For those who love what they do, Monday begins immediately after a good idea.
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#Relaxation
I arrived in the city of Liluni on Saturday evening because the recruiter from the Institute of Applied Liquidity had written: “Report by Monday,” and tickets for Monday cost four times more.
At the entrance, I was greeted by a small white bull with a single horn, wearing a gray hoodie and sneakers.
“Documents,” he said.
I handed over my passport.
“Old-format document. No wallet address. The photo is not updated after transactions.”
He stamped my palm directly:
“Authorized for miracles at your own responsibility.”
“And who are you?”
“Liluni. Junior Research Associate, Third-Rank Mascot, and Acting Head of Common Sense.”
That last title made me uneasy. Inside the institute, Saturday work was in full swing. Bulls carrying tablets rushed through the corridors, pigeons delivered encrypted messages, and from the laboratories came the clinking of coins, the hissing of smart contracts, and the swearing of people trying to make charts rise without using black magic.
“Why is everyone working? It’s a day off.”
Liluni looked at me with pity: “A day off is for those whose work gets in the way of living.”
We entered the Laboratory of Infinite Liquidity. There were three circular pools inside. Tokens splashed in one, Ether flowed in the second, and from the third came occasional bursts of satisfied laughter.
“What’s in there?”
“Abundance,” replied the head of the laboratory, Professor Varvara Konstantinovna. “We haven’t managed to measure it yet, so the economics department believes it doesn’t exist.”
A display glowed on the wall:
LILUNI
Maximum Supply: 1,000,000,000
“Why a billion?”
“At first we wanted one hundred million, but a billion looks more convincing in a presentation.”
“And the value?”
“Value is handled by another department.”
The other department was called the Department of Justification for Decisions Already Made. Five serious people were drafting a document titled Fundamental Reasons for Inevitable Growth. The first reason was that the decline had ended. The second was that it would end soon. The third was classified.
Then Liluni took me to two programmer-wizards who were launching a new Uniswap V4 pool. One was drawing runes with chalk, while the other reviewed the code.
“Done,” said the first.
“You forgot the reentrancy protection,” noted the second.
“But the pentagram is symmetrical.”
“The hackers will appreciate that.”
They argued for a while but quickly started fixing the contract. Solving the problem interested them more than defeating each other. That was when I understood why people worked on weekends here: they came not for the institute, but for the work the institute allowed them to do.
In the director’s office, I met Academician Mondayev. A financial report protruded from one pocket of his jacket, while a small rocket peeked out from the other.
“Can you program?” he asked.
“A little.”
“And can you turn human greed into public benefit?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Then you haven’t yet acquired any bad habits.”
The next morning, the institute launched the Protocol of Universal Abundance. It was supposed to distribute one billion tokens among the ecosystem participants.
“Equally?” I asked.
“Of course not,” replied the academician. “Only scarcity can be distributed equally. Value should go where it creates new value.”
Scientists, developers, artists, and economists gathered in the square, already prepared with explanations for any possible outcome.
Liluni stood on a round pedestal with the first coin in his hoof.
“Ready?” I asked.
“No. Which probably means I’m more ready than the others.”
The professor pressed a button. The pools began to boil. The charts shot upward, crashed downward, and for a moment formed the director’s profile. Tokens scattered across wallets.
Ten seconds later, they started coming back. The coins gathered above the square and formed a glowing inscription:
“BUT WHY?”
The economists were the first to faint.
“Stop the protocol!” shouted the deputy director.
“It’s autonomous,” said the professor.
“Then order it to autonomously stop!”
A question appeared on the screen:
“WHY DO YOU NEED TOKENS?”
“To own them!” someone shouted.
“WHY?”
“To become richer!”
“WHY?”
“To gain freedom!”
“WHAT KIND?”
The square fell silent. No one had a presentation prepared for that question.
A young programmer spoke first: “I want to create a tool that will allow small projects to launch pools without enormous capital.”
Some of the tokens transformed into computing resources. An artist said:
“I want to build a world people will return to for reasons other than the coin price.”
Paint and light appeared before her.
The professor added:
“I want to test whether the market can reward cooperation better than greed.”
A new chart appeared on the screen. Instead of price, it measured trust.
Everyone looked at Liluni. “And what do you want?” asked the director.
The little bull thought for a moment.
“I want people to stop printing me on coins and start listening to me during meetings.”
The protocol activated. But from the finance department’s perspective, it distributed resources completely incorrectly.
Those who were already creating something received the most. Everyone else got a single token with the inscription:
“Start with this.”
“This violates tokenomics!” protested the deputy director.
“No,” said Academician Mondayev. “For the first time, it gives tokenomics meaning.”
By evening, the pools were funding laboratories, workshops, schools, and gardens. The charts continued to rise and fall, but people no longer mistook them for the heartbeat of the Universe.
I sat beside Liluni on the institute steps.
“Was the experiment successful?”
“Of course not. Successful experiments teach almost nothing.”
“Then why is everyone happy?”
“Because now there is even more work to do.”
Seven minutes remained until Monday. Lights glowed in the windows. Someone argued over a formula, someone designed an interface, and someone fed testnet tokens to pigeons.
“Tomorrow is a workday,” I said.
Liluni handed me a tablet displaying an unfinished diagram.
“For those who love what they do, Monday begins immediately after a good idea.”
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