"I'm not 'building' one," Kuro stated, the denial a reflex. He was already running simulations in his head, calculating the optimal way to de-escalate the situation. The probability of success was distressingly low. "It's a theoretical exercise in the application of future technologies."
Maya didn't back down. Her gaze was intense, analytical. "Then let's treat it as a theoretical exercise. Your Quantum Teleportation Mechanism. You state that biological organisms can't be translocated due to quantum delicacy. But what if you weren't transmitting the quantum state? What if you were only transmitting the classical data—the atomic blueprint—and using a localized quantum computer at the destination to 'fill in the blanks' with a new, stable quantum state? You wouldn't have a perfect copy, you'd have a clone. A blank slate. But it would be alive."
Kuro stared at her. She hadn't just read his work. She had understood it, found a loophole, and extrapolated a new, terrifying application for it in the span of thirty seconds. His mind, which usually operated light-years ahead of everyone else, was suddenly in a conversation with an equal. The experience was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"The computational power required to generate a stable quantum state for a trillion-atom organism would be..." he began, his analytical mind taking over.
"...astronomical," she finished for him. "But not impossible. Especially if you had, say, a Black Hole Fuel Harvester to power it." She tapped the screen, her finger resting on the BHS schematic. She saw the connections. She saw the entire, terrifying ecosystem he had designed.
Kuro felt the last of his composure crumble. He couldn't lie to her—his mind wasn't wired for convincing deception. And he couldn't tell her the truth. He was trapped in a logic paradox of his own making.
He did the only thing he could. He shut down.
"This conversation is no longer academically productive," he said, his tone becoming flat and robotic. He began closing the windows on his laptop. "I have provided the requested visual aid. I have other coursework to attend to."
He stood up, packed his laptop into his bag with brisk, efficient movements, and turned to leave, not giving her another glance. It was the intellectual equivalent of running away, a full-scale tactical retreat from a social battlefield he was not equipped to fight on.
Maya watched him go, a mixture of frustration, awe, and something else—sympathy—on her face. She looked back down at the DSIMS document on her screen. It was the most brilliant and dangerous thing she had ever seen. And the boy who wrote it was running scared. She now had a secret, a puzzle far more complex and compelling than any university assignment. Her quiet, academic life was officially over.