The moment the Global Institute of Material Science and Applied Physics (GIMSAP) verified Elian's paper, the effect was immediate and undeniable.
Their official statement was brief but seismic:
"The submitted work by Dr. Elian Rho demonstrates reproducible phenomena in both superconductivity at room temperature and an advanced nanocapacitor design. Verification confirms validity within acceptable margins. This represents a pivotal advancement in the field of applied energy systems."
No dramatics. No embellishments. Just facts. But in the world of physics and engineering, those facts hit like a landslide.
Within twenty-four hours, Elian's work was featured across every major scientific and industrial publication.
IEEE Spectrum ran a headline: "Applied Superconductivity Reimagined — A Practical Revolution"
Nature Materials published a special commentary analyzing the math and testing conditions.
Wired, less reserved, called him "The Man Who Skipped a Generation of Energy Physics."
The story broke out of academia and into the wider world. For many, Elian Rho was already a familiar name. He'd published theoretical critiques in several high-profile journals over the years — nothing flashy, but consistently brilliant. But now, with verified results in hand, the world saw him not just as a theorist — but a builder.
Jenna was still processing the wave of media alerts when the first offers started arriving.
The initial email came from Helion Power, a leading U.S.-based fusion energy startup. They offered $25 million upfront, with long-term royalties, in exchange for early rights to prototype Elian's superconducting materials for plasma containment and energy storage.
Hours later, NeuraTech Electronics, a global leader in consumer tech capacitors, submitted a $15 million proposal to adapt the nano-layered graphene capacitors for next-gen wearable devices.
Velocity Motors, one of the world's largest electric vehicle manufacturers, followed suit with a $10 million cooperation bid, aiming to integrate the tech into high-efficiency ultracapacitor modules.
Then came Green Horizon Ventures, offering a $20 million early-stage investment round through equity and licensing deals, contingent on Elian forming a formal research and commercialization body.
Jenna scrolled through the incoming messages, her voice steady but stunned. "This is… overwhelming. We haven't even called a lawyer yet."
"We'll need more than a lawyer," Elian said. "We'll need an entire department."
She gave him a long look. "We're not ready for this level of scale. But if we don't move fast, we're going to get boxed out of our own IP."
"Then we build."
Quantum Nexus Technologies
Within ten days, they formed Quantum Nexus Technologies — an independent R&D and licensing entity based in the city's Innovation District. Jenna handled the legal legwork and partnered with an experienced startup law firm. Elian focused on establishing a team of technical advisors and material scientists who could help with scaling production and vetting proposals.
By the end of negotiations, they'd raised $76 million in combined licensing and seed capital. Their patents, which Jenna had filed weeks earlier in anticipation, became core company assets. They retained all controlling rights.
Quantum Nexus launched with a valuation of $150 million.
Everything was happening too fast, but none of it was accidental.
Elian reviewed the contracts and term sheets with heavy eyes. "I just wanted to study clean energy and cognition. I didn't expect to run a multinational research firm by June."
Jenna handed him another folder. "Welcome to adulthood."
He sighed. "We're not even through our first round of registrations, and I've signed more NDAs than I have shirts."
She smiled. "That's why you have me."
Still, the work was taking its toll. The public-facing excitement masked the sheer volume of back-end coordination. Vendor forms, tax ID certifications, export clearances, national security briefings — every minute Elian spent buried in administrative tasks felt like one minute stolen from actual research.
At one point, as he stared down the seventh different legal clause about patent enforcement in Europe, he muttered, "I should just build an AI to handle this."
Jenna didn't laugh. "I think you should."
He looked up. "I was joking."
"I'm not. We're going to be drowning in licensing documents for the next two years. If you want time to research, we need automation. Not spreadsheets."
Elian leaned back. "Then before the AI… I'll need a programming language. Something new. Something that understands parallel processes, memory scaling, maybe even quantum execution. Something built for research, not for enterprise."
"Start drafting it," Jenna said. "We'll figure out the rest."
The Civilian Response
While Quantum Nexus built out its foundation, public forums were flooded with discussion.
"So this Elian Rho guy… real deal or just another headline?"
"He's legit. His 2019 thermodynamics critique basically rewrote how we calculate entropy in closed systems."
"Great. And now he's running his own company. This is like watching Newton try to manage a startup."
"If his capacitor tech makes it into EVs, goodbye charging anxiety."
Even casual tech consumers started following the story. Mainstream podcasts featured scientists discussing the long-term implications of room-temperature superconductivity. One segment speculated whether Elian's invention would finally make magnetic levitation viable for consumer transport.
In every conversation — academic or not — one theme repeated:
"If this is real, it changes everything."