For once, Elian Rho woke up without brain fog. There was no dull ache behind his eyes, no lingering fuzziness from too little sleep and too much stress. He sat in silence, mug in hand, watching the morning haze filter through the glass wall of his apartment, painting the urban landscape in soft, muted tones. The taste was familiar now: dark and smooth with a bitter-chocolate finish, the faint earthy kick of lion's mane, and a lingering clarity like cold, crisp air in a high mountain pass.
Neurobrew Prime. The perfected formula. No crash, no jitters. Just unrelenting clarity—like a piano key held in endless vibration, a sustained, flawless note of pure focus.
He could feel the neuroplasticity boost kicking in, a subtle hum beneath his thoughts. Connections formed like quantum entanglement chains inside his mind, effortlessly linking disparate concepts. The capacitor optimization puzzle that had haunted him for weeks? Solved last night, between sips, the solution presenting itself with elegant simplicity. AI architectural redesign? Already queued in his notes, awaiting transcription.
Jenna strolled in from the living area, still half-asleep in sweats, her own matte-black cup steaming. "Already plotting to take over another industry, Elian?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep but laced with her usual dry wit.
"I'm thinking," Elian replied absently, his gaze still fixed on the developing cityscape, "we should buy a coffee café."
That woke her up. She blinked, shaking her head. "Sorry, what was that? Did you hit your head?"
He set his mug down with the precision of a man mid-breakthrough, the ceramic clicking softly against the glass table. "I want to patent Neurobrew Prime. But more than that—I want to commercialize it. Direct control. No licensing deals—not yet. We release it ourselves. Build credibility, test distribution, collect market data."
Jenna slowly raised an eyebrow, a familiar skeptical arch. "Bit of a detour from quantum processors and global energy grids, don't you think, Dr. Mad Genius?"
"It's temporary," Elian countered, meeting her gaze, his eyes alight with a new, less frantic kind of energy. "But this—" he held up the cup—"this is scalable. Repeatable. And it works. A soft launch gives us early revenue while our foundational tech matures. We attract biohackers, developers, startup founders, overworked office drones—basically everyone we want in our orbit anyway. It's a strategic move, not just a whim."
Jenna exhaled slowly, her own analytical gears already turning. "So we buy something low-risk and already struggling. Cheap, clean finances, manageable lease, existing licenses. Refurbish, rebrand, relaunch. A little market experimentation."
"Exactly," Elian nodded. "We don't need a franchise. Just a testbed. A proof of concept for direct-to-consumer operations."
Jenna walked towards the apartment's small, efficient kitchen, tapping on her tablet. "Alright. I'll run listings for struggling cafés in central areas. Preferably with licenses intact, to cut down on bureaucratic headaches."
"And," Elian added, already sketching out a new flowchart on a napkin, "get our IP firm to file the Neurobrew patent. Fast. Before someone tries to reverse-engineer it."
She gave him a sharp, knowing look over her shoulder. "Oh, someone will definitely try."
"I know," he agreed, unconcerned. "But they don't have the full formula. Or the underlying science system that derived it. We do."
Four Days Later – The Deal
The café they bought had once been charming, probably during the artisanal coffee boom of the mid-2010s. Tucked into a quiet side street near a vibrant university campus in Taillinn, it opened during the tail end of the third-wave coffee craze—then crashed hard during the recent economic downturn, compounded by supply chain logistics and relentless staff turnover. The previous owners were exhausted, the espresso machine leaked ominously, and foot traffic was a mere ghost.
Elian, however, saw not decay, but potential. A blank canvas for an experiment.
They closed the deal in under 48 hours, leveraging their newfound Quantum Nexus capital. Renamed "Prime Grounds," they immediately began overhauling the interior with a minimalist, clean tech aesthetic: dark wood, ambient LED lighting, and a subtle new logo that resembled a neural waveform wrapped around a steaming mug. It was sleek, inviting, and subtly suggested enhanced cognition.
Jenna, true to form, managed the entire transition like a military campaign—negotiating lease terms, rapidly rehiring and training new staff, overseeing equipment upgrades, and hammering out every last liability clause. Even the packaging design for their in-house sachets of Neurobrew Prime was branded, finalized, and legally registered within a week.
Sometimes I wonder if she chose the wrong career, Elian thought, watching her effortlessly juggle architects, lawyers, and baristas. She's terrifyingly good at this.
Meanwhile, Elian sat with their slightly bewildered patent lawyer, pacing the law firm's plush carpet.
"How long for the provisional patent on 'Neurobrew Prime'?" Elian pressed.
"Filed within 48 hours, Dr. Rho," the lawyer confirmed, adjusting his tie. "Temporary coverage is yours. But with a formulation this chemically dense, especially given the... novelty of some compounds, we'll need rigorous third-party testing to bulletproof it against challenges."
"Do it," Elian instructed. "And make sure to add comprehensive psychological and cognitive performance data to the dossier. I'll draft the scientific justification myself."
"And the official product name for the patent?"
"Neurobrew Prime," Elian stated, his gaze unwavering.
The lawyer blinked. "Sounds… intimidating. Perhaps a bit too direct?"
"Good," Elian said, a faint smile touching his lips. "It's supposed to be."
The Public Awakens
Elian hadn't expected the "soft launch" to go viral. He'd envisioned a slow burn, a gradual build of a niche following. He was spectacularly wrong.
By Day Two, Prime Grounds was already trending on Reddit's r/biohackers and r/programming subreddits, snippets of experiences spreading like wildfire:
[TASTED THE ELIXIR OF GODS – "NEUROBREW PRIME" FROM SOME SCIENTIST CAFE IN TAILLINN]
"Not gonna lie, I drank this stuff and then wrote 300 lines of C++ and cleaned my entire apartment. Coincidence? I THINK NOT." – u/Code_Lord42
"Drank this coffee and blacked out for 4 hours. Came to with a fully formed startup pitch deck, 12 slides, and a perfectly organized spreadsheet. What the hell is in this?" – @sleepis4noobs
"Wtf is lion's mane and why do I suddenly want to solve world hunger and file my taxes at the same time??" – YouTube comment
Civilians, students cramming for exams, overworked office workers, indie game developers, coders – word spread like a chemical fire through online communities and then onto the streets.
Some customers came in deeply skeptical, nursing their regular lattes. Most left wide-eyed, a strange clarity in their gaze. People described unprecedented focus, vivid, almost lucid dreams, sustained productivity spikes, and a complete absence of the dreaded caffeine crash. A few joked it was "like Adderall for grown-ups, but without the side effects." A viral TikTok showed a university student sipping Neurobrew Prime before seamlessly beating a notoriously difficult boss in Elden Ring, then immediately transitioning to filing her quarterly taxes, all in one sitting.
Within a week, queues wrapped around the block of Prime Grounds, spilling onto the main street. The baristas, initially overwhelmed, were quickly cross-trained by Jenna in rapid-fire brewing and customer service.
By Day Ten, they were shipping carefully sealed sachets of the Neurobrew Prime blend by courier across Taillinn, and fielding inquiries from other states.
The Corporate Knock
On Day Twelve, Jenna returned to the main Quantum Nexus office, amused and slightly terrified.
"Elian," she said, leaning against his doorway, a stack of very official-looking documents in her hand. "Nestlé called. Not just a regional rep. Their global 'Scientific Wellness & Nutrition' division."
He looked up from his endless notes, pushing his glasses up his nose. "The same Nestlé that supplies our department's notoriously terrible instant coffee?"
"Yep. The very same. They want a meeting. Immediately. Something about licensing Neurobrew under their 'scientific wellness' brand. Also, Starbucks sent someone. A very quiet guy in a very expensive suit. Didn't buy anything, just sat in the corner for two hours, observing and taking notes. I think he tried to surreptitiously collect a used cup."
Elian blinked, the magnitude of the reach setting in. "What's Nestlé offering?"
"Preliminary discussions mentioned $50 million for North American and European rights alone, with potential for up to $200 million with market penetration milestones," Jenna stated, her voice tight with suppressed shock. "I told them we're not selling, not at this stage."
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. "This is moving even faster than the superconductor. We're going to need a dedicated finance department, not just a corporate lawyer."
She tossed a thick folder onto his desk, the sound a decisive thud. "Here's a better idea—let's finalize the parent company structure you sketched out. I already drafted the legal framework: Quantum Nexus as the primary holding firm, Prime Grounds for consumer operations, and Nexus Labs for core tech R&D and future projects."
Elian stared at the folder, then at her, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Jenna, marry me."
She rolled her eyes, but a faint, unmistakable blush colored her cheeks. "Buy me a decaf version first, Elian. Preferably one that doesn't make me want to reorganize the entire national grid."
Then she turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor before he could respond.
Did she just blush? Elian wondered, a rare, unscientific flutter in his chest.
The Digital Avalanche
Elian found himself alone again, the immediate high of the Neurobrew success giving way to the sheer weight of new responsibilities. The paperwork was already piling up—hiring, logistics, securing new patents, endless funding meetings, international export forms, regulatory compliance. It was a bureaucratic avalanche threatening to bury him alive. He rubbed his eyes, the fatigue finally catching up despite the lingering effects of the Neurobrew.
"If this keeps up," he muttered to himself, staring at the endless digital queues on his screen, "I'm going to need an AI just to read my inbox, let alone manage this chaos."
Just as the thought formed, a private system notification flashed in his vision:
[Enterprise Milestone Achieved: Multi-Branch Development Path Activated]
[Reward: +3 System Points | 1x Optimization Token]
[Suggestion: Begin Foundational Algorithm Research to Support Autonomous System Assistants (Project Chimera - AI Development)]
A glowing icon appeared, shimmering with latent power: Optimization Token:Usable to enhance any existing technology or theoretical concept.
Elian stared at the prompt. The system, as always, was listening. His offhand comment about needing an AI for the paperwork wasn't just a fleeting thought; it was a directive. The solution to his mounting administrative burden was right there, another step in the Catalyst's sprawling tech tree.
Jenna passed by the lab door moments later, arms laden with more contracts and what looked like a blueprint for a new industrial coffee roaster. "Say that louder, Elian," she called without breaking stride. "Maybe the system will make one for you."
He didn't laugh this time. His gaze was fixed, not on the contracts she carried, but on the invisible prompt.
Because he knew she was right. And he was going to build it. A truly intelligent assistant.
But first…
He had to understand the very nature of algorithms themselves. The fundamental building blocks of sentience, of automated thought.