Chapter 156: The Hierarchy of Genius
Date: 6/22/2001 – 11:00 PM {1 Year After Birth}
Location: The White Room – Assessment Floor
Perspective: Kaiser Everhart
"Every human is born with a blessing," Vance began, his voice carrying a weight of absolute conviction. "A gift from the heavens designed to fulfill your specific role in this world. Some admit their talents and sharpen them into weapons, while others live their entire lives without ever knowing such a gift existed."
I watched him. His philosophy was a cold, Darwinian meritocracy.
It was the truth.
"Those ignorant ones are destined to be ruled by those with talent," he continued, his gaze sweeping over the silent students.
"In this world, winning is everything. Nobody remembers who came second. This is not a suggestion; it is a universal law."
He stepped away from the podium, his shadow lengthening across the white floor. "Heaven did not create one race above or below another. Strength is simply distributed differently."
He paused, then pointed a gloved finger at the center of the room.
"Designation 000039. Stand."
A boy stood up, his movements stiff and rehearsed.
"Tell me," Vance said. "Which race do you believe is the strongest? The wise elves, the destructive demons, the noble dragonics, the cunning sylvaris, the intellectual dwarves, or the unrelenting beastkin?"
The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Humanity, Director. Because we possess the ability to adapt and change ourselves."
Vance nodded once. "Correct. Everybody is a genius in their own right. But if you judge an elf by its ability to fight physically, you will live your whole life believing it is weak."
He is framing our existence as a collection of specialized tools. If a tool is used for the wrong purpose, it is considered inferior.
"We are all gifted," Vance said, his tone shifting to something more instructional.
"Humanity survives because of its limitless talents. However, excellence is an art won only through training and the application of genius. Nobody acts rightly because they are simply born talented. Rather, those who act rightly are those who decide to use their talents and practice them repeatedly. Excellence is not a fantasy, but an ethic."
He was justifying the torture of the curriculum. If excellence is an ethic, then the lack of it is a moral failure.
"Even so," Vance added, his voice dropping to a colder register, "hard work is pointless if everyone else has a talent and you do not."
"The quality of your work is merely a reflection of the quality of your talent. If everyone focused on excellence, the one who is talentless would inevitably be left behind."
He walked back to the podium, tapping the holographic display.
"Progress is not achieved by luck or accident, but by work ethic and genius. And because of this genius, you all are vastly different. Amongst you all, only one student achieved the objective with absolute perfection."
The answer is clear.
"The majority of you ranged from 95% to 99%," Vance stated. "However, one student surpassed the expectations of the Foundation."
I prepared to stand, the logic of my victory already settled in my mind.
"That student," Vance said, his eyes fixing on the front row,
"is Designation 000001."
The silence that followed was absolute.
I didn't move. I didn't blink.
I simply stared at the back of the golden-haired boy's head.
000001 was more than perfect.
I had been so focused on mastering the environment that I had forgotten to account for a variable that could outcalculate a factory.
Director Vance leaned against the podium, his gaze fixed on the golden-haired boy.
"Designation 000001," Vance said, his voice echoing with clinical curiosity. "You achieved a perfect 100/100 while the rest ranged between 95% and 99%. How do you feel about this result?"
000001 did not turn around. His posture remained regal, almost hauntingly still.
"It is expected," the boy replied. His voice was melodic but devoid of emotions.
"I have no positive or negative emotions regarding a calculated outcome."
Vance nodded, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He moved toward the center of the stage.
"Every human is born with a blessing—a gift to fulfill a role in this world. You have sharpened yours into its pinnacle. Tell me, Designation 1. In your view, what is the greatest talent?"
000001 didn't hesitate.
"Adaptability."
"Explain," Vance prompted.
"It is not the strongest of species that survive, nor the most intelligent," 000001 stated, his voice carrying a strange, ancient weight.
"It is the one that is most adaptable to change. Humanity's greatest strength is its ability to adjust and change courses in the face of adversity. That leads to endless possibilities. In truth, intelligence itself is simply the ability to adapt to change."
Vance began to clap. The sound was slow and rhythmic, like the tolling of a funeral bell.
"Excellence is an art won by training and genius," Vance said with sharp clarity.
"You state your own talent across this room as the greatest. However, Designation 1... what would you say to those behind you? Those who do not possess your ability to adapt?"
For the first time, 000001 turned. His golden eyes swept across the rows of grey jumpsuits, eventually locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze was like a physical pressure, a flare of raw, unchecked truth.
"Keep dreaming all alone," 000001 said.
"While you drown in your sinking ship, know that your precious fantasies will sink straight to hell. Your goals may be to survive the Foundation, but my singular interest here is to stay at the peak of human embodiment. There is a fundamental depth in our greed."
"Only the waste here will get to witness the scenery that comes next."
Beside me, I felt Amelia stiffen. Her fingers, which had been resting on my sleeve, were now trembling.
The room felt colder, the "harsh truth" of his words stripping away the thin layer of comfort our studying had provided.
He isn't just a student. He is a predator who has mastered the environment.
His greed isn't for objects; it's for evolution. He views the rest of us not as peers, but as the scenery for his ascent.
Vance clapped again, the sound signaling 000001 to sit.
"Think over the truth he shared," Vance addressed the room. "Progress is not achieved by luck or accident, but by work ethic and genius."
"Will any of you surpass Designation 1 as the adaptability genius he is?"
The room remained silent. I looked at the back of 000001's golden head. My mind, usually a hive of calculations and strategic paths, hit a wall of cold, hard logic.
I knew the truth.
I am a master of systems. But he is the system itself, constantly shifting to ensure he is always at the top.
I will never surpass him.
Even so, I've achieved my goal.
Director Vance stepped back to the podium, his silhouette sharp against the violet-white glare. "You are all dismissed," he stated, his voice returning to its usual tone of clinical detachment.
"Wake up to your real world. From tomorrow, your true exams will begin. Prepare yourselves."
The students around us began to vanish, their forms flickering into static before dissolving into the ether.
I felt a familiar, insistent tug on my sleeve.
"Kaiser," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Wait. Don't leave yet."
I turned my head slightly. Her face was pale, her green eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and lingering shock from 000001's speech.
"The cycle is over, Amelia. Last-minute studying won't change the knowledge we've already memorized."
"We can stay," she countered, her grip tightening. "The simulation allows for post-session review. We could analyze the 5th question again. Everyone else likely struggled with the spatial synchronization of the portal, even if they solved the first four."
"Only Designation 1 achieved perfection."
"And your reasoning for this extra labor?"
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the desk. "If we review it—if we find the pattern he used—we can work together. We can surpass him next time."
I looked at her. Her logic was flawed by emotion, yet her drive was useful. I had already mastered her memory system, but maintaining our "special" connection was still a tactical necessity.
"You're right," I said, giving her a shallow nod. "A joint analysis of the 5th derivation would be… beneficial. We can spend a little more time."
Amelia's face brightened instantly. The deep flush returned to her cheeks, and she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shimmering with a sudden, renewed energy.
She never got the chance.
"Designation 000829."
Vance's voice cut through the air, cold and immovable. He stood at the edge of the stage, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the light.
"You have been dismissed. Wake up to the waking world."
Amelia turned her head, her expression shifting from joy to genuine surprise.
She stood up, her posture stiffening. "Director Vance, as it stands, there is no formal rule stating we must disconnect immediately after our cycles end."
Vance didn't move. "While there is no written protocol, today is an exception. I am ordering you to wake up."
Amelia's eyes narrowed. She was a genius of memory, but she was also beginning to develop a dangerous sense of agency.
"May I ask why today is so special, Director?"
Vance's voice grew even colder, a low rumble of authority that made the remaining air in the room feel heavy.
"I wish to speak to Designation 000981 alone."
"Do not get in the way."
The threat was implicit but absolute.
Amelia bit her lip, her shoulders slumping as she realized she couldn't win this confrontation. She turned back to me, her emerald eyes clouded with a sudden, sharp sadness. She reached out as if to touch my hand, then pulled back, giving me a final, reluctant nod.
"Understood," she whispered.
She flickered and was gone.
I stood up slowly.
As I did, my chair dissolved into the floor, leaving me standing alone in the vast, empty hall.
Vance began to walk toward me, his boots clicking rhythmically against the white floor. He stopped five feet away, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me.
My blue eyes met the cold, silver reflection of his glasses.
"I have some questions I'd like to ask about your test result," he said.
I narrowed my eyes, keeping my expression a mask of neutral compliance.
"Of course, Director Vance. You may proceed."
My derivation for the fifth question hadn't just been correct; it had been an anomaly. I had used 1,517 digits of Pi to synchronize a hypothetical portal, a level of precision that exceeded the Foundation's own benchmarks for "genius."
As envisioned, everything was moving according to my plan.
Enjoy the results, Vance.I am exactly what you were looking for.
You'll do as I say.