Chapter 285
Chapter 285
It became common knowledge, an axiom.
Like E=mc², it had become a new cornerstone in humanity's body of knowledge.
Top floor of the Russell Group Building.
Julian gently placed a sealed hard-shell document case on Rupert's desk.
"Mr. Russell, the first batch has arrived."
Rupert said nothing. He opened the case.
Inside were just a dozen brand-new books.
"Advanced Physics (Valerian Edition)," "Introduction to the Standard Model (Valcourain Edition)," "Liberal Arts Course: The World of Science," "National Science Curriculum Standards"...
He randomly picked one up and flipped to the newly added chapters in the latter half.
There, in the margin, a small asterisk marked the spot.
He couldn't understand the dense Valerian text, but he immediately spotted the formula placed at the very heart of the chapter.
It was her formula.
His slender fingers gently brushed across that line of printed symbols, as if touching a priceless treasure.
On the other side of the study was a massive bookshelf covering an entire wall, currently empty.
Rupert walked over and solemnly placed the textbook in the top center position.
His personal communicator buzzed—a wail from Oscar.
"Mr. Russell! The Frostmark Dominion Ministry of Education says their new textbooks are still being proofread! But we can buy their country's largest printing house first!"
"Also, Sanctumspire Dominion is asking if they can publish a Latin version of 'The Unity of Theology and Science' with the formula included. They say it helps prove God's existence... How should I respond?"
Rupert looked at the book standing quietly on the shelf, a slight curve forming at the corner of his lips.
He replied.
"All of them."
He had built high walls for her, shutting out the world's malice and chaos.
Now, he would bring back this world—made better because of her—one book at a time, and place it before her.
...
That massive bookshelf was finally filled.
The last one was a Latin deluxe edition published by the Pontifical Academy of Sanctumspire Dominion.
The cover featured Michelangelo's "The Creation of Adam," and the title page printed that concise formula.
It stood alongside a Frostmark Dominion language textbook from Northspire University and Arabic lecture notes from Ironcrest University.
Rupert gently pushed the book into the last reserved space.
A perfect fit.
Oscar's holographic image finally returned to high definition. "Mr. Russell, the global 'DY Formula' integration plan for major countries' higher education materials has been completed."
"PR is asking what our next focus should be..."
"There is no next step." Rupert's voice was flat.
Oscar froze.
"No... more?"
Rupert's gaze fell on the bookshelf. He said nothing more.
Oscar suddenly understood.
This global campaign, orchestrated single-handedly by his boss—arguably the most extravagant "academic vindication movement" in human history—was over.
No celebration banquet, no press conference, not even a formal announcement.
On "Noah-01," the laboratory that had once been the eye of the storm had been quiet for a long time.
All instruments were in standby mode, their soft breathing lights blinking.
The cryo-transmission electron microscope that Isabella had modified sat quietly in the ship's core.
Kenji was now a rising star in global experimental physics.
He had turned down lucrative contracts from Stellar University and the European Organization for Nuclear Research, choosing instead to stay here as the laboratory's caretaker.
Most of his work involved polishing these instruments—worth more than his life—keeping them spotless.
And the true owner of these instruments was currently on the "Gaia" ecological vessel.
"Gaia" perfectly replicated the humidity and heat of a rainforest.
Tall ferns blocked out the sky, the air thick with the scent of soil and humus. Several brightly colored poison dart frogs hopped about on moss-covered deadwood.
Diana sat on a rock, an easel set up before her.
She wasn't wearing a lab coat, just simple cotton and linen clothes, her long hair loosely tied back.
She wasn't even looking at those rare frogs, but painting an unremarkable white mushroom growing in the shadow of tree roots.
Her brushstrokes were slow, focused as if separating a fragile nerve.
When Rupert found her, this was the scene he saw.
The world around her was vibrant and alive, noisy and primal, yet she was as quiet as that solitary mushroom, a universe unto herself.
He didn't approach, just stood watching from a distance for a long time.
He suddenly realized that the paper, the formula, the storm that swept the world—to her, these might have been just work that needed to be done.
Now, the work was finished.
She had retired.
The "Miracle Logistics Officer" meeting had a strange atmosphere.
"So,"
Oscar looked at the new task list, his expression twisted. "I need to find Mr. Russell... the world's best classical oil painting teacher, a performer who's mastered Bach's unaccompanied cello suites, and a horticulture master who can make ordinary tomatoes taste like 'first love'?"
Isabella was assembling a new sniper rifle and whistled at this.
"Mr. Russell's cultivating his taste now? I recommend Professor Vanderbilt from Norvayne Royal Academy of Arts. He restored Rembrandt's 'The Night Watch'—should be qualified."
Julian, efficient as always: "Professor Vanderbilt's granddaughter is scheduled for coronary bypass surgery at Ivywood Medical Center in three weeks. The surgeon is a former student of Ms. York's."
"I believe Professor Vanderbilt would be delighted to take an 'academic sabbatical' in Lumaria."
Oscar covered his face.
"What about... the cellist? And the tomato grower?"
"Alton Thomas's final and most important disciple has a performance at the National Theatre next month. We can buy all the tickets and have him perform and teach for Mr. Russell alone."
Julian's tone was completely flat. "As for tomatoes, there's a farmer in Hyogo Prefecture, Suncrest Dominion, named Gen Kinoshita. His 'Angel's Tear' tomatoes supposedly sell for four hundred dollars each. Isabella has already purchased his entire harvest for the next ten years, plus his farm."
Isabella: "I just told him we wanted to invest in 'sustainable ecological agriculture.'"
Oscar felt exhausted.
He felt this world would eventually be ruined by these people.
And so, life on "Noah-01" became strange.
The fleet's crew would occasionally look through portholes and see Rupert wearing a hundred-thousand-dollar custom Luscaro suit, yet sporting a ridiculous straw hat and gardening gloves, contemplating a few tomato seedlings in a small plot on "Gaia."
Behind him, the holographic screens no longer showed the Dow Jones or global commodity futures, but real-time data streams of soil pH, sunlight duration, and trace element ratios.
He managed these few tomato plants as if overseeing a billion-dollar merger.
Sometimes, late at night, people would hear... indescribable sounds coming from the top-floor study.
The sounds were shrill and harsh.
The first time, the fleet's security system instantly triggered maximum alert. A fully armed special ops team reached the study door in three seconds, ready for any level of biochemical or physical attack.
Then Oscar's holographic image appeared before them, ashen-faced, telling them: "Stand down. Mr. Russell... is practicing the cello."