After finishing the last of the preparations for Project Genius, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly. The dossiers, the budget requests, the infrastructure maps, the psychological-conditioning outlines—all of it was finally in place. Now I just needed someone to run the damn thing.
Someone competent.
Someone dangerous enough to handle a school full of potential supergeniuses but not so dangerous they'd turn the children into test subjects for fun.
Someone loyal.
Someone available.
That last requirement was the real problem.
Orochimaru? Absolutely not. He was neck‑deep in the X‑Gene Project, and if I pulled him away, half the D‑Class population would be mutated into fleshy abominations within the week. And even if he were free… kids and Orochimaru? No. No, thank you.
Dr. Bright? I wouldn't trust him with a hamster, let alone the future intellectual backbone of the Foundation. He'd turn the entire program into an immortal meme cult, and the children would emerge quoting chaos, screaming about amulets, and trying to kill each other for fun.
Dr. Iceberg? Too rigid.
Dr. Clef? Too murderous.
That left… one option. And honestly, it was almost funny how obvious it was once I thought about it.
Dr. Kondraki.
Unhinged? Yes, mildly.
Reckless? Sometimes.
Talented? Extremely.
Capable of inspiring others, especially children who needed a strong figure who could command respect but wasn't a complete psychopath? Surprisingly, yes.
And, most importantly—he wasn't currently doing anything I couldn't replace him for.
I found his personnel file on my desk, already bookmarked from earlier.
DR. BENJAMIN KONDRAKISpecialties: Tactical intelligence, field operations, anomalous flora, psychological resilience, unconventional problem solvingTemperament: Chaotically heroicNotes: "Cannot be fired due to unkillable levels of competence."
I sighed.
"Of course it's him."
I found Kondraki sitting in a Site‑01 lounge, boots on the table, polishing his glasses with the sleeve of a coat he definitely stole from someone higher-ranked. A mug of something steaming—probably coffee, possibly something alcoholic—was perched beside him.
He looked up as I entered, one eyebrow lifting.
"Well, well. If it isn't the golden child of the Council. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You're being reassigned," I said simply.
He blinked. "Reassigned? Did something go wrong with the last breach? Because I swear to God, if this is about the butterfly thing—"
"No." I cut him off before he somehow escalated. "I have a project for you. Something big."
He leaned forward, eyes sharpening. "How big?"
"World‑changing."
His grin widened. "Now you have my attention."
I slid the thick folder across the table.
He opened it, scanned the first page…
Then the second…
Then his expression slowly shifted from curiosity to disbelief.
"A school," he said flatly. "You want me to run a school. A school for… geniuses."
"Yes."
"…Children."
"Yes."
He stared at me like I'd just grown antlers.
"You know I'm not exactly teacher material, right?"
"I don't need a teacher," I replied. "I need someone who can command respect. Someone unpredictable enough to keep dangerous children in line. Someone who can handle volatile personalities, unstable abilities, and anomalous outbursts."
Kondraki snorted. "So your plan is: throw the kids at me and hope I scare them into being geniuses?"
"No. My plan is: put someone capable of surviving anything in charge. Someone who won't panic when a ten‑year‑old learns telekinesis and decides to dismantle the cafeteria."
He stared for a long moment.
Then he closed the folder, leaned back again, and let out a slow breath.
"…This is actually a good idea. A terrifyingly good idea. Which offends me, but fine."
"So you'll do it?"
He smirked. "Hell yes, I'll do it. If these kids are the future of the Foundation, better they learn from someone who knows how to survive its worst."
I nodded. "Good. You'll receive your starting budget tomorrow. Two hundred staff. Full security clearance. A private facility."
Kondraki whistled. "You're really going all‑in on this, huh?"
"This project," I said quietly, "will determine the future of the Foundation for centuries. These children will be scientists, researchers, tactical commanders… maybe the next generation of O5's. They need to be shaped correctly."
He studied me for a moment, all the joking gone.
"And you trust me with that?"
"I trust you to protect them," I said. "And to make sure the weak are filtered out before they become liabilities."
"…Fair enough."
I extended my hand.
He shook it.
Project Genius officially had its first director.
And I could already feel a shift in the future—an expanding ripple, a new branch of possibility unfurling.
A generation trained from childhood.
Brainwashed.
Shaped.
Loyal.
Mine.
The Foundation wouldn't just survive the coming centuries.
It would thrive.
And I would be the architect of the greatest minds the multiverse had ever seen.