Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

After a good night rest with Sarah, Stan woke slowly.

Morning light had already begun filtering through the bedroom curtains by the time consciousness fully returned. Sarah was still asleep against his shoulder, her breathing soft and even, her hair fanned across the pillow and spilling over his arm. The overnight bag she’d brought rested at the foot of the bed, now unpacked and neatly rearranged, a small domestic detail that suggested she’d decided, sometime during the night, to settle in comfortably and make herself at home.

For a few quiet moments, he simply held her, reluctant to disturb the peaceful stillness of the morning.

Eventually, he shifted, and she stirred with him. She blinked awake, smiled sleepily, and they eased into the gentle rituals of a shared morning.

They lingered together in the large bathtub, the water warm and soothing, the bath less about getting clean than about enjoying each other’s company. Sarah washed his shoulders with slow, absent-minded care while he helped rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Their conversation drifted effortlessly from one ordinary subject to another. She told him about her sister’s engagement, the new shipment of dresses arriving at the boutique on Steel Street, and a few amusing incidents that had unfolded at work during the week. He listened with quiet interest, occasionally teasing her, occasionally asking questions, content simply to hear her talk.

When they were dressed, Stan drove her home in the Audi.

He walked her to the entrance of her building, kissed her once before she went inside, and watched as she disappeared through the lobby doors, offering him one last warm, contented wave over her shoulder.

Only then did he return to the car and drive back toward Aurelia Heights.

He settled at the dining table with a fresh cup of coffee and opened his laptop.

At the back of his mind lingered the final thread from Introduction to Earth.

’Antarctica.’

The book’s closing sentence had been deliberately crafted to point him there.

Before letting the system lead him any further, he wanted to see what he could uncover on his own. So he opened his guugle browser, navigated to a news aggregator, and began scrolling.

He found it within thirty seconds.

The story dominated nearly every science and general-interest feed. Its headline was restrained, precisely the kind of measured language reputable science journalists used when reporting on a discovery that was extraordinary but not yet fully understood.

[Antarctic Researcher Discovers Unclassified Liquid Pool Beneath Glacier, Substance Defies Known Chemistry]

Stan set his coffee down and clicked.

The article was comprehensive, published by a respected scientific news outlet, it was three days old...

The researcher at its center was Dr. Halvard Sigurdsson, a renowned glaciologist and Antarctic scientist with more than two decades of polar field experience and a reputation for cautious, methodical work. The report opened with an overview of the discovery before transitioning into lengthy excerpts from a joint press conference he had given two days earlier.

As Stan read on, the implications became increasingly difficult to ignore.

During what had begun as a routine glacial survey in a remote sector of Antarctica’s interior, Sigurdsson and his team had uncovered a subterranean pool of liquid that, by every accepted scientific model, should not have existed.

«”It is not water,” Sigurdsson said during the conference. ”That was the first conclusion we reached, and I want to be absolutely clear about that. The substance remains liquid at temperatures well below the freezing point of any known aqueous solution. We recorded ambient conditions that should have solidified every liquid currently recognized by modern chemistry. This material did not freeze. It did not become more viscous. It exhibited none of the transitional behavior we associate with a liquid approaching its freezing point. It simply remained... liquid.”»

The article went on to describe the substance’s physical properties.

It was perfectly transparent, so clear that the team had initially mistaken it for exceptionally pure water reflecting the surrounding ice. Yet its measured density failed to correspond with any known liquid catalogued in international scientific databases. Its viscosity fluctuated unpredictably under repeated testing, while its refractive index fell outside every established reference range.

Even more perplexing were the results of its chemical analysis.

Multiple spectroscopic scans had produced essentially nothing. The instruments consistently returned null or unreadable data, as though the substance possessed no recognizable molecular or elemental signature. Despite repeated calibrations and the use of different analytical techniques, the researchers were unable to identify a single component that fit within any existing chemical framework.

But it was the liquid’s behavior, not its composition, that had propelled the discovery into headlines around the world.

According to the report, the substance dissolved almost everything that came into contact with it.

Sigurdsson’s team had attempted to collect samples using every container available to them. Stainless steel vessels dissolved within seconds. Glass containers disintegrated even faster. Specialized polymer canisters softened and liquefied in ways the researchers described as chemically impossible. Stone samples vanished into the liquid. Ordinary ice dissolved almost immediately. Even biological tissue, tested under tightly controlled laboratory conditions using animal specimens, broke down within moments of exposure.

Every attempt to retrieve a sample ended the same way.

The container was destroyed before it could be removed.

But one detail stood apart from all the others.

The glacier itself remained completely unaffected.

The walls of the cavity containing the pool showed no measurable erosion. No pitting. No signs of chemical reaction whatsoever. The liquid rested inside a perfectly stable chamber, dissolving virtually every known material that touched it,

except the ancient ice that enclosed it.

Sigurdsson concluded the press conference with a statement that had already begun circulating across scientific circles and social media alike for its remarkable restraint.

«”We cannot explain this. Our current chemical models are inadequate. The substance represents either an unknown chemical compound, a previously undiscovered phase of matter, or a material formed under conditions that have never before been observed on Earth. Further investigation is required.”»

The article closed by noting that the announcement had sparked intense international interest over the previous forty-eight hours. Governments, universities, and research institutions around the world had already begun coordinating efforts to study the phenomenon.

Stan read the article a second time.

Slowly, he set his coffee on the table.

Then he leaned back in his chair.

’Antarctica.’

The system had directed him toward Antarctica.

Two days earlier, one of the world’s leading glaciologists had announced the discovery of a substance that appeared to defy the foundations of modern chemistry.

The connection wasn’t subtle.

It was practically pointing at him.