The silence of the early morning enveloped my room as I sat at my desk. My eyes were fixed on the sheet of paper where I had sketched my final conclusions about holograms. I had achieved something that once seemed impossible: understanding how to recreate technology as advanced as what I had seen in the movie. But what impressed me most wasn't the achievement itself—it was the journey that had led me there.
My ability… my Branch had reached a new level. I could feel it clearly. It was as if my mind had broken through an invisible barrier, allowing me to go beyond the limits I had previously perceived. Is this what it feels like to advance to level 2? I drummed my fingers on the desk, letting the thought settle in my mind.
Despite the satisfaction I felt, one question lingered in my thoughts: if there were other people with mental Branches, why had no one gotten as far as I had? Why had no one made discoveries like this? Determined to find answers, I turned on my computer and began searching for information on similar abilities.
The results soon revealed a clear pattern. The recorded mental abilities seemed to be limited to quick calculations, perfect memory, or solving problems with relentless logic. Impressive skills, yes, but they all followed a fixed framework: the higher the level of the Branch, the faster and more efficient the information processing, as if they were human supercomputers.
But mine was different. As I read, the answer began to take shape in my mind, as if my ability were working in the background, connecting scattered dots. It's not just about processing information… my ability goes further, I murmured to myself.
The pieces slowly came together. My Branch wasn't simply a machine processing data; it was a builder, a craftsman. Every fragment of information I acquired was a piece of a larger puzzle. Even if the pieces didn't fit perfectly, I could break them down, adjust their edges, and find a way to connect them. That was my true strength: reconstructing, reorganizing, and completing what others couldn't see.
It's like building something from scratch… something no one else sees until it's finished, I reflected. And that ability was what had allowed me to complete the idea of holograms. I was barely scratching the surface of my potential, and I knew it.
My thoughts were interrupted by my mother's voice pulling me out of my reverie.
"Lian! It's late—you're going to be late for school. Hurry up."
I blinked, confused, and looked at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. I had completely lost track of time. I stood up calmly, though distracted, grabbing my uniform and backpack as my mind kept circling around my discovery.
As I got ready, my movements were automatic: buttoning my shirt, checking my backpack—all on autopilot. My mind kept working, unable to let go of the clarity I had reached. How far could this ability take me? That question haunted me.
I went downstairs and said goodbye to my mother with a distracted smile before heading out. The world outside called to me, but in my mind, a new path was beginning to form.
---
The days passed as usual: classes, homework, and free moments I dedicated to exploring the potential of my ability. But now, everything had a clearer purpose: the Branch evaluation that was quickly approaching. I didn't feel nervous—not even a little. Any theoretical questions they asked would be easy thanks to my ability. My capacity to learn and analyze gave me a significant advantage.
However, I had my doubts. I knew that the tests for mental abilities usually focused on calculations, problem-solving, and strategy. That was fine, but it didn't reflect the true core of my ability: the capacity to complete and build knowledge from scattered pieces. I suspected the tests would underestimate what I could do, but I wasn't worried. In fact, I preferred it that way for now. I wasn't ready to fully reveal the extent of my ability until I understood how far it could go myself.
---
The day of the test arrived sooner than I had expected. I woke up early, had a good breakfast, and checked the necessary documents before heading out. The morning sun bathed the streets as I walked to the evaluation site, a large government building with modern, minimalist architecture. The city seemed more alive than usual, as if the air itself recognized the importance of the day.
When I arrived, I observed the crowd gathered. Applicants of all ages filled the building's entrance. Some were visibly nervous, while others tried to appear confident. I stayed on the sidelines, calmly observing as I queued to register. My mind, as always, remained active, processing everything around me without paying much attention to the others' anxiety. Though I knew the tests wouldn't show everything I could do, this was just another step on my path.
The room was filled with an expectant silence as I sat among other applicants waiting for their turn. The atmosphere was tense, but I felt no unease; I knew this test was merely a formality. In front of me, a screen and several sensors came to life as one of the evaluators approached with a professional smile.
"We're going to measure your mental capacity, Lian. Just follow the instructions that appear on the screen," he said.
I nodded silently as the first questions appeared on the screen. They were pattern and logic problems—nothing I couldn't solve in seconds. My fingers moved across the keyboard almost automatically, the answers flowing naturally. Each task felt easier than the last, and although the questions were designed to measure speed and accuracy, I knew this barely scratched the surface of my capability.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the evaluators jotting something down on a tablet. Though they said nothing, their expressions remained neutral, which meant they hadn't found anything particularly surprising. I didn't mind. The test was designed to measure mental abilities in a generic way, but I knew my Branch wasn't ordinary.
After a few minutes, the evaluator looked up.
"Interesting. You've completed the test with a time above the average for your age group. You've reached level 2 of your Branch. It's a notable advancement," he remarked without much emotion.
I simply nodded. I wasn't surprised in the slightest. This was exactly what I had expected, and while the result was satisfactory, I knew it didn't reflect everything I could do.
They invited me to move on to the next phase, which promised to be more interesting. This part wasn't about speed or precision but solving complex problems—something more aligned with my ability. As I sat back in front of the screen, the scenario changed. Now I had to face a fictional situation: a crisis where I had to coordinate a team to manage logistics, strategy, and quick decisions.
I analyzed the problem calmly. While other applicants seemed to rush to type or select options, I took a moment to process the information. It was almost as if my mind worked in the background, reorganizing the pieces of the problem and constructing a solid solution. I considered the available resources, potential threats, and evacuation routes, distributing tasks in my mind in the most efficient way possible.
When I finished, I presented my solution without hesitation. The minutes that passed as the evaluators reviewed my work felt irrelevant; I already knew my answer was effective.
One of them finally spoke, giving a slight nod.
"Your solution is efficient. It was the expected level for someone with an advanced mental Branch. No surprises."
That comment made me reflect. Of course, my solution was efficient, but it was just one of many possibilities. I hadn't shown everything I could do, and that was fine. These tests weren't designed to evaluate the true extent of my Branch, and for now, I preferred to keep it that way.
As the evaluators continued their analysis, I felt a strange satisfaction knowing they still hadn't seen what I was truly capable of. I had met the requirement—nothing more.