James strolled onto campus like he'd just unlocked a secret ending.
The kind of guy who finally figured out how to cheat the game called life and still had time to stop for a bagel.
His steps were casual.
No bags under his eyes.
No existential panic about an unfinished essay.
Just clean, clear, razor-sharp confidence, and a neural upgrade disguised as a 22-year-old with coffee money in his pocket.
The Humanities building was ahead, and James smiled.
Showtime.
The Philosophy lecture hall was packed with the kind of students who'd argue about paradoxes just to sound smart.
Professor Langley, already mid-ramble, had scrawled "EPISTEMOLOGY" across the board in jagged white chalk, as if he'd fought the word and barely won.
"So," the professor said, pacing, "can anyone explain whether truth is subjective or objective? Go ahead, don't be shy."
Immediately, the room erupted into eager half-theories.
"Truth is just perception," said a girl in flannel. "Like, my experience is my reality."
Someone else chimed in, "But that's subjective relativism. Plato would've said the Forms are the true version of everything..."
James raised his hand, casually.
Langley looked up, mildly surprised. "Mr. Rivera?"
"Actually," James began, adjusting his hoodie like a TED speaker, "Plato's Theory of Forms does argue that true knowledge lies in the ideal, abstract world. But that's just the foundation. Descartes then challenged all empirical knowledge with his method of doubt he basically nuked the idea that sense experience equals truth. Then Hume stepped in, questioning causality itself. And Kant, not to be outdone, synthesized both views, suggesting we experience the world through categories hardwired into our brains."
He paused. "So, in conclusion, whether truth is objective or subjective depends on whether you're Team Plato, Team Skeptic, or Team Hybrid."
The silence that followed was practically religious.
Professor Langley blinked like he'd just seen God.
"…Well, that's… refreshingly comprehensive."
James gave a humble nod. "Just brushed up a bit."
The guy next to him whispered, "Dude. What did you eat for breakfast? Pure IQ?"
James just smiled.
His second class was World Literature.
Professor Zheng was leaning against her desk like a tired poet with tenure.
"Today," she said, "we're comparing ancient epics to modern storytelling. Any thoughts on Gilgamesh and current character tropes?"
"Hero's journey!" someone blurted. "Like... Harry Potter?"
"Sort of," Zheng said hesitantly.
James raised his hand again.
Zheng blinked. "James?"
"Gilgamesh," he said smoothly, "predates even Homer's Iliad, but already embodies the monomyth. Joseph Campbell later described this archetype in The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Gilgamesh's journey seeking immortality after Enkidu's death maps directly onto themes of existential dread, transformation, and the reconciliation of mortality. You can trace that structure through everything from Frodo in Lord of the Rings to Naruto Uzumaki."
Someone in the back audibly gasped. Another muttered, "Did he just say Naruto with academic backing?"
Professor Zheng stared. "That was... incredibly well-articulated. James, when did you become... this?"
He shrugged. "I've been studying."
Zheng looked at the class. "Everyone else, please be more like James. But maybe… slower. So I can keep up."
James leaned back in his chair, trying not to smirk as the whispers started again.
The third class, Media and Cultural Theory, was usually meme central.
Professor Monroe was writing "Baudrillard" on the screen with the kind of exhaustion that came from explaining postmodernism to TikTok natives.
"Let's talk simulation theory," she said. "Any thoughts?"
One guy offered, "Isn't that like when people get really into VTubers?"
Another girl chimed in, "Or when we think a movie is better than real life?"
James raised his hand.
Monroe narrowed her eyes. "You again?"
"Baudrillard's concept of hyperreality is the point where representation becomes more real than reality itself," James said. "Modern meme culture's a perfect example. When a meme about depression circulates, it doesn't reflect one person's actual experience it becomes a collective shorthand. We end up engaging with the symbol more than the lived reality. It's essentially a digital simulacrum. TikTok trends? Just recycled aesthetic layers of meaning with no original source."
You could hear a phone drop.
Monroe exhaled. "You just explained more in two minutes than my textbook does in three chapters."
"I aim to please," James said.
A girl across the room whispered, "He's like... if ChatGPT had swag."
By the time James reached his final class Modern Political Thought he was walking on verbal sunshine.
Professor Franklin didn't mess around.
She eyed James like he owed her a paper and a miracle.
"Mr. Rivera," she said before he even sat down, "if you're feeling inspired today, how about you answer this In what ways do domestic political sentiments affect foreign policy?"
James gave a grin.
"Well," he said, "let's start with electoral incentives. Presidents don't just govern they campaign. Foreign decisions often align with domestic approval metrics. Look at Vietnam anti-war protests shifted actual foreign engagement. Or post-9/11 policies, where fear dictated security strategy. Even international agreements like the Paris Climate Accord are shaped by what'll play well on CNN back home."
He paused.
"Joseph Nye coined 'soft power,' which basically turns public sentiment into foreign leverage. So, yes voters indirectly shape drone strikes."
Franklin stared. "Did… did you rehearse that?"
"Nope," James replied. "I just downloaded the season pass."
Someone in the back choked on a water bottle.
Franklin scribbled something down. "Remind me to recommend you for debate club."
After the class, James made his way to the faculty wing.
He knocked on Ms. Carter's door.
She looked up, squinting. "James?"
"In the flesh," he said. "Got a minute?"
She frowned. "You're not failing a class, are you?"
"On the contrary. I want to start my dissertation."
Ms. Carter dropped her pen. "You?"
He nodded. "I'm serious."
"You're the same guy who once asked me if Machiavelli was a Renaissance DJ."
"I've matured."
She folded her arms. "What's your topic?"
"U.S. Domestic Politics and Its Effect on Foreign Policy. 25,000 words."
There was a beat of silence.
"You do realize that's not only difficult but requires extensive research, political nuance, and consistent work?"
"I know," James said, holding her gaze. "I'm ready."
Carter studied him like he was a particularly spicy essay.
Then she nodded slowly. "Alright. Prove me wrong, Rivera."
"Oh, I plan to."
Out in the courtyard, James plopped onto a sun-warmed bench and opened his thoughts.
"System," he muttered, "level with me. Can I really do this?"
"Affirmative. With current KHCS balance and user mental resilience, this task is well within parameters."
"Okay. Show me the requirements."
"Launching: Dissertation Prep Suite. Political Science Track, Tier 3."
His vision filled with floating tabs:
Legislative Influence on Foreign Aid
Electoral Pressure & Foreign Decision-Making
Historical Patterns from Vietnam to Syria
Domestic Narratives in Media Framing
International Relations and Realpolitik
"Holy overload," James muttered. "This is like ten courses in one."
"Estimated knowledge requirement: 1,100 KHCS hours. Recommended: staggered uploads to prevent neural fatigue."
James rubbed his temple. "Fine. Later. Not frying my brain today."
"Acknowledged."
He stood, stretching his arms overhead.
"I've had enough wins for one day."
Then, with a deep exhale and a satisfied grin, he turned toward the bus stop.