Lin Sharp, standing nearby, didn't like hearing Tony and her dad talk about company matters, so she quickly cut in.
"Dad! I've been improving a lot lately! Mr. Snow says my grades are good enough for one of the top-tier universities."
"Oh?" Victor Sharp immediately turned his attention to his daughter. "Which university are you thinking about then? Halewick University is a great school. It's close to home too—easy to come back whenever you want."
"As for majors," he added, "maybe finance? It's practical, stable…"
"Hmph, now you sound just like Mom," Lin pouted.
She didn't answer his question, instead turning toward Tony with a smile. "Mr. Snow, where are you going for your postgrad studies? I'll apply to the same university for undergrad."
Once again, Tony was faced with a question he didn't have a clear answer for.
"I don't know yet. I'll make a decision in a few months," he replied honestly. "Even if I applied now, some of the big universities' bioengineering programs might not accept me."
What Tony didn't say was that he was waiting for his biology paper submitted to Cell to be accepted. Once that happened, it would flip the equation—universities would be the ones courting him.
But that would take time. Even with fast-track review, the process from submission to publication could take months. If Tony graduated a year early, his paper might not even be in print by then.
…
On Sunday evening, Tony had dinner again with the Sharps.
Since they weren't going out this time, no one offered to walk him back. He took the opportunity for a slow stroll to the nearby subway station, enjoying the quiet evening.
By the time he reached the platform and boarded the train, the seats were already full. Standing with his backpack slung over one shoulder, he pulled out his phone to catch up on messages.
Soon, a new notification arrived—an email.
"Another university?" Tony muttered, tapping it open.
Instead, he was surprised to find an acceptance notice from the Journal of Intelligent Systems.
"Huh. That got accepted already?"
He hadn't thought much about that paper—"A Discussion on an Algorithm for Training Neural Networks and Performing Other Computational Tasks." He'd written it quickly and submitted it almost absentmindedly. The journal was campus-sponsored and usually took a long time to respond, especially during weekends and holidays.
Yet here it was, Sunday night, and his inbox held the green light.
What Tony didn't know was that the paper had sat untouched on a reviewer's desk until the previous Saturday. It wasn't until the reviewer realized this Tony Snow was the Tony Snow—the third-year prodigy from Halewick University who had recently made headlines with a math paper in Mathematical Advances—that they read it seriously.
A second reviewer was brought in. After a thorough review, both agreed the paper had real merit, even if the algorithm described was ahead of its time—perhaps decades ahead. The reviewers were especially intrigued by Tony's philosophical insights on Artificial Intelligence and its potential societal impact.
The journal, excited to have such a high-profile submission, pushed a late-night layout and rushed the issue to publication.
Tony's phone buzzed again.
Two days. Eight hours. 2,400 credits deposited.
He smiled faintly. The academic bonus had landed.
…
The next morning, as Tony finished lunch in the student cafeteria, his phone rang again. He glanced at the screen and saw it was President Harris.
In the two and a half years Tony had been at Halewick, he'd only ever seen the president from a distance—at sporting events or award ceremonies. But lately, he'd spoken with the man more times in a week than in his entire college career.
As soon as Tony picked up, Harris's voice boomed through the receiver.
"Why on earth did you drop that AI paper in a basic departmental journal?!"
Tony blinked. "Wait, President Harris… you read that?"
"I didn't. But someone I trust did—and they called me about it this morning. Honestly, if they hadn't, I wouldn't have even known it existed."
Tony frowned slightly. "You're not in AI though, right?"
"I'm not. Chemistry's my background," Harris replied. "But that's not the point. Are you free now? Come to my office."
Seeing how urgent the call was, Tony turned to Shen—who had been walking with him—and said, "Hey, you head back to the dorm. I'll be at the President's office for a while. If I miss the afternoon lab, let the professor know where I went."
Shen nodded, and Tony made his way to the administration building.
…
When Tony entered the President's office, Harris didn't waste time.
"I had your paper reviewed by people who actually work in AI. They said the algorithm in your paper isn't something we'll likely see realized in the next couple of decades, but your theoretical framing? Brilliant. Precise. Forward-looking."
Then he leaned forward. "Why'd you publish it in a school-run journal? You knew enough to send your math paper to Mathematical Advances. Why didn't you send this one to Neural Computation, or IEEE Transactions on Neural Networks?"
Tony scratched his head. "It's just a computer science paper, really. I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
Harris nearly choked. "Just a computer science paper?"
He sighed. "Listen… when you look back in a few years, you'll kick yourself for treating this so casually."
He paused, then asked, "When did you even write this thing?"
Tony thought for a moment. "Just after the semester started. Took about a week. I spent those days camped out in the library."
Harris stared at him in disbelief.
"This 'thing'? And just a week?"
Tony nodded, unbothered.
Harris slumped back in his chair. "You're unbelievable."
He didn't say anything for a moment, and Tony broke the silence. "President?"
Harris looked at him long and hard, then finally said, "You're not just good. You're one of those people who shows up once in a generation. But if you don't start treating your own work with the same respect others do, you're going to keep underselling yourself."
Tony didn't respond. Not because he disagreed—but because he was thinking the same thing.
This was just the beginning.