The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943-Chapter 56 - 60 – Think Bigger

"Riiing... riiing..."

Early morning.

From beneath the warm covers, a hand reached out, fumbled twice, and silenced the blaring alarm before pulling the blanket back up.

A few minutes later, Pierre finally got up.

On the bed, two Cuban vixens still lay sprawled across the sheets.

Where did they come from?

He vaguely recalled something about a bar or a casino the night before. After a long night of "taming demons," he felt a little worn out—but at least the "battle" was won. After all, the body needs training.

Out of habit, he took two bills from his wallet and placed them on the nightstand.

Glancing at their enticing figures, Pierre couldn’t help but sigh:

"Ah, such a hard life I lead."

6:00 AM.

Greeted by the morning sun, Pierre began jogging along the seaside promenade after leaving the Hotel Nacional.

When traveling to Colombia, a layover in Havana was unavoidable.

At this point, Pierre had become a regular at the Nacional. He had a dedicated driver, even a reserved suite. Every time his flight from Bogotá landed in Havana, the airport shuttle would whisk him to his pre-booked room.

It had to be said—Havana’s service industry, fine-tuned by Americans, was exceptional. Bathed in the Caribbean sun, even during these entrepreneurial days, Pierre found himself reluctant to leave.

Champagne, beer, seafood, and sultry Cuban women... who wouldn’t get hooked on a life of decadence and indulgence?

Music played through his headphones. A light breeze from the sea cooled his skin.

He had technology to thank for this.

With modern convenience, power supply was no issue. A simple 220V adapter let him charge his phone and listen to music wherever he went.

Even while running.

"From now on, I’ll sleep early, wake early."

He resolved to resist the temptations of those alluring Cuban women.

...Though, really—what man could resist such curves and fire?

Okay, so men are biologically hardwired for weakness against beauty. Fair.

The jogging route was scenic—Havana, shaped by Spaniards and Americans, was like a garden. To one side, lush gardens; to the other, the azure Caribbean Sea.

Running here was pure bliss.

He gradually picked up the pace.

"TAP TAP TAP—"

Suddenly, a system prompt appeared.

[New skill detected: "Running." Would you like to learn it?]

Running? Seriously?

Still, embracing the idea that "more skills never hurt", Pierre quickly accepted.

"Learn!"

[Skill Acquired: Running]

As usual, a stream of knowledge surged into his mind—not just how to run, but advanced exercise science, running techniques, and training systems from the future.

It may have only been entry-level knowledge, but it was still far ahead of its time.

He could even feel his body changing.

After crossing over into this new world, his body had definitely improved: stronger, sharper reflexes, even his memory and intellect had heightened.

But never before had he felt this kind of physiological shift.

He stretched his legs. Took a few jumps. Then he broke into a jog... then a full sprint.

A truly jaw-dropping scene unfolded.

Wearing nothing but a vest and shorts, the young man sprinted down the promenade at a staggering speed.

Ahead of him, someone was riding a bicycle. At first, the cyclist was comfortably ahead. Then they were neck and neck. Then—Pierre accelerated.

In just a few dozen steps, he left the cyclist ten meters behind.

The man on the bike was stunned. When he tried to catch up, Pierre was already twenty meters ahead.

"What the—who IS this guy? He runs like a freaking machine!"

After running roughly two kilometers, Pierre finally slowed down, gasping lightly.

[Training complete. Running XP +1. Lv1: 1/100]

His heart pounded—but his body still buzzed with energy.

"I feel like I could keep going. Even faster!"

Indeed—his body had evolved, and skill acquisition had only amplified it.

"Looks like I’m not just learning skills... I’m strengthening my body, too!"

He grew excited by this revelation.

"So if running unlocks a new skill... Does that mean I can unlock new skills just by doing more things?"

Of course, learning too much at once would lead to shallow knowledge.

But...

"Good thing I’m a fast learner. Every skill I pick up unlocks ten more waiting in line."

At one skill per day, that’s 365 skills per year.

No matter how vast the field of human knowledge...

He could eventually learn it all.

"If I really wanted, I could walk through a university campus and basically absorb the Encyclopedia of Human Knowledge."

Sure, it’d take some brainpower.

"But unused brain cells die off anyway. May as well use them to learn new things!"

Then it hit him.

Running theory included concepts from the future.

"Wait... am I stealing future tech every time I learn a skill?"

If this system let him keep learning based on real-world actions, and if the knowledge included future content...

Then why bother building a lab?

"Next time I visit the lab, I’ll ’study’ a little chemistry. Even basic knowledge would be decades ahead of this era!"

Just imagine...

He could copy a few chemical formulas, open a pharmaceutical company, apply for patents, and rake in cash on the market.

Profit explosion. Win-win!

Who says a guy with a business degree can’t know a little:

Mechanical engineering? YES

Light weapons design? YES

Wireless communication? YES

A touch of medicine? YES

"Why not be a self-taught polymath? A true cross-disciplinary genius!"

No, no, no.

"That’s still too narrow-minded. I need to expand my horizons."

Why stop at chemistry?

"If I keep going, I’ll become a walking, breathing encyclopedia."

Physics. Math. Architecture. Engineering. Metallurgy. Biology...

"Holy crap... Am I about to plagiarize all of human civilization’s future?"

Now that’s exhilarating.

"So THIS is how the system’s supposed to be used?"

He laughed.

"Damn... Sorry, past me... my vision was too small."

----

Chapter 61 – The First Nobel Talent

Think bigger!

Since you’re already standing on the shoulders of history’s giants—then stretch your stride.

Yes, stride too wide and you might strain something...

But in the words of Chairman Mao: "Ten thousand years is too long, seize the day!"

As Pierre made up his mind to push forward boldly, Heidrick had already arrived at Mayo Clinic, where he tracked down the person on his list—in a basement lab.

"Mr. Schatz, this is the offer from Jisheng Pharmaceuticals: a monthly salary of $500, and..."

He glanced at the tightly shut door of the underground lab.

"...a laboratory with much better conditions than this."

"Sir," replied Albert Schatz, "I work down here because there are no containment facilities. To prevent the tuberculosis bacteria from spreading and infecting others, I must isolate myself in this basement lab. Someone has already been infected with TB, and I cannot take that risk with others."

His selflessness earned Heidrick’s sincere admiration.

"That just proves your integrity, Mr. Schatz. Which is all the more reason you deserve better working conditions—and better compensation."

"But..."

Schatz hesitated.

"I’m still working on my doctoral dissertation under Professor Waksman. He’s guiding my thesis here."

Heidrick leaned in.

"Mr. Schatz, there are better professors and scholars waiting for you in New York—I guarantee it. This company will never interfere with your academic progress. I know you recently left the Army Hospital after a back injury and came back to Waksman’s lab simply because you had no better option. Well—this is your better option, right in front of you."

"If I were you, I’d take it. You and your family need this job."

As he spoke, Heidrick handed over a contract.

"This is a long-term employment agreement."

To Albert Schatz, a young man from a poor farming family in Connecticut, this offer was extremely tempting. Even Professor Waksman himself didn’t earn $500 a month.

"Let me... think about it."

But in truth, people like him—ordinary, struggling—often don’t have the luxury of choice.

"There we go. Another Nobel Prize locked down."

Back in New York, after receiving Heidrick’s telegram, Pierre leaned back in his chair and began whistling softly.

"Shame, really. Can you even call it a Nobel Prize if there’s no scandal attached?"

Albert Schatz.

The real inventor of streptomycin.

This story, in fact, is one of the most infamous academic scandals in modern science.

Albert Schatz studied soil microbiology at Rutgers University in New Jersey—not out of passion for dirt, but because he had no better choice. He thought, at least, soil science might be useful on a farm someday.

In 1943, using his professional knowledge and sheer instinct, Schatz hypothesized that soil microbes might contain new antibiotics comparable to penicillin.

Why? Because penicillin was ineffective against Gram-negative bacteria—the type responsible for tuberculosis.

Over the next year, Schatz tested over 1,000 samples, and finally succeeded in isolating the world’s first drug capable of killing Gram-negative bacteria: streptomycin.

It was one of the most important breakthroughs in 20th-century microbiology.

Professor Selman Waksman, his supervisor, immediately recognized the value of the discovery—though he himself never entered the lab, afraid of catching TB.

Still, he took charge of the clinical trials, and during this period, he had Schatz sign away his patent rights to Rutgers University.

Later, Schatz discovered that Waksman had taken sole credit for the invention—and even prevented Schatz from being invited to scientific conferences.

All the praise, funding, and recognition went to Waksman.

Even worse—Waksman also stole the money.

Though Schatz had opposed patenting something so important to humanity, Waksman insisted, and together they filed a joint patent... only for Rutgers to cut a secret deal with Waksman: 20% of all royalties would go directly to him.

The result?

Waksman received:

Fame

Money

And in 1952, the Nobel Prize for the invention of streptomycin.

Schatz?

He sued Rutgers and Waksman—and won. The court ruled that Schatz was a co-discoverer. He received a modest portion of royalties and public recognition.

But the damage was done.

The lawsuit destroyed his career.

In academia, suing your mentor is unforgivable. His papers were rejected. Universities shunned him. The scientific elite blackballed him.

Science cliques exist everywhere.

Twenty years after Waksman’s death, the American Society for Microbiology tried to make amends. They invited Schatz to speak at a 50th-anniversary event and gave him their highest honor:

The Selman Waksman Medal.

The irony was suffocating.

But now, all of that had been rewritten.

Schatz would work in a private lab, fully supported and protected.

No one would steal his glory this time.

Of course, the patents would belong to the company—but his name would be on them.

And once streptomycin hit the market before the patent expired, the profits?

Enormous.

Pierre’s smile deepened.

"That kind of money? That’s not just a few zeros we’re talking about."

The pharmaceutical profits alone might be enough to fund the post-war reconstruction of North Borneo.

His mind once again drifted to that faraway corner of Southeast Asia.

A place with only a few hundred thousand people, most of them desperately poor.

But what did it matter?

"That land... I’m taking it. No matter what."

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