The conference hall pulsed with cold white light, like the chest of a city that never knew the night.
On stage, scientific presentations moved between genetic showcases and artificial intelligence applications.
But the eyes of the audience weren't following the screens...
They were glancing furtively toward the corner where Ron Zenta stood.
His appearance was unexpected.
He wore a white robe adorned with embroidered codes in copper thread.
His features were calm, as usual, but behind his eyes sparked a sharp intelligence that charged the air.
On the opposite side, Lian Oziris entered.
Slowly.
With the steps of a warrior, not a researcher.
She paused at the entrance of the hall for a moment, as if reading the entire space with a glance.
Then, she walked toward the front of the crowd.
And the encounter happened.
They looked into each other's eyes, searching for that familiar feeling from childhood.
They had always competed over the most trivial things.
But only they knew that no one understood them more than each other.
Their rivalry had been their only form of communication, because they had never received love from anyone—not even their parents.
They didn't know how to express their care for one another in any other way.
Many years had passed since the last time they saw each other, after that cursed day.
But in that moment, as they locked eyes, they knew nothing had really changed.
Lian was still the same—stubborn by nature, with that look in her eyes that suggested she might kill you if you annoyed her.
But now she was more mature, more composed, hiding her emotions behind a mask of cold indifference.
So was Ron—no one had ever truly known what he was thinking.
Had he not been a public figure, most who met him would've assumed he was some emotionless android, adapting himself to whoever stood before him.
If you were an ally, he'd smile and talk to you as if you were lifelong friends.
If you were an enemy, he'd give you a look that made you afraid to step any closer.
Many had fallen into his cunning traps—pawns discarded whenever useful.
As long as it served his purpose.
They didn't speak.
No one gestured.
There was no visible shock on either face.
But the air changed.
The biometric scanner—shaped like a wristwatch on Ron's arm—registered a spike in both their heart rates.
The central computer whispered analytical alerts:
"Visual lock. Unusual activity in the left cerebellum. Possible interference: emotional deviation suspected."
But Ron didn't respond.
He thought he had moved past it.
That he had buried his feelings for her over the past years.
But now it seemed he had only been lying to himself.
On the other side, Lian looked at him—and her heartbeat quickened.
She hated that.
Hated that she couldn't control herself every time she saw him.
She had thought long and hard about how to get rid of her feelings—she even considered killing him.
Maybe she'd mourn, suffer for a while, but at least she wouldn't have to endure this torment.
To look at someone you've loved since childhood and pretend you don't know them—
That's more painful than losing them.
But no matter what she tried, her feelings didn't fade easily.
She had often felt helpless over the past years since that day.
She cried herself to sleep every night.
She wished things had been different.
If only they had been born ordinary, perhaps they wouldn't have faced all this.
But she had accepted her fate and tried to move on.
Yet as she looked into his eyes…
That bitter feeling of helplessness returned.
Their emotions, body language, and reactions were supposed to be monitored and sent to both families as a report.
But that didn't happen—
Because someone had disabled the protocol... just minutes before the encounter.
Then, they both averted their eyes and quietly sat in their assigned seats.
A few minutes later... the conference began.