He paused and looked Lemu straight in the eye.
"In that case… would you be interested in becoming my student? Miss Echeverria?"
"Wait, what? Miss?"
Lemu froze for a second, pen still mid-spin.
Amick, completely unaware of the slip, continued introducing himself like nothing happened.
"My research covers mathematics, biochemistry, materials science, astronomy, ship design, quantum mechanics, nuclear engineering—about 20 fields in total.
"I hold 12 Ph.D.s—not counting honorary degrees."
Lemu blinked, genuinely impressed.
Twelve Ph.D.s?
From 20 to 46 years old, Amick had dedicated his life to research and academia.
That's one doctorate every two years.
The kindly old man in front of him was a monster in disguise.
Still, the reading glasses made sense now.
Lemu glanced away, letting out a silent sigh.
Another one fooled by my ridiculously good looks.
Fine. Just one more thing I'll have to get used to.
"…I'd be honored to be your student," Lemu said at last.
"But, please don't misgender me again."
Amick blinked.
Three seconds of stunned silence passed before he recovered.
"…Ah. Of course."
He coughed lightly, clearing his throat.
Kids these days.
Lemu tilted his head, cheeks flushing faintly as he added,
"One more thing—my schedule might be a little tight, so I won't always be on campus. But I'll make sure to finish all my courses and assignments on time."
Amick chuckled, waving a dismissive hand.
"No worries. We're flexible here.
"True geniuses always get special privileges."
As the sun began to set, the group prepared to leave—after all, the drive home would take more than an hour.
From the steps of the university building, Amick watched their car disappear into the horizon.
With a long sigh, he reached up and carefully removed his wig, revealing a shiny bald head underneath.
After smoothing it out and replacing the wig, he turned to his former student—Lauren Montbatten.
"Lauren."
His voice carried the weight of experience.
"I've told you time and time again—your attitude is too extreme.
"It's not good for you—and it's not good for the people around you.
"You're too old to keep acting like this."
Montbatten looked down, visibly uncomfortable.
Like a child being scolded.
"I understand… Professor."
Amick's eyes narrowed.
"Oh, no you don't.
"I've heard you say that too many times already. 'I understand.'"
He huffed, his white mustache twitching.
"Understanding isn't enough. Change it."
Montbatten nodded meekly.
"…Yes, Professor."
This time, she meant it.
….
Meanwhile…
In one of the computer labs at Caltech, Bennett, a junior student, was hunched over his desk.
Since he planned to stay for grad school, he had already secured a professor as his advisor and spent most of his time buried in research.
Bennett was a junior at Caltech Los Angeles and an aspiring graduate student.
Since he planned to stay for his master's, he'd already secured a professor advisor and practically moved into the lab to get a head start on research.
His lab, coincidentally, was responsible for managing the entire campus network.
Thanks to an upgrade in surveillance systems, the lab also handled maintenance for the campus security feeds—which included access to high-definition cameras.
For Bennett, checking security footage wasn't just part of his job—it was also a hobby.
Whenever he took breaks, he'd casually browse through feeds from different locations, often stumbling upon interesting tidbits of campus life.
Today was no exception.
As he flicked through the channels, his eyes landed on a classroom feed—and froze.
There, on the screen, was a goddess.
Long, silken blue hair. Delicate features. Ethereal beauty.
She stretched lazily in her chair, her slender figure resembling the graceful curves of a willow branch.
The golden light of the setting sun lit up her hair like liquid crystal, casting her in an almost otherworldly glow.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
What really caught Bennett's attention was the presence of Vice President Amick and Professor Montbatten.
Two big shots.
Proctoring a private exam for this stunning freshman?
What's the story here?!
Driven by curiosity, Bennett zoomed in on the exam paper using advanced software tools.
What he saw… broke him.
The writing was immaculate—as elegant as a work of art.
But the content?
He barely understood 10% of the questions and 0% of the answers.
Even more unbelievable—Amick gave her a perfect score.
Perfect!
Bennett stared at the screen, mind blown.
Was this girl a supercomputer in disguise?
She even looked younger than him.
He wasted no time.
Screenshots. Upload. Post.
Within minutes, the story—complete with pictures of the exam paper—hit the campus forums.
"Genius Freshman Scores Perfect on Impossible Exam—Who Is She?!"
The post exploded.
Pinned to the homepage within 30 minutes, it kicked the previous top threads to second place.
Students flooded the comments, debating:
—"Did you see the extra notes in the margins? Even the multiple-choice questions had bonus references!"
—"She's not answering questions. She's teaching the exam."
—"This isn't a test—it's showing off. And honestly? I respect it."
Bennett's mistake?
He posted the exam paper without permission.
Announcement:
"A disciplinary notice has been issued.
A junior student misused his network privileges to access surveillance footage, violating privacy policies.
He is now under probation and has been warned.
Let this serve as a reminder to others."
….
Meanwhile…
Obadiah Stane was losing patience.
Weeks had passed.
Stark remained holed up in his Malibu mansion, obsessing over the Mark II design, ignoring company matters, media attention, and the stock price decline.
Stane needed the miniature arc reactor technology.
But Stark wasn't giving him any openings.
No openings? Create one.
In his empty office, Stane leaned back in his chair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
Thin tendrils of smoke curled upward, coiling around his sharp features.
Cold eyes stared at nothing as he plotted.
Suddenly, he crushed the cigar into the ashtray, his expression hardening.
Picking up the phone, he dialed a number.
"…Call a board meeting under your name."
His voice was calm, measured—but carried a dangerous edge.
"Propose a motion to issue a mandate.
Revoke Tony Stark's management rights."
As he spoke, the afternoon sun poured through the office window, filtering through the leaves outside.
The light cast long shadows that stretched across the room, distorting into clawed shapes behind him.
The shifting silhouettes mirrored the dark thoughts swirling in his mind.