Back at her main residence, Herta Herself immediately received the distress signal from Herta No. 002 and took control of the body.
She blinked, glanced at the test paper before her, and began writing without hesitation.
The questions were laughably simple. She could skim them and know the answers instantly, without a second's thought. As she filled in the answers, her mind drifted to other matters.
Ugh, why do I have to deal with these trivial tasks myself? So annoying. When will I finally upgrade the Little Hertas' autonomy modules?
Their current autonomy modules were rudimentary, functioning much like the AI available on the market. Ask them a question, and they'd search their databases for an answer. If you posed a particularly tricky question that wasn't in their databases, they'd freeze—just like with this test paper.
Herta now pondered whether to truly upgrade them into advanced AI: the kind capable of self-learning, perhaps even possessing genuine intelligence—true mechanical life.
This inevitably led to the age-old question: Would artificial intelligence betray its creators? Should she program them with the Three Laws of Robotics, or something similar?
However, Herta designed these robots not to serve humanity, but to serve herself. They didn't need the Three Laws of Robotics; all they required was a simple line of code: "Obey Herta Herself's commands."
As Herta pondered this, she casually finished the exam paper in front of her in under ten minutes. Then, amidst the principal's bewildered and stunned expression, she stood up, handed him the paper, and chirped, "Here you go~"
The principal reached out with trembling hands and took the exam. He glanced at the answers—all correct!
This was even more absurd. How long had she taken? Ten minutes? It looked as if she hadn't thought at all, simply copied the answers onto the page.
The major problems on the paper were particularly suspicious. Most of them simply stated, "Clearly,..." followed by the final answer, with no intermediate steps. It looked exactly as if she had known the answers beforehand.
But that shouldn't be possible! The principal had drafted this exam himself just days ago. There was no official answer key—no way to cheat unless someone could read his mind. Otherwise, how could she have known the answers in advance?
The final question on Herta's exam was particularly outrageous. It addressed a universally recognized unsolved mystery in the magical world: even the most powerful magicians experience a loss of Magic Power when casting spells. For example, if a magician expends 100 units of Magic Power, only 95 units are converted into the magic itself, while the remaining 5 units vanish without a trace.
No matter how hard magicians try, they cannot surpass this 95% threshold. The unaccounted-for 5% of Magic Power seems destined to be lost, and no one understands why.
The final question on Herta's exam asked students for their thoughts on this enigma and any hypotheses they might have.
Then, after stating "It's obvious," Herta presented her conclusion: the perception of expending 100 units of Magic Power is an illusion. The truth, she claimed, was that the magician only used 90 units. The extra 5 units in the 95 units comprising the magic were drawn from the sparse Magic Power freely circulating in the air, attracted by the fluctuations created during the spellcasting process and automatically incorporated into the spell.
This revelation directly contradicted Great Britain's fundamental principle: "The sparse Magic Power freely floating in the air cannot be harnessed." This very principle had puzzled Britons for generations.
Upon reading this, the Principal's eyes widened, his hands trembling uncontrollably. "Th-th-th-this...!"
This was nothing short of blasphemous! Yet, upon careful reflection, it seemed remarkably logical. If true, it would send a seismic shock through the entire magical world!
Countless magical theories would be overturned, and countless new concepts would emerge!
Meanwhile, in the examination hall, Newman watched this scene, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh no, is something about to happen?!
He had only witnessed Herta swiftly complete the exam in ten minutes, submit it to the Principal, and leave the man utterly speechless.
How could anyone finish an exam in ten minutes? Newman wondered. Did Herta just draw a turtle on the paper? Look how furious she's made the Principal!
We're doomed! he thought. We never should have trusted that little menace. Why didn't we just introduce her as my niece?
Just as Newman approached to apologize to the Principal, the man exclaimed excitedly, "Incredible! Utterly incredible! The answer to this question could shake the very foundations of Great Britain!"
Newman blinked, utterly bewildered. "What the hell is going on?"
Dude, what's all this about? he thought. The spy mission said we were supposed to overthrow Great Britain. Does solving a test question count as that now?!
Huh? What just happened?
The Principal placed the exam paper back on the desk and pointed to the final, most complex problem. "Could you explain your reasoning in detail?"
Herta, looking utterly bored, replied, "It's simple. The sparse Magic Power freely drifting in the air can be harnessed. You just didn't know how before. More importantly, can we hurry up with the practical exam?"
"Practical exam? No need!" the Principal declared, his excitement bubbling over. "This single answer alone qualifies you for Cambridge!"
In Britain, where practical skills reigned supreme, gaining admission to Cambridge based solely on a written exam was an exceedingly rare exception. Yet Herta had undeniably earned this extraordinary honor.
"Kid, do you know how to write a research paper?" the Principal asked, practically groveling. "If you have any questions or need any help, don't hesitate to ask me. Could you perhaps give me second authorship? If that's not possible, third authorship would be fine too!"
Newman, who had just approached the pair, stared at the Principal, his brain completely short-circuited, unable to comprehend the scene before him.
As if sensing Newman's presence, the Principal suddenly grabbed his hand. "You're truly remarkable! You've unearthed such a brilliant genius! If you can manage to get second or third authorship on this paper, becoming a Senior Councilor might not be out of reach!"
Newman froze. "Who? Me? A promotion???"
He had been working diligently undercover in Great Britain for over a decade, with no hope of advancement. Now, he was being told that simply having his name on a paper could secure a promotion?
What the hell?