Michael introduced respectfully: "Dean Wilson, this is Ethan Miller."
Wilson didn't look up, still reviewing the document in his hand, but just said a faint "Mm-hmm," though an invisible sense of authority permeated the room: "Alright, thank you for your hard work. You can get back to your duties."
"Yes sir!"
Michael responded, cast an encouraging look at Ethan, quietly retreated, and gently closed the door behind him.
Only two people remained in the office.
Wilson slowly removed his glasses, raised his head, and his eyes sharp as lasers carefully examined the young man before him, looking him up and down.
That gaze seemed able to penetrate the surface and reach the essence.
After a while, a meaningful smile appeared on his face, and he spoke slowly, his voice still calm but with a bit less formality: "Mr. Miller doesn't look like someone who could achieve a perfect SAT score."
Ethan met the dean's gaze, neither humble nor arrogant, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth: "Does the dean think I'm missing the bookish 'nerd' look? Or do you think I'm standing too straight and lacking the slouch of someone who 'burned the midnight oil studying'?"
Wilson's eyes flashed with genuine surprise.
He'd intended to use that line to ease the tension of their first meeting, but he hadn't expected the young man not only to be unfazed, but to cleverly counter with a bit of playful sarcasm.
This calm and composed demeanor far exceeded any peer he'd ever encountered.
"Yes, but not entirely."
Wilson leaned back slightly, crossed his hands on the desk, and looked at him with interest: "You give me a very unique impression. Unlike the fresh-faced kids who just entered college—more like someone who's already weathered some storms and seen the world."
This was already a very high assessment.
Ethan grinned, his tone relaxed: "The dean is too kind. Although I excelled in academics, I've always felt that true wisdom shouldn't be confined to stereotypes. Which of the great minds throughout history was a rigid, dogmatic fool? While I wouldn't dare compare myself to them, I do aspire to that."
He glanced at the reading glasses placed on the desk by the dean and said with a smirk, "How about you lend me those glasses? I'll give you a performance as a studious bookworm?"
"Hahaha!"
Wilson was thoroughly amused, his hearty laughter echoing in the spacious office: "Good kid! Refreshing, refreshing! Unconventional yet able to reach the top—truly a talented young man, living up to your reputation!"
He pointed to the leather sofa nearby: "Sit, don't just stand there. I don't have any formal business with you—I just wanted to see with my own eyes what kind of person would turn down Harvard to choose NYU. Do you drink tea? Coffee? Want something?"
He started to get up and walk toward the coffee station.
"Dean Wilson, please sit."
Ethan moved first, heading straight to the side table and smoothly picking up the electric kettle to add water: "I'll make tea for you."
His tone was natural, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Wilson stopped, his eyes full of appreciation.
He watched as Ethan flowed smoothly through warming the cups, rinsing the tea, and brewing—every movement calm and skillful, with a composure that transcended his age.
Soon, a cup of hot tea with clear color and fragrant aroma was prepared by Ethan's hands and placed respectfully yet confidently in front of Wilson.
Wilson picked up the teacup, inhaled the tea's aroma, and his eyes settled on Ethan again—this time, the appreciation carried more weight: "Excellent tea, excellent technique. Ethan, you're not only top-tier in academics, but your interpersonal skills are equally rare."
He took a sip of tea, set down the cup, and said confidently: "I think you're excellent material. After you finish your undergraduate degree at NYU, get your MBA here. After graduation, you could consider a path in consulting or finance with my recommendation. With your qualifications and my network, you'll be able to shine and have a brilliant future."
This was a very substantial promise Wilson could offer, representing his optimism and support for Ethan's professional future.
However, Ethan had almost no hesitation and shook his head gently but extremely firmly in the face of the dean's expectant gaze: "Thank you, Dean Wilson, for your kindness and support. But... I apologize—I already have a clear plan for the path I want to take. And that path isn't in traditional corporate structures."
Wilson looked at him in surprise.
He hadn't expected the olive branch he'd extended would be rejected so simply—a rejection of what seemed to be an incredibly bright path to most people!
Ethan met the dean's inquiring gaze, his smile still calm but his eyes sharp as ever: "Didn't you just say I was unconventional? The rules and structures within traditional corporate hierarchies are stable, sure, but for me, they're more like invisible cages. As a person, I'm used to freedom, and I yearn for the magnificent waves of the open sea."
No way was he putting himself in a box like that—it would be like putting shackles on himself.
His tone shifted, carrying the unique edge of youth and a kind of clarity beyond his years: "Besides, Dean, the traditional path is certainly prestigious, but there are many obstacles—resources, connections, opportunities, even luck—all indispensable. Rather than pinning my future on unknown ups and downs, I'd rather stay grounded and control my own course. So I'll honestly pursue entrepreneurship and be comfortable as my own boss."
In his words, he clearly expressed his ambitions and outlook on life—freedom, control, and pragmatism.
The corporate ladder was the height of institutions; he was aiming for the freedom of entrepreneurship.
This wasn't cowardice, but an active choice based on clear-eyed awareness.
Wilson looked at the bright-eyed and high-spirited young man before him and remained silent for a long time.
In the office, only the aroma of tea lingered.
Finally, he nodded slowly and let out a sigh that seemed to mean many things, but didn't try to persuade him further, just said softly: "You're absolutely right! Indeed! If you devote yourself to the business world, your achievements may be far higher than climbing the ladder step-by-step in traditional structures!"
He changed tack, with a hint of worldly insight: "However, looking at you, I can tell you're definitely not someone who'll work under others. The entrepreneurial road, the hardships of starting from scratch, the difficulty of building a solid foundation—it may not be much easier than the other path."
This academic giant who'd seen countless people throughout his career felt such a strong and indefinable "presence" for the first time in a freshman who'd just entered university.
It was a mixture of beyond-his-years clarity, unquestionable determination, and absolute control over his future path.
Ethan shouldered his backpack, bid farewell to the dean, and walked out of the stately administration building.
Outside was a noisy and vibrant campus, with September sunlight casting dappled patterns through the leaves.
He followed the signs and walked to the men's residence hall for the Business program.
Pushing open the slightly worn wooden door of room 208, noisy chatting and laughter hit him in the face.
In the dorm room, the other three residents were obviously already bonding, sitting on beds or chairs, chatting about what they'd seen in their hometowns or their hopes for this new chapter of life.
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