I asked you to modify it, what the hell is this fighter jet's engine?

He remained oblivious, his gaze fixed on the scattered documents, his mind in turmoil.

The old order of mobile chips was torn open by this document from the far East in this dusty office, creating an irreparable rift.

At the same time, in the CEO's office on the top floor of Acorn's headquarters in Cambridgeshire.

The heavy velvet curtains were half-drawn, and light and shadow cut through the expensive hand-woven carpet.

Sir Alistair Hawkins, the head of Acorn, stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, admiring the meticulously manicured English lawn outside, holding a half-cup of steaming Kenyan AA coffee in his hand.

The morning sunlight fell on his silver-gray hair, outlining a calm and confident profile.

The success of the ARM architecture and its deep partnerships with giants like Half Fruit make Acorn's future look bright.

The intercom on the table suddenly blared, shattering the tranquility.

Hawkins frowned slightly, turning away with some displeasure as he walked back to his desk. This was his personal assistant's private line; unless it was extremely important, they would never disturb his peaceful time at this moment.

"Sir." The assistant's voice carried a barely suppressed urgency, "Something's happened at the Intellectual Property Office."

I just received unofficial news that a company called Leading Communications, based in Kyushu, has successfully registered a global patent!

Hawkins paused in mid-air, his hand holding the coffee cup trembling. "Patents? Kyushu Renren? Mobile chips?"

He took a sip of his rich coffee, his tone carrying a hint of condescending curiosity, "What did they do?"

Is it yet another cheap derivative based on our ARM architecture?

Do we, as the legal team, need to prepare any supporting materials?

"No, Sir! Absolutely not!"

The assistant's voice suddenly rose, even becoming somewhat distorted, "It's completely new! A completely new structure!"

Completely self-developed! According to preliminary information leaked from within, the number of transistors... reaches an astonishing 40,000 or more!

Performance parameters...especially energy efficiency...may...may far exceed our current ARM6!

"Bang!"

The delicate bone china coffee cup slipped from Sir Hawkins's hand and slammed heavily against the edge of his gleaming rosewood desk.

The scalding brown liquid, like spurting blood, instantly splashed onto the front of his neatly pressed white shirt and his expensive wool suit trousers.

A sharp burning pain shot through him, but he seemed to be frozen in place, completely oblivious to the mess and heat on his chest.

"Forty thousand?" His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping. "A completely new architecture?"

He grabbed the phone receiver from the table, veins bulging on the back of his hand. "Are you sure? Is your source absolutely reliable?!"

"Sir, Sir Peter revealed this himself... He's still in the department, and he's said to be... very shocked."

The assistant's voice trembled with the same disbelief, "He read the document and his assessment was... a revolutionary original."

"Fu…!" A curse almost escaped his lips, but Hawkins swallowed it back down, turning it into a muffled groan in his throat.

The expensive shirt clung damply to his skin, sticky and cold, and the bitter aroma of coffee mixed with a chilling panic instantly filled his nostrils and brain.

That distant... Eastern country he had never truly taken seriously, that place that only knew how to imitate and assemble—how could it be? How could it be?!

That invisible key, symbolizing the future hegemony of mobile computing, was quietly taken away from the back door by a stranger without his knowledge.

An unprecedented sense of shame—a feeling of being utterly fooled and surpassed—along with the fear that the core assets of the empire would be overthrown, overwhelmed him like icy seawater.

The long-held sense of superiority from controlling the game has vanished, leaving only a stark sense of crisis.