"Okay, Professor, may I make a small request?" Seeing Dr. William Bright's warm reply, Tony Snow couldn't help but "climb the ladder." He took the friendliness as an invitation to push his luck—asking for more than he was offered.
Though he still respectfully called him "Professor," Tony was already making demands of a mentor he hadn't even met in person yet.
"Speak."
Dr. Bright, seeing Tony's forward tone, felt a twinge of displeasure. His mood had just been lifted by the promising new student, but now the response was clipped and cautious.
"I have a paper submitted to Cell during my undergrad, and I believe it'll be accepted soon. I'm actually quite satisfied with your lab—the equipment is great, the funding seems generous…
But honestly, I'm not super interested in the current research direction. I think the lab should focus more on cutting-edge areas like neuronal computation and deep neuro-AI. Just a suggestion 😄
Oh—and maybe consider recruiting more female students this year? Might boost my motivation to work harder."
Tony's final comment was clearly a joke. But Dr. Bright wasn't laughing.
"Good grief…"
That was all he could mutter out loud. Fortunately, he didn't type and send it.
While the comment about more female students didn't faze him much—he understood that was a joke—the earlier part? That was no joke. And that's what made him furious.
Dr. Bright was not some mid-career junior researcher—he was a globally respected leader in neurobiophysics, with decades of experience and dozens of published works in Nature and Science under his belt. And here came an undergraduate-turned-professor, giving unsolicited advice on what he should be researching.
The nerve.
Still gripping his phone, Tony waited for a reply that never came. He stared at the frozen chat screen, puzzled.
"Weird... why isn't he replying? Was it the joke about female students? Did I take it too far?"
Tony scratched his head, a bit confused.
But Dr. Bright didn't care about the joke. What irked him was Tony's arrogance—thinking that just because he had talent in math, he had license to dictate what a world-class lab should be working on.
"He really thinks publishing one paper in Cell and a couple in math journals makes him qualified to tell me how to run my lab? Unreal."
The more he thought about it, the more his mood soured. No student had ever suggested changing his lab's research direction.
If Tony had been in the same room right now, Dr. Bright might've given him an earful. But instead, he chose silence.
Meanwhile, Tony, blissfully unaware of the storm he'd triggered, felt entirely justified. He already had the title ready for his first Nature paper—an ambitious project on neural pathway simulations.
In one of his simulated lives, he'd lived until age 81 and pursued deep research across multiple biology fields—especially molecular biology and neuroscience. That was why he'd spoken so confidently: he had the future mapped out in his head.
Over the next few days, Tony spent less time in the library. Most of his energy went into setting up company operations and stabilizing logistics. Things were progressing steadily.
Time flew by.
In the blink of an eye, it was Tuesday the 28th. The month was almost over.
That morning, the university hosted a visiting lecture titled "Harpin, a Bacterial Effector Protein, and Its Applications in Disease Resistance." For the past five weeks, Tuesdays had included Biological Process Engineering during the first two periods, and Bioseparation Engineering during the third and fourth.
However, with Process Engineering concluded, and the Bioseparation professor also attending the lecture, class was postponed—freeing up Tony's schedule.
With his company matters wrapped up, Tony figured he might as well attend the lecture. These kinds of research presentations would become routine in his future, and he welcomed the chance to observe how others presented academic findings.
He wasn't going alone either. He brought Clara Quinn with him, telling her not to bury herself in textbooks all the time and instead broaden her understanding of current biological advancements. Besides, they had no morning classes.
The invited speaker was Professor Lionel Waters, dean of the College of Environmental & Plant Science at Haidale University, one of the leading institutions in the Midland Republic.
Professor Waters specialized in plant-pathogen interactions, genetic resistance engineering, and molecular detection of resistance genes. Though Tony had a basic understanding of the field, it wasn't one he'd personally researched in depth.
So even with all his simulated future knowledge, he wasn't particularly well-versed in this area.
The lecture announcement had gone out the day before, and a decent crowd had shown up—not necessarily out of enthusiasm, but because the school required it.
Freshmen were each given a logbook at the start of term, where they needed to record and stamp at least ten academic lectures across four years. Failing to do so meant losing two academic credits.
Inside the large lecture hall, students were scattered across the rows. Faculty from the College of Biotech and Pharmaceutical Engineering sat closer to the front.
After a brief introduction by one of the university professors, Professor Waters began his talk. His presentation slides were projected onto the large screen behind him.
Tony glanced around. Most students were glued to their phones. Others stared blankly into space. Very few actually paid attention.
Clara, however, sat beside him dutifully jotting down the title and notes from the presentation, in the small report notebook students were expected to submit. Each log required the event's title and a brief summary of its contents.
Tony leaned back and focused in.
Though the subject wasn't one of his main interests, the report was well-delivered and coherent. Professor Waters spoke with clarity and confidence, showing visual models of molecular interactions and comparative resistance gene pathways.
The lecture lasted from 10:00 AM to just past 11:00 AM.
As soon as it ended, students began rushing out of the room like steam from a boiling kettle—eager to leave now that they'd gotten their stamp.
Tony didn't move. Instead, he walked toward Professor Waters at the front.
Clara followed close behind.