TIME-TRAVELLING WITH THE BILLIONARE

AMY.

SAN FRANCISCO, 2016.

I readjusted my glasses and turned towards the clock on the wall of my classroom. Five more minutes before the end of the lecture. I grasped the edges of the podium, my mind racing to wrap up the intricate story of the fall of the Byzantine Empire in a way that would relate to my students.

"And that's how the rise of the Ottoman Empire in 1453 marked not just the fall of Constantinople, but a seismic shift in global trade and culture," I concluded, my tone firm yet passionate. "History doesn't live in books, folks. It lives in the places it happened. That's where you'll truly feel it. Alright, class dismissed."

Students started gathering their belongings, the sound of murmurs and chair scrapes filling the air.

"Thanks, Professor Clarke!" one student shouted.

"Just Amy," I replied, smiling, as I did as always. It was still unusual to be addressed as "Professor" at the age of 26. I took my own bag, fully packed with books and notes, and left the lecture hall.

---

The University of California campus was alive and buzzing with people; the iconic architecture glittered under the late afternoon sun. I made my way toward the library, my mind already shifting gears. I loved my job as a part-time librarian almost as much as teaching history. It gave me access to an endless sea of knowledge-and, more importantly, peace to research my passion projects.

As I walked, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, thinking it could wait. The sprawling library loomed ahead, a beacon of quiet amidst the lively campus. I pushed through the heavy wooden doors and was greeted by the familiar scent of books and the soft hum of students whispering.

My colleague, Marcy, was at the front desk, fiddling with a scanner. "Hey, Amy. You're late."

"Five minutes, Marcy," I said, exasperated, and rolled my eyes. "The Byzantine Empire was a lot to pack into one lecture."

Marcy grinned. "Nerd. Anyway, a couple of your favorite books came back today--those leather-bound history ones. I put them aside for you."

My eyes sparkled. "You're the best."

I then spent hours shelving books, helping students find their resources, and delving into my latest research topic: the cultural significance of pilgrimage routes in medieval Europe. This flew by, and soon the golden glow of evening seeped through the library windows.

---

By the time my shift ended, the sky had darkened, and I made my way to the metro station. The train was fairly empty, just a low hum of it moving in the space. I found a seat near the window and finally pulled out my phone to check my notifications.

I scrolled absent-mindedly through emails and messages until a headline caught my attention:

"Jasper Throne Announces Revolutionary VR Product to Transform Historical Exploration"

I felt my heart sink. I tapped on the video accompanying the article. The screen flickered to life, revealing the otherwordly, gorgeous and icy face of Jasper Throne, CEO of Throne Tech, who was only 32 years old.

He spoke the words with smooth assurance, "Imagine standing on the Acropolis. or walking the streets of ancient Rome. Not in a book, not in a movie-but in fully immersive virtual reality. That's what we're bringing to you with our latest innovation. History reimagined, for everyone."

The people in the video began to clap. The camera moved to show smooth, rendered views of historical places recreated down to amazing detail, all designed to be experienced from the comfort of one's living room.

My hand tightened on my phone. My mind sizzled with indignation. "Reimagined?" I muttered under my breath. "History doesn't need reimagining. It needs preservation."

The rest of the ride was a blur. All I could think about was how this technology, as innovative as it was supposed to be, would actually discourage people from truly experiencing history. What was the point of history if one couldn't feel it, walk on it, touch it?

---

When I finally got to my apartment, I slammed the door behind me. Tossing my bag onto the couch, I paced the small living room, my anger bubbling.

"I cannot believe this," I said out loud, as if I was speaking to some invisible audience. "This is what's wrong with technology. People are going to stop traveling, stop engaging with real history. It's all going to become...empty."

I yanked off my shoes, then hit the shower. The warm shower did little to soothe my frustration. Afterwards, I threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old university hoodie before sitting down to a reheated plate of pasta. I stabbed at it with my fork, my irritation making the meal taste bland.

Finally, I reached a decision. "That's it," I exclaimed and pushed the plate away. I picked up my computer and opened it on the little desk in the living room. The camera was a little outdated, the lighting of the apartment wasn't great, but that would have to suffice.

I sat down and, after having taken a deep breath, clicked the record button.

---

"Hello everyone," I started, "My name is Amy Clarke. I am a history lecturer and researcher. And I have something to say about this so-called revolutionary VR product from Throne Tech."

My voice gathered strength as I spoke. "History isn't about the facts and figures. It's about being there. Feeling centuries-old stone under your feet. Smelling the salty breeze near ancient ruins by the sea. Hearing the echoes of voices in a Roman amphitheater. That's how you connect to history-not through a pair of goggles or something."

I leaned forward, my voice razor-sharp. "What Jasper Throne is doing isn't innovation. It's a shortcut. And it's going to rob people of the magic of real-world exploration."

For ten full minutes, I poured my heart out, arguing for the preservation of authentic historical experiences. When I finally finished, my cheeks were flushed and my chest heaved with emotion.

I then uploaded it onto my small YouTube channel of only three followers and titled it: "Why Throne Tech's VR is the Death of History".

As the progress bar finally finished, I leaned back in my chair, exhausted but satisfied. I had spoken my truth, no matter how small the audience.

"That'll show him," I muttered, shutting my laptop.

What I didn't know was that my words were going to reach far more people than I could have ever imagined.