Opportunities rarely arrive on our terms.

  Beneath the skies of Baghdad, the history of Iraq dissolved in blood and sandstorms.

  The monarchy had fallen.

  A military regime filled the void, only to be toppled by another coup d'état shortly after.

  Upon the ruins of history, the Ba'ath Party, championing Pan-Arabism, planted a new flag.

  In 1979, the year Saddam Hussein seized power in the name of national resurgence.

  A nineteen-year-old Zahir Al-Muradi became a freshman at the University of Technology, Baghdad.

  The homeland he remembered was always in chaos.

  Everywhere he went was filled with the screams of people.

  Walking past buildings littered with the indelible scars of artillery, he felt helpless, unable to do anything.

  This country, filled with a pungent, unpleasant smell, was his beloved homeland. Even in that chaos, Zahir had a single conviction.

  'With my own hands, I will build a great scientific empire in this land.'

  His father had passed away early, but thanks to his inheritance, he never knew poverty.

  From before dawn until the lamps were extinguished, he could devote himself solely to his studies.

  The Cold War began after World War II ended.

  The fires of war in the Middle East engulfed his homeland.

  Even so, Zahir's passion did not cool.

  If anything, all the chaos etched the dream of a 'great homeland' even more firmly in his heart.

  His passion was relentless.

  Until 1986, when he finished his doctorate at the age of twenty-six and became the university's youngest professor, the emotion of love was a luxury to him.

  The first change in his life outside of his studies came when he married Raina, unable to refuse his mother Bashira's insistence.

  “Is it your plan to end the family line, with your father gone? Are you not ashamed before your father, who watches over us from God's side?”

  It was a marriage closer to duty than to love.

  His wife, Raina, was a virtuous and elegant woman.

  She faithfully performed the duties assigned to her and supported Zahir.

  Though he couldn't express it in words, he felt a deep gratitude for her as she diligently cared for his mother and took on all the difficult chores.

  He believed his passion was meant not for his family, but for his research.

  His research topic was 'energy'.

  The world ran on oil, but he knew that everything that comes from the ground is destined to be depleted.

  The two oil crises were a clear warning.

  Zahir's goal was not to create something from nothing.

  A technology to transmit existing energy without a single drop of loss: 'superconductivity'.

  He believed this technology alone would elevate his homeland to a great status that no one could challenge.

  But the world did not respond to his passion.

  The students couldn't understand his difficult lectures, and he made no effort to help them understand.

  His mind was filled with nothing but research, so his personal relationships were like a barren desert.

  He was a diligent head of the household, but not an affectionate husband.

  On the days he returned late at night after being cooped up in his lab, conversations with his wife were always superficial.

  In 1988, when his first son Ahmadi was born, a small change came over him.

  He didn't want to raise his child in loneliness, as he himself had grown up without a father.

  Just then, as his research hit a wall due to a lack of funds and manpower, he, weary of everything, sought solace in his family and faith for the first time.

  A smile spread across his stern face, and he began to listen more attentively to his students.

  Feeling the warmth in people's gazes was a rather pleasant experience.

  He vaguely sensed that his dream was shifting from the greatness of his country to the smiles of his loved ones.

  “Is that for your son?”

  A merchant spoke to Zahir as he was picking out a toy in the market.

  Zahir felt a little awkward about his own appearance, but he didn't dislike it.

  When Ahmadi smiled, Bashira, Raina, and Zahir could all smile together.

  People were slowly regaining their vitality, and Iraq, too, was slowly recovering.

  But in August 1990, the Gulf War, which began with Iraq's invasion of Kuwait, tore open a wound that had just begun to scab over, making it even deeper.

  Only a deep emptiness remained in the eyes of the students who returned from the war, and Zahir's clumsy comfort could not reach their scars.

  The nation floundered in the defeat of war, and all support for his research was completely cut off.

  As a devout Sunni Muslim, he clung even more to his faith.

  In 1993, his second son, Zaydan, was born.

  His devoted wife Raina, his mother Bashira who was the pillar of his faith, and his two sons.

  That was now all the world he had.

  Every dawn, he offered Fajr (the dawn prayer) to God.

  "Oh, great Allah, I thank you for allowing me to greet another morning with my beloved family. But please, show me the way. My research has stopped, and the light has vanished from my students' eyes. My beloved homeland has been defeated, and I do not know what I must do. Please, show your will to this humble servant."

  But God was always silent.

  Zahir, believing the silence was due to his own lack of devotion, dedicated himself fully to the life of a Muslim instead of that of a scholar.

  One day, he was on his way home after a lecture.

  In a bustling corner of a Baghdad market, a group of children who looked to be in their early teens were gathered around another child, murmuring.

  "You there, what are you doing! Ganging up on one person! Did not the great Allah command us to protect the weak!"

  At Zahir's stern voice, the children exchanged glances and then waved their hands at him.

  "No, sir! We're not bullying him! He said he'd tell us a fun story, so we were listening!"

  Hearing the children, he approached and saw papers covered with numerous equations and names scattered on the ground.

  He bent down to examine the papers and saw that it was a story about 'Isaac Newton'. It was physics, absurdly difficult for teenagers to understand.

  "Which child was telling this story?"

  The children stared blankly at Zahir for a moment, then all pointed to one child.

  At the end of their fingers stood a young girl with a clearly flustered look on her face.

  The girl seemed to be from a good family, as the fabric of her clothes was high-quality, but her sleeves and hem were stained with dirt, as if she had been rolling in the streets.

  But what overwhelmed everything else were her curious, intelligent black eyes, shining brightly under her jet-black hair.

  "You're telling me you understood all this and were explaining it to the other children?"

  The girl flinched, her shoulders tensing in fear, but her gaze never wavered.

  She nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact.

  "I'm sorry to have startled you. My name is Zahir Al-Muradi. I teach students at the university over there. Still, this is remarkable. You understand all of this?"

  As Zahir introduced himself, the girl's expression seemed to relax a little, and she nodded once more.

  'There's no way a child could have learned this on her own... She must come from a good family, or have a very gifted teacher.'

  Zahir thought to himself and asked, "What is your name, child?"

  "Karida... My name is Karida Rashid."

  The girl mumbled her name.

  "Karida Rashid... That's a fine name."

  Zahir replied gently, then paused for a moment.

  "...Rashid?"

  'Could she be from the family that runs Aland, Iraq's largest chemical conglomerate?'

  At the man's sharp gaze, which seemed to recognize her, the girl's face turned pale in an instant.

  Then she turned and began to run away.

  'Seeing as she ran as soon as she heard the family name, there must be some story there. Why would a daughter from such a prestigious house be out in the market...'

  Watching the girl's retreating back, Zahir asked the remaining children.

  "Does anyone know where that girl lives?"

  The children shook their heads.

  A kind older girl from another neighborhood who sometimes appeared at the market, bought them food, and taught them fun things.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  That was all the children knew.

  'It'll be difficult to see her again. But it's such a waste to let a talent like that go to rot...'

  Zahir took out a research notebook he had recently organized from his bag.

  He handed it to the brightest-looking boy among the children.

  "This book is called 'A Study on the Continuity of Energy,' and it's a summary of my research. Next time you see that girl, would you give her this book and my contact information written here? Tell her if she doesn't want to contact me, she can keep the book as a gift."

  The children nodded, and Zahir shared a few loaves of bread he had bought at the market with them before returning home.

  'I want to meet her again. That talent.'

  Zahir looked at the innocent faces of Ahmadi and Zaydan.

  He prayed that they, along with that girl, would brighten the future of their homeland, which was hidden behind dark clouds.

  But he never heard from the girl.

  Time passed, but the motivation that had almost been kindled in Zahir at the market that day never returned.

  He merely published a few minor research findings in academic circles and continued his dry lectures for the students who had lost everything in the war.

  Prayer was the only thing he could do as a Muslim.

  In the spring of 1996, when Ahmadi turned eight and Zaydan turned three.

  “Baba!”

  Ahmadi ran to Zahir as he returned home.

  “Oof, my son.”

  Zahir lifted Ahmadi and rubbed their cheeks together.

  It was the moment Zahir could smile the most these days.

  “Baba, that hurts!”

  “Oh? Ah, it's because of my beard. I'm sorry, Ahmadi.”

  In Ahmadi's hands, after he was let down from his father's arms, was a letter.

  “Baba, this came for you.”

  Zahir took the letter with a puzzled expression.

  Ahmadi immediately turned and ran to Raina to tattle on his father for hurting him.

  Raina stroked Ahmadi while carrying a peacefully sleeping Zaydan on her back.

  Watching the scene with a slightly empty feeling, Zahir opened the letter in his hand.

  The letter was from his respected teacher, Professor Salashid.

  Professor Salashid had already retired, but his influence on the Iraqi scientific community was immense.

  He had passionately taught his students about science and God even as the war broke out, and he remained a great figure in Zahir's heart.

  Zahir eagerly opened the letter, happy to hear from him.

  The letter contained greetings and asked if he was interested in participating in a conference in Turkey.

  'A conference...'

  His heart pounded, but the walls of reality were high.

  After the defeat in the Gulf War, it was not easy for a scholar of Iraqi nationality to cross borders freely.

  Moreover, the letter was not a simple invitation.

  It stated that only one of Salashid's many disciples would be given the opportunity to participate.

  To be precise, one person would be selected to attend the conference through a paper review, and Zahir was on the list of candidates.

  Zahir expected he had a chance, given his research achievements.

  Of course, his peers were brilliant too.

  In particular, a peer named Zishka Al-Din was always full of confidence and quick to produce results, making him popular with the students.

  But Zahir had a depth of theory that Zishka lacked.

  Both Zahir and Zishka were rivals with the same dream of their nation's revival, but in Zahir's view, Zishka's dream was unrealistic.

  He sent a reply to his teacher, thanking him for the opportunity.

  He added that he was very keen to participate.

  He wanted to meet scholars from other countries, have the value of his research recognized, and receive support.

  A few days later, the result came.

  The paper selected for participation was 『A Study on the Continuity of Energy』

  It was Zahir's.

  Zahir guessed that Zishka must have been a candidate as well.

  He was genuinely happy.

  It was an opportunity, perhaps the last, that had come after more than 10 years of a stalled research life.

  He went to the chancellor to share the news and began the complex administrative process for traveling abroad.

  Thanks to his reputation as a diligent scholar, built up since his youth, and his teacher's guarantee, he finally received permission to leave Iraq.

  While waiting, he called his teacher after a long time to catch up.

  “Was Zishka also a candidate?”

  He was curious about his friend, with whom he had lost contact for a long time, and also curious about his paper, as he had chosen a different path.

  “Zishka was a candidate, but he didn't make it.”

  Professor Salashid's voice was as energetic as it had been in the days when he passionately taught his students.

  “But I heard that Zishka left Iraq after that.”

  “What? Zishka?”

  It was unbelievable.

  Even more so when he remembered their student days, when the two of them would talk about the revival of their homeland.

  “Is it possible for me to see his paper?”

  He wanted to know how far his unrealistic ideas had developed.

  “No, I'm afraid that would be difficult. I don't have it.”

  “What? What do you mean... Didn't you just review it?”

  “Of course I reviewed it, but after you were announced as the chosen one, he came and made a scene.”

  The shock of the impossible event.

  Both Zishka and Zahir had respected Professor Salashid.

  “And he got angry, saying I didn't even recognize his paper, and took it back. After that, as I said, all I heard was that he left Iraq.”

  “I see…”

  After talking a little more about the conference, Zahir hung up the phone and began to feel a sense of dread.

  Only one person.

  He had to bear the weight of that title.

  A few days later, upon arriving in Istanbul, Zahir politely greeted the conference organizers who had invited him, as well as the other scientists.

  * * *

  World Science Forum: For the Future of the 21st Century

  Zahir participated in this grand conference in Istanbul, staking the last pride of his homeland.

  He was given only one hour to present. He had to prove everything he had in that time.

  His theory was simple.

  Not to find a new source of energy, but to prevent a single drop of existing energy from being lost.

  'Room-temperature superconductivity', which eliminates all resistance that hinders the flow of energy.

  That was the dream to which Zahir had dedicated his life.

  Of course, superconductors already existed.

  But it was an inefficient technology that could only be realized at extremely low temperatures close to 'absolute zero', a realm of God.

  He believed that through the 『Continuous Magnetization Boundary Theory』, he could open a path for resistance-free energy even at room temperature.

  But his homeland, Iraq, lacked the resources, equipment, and colleagues to turn this great theory into reality.

  His theory was nothing but an empty cry existing only on paper.

  So he bet everything on this conference.

  He felt miserable for having to seek recognition from scholars of different faiths, whom he considered blasphemers, yet that was his reality.

  Listening to the presentations of geniuses from various countries was enjoyable.

  He, who loved academia itself, attended presentations even in fields other than his own and asked questions.

  What particularly drew his attention was a presentation by a young Asian woman with American citizenship.

  The content was about connecting and training the minds of all humanity through the internet.

  'It's as if she's declaring she will create God.'

  Zahir felt a sense of displeasure, but at the same time, he was fiercely captivated by the audacious imagination.

  He tried to imagine a world where that theory was realized.

  Finally, the day of his presentation arrived, and he successfully completed it.

  Many scholars showed interest in his theory and asked questions, but that was as far as it went.

  No decisive offer to help realize his theory came from anywhere.

  'It was interesting. The presentation was a success. I proved that we in Iraq also have a world-class theory. But... do I have to be satisfied with that?' He couldn't hide his bitter feelings.

  That night, Zahir went out of the hotel for a walk.

  Istanbul, the heir of Constantinople, a city where the glory of Christianity and the history of Islam were intertwined.

  The Adhan (the call to prayer) echoed faintly in the distance over the quiet night streets.

  He leaned against a building railing with a clear view of the sky, lost in thought as he looked at the stars that seemed ready to pour down.

  'Is this the end of the line...'

  Just then, someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  "You're Dr. Zahir, aren't you?"

  Lost in thought, Zahir was startled by the sudden voice and stumbled back, nearly falling.

  The owner of the hand that lightly caught his shoulder was the young Asian woman, a psychologist, whom he had been watching with interest throughout the conference.

  'For a woman to touch a strange man's body so easily. The culture of foreign lands...' Zahir did not hide his displeasure.

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "Hello, I'm Song Joo-eun, a psychologist."

  She introduced herself in a voice that felt clear and pure.

  "Ah, yes. As you know my name, I am Zahir Al-Muradi. A physicist who studies energy."

  After a brief introduction, they both opened their mouths at the same time, as if on cue, saying "Um..." In the awkward silence, they gestured for each other to speak first.

  "Haha. Well, I'll go first."

  It was Song Joo-eun who finally broke into laughter.

  She was tall for a woman, and her dark brown eyes shone with intelligence.

  A t-shirt, jeans, and a casually worn shirt over them.

  She looked much younger and freer than in the neat lab coat she had worn during her presentation.

  In contrast, Zahir's pristine traditional Muslim attire looked as neat and pure as his character, without a single flaw.

  "I was really impressed with your presentation today, Doctor." she said cheerfully.

  'A person from a field completely unrelated to mine, at my presentation?'

  Zahir couldn't hide his surprise.

  "Ah, yes... thank you. I didn't expect you to attend my presentation. You're a psychologist, right? It must be a completely different field from mine."

  Zahir asked in a careful tone, trying not to offend her.

  He didn't want to seem rude to an American.

  "Haha, that's true, isn't it? But you came to my presentation first, Doctor.”

  She seemed to be a young woman, her face full of laughter.

  “My research on connecting all of humanity's minds wasn't exactly your field, was it?"

  'Is she trying to provoke me, or is she just teasing? I can't figure this woman out.'

  "I was aware that you were at the presentation. It was quite an enjoyable experience to encounter knowledge from various fields at this conference.”

  Zahir expected his polite and dignified attitude to somewhat temper Song Joo-eun's liveliness.

  “Your research was interesting as well."

  Zahir was not keen on praising an American.

  "Really? Thank you for seeing it that way. I also found your 'Continuous Magnetization Boundary Theory' really interesting.”

  'Does she know about physics, too? Is she just being polite?'

  Zahir's suspicion continued.

  She was from the very country that had reduced his homeland to ashes, an American.

  “If your theory is completed, my theory can be completed too. No, beyond that, I thought a new energy revolution would come to the world."

  "Thank you, but my research is still incomplete. There are many challenges to overcome."

  Zahir didn't understand how his research could help hers.

  He was merely being polite to a scholar from another country.

  "I suppose so. Your research would require a lot of resources to proceed. How are things in Iraq these days?"

  Song Joo-eun's innocent question struck Zahir's pride sharply.

  His expression instantly turned cold.

  He turned to go back to his hotel room instead of answering.

  "Wait a minute!"

  Song Joo-eun called out to him in an urgent voice.

  “If I said something rude, I apologize.”

  She bowed her head to Zahir.

  As far as Zahir knew, that was not an American way of greeting.

  “Are you perhaps Muslim? I'm not very familiar with that culture, so I may have been rude. I was born in Korea and grew up in England and the United States."

  'So that's why she apologized like that.'

  Hearing her mention Korea, England, and America, he thought she must have a complicated story of her own.

  Though it was none of his business.

  "...I see. Well, I'll see you next time, if the opportunity arises."

  "Oh, come on, why do you keep trying to leave."

  She took a step closer, as if to block his path.

  "I just told you. I need your help with my research."

  Zahir could feel the desperation in her voice when she said 'need'. He felt the same way.

  Zahir was reminded of his purpose for coming to Turkey, even competing with his more outgoing peer.

  “Your research will change the course of human history. So will mine.”

  'Has anyone ever valued me this highly...?'

  The usually calm Zahir found himself looking straight at the woman before him.

  “But for my research to succeed, there's one huge problem that can't be solved with current technology. And that's energy.”

  Zahir could feel the woman's eyes shining.

  “I'm working on something with a friend named Chapman, and it requires an unimaginable amount of energy to bring it into the world.”

  The words came out in a rush, and Zahir needed a moment to think.

  Song Joo-eun didn't wait for his answer.

  "The reason I asked about Iraq was because I was curious if you were receiving enough support for your research to succeed.”

  She bit her upper lip and glanced at Zahir, but he just stared at her.

  “Because your research would require tremendous experiments and resources...”

  She trailed off, as if afraid of being rude, but still held onto Zahir's sleeve. Her bold demeanor was unfamiliar to Zahir.

  Even his wife, Raina, didn't make direct eye contact with him when they talked.

  “But right now, Iraq... having just finished a war, probably doesn't have the capacity for that."

  Having said all she had to say, Song Joo-eun waited for Zahir's reply with a tense expression.

  His face remained expressionless.

  "We just met today.”

  Zahir said, pulling his sleeve from Song Joo-eun's firm grasp.

  His voice was still full of suspicion.

  “It is rude to discuss the affairs of another country so freely. Our nation is overcoming adversity, and my research is also receiving sufficient support."

  Of course, it was a lie.

  But it was the best defense a scholar who loved his country could offer.

  "Really? Well, that's a relief."

  She was still smiling, even though he had coldly brushed her arm away.

  "Then, how about a research collaboration?"

  Song Joo-eun held out her business card.

  Zahir hesitated for a moment before reluctantly accepting it.

  "And... since I've already been rude, if I may take it one step further... would you consider coming to the United States?"

  Her voice was low, but the conviction within it was solid.

  “For your great idea to become a reality, American support would be more effective than Iraq's. If you come, I will take full responsibility and help you settle in."

  Zahir looked down at the business card she had given him.

  'Song Joo-eun, Ph.D. in Psychology, Department of Medicine, University of California.'

  The woman before him looked young, as if she had just become an adult.

  Zahir, who had lived his entire life in Iraq, could not trust the promise of a young woman alone.

  He had a family to protect. Zahir found it hard to trust her, seeing her trembling with her hands on her chest.

  He put the card she gave him in his bag, said goodbye, and walked towards the hotel.

  Hearing her say "Alright" in a reluctant voice made him feel as if he had committed a crime.

  He thought he should at least ask one more thing and turned back.

  “Excuse me.”

  She was sniffling by the railing.

  He felt sorry for her, but Zahir didn't know what to say.

  "What exactly is this project you're talking about?"

  A bright smile spread across her tearful face, and it felt like slow motion.

  "A being that learns all of humanity's knowledge and emotions to help humanity better understand itself. That's what I want to create."

  The bright moonlight shone on her like a halo.

  'Blasphemy.'

  To Zahir, she looked like a demon tempting him.

  'That person is one of Sulayman's (=Solomon in Islam) demons. Iblis. (=the name for Lucifer in Islam)'

  "We just met today. Your research was interesting, but I don't think it would be helpful for my research. So, if you'll excuse me."

  He prayed to Allah in his heart to help him escape temptation.

  "Why do you keep avoiding the conversation?”

  Song Joo-eun started shouting at Zahir's back as he turned away.

  “Are you ignoring me because I'm a woman? Are you ignoring me because I'm young? Or is that just your idea of manners?”

  'Great Allah, save me.'

  “And don't lie. It's an obvious lie that you're receiving support from Iraq!"

  At her last words, Zahir suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned around.

  He quickly returned and, without realizing it, grabbed her arm roughly.

  "What you are saying now is blasphemy!”

  As a devout Muslim, Zahir could not accept her research.

  “How dare a human try to create God! And drag me, a Muslim, into it?”

  In his world, idols were not to exist.

  “And for America, which attacked my homeland and insulted our God?”

  He wanted to ease the pain of his country, which had been turned to ashes by the war.

  “By what right! Do you, a stranger I just met, insult me to this extent!"

  Zahir had never been so angry at someone before.

  God was shouting at him to defeat the demon.

  "That hurts!"

  Song Joo-eun shouted, pulling her arm away.

  Only then did Zahir realize he had lost his temper, and he took a step back, breathing heavily.

  A few people who had seen the commotion approached, but Song Joo-eun sent them away, saying it was nothing.

  "The fact that you're getting so worked up over my words proves it. You're not receiving any support at all."

  She rubbed the wrist Zahir had grabbed and glared at him.

  "And God? What is that, exactly? When your country was being attacked, where was your great God and what was he doing?”

  Words sharper than any criticism rained down on Zahir.

  'Great Allah, are you testing me today.'

  Song Joo-eun didn't stop.

  “We're scientists, aren't we? Both you and I. You know better than anyone that your theory, that great dream of yours, is rotting away right now!"

  Her every word shattered Zahir's beliefs.

  'Give me strength, give me a firm will.'

  “It's okay if you don't help with my theory.”

  She dusted herself off and approached Zahir, who stood there speechless.

  “Just complete your research, Doctor. For the sake of your precious God and country, you should try to make your theory a success.”

  Unlike her appearance, which had been beautifully illuminated by the moonlight, her sparkling eyes were filled with a burning sun.

  “So come. Come to America. I will provide you with everything you need. Come!"

  Song Joo-eun's desperate voice echoed through the Istanbul night sky.

  Zahir, with a sad expression, turned away without a word and headed for the hotel.

  Her every word poured into Zahir's heart like a meteor shower.

  Behind him, he heard her shout "Contact me! You must!" several times.

  'America, can I go... No, what am I thinking. I can't abandon my country and family.'

  That night, back in his hotel room, Zahir stared at the business card he had received from Song Joo-eun and a family photo for hours.

  The next day, he canceled the rest of his conference schedule and returned to his country.

  On the way to the airport, he ran into Song Joo-eun, who had come out for breakfast in the hotel lobby.

  She said nothing, just looked at him with eyes that said, "You have to come."

  Zahir just nodded once, turned his back on her, and headed for Iraq.

  When he returned home, he didn't even unpack.

  He sat his wife Raina and his mother Bashira down at the dining table.

  He didn't answer when they asked how the conference was.

  After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth.

  "Listen to me carefully. We... are going to America."

  Raina and Bashira shouted at the same time.

  "What are you talking about?!"

  Thank you for reading, and for staying with the world of Artistea.

  Part 1 is fully completed (Chapters 0–15 + Asha’s side story).

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