The silence of early morning filled my room as I sat at my desk. My eyes were fixed on the sheet of paper where I had outlined my final conclusions about holograms. I had accomplished something that once felt out of reach: understanding how it might be possible to recreate such advanced technology as the one I'd seen in the movie. But what impressed me the most wasn't the achievement itself—it was the path that had led me there.
My ability… my Branch, had changed. I could feel it clearly. It was as if my mind had crossed an invisible threshold, allowing me to see things from a new perspective. Is this what it feels like to reach level 2? I drummed my fingers on the desk, trying to process it.
Though a sense of satisfaction filled me, one doubt remained: if there were others with mental Branches, why hadn't anyone else reached results like this? Am I missing something? Determined to understand better, I turned on my computer and began searching for information on similar abilities.
The results revealed a clear pattern. Documented mental abilities focused on rapid calculations, perfect memory, or logical problem-solving. Impressive, yes, but all followed a predictable path: the higher the level, the greater the efficiency in processing data. Like human supercomputers.
But what I was experiencing felt different. As I read, I began noticing connections I hadn't considered before, as if my ability worked in the background, weaving loose ideas together. It wasn't just about thinking faster… there was something more.
The pieces slowly came together. My Branch didn't just absorb data—it shaped it. It was as if my mind acted like a craftsman, building a clearer image with each fragment of information. Even if the pieces didn't quite fit, I could reshape them, make them work. That seemed to be my greatest strength: reorganizing the incomplete until it made sense.
It's like building something no one else can see until it's finished, I thought. And that ability was what had allowed me to complete the concept of the holograms. Still, I knew I was only beginning to understand what I could do.
My thoughts were interrupted by my mother's voice pulling me back to reality."Lian! It's late—you're going to be late for school. Hurry up!"
I blinked and glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. I had completely lost track of time. I stood up calmly, picking up my uniform and backpack, while the ideas continued to swirl in my mind.
As I got ready, everything happened on autopilot—buttoning my shirt, checking my bag. My mind clung to the clarity I'd just reached. How far could I go with this ability? I didn't know—but I wanted to find out.
I headed downstairs and said goodbye to my mother with a distracted smile before leaving. The outside world called to me, but inside, I felt that something new was beginning.
The days passed as usual: classes, homework, and free time spent exploring the reach of my ability. Though I still wasn't entirely sure of its true potential, the upcoming Branch evaluation gave me a more tangible goal. I wasn't nervous—but I wasn't overconfident either. What I knew helped me, yes, but there was still so much I didn't understand.
Mental ability tests usually focused on calculations, logic, and strategy. All of that was manageable for me—but I felt they missed what made my Branch unique: its ability to make sense of the fragmented. I suspected the evaluation wouldn't measure that—and in a way, I was relieved. I wasn't ready to reveal it completely.
The day of the test came sooner than expected. I woke up early, had breakfast, and reviewed my documents before heading out. The morning sun bathed the streets as I walked to the evaluation site, a sleek, modern government building. The city felt more alive than usual, as if everyone sensed something important was about to happen.
When I arrived, I observed the crowd gathered outside. Candidates of all ages filled the entrance. Some were visibly nervous; others tried to hide it. I kept to myself, breathing calmly. I was aware of my abilities—but also that this was just one step in a larger process.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense as we waited our turn. In front of me, a screen and several sensors activated as one of the evaluators approached with a professional smile.
"We're going to assess your mental capacity, Lian. Just follow the instructions on the screen," he said.
I nodded as the first questions appeared. Logic problems and pattern recognition—familiar, predictable. My fingers moved across the keyboard with ease, the answers flowing naturally. Still, part of me watched everything from a distance. I knew this test couldn't fully capture how my mind worked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one evaluator jot something down on his tablet. His expression was neutral. I wasn't expecting reactions—and that felt reasonable.
After a few minutes, he looked up."You've completed the test faster than the average for your age group. You've reached level 2 of your Branch. That's a notable improvement," he said in a professional tone.
I nodded with a slight smile. It was a good result. Though it didn't show everything I'd recently discovered, it was enough to keep moving forward.
They directed me to the next phase. This time, I had to solve a complex problem: a simulated crisis requiring strategic decisions and team management. Something more aligned with the way I think.
I read through the scenario carefully. While other candidates rushed in, I took a moment. I processed the data, evaluated the resources and possible outcomes. My mind worked to assemble a solution, like fitting together scattered pieces. Once I was sure, I submitted my answer.
Silence followed for a few minutes. Finally, one of the evaluators spoke:"Your solution is efficient. It's the expected performance for someone with a developed mental Branch."
I nodded, though his words left me thinking. I had done well—but I still felt like what I'd shown was only a part of it. These tests weren't designed to capture everything I sensed was happening inside me... and for now, that was fine.
As I stood up, a quiet sense of peace followed me. I had met the requirement, and while I knew there was still much to uncover, the first step had already been taken.