TWO MONTHS later, Mizuri won the National Chemistry Olympiad, cementing its place as the country's premier school. Crowds packed the ground floor of the National Research Institute.
On a raised platform, a handful of students sat at a long table, microphones in front of them as cameras clicked and rolled. Most questions went to the captain, Anya Suing, who'd scored highest on the essays.
But journalists kept glancing at the woman at the corner: Iyana Jiran. She had made only one mistake in the written test—the first in Olympiad history.
"Must be nice to be pretty and smart," someone whispered.
Althea giggled, snapping a photo of Iyana's blank face.
Tsk. Ice beauty.
Questions shifted to post-graduation plans.
"Yes. I'm thankful to be part of ATC Shipping Lines," Anya said, smiling. "I specialize in automation and control, so it's the best place for me."
One by one, the others answered. Then Iyana. "No idea. I'm just enjoying my remaining days in Mizuri," she said dryly.
"Have you received offers?" a journalist asked.
"Yes, several."
"If there's one place you're most interested in?"
Iyana smiled faintly. "Naturally, I'm curious about the National Research Institute."
A faint chuckle. A few nods. No one really believed it. The Institute wasn't where engineers usually dreamed of working. Still, it sounded patriotic.
Anya glanced at her, eyes brushing like a stroke. "Many of us have specializations more suited for institutes," she told the journalists, smiling.
Althea snorted aloud. Couldn't help herself.
"Miss Suing, how is it different from working in a corporation?" someone asked.
"Well, both are the same. Both use skills for progress," Anya replied.
"What about you, Miss Jiran? Would you go for the same reason?"
"We're all required to bring our skills," Iyana said evenly. "But progress lies with the decision makers."
"You mean you'd absolve yourself of that role?"
Her smile was slight.
"It means it isn't our role in the first place."
…
AFTER the press conference, Althea looped her arm through Iyana's. "You did well, Iya, my love. Anya's too idealistic with her fancy word 'progress.' Experiments alone are hard enough. And she piles more with that slogan, as if we're supposed to be politicians."
Iyana chuckled. "She isn't idealistic at all."
Anya had only said what sounded good.
They sat on a bench outside, facing the Institute. Its columns looked more like an old museum's. Paint peeling, streaks of gray along the whitewashed walls, a red roof fading at the edges.
A lanky man with thick glasses approached.
Vincent Young.
Both women stood and bowed faintly.
"Congrats, Iyana. And Althea—you look chubbier now," Vincent teased.
"Senior Vince!" Althea groaned, blushing.
Vincent had been their senior in second year. A physics engineer, he'd graduated top of the class, surprising everyone when he chose the Institute. But it had been his dream.
Inside his cramped office, books lined the shelves, papers stacked the desk, more piled on the floor.
"Senior, we won't be long," Iyana said.
"I know. This is about your work, isn't it?"
Althea sat, still unsure.
"Have you read my paper?" Iyana asked.
Vincent placed tea on the table.
"Yes. Very promising."
Iyana smiled. "Then I trust you with it."
He nearly choked.
"You mean you want us to take the license?"
"Yes."
"Wow. Generous."
"Not really."
She would let the Institute license her work, keep royalties if profits came. ATC's interest only confirmed her decision: better the state held it. Then any company who wanted it would have to go through them.
Vincent smiled. "Actually, it benefits the Institute more. Anyway, we'll draft a contract. Come tomorrow."
…
OUTSIDE, Althea asked, "Why are you eager to hand it to the Institute?"
Iyana's face was expressionless.
"To protect myself from vampires, Thea."
"Yeah, I mean, there are predators out there—stealing, wanting inventions. But why the Institute? They'll be using your work now. It's out in the open."
"That's the point," Iyana said. "Once it's public, it deals them the real blow."
This was her counterattack.
If Mr. Catalyst wanted her research on self-healing, he'd have to be sorry. He might be powerful enough to bribe the Institute, but the contract would force him to face her.
And then she'd know who he was.
*