The door to T1-08: Narrative Design, PR & Founder Storytelling slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Lucas stepped in, half-expecting a lecture hall. Instead, he found a blacked-out studio. Walls were draped in acoustic foam, spotlights hung low, and a massive holo-screen behind the instructor's podium shimmered with a single phrase:
"If you don't shape the story, someone else will."
Around him, Tier 1 students sat in isolated, spotlighted pods—each resembling a stage more than a desk. Cameras hovered overhead. Every corner of this classroom was being recorded.
Because in Olympus High… everything was content.
This was the real battlefield: perception.
At the center stood Professor Keir Valen, Olympus High's in-house PR legend. A former crisis manager for fallen billionaires and failed unicorns, Keir now taught the one skill most techies underestimated: how to sell themselves before they sold a product.
He looked nothing like a teacher—more like a disgraced talk show host turned kingmaker. Slicked-back silver hair, a dramatic suit with glitch-thread accents, and a grin that looked like it knew where all your secrets were buried.
He clapped once. The room dimmed.
"Welcome to The Narrative Class. The only lesson here is this—truth is boring. Stories win wars, win markets, and win loyalty."
He pointed toward the hologram, which now displayed clips of former Olympus founders being interviewed by global news anchors, appearing on podcast covers, and delivering emotional TED-like speeches.
"You think you're here to build apps. Products. Platforms. No. You're here to build myths. If people don't believe in you, your product dies faster than its beta launch."
Lucas scribbled quickly, already understanding this class was critical. He'd lived a life of logic and systems. But Olympus wasn't ruled by logic. It was ruled by belief.
Valen continued. "Why did people fund a 19-year-old who built a drone that delivered bubble tea? Not because it was smart. Because his pitch began with a breakup story. Humans invest in narratives, not code."
He waved a hand, and a video clip played—a Tier 3 dropout founder giving a viral speech:
"I didn't start this because I wanted to be rich. I started it because I was tired of my mom crying about rent every month."
Applause. Millions of views.
Valen killed the screen.
"That product failed. The startup died. But he? He got scouted for a film, signed a book deal, and got accepted into two accelerators because his story worked."
Lucas sat still.
It hit him hard.
He'd spent so long hiding his real story—his reincarnation, his pain, the weight of carrying two minds in one body.
But now, he saw the truth.
That story? It had power.
Keir snapped again. Lights shifted.
"Now, for your first assignment."
The class froze.
A floating tab opened on every student's tablet:
Tier Boost Assignment: +5 Boost Points
Create a 90-second pitch video that tells your founder story.
Not your product. You.
Your origin. Your struggle. Your edge.
Make us believe that investing in you is safer than betting on gold.
Deadline: 72 hours.
Note: Top 3 submissions will be published on OlympusNet for public voting.Top submission earns a sponsorship recommendation from the Olympus PR Board.
A ripple ran through the room. Students started muttering.
Sponsorship was a big deal. It wasn't just free money—it was reputation, visibility, and backing from Olympus itself.
Lucas stared at the screen, a cold pit forming in his chest.
This wasn't just a project.
It was exposure.
If he did this right, he could launch himself into Olympus's attention economy. Get noticed by council monitors, media bots, maybe even alumni scouts. But if he did it wrong—if he came off weak, fake, or forgettable—he'd be shredded by comments, memes, and downvotes before he even graduated from provisional status.
Raj messaged him through OlympusChat:"Bro. This is it. You have to go nuclear."
Lucas replied simply:"I might."
But inside?
He was torn.
He wasn't the real Lucas Grant. Not fully. He was someone else, wearing this body, holding onto genius that didn't entirely belong to him. Could he even tell a real founder story?
Then again… what if that was the story?
Not a fake billionaire's son, but a broken kid waking up in a system he didn't belong in—fighting to stay relevant in a school where dreams were just currency.
He could use it.
He could bend the truth.
Not a lie. But shape it.
He didn't need to reveal reincarnation. He just needed to present the version of Lucas that Olympus wanted to bet on.
Maybe it was time to show them the scars beneath the startup polish.
He opened his scriptpad and began drafting.
Lucas Grant—The Reluctant Builder
Opening line:"I didn't plan to build something. I just didn't want to be invisible anymore."
He'd talk about being underestimated. Being overlooked. Not being born into Tier 1 but clawing his way there.
He'd sprinkle in the Microvest story—not the product, but the reason it existed.
He'd hint at loss—his father, gone too early. The silence he worked through. The belief that access should be earned, not inherited.
He'd wrap it all around one message:
"I'm not the loudest founder. But I'm the one that won't stop moving. Even when no one's watching."
It wasn't perfect.
But it was real enough to become powerful.
Lucas leaned back, watching his screen fill with bullet points, visual cues, voice tone presets, and camera angles.
The game had changed.
This wasn't about ideas anymore.
This was about belonging to the story Olympus wanted to believe in.
And Lucas? He was ready to become unforgettable.