There came a time in every genius's life when they looked at the sprawling blueprint of their dreams… and realized it cost more than the GDP of a small country.
Elian sat at his desk, staring at a simulated model of the Nano-Layered Graphene Capacitor projected by the system. It pulsed like a tiny, impossible miracle. Ultra-efficient. Scalable. Beautiful. Completely unbuildable… with his current lab budget.
He exhaled sharply, slumping in his chair.
"Okay. Okay. No problem. I've got… um…"
He opened his funding spreadsheet.
Zero active grants. One expired. One pending, but already rejected twice. His university stipend barely covered lab maintenance and caffeine.
"I'm a world-class physicist with exactly forty-three dollars in operational freedom," he muttered. "Awesome."
The system, ever helpful, chimed in:
[System Notice: Estimated real-world construction cost of capacitor prototype — $5.2 million USD (non-bulk). Suggested next action: secure capital.]
"Thanks," he said dryly. "Very helpful."
[Sarcasm detected. System response: unbothered.]
He groaned, rubbing his temples. For the first time since the orb arrived, a deep, real-world problem loomed over him. Not theoretical complexity. Not metaphysical shock. Just cold, hard economics.
He needed resources — materials, staff, industrial-grade tools — and probably an actual accountant.
One thing was clear.
He couldn't do this alone.
He'd have to tell someone.
No — not someone. Jenna.
The thought hit like a lightning bolt to the gut. His lab partner, co-researcher, and chaotic voice of reason. She'd noticed his weird behavior already. She was patient. Kind. Smart. But also wildly intolerant of secrets.
He looked toward her empty desk across the lab.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "No more hiding in the lab. Time to be honest. Ish."
He stood up. Paused. Sat back down.
Stood up again.
Sat.
"This is going to be awful," he muttered.
But necessary.
Because if he was going to build world-changing tech, invent a new industrial standard, and maybe save the planet from future doom… he needed a startup budget.
And probably legal advice.
And snacks. Definitely snacks.
He opened his notebook and wrote in shaky block letters:
Step One: Tell Jenna
Step Two: Register a Patent
Step Three: Publish
Step Four: Get Funding
Step Five: Start a Company (?)
Step Six: Don't Panic
As he underlined the last step three times, the system pinged again.
[Reminder: Do not die of stress. Type I human hosts are statistically fragile.]
Elian flipped off the invisible interface.
"Step Seven," he added under his breath. "Find a way to punch a sarcastic AI."
Meanwhile...
Somewhere far beyond, in the cozy fourth-dimensional lounge, Clarity watched the feed and smirked.
Boop danced through a glittering stream of timelines.
"Is he panicking?"
"Yup."
"Has he told her yet?"
"Not yet. He made a checklist though. Step six was 'Don't Panic.'"
Boop giggled. "Classic mistake."
Clarity leaned back, tentacles crossed. "Let's see how he handles social interaction under financial pressure. This'll be fun."