By the time evening rolled around, the air in Madam Herta's private research lab was heavy with a scent that was definitely not sterile.
Herta had regained her composure—mostly. Her wide-brimmed hat was discarded on a pile of scrolls, and a noticeable run had ruined her dark stockings, but her mind was sharper than a monomolecular blade.
Strange, she thought, flexing her fingers. I feel... invincible.
The fatigue that usually tugged at the edges of her consciousness after a long day was gone. In its place was a roaring fire of intellectual clarity. Problems that had stumped her for months were suddenly unraveling like cheap yarn. She felt like she could rewrite the laws of the Imaginary Tree without breaking a sweat.
This was the "1000% Boost" in action. Hiroshi's passive ability had turned Herta into a supercomputer with a soul. The proximity of their "interaction" had supercharged the effect, pushing her biological and mental limits to the stratosphere.
"Inspiration waits for no one," she muttered, practically vaulting toward her desk to begin a new series of simulations.
"Madam... Herta..."
A weak, pained groan drifted up from the floor. Herta paused, looking down.
Hiroshi lay there like a piece of porcelain that had been dropped from a great height. His clothes were essentially rags, his neck and collarbone were a map of red marks, and his eyes—usually so bright—were hazy and distant. He looked like he'd been through a planetary siege.
Even for someone with Herta's legendary indifference, he looked objectively "broken."
She hesitated. Her research was screaming for her attention, but Hiroshi was a unique specimen—and, apparently, her current battery. She walked back over and did a quick, clinical scan with a handheld device.
"Minor pelvic fracture, extreme muscular fatigue, and general exhaustion," Herta summarized, her tone shifting back to its usual dry, detached rhythm. "Nothing permanent. You're lucky I'm an Emanator; a normal person would have accidentally liquidated your internal organs."
"That's... comforting," Hiroshi wheezed.
"Drink this." She handed him a test tube filled with a swirling, murky grey liquid that looked like it had been scraped off a radiator.
Without waiting for a thank you, she spun around and immersed herself in a holographic array.
Hiroshi stared at the reagent. It smelled like wet charcoal and gym socks. She's really not going to apologize, is she? he thought. And she didn't even change her stockings.
He closed his eyes and downed the liquid. It tasted like watered-down manure, but the effect was instantaneous. The ringing in his ears stopped. The dull ache in his bones vanished. Within seconds, he was back to ninety percent.
"As expected of the master of the station," he murmured, his admiration for her genius warring with his terror of her physical prowess.
Herta worked through the night and well into the following afternoon. But as the clock turned, the "High-Favorability" boost began to wane. The brilliant sparks in her mind dimmed. The flow of answers slowed to a trickle.
No! she hissed, slamming her palm onto the desk. I was almost there. Just one more calculation for the Simulated Universe...
The bottleneck was back. She realized then that her "out-of-character" behavior from the day before wasn't just madness—it was a reaction to whatever Hiroshi had done.
She turned her gaze toward the corner where Hiroshi was sleeping. He was out cold, his breathing deep and rhythmic.
"He's still sleeping?" Herta's brow furrowed. "I'm in the middle of a breakthrough, and my 'human pillow' is off-duty?"
She walked over and, with zero ceremony, pinned him down by the neck using the crook of her knee.
"Wake up, little thing. We need to talk."
"Cough—! Madam!" Hiroshi bolted awake, his eyes snapping open to find a very frustrated Herta towering over him. The position was... compromising, to say the least. "Good morning?"
"It's evening. And your intelligence is still disappointing," Herta said, her voice tight. "Explain. Now. Why was I able to see through the Eleventh Dimension yesterday, and why is everything back to being boring today?"
Hiroshi realized he couldn't lie. Not to a member of the Genius Society. If he tried to hide the truth, she'd likely dissect him to find the answer herself.
"It's... a gift," Hiroshi started, choosing his words carefully. He left out the word 'System' but explained the core mechanics: the passive boost to those around him, and the fact that the closer the contact, the more powerful the effect.
Herta listened, her amethyst eyes widening with a predatory glint. It all made sense. The closer the distance, the higher the IQ boost. And yesterday, they couldn't have been any closer.
She looked at Hiroshi, her gaze drifting from his face down to his collar.
If she wanted to finish her research—if she wanted to truly transcend—she didn't just need Hiroshi nearby. She needed him close.
"So," Herta said, her voice dropping into that dangerous, purring register again. "You're saying that if I want to solve the mysteries of the Aeons, I just need to... spend more time with you?"
Hiroshi swallowed hard. "In theory, yes. But maybe we could just... hold hands? Or sit on the same sofa?"
Herta let out a short, dry laugh, her eyes sparkling with an intensity that made Hiroshi's knees weak.
"Holding hands? Please, Hiroshi. I'm a genius. I don't settle for the minimum viable product."
She leaned down, her face inches from his, the weight of her knee still pressing firmly against his chest. "I have a lot of research to finish. And you don't want to be thrown out of the space station, do you?"