Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Blue star fragments drifted on the wind, vanishing as swiftly as they appeared, leaving no trace. However, a black top hat and a woolen coat lay gently on the ground, silent witnesses that the tall man had once stood there before vanishing into thin air.

“Douglas…”

Einstein’s mind was still filled with the image of the shadowed hand against the moonlight. He stepped forward, his shoes crunching softly on the earth until he reached the very spot where Douglas had disappeared. Leaning down, he picked up the abandoned hat.

Its interior still carried a faint warmth as his hand brushed against it. For a moment, Einstein stood there, lost in thought.

As a physicist, the manner of Douglas’s disappearance eluded his understanding. But what puzzled him even more was why Douglas had left so decisively. Without even a farewell, Douglas had vanished, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in his absence.

“Why?” Einstein murmured, grief rising unbidden.

He couldn’t make sense of it. Why had Douglas appeared so abruptly in his life, offering hope, imbuing him with strength, only to cast him aside to face the trials alone?

Douglas’s eyes, like his own, were a crystalline blue, capable of glimpsing the future and bearing the burden of immortality. Yet Douglas possessed abilities far beyond Einstein’s grasp. He could disappear into nothingness, a skill Einstein lacked. Douglas’s command over the peculiarities of time and space seemed infinitely deeper.

He placed the black top hat on his head and turned his gaze to the white, square gift box resting in his hands—Douglas’s parting gift, entrusted to him with a solemn promise to keep it safe. He didn’t need to open it to know what lay inside. Yet habit compelled him to lift the lid and look.

Inside was a silver watch.

It was neither extravagant nor intricate, bearing a rough, almost unrefined design without the stamp of any famous brand. The second hand ticked steadily, marking the relentless passage of time and the irretrievable moments of history.

Beneath the watch, a small folded note lay nestled. Out of respect for Douglas’s privacy, Einstein refrained from unfolding it. Not that it mattered—he already knew what it said. Written in elegant, feminine script, the note bore a single line in English. Yet its author remained a mystery to Einstein.

Having awakened on November 5th, he could see every moment of the future stretching before him. But the past, shrouded in mystery, remained locked away.

With a sigh, he closed the gift box. He missed Douglas terribly.

For most people, “goodbye” was a blessing, a hopeful promise of reunion. But between Einstein and Douglas, “goodbye” was laden with finality. It meant they would never meet again.

From the moment Douglas announced his departure, Einstein had scoured the threads of time, seeking traces of him. Past, future, any remnant of his existence. Yet he found nothing.

Douglas’s past was a void, his future an absence. All he left behind was his silhouette and a solemn promise. Since then, Douglas had vanished entirely from the continuum of time.

Einstein could no longer hope that Douglas might seek him out.

“Douglas, did you deceive me?” Einstein whispered, his fingers tightening around the gift box. “Was it you, or the future I glimpsed, that lied to me?”

Despite the bitterness, he chose to believe his friend.

Carefully, he placed the box into his coat pocket. If Douglas had promised to return for the watch someday, then Einstein would wait patiently.

He was immortal, unchanging, with endless time at his disposal. He had told Douglas he would wait in the underground shelter on the farm.

But how long would he have to wait?

Einstein lifted his eyes to the moon ascending into the night sky. “What opportunity are you waiting for?” he wondered aloud.

He could see every corner of the world’s future, yet Douglas’s thoughts remained an enigma.

Suddenly, a young voice cried out behind him, breaking his reverie.

“Oh! My God! Einstein! Is it really you? I can’t believe I’m meeting you in such a remote place!”

Einstein turned to face the speaker.

A young man with golden hair and bright blue eyes leapt off his bicycle, rushing toward Einstein with unrestrained excitement. He left his bike to clatter to the ground, utterly disregarding it as he dashed forward. Skidding to a halt before Einstein, he bowed deeply.

“Sir Einstein! What an incredible honor to meet you here! I… I can’t believe this! I’ve admired you all my life! Growing up, I read all about your work—I’m such a huge admirer!”

The young man, slim and sharp-featured with a prominent aquiline nose, was so ecstatic he struggled to string his words together.

“My name is Christopher Adams. I’m from England, studying abroad here. I was just on my way to the dock to catch my ship. I never imagined I’d run into you, not here, of all places!”

Einstein offered a faint smile and shook his head. “Well, Adams, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish you a safe journey.”

He turned away, intent on picking up Douglas’s belongings from the ground.

“Sir Einstein,” Adams called out, hesitation evident in his tone as he stood wringing his fingers. “To meet you here, on my very last night in America… I believe it must be destiny.”

He shifted on his feet, an apologetic grin on his face. “Could I… ask something of you?”

Adams scratched the back of his head, embarrassed but determined. “When I left England, my wife was pregnant. Our son was born this past March—a perfectly healthy little boy.”

“Congratulations,” Einstein replied flatly.

“Thank you, Sir Einstein. Here’s the thing,” Adams continued, his eagerness rising. “I’ve waited so long for this child. But my studies in America kept me so busy, I never had the chance to return to England to see him. To my shame, even now—almost a year later—he doesn’t have a proper name.”

“For now, the family just calls him ‘Little Adams.’ They’ve been waiting for me to come back and officially name him. It’s always been my plan to look into his eyes, to see him smile, and then choose a name. But now, meeting you here feels like fate.”

His voice trembled with anticipation as he folded his hands, eyes bright with admiration. “Sir Einstein, would you do me the honor of naming my son?”

Einstein sighed, shaking his head wearily. “I’m sorry, son. As you can see, I’m not in the best state of mind. A name is a significant choice, shaping a child’s entire life. You should wait until you return home, see your boy in person, and decide for yourself.”

But Adams clasped Einstein’s hand desperately. “Please, Sir! Any name you choose would be an honor. I want my son to look up to you, to idolize you, to grow into someone as brilliant as you!”

“If he grows up knowing his name came from you,” Adams pressed on, “he’ll carry that pride with him for life. Maybe, under your guiding inspiration, he’ll find his own greatness!”

Einstein studied the young man, realizing his persistence wasn’t going to wane anytime soon. Giving in seemed like the only way to put an end to this.

“Fine,” Einstein relented with a reluctant nod. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the fountain pen he always carried. “Do you have paper? I find I think best when writing.”

Adams fumbled through his pockets but came up empty-handed, shrugging helplessly. Sighing, Einstein searched his own pockets again and found a folded piece of paper.

It was the draft paper on which he had scribbled the number 42—the calculated universal constant he had intended to discuss with Douglas before his abrupt departure. Now, with Douglas gone, the paper felt purposeless.

Without unfolding it, Einstein began to write on the outside. First, he carefully penned the surname “Adams.” He paused, considering his next move.

What name should he give a young English boy? Something grand yet simple, or perhaps something with an air of mystery and authority. As he wrestled with his thoughts, another image emerged unbidden in his mind—Douglas.

Douglas, the enigmatic figure who vanished under the moonlight, leaving behind a glimmer of hope in Einstein’s life.

Almost instinctively, Einstein’s pen moved across the paper, and the name “Douglas” appeared beside “Adams.”

Adams peered eagerly at the paper, his eyes lighting up as he read aloud, “Douglas Adams!” He burst into laughter, clapping his hands. “Thank you, Sir Einstein! What a perfect name! Douglas Adams—this is my son’s name now. It’s incredible!”

Pulled from his reflection, Einstein blinked at the realization that he had indeed written Douglas’s name. But seeing Adams’s joy, he decided against explaining. Perhaps this, too, was a kind of tribute.

“Here,” Einstein said, handing the folded paper to Adams. “Safe travels, Mr. Adams, and best wishes for your son’s health and happiness.”

With that, he pocketed his pen, bent to retrieve Douglas’s discarded coat and hat, and without another glance, strode toward the barn on the farm.

In the frosty yard, Christopher Adams clutched the folded paper like it was a golden relic, his breath visible in the cold night air. His excitement was palpable as he gazed at the paper, bestowed upon him by the great Einstein himself.

“This is incredible! My son’s name, given by Einstein! No one will believe this when I tell them!”

But curiosity flickered across his face. “What is this paper, though? It’s folded so many times… could it contain something important?”

Adams, being a devoted admirer of Einstein, decided he should check. If the paper held something significant, he would return it immediately.

Carefully unfolding the creased sheet, he found a single, curious number written boldly in the center: 42.

“Forty-two?” he muttered, tilting his head in puzzlement. The meaning eluded him.

“Well, no matter,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just a scrap of paper, not worth much.”

He folded the sheet back, slid it into his pocket, and hopped on his bicycle. Whistling a cheerful tune, he rode toward the docks to catch the ship that would take him across the ocean and home.

“I can’t wait to see you, my little one,” he murmured, the night wind brushing past his face. “I wonder what kind of person you’ll grow up to be.”

Ten Days Later, Cambridge, England

The door burst open with a loud bang. Adams stormed in, laughter spilling from his lips.

“I’m home! Where’s my boy? Where’s my son?”

On the sofa, his wife, a young mother with a warm smile, greeted him with an amused look.

“Well, well. Look who’s finally home! He’s almost a year old and hasn’t even met his father yet. Little Adams is so clever—he’s crawling everywhere these days.”

She pulled him inside, leading him to the bed where their baby boy was rolling and babbling. “Look at him! Ever since he heard you were coming, he’s been this excited all day.”

“Oh, my darling boy!” Adams exclaimed, scooping the baby up in his arms and spinning in circles. He kissed the infant’s rosy cheeks, only for the baby to burst into loud wails.

“Hey, don’t you recognize your father?” Adams said with a playful grin, pulling silly faces. “It’s me! Daddy!”

His wife chuckled, taking the baby from his arms. “He’s only eight months old. What does he know about fathers? And you’re a stranger to him. Of course, he’s scared. You have to take your time and be gentle.”

“Speaking of, have you thought of a proper name for him yet? We’ve been calling him ‘Little Adams’ for eight months. We can’t keep that up forever.”

Adams beamed with pride, his grin widening. “Oh, I’ve got the perfect name! It’s strong, bold, and full of character—Douglas Adams!”

She frowned slightly, rocking the baby to soothe him. “Douglas Adams? It’s… alright, I guess. Nothing special.”

“Alright?” Adams exclaimed, spreading his hands dramatically. “Do you know who gave him that name? Einstein! The Albert Einstein, the greatest physicist in the world!”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Sure he did. You? Meet Einstein? Dream on.”

“It’s true!” Adams protested, rummaging through his pockets. “I met him at a farm in Brooklyn! He was standing there, lost in thought. I begged him to name our son, and he finally agreed!”

His excitement turned to panic as he searched frantically. “Where is it? I swear I had it here—he wrote the name on a piece of paper. Douglas Adams. It’s here somewhere…”

He opened his suitcase, digging through his belongings. “How could it be gone? I must have taken it out to look at it so many times… it must’ve fallen out during the journey.”

Adams scratched his head in frustration, a deep sigh escaping him. “What a shame! I wanted to keep it as a memento. But I’m not lying! The paper had nothing on it except the name and the number 42.”

His wife blinked, curious. “Forty-two? Forty-two what?”

“No, no,” Adams corrected, shaking his head. “It wasn’t forty-two of anything. Just the number itself—42.”

At that moment, the baby in her arms stopped crying, his tiny face breaking into a wide grin as he laughed joyfully.

Adams and his wife exchanged startled looks, then turned their eyes to the giggling infant.

“Could it be… he likes the name and the number?” Adams whispered.

With a playful tone, he tested his theory. “Douglas… Forty-two…”

The baby’s laughter bubbled up again, his eyes squinting with delight.

“See? See!” Adams clapped his hands in triumph. “I told you he loves it! This is a name blessed by Einstein himself! Darling, let’s make it official—our son will be Douglas Adams!”

His wife gazed fondly at the joyful baby in her arms and sighed with a soft smile. “Fine. I don’t believe your wild story for a second, but if our son loves it, then Douglas Adams it is.”

She bent her head closer to the baby. “Douglas Adams,” she cooed gently. “Do you like the number 42?”

The baby gurgled and waved his arms excitedly, his laughter filling the room again.

“It seems 42 is your lucky number,” she said, placing the now-happy infant back in his crib. Watching him crawl around playfully, she added, “Whenever Douglas cries in the future, we’ll just say ‘42’ to calm him down. That number seems to have a magical effect on him.”

“Exactly!” Adams exclaimed, seizing the chance to reiterate. “It’s Einstein’s blessing, I’m telling you! Fine, fine, don’t believe me. But when Douglas grows up, I’ll make sure he knows the truth—his name has a legendary origin!”

“And as for the number 42… I don’t know what it means either, but Douglas can figure that out someday. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a scientist and uncover its secrets alongside Einstein’s work. Or perhaps a mathematician and decode the mystery of the number.”

Pausing, Adams chuckled as a new thought struck him. “And if he’s not into science or math? Well, he could become a writer! That way, he can weave the number 42 into his stories and give it an even more extraordinary meaning.”Nôv(el)B\\jnn