Ezra had never liked writing papers.

  Math? He could deal with. Physics equations? Once he had the right connections in his head, they weren’t so bad. But essays? A proper research paper, one with citations and structured arguments, was the kind of assignment that made him want to run headfirst into a wall.

  Unfortunately, his physics professor disagreed.

  The assignment was straightforward: Pick a major industrial force in modern physics, break down its contributions, and expin the science behind it. Not just in theory, but in practical, real-world applications.

  At first, Ezra considered going for something easy—maybe the advances in fusion energy or deep-space propulsion. But something nagged at him, an itch at the back of his mind.

  Key Industries.

  It was one of the biggest names in the system, the foundation of graviton physics—the very reason humanity had been able to expand beyond Earth’s orbit without needing to brute-force their way through every pnetary hurdle with old-school rocketry.

  And Julie’s dad was at the helm of it.

  The more Ezra thought about it, the stranger it felt that he had never really put the pieces together before.

  Julie rarely talked about her father’s work, and when she did, she spoke about it the way most kids talked about their parents’ office jobs—uninterested, like it was just something that had always been there.

  But Key Industries wasn’t just some company. It was the keystone of human expansion into space. And as Ezra began digging deeper, he realized just how much he hadn’t known.

  Key Industries wasn’t just a company.

  It was the company.

  The backbone of every major spacefaring operation in the sor system. They had their hands in asteroid mining, orbital infrastructure, and Mars’ rapid industrial growth. And, most importantly, they were behind the graviton reactor buried beneath Mt. Fuji—humanity’s only known source of anti-gravity waves.

  The deeper Ezra read, the more overwhelmed he became. Graviton technology wasn’t infinite.

  Humanity had about 20 to 30 years worth of energy stored in reserves. That seemed like a long time, but not when compared to the scale of the infrastructure that relied on it—everything from orbital mining rigs to pnetary transportation networks.

  The only way forward was to feed more energy into the core. The more power they pumped into the Mt. Fuji reactor, the more graviton waves it supplied in return. It was a self-sustaining system, but only as long as Key Industries could keep up with demand.

  And right now?

  That meant expanding on their most ambitious project yet—the construction of a Dyson Array.

  The scale of it was unfathomable.

  Key Industries was leading a century-long endeavor to construct the first sor energy rey system—a partial Dyson Sphere, designed to capture and redirect a fraction of the sun’s raw power toward the Mt. Fuji core.

  The moons of Jupiter were being mined for resources, supplying materials to massive orbital foundries where sor arrays were being assembled piece by piece.

  To get them into pce, Key Industries had developed an orbital rail cannon, a colossal structure capable of propelling sor panels directly into predetermined orbits around the sun.

  It was awe-inspiring.

  And terrifying.

  Because when Ezra looked at the numbers—the raw logistics, energy costs, and required bor—it became clear that this wasn’t just an engineering challenge.

  It was a sacrifice.

  A lot of people had already died making it happen. And a lot more would before it was finished.

  Then Ezra found the records about the graviton reactor’s construction.

  His fingers hovered over the screen, scanning the data, his stomach twisting the deeper he read. The Mt. Fuji reactor wasn’t some miracle breakthrough that had been achieved without consequence.

  The first engineers sent to stabilize it? Driven insane by radiation poisoning.

  The initial research teams? Decimated by unknown side effects of early graviton experiments.

  The final push to fully operational status? Cost thousands of lives.

  And even now, with everything supposedly under control, there were rumors—stories of a shadow government operating beneath the surface, guarding the reactor with a secrecy that went beyond normal corporate interests.

  Julie had never mentioned any of this.

  To her, this was just Dad and his work.

  But to Ezra?

  It was mind-boggling.

  Sitting back in his chair, he exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He had always thought of Key Industries as another big company, the kind of thing rich families ran without ever worrying about the consequences of their actions.

  But this?

  This wasn’t just some corporation protecting its assets. This was humanity’s future, locked inside a mountain of radiation and dead engineers. And for the first time, Ezra wasn’t sure if he admired it—or if it unnerved him.

  The next time he saw Julie, he couldn’t keep quiet about it.

  They were sitting in her apartment, the low hum of a news broadcast pying in the background, when he finally spoke.

  "Why didn’t you ever tell me your dad’s company was running the whole damn sor system?"

  Julie, stretched out on the couch, barely gnced at him. "Because it’s not that big a deal."

  Ezra stared at her. "Not that big a—Julie, your dad is basically holding human civilization together with duct tape and math."

  Julie rolled her eyes, sitting up slightly. "Ezra, come on. You’re acting like he’s some Bond vilin. It’s just work."

  Ezra rubbed his temples. "Work? Julie, they’re building a Dyson Array. That’s not ‘just work,’ that’s—history-making."

  Julie sighed, pulling her legs up onto the couch. "I get it, alright? It’s impressive. But it’s always been like that. I grew up with this stuff. It’s just… normal to me."

  Ezra leaned forward, his voice softer. "You don’t think it’s kind of messed up? The reactor? The deaths? The way nobody talks about the people who made it happen?"

  Julie hesitated.

  For the first time, he saw a flicker of doubt cross her face. She chewed her bottom lip, choosing her words carefully.

  "I think… people like my dad don’t have the luxury of worrying about those things," she admitted. "They worry about the future. Because if they stop moving forward, everything colpses."

  Ezra sat back, mulling over her words. He wasn’t sure if he agreed. But he wasn’t sure if he disagreed either.

  Because if Key Industries failed? If the graviton reactor stopped producing gravity waves? Humanity’s entire sor infrastructure would crumble overnight. Progress had a cost. And now, Ezra wasn’t sure if he wanted to pay it—or challenge it.

  Ezra poured everything he had into his research paper.

  For the first time, he actually cared about an assignment. It wasn’t just about writing something for a grade—it was about understanding how things worked, about proving a better way existed.

  He backed up his findings with data from his AI simutions, carefully mapping out how Key Industries could optimize their energy distribution to reduce material waste and prolong equipment lifespan.

  It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a step in the right direction. By the time he handed it in, he felt good about it. Confident. Hopeful. Then he got his grade.

  A D-.

  Ezra stared at his student portal, his stomach twisting in disbelief. He checked the comments section, his eyes narrowing as he read the professor’s only feedback:

  "Good proposal. Seen this before. How do you account for industry expansion? Safety is important, but so is time. Humanity only has 100 years to complete this project."

  Ezra’s jaw tightened. A D-?

  A D-, because he hadn’t focused on speed?

  Because he prioritized safety over deadlines? He let out a slow breath, forcing his frustration down. It wasn’t the grade that bothered him. It was the message behind it.

  Ezra wasn’t stupid. He knew why the 100-year project timeline mattered. If they didn’t finish it on schedule, if Key Industries failed to supply enough graviton power, then the entire sor system’s infrastructure would start to break down.

  No graviton reactors?

  No orbital manufacturing on Mars.No asteroid mining.No space elevators, no efficient pnetary travel, no stable lunar colonies.

  Humanity wasn’t just advancing for the sake of ambition. They were racing against the clock. But was that really an excuse to push things to the breaking point?

  Ezra couldn’t let it go. After css, he confronted Professor Langley, expecting a half-hearted justification, some bullshit excuse about “academic grading policies”. But Langley just looked at him for a long moment before saying something that caught him completely off guard.

  “You’re not wrong, Ezra.”

  Ezra blinked. “…Then why the hell did you give me a D-?”

  Langley sighed, leaning back against his desk. “Because you’re looking at this like an engineer.”

  Ezra folded his arms. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

  Langley smirked slightly. “And that’s why I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  Ezra frowned. “…What?” The professor didn’t eborate. Instead, he gnced at the cssroom door, as if checking to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice.

  “I’ve seen students like you before,” he said. “Young minds who think they can change the system. Who think outside the framework we’ve been given.”

  Ezra stayed silent.

  Langley watched him carefully. “Some of them made it big. Got recruited into special projects, cssified research teams.” His expression darkened slightly. “Others… stopped showing up.”

  A strange chill settled over Ezra’s skin. The weight behind Langley’s words was heavy. Intentional. “You don’t need to take my warning seriously,” Langley continued, his voice calm, but firm. “But if I were you? I’d be careful where I push my curiosity.”

  Ezra didn’t know what to say.

  What Ezra didn’t know—what Langley didn’t tell him—was that his paper had already been fgged. A copy had been pulled. Not by the university. Not by any normal review board.

  It now sat on the desk of someone neither of them had ever met, in an office that didn’t officially exist. And whoever that person was? They were very, very interested in Ezra Key.

  And how his mind worked.