Solar Crisis and the Plasma Spark Tower

As Li Wei's words fell, the hall was silent for a moment—silent enough to hear refrigerant flowing through the central air-conditioning system.

Then came the crisp sound of a bone-china teacup shattering against the Italian marble floor tiles.

Clear and piercing.

Then, like a lit fuse, it spread rapidly from that corner through the entire hall.

Whispers became a buzzing murmur, followed by uncontrollable gasps and challenges in a mix of languages.

"Is this true?!"

"This has to be a lie, right? How could that possibly—"

"God—twenty-seven years—that's practically no time at all, isn't it?"

Only several seats in the very front remained silent.

The head of the Free Federation delegation merely lowered his head, rhythmically tapping his knuckles against the document marked "TOP SECRET" before him.

The Russian representative, a man whose gloomy gaze resembled a Siberian winter night, slowly removed his gold-rimmed glasses and wiped the lenses with a silk handkerchief.

Because they had known all along.

The data sent back by NASA's Parker solar probe and the European Space Agency's Solar Orbiter—those toys that had cost tens of billions, even hundreds of billions of dollars—would not lie.

They had gathered here today not to listen to a story about the end of the world.

They were here to carve up a cake called "the future."

Or rather, to decide who was qualified to sit at the table and gamble on an illusory future.

"Th-then what are we supposed to do?"

A tearful voice came from the middle-rear section of the hall.

The one asking was a representative from some small country, a dark-skinned middle-aged man.

Yes. What were they supposed to do?

Everyone's eyes instinctively turned toward the American general tapping on the table.

"Very simple."

General Sterling, the United States' chief representative, rose to his feet.