I'm a tactician by wiring, a protocol designer by trade. I build systems where two audiences — the ones who use the thing and the ones who back the thing — silently make each other richer. Membership closes. Treasury compounds. Scarcity does the rest.
Nikolas Gilding
At fifteen I got a word for it. Tactician. Not a diagnosis exactly — more like someone finally naming a room I'd been living in.
A tactician's mind doesn't wait for the question. It's already two, three, four moves downstream by the time you finish the sentence. Every answer I give is also a setup — shaped to pull the next question into a place I'm ready for.
It has enormous advantages. It's also, occasionally, a headache that doesn't switch off. The world arrives in branches, and the branches arrive before the world does.
This page is what happens when that mind applies itself to protocols.
Someone starts a conversation. Normal enough. You ask me a question — and by the time I answer, I've already worked out the next three questions you're going to ask. The answer I give you isn't just an answer. It's a lead into the next one. I'm not reading your mind; I'm reading the shape of the problem.
My mother used to find it unnerving. I'd call it before she started cooking. Not by peeking in her head — by reading the fridge. Contents × possible combinations × oven temperature × who's home at what time × her mood that day = the menu narrows to maybe two options. Usually I had the right one.
Most protocols confuse motion with progress. I'm interested in the ones built for weather that hasn't arrived yet.
Ten million slots, hard-capped — with the first million as the founding tier. When the last slot fills, membership permanently closes. Every participant becomes a co-owner of the door.
Read →The best protocols serve two groups who barely speak to each other — and silently improve each other's outcomes. Users stabilise the actuarial model. Investors underwrite it. Neither needs to meet.
Read →Cycles are loud, treasuries are quiet. I build protocols that can survive a decade of weather — boring infrastructure that compounds while louder projects flame out.
Read →A protocol engineered for the long weather. Ten million slots, capped. The first million are the founders.
A scarcity-native protocol with a hard-capped membership of ten million slots. The first one million are the founding tier — earliest in, most exposed to the long compound. When the final slot fills, the door closes permanently. No inflation. No dilution.
Fundraising complete. Lead investor: me. The round was oversubscribed by exactly one person.

Cat insurance, on-chain. A dual-audience protocol on the Internet Computer.
Nina G is a cat insurance protocol built on ICP. It serves two audiences at once: cat owners who need coverage, and crypto-native investors seeking transparent treasury exposure. The two groups never meet — but each silently improves the other's outcomes.
Fundraising complete. The cap table is a solo act. Turns out I'm a very persuasive investor when I'm also the founder.
A working map of the ideas, technologies, and mental models currently running in the background. Not a résumé — a reading list of the mind.
Decade-scale thinking in a market that rewards the quarter. The asymmetric bet most builders won't make.
Smart contracts as operating infrastructure — not speculation vehicles. ICP makes this possible at scale.
Every decision is a system of variables looking for the likeliest solution. The tactician's default mode.
Hard caps aren't a feature — they're the architecture. Ten million slots. The door closes. Full stop.
When users and investors have different mental models but aligned outcomes, the protocol becomes a translator.
A protocol that works quietly is worth ten that perform loudly. Treasuries compound. Noise fades.
Bitcoin economics: fixed supply, halving logic, hard money as a design principle — not a cult.
Insurance was the first quantified market. Actuarial logic on-chain is the next unbundling. Nina G is the test.
A protocol is a promise that runs itself. I'm not interested in building things that need my attention to work — I'm interested in building things that get quieter as they get stronger. Scarcity, properly designed, is silence with a yield curve.
— N.G.
I read every message. I reply to most. No pitch decks, no quick syncs — just direct.