The Genius System-Chapter 60: The Arrival of Guests

Note : More gifts for more chapters. Let s see how many chapters i ll write today

__________________________

On the morning of the conference, the sky was a clear blue, but the atmosphere was electric. Macro’s private airport, usually quiet, had transformed into a diplomatic battleground. Private jets and helicopters arrived one after another, unloading a parade of guests from around the world. Renowned professors, discreet heads of state, scoop-hungry journalists, and mysterious observers all converged on the Kingdom of Macro.

Behind the scenes, Lassen watched the arrivals through his holographic screens. He sipped a cup of tea while scanning live drone feeds. His excessively reclined chair hinted at his apparent calm, but his eyes tracked every movement with surgical precision.

[Host, we’ve detected at least three intelligence teams hidden among the delegations.]

Lassen raised an eyebrow "Which ones?"

[One team affiliated with the CIA, another likely tied to the FSB, and an unidentified group, possibly private mercenaries.]

"Charming." He set his cup down and crossed his arms. "Make sure they remain under surveillance. And activate countermeasures if any of them try something."

[Already done.]

_______________________________________

Meanwhile, at the main entrance of the conference hall, the stream of guests moved slowly through reinforced security checks. Drones hovered silently overhead, capturing high-definition images and analyzing each face for anomalies.

Journalists crowded to interview anyone willing to speak. Some desperately tried to get comments from scientists, while others settled for speculating about what would be revealed today.

Inside a dark limousine, Professor Hargrove from Cambridge stared at the crowds through the tinted window.

"This is ridiculous" he grumbled, adjusting his glasses. "It looks like a scene straight out of a spy movie."

Beside him, Claire Bennett flipped through her notes.

"This isn’t surprising," she said, skimming a page. "We’re talking about a mathematical problem that has defied generations. What did you expect? A quiet, peaceful seminar at a university?"

"Not this." Hargrove glanced at the journalists clustered near the doors. "They’re all expecting either a miracle or a disaster. I just hope he has more to show than a magic trick."

A BBC journalist extended a microphone toward Professor Hargrove as he stepped out of the limousine.

"Professor Hargrove, what are your expectations for today?"

The professor paused briefly, scanning the crowd before responding.

"I expect facts. Not promises. If he’s as brilliant as they claim, he’ll need to prove that his demonstration can withstand our criticism."

The journalist pressed further.

"And if he fails?"

Hargrove adjusted his glasses.

"Then he’ll disappear back into obscurity as quickly as he emerged."

Beside him, Claire Bennett rolled her eyes.

"Unlike my colleague, I’m as curious as I am skeptical. This conference might just redefine our understanding of mathematics. I came here to witness history being made, not to judge before hearing the evidence."

The journalist seized the moment "So, do you believe in his theory?"

Bennett shrugged "I believe in what I can see and understand. Today, he has the chance to show us what he’s capable of. I’m ready to listen."

Not far away, a group of MIT students chatted noisily.

"Did you read his entire report?" one of them asked, looking stunned. "Two hundred pages of formulas and complex analyses. I couldn’t even finish the introduction."

"Me neither," another replied with a laugh. "And yet, everyone here is acting like he’s about to announce the discovery of the century."

Further away, a BBC correspondent stopped a former Nobel Prize winner.

"Professor Sinclair, could this conference really revolutionize the world of mathematics?"

The elderly man nodded.

"What I’ve seen is fascinating, but we’ve been misled before. I’m here to ask tough questions. If he can answer them, then yes, this will be a revolution."

Everyone was eager to witness this conference—academics, mathematicians, and even ordinary people.

Everyone had already heard of Mr. X. There had been plenty of buzz about him lately.

At first, no one knew what this enigmatic figure looked like. But after the recent interview, the world was finally able to put a face to the name.

But now, it was different.

This was the first time Mr. X was making a public appearance.

In the pristine halls of King 5 University, where the conference was set to take place, the atmosphere oscillated between excitement and restrained nervousness. The grand marble columns and high ceilings adorned with historical frescoes suddenly felt insufficient to contain the scale of the event.

The university, a symbol of tradition and knowledge, was thrust into the global spotlight, and each of its members felt the weight of that responsibility.

The university dean, Amed Marshall, a man with graying hair and a slightly hunched back from years spent in dusty libraries, paced the halls with unusual energy. His cane clicked against the polished floor with every step, drawing the eyes of professors and students nervously carrying folders and notes.

"Are we ready, Edward?" asked a voice behind him.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

The dean turned to see Professor Helena Pratt, head of the Applied Mathematics Department, nervously adjusting her glasses while clutching a stack of documents.

"As ready as we can be to host the world’s academic elite and… perhaps witness a historic upheaval."

She sighed.

"We shouldn’t have agreed to host this here. This isn’t a typical conference. It’s an arena. They’re not just here to listen—they’re here to judge, criticize, and some are even hoping to see him fail."

The dean gave a tired smile.

"And that’s exactly why we had to say yes. Imagine the impact if this demonstration holds up. This building will become an intellectual sanctuary, a place where history was rewritten."

Helena raised an eyebrow.

"Or a scene of intellectual crime, if it all goes wrong."

"Stop being so pessimistic, professor."

In a nearby room, a small group of teachers debated passionately.

"I’m certain this guy is using some unconventional method we’ve never seen before. Maybe even advanced artificial intelligence," said a young professor.

"Or he just found a trick we all missed," another replied. "Whatever the method, he has to defend it in front of us. And I’m ready to ask every necessary question."

"What if we can’t understand it?" asked a third voice, more anxious.

Silence fell over the group. It was the unspoken fear many shared. What if Mr. X presented something inaccessible, beyond their comprehension?

The conference hall doors finally opened, letting in a stream of journalists, professors, and eager students. The leather seats arranged in concentric circles around a central stage gave the room a solemn and intimidating atmosphere. Spotlights illuminated the podium where the subject of all the discussions would soon be revealed.

Conversations multiplied as guests took their seats. Voices echoed, and some whispered while observing the cameras set up in the corners of the room. Reporters prepared their microphones and adjusted their equipment. Technicians double-checked the live feeds that would be broadcast worldwide.

Near the stage, a group of young students was deep in a lively debate.

"Do you think he’s really going to explain his entire method, or just throw incomprehensible results at us?" one of them asked, flipping through a notebook filled with scribbled notes.

"I bet he’ll do both," replied a female student. "He’s known for impressing people while leaving them in the dark."

"Or," added another, "he’ll show us something even more spectacular and unpredictable. This guy has never played by the rules."

Not far away, a CNN journalist approached an American professor while adjusting his microphone.

"Professor Miller, you’ve followed Mr. X’s work since the beginning. What do you think of his decision to appear publicly today?"

The professor adjusted his tie, looking visibly nervous.

"I think it’s calculated. Everything he does is calculated. He knows exactly what impact this appearance will have on the scientific community—and beyond. This isn’t just a conference. It’s a political statement, whether he realizes it or not."

"And if his results are correct?" the journalist pressed.

Miller sighed.

"Then there will be no more doubt. He’ll not only become a reference but also an unavoidable figure. The problem is that, in this field, one misstep can destroy everything."

In a corner of the room, a female student observed the crowd while talking to a colleague.

"Look at them," she said, pointing at the guests with her pen. "Some are here to applaud, others to watch him fall."

"And you?" her colleague asked.

"I’m here to understand," she replied, adjusting her glasses. "I want to know how he thinks, how he managed to go where no one else could."

On stage, a technician ran a final sound check before announcing that the conference would begin in fifteen minutes. Conversations grew louder.

In his temporary office, the dean paused for a moment in front of the large clock. Less than an hour remained before the official start. He took a deep breath, smoothing the tie he had adjusted at least three times that morning.

"Are they ready?" he asked his assistant.

"As ready as they can be."

Edward Marshall nodded.

"Good. Then all we can do now is wait… and hope that today marks a new chapter in the history of mathematics—and not a fall we’ll struggle to recover from."

He cast one last glance at the conference hall below, where seats were slowly filling, and signaled to his team that everything was ready. Behind the apparent excitement, the entire university was holding its breath.