Expelled, But I Rewrote Physics

Chapter 001

Childhood had once been light.

There had been innocence, a kind of unguarded curiosity, a reckless playfulness that didn’t need justification. Back then, laughter came easily, unburdened by consequence or calculation. There was no concept of cost, no sense of trade-offs—just a world that seemed wide open, waiting to be explored.

Then came adolescence.

Rebellion, defiance, a stubborn refusal to bend. The sharp edges of youth—unpolished, unfiltered—colliding constantly with authority, with expectation, with the invisible structures that dictated how one ought to live. There had been fire then, an unwillingness to conform, a belief—however naive—that one could carve out a different path.

But adulthood was a slow erosion.

Not a sudden collapse, but a gradual wearing down. Edges dulled, convictions softened, resistance faded into compromise. One compromise became two, then ten, then a hundred. Eventually, what remained was not the person who had once resisted, but someone who had learned—quietly, efficiently—to comply.

Work. Earn money. Become a functional cog.

Wake up. Go to work. Get off work. Sleep.

Repeat.

Days blurred into nights, nights into weeks, weeks into years. An endless cycle, devoid of novelty, stripped of meaning. Overtime piled on top of overtime. Then more overtime. Then more.

Until one day, the body simply gave out.

Collapsed.

On the way to yet another late shift.

In that final moment, as consciousness slipped away, ***—now Daniel Hayes—found himself reviewing his life with a strange, detached clarity.

Ten years.

Ten years of grinding labor, of bending himself into shapes he never intended to take. And what had it bought him?

A house that was technically his, yet financially suffocating—a negative asset that chained him more than it secured him. A career that consumed everything yet returned almost nothing. And now, even in death, the location of his collapse—on the road to work—would likely reduce any potential compensation to a pitiful figure.

It was almost… comical.

Absurd, even.

A life spent chasing stability, ending in instability. A life spent striving for value, ending in a realization of worthlessness.

Meaningless.

Completely meaningless.

Darkness closed in.

His thoughts scattered, dissolving into noise.

And then—

Voices.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s not breathing! Start CPR, now!”

“Does anyone know how?”

“I’m a nurse—move aside!”

The chaos of overlapping voices pressed in from all directions. Disjointed, urgent, disorganized. Somewhere within that noise, Daniel felt pressure—hands pressing down on his chest.

Hard.

Too hard.

Each compression felt like it might c***k bone, like it might shatter ribs under sheer force.

“Pff—!”

Water surged up his throat. Then again.

“Pff—! Pff—!”

He coughed violently, expelling mouthfuls of icy river water. Air rushed back into his lungs in jagged, desperate gulps. Consciousness, once fragmented, began to reassemble itself.

His eyes fluttered open.

Blurred shapes sharpened into focus, and the first thing he saw was a face.

A young woman.

Her expression was calm, but her eyes—wide, alert—betrayed a deep concern. Her brows were slightly drawn together, the tension subtle but unmistakable.

“Should we do mouth-to-mouth?” someone asked nearby.

“He opened his eyes, but his breathing is still weak. Try a few more compressions—”

“Pff—!”

Another surge of water left his lungs. Then, instinctively, he inhaled—deep, full, desperate.

It felt like rebirth.

The world stabilized. Sounds aligned with meaning. Faces became distinct.

He blinked, focusing.

There were people gathered around him. A small crowd. Some standing, some crouching. Off to the side, beneath a tree, a middle-aged man sat wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Nearby, the woman in white—the nurse—remained kneeling beside him.

“I… survived?” Daniel muttered, voice hoarse.

“You’re awake,” the nurse said quickly, relief evident. “How do you feel?”

He pushed himself up, palms pressing against the cold ground, and sat upright. His body felt stiff—unnaturally so. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings.

A riverbank.

Bare trees.

Gray sky.

Winter.

Cold seeped into his bones.

Around him, people began speaking again.

“Kid, why would you do something like that? Jumping into a river in this weather?”

“You’re lucky someone passed by and pulled you out!”

“Don’t do this again. Whatever it is, it’s not worth it. You’re still young—”

“You should go to a hospital, get checked out!”

Winter?

Jumping into a river?

The words echoed in his mind, disjointed, conflicting with his last memory.

Then—

A surge.

Memories that weren’t his—yet somehow were—flooded in.

They came violently, chaotically, like a dam breaking.

Daniel froze.

It took several seconds—perhaps longer—for him to process even a fraction of it.

Finally, he looked up at the people around him and said, sincerely, “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

He turned to the nurse, meeting her gaze. “And… thank you.”

Instinctively, he reached for his phone—only to find his pockets empty.

A flicker of awkwardness crossed his face.

The nurse shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. You should go to the hospital. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No need,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “I’ll go myself.”

He stood up.

His body, though stiff from the cold, seemed otherwise intact. No pain. No injury.

He bounced lightly on his feet, testing his condition.

Fine.

Surprisingly fine.

After a moment, he walked over to the middle-aged man under the tree and asked for his contact information. Then he returned to the nurse and did the same.

Two phone numbers.

Both spoken only once.

Yet he knew—without a doubt—that he would remember them perfectly.

A debt owed must be repaid. That was a principle he held onto with unusual clarity.

Then, slowly, he left the crowd.

As he walked, he began organizing the chaos inside his mind.

First conclusion:

He had transmigrated.

The name remained the same—Daniel Hayes—but the person clearly wasn’t. Whether this was another individual or a parallel version of himself, he couldn’t yet determine.

Second conclusion:

This body belonged to a doctoral student at Frankenston University.

A prodigy, of sorts.

A graduate of the Advanced Youth Program, only twenty-three years old, already pursuing a PhD.

And yet—

On the verge of expulsion.

The reason?

A paper.

A paper accused of “fabricated experimental data.”

The research had been conducted under his former advisor, Kevin Shaw, focusing on electromagnetic metamaterials. During one particular experiment, he had observed something unusual—an anomalous electromagnetic field that appeared to influence the motion of air molecules.

He had reported the finding immediately.

But repeated trials failed to reproduce the result.

Shortly thereafter, Kevin Shaw left Frankenston University, and a new advisor took over. Without institutional support, the research stalled.

Still, the original Daniel had believed in the result.

He compiled the data, wrote a paper, and submitted it to a minor journal—Electromagnetic Engineering Technology.

A low-tier publication.

Minimal review standards.

Pay a fee, and as long as nothing seemed blatantly wrong, the paper would be accepted.

It was published.

Later, it was indexed by Web of Science.

For a while, nothing happened.

Then, months later, a video surfaced online.

A compilation of “ridiculous academic papers.”

His was included.

“A PhD student from Frankenston University claims electromagnetic fields can affect air molecules?”

“Does he even understand basic physics? Air molecules aren’t charged—how would they be influenced?”

“This is worse than high school-level knowledge.”

The video gained traction.

Public scrutiny followed.

The Academic Review Board of the School of Sciences launched an investigation.

He was questioned.

He insisted the data was real.

He even argued—directly—with Victor Ford, the Deputy President.

No one believed him.

The conclusion was swift:

Data fabrication.

Expulsion.

The pressure—

Online ridicule.

Institutional rejection.

A new advisor, Marcus Dunn, distancing himself completely.

It all compounded.

Anxiety turned into despair.

Despair into impulsive action.

And that action led to the river.

Daniel exhaled slowly.

“Not worth it,” he murmured.

The experiment had been real.

That much, he knew.

But—

“Wait…”

He stopped walking.

A strange thought surfaced.

Why was he so certain?

Electromagnetic fields affecting air molecules?

That contradicted fundamental principles. Air molecules, under normal conditions, were electrically neutral. There was no obvious mechanism for such an interaction.

So why—

Why did he feel absolute certainty?

Not just belief.

Certainty.

Stronger than the original owner’s.

Unquestionable.

He frowned.

Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time he returned to the dormitory, his thoughts were still tangled.

Inside, several roommates were present. The moment they saw him—soaked, disheveled—they rushed over.

“What happened? Did you fall into water?”

“Don’t tell me you tried something stupid—”

“That experiment? We all believe you. You wouldn’t fake data over a paper!”

“Yeah, seriously, you’re not that kind of person.”

Daniel nodded. “Thanks.”

The concern was genuine.

That much was clear.

“I’m fine,” he added. “Just got wet by accident.”

Then he began packing.

His roommates watched in silence.

What could they say?

Expulsion.

It wasn’t something easily addressed with words.

As he sorted through his belongings, the door suddenly opened.

A middle-aged man stepped in, carrying an air of authority.

“Daniel Hayes,” he said sharply. “Have you withdrawn your paper from Web of Science yet? Do it immediately.”

“Look at what people are saying online. A fraudulent paper still being listed—what does that look like?”

This was Edward Carter, Administrative Director of the School of Sciences, and Deputy Director of the Academic Review Board.

Daniel glanced at him.

Then returned to packing.

Ignoring him completely.

Edward Carter’s expression darkened. “Daniel Hayes!”

“I’m talking to you!”

Daniel turned, face expressionless.

“What’s my penalty?” he asked.

“Expulsion,” Carter replied, voice firm. “You can’t blame the university. Academic misconduct is treated strictly—”

“And you still think you have authority over me?” Daniel interrupted, a faint smile forming.

“I’m expelled. I’m no longer a student at Frankenston University.”

“If my paper stays on Web of Science, it embarrasses me—not you.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“You—!” Carter flushed red, speech catching in his throat.

Then, abruptly, he turned and left.

The roommates exchanged glances, then burst into quiet admiration.

“Nice.”

“Been wanting to say that for a long time.”

“You really went head-on with Victor Ford and now Carter… impressive.”

Daniel smiled faintly.

“I’m leaving today,” he said. “Let’s stay in touch.”

Before anyone could respond, a voice called from the hallway.

“Daniel! Daniel!”

A man rushed in, breathing heavily.

“Mr. Brooks!” someone exclaimed.

It was Jason Brooks, his former graduate advisor.

Concern was written all over his face.

“Are you okay? I heard you jumped into the river—nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“You’re only in your twenties. Your life’s just getting started—don’t do anything rash.”

He spoke rapidly, almost frantically.

Daniel reassured him repeatedly.

Eventually, Jason Brooks calmed slightly. He glanced around, then gestured for the others to leave.

Once alone, he sighed.

“I spoke with Victor Ford. He’s not budging. University policy, he says.”

“Did you argue with him?”

Daniel nodded. “A little.”

Jason Brooks hesitated. “Maybe… apologize?”

“No.”

The refusal was immediate.

“My experiment wasn’t fabricated. The data is real.”

“I know Kevin Shaw supported you, but it didn’t matter.”

“The university wants to control public opinion. Expelling me is the simplest solution.”

“And if I apologize, I’m admitting the experiment is fake.”

“I won’t do that.”

Silence lingered.

Finally, Jason Brooks sighed again, a wry smile forming.

“You’ve always been like this.”

Then he leaned forward slightly.

“I spoke with Kevin Shaw. With your talent, leaving academia now would be a waste.”

“He wants you to join him.”

“At Ivystate University.”

He paused.

“Go to Ivystate University.”