Young Master's Regression Manual

"That was exhausting."

The meeting finally dispersed, and the researchers filed out into the hallway. Sergei stretched until his joints cracked, then walked over to the robot vending unit. He tapped a selection, pulled out two cans of soda, and handed one to Julius.

Julius accepted it with a nod. "Don't you have any plans of expanding your résumé, Sergei? Now that I think about it, an assignment to the Northern Belt would undoubtedly skyrocket our careers."

Sergei snorted and leaned against the wall, cracking open his can. "Plans? Sure. But chances? Zero. Have you seen my records? Mediocre, mediocre, and more mediocre. Apparently, I should give up and become a teacher."

"You're selling yourself short. The Ministry prioritizes reliability over brilliance. You get tasks done. Consistency is much more important than you think."

Sergei sighed. "Even if that's true, the people selected for the Northern Belt are always the big names or the political favorites. People like me? We get stuck picking up whatever scraps are left."

"Still," Julius said, "if the Ministry sees potential in you, they won't hesitate."

Sergei waved him off. "Come on, Dimitri. You're the rising star here. Your analytics reports always get passed around. I've seen Petrov use your work for his presentations without even giving you credit."

It was true. Under his forged identity, he had intentionally built a profile of competence but not excellence. Enough to be chosen, but not enough to cause suspicion.

"That doesn't mean anything," Julius said. "At the end of the day, selection depends on the Ministry's needs. No one outside their circles has any influence over it."

"Yeah, yeah…" Sergei muttered. "I'll just pray they need someone average with back problems and a caffeine addiction."

Julius chuckled and looked out toward one of the narrow windows, watching students cross the snowy campus grounds. Beyond that horizon was the Northern Belt, and deeper still, Zima-12.

Julius raised the soda to his lips, masking the look in his eyes.

In truth, he had no intention of waiting to be chosen.

He intended to make sure he was.

"Anyway, let's go."

Julius glanced over. "Go where?"

"The afterparty," Sergei groaned. "Didn't Yuliya invite you?"

"Ah. Maybe? She said something earlier, but I didn't quite catch it."

"You dense bastard." Sergei slapped his own forehead. "Any grubbing fool would've folded in front of Yuliya. Yet you—Ah, I should just beat you to a pulp."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Listen," Sergei said, stopping in front of him. "I don't know if you're pretending or if you're actually this oblivious, but everyone in the institute besides you knows Yuliya has feelings for you."

"...?"

Julius remained expressionless, but internally, he sighed. He was perfectly aware.

Yuliya Tatiana Artyomov wasn't just some colleague. She was one of the leading researchers of the entire institute, and a prodigy already selected for deployment to the Northern Belt.

Whether she was bound specifically for Zima-12 or one of the auxiliary facilities, no one knew for certain, but Julius didn't need guesses. Yuliya's skillset and theoretical insight put her miles ahead of her peers.

She was exactly the type Zima-12 would sweep up immediately.

And because of that, Julius had subtly ensured that he occupied a corner of her attention she would not forget.

Not romantically, in a sense, but professionally and personally, just enough to ensure she would think of him first when opportunities or recommendations arose.

* * *

Krasniy Medved.

It was a Soviet themed research lounge operated by the university. Even in 2149, the USSR liked reminding its people of its roots, so the entire place was styled to look like an idealized version of old Soviet social halls.

Sergei pushed open the sliding metal door. "Ah. Now this is a proper gathering."

Inside, junior researchers crowded the open tables, drinking flavored vodka from ration-style cups. Holographic red stars floated above the bar, flashing every now and then because the maintenance budget never covered aesthetic features.

Julius's gaze swept through the room. He saw groups clustered together, laughing, debating, flirting, the usual patterns of young professionals blowing off steam.

Then his gaze stopped at the center table beneath the largest floating star.

Yuliya Tatiana Artyomov.

She was dressed casually in a black turtleneck. Her silver research badge glinted as she laughed with a few team leaders. The moment she glanced up and saw him enter, her brows raised in recognition.

She nudged her chair back and stood up. "Dimitri. You actually came."

Julius approached. "You invited me. It's only proper I oblige."

"Ah, yes."

Meanwhile, Sergei turned to him with the most painfully obvious look on his face. His expression practically screamed, "You didn't even know until I told you twenty minutes ago, you idiot." Julius ignored him entirely and kept his attention on Yuliya.

"Come," Yuliya said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the table. "We were just starting the toast. You should join us before the good drinks run out."

"I didn't know there were good drinks here," Julius replied.

"There aren't," Sergei chimed in, "but she says that every time."

Yuliya glared at him. "I can revoke your lab privileges, Sergei."

"I meant the drinks are excellent. Truly unparalleled!"

Julius took a seat beside Yuliya, and she gracefully settled back into hers, her colleagues moving to make space without being asked.

Glasses clinked. A round of berry-infused vodka was poured. Yuliya lifted her glass.

"To progress," she toasted. "And to our future assignments. May we not destroy the institute in the process!"

The table laughed, raised their glasses, and drank. Julius took a small sip. The cheap alcohol was disgusting compared to his personal collection back in Germany.

As the initial chatter resumed, Yuliya leaned closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"I meant what I told you earlier," she said. "There is something I want to discuss with you."

Julius kept his expression neutral. "Should I be concerned?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how much you want to know."

"...."

A faint blush crept across Yuliya's cheeks. She quickly turned her head, pretending to listen to someone calling her name from down the table.

Julius eyed her. A researcher of her caliber didn't fluster easily. If anything, Yuliya was known for her composure and confidence during presentations, which sent half the faculty scrambling to keep up. Seeing her react like this… was out of character.

Sergei elbowed Julius lightly under the table, whispering, "You dense brute. She's about to explode."

Julius ignored him.

"My, I've had a lot to drink," Yuliya murmured, swaying as she stood. Her heel caught the edge of the step and she tipped forward.

Julius caught her before she fell. "Perhaps it's time to go home. Should I call a cab?"

"No." Yuliya shook her head, gripping his sleeve to save her balance.

Sergei leaned in again. "Take the hint, you bastard. Go take her home. Before she decides to confess to a wall instead of you."

Julius shot him a flat look, but Sergei only shrugged and mouthed, 'You're welcome.'

Yuliya tugged lightly on Julius's arm. "Can you… walk me? It's cold outside. And the streets are crowded…"

Julius stood and offered his hand. "Very well."

As they stepped away from the table, the others pretended not to stare.

"Told you she'd make a move."

"He's so damn clueless…"

"About time."

Julius ignored every voice and guided Yuliya toward the exit. The doors slid open, and he took in the cold Moscow night wind.

"Dimitri."

He turned to her.

"…Don't call a cab," she said.

He waited for her to explain.

Yuliya looked up at him, cheeks flushed from more than alcohol. "Walk me home. Please."

So he did. They made their way down the street with her arm looped through his for balance. After a short distance, she stumbled again and grabbed his sleeve for support.

"Ah… I can't…" she muttered. "Too dizzy… Can we rest somewhere first?"

Her gaze wandered around the street until it finally settled on a small motel to their right. Julius followed the direction of her stare and understood exactly what she was thinking. Or rather, what she wanted him to think.

"Of course,"

He was glad to have spiked her drink.