The professor arrived at the computer lab not long after being told that Ethan was back.
Fortunately, he had a habit of reading the morning paper in his office—so the students had been able to find him quickly.
What shocked him most wasn't Ethan's return—it was the fact that the two students had stayed up all night waiting. Talk about dedication. He felt a little guilty, but there was no time to dwell on it. Today, he was finally going to meet this mysterious genius with his own eyes.
He needed to see for himself: who exactly was this Ethan, and how had he managed to build a working game scene so effortlessly?
With talent like that, the professor was seriously considering recommending him directly to the National Computing Research Institute.
If Ethan was a third- or fourth-year student, the professor could absolutely convince the headmaster to assign him there straight out of university. Just imagine: graduating with a guaranteed research position. What student wouldn't jump at that?
And the professor? He'd have that feather in his cap—discovered a prodigy before anyone else.
"There he is, Professor. He's still coding. Honestly, the way he types—it's almost as fast as you."
The lab assistant had noticed it too.
Ever since yesterday, the lab had been buzzing with activity.
By mid-afternoon, the place was crawling with students, as if someone had spiked their drinks with adrenaline. Dozens streamed in, and by the time they left that evening, every last one of them looked satisfied.
The assistant had no idea what was going on inside. If this had been some off-campus basement instead of the university lab, he might have considered calling the police.
But no—these were students. And the only thing that had changed was the arrival of one person.
Ethan.
Since his appearance, everything had shifted.
Could it really all be because of him?
Right now, Ethan was deep in his zone.
He had this peculiar talent—an uncanny ability to shut out the world when building games. Ever since he was a kid, when he focused on something, he could lose himself in it completely.
As a boy, he'd once kept playing through an entire arcade session without flinching, even though his furious parents were standing behind him, waiting to drag him out.
Later, when he began learning to make games at university, that focus only grew. Creating virtual worlds from scratch? It was intoxicating.
And now, here he was again, fully immersed.
One of the students reached out, trying to tap Ethan's shoulder.
"Don't," the professor said softly, raising a hand to stop him.
He could tell—Ethan was gone, lost in the work, fingers flying across the keys in a blur. To break that focus would be almost sacrilegious.
In his mind, only a handful of elite engineers he'd met overseas had shown this level of immersion. This was no hobbyist—this was someone with a calling.
"Professor… it's been almost half an hour," a student whispered. "Are we just going to keep waiting?"
"We wait," the professor replied. "But not idly. Watch closely. Study his movements. This… is a once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity."
Honestly, the professor himself was itching to study too.
This student had real power. His programming ability was on par with renowned foreign developers.
How had someone like this slipped under the radar?
How had no one noticed?
Ethan was producing full game levels in roughly thirty minutes each.
He could get help later with pixel art and polish, but this foundation work had to be done solo. And he was doing it all at lightning speed.
His goal was clear: finish the prototype, then use it as leverage—a way to market his vision.
He'd already laid out the strategy in his head.
Since he couldn't distribute games nationally right away, he'd start small—targeting individuals or groups who already had access to computers. Like professors. Research centers. University labs.
More and more schools and institutions were beginning to install personal computing labs. A wave of "learn to code" enthusiasm was sweeping the country.
That was Ethan's entry point.
Still, his best bet was to find private individuals with personal computers and pitch directly to them.
Titles like Contra and Squirrel Showdown would serve as his early demos—his bait.
The clearer his path became, the faster he typed.
His fingers hit a new gear, blurring across the keyboard with such speed that the onlookers were stunned into silence.
Was he… just smashing random keys?
But then they glanced at the screen.
Line after line of clean, precise code appeared—structured, logical, real.
Every few minutes, Ethan ran a test build.
New levels popped up—playable, polished enough to impress. This wasn't button mashing. This was mastery.
Sometimes, a skill level gets so advanced, it becomes unreadable to beginners.
The professor could still follow, barely. He saw the structure—Ethan was building a series of levels, just like yesterday.
But the two nearby students? To them, it was gibberish. A blur of commands that meant nothing.
Still, their excitement came from somewhere else entirely.
Every time Ethan ran a new level, a wave of joy surged through them.
Yesterday's single demo had already gotten stale—fun, sure, but repetitive. Today, Ethan was churning out several new scenes in a row.
Which meant…
They'd have so much more to play soon!
They started memorizing each new layout, mentally mapping the best paths through each stage. In their heads, they were already planning competitive speedruns.
And the crowd around them grew.
Word had spread like wildfire. One by one, students from the computer science department abandoned their breakfast or sleep and rushed to the lab.
Some had already seen Ethan. Others had only heard the rumors: "This guy builds a full level in 30 minutes. With just assembly language."
Many didn't believe it.
But once they saw it with their own eyes—they couldn't look away.
Within the hour, thirty or forty students had gathered, forming a semicircle behind Ethan.
A few even tried taking notes at first, not wanting to miss a thing.
But after a minute of trying to keep up with Ethan's rapid typing, they all gave up.
"Forget notes. Who the hell can follow that speed?!"
They just watched—silently, awestruck
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