Prologue
On December 12th, 2003, a genius was born.A genius destined to leave his paw prints on history.
In a luxurious private hospital, beneath bright surgical lights and the scent of disinfectant, a woman in a hospital gown gave birth to a baby.
Not just any baby.
She gave birth to me.
My mother was a famous singer—beautiful, talented, adored by the public. My father, however, was nowhere to be seen at the moment of my birth. Don't misunderstand; it wasn't some tragic circumstance. According to my mother, he was simply an asshole. As far as I know, there is no evidence to the contrary.
I'd love to say I was a prodigy in every artistic field imaginable, but that would be an exaggeration. In music, I only mastered two instruments. The piano—because it looked the coolest to play—and the violin, mainly because my mother could play it and could teach me herself. It was easier that way.
Before I even formed proper memories, I was already four years old and enrolled in kindergarten. That was when my abnormal learning speed began to show.
On the first day, I memorized the entire alphabet flawlessly.On the second day, I understood addition and subtraction—any number, as long as it was written down.On the third day, I counted to 100,000 without difficulty.
It all came effortlessly. Too effortlessly.
My teacher noticed immediately. During rest time and playtime, instead of letting me nap or play, she would give me more material to study. By the end of the year, I was operating at roughly a fourth-grade level in nearly every subject. The only reason it wasn't higher was because my elderly teacher simply couldn't remember more advanced material to give me.
Eventually, she informed my mother.
I was tested and skipped straight to first grade. A month later, I skipped to third grade. It was awkward—painfully awkward. The other kids didn't know how to interact with me, and I didn't care to slow myself down for their comfort.
I could have advanced further, but my mother stopped it there. She said I needed to "grow normally." In my opinion, she stunted my potential.
By age seven, I had become arrogant. Fully aware of my intelligence. Fully proud of it.
That was when I deepened my involvement in music, though I stuck to piano and violin. Around that time, I developed a habit: I would pick up hobbies obsessively and abandon them the moment they became boring.
Chess was one of them.
I learned quickly and started defeating bored middle schoolers at the local club. My ego inflated rapidly. So inflated, in fact, that I entered a professional tournament.
I was crushed.
Utterly ravaged.
It wasn't even close. My score was humiliating. That tournament did something valuable, though—it put my ego back where it belonged.
Then, at age ten, I discovered something far more powerful than pride.
Science.
It was the happiest day of my life.
Our class visited the laboratory of a famous scientist—his name doesn't matter. It could've been Bill Nye for all I care. What mattered was the equipment. The machines. The precision instruments. The atmosphere of possibility.
I wanted to get closer, to see what they were doing. But my teacher stopped me, forcing me back with the rest of the class.
Most children would have let it go.
I did not.
When something interests me, I do not let it go.
That night, I began researching. And I never stopped.
Science was perfect. It could be infinitely complex. Every answer led to more questions. There were gaps—holes in current understanding that I desperately wanted to fill—but some were beyond me at the time.
I asked my mother for private tutors.
I progressed from an eighth-grade-level tutor, to a high school tutor, to a university professor, and eventually to specialists in specific fields. I didn't want to waste time, so at fifteen, I entered college.
By the time I completed my physics degree, it still wasn't enough.
So I studied biology. Nuclear science. Chemistry. Anything I could get my hands on. I burned through knowledge relentlessly until I reached the age of twenty-six.
At that point, I could have secured almost any science-related job without difficulty.
And so I did.
I joined a private weapons development company.
It was impressive at first. Then it became predictable. And then—
Boring.
Again.
That was when I discovered anime.
Fantasy. Slice of life. Moe. Yuri. Even the more traumatic yaoi. And yes… a little bit of ecchi. Not that I'm particularly proud of that.
Years passed in a blur.
Suddenly, I was thirty-three.
I was tired of boredom