That night, under a desk lamp that hummed with the very electricity he was about to study, Anton opened Volume One. He didn’t just "download" the information—he lived it. As he read Gendenshtein’s explanations on kinematics, the walls of his bedroom seemed to dissolve into a grid of vectors and velocity markers. He saw the world in parabolas: the arc of his basketball, the swing of the kitchen door, the precise friction of his pen against the paper.

The next morning, his teacher asked a question about Newton’s Second Law that usually left the room silent. Anton didn't look at his notes. He looked at the air, seeing the invisible forces he’d met in the pages the night before.

The heavy cardboard box sat on the post office counter like an ancient artifact. Inside, the "Physics Grade 9" set by Gendenshtein, Kaidalov, and Kozhevnikov wasn't just a pair of books—it was a two-volume ticket out of the mundane.

Thirteen-year-old Anton carried them home as if they were made of glass. The first book was the theory, sleek and dense; the second was the workbook, filled with the kind of problems that looked like riddles from a different dimension.