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The capital. Light snow.
The New Year was drawing near now, and some people had already set out early on the road home.
The high-speed rail station bustled with comings and goings. The waiting travelers, dressed in winter clothes, packed the waiting room in a crowd, enjoying the indoor warmth, watching the snowflakes scattering past the windows, chatting warmly with their friends and family, orderly and lively all at once.
The newest train pulled into the station through the light snow, and came slowly to rest beside the platform.
Ryan came out of the dedicated front carriage pulling a black suitcase, and following behind him were the representatives of the Crimson Typhoon project.
The single greatest shared trait of these people was youth. Even the oldest among them was no more than fifty-some, and setting aside Ryan, whose presence dragged the age line down severely, their average age sat around forty-five.
At his side was chief engineer Logan, with Reeves following just behind, and then a whole crowd came pouring out of the carriage after them, a full twenty people, every one of them, as if by unspoken agreement, drawing deep breaths on the platform.
They had been inside the base for nearly a year, and this was their first time out.
Though the small days inside the base were lovely and full in their own right, there was, in the end, a boundary drawn around them.
"Please move along quickly. Do not linger here."
Seeing that they weren't moving forward, a guard hurried over.
Chief engineer Logan called out from the front. "Time to go, folks!"
The group moved forward again, and left through a designated passage.
Only after they had gone did the doors of the remaining carriages open, and the other long-waiting passengers came down from the train carrying their excitement with them...
"Chief Designer, where to now?"
Ryan had barely gotten into the car when the driver asked.
He glanced over. It was still an old acquaintance of his from the base.
He rubbed his chin and considered. "Let's make a trip to MIT first."
Shameful as it was to say, he, a student of MIT in name, had never once been on campus during class time.
Just look at the periods he'd spent at MIT before.
During the Scrapper days, it had been summer vacation, and he'd run off right after the term opened, before classes had even begun.
And this return now fell squarely within winter break as well.
What's more, this particular student had never once sat an examination, and even his own supervisor, Professor Whitaker, the two of them had not met in these two years.
Come to think of it...
What major had he even enrolled in back then?
Ryan scratched at his hair, and for a moment genuinely could not recall.
Reeves and the others boarded a separate car bound for the hotel. Ryan's car parted ways with theirs and drove all the way to MIT.
MIT's front gate had recovered its clear flow. The people who had once gathered here for Scrapper's sake were nowhere to be seen.
Of course, inside the school these days, there were still plenty of people coming by daily to view the concrete road Scrapper had trampled to ruin back then.
It was already a road famous across the entire world.
The only pity was that the old president had still not adopted his suggestion from back then.
Most of the school's teachers and students had already left campus.
No one had expected him to come back at a time like this, and Professor Whitaker had already left the school and gone home to prepare for the New Year.
The old president, on the other hand, had good sources, had guessed he might be returning, and, having settled here for many years besides, was still at the school waiting for him.
"Haha, long time no see! A few days ago I caught your interview playing on television. Good heavens! You couldn't tell on the screen, but seeing you in the flesh, you've grown a great deal taller, kid, and a great deal more mature!" The old president gave him a warm hug.
That interview was better left unmentioned. His shots had very nearly been cut out of existence, provoking a crowd of netizens to spam "protect" through the comments.
In any case, Ryan felt certain that director had been jealous of his good looks, and that was why the man had deleted his shots.
Ryan hugged the old president back and laughed. "And you haven't changed one bit, sir. Hale and hearty as ever."
"Hey!" The old president patted his back. "Old, I'm old!"
"It's your generation's era now."
He led Ryan onward.
"You have no idea. When these few old bones, mine and old Whitaker's and old Lambert's, first heard about that project of yours, we were struck completely dumb. At the time we nearly took it for a dream."
"Back when you managed to tinker together a Scrapper, I already thought that was genius enough. I never imagined you could take another step forward on that foundation, and progress that fast at that!"
Recalling it now, the old president clicked his tongue in wonder despite himself.
Ryan laughed too. "I'd already had the concept for that back when I was at the school."
"If we're talking impressive, you're still the most impressive one..." The old president shook his head, and thinking back to Ryan's age at the time, no longer knew how to describe it at all.
A big fellow like Crimson Typhoon, designed at fourteen years old. All you could say was that it did not seem human.
The two of them chatted as they walked, and before they knew it, they had come to the site of Scrapper's old warehouse.
"This hasn't been torn down yet?" Ryan looked at the warehouse and the crude office beside it, rather tickled.
The old president said, "This place might well become our school's museum one day. How could it possibly be torn down? You take this old man for senile?"
Ryan laughed helplessly. "Then you'll have to charge admission when the time comes."
At those words, the old president's expression instantly darkened.
"Ahem!"
Ryan tactfully changed the subject. "Have there been any breakthrough results at the school lately?"
"Compared to your Crimson Typhoon, nothing worth a look." The old president shook his head.
He understood full well the technological content packed inside that big robot Crimson Typhoon, and simply was not going to display his meager skills before a master.
"But if you happen to have any suitable projects on hand, don't you forget that we do, for whatever it's worth, count as your alma mater."
At the old president's words, Ryan genuinely did remember a project on his hands that had sat shelved for a long time.
"Now that you mention it, I really have thought of one project."
The old president's eyes lit up. He had not expected an actual gain to come of it.
"What project?"
Ryan said, "A holographic projector."
"Holographic projection?"
The old president turned it over for a moment.
"The kind of holographic projection used at Prism's launch events before?"
The holographic projection used at Prism's launch events was brought up by people all the time.
Everyone was curious what this medium-free holographic projection actually relied upon to work. Many believed it was a key that would open a new era of holography, while others held that it was merely a new species of pseudo-projection.
Only, Prism had never explained it, nor shown the slightest intention of entering the holography market, and so it had left the public nothing but a riddle.
"That's right. Exactly that." Ryan nodded.
"I built it earlier for Prism's use, but it doesn't fit Prism's current research direction, and I have no spare time of my own, so I never carried the research any deeper afterward."
Hearing this, the old president's eyes grew brighter still.
"What principle does that kind of holographic projection run on? What research direction? MIT's disciplines are many and varied. Just name it, and we can certainly satisfy you!"
Ryan said, "Acoustics. The principle of acoustic tweezers."
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