Chapter 230: More So Than Any Genius...
"Door! You died such a tragic death!"
Rekka knelt on the carpeted floor of the Principal's Office, dramatically patting the splintered wooden door panel that lay flat on the ground. He bowed his head, his voice dripping with exaggerated grief.
"Though we've only known each other for less than two system hours, you were a good door! A loyal door! A door that gave silently to the masses! You bore a weight you shouldn't have had to bear, and you fell at a moment you shouldn't have fallen. Your noble deeds will be forever etched into the grand history of Origami University—"
"Wasn't that the door you broke?" March 7th deadpanned, crossing her arms as she mercilessly shattered his theatrical performance.
Rekka clicked his tongue, shooting the pink-haired archer a flat look. "Can you let me finish my lines first?"
Today, Rekka actually looked the part of an academic elite. He had completely swapped out his usual attire. Gone was the heavy, high-collared black cloak that wrapped him up so tightly he would sometimes sweat through it. In its place was a sharp, impeccably tailored suit. With his current Path shifted to Erudition, he gave off the distinct aura of an exceptionally refined, perhaps slightly frail, intellectual.
Of course, anyone who actually knew him understood the absurdity of that image. A suited thug on the Path of Erudition? It was like putting a tailored tuxedo on Nanook.
"The school rules of Origami University have been officially updated," Rekka announced, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his slacks. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "As of right now, this institution is completely under my control. And my first decree? I have completely abolished all 8 AM classes!"
March stared at him. "But we're inside a dream. Does abolishing 8 AM classes even have any practical point here? You'd be better off pulling a stunt like that at the University of Veritas."
Rekka choked, the smugness instantly draining from his face. March's brutal logic had completely pulled the rug out from under his grand declaration. "While it may not have much meaning in a dreamscape," he grumbled, "just tell me: were they abolished or not?"
"What other modifications did you make to the curriculum?" Welt Yang asked, adjusting his glasses. He stood beside the massive mahogany desk, eyeing the towering mountain of paperwork. Picking up a thick, freshly printed document, he flipped it open. It was a complete revision of Origami University's teaching policies.
"I changed their textbooks," Rekka explained, recovering his stride. "A lot of the material was bloated and unnecessary, so I went in and wrote idiot-proof annotations in the margins. This way, even if the students slack off all semester and cram the night before their final exams, they can still get good grades, actually learn something useful, and—please, hold your applause."
Himeko covered her mouth, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Then why not try making the students more interested in the classes themselves?"
"Putting effort into the textbooks is always much more efficient than putting effort into the students," Rekka replied, waving a hand dismissively. "At least as long as they are willing to open the book and read my notes, they won't fail their finals. If someone refuses to even flip through a single page for an entire semester, they deserve to fail. Who else is there to blame?"
"Put that way, the logic isn't entirely wrong," Welt conceded, placing the heavy document back onto the stack.
Rekka sank into the plush leather chair behind the desk, steepling his fingers and looking every bit the mature, steady academic leader. "In the future, I can legitimately write on my resume that I served as the Acting Principal of Origami University., I have prepared a few other surprises hidden around the campus. But for now, please excuse me. I need to go receive two geniuses."
He stood up, grabbed the splintered door panel off the floor, hoisted it under his arm, and walked out of the office.
The empty doorframe stood open to the hallway.
"...Welt, there's no need to look so worried," Himeko said gently, noticing the older man's strained expression. "The kids are already capable of standing on their own."
"I'm not worried about his independence," Welt sighed, staring at the bare hinges. "I just can't figure out why on earth he had to take the broken door with him."
"He... probably just felt like it," March reasoned. Deciding to be productive, she pulled out her phone and made a quick call to the Dreambuild Academy, requesting a few students to come fix the Principal's Office. There was no need to hire a professional Dreamweaver when she could just let the architecture majors handle it for free course credit.
March 7th had truly been corrupted by Rekka's efficiency.
Out in the courtyard, Rekka greeted his guests. He reached out and enthusiastically shook hands with the mechanical aristocrat Screwllum, and then turned to shake hands with Herta's puppet projection.
"Where is Chadwick?" Herta asked, getting straight to the point.
"I'll take you to him," Rekka said, adjusting his grip on the heavy wooden door panel tucked under his arm.
"Alright."
As they walked, Herta glanced at him, expressing a rare hint of appreciation for his seemingly reckless, brute-force methods from earlier. "But next time you open your comms mic, remember to turn the volume down. The static made my head ache."
"I know, I know," Rekka brushed it off.
Herta's mechanical joints whirred slightly as she tilted her head, her gaze dropping to the massive slab of wood he was carrying. "...Also, why are you carrying a door panel? Is this some kind of avant-garde performance art?"
"I feel like it gives a sense of privacy when talking to others," Rekka replied with a straight face.
Herta stared at him....?
They passed through the bizarre, shifting corridors of Origami University. Various moving paintings hung on the walls, the painted eyes following them as they walked. Finally, they arrived in front of a secluded, empty classroom. Rekka casually leaned the broken door panel against the wall outside and pushed open the actual classroom door.
Beep, beep, beep-beep-beep.
Holographic screens materialized around Rekka's fingertips as he rapidly inputted dream coordinates, locking onto the target and initiating the teleportation sequence.
"You learned Aether Editing from that little hacker girl?" Herta observed, watching the data streams cascade around him. "Your technique is good, but you're not quite at her level yet."
"But it is indeed a considerably high standard," Screwllum countered, his metallic voice smooth and gentlemanly. "Mr. Rekka's Aether Editing proficiency would be rated as top-tier, even on Punklorde."
Amidst the shifting light and shadows, pixels and glowing data blocks rapidly assembled in the center of the room. The figure of a slightly hunched old man materialized from the digital ether.
The old man blinked, looking around the classroom before his gaze locked onto the projections of Herta and Screwllum.
"...Screwllum. You've come."
The forced connection to the Genius Society meeting earlier had granted Chadwick a brief moment of clarity, allowing him to remember his own identity as a Society member, as well as his old colleague. However, the exact details of his past, his purpose, and the dangerous knowledge locked within his mind remained a foggy blur.
"Hold still. I will remove your thought shielding now," Rekka instructed, stepping forward. His fingers danced across the holographic interface, performing a delicate sequence of Aether Editing directly on the old man's digital consciousness.
A few moments passed. Slowly, the fog in Chadwick's eyes dissipated, replaced by a sharp, piercing clarity.
"...I remember," the old man whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Now, I remember everything."
"Good. It's good that you remember," Rekka nodded, dismissing the holographic screens. "Your obsession was indeed a bit difficult to handle."
"Obsession..." Chadwick muttered, looking down at his aged, translucent hands.
"Yes. The knowledge of the Imaginary Implosion Pulse in your brain was locked away incredibly tightly. You sealed it purely through your own willpower to keep it out of the IPC's hands. Your mental fortitude is worthy of respect, sir."
"Is that so..." The old man nodded slowly, a heavy sorrow settling over his features.
"Number 7, Dr. Chadwick," Herta spoke up, stepping forward. "This is the first time I've seen your personal memory. I am Number 83, Herta. You are a genuine genius. There is a lot of overlap between your fields of research and mine. The imaginary application theories you published have inspired me more than once. They even make me a little... envious."
Herta clicked her tongue, shaking her head. It was a deep pity. Chadwick had been dead for two Amber Eras. If she had only realized the truth of his disappearance two Amber Eras ago... perhaps things would have developed very differently.
Chadwick turned his gaze away from Herta, his eyes settling on the suited young man who had freed his mind. "Your name is Rekka, right?"
"Right."
The old man studied him, sensing the chaotic, boundless energy humming beneath Rekka's refined exterior. "You aren't a member of the Genius Society... but I feel that you could be more than anyone in the Genius Society..."
Chadwick suddenly stopped himself. A strange, unexplainable feeling washed over him, a premonition that the young man standing before him defied all logical categorization.
"...Never mind," the old man sighed softly. "It's nothing."
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