Master

After the applause died down, I stepped off the stage and found myself nearly colliding with Amber again. She grinned, practically glowing in her pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. "Jack, could I get your autograph?" she asked, holding out a crumpled notebook with hopeful eyes.

"I'm not a celebrity," I said with a wry smile, but I grabbed a pen and scribbled my name anyway. She beamed, tucking the notebook close as if it were a treasure.

Within minutes, a small group of corporate types surrounded me, eager to pick apart my ideas and talk numbers. I exchanged quick words and business cards with them—a brief taste of the high-stakes world beyond the stage. Then, Professor Blake from Gainesville, a familiar face from my past academic battles, made his way over.

"Jack," he said in a low, approving tone, "I think that's enough. What you've said today—now it only needs to be written as a thesis, it will be a real masterpiece." I nodded, appreciating his candid support.