Chapter 296
Chapter 296
Isabella: "Stop complaining, Oscar. According to Athena's quarterly report last month, the Pure Project's KPI rating was 'Excellent.'"
"Isn't the KPI Ms. York's mood?" Oscar retorted.
"Yes." Julian's image projected an extremely minimalist report onto the conference table center. "Based on Athena's comprehensive analysis of Ms. York's physiological indicators, behavioral patterns, and micro-expressions over the past three months."
"Her average dopamine secretion level increased by six percent, serotonin stabilized at optimal threshold, and deep sleep duration increased by eighteen percent. Especially after observing Pure Project meetings, her brain's alpha wave activity frequency was highly aligned with 'flow state.' Overall assessment: Excellent."
Oscar looked at that analysis report, more complex than financial statements, and completely abandoned resistance.
His work now was essentially that of a high-tech emotional value supplier.
Study.
Carlos Rodriguez—six months ago, just a college student passionate about his field, but with shaky fundamentals.
Now he'd independently published two preprint papers, attracting attention from several top signal processing laboratories.
Ben Cohen had grown from a reclusive independent programmer into a leader capable of mastering complex system architectures.
The underlying code he'd written for the project was rated by Athena as "possessing high artistry and forward-thinking vision."
Aiko Asano—her interdisciplinary research report on "correlations between dissipative structures and aesthetics" had been marked by Julian as "extremely promising."
He recommended investing resources to support her deeper exploration.
Rupert's fingertip lightly traced across these three names on the tablet.
He recalled what Diana had said in the garden six months ago: "I want to meet them."
She'd simply wanted to find a few people who could understand her.
And now, these people not only understood—they were singing new harmonies in their own voices.
He closed the file and walked to the window.
Diana sat on the grass beneath the ginkgo tree, quietly watching a golden leaf drift leisurely from the branches.
Her expression was focused and calm.
Rupert suddenly realized that Diana had opened a window for those three young people.
And they, in turn, had opened a window for Diana.
A window to "kindred spirits."
The Pure Project was successful, but unreplicable.
It depended on Diana's personal energy, on Oscar's team's cost-blind logistics, and even more on one-in-ten-thousand luck.
But what if that "luck" could become a "norm"?
An idea crystallized clearly in his mind.
He picked up his private terminal and connected to Julian's dedicated line.
"Julian."
"Mr. Russell, I'm here."
"Launch a new project. Codename 'Cradle.'"
Julian, on the other end, fell silent briefly, awaiting continuation.
"In the South Pacific or Mediterranean, find a climatically pleasant, geologically stable, sovereignty-independent island. Purchase it."
Julian's expression didn't change.
"After acquisition, I want to build a research institute there."
Rupert's gaze remained on that distant figure. "Nonprofit nature, not affiliated with the Russell Group, accepting no commercial investment."
"Its sole purpose is to provide a nurturing environment for young people worldwide who possess 'pure thinking' but lack resources."
He would build her a larger garden.
A garden built not only for her, but for all "kindred spirits" like her.
"The institute needs no KPIs, no pressure to publish papers, no commercial conversion tasks."
Rupert's voice was steady and clear. "They can research the Riemann hypothesis there, can research life's origins. Funding—no upper limit."
Julian listened quietly.
He knew this wasn't a business decision, not even strategic positioning.
This was another "fortress" Rupert was building for Diana.
Except this time, what he aimed to protect were those sparks of thought she cherished.
"Understood," Julian responded. "I'll immediately assemble a project team for global site selection and feasibility assessment."
"Security classification—highest level."
"Yes."
After hanging up, Rupert didn't move.
He watched Diana stand, walk to that fallen leaf, and bend to pick it up.
She held it to the sunlight, examining the clear veins on the blade, a hint of a smile perhaps touching her lips.
What he needed to do was safeguard all the order she found "interesting."
Whatever the cost.
---
Julian's efficiency was machine-grade.
Forty-eight hours after the Cradle Project launched, a preliminary report on global island site selection appeared on Rupert's terminal.
The report listed thirteen candidate locations.
From scattered private atolls in the South Pacific to verdant Mediterranean islands with ancient estates.
Each came with exhaustive geological, climatic, sovereignty, and potential risk analyses.
Athena's assessment model scored each option across three dimensions—safety, privacy, stability—to three decimal places.
Ranked first was an undeveloped atoll in the French Coralwind Expanse.
Isolated from the world, geologically stable, possessing an independent coral reef ecosystem—the perfect location for establishing a physically isolated zone.
Rupert's finger swept across those picturesque holographic images without pausing.
"Greyharbor City," he said, voice flat.
In Julian's logical core, a minor conflicting directive flashed.
He pulled up Greyharbor City's data. "Mr. Russell, Greyharbor City is an international shipping hub with a population exceeding twenty million. It doesn't meet Cradle Project's core requirements of 'isolation' and 'privacy.'"
"Its security rating falls far below any candidate on the list."
"Eastern coastline, that newly approved marine economic development zone," Rupert said evenly. "Acquire that land."
Not an island—just a peninsula extending into the sea, surrounded by water on three sides, connected to the city by a cross-sea highway.
Julian fell silent.
This was the processing time he needed for suboptimal solutions.
"Understood. But acquiring city planning land involves complex procedures and cannot be done completely anonymously."
"Then don't make it anonymous."
Rupert's answer sent Julian's program back into conflict resolution mode. "Use the Russell Group's newly established 'Voyage Foundation' to participate in the land auction. The stated purpose—building a global marine and life sciences research institute."
This completely contradicted the initial directives of "nonprofit, not affiliated with the Russell Group, absolute secrecy."
"The institute's nature remains unchanged."
Rupert seemed to see through Julian's confusion, adding, "Externally, it's a prestigious facade serving Group strategy. Internally, it's 'Cradle.' I need a place she can walk into anytime and leave anytime. Not an island requiring half the globe to reach."
She liked the ocean here.
He remembered.
Julian asked no more questions.
He marked "Greyharbor City Eastern Peninsula" as the sole target and began generating an entirely new implementation plan.
One week later, Oscar was urgently summoned to a briefing on the "Voyage Foundation."
When he saw that magnificent peninsula planning diagram and the project title "Global Premier Marine Science Research Institute," his trauma-worn heart miraculously felt a moment of peace.
Marine science. Life sciences.
How normal, how straightforward, how fitting for a Fortune 500 company's strategic positioning.
Was he finally crawling out of the quagmire of theology and metaphysics, returning to the normal business world?
"Oscar," Rupert's voice pulled him from fantasy. "You'll coordinate this project overall."
"Yes, Mr. Russell!" Oscar's voice carried excitement. "I'll immediately assemble a team to interface with global top architectural firms and research equipment suppliers..."
"I've already selected the firm." Rupert transmitted the file to him. "Have them submit concept proposals tomorrow."
Oscar opened the file. When he saw that name, he froze.