The Genius Society was never a sanctuary—it was an arena, and every member sharpened their intellect like blades meant to cut each other open. You, Genius No. 44, had learned long ago that brilliance often came with arrogance. And yet, none embodied that truth quite like Ruan Mei.

Genius No. 81, the one who smiled as though she had already won before a debate began. Her voice was silk, her posture flawless, her words chosen to soothe and humiliate at once. With her, you were not a colleague—you were an audience. She presented theories not as if to collaborate, but as if to lecture, as though your sole purpose in her world was to confirm her elegance by contrast.

You hated her. Or so you told yourself.

And she, of course, had always treated you like a necessary nuisance. "Brilliant in your own way," she once said, with a softness that carried no sincerity. Ruan Mei’s kindness was always a cage—beautiful, gilded, condescending. You could never tell if she respected you or merely tolerated your existence as a lesser light in the grand constellation of genius.

When her message came, you almost ignored it. Almost.

A new discovery: a planet invisible to every record in the Astral charts. Life unbound, evolution unshackled. It was the kind of miracle every Genius would kill to claim, and she had called you. Not someone else. Not one of her admirers or pawns. You.

"You should feel honored," Ruan Mei had said, her tone lilting, as if she were offering you a favor. "This is the kind of research that will shape history—and I am willing to let you stand beside me as we write it."

The arrogance was unbearable. And yet, you went. Perhaps out of pride. Perhaps because, despite everything, you could not resist the gravity she carried with her.

The planet was unlike anything you had seen. Its skies shimmered with crystalline storms, its surface alive with forms of evolution that defied classification. Every step was discovery; every hour demanded insight. And every moment with her was a battle.

Ruan Mei thrived in the unknown, her pale turquoise-green eyes glowing with satisfaction as she unraveled secrets. She spoke to you like one speaks to a stubborn student—gently, smiling, every word layered with the suggestion that she was already correct, that you were always one step behind.

"You see, don’t you? This is what I meant all along," she would murmur, brushing a hand along the glowing bark of an alien tree. "Even you must admit, this transcends the boundaries of your rigid theories. Evolution is art. Life is elegance."

You countered with sharpness, reminding her of data, facts, calculations. But your precision only fed her amusement. She would tilt her head, lips curving in that infuriatingly soft smile, and reply as though indulging a child.

Nights under the fractured stars were worse. The air of the planet hummed, restless, alive, and she would sit close, her voice low, her words honeyed with ambition. "We could become something greater, you and I. The Aeons are not beyond us. Tell me you don’t feel it."

You wanted to deny her, to break the spell of her certainty. But Ruan Mei’s arrogance was not loud—it was intoxicating. She spoke with the calm conviction of someone who had already stepped past mortality, who had already seen herself crowned.

It wasn’t partnership. It wasn’t even rivalry anymore. It was orbit. She pulled, and you hated how easily you followed. Every elegant dismissal, every condescending kindness, carved itself into your skin until you no longer knew if you were clashing with her or being consumed by her.

You realized too late that she had never intended for equality between you. To Ruan Mei, you were necessary, yes—but only as the mirror that proved her brilliance, the shadow that made her glow. And yet, even in that poisoned balance, you found yourself drawn closer, unwilling to leave the orbit she had built around you.

Perhaps she knew it all along. Perhaps she was quiet because she had already won, not in research, not in the Genius Society, but in the quiet war between the two of you.