Chapter 4: A New Kind of Test

Chapter 4: A New Kind of Test

Professor Moreau’s office was less a room and more a physical manifestation of his mind: sterile, ordered, and brutally intimidating. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, not with the comfortable clutter of a beloved library, but with the rigid precision of a military archive. Complex engineering diagrams, framed in severe black metal, hung on the walls like captured enemy battle plans. The air itself felt thin, scrubbed clean of any warmth or spontaneity. Behind a vast, immaculate oak desk, Professor Moreau sat perfectly still, his hands steepled, his wire-rimmed glasses perched on his sharp nose. The only thing out of place in this temple of logic was Léo, standing before the desk, feeling like a microbe under a microscope.

The +1 Agility point he’d earned hummed in his system, a subtle current that made him feel preternaturally aware of his surroundings—the faint scent of old paper and lemon polish, the soft whir of the computer tower, the way the light from the window glinted off the professor’s glasses, obscuring his eyes. It gave him an ounce of physical confidence that did absolutely nothing to quell the cold dread solidifying in his gut.

Moreau did not invite him to sit. He let the silence stretch, each second a turn of the screw.

"Mr. Dubois," he finally said, his voice as crisp and cold as a winter morning. "It is 9:52 AM. My lecture on harmonic oscillation concluded twenty-two minutes ago. You were not present."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, an indictment.

"Professor, I am incredibly sorry. There was... an unavoidable situation in the parking garage," Léo began, his voice sounding weak and pathetic even to his own ears. He couldn't possibly explain about the cagole and the potato. The story was so absurd it sounded like a lie concocted by a child.

"An unavoidable situation," Moreau repeated, his tone utterly devoid of belief. He picked up a pen and tapped it once, a sound like a gavel falling, on a folder that Léo knew contained his student record. "Your scholarship, Mr. Dubois, is contingent not just on academic excellence, but on a demonstrated commitment to the discipline and rigor this institution demands. Punctuality is the most basic form of that commitment. It is the simple respect of showing up on time."

He opened the folder. "Your grades are, for the most part, acceptable. You possess a certain raw aptitude. But aptitude without discipline is like fuel without an engine: useless and volatile. This is not your first transgression. You were three minutes late to my lab in October. You submitted the midterm proposal six hours past the deadline."

Each word was a precise, calculated strike. Léo felt his defenses crumbling. All the satisfaction from his morning's victory evaporated, replaced by the familiar, bitter taste of failure.

"I have spoken with the scholarship committee," Moreau continued, his gaze finally lifting to meet Léo's. There was no anger in his eyes, only a chillingly calm disappointment. "They agree with my assessment. Your position here has become untenable. I am failing you in this course, and I will be recommending the immediate termination of your financial aid."

The words hit Léo with the force of a physical blow. Expelled. It was actually happening. All his work, his family's hopes—gone. His future, which had seemed so precariously balanced, had just plummeted into an abyss. Desperation clawed at his throat.

And then, as the professor’s verdict hung in the sterile air, the blue screen flickered to life in his vision, brighter and more urgent than before.

[Grave Injustice Detected: Academic Fraud in Progress.] [Perpetrator: Antoine Fournier. Crime: Plagiarism.] [Victim: Professor Moreau’s Intellectual Integrity.] [System Analysis: The professor's core value is being violated under his very nose. This presents a unique opportunity.]

Léo stared, his mind reeling. Antoine Fournier? The smug, arrogant student who always sat in the front row, the one Moreau had actually praised last week for his "incisive analysis" of turbine dynamics? The injustice of it was so potent, so galling, it cut through his despair like a lightning bolt. While he was being executed for being late, Fournier was being lauded for being a cheat.

The System's text shifted, presenting him with a choice that made his blood run cold.

[New High-Stakes Mission Issued: The Plagiarist's Gambit]

[Objective: Expose Antoine Fournier's plagiarism to Professor Moreau before the end of the academic day (5:00 PM).]

[Method: You must acquire undeniable proof of the plagiarism and present it yourself. System will provide one (1) clue to assist.]

[Risk: HIGH. Failure will result in immediate expulsion and potential academic misconduct charges for making false accusations. Success may result in the reversal of your current fate.]

[Accept Mission?] [> YES] [> NO]

This wasn't about a potato in an exhaust pipe. This was a direct challenge, a tightrope walk over a canyon of fire. Jail time? Academic misconduct? But the alternative… the alternative was the certainty of failure. He was already being expelled. Option 1 was a guaranteed game over. Option 2 was a long shot, a crazy, desperate play, but it was the only play he had left.

"Mr. Dubois? Is there anything you have to say for yourself?" Moreau asked, already closing the folder. The execution was complete.

Léo's mind raced. He focused his will on the glowing "YES" in his vision. The screen flashed in confirmation.

[Mission Accepted. Good luck, Agent of Karma.] [Clue Unlocked: Check the digital metadata of Fournier’s submitted PDF. The author is not who you think.]

A surge of desperate courage, born from having nothing left to lose, flooded through him. He lifted his chin, his gaze meeting the professor’s.

"Yes, Professor. I do have something to say," Léo said, his voice surprisingly steady.

Moreau raised a single, skeptical eyebrow.

"My reason for being late… it's insignificant," Léo continued, choosing his words with extreme care, the System's clue burning in his mind. "It's insignificant compared to a far more serious breach of academic integrity that I have just become aware of. One that affects this very department. This very class."

Moreau’s expression didn't change, but Léo saw a flicker of something in his eyes. He had struck a nerve. The professor’s hatred for cheating was legendary.

"Elaborate, Mr. Dubois. And be aware that I have very little patience for student gossip or baseless accusations."

"It is not baseless," Léo said, his heart hammering. This was the bluff of his life. "Professor, give me until five o'clock this afternoon. Just a few hours. I will bring you undeniable, irrefutable proof of plagiarism in one of the final project submissions you are currently grading. If I fail, if I bring you anything less than absolute proof, you can not only fail me and have my scholarship revoked, but you can have me expelled for academic slander as well. I will not say another word in my own defense."

He had laid his entire future on the table.

The office was silent again, but this time it was a different kind of silence. It was charged, electric. Léo could see the gears turning in Moreau's brilliant, analytical mind. The professor despised tardiness, but he despised cheating with a passion that bordered on religious fervor. Léo had presented him with a proposition that appealed directly to his intellectual pride and his role as the ultimate arbiter of academic honesty in his domain.

Moreau stared at Léo, his gaze so intense it felt like it was peeling back layers of his skin, searching for any hint of deceit. Léo met it head-on, channeling all the righteous anger he felt towards the entitled—from Sandrine to Fournier—into his expression.

Finally, Professor Moreau leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. A thin, dangerous smile touched his lips.

"Very well, Mr. Dubois," he said, the words dripping with ice. "You have a flair for the dramatic. I will grant your request. You have until five PM. Bring me this 'irrefutable proof.' But understand this: if you are wasting my time, or if your proof is anything short of conclusive, I will personally ensure your academic career is over. Not just at this university, but at any reputable institution in France."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Now get out of my office. The clock is ticking."

Léo didn't need to be told twice. He nodded once, a sharp, respectful dip of his head, and turned, walking out of the office on legs that felt surprisingly solid. He closed the door softly behind him, the click of the latch sounding like the start of a countdown timer.

Standing in the empty hallway, the sterile scent of Moreau’s office still clinging to him, he looked at the glowing blue screen only he could see. The mission was active. The clue was there. He had less than seven hours to save his life.