POV: Time Variance Authority

Elias exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Professor West," he admitted. "Back at the banquet, you said your dignity as a scientist wouldn't allow you to sell a failed compound. But I can't help but wonder… is there more to it than that?"

The professor was silent.

He removed his glasses, using the edge of his sleeve to clean the lenses with slow, methodical strokes. His movements were deliberate, as if each gesture weighed upon him.

"My daughter," he finally said, voice low but steady, "was only four years old when she fell from a slide at the playground. A single moment of carelessness… and she's been like this ever since."

His eyes flickered toward the frail girl lying motionless on the hospital bed.

"Quadriplegic. Brain damage. Every specialist in the world told me the same thing—she will never wake up." His fingers clenched into a fist. "But tell me, Elias, what kind of father simply accepts that? What kind of father doesn't at least try?"

Elias felt a weight settle in his chest. He had no answer to that.

"I know better than anyone that researching cryogenic stasis is insane," West continued. "It's impractical, expensive, unrealistic. But someone has to start it, don't they? Every major leap in human history began as an 'impossible' idea. And if I don't start it, Elias, who will? Decades—maybe centuries—could pass before someone else even attempts this research. But my daughter doesn't have decades. She's already spent ten years trapped in this endless sleep."

The professor let out a mirthless chuckle.

"And now… now that I've created something even remotely useful, these corporations suddenly care. They come here bearing gifts, acting as if they've always supported my work. But do you think they care about cryogenics?" He gestured at the room, at the lavish gifts, the neatly stacked business cards from the world's top beauty conglomerates.

"They don't want to fund my research. They just want to buy my so-called 'failure' and use it to sell more beauty products."

Elias took a breath before replying, carefully weighing his words.

"Professor," he said slowly, "I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing."

West's sharp gaze snapped toward him, but Elias pressed on.

"If you licensed the compound—even just partially—you'd have access to funding, advanced labs, cutting-edge technology. You wouldn't have to fight this battle alone. Wouldn't that help accelerate your cryogenics research?"

The professor sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"You're thinking too simply," he murmured.

He adjusted his glasses before turning to Elias again, his expression grave.

"Let's assume, for a moment, that I sold my compound and received the best funding imaginable. Let's assume I built the most sophisticated lab in the world. Even then… do you really think I'd succeed in making human cryostasis viable?" He scoffed, almost bitterly. "I'm not delusional. The scale of this project is beyond any individual or single organization. It would take entire nations working together. But my true goal isn't to finish it myself."

His fingers brushed the edge of the blanket, carefully tucking it around his daughter's fragile form.

"What I can do, Elias… is light the first flame."

His voice had shifted, quieter now, but no less resolute.

"If I can solve even one crucial component—just one—then maybe others will follow. Maybe my work will inspire new researchers, spark interest in a field that's been ignored for too long. Maybe… just maybe… my daughter will have a future."

Elias exhaled softly. "But if that's the case, then why not sell the compound? Wouldn't that secure the resources to keep your research alive?"

West's gaze darkened.

"Do you know what happens when science becomes too profitable, Elias?"

Elias shook his head.

"You think selling this compound will support cryogenics research, but you're wrong." West's voice hardened. "I've seen what happens when funding becomes the goal instead of the discovery itself. I had brilliant students once—young minds full of passion. We didn't achieve much, but at least we tried." He hesitated before continuing.

"And then the corporations came."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"One breakthrough—just one—and suddenly the research shifted. Instead of unraveling the mysteries of cryostasis, we were pressured to develop 'marketable' applications. Medications, cosmetic treatments, profitable sciences. One by one, my students left. Some took lucrative offers in pharmaceuticals. Others went into bioengineering. The last one…" He let out a breath. "She went into military research."

A long silence stretched between them.

"I don't blame them," he admitted. "Everyone has the right to seek a better life. But the truth is, Elias—science follows money. If cryogenics becomes a side product of the cosmetics industry, if researchers are rewarded for quick results instead of long-term breakthroughs… then what motivation will they have to pursue something as uncertain as human cryostasis?"

Elias leaned back slightly, absorbing the weight of those words.

He could see the logic, even if he didn't entirely agree.

West was betting on a future generation to carry his research forward. But what if that gamble failed? What if no one picked up the torch?

"…I get what you're saying, Professor," Elias admitted. "But realistically, how many scientists would dedicate their lives to something as uncertain as this? How many can afford to? If research has to be commercially viable to gain momentum, then maybe embracing that reality is the only way forward."

West simply gave him a small, tired smile.

"You're not wrong, Elias. But I won't take that risk."

He stood up, adjusting his sleeves.

"Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I'm a fool. But I refuse to compromise the one thing that still gives my daughter a chance." He placed a firm hand on Elias's shoulder.

"Someday, you'll understand. One day, you'll be a father too. And when that day comes, you'll realize that some gambles… you simply can't afford to lose."

After pausing for a while.

"You should go now."

Elias remained still, watching as the professor turned back to his daughter, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

He knew this was a dead end.

This wasn't just about science. It wasn't about logic.

It was faith.

Faith in something greater. Faith that somewhere, somehow, his work would matter.

Elias finally nodded, stepping back toward the door.

"I'll let Ms. Harrington know," he said quietly. "I hope… I hope you find the answer you're looking for, Professor."

The older man didn't turn around.

"I hope so too."