The evening glow streamed through the gaps of the blinds, slicing the study's floor into alternating keys of light and shadow. In the air, the dust of old pages mingled with the crisp scent of dried ink. The silence was so deep that the only sound was the friction of a pen moving over scratch paper.
Alan Scott was immersed in his own world.
On the desk lay an open notebook, its pages covered with dense non-Euclidean formulas and topological diagrams—the final steps toward the crown of the national mathematics competition. Meanwhile, the bluish glow of the computer screen lit his face, where lines of code and streams of data flickered silently, building a complex financial model that simulated the coming surges and collapses of technology stocks with frightening precision.
This was his true battlefield.
The math competition was merely a stepping stone, a way to seize his first round of "seed funding."
"Alan!"
The door of the study burst open with a crash.
A small whirlwind of energy stormed in, tearing apart the stillness. It was his seven-year-old sister, Lilia. She waved her chubby little fists, her cheeks flushed red with excitement.
"Brother, come downstairs!"
Her voice rang bright and clear.
"Mum baked your favorite lemon pie, and Dad's opened the champagne—they said we're celebrating your victory early!"
Alan's eyes slowly drifted from the screen.
The rushing flow of data in his pupils faded in an instant, replaced with the clarity proper to an eleven-year-old boy. He smiled softly and nodded at his sister.
"Got it. I'll be right there."
Hearing his reply, Lilia gave a cheerful shout and dashed off again like a little whirlwind, leaving the air still quivering in her wake.
The study returned to silence.
But Alan's mind had already retreated fully from the real world, descending into a grand inner architecture that belonged to him alone—
Mind Palace.
Here, there were no gamified panels, no crude attribute points. What unfolded in his consciousness was a boundless virtual library, built of pure white logic nodes and half-transparent streams of information.
Every piece of knowledge, every skill, was stripped bare into its most fundamental logical units. Through ruthless analysis and deduction, they were reconstructed into entirely new theoretical systems, unique to Alan alone.
Each successful deduction illuminated a new, previously unknown region of the palace.
This was how he gained "experience points." This was the true source of the "math prodigy" title the outside world had given him.
His life's plan had been simulated here, coldly, billions of times over.
With the prize money from the competition—and combined with the memories of his previous life—he would, before the dot-com bubble burst completely, target and seize those few companies destined to grow into tech giants.
Then, before the age of thirty, he would achieve absolute financial freedom, bound by no one and nothing.
It was a flawless plan, built upon absolute rationality.
Alan descended the staircase, greeted by the warm, ceremonial atmosphere of the dining room.
His mother, Carla, was carefully placing a large, golden-brown lemon pie at the center of the table, the rich fragrance filling the room instantly. His father, Robert, stood beside her, uncorking an expensive bottle of champagne with almost sacred reverence.
Pop!
The cork shot toward the ceiling, and the festive mood soared to its peak.
"To the future mathematician of our family!" Robert raised his glass high, bubbles foaming over the rim, his face brimming with pride.
"No—" Alan's mother corrected with a smile, "—to the future great entrepreneur of our family!"
The dinner that followed was lighthearted and full of joy.
When his father asked what plans he had for the prize money soon to be in his hands, Alan set down his knife and fork.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and in a calmness far beyond his age, laid out his intentions.
"I plan to invest most of it into tech start-ups."
His voice wasn't loud, but it brought all conversation at the table to an abrupt halt.
"According to my model analysis, the next ten years will see explosive growth in personal computers and internet technology. I've already narrowed down three companies. Each has core technological barriers that will be impossible to surpass in the short term. The projected return on early investment could exceed a thousandfold."
Every word that left his lips—model analysis, technological barriers, investment return rate—struck the hearts of his parents like words from another world.
Carla and Robert exchanged a silent look.
In their eyes was not only astonishment, but also a trace of unease they themselves hadn't realized was there.
Their son seemed… far too mature, far too early.
Just then, a sudden, jarring sound shattered the warmth of the evening.
Bang!
The noise came from the study upstairs.
It wasn't a simple thud—it was as though something heavy had slammed with immense force against the window glass. Even the floor beneath them trembled faintly.
All movement at the table froze.
Robert immediately set down his glass and rose to his feet.
"I'll go check."
"I'm coming too!"
Lilia's curiosity overcame everything, and she hurried after her father.
Alan frowned.
In an instant, his Mind Palace activated. The structural layout of the house and its basic physical models unfolded in his mind, rapidly analyzing every possible scenario.
Bird strike?
Result: impossible. Birds in this season don't fly at such speed at night.
A prank?
Result: impossible. The neighborhood security system hadn't triggered any alarms.
When they returned to the upstairs study, all of them stopped breathing at the sight before them.
A tawny owl lay dazed on the balcony outside, still shaking its head after its collision.
And beneath the glass, at its side, lay a letter.
It was made of thick, yellowed parchment.
The seal was stamped in deep red wax, bearing a crest of four creatures: lion, eagle, serpent, and badger.
But the strangest part—was the address written on the envelope.
In bright green ink, it read clearly:
Mr. Alan Scott
The Boy by the Study Window,
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging,
Surrey
The address was precise to where he had been sitting. Precise to the very centimeter.
Alan's pupils contracted sharply to a single point.
For the first time, his Mind Palace screamed with a piercing red alert—the signal of total system collapse.
Every physical model, every probability calculation, every logical deduction—all failed in that moment, collapsing into meaningless noise.
The letter's very existence was, in itself, an event that defied every law of physics.
Like a hammer from an unknown dimension, it smashed mercilessly, without hesitation, into the perfect world Alan had built upon absolute reason.