The cold, sterile environment of Dr. Victor Zhao's private lab stood in stark contrast to the volatile chaos he had just observed. He spent the entire night reviewing the telemetry from the substation, his methodical, analytical nature demanding he admit the terrifying truth: the chaos was effective. It worked.
He ran the diagnostics repeatedly, cross-referencing Kai's Divergent Flow spectral analysis with the theoretical models that had defined—and ultimately destroyed—his own career at Leading Star. The difference was stark and deeply unnerving. Zhao's failed project, the 'Chaos Engine,' had attempted to achieve asymmetric flow through complex external mechanisms; it had failed due to a fundamental, theoretical flaw in containment. Kai's flow, while infinitely more volatile, was being controlled not by precise mathematics, but by a sheer, visceral willpower and an intuitive, self-taught internal energy meridian—a pathway he had forged through sheer necessity and desperation.
He's making his body the stabilizer, Zhao realized, the magnitude of the insight forcing a cold sweat. He doesn't need external systems because he is the primary system. His training is not academic; it is purely martial and mechanical—a fusion no one could have predicted.
Zhao's professional cynicism warred fiercely with a terrifying flicker of old idealism. Could this raw, low-born genius succeed where he, the pedigreed scientist, had failed? The guilt and regret of his past failure—the ethical fallout and the political destruction—threatened to drown him. He felt an intense, morbid fascination: he was watching his own history repeat, but with a variable he could not control.
He considered the options with brutal realism:
Deny the Data: Bury the file, cite a sensor malfunction, and protect Grimstone from the inevitable explosion he felt was coming. This was the safe, professionally correct choice that guaranteed long-term survival through mediocrity.
Report the Truth: Submit the unvarnished data. This would confirm Kai's unique talent but also highlight the severe, unquantifiable risk of his method. This option meant embracing the chaos and staking Grimstone's existence on a low-born prodigy.
He looked at the high-efficiency reading again. He remembered the look in Kai's eyes on the gantry—the fierce, focused determination that had bent the laws of physics. That kind of talent deserved a platform. Denying it would be a greater sin against science than embracing the risk. He had failed once by seeking safe, rigid perfection; he wouldn't fail again by rejecting dangerous, working chaos.
He made his decision, driven by a profound blend of professional duty, a secret desire for vindication, and a desperate need to manage the catastrophe he was sure was coming.
He generated two distinct reports:
Report A (For Eleanor Hart): A heavily redacted file confirming the candidate's exceptional, non-standard technical competency and his confirmed access to high-grade resources (the compensator). He meticulously obscured the depth of the Divergent Flow's instability, focusing instead on the successful results. He attached his professional recommendation to proceed, but with an official note of severe, professional caution regarding the inherent high-risk nature of the subject's Bio Energy flow and the ethical necessity of intense supervision.
Report B (For His Private Files): The full, terrifying data on the Divergent Flow's instability, including the precise, mathematically calculated coordinates of its catastrophic failure points. This was the data he would keep secret, a burden he accepted: he would mentor the boy, not out of renewed idealism, but out of a desperate, cynical need to manage the chaos he had just unleashed upon his academy. He would become Kai's shadow, his safety net, and his warden.
He delivered Report A to Eleanor Hart's secure terminal, the weight of his compromise settling heavily in his chest. His action guaranteed Kai Zore's admission, but also cemented his own role as the academy's reluctant safeguard