Even though Ryan could now hand-craft nuclear bombs, that only made him a glorified terrorist.
Every member of the Genius Society created things that could affect entire planets.
Compared to them, Ryan was just playing house.
Later on, they’d all reach planet-busting levels.
Imaginary collapse pulses, Scepters, synesthesia beacons…
“AAAAAH! What do I do? What do I do? I’m definitely going to die!!!”
Ryan hugged his knees and rocked back and forth.
He wanted to cry.
His beautiful visions of the future had evaporated in an instant.
Ding—!
His phone buzzed with a message.
Herta: Come here.
Herta: You know where.
Ever since he’d gained electromagnetic perception, the Herta dolls no longer told him locations.
But if she was looking for him, it had to be important.
Ryan didn’t examine the message closely—he’d known what it said the moment it arrived.
Dressed in his lab coat, Ryan stood up, electricity crackling around him.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished.
The Herta doll had barely turned its head before Ryan was already at its side.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Madam… Herta.”
Ryan had just arrived when he spotted the familiar figure—Madam Herta herself.
The real one.
“What, not happy to see this genius?”
“No no, I just didn’t expect you to grace us with your presence.”
“If I hadn’t come back, were you planning to blow this place up? Hmm?”
“I… guess so.”
“???”
Ryan scratched his head while avoiding Herta’s gaze.
“But isn’t that what experiments are like? Always… accompanied by small accidents.”
Over five years, there had certainly been a few incidents.
Otherwise he wouldn’t have learned materials science just to patch up the lab.
Five years of constant repairs.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
Ryan spoke up:
“Madam Herta, did you come back because you need something from me?”
“Nothing much. I just heard you’ve developed quite a few strange new abilities. This genius thinks you could build me a… space station. Let’s call it Herta Space Station.”
“Congratulations. After five years, you’ve managed to interest me again.”
“…”
Ryan was at a loss.
Herta was interested in him again, which meant he had no more time to slack off…
wait, no, he couldn’t research anymore?
The Herta dolls must have snitched on him.
That explained why he always felt like someone was secretly filming him.
But Herta couldn’t be asking him to design the space station.
If he designed it, it would probably explode before construction even began…
Herta studied Ryan with interest, arms crossed.
“Stop overthinking, little one.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“Having you design Herta Space Station would probably cost a fortune before construction even started. Others will handle those tedious details.”
She walked closer, purple eyes scrutinizing him.
“What I’m curious about is something else. Five years—children on Canglan Star are old enough to run errands by now. So why do you look… exactly the same as when you first got nuked here?”
Now that she mentioned it, he’d only just realized that his appearance had indeed remained frozen at early twenties for the past five years.
“Maybe the lab food is just really healthy?”
He tried to laugh it off.
“Healthy enough to prevent wrinkles?” Herta chuckled lightly.
“Or did you secretly use that Arbor’s energy to give yourself an immortality package?”
“Absolutely not!” Ryan waved his hands frantically.
“I can barely redirect its leaked energy. I’d never dare use it on myself.”
“That makes it even more interesting.”
She deliberately drew out her words, a sly glint in her eyes.
“Maybe you’re actually a mechanical lifeform wrapped in human skin and just haven’t realized it yet?”
“That joke isn’t funny at all.” Ryan laughed bitterly.
“I eat and sleep every day.”
“Who knows?” Herta shrugged.
“Maybe your so-called ‘eating’ is just executing some preset program.”
She turned toward the holographic display and casually pulled up Ryan’s five years of experimental records.
Countless light screens expanded in the air—experimental data, plus video from various testing areas.
“But none of that matters. What matters is that in these five years, you’ve managed to produce quite a few… eye-catching little tricks.”
Her gaze lingered on the recording of the miniature fusion reactor.
Ryan felt an arrow pierce his chest.
“So,” Herta closed all projections and turned to face him directly, “I’ve changed my mind. The space station can wait. Let’s play a new game.”
She produced a palm-sized metal cube from somewhere and casually tossed it to Ryan.
Its surface was mirror-smooth, with faint blue light visible flowing within.
“This is a ‘Puzzle Box’—a little toy I made when I was bored.” Herta said it casually.
“Use your abilities to unlock it. Show me how much you’ve improved over these five years.”
Ryan caught the cube.
It was cold to the touch.
He tried probing its internal structure with electromagnetic perception but found all signals completely absorbed by some kind of barrier.
“By the way,” Herta added, “if you solve it incorrectly, the energy it releases is enough to launch this entire laboratory into orbit.”
Ryan’s hand trembled, and he nearly dropped the cube.
“Madam Herta, that joke’s going too far!”
“Who’s joking?” Herta tilted her head at him with an innocent expression.
“You can make a fusion reactor that small. This little thing shouldn’t faze you.”
She sighed and turned toward the door.
“Good luck. I believe in you. If you can’t solve it… I’ll ask Ruan Mei to make you a new body.”
Watching Herta leave, Ryan cradled the hot potato in his hands, utterly miserable.
He was now completely certain—Herta had definitely come back to settle scores with him.
Ryan carried the metal cube called the “Puzzle Box” back to his room, practically crawling.
He carefully placed it on the special experimental table in the center and activated every protective measure he could think of.
For the next three weeks, he barely left his room.
He deployed every scrap of knowledge he’d ever learned.
Materials science to analyze the cube’s outer shell microstructure.
Electromagnetics to penetrate the internal barrier.
Gravitational constraint theory from astrophysics to simulate control over the unstable energy flow within.
It was dancing on a knife’s edge.
Every step had to be precise to the millisecond.
Every energy intervention calculated to ten decimal places.
His concentration was absolute—he could practically feel his brain cells screaming.
Finally, on the last day of the third week, he successfully replaced part of the cube’s surface structure with a special non-insulating material, temporarily stabilizing the internal energy.
He hadn’t fully cracked it, but at least it was safe for now.
He collapsed to the floor, drenched in sweat, fingers still trembling. The source of this chapter is g.com.
After sending his final research report and stabilization plan to Herta, he practically crawled to place the cube on the table in the corner of his room, then fell face-first onto the bed, too exhausted to move a single finger.
His communicator buzzed with messages from Herta.
Herta: Solved it?
Herta: A bit slower than I expected.
Herta: Why aren’t you responding?
[Herta confused]
Herta: Asleep?
Herta: Guess you’re asleep.
Ryan groggily registered the messages.
He wanted to lift his hand to reply but lacked even the strength to open his eyes.
He’d explain after waking up.
The thing was stabilized anyway…
And then, the cube on the corner table.
BOOM!!!
A not-too-loud but perfectly clear explosion rang out.
Ryan shot up from the bed to see a plume of black smoke in the corner of the room.
The cube was gone.
In its place: a charred mark on the table and scattered, still-glowing metal fragments across the floor.
A large section of wall was blackened, and the air reeked of burnt materials.
Three weeks of work…
just…
exploded?
Ryan stared at the wreckage, his mind blank.
The door opened and Herta walked in.
She surveyed the disaster, then looked at the shell-shocked Ryan, a look of “just as expected” flashing through her purple eyes.
“Well, that’s a failure.” Herta’s tone was calm.
“Though better than I predicted. At least you didn’t launch the whole building into space.”
She walked to the table and picked up a still-hot fragment, examining it.
“Your material substitution approach was correct. But no matter what you substitute, it’s still limited to what you understand.”
Ryan finally snapped back to reality, miserable.
“Madam Herta… you said failure would blow up the laboratory.”
“Oh, that.” Herta tossed the fragment aside and dusted off her hands.
“I lied. The real yield would’ve just made a pop. Its internal structure is very stable. But it seems you used some method to amplify the explosion quite a bit? Blew yourself up?”
Ryan recalled how he’d set up reinforced energy fields around it to stabilize the energy…
He’d sabotaged himself!
“However,” Herta’s tone shifted as she looked at him, “managing to find a preliminary stabilization approach within three weeks and nearly succeeding—that counts as passing.”
“This material is one of the key components for the space station’s main structure. The Puzzle Box’s shell is its raw form.” Herta explained.
“I need someone who can synthesize and process it at scale, at low cost. It seems you might have some talent in this area.”
Ryan stared at the complex data in the projection, then at his wrecked room, and suddenly understood.
“Madam Herta… are you planning to make me… do manual labor? Manufacturing space station materials for you?”
“Manual labor?” Herta raised an eyebrow.
“This is an opportunity to put theoretical knowledge into practice. Plenty of people would kill for the chance to work on my projects.”
“Even the IPC only invests voluntarily.”
Ryan stood in his room, staring blankly at Herta.
Sometimes knowing too much wasn’t a good thing.
The more you understood, the more work you had to do.
This black labor gig was unavoidable.