"Mr. Vale… no matter what, I have to thank you."
At the reception on the third floor, Stephen Hawking stood in front of Noah, holding a glass with both hands. His voice was still uneven, but it was his—clear, real, unmistakably human.
"I believed I would never stand again," he said. "You gave me a second life. I can't let this moment pass without a toast."
Noah looked at him for a second, something almost surreal flickering across his expression.
A man who couldn't move a finger yesterday… standing here, offering me a drink.
He shook his head slightly, then reached for a bottle of soda instead.
"I don't drink," Noah said casually, pouring himself a glass. "This works."
He raised it lightly.
Hawking didn't hesitate. He emptied his glass in one go.
That moment barely ended before the next wave arrived.
People lined up—politicians, business magnates, scientists—each waiting for their turn to speak with Noah.
General Ross pushed his way forward first.
"Kid," he said bluntly, "you've been holding out on us. If this was real, you should've said something sooner."
Noah smiled faintly. "And skipped straight to the chaos? Probably not the best idea."
Ross snorted. "Fine. Then tonight—dinner. You've got time."
"No," Noah replied smoothly. "I've got plans. Movie night with my girlfriend."
Ross grimaced. "That's the fourth time you've dodged me."
Noah just shrugged. "Bad timing."
Ross shook his head, clearly annoyed. "Should've brought my daughter. You wouldn't have said no then."
Noah laughed it off, already shifting his attention.
Professor Charles Xavier had approached, Jean Grey standing just behind him.
"What do you think?" Noah asked.
Xavier studied him for a moment.
"You've done more than introduce a new method," Xavier said quietly. "You've changed the direction of the world."
Noah tilted his head slightly.
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe I am the direction."
Xavier didn't respond immediately.
But there was something new in his gaze.
Hope.
Before the moment could settle, another figure stepped forward.
An elderly man, leaning heavily on a cane. His face was lined with age, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Mr. Vale," he said, voice strained but polite. "May I have a moment?"
Noah recognized him—Theo Voss, one of the wealthiest men in the world.
"Go ahead."
Voss took a breath.
"At my age, time isn't a guarantee," he said. "I could be gone tomorrow. What you've demonstrated… it's beyond anything we've ever seen."
He steadied himself.
"I need access to it. Immediately."
His eyes were sharp now, desperation barely concealed.
"You mentioned the energy carrier still has reserves. Could I purchase a portion? Even a fraction—just enough to stabilize my condition."
The question didn't just belong to him.
Others nearby leaned in, listening closely.
Everyone understood the urgency.
Time wasn't something money could always buy—
Until now.
Noah considered him for a moment, then shook his head slightly.
"I'm not the one handling distribution," he said. "You'll want to talk to Fisk."
Relief flickered across Voss's face.
"Thank you."
He didn't waste another second, turning and heading straight for Fisk—taking a cluster of equally eager buyers with him.
Noah watched them go, a faint smile forming.
Fisk was going to make a fortune tonight.
And this?
This was just the beginning.
For at least the next decade, maybe longer, this kind of power would remain scarce. Not everyone would be willing to sell what they produced.
And scarcity always drove value.
Around him, the reception continued.
Glasses clinked. Conversations flowed.
But Noah's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
He'd already achieved what most people spent entire lifetimes chasing.
Wealth.
Influence.
A name that would be remembered.
And yet—
It wasn't enough.
Not even close.
Old memories surfaced.
The loss of his parents.
The years spent under Victor Kane's shadow, navigating a world where survival meant staying one step ahead—or getting crushed.
That kind of experience didn't fade.
It didn't heal cleanly.
It left marks.
Permanent ones.
Fame?
Why settle for being remembered…
…when he could simply never be forgotten?
Wealth?
Money only mattered when there were limits.
And limits—
Were meant to be broken.
Noah's gaze drifted across the room, over the powerful, the wealthy, the influential.
One day—
None of them would be beyond his reach.
Power. Wealth. Desire. Even life itself.
All of it could be controlled.
All of it could belong to him.
He let out a quiet breath.
This isn't the future.
This is the starting line.
The world thought this was the beginning of a new era.
They were wrong.
This—
Was just the prologue.
Elsewhere, far from the polished halls of the event—
Reality was already catching up.
Bookstores across the city were packed.
Overflowing.
People who had watched the livestream rushed out the moment it ended, flooding every location that carried the book.
"Do you have it? I need a copy—right now!"
"I was here first!"
"I've already paid—where's my book?!"
"Stop pushing—there's a line!"
No one cared.
Patience had evaporated.
Because now—
Time meant money.
Every hour without the book felt like losing something tangible.
Inside one crowded store, the owner raised his hands helplessly.
"One at a time! I've only got fifty copies—fifty!"
That didn't calm anyone down.
If anything, it made things worse.
Then—
A gunshot rang out.
The room went silent instantly.
A man stood near the counter, handgun raised, smoke curling from the barrel.
"Give me a copy," he said flatly, pointing it at the owner. "Now."
No one moved.
A minute later, he walked out with the book in hand.
And just like that—
The noise returned.
The chaos resumed.
As if nothing had happened.