The tiered lecture hall at the Praxis Technical Institute wasn't so much a room as it was a cathedral of future success. Every surface, from the polished obsidian floor to the kinetic glass display panels, screamed of cost and exclusivity.
Eric found a seat three rows back, his faded blue hoodie a deliberate act of defiance against the surrounding expense. He watched the room fill, but his focus was drawn to the other students. They weren't just waiting for a speaker; they were angled toward the main entrance with a particular, hungry reverence. They were waiting for a sun god.
The main door sighed, parting with a whisper of pressurized air. And there was Jasper.
The collective admiration was a palpable thing—a wave of silent, desperate goodwill that washed over him. Every student here wanted a piece of him: a recommendation, a glance, a single drop of his brilliance. Yet, Jasper moved through it all as if walking through air. He was utterly untouched.
His custom suit, his perfectly styled dark hair, his sharp, clean-shaven jawline—it all projected an expensive indifference. He knew exactly what they wanted, and his arrogant expression communicated that their motives were tedious, transparent, and unworthy of his attention.
He ascended the steps to the main podium, not acknowledging anyone. His black eyes, cold and intelligent, swept the room, not making contact, but assessing the landscape for gross imperfection.
He tapped the kinetic podium once, silencing the room instantly.
"Good morning," Jasper said, his voice a low, cultured instrument that carried effortlessly. "My name is Jasper. And for the next hour, I will attempt to teach those of you lacking in foresight how true optimization works." He paused, letting the silence draw.
Jasper: "Optimization is not about finding the shortest path between point A and point B. It is about redefining the destination entirely. It is about building something that shouldn't exist—something costly, something inefficient, simply because it is possible."
Jasper: "I am not interested in scalable solutions. I am interested in limits. If you came here to discuss balancing checkbooks, saving fuel, or maximizing profits, you are in the wrong room. Go back to your restaurant ledgers."
He paused, letting his contempt settle over the audience. "We are here to discuss possibility, not profit margins."
His gaze finally landed—by pure, arrogant chance—directly on Eric. The implied condescension was a direct hit. Eric felt the pressure to defend the practical code that runs The Saffron Loft, and the ideological clash had officially begun.