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

Chapter 495  Workshoping Ideas

Ten days had passed since the training session in Antarctica.

Liam had spent most of that time working on the upcoming announcement and everything attached to it. The drafting, the structuring, the careful choice of what to include and what to leave out — it wasn’t complicated work, but it was work that required his attention.

He could have handed it to Lucy. He didn’t, because Lucy was buried in a lot of work.

She was running parallel builds simultaneously, working on the FTL drives for the Emperor Class-II Starship she’s building, retrofitting the drive for the Emperor Class-I, and now the luxury personal space shuttle he’d commissioned on top of everything else. Also, not forgetting that she’s also working on his new exosuit.

Pulling her into announcement drafting when she was managing that volume of concurrent engineering work wasn’t something he was willing to do. The announcement could wait on him. The builds couldn’t wait on her.

So he handled it himself.

While working through it, his mind kept drifting back to the shuttle. Not Matt’s specifically, though he had sent seventeen messages in the group chat about the Titanium Eagle’s interior layout, each one more elaborate than the last. The latest involved a hot tub but Liam had not responded to the hot tub message.

He was focused on the concept of the space shuttle. The first time he’d seen one of the shuttles standing in the Dimensional Space and he boarded it, and flew it to the moon, something had clicked in the back of his head — a thought he hadn’t seriously entertained since.

Selling them.

Not to governments. Not as fleet assets. Selling private space shuttles to individuals, the way someone sold a yacht or a private jet, but several magnitudes beyond either.

He’d turned the idea over and put it down almost immediately. The world wasn’t ready for it. The infrastructure didn’t exist to support it. And the price point alone would make it a commercial impossibility for anyone but an extremely small handful of people on the entire planet.

A Nova Technologies shuttle wasn’t comparable to anything currently on the civilian market. The engineering involved, the materials, the propulsion systems — none of it had an equivalent.

A reasonable floor price for the cheapest configuration, before any customization, would sit around $10B. Probably more. That was already past the estimated cost of his private A380, which had come in at roughly $2B, and the shuttle made the A380 look like a commercial flight in comparison.

The ultra-wealthy could move hundreds of millions on a property. Close to a billion on a yacht or a private island. But $10B for a spacecraft crossed into territory where even that tier of wealth started to feel the weight of the number.

And even if someone could absorb that cost without flinching, the political fallout would be immediate and catastrophic. No government on Earth would allow a private citizen to own an operational spacecraft of that capability. The moment a purchase cleared, the seizure process would begin. No asset structure, no legal framework, no jurisdiction-shopping would stop it. The buyer’s government, or someone else’s, would find a way. It would be chaos across every front — legal, political, reputational — and the shuttle would still end up in a government hangar.

So outright sales were out.

But the experience was a different product entirely.

Private space tourism existed. It had existed for years. But what currently existed was, by Liam’s measure, barely a proof of concept. Orbital flights. Forty minutes above the atmosphere. A curved horizon through a small window before descent and splashdown. People paid tens of millions for that and called it space travel.

He didn’t hold it against them. By Earth’s current standard, it was space travel.

But his standard had shifted considerably since he’d crossed the Oort Cloud.

The Oort Cloud was a region of space so vast that light, traveling at 300,000 kilometers per second, took between one and three years just to cross it. Liam had done it in a week. What humanity currently called space tourism, which was to him, just orbital loops and brief weightlessness, registered to him the way a ten-minute boat ride on a lake registered to someone who’d crossed the Pacific.

He wasn’t dismissing what humanity had built. The engineering required to put people in orbit at all was genuinely remarkable given the timeline. He understood that. But remarkable by Earth’s current standard and remarkable in any absolute sense were two different things.

Real space tourism, to his mind, meant leaving Earth’s orbit entirely. Landing on the moon and watching the planet hang in the black above you. Setting boots on Martian soil while Phobos and Deimos, Mars’ moons, tracked across the sky. Drifting through the asteroid belt and pressing a gloved hand against a rock that had been spinning in silence since before the solar system finished forming.

That was worth selling. That was worth paying for.

The pricing he’d worked out was still steep, but reasonable against what was actually being offered. Lunar and Mars experiences in the $150–250M range per person. Asteroid belt and outer planet routes pushing $300–500M. Expensive by any measure, but not by the measure of what it actually was. Stepping onto another world for $200M was, in real terms, extraordinarily cheap.

Liam might actually release it but it’s still going to be years away. The focus is currently on the Medical Nanites. Releasing anything other than Lucid Studio and the intended activation of Lucid’s phone function, would be counterproductive for him, so no new product for the nearest future.

The sequencing mattered. Dropping space tourism into the current environment, while nanite debates were still running at full intensity across every platform, would be noise. Worse than noise. It would fragment attention at the wrong moment.

Back to Matt’s space shuttle, he had already settled on the class name for the shuttle line. Vanguard Class.

Matt’s would be the first, which hadn’t been intentional when he’d made the promise but felt appropriate in retrospect. And it would be the first in the line of luxury space shuttle he intends to use for the experience business model.

There was another idea sitting in the earlier stages, something he’d been turning over for weeks. Bringing in-game items into physical reality. The concept was still rough — material restrictions, enforcement layers, the gap between what players would want manufactured and what could be responsibly produced. He hadn’t committed to it yet. But if the commercial case held up under his own scrutiny, he’d move on it several months after the nanite rollout settled.

“There’s still the Reactive Cinematic,” he said to himself. “But no one’s triggered a quest yet.”

Yes, Nova Technologies would be releasing a series but Reactive Cinematic won’t be a regular series in the conventional sense. It was later built into Lucid’s native games at Lucy’s discretion, during one of the silent update regularly done to Lucid games and device.

The Reactive Cinematic primarily focuses on Frontline: Starfall Dominion and Eternal Realms, tied to specific NPCs with deep lore histories. When a player triggered the right quest, it activated a cinematic built around that NPC’s story.

What made it different from a standard cutscene was the personalization layer. The triggering player’s character appeared in it. Their actions, their choices, the specific way they’d intersected with the quest — all of it woven into the narrative. The cinematic became simultaneously a piece of original content and a record of what that player had done.

And they’d receive a percentage of the profit it generated. Because without them, it wouldn’t exist.

But the problem was the trigger quests were genuinely rare by design, built into specific and unlikely sequences of player behavior. Someone in the current playerbase was probably a few decisions away from the first one and had no idea.

Also, due to the fact that the games’ system doesn’t give tips, as they are made to feel realistic, triggering the quest would take a while.

“I wonder how they will react to something like that?” Liam smiled, thinking of the gaming community reaction to the Reactive Cinematic.

He pulled his attention back to the display. The announcement draft sat open, clean and ready. He read through it one final time, not because he expected to find issues but because the habit had served him well enough that he’d stopped questioning it.

Everything was in order and he intends to post the announcement in a couple of hours.

It was time to get his frequent dose of chaotic and interesting reactions.

“Hehe boi,” Liam smiled mischievously.

Now, I really wish I had one space shuttle like the one being built for Matt.

What do you all think about Liam’s business ideas? And the Reactive Cinematic?