Secrets Unveiled

Samuel Hart followed the Director General of Police down a quiet, immaculate corridor in the villa. Everything felt too calm, almost intimidating. He struggled to contain the curiosity and excitement swirling within him. Securing this interview had been a victory in itself, but now everything was taking an unpredictable turn.

They stopped before a large wooden door. The director placed a hand on the handle, then turned to Samuel with a serious expression.

— Prepare yourself. What you're about to see might surprise you.

Samuel raised an eyebrow. "What's with all the theatrics?" he thought, but kept quiet, too intrigued to interrupt.

The door opened to reveal a large, sunlit room. No walls lined with monitors, no futuristic gadgets—nothing screamed "enigmatic genius." Just a man, seated comfortably in a leather chair, with a novel in hand. The simplicity of the scene was almost absurd.

Samuel furrowed his brow, casting a questioning glance at the director. The latter stepped forward calmly and announced:

— Mr. X, meet Samuel Hart.

The man in the chair glanced up from his book, a faint smirk on his face. Slowly, he closed the novel and set it on the armrest, observing Samuel with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Samuel blinked, his disbelief palpable.

— You… mean to say this man is Mr. X? he asked, gesturing slightly.

Lassen shrugged, clearly entertained.

— What were you expecting? A mad scientist surrounded by blinking machines? Sorry to disappoint.

Samuel stood frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, he turned to the director.

— Is this a joke?

— Not at all, the director replied with his usual calm. This man is indeed Mr. X.

Samuel sank into a chair across from Lassen, pulling out his notebook. His curiosity was now at an all-time high, but so was his confusion.

— Alright… If you really are Mr. X, why did you solve the Collatz conjecture? Were you trying to prove something?

Lassen leaned back, crossing his legs nonchalantly.

— Why not? It looked fun.

Samuel stared, his pen hovering above the page.

— Fun? You solved a problem that stumped generations of mathematicians… for fun?

— Exactly. You should try it—it's very satisfying.

Samuel shook his head, incredulous. This man was either an unparalleled genius or an extraordinary provocateur.

— You do realize you've shaken the global mathematical community, right?

Lassen smiled.

— Yep. They even sent me memes. Some of them were pretty funny.

Samuel pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain his composure.

— Many believe you're an AI or a collective group. What do you have to say about that?

Lassen burst into laughter.

— An AI? Seriously? Let them believe whatever they want—it's more entertaining that way.

Samuel scribbled furiously, trying to keep up with the conversation's erratic pace.

— You could be a national hero. Why stay in the shadows?

Lassen leaned forward slightly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

— A national hero? Sounds exhausting. Conferences, interviews, adoring fans… No thanks. I prefer my chair and my novels.

[Such ambition, host] the system quipped in Lassen's mind. [It almost sounds like you're avoiding all forms of responsibility.]

Lassen ignored the remark, focusing instead on Samuel, who was jotting notes as fast as he could.

— So, after solving Collatz, what did you do next?

— I read. You should try it—it's relaxing, Lassen replied nonchalantly.

Samuel pinched his nose again. This man was frustratingly evasive.

— But why Collatz specifically? Why that problem and not another?

Lassen shrugged.

— It was there, within reach. And it seemed… fun.

The journalist glanced at the director, who remained silent, before pressing on.

— You did all this without asking for anything in return. Why?

Lassen smirked slightly.

— Who said I didn't get anything in return? I got the satisfaction of solving it. That's enough.

Samuel wrote furiously, his curiosity growing. But then the director spoke.

— Samuel, that's not all.

Samuel turned sharply.

— What do you mean, "not all"?

— Mr. X isn't just a mathematical genius. He's the reason we were able to dismantle Geria's spy network.

Samuel froze, his eyes widening.

— Wait… You mean he's the one who provided all that intel?

— Absolutely, the director confirmed.

Samuel turned back to Lassen, utterly dumbfounded.

— You did that too? Why? There's nothing in it for you.

Lassen shrugged.

— I like this country. Well… I mostly like it quiet. War is way too noisy, and I hate noise.

Samuel stared, struggling to comprehend.

— And why Macro instead of Geria? If you value peace, why not help both sides?

Lassen gave a sly smile.

— Let's just say I owe this country a small favor.

The director raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the comment. Samuel, however, couldn't let it slide.

— A favor? What kind of favor?

But Lassen simply shrugged again, dodging the question. Samuel felt his frustration mounting but managed to stay professional.

— One last question. If you had a message for the world, what would it be?

Lassen pondered for a moment before answering.

— Leave me alone. Seriously, that's all I ask.

Samuel couldn't help but smile. This man was exasperating, yet fascinating. He closed his notebook, realizing this was one of the strangest interviews of his career.

— Thank you for your time, Mr. X. You're… different, he said finally.

Lassen nodded.

— I'll take that as a compliment.

The director stood and glanced at Samuel.

— I think it's time for us to leave.

Lassen waved lazily without looking up from his novel.

— Adrian will see you out. Have a good day, gentlemen.

As they left the villa, Samuel's mind raced with questions and theories. But one thing was certain: this meeting would change not only his career, but possibly the world.