All she needed to do was endure until the ceremony ended.

AMAT, run by the military, had spared no expense on the spectacle.

Instead of cheesy dance routines, the event featured jaw-dropping mecha stunts and displays of superpower abilities. The crowd was fully engaged.

Then, Erin took the stage.

A dual-ability Peculiar who’d skyrocketed to fame through her AMAT debut, Erin had become a favorite, especially among students.

Her opponent in this performance match was a strikingly handsome young officer, well-known himself.

The two clashed on stage, ice sculptures forming one moment, blazing fire the next.

Cold and heat collided, creating a mesmerizing show. But it was more about theatrics than competition.

In the grand finale, they caused a dramatic steam explosion, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

"Now it’s time for the interaction segment!" the host’s voice boomed across the square. "Any students want to join them up here?"

As if on cue, hands shot up throughout the audience, waving wildly like grass in the wind.

"Let’s do a lottery," the host announced.

A giant screen lit up, scrolling through the numbers of the attendees.

Lyra felt an uneasy pit in her stomach. And, of course, her number popped up.

She clenched her jaw, rising slowly. Someone was pulling strings. But who?

As she moved toward the stage, Erin’s sour expression caught her eye. That confirmed one thing—this wasn’t the Shedd family’s doing. They weren’t stupid enough to publicly expose her. If they wanted her dead, they’d keep it subtle, make it look like an accident.

Lyra climbed the steps to the stage, feeling Erin’s eyes burn into her. But her attention shifted for a brief second as she caught sight of Ansel seated among the military high command, watching everything unfold.