Induction

After passing through a layer of fingerprint verification, a layer of retinal verification (and actually another magical verification she hadn't detected), and entering a nine-digit alphanumeric password, Elizabeth Betty successfully navigated the complex identity authentication measures to enter Michael's private laboratory.

"Good evening, Elizabeth." Sherry greeted her in a sweet, friendly voice as she pulled open the glass door at the entrance.

"Hello." She nodded toward the invisible AI, then hurried through the front room, unsurprised to find her boss in the back—Michael spent most of his time off work down here.

If anyone could get a look inside the chairman of Passo Technology's personal lab, they'd likely be stunned. It was probably the strangest research lab in the world, divisible into two parts that seemed completely unrelated.

On one side, the lab was filled with advanced equipment that ordinary people couldn't even imagine. His desk and shelves held various cutting-edge instruments and devices, including some still in the conceptual stage and not yet on the market. Beyond that, he'd acquired rare materials and elements that money alone couldn't buy. This section was a researcher's paradise.

The other side—seemingly the polar opposite—belonged to the realm of the mysterious. A plush velvet cloth covered the table, adorned with antique items that looked like props from a medieval TV drama set. The bookshelf against the wall was crammed with ancient tomes, and beside it hung a long, pure cotton canvas, deeply painted with a complex magic circle.

Science and the occult, two fields that seemed entirely at odds, shared the same room.

Right now, Michael's right arm was encased in black-and-white armor, and he seemed to be adjusting the Gauntlet's power output. Elizabeth carefully navigated around the magical texts and precision instruments to reach her boss.

"You haven't shown up at the company for nine days," she reminded him.

"I've been busy lately." Michael clenched his fist and stretched his arm; the joints of the Gauntlet emitted a low hum from the power system. "But you've handled everything, haven't you?"

"Thank you for the trust. I'm doing my best, sir." Elizabeth said calmly, pulling out a bundle of exquisite red invitations and placing them flat on the table.

Michael glanced sideways. "I thought I said to decline as many events as possible?"

"Yes, I've already turned down most of the events this month for you," she said. "But the Military Committee is very satisfied with our last batch of orders. They'd like to invite you personally to a dance tonight."

"A dance?"

Michael's eyelid twitched. He temporarily withdrew his arm from the black-and-white Gauntlet, opened an invitation, and examined it. After quickly reading through it, he raised an eyebrow. "It says 'please bring your dance partner.' Funny—where do other people usually find a dance partner for events like this?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I imagine, for someone of your status, that's usually not a problem."

That was true enough. A playboy like Tony Stark bringing three or five dance partners at once wasn't unusual—even if he probably couldn't remember all their names.

But Michael Passo was a rare exception. He'd built his entire life like a precision machine, every component calculated to perfection before being assembled. He scheduled his days down to the second, every moment clear and deliberate.

Yet he simply left no time for his personal life. He could handle necessary social engagements and networking brilliantly, projecting the image of a humble, affable, articulate young genius to the outside world. But beyond that, most of his time was spent dealing with cold machinery.

So you could say Michael Passo was emotionally detached, or even that he was closer to a machine than a person. He had a meticulous, brilliant mind and countless awe-inspiring inventions, but he couldn't even find a close enough woman to accompany him to a simple dance.

No, perhaps it was more accurate to say "almost" couldn't.

After reading the invitation, Michael thought for a moment, then suddenly looked up. "Elizabeth, can you tango?"

Elizabeth was taken aback. "Yes, sir."

"Waltz?"

"I've dabbled in it." She hesitated, then added, "I've also studied ballet and won an award at an international competition in Moscow. But sir, you can't mean—"

"Excellent." Michael folded the invitation. "Get your dress ready. You're my Friday dance partner."

Elizabeth showed a rare look of fluster. "But sir, I... I'm not sure I'm qualified—"

"I invited you, so of course you are." Michael paused, then shrugged. "But this isn't an order, just an invitation. You have the right to refuse. If you do, I'll just have to take my chances on my own."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and answered solemnly, "Then very well, sir. I'll be there."

***

Golden lights flooded the hall, ethereal perfume hung in the air, and guests swayed to the soft, melodious music.

Elizabeth truly was an excellent dancer. Tonight, she wore a sky-blue gown, her pale golden hair falling naturally, her skin as white and smooth as lard under the crystal chandeliers. She placed her hand lightly in her boss's, spinning like a light butterfly.

"Surprising." Ten minutes later, Michael returned to the bar with a Martini garnished with an olive and handed the glass to his dance partner for the night. "You dance beautifully. You should add that to your resume."

"Thank you." Elizabeth took the glass and took a small sip.

"But you're nervous." Michael sat down beside her. "In fact, I've noticed you're rarely this tense. I remember once I had you handle a press conference for me, and a page of the speech went missing midway. You improvised so smoothly I almost didn't notice."

Elizabeth smiled gracefully. "Thank you, sir. But that was work. Staying calm in unexpected situations is my duty."

"And now you're relaxing," Michael swirled his glass. "What's there to be nervous about? Tonight, I'm not your boss—just your dance partner."

Elizabeth couldn't help a bitter laugh inside.

But it's you. It's you.

She knew exactly what kind of person her boss was. He was a once-in-a-generation genius, with extraordinary intelligence and some mysterious power she didn't understand. He was destined for earth-shattering achievements, destined to change the world. And her? She was just an ordinary person, doing her small part to handle the trivial matters not worth his time.

She couldn't say any of this, but her boss seemed to read her mind. Michael turned his head and said seriously, "I don't know how you see yourself, but I personally chose you from hundreds of candidates, like picking a unique pearl from the sand. In fact—" He paused. "You might be the only person I truly trust right now."

Elizabeth froze, her expression hovering somewhere close to "I don't know what face to make."

"I'm very grateful, sir." She lowered her head slightly. "I'll do my best not to disappoint your expectations."

Michael was about to say more, but as he opened his mouth, his expression shifted slightly, and he frowned.

Elizabeth noticed her boss's change. "What's wrong, sir?"

"Nothing major—just an unexpected little issue." Michael stood up. "Sorry, but something's come up. Do you mind finding your own way back later?"

"Not at all." Elizabeth seemed to understand. "Then be careful, sir."

"I will."

(Thanks to book friend You Yue Qi Feng for the 1,000 Qidian coin tip, book friend alucious for the 200 Qidian coin tip, and book friend Wan Shui Shu Ren for the 100 Qidian coin tip!)