A month had passed since the incident.

During that time, Julius carried out his duties as a probationary officer under the supervision of his superior, Klaus Weber.

His assignments varied depending on the Directorate’s needs. Sometimes surveillance of suspected dissidents, sometimes interrogations to test his persuasion skills, and occasionally, field investigations that bordered on espionage.

It was monotonous, but that monotony held a certain tension.

He didn’t operate as a soldier, or a politican, but an enforcer, an auditor, and an executioner rolled into one. The Directorate’s existence was as much a warning to the Republic’s enemies as it was to its own citizens.

Still, his position was temporary. As long as the word "probationary" stayed in his file, Julius was expected to stay out of the Directorate’s internal politics.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

Klaus Weber, his direct superior, was a strict but practical man. A veteran in his forties, Klaus wasn’t particularly fond of nepotism, and Julius’s surname didn’t exactly win him any points.

But Julius didn’t care about that. Whether Weber liked him or not didn’t matter.

Still, from what Weber had seen, Julius was surprisingly diligent and far from the image he had of a spoiled heir living off his family’s name.

Though outside of work, when Julius thought no one was watching, Weber could see traces of that privileged upbringing.

But the moment it was time for duty, it was like a switch flipped. Julius became an entirely different person. His attention to detail was something even seasoned officers found unnerving.

He never complained, had never asked for leniency, and never hesitated to get his hands dirty.

More than once, Weber caught himself watching the young man from a distance, wondering if the Schneiders had raised him for this kind of work, or if something else had happened to him long before he joined the Directorate.

It was strange, really. Julius didn’t act like someone who was new to this line of work.

He knew when to press, when to hold back, when to threaten, what kind of threats to use, and when to act indifferent. If Weber hadn’t known Julius’s background, he would’ve assumed the young man was a veteran officer.

And though Weber would never admit it aloud, Julius was far too efficient for a probationary officer.

"Officer Schneider, I have a question."

Julius looked up from the file he’d been reviewing. "What is it?"

"Why have you been hiding your claws all this time?"

"...?"

"I’ve seen your records," Weber continued. "Your grades in combat and tactical courses back in high school were average at best. And in university, you barely passed the physical exams. That doesn’t match what I’ve been seeing these past few weeks."

Julius closed the folder slowly. "Is that so?"

"It’s almost as if you deliberately held back," Weber said. "You don’t have to answer, of course. But it does make me wonder why someone like you, with your family’s influence, would go through all the trouble of hiding your potential? Why join the Directorate of all places, when you could be sitting comfortably managing one of your family’s business lines?"

"Sir, respectfully, what would I gain from that?"

Weber frowned. It sounded like something only people who never had to worry about money would say, but he didn’t voice it aloud.

Instead, he said, "You already had everything most people dream of."

Julius paused, then slowly looked up from the papers on his desk.

"Sir, imagine a meteor coming down," he said. "Big enough to wipe out the entire planet. What happens to all that wealth then?"

Weber blinked. "That’s... an odd example."

"Not really. When the world turns upside down, money turns into nothing but scraps of paper. And yet people kill for it, worship it, as if it could save them when the time comes."

Julius leaned back and looked out the window.

"I believe the best investment is the self," he continued. "If I have the money now, instead of hoarding it for a future that’s uncertain, I’d rather burn it to build a spaceship. That way, when the meteor comes, at least I’d have a way out."

To him, it wasn’t just a metaphor. Julius had long decided that his only true investment was himself.

He wanted to place himself high enough that even Dream Industries, the company destined to become the apex of all conglomerates, wouldn’t be able to control or surpass him.

For now, the Schneider family still held the highest shares in Dream Industries. They were among its primary owners. But in his previous life, their empire had begun to crumble after his father, Johannes Sievernich Schneider, passed away.

Jeremy, the perfect heir and his older brother, took over soon after. For a while, things seemed fine. But Dream Industries had its own agenda. Piece by piece, they pushed Jeremy out and replaced the Schneiders’ authority with their own.

Because of that, the family’s control over the magi-tech industry loosened, and their influence waned.

Of course, their wealth didn’t vanish overnight, but it was no longer growing. Their name slowly faded. Even Julius, at that time, couldn’t pay back the debts and losses the company had sustained.

Then Jeremy died. And with him, the Schneider legacy died too.

Julius had survived only by joining the Directorate, serving the German Republic faithfully, or what was left of it, only to realize too late that the Republic itself had become nothing more than Dream Industries’ playground.

Or rather, by then, it had already rebranded itself as SIBYL.

"Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sir," Julius said, closing the file and standing from his seat. "I’ll send the report by email within the week."

Weber nodded, gathering his own documents. "Make sure you do. And take a break, for once. You look like you haven’t slept in days."

"I’ll try."

* * *

"This is..."

Julius leaned closer behind Isolde’s chair, observing the endless strings of code on her computer screen. The data streams and simulation graphs were incomprehensible to him. Even with SIBYL’s real-time translation filtering the information through his retina, he couldn’t fully grasp it.

The complexity went beyond his understanding.

"To explain it simply, Mister Schneider," Isolde said, her fingers sliding across the keyboard, "this is the prototype for SIBYL’s cognition assistance."

"And that is...?"

Isolde chuckled at his puzzled expression. "It helps keep the voices at bay when they get too loud. I’ve been testing it these past few weeks. So far, it’s shown a tenfold improvement over the version Anne has."

Julius’s gaze turned to a smaller monitor showing Anneliese’s neural activity. He remembered that the child already had a simplified SIBYL prototype integrated into her neural system.

For her safety, it was kept at a minimal level. Enough to stabilize, but not powerful enough to overwhelm her natural cognition.

Basically, Anneliese’s version of SIBYL was like training wheels.

"But this one doesn’t just suppress," Isolde continued. "It learns and adapts to emotional triggers, patterns of distress, and even trauma responses. It can distinguish what’s real from what’s imagined."

"You’re saying this version can think for itself?"

"Not exactly," Isolde replied. "But it can think enough to keep its host from breaking apart."

"And you’re planning to install this... where?"

"On myself, of course. Before I can ever let it near Anne, I need to test it first."

"You know, Doctor, it’s a crime to have unregulated technology implanted on a person. Even more so, on your own child."

"I’m aware, Mister Schneider," Isolde said. "But I also know what’s best for my daughter."

A bitter smile touched her lips. The glow of the screen reflected against her tired eyes as memories began to surface.

Those times when she was often called into the principal’s office because Anneliese had been "disruptive" in class, of seeing the other children’s blatant gossips when Anne walked by, of the teachers’ polite but irritating looks when they suggested she "consider a special institution better suited for her needs."

She remembered her daughter’s small, trembling hands gripping her skirt tightly after school.

——Mommy, why won’t they talk to me? I just want to be friends...

"All she wants," Isolde began, "is to feel normal. To be able to smile and talk to people without them staring. Is that really too much to ask?"

"I understand."

"If so, Mister Schneider, then—Pardon?"

"I understand, Doctor Isolde," Julius said. "Do what you think is best. I already said I would support you."

Isolde blinked, caught off guard by his words. "...Thank you, Mister Schneider."

Julius nodded, a fleeting smile appearing on his lips.

As Isolde turned back to her work, Julius’s eyes softened. His thoughts turned back to before regression, to the time he had traveled across the German Republic alongside an older Anneliese.

Back then, he had never imagined that the bright, cheeky woman had once struggled to speak, to make friends, or to fit in.

He realized now that whatever Isolde had done back then, whatever experiments she had risked everything for, had changed her daughter’s life completely.

And perhaps, if it worked again, it might do the same now.

Julius silently watched the lines of code reflecting in Isolde’s glasses as she continued to type.

"By the way, don’t you have any plans of hiring more staff?" Julius asked. "Those three people you hired, your friends from your previous workplaces, right? I don’t think they’d be enough."

Isolde turned in her chair, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I know. But it’s not that simple," she said. "I can’t just post an opening for something like this online. Most of the people I knew now work for big corporations like Dream."

"I guess so," Julius replied. "Do you need any help?"

Isolde turned her chair toward him. "Do you have people you can trust, Mister Schneider?"

"No, but I have an idea."

"That is...?"

"Undergraduates."

If they couldn’t find trustworthy personnel already in the field, then why not find students still fresh in university, offer them internships, and guarantee them job security once they earn their degrees?

"Let’s go visit a university."