Expelled, But I Rewrote Physics

Chapter 002

Dragging his suitcase behind him, Daniel Hayes moved slowly down the street, not because he had nowhere to go, but because, for the first time in what felt like forever, he did not feel chased by the clock.

Being alive again was a strange sensation.

Cars streamed past in steady lines. Pedestrians crossed under changing lights, heads down, collars up, moving with that practiced urgency unique to big cities. Delivery scooters cut between lanes. Storefront speakers leaked out cheap music. Somewhere nearby, a bus exhaled at the curb. The city was busy, indifferent, restless—exactly the kind of scene that, in his previous life, would have tightened something in his chest.

Back then, this kind of urban rhythm had always made him anxious. Every honk sounded like pressure. Every crowd felt like competition. Every minute carried the taste of being late for something, behind on something, failing at something.

But now it was different.

He still had no clear idea what the road ahead looked like. He had been thrown into another life, another body, another set of circumstances, and this new life was already a mess. He had been expelled. His reputation had been shredded. His future was uncertain. And yet, beneath all of that, there was an irrepressible current of relief and joy rising in him.

He was breathing.

He was walking.

He still had a chance.

The call from Kevin Shaw came quickly, almost exactly as he had expected it would, and when Daniel answered, the familiar booming voice on the other end sounded as rough and direct as ever.

“Daniel Hayes, I heard you went head-to-head with Victor Ford,” Kevin Shaw barked, sounding more amused than alarmed. “Good. Someone had to.”

“Professor Shaw,” Daniel said politely, instinctively straightening a little as he spoke.

Kevin Shaw had been his former doctoral advisor, and unlike many people in academia who spoke warmly but kept a safe distance the moment trouble appeared, he had always genuinely looked out for him. More than half a year earlier, he had left Frankenston University for Ivystate University, and after that, Daniel had been reassigned to another advisor. But whatever the administrative paperwork said, in Daniel’s memory, Kevin Shaw was still the mentor who had treated him like a real researcher instead of a replaceable graduate laborer.

On the phone, Kevin Shaw let out an annoyed snort. “I called the school and talked to them about your experiment. And do you know what Victor Ford said? He said whether the experiment had actually been done wasn’t important. The important thing was that the data was fake and the conclusion was wrong.”

He paused for effect, then burst out, “What kind of idiotic logic is that?”

His voice grew sharper with every word. “Fabricating data and reaching the wrong conclusion are not the same thing. Not even close. An experiment can be flawed. A theory can be mistaken. A result can be incomplete. That’s science. But fraud is fraud. Those people have stopped thinking altogether.”

Daniel listened quietly, feeling a faint warmth in his chest. He had only just arrived in this world, only just inherited this body and its tangled life, but he could already tell who was worth respecting.

After venting his frustration, Kevin Shaw’s tone softened. “Jason Brooks told me what happened. They expelled you?”

“They did.”

“You okay?”

Daniel glanced at the suitcase rolling behind him and looked up at the gray winter sky. “I’m fine. Walking along the street with my luggage right now.”

“That’s good. Come here,” Kevin Shaw said immediately. “Join me at Ivystate University. I’ll keep you in the lab, keep you on experiments, keep you on project work. With your ability, finishing in two or three years won’t be a problem.”

Daniel’s mood lifted at once. “Understood! I’ll head over right away.”

Then, because the tension had eased, he allowed himself a grin. “Honestly, Professor, I was just thinking that if your call didn’t come soon, I might end up spending the night on a park bench. Give it a few more days and maybe I’d officially become a drifter.”

“Your call really came like rain in a drought.”

Kevin Shaw gave a short laugh. “You’re still joking around, so I guess you’re genuinely fine. That’s a relief.”

Then his tone turned brisk again. “Come straight here. Find me at the Applied Electromagnetics Research Office.”

Once the call ended, Daniel finally felt his nerves settle.

There it was—that old saying made real. Just when the road seemed blocked, another village appeared beyond the dark willows and blooming flowers. He had been thrown out of Frankenston University, yes. But now he had a way forward: go to Ivystate University, resume his doctoral work under his original advisor, and continue the research that had been torn from his hands.

That, at least, was a future.

He bought a train ticket and boarded the train to Ivystate. As the city he had known for years slid past the window, he found himself staring out in silence.

The emotions were complicated.

There was nostalgia, certainly—not only from the original owner of this body, but from the weight of a life that had already left marks on these streets. There was regret too, because no matter how unjust the expulsion had been, a chapter had ended in humiliation. But alongside that came something stronger: anticipation, edged with worry, yes, but anticipation nonetheless.

Everything was beginning again.

When he finally settled into his seat and closed his eyes to rest, his mind drifted, inevitably, back to the experiment.

Then his eyes snapped open.

Something was wrong.

No—not wrong. Unexamined.

He sat up straighter.

“Why,” he thought, “am I so certain the experiment was real?”

That certainty had been with him since he woke up on the riverbank. At first he had assumed it was simply residue from the original owner’s memories and emotions, a kind of inherited conviction. But the more he examined it, the less that explanation fit.

Under normal circumstances, an experimental result that seemed to violate known physical laws should be treated with extreme skepticism. Even the original Daniel, stubborn as he had been, had not possessed absolute certainty. He had believed, yes. Insisted, yes. But belief under pressure could still contain doubt.

This, however, was different.

This was not optimism.

Not pride.

Not wounded ego.

It was certainty.

Overwhelming, almost irrational certainty.

Why?

Frowning, Daniel searched through the dense memory structure in his head. The original owner’s memories were vast: formulas, faces, conversations, research notes, humiliations, routines, habits, anxieties, and fragments of emotional residue. But mixed in with all of that was something else—something that clearly did not belong to ordinary memory at all.

A system.

He froze.

The thing revealed itself not as a voice or an interface floating dramatically in the air, but as an internal structure he could access with thought. It had two parts.

The first was a personal evaluation panel.

Mind: 77.

Body: 59.

Academic Reputation: -177.

Wealth: 7309.

Below it was a simple note: knowledge can improve Mind; exercise can improve Body.

Daniel stared at it for a moment, then let out a quiet breath.

The numbers alone were revealing. His mind was strong, which made sense given his academic training. His body was mediocre. His reputation, however, was practically in a crater. As for wealth—well, at least he wasn’t literally penniless.

The second section was far more important.

Special Ability: True Perception.

He focused on it and immediately understood its core function: it allowed him to judge whether a conclusion was correct.

Daniel’s heartbeat picked up.

“True Perception...”

He almost laughed.

“So that’s it.”

The reason he had been so certain the experiment was valid was not blind attachment to the original owner’s grievance. It was because True Perception had already delivered its answer.

The experiment was correct.

The process was correct.

The conclusion was correct.

Which meant the fluctuations in air-molecule behavior detected during the experiment had genuinely existed.

And if that was true—

Then buried inside that one contested result was a piece of undiscovered physics.

The thought sent a rush through his body so intense it was almost dizzying. His blood seemed to move faster. His mind sharpened instantly. The fatigue from the last chaotic day receded under a surge of excitement.

This changed everything.

If the experiment could be reproduced, it would not merely clear his name. It would not merely prove that he had not falsified data. It would mean the discovery of a new physical phenomenon, possibly one tied to metamaterial field interactions that current theory had failed to predict.

That kind of result could shake an entire subfield.

It could change careers.

Change institutions.

Change technologies.

“I have to reproduce it,” he thought.

Not maybe.

Not eventually.

Must.

He would go to Ivystate University, join Kevin Shaw, return to metamaterials research, and find the path back to that phenomenon.

Only after some of the excitement settled did another question occur to him.

If True Perception could judge the correctness of an experimental conclusion, what else could it judge?

Could it verify mathematics problems? Physics proofs? Research papers? Could it assess statements in daily life? Could it detect lies? Half-truths? Misunderstandings?

As if on cue, the bald middle-aged man seated nearby launched into conversation with other passengers.

“People always say working in a Public Institution is hard,” the man declared, leaning back with practiced confidence. “But my whole family works in government. Police, tax bureau, all that. They’re all doing great.”

False.

The answer surfaced in Daniel’s mind instantly, clean and absolute.

The man continued, apparently enjoying his audience. “I’m on a business trip to the capital this time. Some meeting the department requires.”

False.

“At that conference, there’ll be a lot of leaders there. Big names. Even people from the municipal government. The secretary, Andrew Chenley—you’ve heard of him, right?”

False.

“The capital’s also trying to attract investment. Our company is planning to put in two hundred million, so I’m going there to inspect the opportunity.”

Fal—

Daniel turned and looked at him.

Internally, he was speechless.

This man had said a whole string of things in a row, and apparently not one of them fully passed.

Still, the judgment seemed somewhat fuzzy in its scope. False in what sense? Entirely fabricated? Partially inaccurate? Exaggerated? If the man said his whole family worked in government, but one cousin was still a student preparing for civil-service exams, would that count as false? The ability gave conclusions, not explanations.

Across from the man, however, the listeners were nodding in all seriousness, accepting each claim with the easy credulity common to strangers on trains. The bald man, encouraged, turned to Daniel.

“Young man, where are you headed?”

“Ivystate.”

“Going home? You look early twenties. College student?”

“I am a student,” Daniel replied honestly. “I got expelled from my old university, so I’m switching to another one.”

The nearby passengers all stared at him for a beat, then laughed.

“You’re funny.”

“What kind of university expels someone and then another university just takes him?”

“You mean you’re going to visit a school, right?”

Daniel only smiled.

These days, the truth often sounded less believable than a lie. His situation was rare enough to seem ridiculous when stated plainly.

He stopped chatting after that and returned to testing True Perception in silence. As the train rattled on, he listened to snippets of conversation around him and made quiet judgments one by one. The ability responded steadily. It could not tell him percentages, could not break down categories of error, could not reveal motives—but its judgments were unnervingly clean.

For a researcher, the implications were staggering.

For daily life, they were almost absurdly useful.

Eventually, worn down by exhaustion, he drifted off to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the train was nearing Ivystate.

The bald man was shaking his shoulder. “Kid, wake up. We’re almost at the station.”

“You really slept the whole way.”

Daniel blinked, groggy for half a second, then heard the arrival announcement over the train speakers. He thanked the man, grabbed his luggage, and got off quickly.

Since transmigrating, he had barely rested at all. Those few hours of sleep on the train had restored him far more than expected.

Outside the station, it was still early morning, the sky not yet fully bright. He took a bus to Ivystate University, found a nearby Youth Hostel, dropped off his luggage, and lay down for another two hours. Once the time felt reasonable, he washed up, straightened his clothes, and headed onto campus.

Ivystate University was enormous.

Its grounds were so extensive that it felt less like a single institution and more like an academic city. Different academic divisions occupied different sectors, with roads, dorms, cafeterias, and research buildings woven into a self-contained ecosystem of scholarship and bureaucracy.

Kevin Shaw was now based in the southern School of Sciences district, in the Applied Electromagnetics Laboratory under the physics program.

The research office was on the first floor.

Daniel found the office easily enough, but Kevin Shaw was not there. After asking around, he learned that a meeting was underway in the conference room upstairs.

He waited for a while, then eventually decided to go up and take a look.

The conference room sat beside the staircase, and before he even reached the doorway, he could hear voices inside. They were discussing an experimental problem.

He had just arrived at the entrance when Kevin Shaw spotted him.

“You’re here,” he said. “Come in.”

Daniel entered quietly and sat on a stool against the wall.

Inside, Kevin Shaw was talking with two other middle-aged professors while several younger researchers and graduate students listened. The subject matter was technical, dense, and familiar enough that Daniel could follow most of it.

“We’ve already confirmed through characterization of bismuth telluride,” Kevin Shaw was saying, “that a substrate covered by multilayer bismuth atomic films should be capable of growing high-quality stanene.”

“But the actual outcome doesn’t match expectations. There’s no meaningful difference from the last result.”

“Could the issue be in the computation?” one of the others asked.

Another immediately objected. “The calculations were done by our group. Every number was cross-checked repeatedly. Every stage was verified. There’s no way the computational side is wrong.”

“If the experimental data hasn’t changed and the calculations are sound, then where exactly is the problem?”

“Maybe it’s—”

Daniel listened carefully and pieced together the broad outline.

Metamaterials research.

Kevin Shaw was now involved in a major state-supported project on electromagnetic metamaterials, focused on theoretical design and characterization. This was a frontier field in advanced electromagnetic materials research: artificially engineered materials with unusual properties not found in naturally occurring substances—negative refraction, phase manipulation, electromagnetic-wave control, and other exotic behaviors.

Even a project focused only on theory and foundational characteristics was enormously significant. It stood near the cutting edge of both materials science and electromagnetic physics.

That, no doubt, was why Kevin Shaw had moved here.

The specific issue under discussion concerned a prior experiment suggesting that a substrate with a certain bismuth-layer arrangement could support the growth of high-quality stanene. But when the new team attempted to follow up, the observed results were disappointing. Not much improvement. Nothing close to the expected effect.

They kept circling back, rechecking assumptions, reexamining prior conclusions, and finding no obvious error.

Daniel listened, half from technical comprehension and half from instinct, until he decided to test True Perception against the central assumption.

He focused.

“Is the prior experiment wrong?”

The answer came immediately.

Yes.

He stiffened.

“Why?”

No answer.

Of course. True Perception could provide a result, but not the mechanism, not the reasoning, not the diagnostic pathway. It was a verdict, not an explanation.

Inside the conference room, the discussion slowed. No one had identified the problem. A heavy silence began to settle over the group as each person sank into thought.

Daniel looked around. Then he met Kevin Shaw’s eyes.

Cautiously, he raised a hand.

“Professor Shaw,” he said, “is it possible that the prior experiment itself was wrong?”

He spoke carefully, almost apologetically. “Either the conclusion drawn from it was wrong, or there was some issue in the experiment itself...”

“Impossible!”

A younger man cut him off sharply before Kevin Shaw could respond.

“We performed multiple rounds of characterization on the bismuth telluride and reached a very clear conclusion,” the man snapped. “Combining the multilayer bismuth-film properties with the existing data already shows that—”

“Samuel Lowell!”

One of the middle-aged professors barked the name in warning, then glanced toward Kevin Shaw.

But Kevin Shaw just waved it off. “It’s fine. He was my doctoral student back at Frankenston University—Daniel Hayes. I intend to have him join the project.”

Then he gestured toward the two professors. “Professor Fly. Professor Brooks.”

Daniel stood up and greeted them with a smile. “Hello, Professor Fly. Hello, Professor Brooks.”

Professor Fly nodded.

Professor Brooks pointed at Daniel with visible surprise. “Your student? A doctoral student? How old is he?”

Kevin Shaw glanced at Daniel uncertainly.

“I turn twenty-three in September,” Daniel said, then added, “I came through the Advanced Youth Program.”

Both Professor Brooks and Professor Fly paused.

That meant he was only twenty-two and a half now. If he had already been a doctoral student under Kevin Shaw for at least a year and a half, then he must have entered the PhD track at around twenty-one.

Professor Brooks turned to look at his own students and gave a helpless smile. “Frankenston University really does gather extraordinary talent.”

He offered a few words of admiration, but once the conversation returned to the experimental issue, no one picked up Daniel’s suggestion about the prior experiment again.

The prior experiment was wrong?

Impossible.

That immediate rejection from Samuel Lowell was not unique. It reflected the unspoken consensus in the room.

Including Professor Brooks, Professor Fly, the associate professors involved, and the doctoral students assisting with the work—everyone here had immense confidence in that prior result.

After all, it had been the group’s biggest achievement in the last six months.