Ezra had spent months grinding through the hardest academic content known to humanity—graviton mechanics, energy field manipution, the precise engineering of exotic matter, and the bizarrely structured economic ecosystem surrounding the Key family empire.

  And yet—On the final week of the semester, when he expected one st grueling challenge, the White-Coats had something else pnned.

  A reward ceremony.

  Before final exams.

  As if they already knew everyone would pass. That should have been his first warning. The lights in the grand auditorium dimmed, a deep voice booming over the speakers. "Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed lunatics of the White-Coat University… welcome to the Annual Grand Knowledge Decathlon and Achievement Showdown!"

  A spotlight swung wildly across the stage, revealing… A giant spinning wheel covered in scientific achievements, random symbols, and the occasional “You Get Nothing” slot.

  There was a confetti cannon. There was a podium with a massive red button beled ‘DO NOT PRESS’. And, front and center, was a professor in a full tuxedo holding a rubber chicken like a microphone.

  Ezra buried his face in his hands. "Oh no."

  It was half award ceremony, half unhinged game show, and absolutely none of it made sense. Students were called up one by one to spin the Wheel of Enlightenment, which determined their graduation reward.

  One student nded on “Theoretical Physics Speedrun” and had to recite Einstein’s field equations backward in under 30 seconds. Another nded on “Quantum Roulette”, where they had to bet on whether Schr?dinger’s cat was dead or alive before opening a mystery box. One poor guy nded on “Rubber Chicken Trial” and had to expin a complex theorem while being smacked with the ceremonial rubber chicken every time they hesitated.

  Ezra watched in disbelief. This wasn’t a university. This was a cult initiation disguised as a science circus. And somehow—somehow—it was still more structured than the actual csses.

  By the time Ezra’s name was called, he just walked up to the stage, spun the wheel, and accepted his fate. It nded on "Lifetime Supply of Graviton-Themed Stationery.” A professor handed him a pen that looked like it contained a tiny event horizon inside. He gave a thumbs-up, walked off stage, and pretended this had never happened.

  After the gameshow disaster, Ezra was finally handed his final exam. He took one look at the 100-question sheet and immediately felt his soul detach from his body.

  Nothing—absolutely nothing—made sense.

  Each question was a mockery of logic itself, with multiple-choice answers that did not belong in any academic setting.

  Examples:Where do babies come from?A) The StorkB) The Vajoo-JooC) The Baby GremlinD) OtherEzra wrote: "From ur ass."

  What is the fundamental force responsible for keeping objects grounded?A) GravityB) ElectromagnetismC) Peer PressureD) The Unwavering Judgment of Your AncestorsEzra circled C, because at this point, what even was physics?

  Which of the following is NOT a real chemical element?A) UnobtainiumB) ExpensiviumC) PanikiumD) HeliumEzra wrote: "I refuse to acknowledge the reality of this question."

  By question 42, he stopped even pretending to think and just wrote whatever first came to mind.

  What is dark matter?"The stuff in my dad’s sock drawer."

  At question 56, he began drawing doodles of Bruiser riding a dinosaur into battle against a swarm of White-Coats armed with rubber chickens. At question 68, he filled the space with a crude stick figure flipping off the test. And then—He reached question 69.

  And his stomach dropped. It wasn’t in English. The question wasn’t in any nguage he had ever seen. The scribbles looked like they had been scratched out by a blind child with a crayon, seemingly nonsense—Except Ezra had seen these before.

  Not in css. Not in books. But in his dream.

  The vision of the golden city, the one inside the impossible pnet, where angels walked like perfect machines and the star cried out in Morse code. He had seen symbols just like these carved into the walls of that pce. His breath caught. He forced himself to look at the multiple-choice answers—Emojis.

  Just random emojis. A thumbs-up. A crying face. A mind-blown emoji. A banana for some reason. Ezra’s fingers tightened around his pen.

  They know.

  Someone in this university—whoever had written this exam—knew what he had seen. Or worse—knew he had seen it. He had two choices. He could either freak out.

  Or—

  He could bullshit his way through it like the rest of this godforsaken test. Without hesitation, he circled the "mind-blown" emoji. For the write-in expnation, he didn’t even think. He just drew a crude stick figure with cock and balls, the kind you’d find scratched onto porta-johns at a construction site.

  If they were watching him, they’d at least have to figure that out first.

  Ezra finished the rest of the test on autopilot, handing it in without making eye contact. He walked out of the testing hall feeling nothing but exhaustion and confusion. Was this all just nonsense? Was the entire university one big joke?

  Or—Was this the biggest test of all?

  One thing was for sure—If he had to do another year of this, he was either going to lose his mind or figure out what the hell was really going on behind the curtain.

  The day the results were announced, Ezra was at his absolute limit. His brain was fried. He had spent the st week recovering from the sheer stupidity of that exam, convinced that if he hadn't failed, then surely something in him had broken beyond repair.

  And yet—Of course, everyone passed.

  The students filled the grand hall, murmuring amongst themselves, swapping stories about the most ridiculous test questions and the even more ridiculous answers they had bullshitted their way through. Ezra overheard someone in the crowd:

  "My answer for ‘What is the meaning of life?’ was just a drawing of a sad frog smoking a cigarette."

  "Bro, I put down ‘42’ and still got full credit."

  "Wait, for real? I wrote ‘send help’ and the professor just wrote ‘no’ next to it."

  Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples. This goddamn university.

  One by one, students were called up onto the stage to receive their white coats—the final sign that they were now full-fledged lunatics of academia. The coats were a strange mix between a b coat and a trench coat, long and dramatic, flowing with self-importance and possibly the weight of unspeakable eldritch knowledge.

  But Ezra had to admit—They looked comfy as hell.

  The inside was lined with plush fabric, and the fit was perfectly tailored to the wearer. It was a coat made for secrets and questionable science, and somehow, that suited this pce perfectly.

  Ezra, however, was barely paying attention. His mind was back home. He thought about Julie.

  "You glorious vixen… I'm doing all this nonsense for you."

  Everything—the mind-breaking physics, the history riddled with memes, the absurdly difficult yet somehow ridiculous final exam, the paranoia of uncovering a shadow government that may or may not be humanity’s st hope—he was doing all of it for her.

  For their family. For Adam.

  Ezra had been so lost in thought that he didn’t notice when all the D-B students had already been called up.

  Which meant—The only students left were the special recognition group. His stomach plummeted.

  Did he—did he fail?

  Was this high school all over again? Had he somehow screwed up even though he had literally written the most absurdly perfect test possible? Then, the professor cleared his throat, turning toward the podium. "And now," he said, "we save the best for st."

  The room hushed. Ezra’s heart froze.

  The professor continued listing off names, one by one—students who had ‘gone above and beyond excellence,’ who had ‘achieved feats of academic distinction,’ who had ‘not put in 110%, but an astounding 200% effort’—who had, in the eyes of the White-Coats, ascended to something greater.

  And then—"Ezra Key."

  The hall erupted into cheers. Ezra sat frozen in his seat, blinking in pure disbelief.

  "WHAT??"

  People cpped, whistled, shouted his name, and suddenly he was being pushed forward, ushered toward the stage where his professor stood waiting with a proud, almost smug look on his face.

  Ezra hesitated, stepping onto the stage like he was walking to his execution. His white coat wasn’t just a normal one. It had a golden trim. The highest honor. "Are they fucking with me right now?" Ezra thought. They had to be.

  But then—His professor handed him his diploma.

  And it was real. The weight of everything hit him at once—he had actually done it. He was graduating.

  The cheers died down for only a moment before someone in the crowd started a chant. "Speech… speech… speech…"

  Oh no.

  "SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!"

  The chant spread like wildfire, students pounding the tables, their voices a deafening roar of mob mentality. Ezra clenched his jaw. He hated this forsaken loony bin. But there was no getting out of it now. So he stepped forward to the podium, grabbed the microphone, and took a deep breath.

  "Fellow White-Coats… Professors… Intellectual Madmen… and esteemed guests of probable government surveilnce," Ezra began, his voice steady despite the chaos in his brain.

  "We have gathered here today, not just as students, but as survivors. Survivors of a system so unhinged, so fundamentally absurd, that we must now ask ourselves—did we graduate, or did we simply break to the point where we belong here?"

  The crowd ughed, nodding in agreement.

  "I came here as an underdog. A normal guy. A construction worker who made the mistake of getting too involved in a job he wasn’t qualified for, and somehow, that nded me here—studying graviton energy, rewriting history with breakfast food, and taking exams that, frankly, are an insult to the very concept of intelligence."

  More ughter, cheers from the back.

  "Some of you may have answered ‘Where do babies come from?’ with ‘from ur ass.’ Some of you may have circled the banana emoji on Question 69, and honestly? I respect that. Because the truth is—logic has no pce in this institution."

  Roars of approval. Ezra leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically.

  "We have learned things here that no human mind was ever meant to comprehend. We have seen things that cannot be unseen. And in the spirit of the White-Coat legacy, we have ignored every instinct to question it and instead leaned into the madness."

  "But I ask you now—are we truly prepared for the real world?"

  A moment of silence. Then someone yelled "NOPE!" from the back. Ezra nodded solemnly.

  "Correct. We are not. But that is precisely why we will thrive. Because unlike the rest of society, we have trained ourselves in the most vital of all skills—the ability to bullshit through anything."

  The room exploded into appuse, people banging on tables, ughing, raising their gsses in triumph. Ezra took a deep breath.

  "So I say to you all—go forth, my fellow lunatics. Take what you have learned, whether it be quantum physics, gravitational engineering, or how to construct an entire historical narrative out of breakfast foods—and use it wisely."

  "The world may never understand us, but that’s okay. Because we are White-Coats. And the first rule of being a White-Coat… is that you never let them know you’re smarter than them."

  He raised a hand. "To the future."

  The room erupted into cheers. The professors cpped approvingly. And somewhere, in the back of the hall, a single rubber chicken squeaked in solemn agreement.