Aurora University had always topped the charts in Aden City—it wasn't just the oldest institution, but also the most prestigious.
Ask any accomplished figure in the city, and there was an almost eighty-percent chance they were an Aurora University graduate.
For students, getting admitted was nothing short of a dream. Graduating from Aurora meant elite companies competing to recruit you. And for the rare few who truly stood out, there was an even greater prize—a chance to enter one of Stretford's top three research laboratories.
That opportunity was so rare - most students didn't even dare to imagine it.
Those selected weren't merely brilliant—they were anomalies. Minds operating on an entirely different level, paired with exceptional physical endurance and unshakable mental strength.
Real-world prodigies.
Since Aurora University's founding, only three individuals had ever made it into those laboratories—and none had ever returned to Aden City.
Among students, rumors circulated that they had been taken into a classified government research program, hidden from the public eye forever.
Inside the president's office at Aurora University—
A man in his fifties, dressed in a refined Tang suit, calmly held a cup of steaming tea. His expression carried quiet pride and deep authority.
This was John Wesley, president of Aurora University.
Standing opposite him was a young man with gentle features and a composed demeanour. Fair-skinned, with neatly framed black-rimmed glasses resting on a high nose bridge, his eyes curved warmly when he smiled. Polite, intelligent, and well-mannered—the kind of student everyone admired.
His name was Ashley Terry, the only heir of the Terry Family.
Though the Wesley Family wasn't counted among Aden City's top elite families, they had produced scholars for generations. John Wesley had led Aurora University for over twenty years, earning universal respect.
He had grown up alongside Ashley's grandfather, and to him, Ashley was practically a grandson. Add to that Ashley's outstanding academic talent, humility, and lack of spoiled arrogance, and John Wesley couldn't have been prouder.
"Ashley," John Wesley said, his tone firm yet encouraging, "the university is preparing to nominate you for the physics lab this year. Dr. Nelson will visit Aurora University in two months to inspect the department. He's also overseeing this year's national physics competition. This is your opportunity. You must give it everything you have. Only by earning his personal invitation can you advance to Stretford and compete with the very best."
"When—not if—you take first place, you'll be one step away from your ultimate goal. Make these next two months count. No distractions."
Ashley Terry listened attentively, then nodded slightly.
"Understood, President Wesley. I won't disappoint you."
John Wesley waved him off, signalling the end of the meeting, then immediately used the internal line to summon the Dean of Students.
When the dean entered, he found the president staring quietly at a letter on his desk.
"You called for me, President Wesley?"
John Wesley nodded slowly.
Three months earlier, he had received an anonymous email detailing a major breakthrough in chip development—one that perfectly matched a classified project from Stretford's physics laboratory, a project stalled for over two years.
The accuracy of the data had shocked him.
The project was known only to the laboratory's inner circle, select government officials, and a handful of former university presidents. Even John Wesley himself knew only fragments.
Yet the email was precise, technically profound, and flawlessly written.
After careful consideration, he forwarded the information to Dr. Alberto, the former head of Stretford's physics lab.
If genuine, the breakthrough could propel national technology forward by years. Even if there was a risk it was false, it was too important to ignore.
Less than an hour later, Dr. Alberto called him—his excitement barely contained.
That was when John Wesley knew.
The email was real.
Dr. Alberto insisted on finding the sender at all costs. But all they had was a single signature at the bottom of the message—
Elle.
No personal data. No traceable location.
Cybersecurity experts were brought in, but the IP address was protected by layers of encryption so advanced that only a top-tier hacker could have created it.
John Wesley had promised Dr. Alberto he would do everything possible to locate this mysterious individual. Otherwise, the elderly professor might have personally travelled to Aden City himself—despite being over eighty.
Who was Elle?
A genius physicist? A master hacker? Or both?
And why remain anonymous?
Why contact him directly?
John Wesley had been wrestling with these questions for months.
Then, three days ago, another email arrived.
This time, it contained only a single sentence:
"Prepare an admission letter for Selene and send it to the Voss Family."