Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

October 31, 1952, the eve of Halloween, at precisely 8:11 PM.

The chauffeur in white gloves opened the rear door.

Einstein rubbed his weary temples, glancing at his companion beside him—his old friend, Henry Dawson.

“You know I dislike events like this,” Einstein murmured, his voice carrying a trace of irritation. “Especially tonight, of all nights—Halloween. And a masquerade ball, no less. It all feels… so noisy.”

“Oh, my dear friend!” Dawson exclaimed, laughing heartily. His face was smeared with bright red and green paint, his hair dusted with colorful powders that clung haphazardly to his head. He clapped Einstein on the shoulder, grinning. “That’s precisely why I brought you along tonight! A Halloween party is just what you need.”

“No,” Einstein replied flatly, shaking his head. “To be precise, you dragged me here against my will. I didn’t want to leave the house, much less attend this meaningless, chaotic affair.”

After a pause, Einstein glanced skeptically at his friend. “Speaking of which, Dawson, don’t you think your costume is a bit… unusual? Everyone else is dressed in elaborate outfits, masks, or makeup. And what did you do? You painted random shapes on your face and dumped what looks like chalk dust on your head. Is that… really your idea of a costume? Every time you move, it’s like a cloud of flour raining down.”

“Art, my dear Einstein! It’s art!” Dawson exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. A burst of colorful powder filled the back seat of the car, making it feel like a vibrant dust storm. “This is postmodern art—rock and roll! Have you heard of it? It’s a new music style that’s just getting started, but mark my words, it’ll take over the world!”

“Cough, cough…” Einstein waved his hand, choking on the chalky air. He reached out to steady Dawson’s head, stopping him from spreading more of his “biochemical weapon.” “Rock and roll… cough, cough… does it really require dumping chalk dust on your head? If that’s the case, it sounds like a dreadful performance style.”

“But aren’t you a realist painter?” Einstein asked, arching an eyebrow. “Since when did you dabble in music?”

“Art knows no boundaries!” Dawson declared with a mischievous grin. He leaned closer to Einstein. “Speaking of which, we’ve been friends for years, haven’t we? I’ve told you so many times that I want to paint your portrait. But every single time, you’ve turned me down. Isn’t it time you finally agreed? Someone as great as you needs an artistic masterpiece to stand the test of time.”

Dawson’s tone grew more passionate as he continued. “You’re a monumental figure in science, Einstein. Of course, there are plenty of photographs of you, but a painting—now that’s entirely different. As your good friend, it should be my privilege to create it. Imagine, hundreds of years from now, people will view it as your sole artistic legacy. The painting would fetch astronomical prices at auction—far beyond van Gogh or da Vinci!”

Einstein shook his head, brushing the chalk dust off his hands. “Forget it, Dawson. I’ll never agree.”

“Why not?” Dawson persisted, shaking his head again, unleashing another cloud of colorful powder.

Einstein lowered his gaze, his voice heavy. “Because someone like me—a sinner—deserves infamy, not glory.”

For a moment, silence filled the car.

Outside, the cheerful clamor of the Halloween crowd echoed faintly, starkly contrasting the sorrow lingering inside the black vintage automobile. The juxtaposition only highlighted how deeply divided human emotions could be.

“My friend… my dear friend.” Dawson reached out, patting Einstein gently on the back. His voice softened. “This is exactly why I forced you to come tonight. You can’t keep spiraling into this pit of despair. These feelings will crush you if you let them—they’ll choke the life out of you or push you to extremes.”

“Listen to me, Einstein. You need to let go. You need to relax, to indulge, to let it all out. Forget the guilt and the impossible weight of your thoughts, even if just for a little while. It’s the only way to heal the sadness you carry.”

“It’s not your fault—I’ve told you that countless times. Science and art are not to blame. The real culprits are those who twisted their purpose. Your mass-energy conversion formula could have powered the world—endless energy, miraculous engines—but instead, it was used to create the atomic bomb. If anyone bears responsibility for humanity’s fate, it’s those who chose war. Not you.”

Dawson paused, sighing inwardly.

Everything he said was true.

Einstein hadn’t wanted to leave his house tonight, nor had he wished to experience the revelry of Halloween. Dawson had practically dragged him into the car and brought him here.

He couldn’t stand watching his old friend deteriorate any longer.

Ever since the end of World War II, Einstein had been trapped in a vicious cycle of guilt and regret, like an ant circling a closed loop. The weight of his remorse seemed to grow heavier with time, threatening to crush his spirit entirely.

Recently, Einstein had even begun relying on sleeping aids and psychiatric medications. His health was declining—his weight had dropped dramatically, which was a grave concern for a man in his seventies.

Doctors worried. Friends worried. Family worried. Everyone feared what might happen if the century’s greatest mind fell apart.

Dawson firmly believed that Einstein needed to break free. Social interaction, a bit of revelry, and perhaps even some reckless abandon might help. Artists found inspiration this way; writers sought catharsis through wild escapades when they faced creative blocks. And, as history had shown, it often worked.

A night of dazzling romance, a wild party, an exhilarating dance—even a soul-shaking roar—all these can be far more freeing than quiet words of comfort.

“Stop overthinking, my friend,” said Henry Dawson, giving Einstein a firm nudge toward the car door.

“Come on, step out. Trust me—embracing the chaos of this masquerade ball will lift your spirits.”

Einstein hesitated, firmly planted in his seat. “Dawson,” he protested, “you may be ready to attend as a clown with paint smeared across your face, but look at me. I’m in plain clothes—no hat, no disguise. How am I supposed to walk into a costume party like this?”

He sighed and added, “Let’s not forget… most people in America recognize me. I’m not a celebrity, but showing up like this will definitely cause a stir.”

Dawson burst into laughter, shaking his head and inadvertently puffing another cloud of chalk dust into the air. “Ha! That’s where my genius lies! Think about it, Einstein. This is a costume party. Who would show up as themselves?”

He gestured out the window. “Look around—werewolves, demons, Batman, ghosts, zombies… everyone’s dressed up as someone or something else. Tonight, the eve of Halloween, you can be anyone you want to be. But one thing’s for sure—no one will think you’re actually you.”

Dawson leaned closer, his grin widening. “In fact, because you’re so famous, if you show up as Albert Einstein, people will assume you’re just someone else dressed as him. They’ll think it’s part of your costume! It’s brilliant!”

“Counterintuitive thinking,” Einstein remarked succinctly.

“Exactly!” Dawson exclaimed, nodding so vigorously that the dust from his hair began to sting their eyes. “Tonight, you can blend in like never before. No one will mob you for autographs or swarm you with questions. They’ll simply think you’re a fan pretending to be Einstein. Isn’t it perfect?”

Dawson opened the car door and waved eagerly. “Now, hurry! I can’t wait to hit the dance floor with some lovely young ladies. It’s going to be an amazing night!”

At last, Einstein relented, letting out a deep sigh. Shuffling toward the car door, he muttered, “What kind of woman would dance with a walking chalkboard eraser? Hopefully, she doesn’t have a dust allergy… cough, cough.”

He stepped out of the car quickly, choking on the residual chalk dust and gasping for the crisp night air. It was difficult to tell whether Dawson’s antics were genuine attempts at modern art or a crafty ploy to force Einstein outside. Either way, he had succeeded.

Standing in the chilly Manhattan street, Einstein tugged his coat tightly around him. He glanced toward the distant city skyline and felt a familiar weight settle over him.

Manhattan.

He hated this city. Not for any specific regional reason, but because of its association with the Manhattan Project.

He shook his head, knowing his feelings were irrational. Still, he loathed anything connected to the atomic bomb. And most of all, he despised himself—the man who had set it all into motion.

“God! Mr. Einstein, can I bite you?” A young woman passing by shrieked in mock horror, revealing her fake vampire fangs. She laughed, “If I drink your blood, will I become a genius too?”

Beside her, her boyfriend, wearing a werewolf mask, gave Einstein a thumbs-up. “You’re amazing! The resemblance is uncanny! Why didn’t I think of coming as General MacArthur? That would’ve been so cool. Oh well, there’s always next year!”

The couple burst into laughter, their hands clasped as they disappeared into the vibrant party crowd.

Einstein watched them go, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If only the world could stay like this forever,” he murmured under his breath.

But he quickly opened his eyes, letting the streetlight dispel the shadows in his heart. For weeks now, he’d been avoiding sleep, even the simple act of closing his eyes.

Whenever he did, his mind was assaulted by visions—mushroom clouds rising across the globe, blinding white light melting everything in its path, entire cities consumed by fire.

It was the end of the world.

The end of humanity.

The thought sent a chill through Einstein’s entire body, making his hands and feet feel numb. His heart felt colder still, weighed down by an oppressive dread. He dared not even lift his gaze toward the lightbulb of the streetlamp above.

To him, it wasn’t just a bulb—it was an atomic bomb.

A bomb that could detonate at any moment, unleashing catastrophic nuclear fission, leveling Manhattan and Brooklyn in a single devastating instant.

“See? What did I tell you?” Henry Dawson called out as he squeezed himself out of the car, his bright grin cutting through Einstein’s brooding thoughts. He reached over to tousle Einstein’s famously unruly hair, making it even messier. “You’re the undisputed king of tonight’s masquerade ball! No one would ever believe you’re the real Albert Einstein.”

“Of course,” Dawson continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, “you can do anything you want tonight. Anything crazy. Just like I said, no one will take you seriously as the real Einstein. That’s the beauty of it!”

He threw an arm around Einstein’s shoulders and added in a voice full of laughter, “Relax, let loose, and enjoy this beautiful Halloween evening! Forget about physics, forget about that damned bomb—nothing you fear is ever going to happen!”

With that, Dawson led Einstein through the entrance to the masquerade ball, his laughter echoing into the night.

Across the street, on the sidewalk in front of the movie theater, Lin Xian held CC protectively in his arms. His sharp eyes tracked Einstein and Dawson as they disappeared into the bustling party.

Lin Xian’s heart raced. He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.

It was Albert Einstein. The Albert Einstein. Alive, in the flesh.

Though Lin Xian had prepared himself for this—after all, it was 1952, and Einstein was certainly alive at this point in history—seeing the legendary figure in person was still a profound shock. This was the man he’d studied in textbooks, the man whose groundbreaking work had shaped the world, now walking just across the street. The realization left him momentarily speechless.

At first, Lin Xian wondered if the figure might be an impersonator, someone cosplaying as Einstein for the masquerade. But he dismissed the thought just as quickly.

CC had recognized the car Einstein arrived in, including its license plate. That detail alone was proof enough. No cosplayer would go to such lengths to replicate a car and its plates.

The man Lin Xian had just seen—the one with the haunted expression—was undoubtedly the real Albert Einstein.

This was precisely why Lin Xian had instinctively turned CC away, shielding her face with his coat and hood. He didn’t want Einstein to catch even a glimpse of her.

The true identity of the Genius Club’s chairman remained a mystery, shrouded in speculation and secrecy. Lin Xian had once theorized that the chairman might actually be Einstein himself. Though he had no solid evidence to support the idea, he felt it was better to err on the side of caution. He couldn’t shake the vague sense of danger that accompanied the thought of CC’s face being seen by Einstein.

Why this feeling haunted him, Lin Xian couldn’t say. But the instinct to protect her was undeniable.

“Lin… Lin Xian?” CC’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes filled with curiosity. “Why did you suddenly pull me into your arms like that? And why did you cover me with my hood? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened,” Lin Xian replied, his tone light as he pulled back her hood. “I just didn’t want Einstein to see your face.”

“Why not?” CC asked, her brow furrowing.

“There’s no particular reason,” Lin Xian said, flashing her a reassuring smile. “I just think it’s better this way.”

“Oh, alright then.” Though still puzzled, CC trusted Lin Xian and chose not to press further. Instead, she turned her attention to the vibrant scene across the street. The masquerade’s grand entrance buzzed with costumed figures—monsters, demons, and all manner of fantastical creatures—coming and going.

“So, are we still going to the masquerade?” she asked. “Einstein and his friend already went inside. If we go in, he might still see me.”

“Of course, we’re going,” Lin Xian replied confidently. His gaze shifted to the row of street vendors nearby, selling masks, costumes, props, and offering face-painting services. A playful smile spread across his face.

“But first,” he said, “we need to disguise ourselves properly.”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation