In the heart of the prestigious university, where brilliant scholars roamed the halls, their voices echoed through the corridors, not only discussing mathematics and science but also debating politics and swapping tips on how to avoid failing a test. The cutting-edge facilities stood as a testament to academic excellence. The walls, lined with bookshelves brimming with volumes of knowledge, seemed to hum with the promise of discovery. The scent of polished wood filled the air, evoking a bygone era, as though the building itself had been transported from the 20th century.
Each room, from the sprawling classrooms to the quiet apartments, was meticulously designed for both learning and living. But it was the research labs that truly set the university apart—places where the brightest minds ventured into uncharted realms, unraveling mysteries that could reshape the world.
Amidst the chaos of the lab, the sharp sound of explosions and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards filled the air, blending with the maze of diagrams and whiteboards covered in equations and theories. The scratching of pens was barely audible over the loud explosions caused by the careless mixing of sodium and hydrochloric acid. A small puddle of the corrosive liquid splashed onto experiment glasses, eroding the lab floor and sending students scrambling in panic, their faces twisted with fear as danger unfolded around them.
But amidst it all, one student remained completely oblivious. Fixated on his experiment—an investigation into ten dimensions—he was utterly consumed. The glow of the computer screen reflected off his eyes, his hands moving in a steady rhythm as he typed in research variables, eyes locked on the results scrolling across the monitor. The world around him faded into the background, the chaos a distant hum that couldn't break his concentration.
It seemed as though his entire life was bound to this place. He ate and slept here, completely absorbed in his work—more obsessed than the most reclusive otaku, locked away in their rooms, avoiding daylight, and lost in video games. But he was worse. He never paused for anything except classes and sleep; his existence had been reduced to nothing but his research, and the lab had become his entire world.
Then, after a brief moment of experimentation, the lab door cracked open.
Fear of an impending mistake caused everyone to halt their work, and, in a frantic rush, they bolted for the exit. He glanced briefly at the chaos around him, but the indifference in his eyes was palpable—a cold ignorance of the danger unfolding. With a deep sigh, he turned his attention back to his experiment, as though the world outside no longer mattered.
As his fingers moved over the keyboard, something unexpected struck him—a realization that shattered his tunnel vision. Today was the day his parents had married.
He paused. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, his voice barely more than a whisper, resonating with the fading echoes of memories long buried. The acrid smell of chemicals and acid seemed to intensify the sudden flood of emotions that overtook him.
"Mom, Dad... I know you didn't stay... but soon, I'll be the greatest. Even... even if I just wanted to live an ordinary life."
His hand trembled as he reached for a picture of his parents on the desk. He twirled it in his fingers for a moment, as if deciding whether to let go of the past. Then, with cold detachment, he grabbed the lighter. The flame flickered to life, and in a slow, deliberate motion, he set the photograph alight. The flames licked at the edges of the picture, curling it into ashes. His tears, hot and uncontrolled, dripped onto the lab desk, mixing with the fire's warmth.
The day of his parents' marriage should have been one of celebration, a milestone in his life—but instead, it only served to highlight the painful void they had left behind.
"Live in peace," he muttered between shallow sobs, his breath ragged as the weight of his loss crushed him. The pain—both physical and emotional—was unbearable. For a moment, the experiment, the lab, and everything else faded into a blur. All that was left was the raw ache of what could never be.
As the flames slowly consumed his parents' photograph, which he had burned as a way of expressing his grief, the paper that had once been whole was now torn apart by the heat. The smiles of his parents dissolved into ashes. As the photo burned, an unusual word appeared in the ashes: "restart."
"What's that? Restart? Why would I need to restart my life? I haven't even accomplished my goal of becoming the best scientist in the world." He took a shallow breath before continuing, his voice barely more than a whisper, the acrid smell of the burning photo lingering in the air.
"I haven't won a Nobel Prize. I never thought my life would turn out like this."
He muttered softly into the quiet, his eyes fixed on the smoldering image of his parents. In that moment, he realized he had nothing left—no parents, no other purpose. His life was now driven solely by the relentless pursuit of his dimensional research.
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Restart? What's that restart a new life? I'm so curious if you with me you can support me by giving power stone and collection.