The lunch break stretched in an eerie quiet that suited Kael's mood perfectly.
Seated at a secluded corner table with his professor, he felt the curious, judgmental whispers of others settle over him like a fine mist. A familiar mist.
Each cutting word floated past, disdain that could have come from any corner of the room. His personal favourites were "Where did they find him, a back alley?" and "What was his university even thinking, sending someone like him here?" They were funny. The rest sounded something along these lines:
"How dare he?"
"Who does he think he is, dragging Valeran into his answer?"
"Uncouth. Completely classless."
"That boy's out of place here, that much is obvious."
The last jab clung to Kael, but he let it slide over him, untouched. It didn't sting as they probably intended. Belonging here, in these gilded halls, was the last thing he wanted. Winning was all that mattered, and the future it promised him, regardless of whose pride he might bruise along the way.
"You shouldn't have used Valeran as an example," Professor Aldwin's voice broke through his thoughts, her tone brimming with disapproval. She hadn't touched her food, her entire focus locked onto him, her critical gaze unwavering. "There are consequences to offending the wrong people."
Kael swallowed, feeling a subtle unease twist in his stomach, though he kept his face unreadable, eyes still trained on his food. He had known the risk, understood how his strategy could easily tip against him. House Valeran was sacred ground; he could feel the tension in the room like a wire about to snap.
"Are you even listening to me, Kael?" Professor's voice sharpened. "They won't even consider your name for the second round. You —"
He looked up, meeting her gaze squarely. "I am listening to you, Professor. And I also understand possible consequences." His voice was calm, steady, and beneath it, steel. "But I wasn't here to play it safe, or appeal to their comfort zones." He straightened slightly. "I want to be remembered — and they will remember this. They are intrigued by my perspective and curiosity has always killed the cat."
Professor Aldwin's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she assessed him. "You're risking everything on that assumption. It's bold, but reckless."
Kael nodded. "Maybe it is. But when will we take risks if not now?"
Professor huffed but fell silent, finally taking a resigned bite of her food. When she next spoke, her tone was softer, less severe, though disappointment lingered there. "We'll see if it pays off. Just... remember, Kael — curiosity has only ever killed the cat."
At exactly one forty-five, a guard stepped into the dining hall, his crisp white uniform catching the light as he announced, "Everyone, please proceed to the Sadan. Results will be announced shortly."
Kael rose, feeling a low thrum of tension spread through his body as he followed the others, weaving through hushed whispers and sidelong glances.
Entering the Sadan, he noted the subtle changes: the stage had been altered, two chairs set at an angle, casting a strange sort of weight over the room. As he stood in front of the audience with others, he felt the heat of every stare — some curious, others judgmental, but all hungry for what would come next.
At exactly two o'clock, the Attorney General spoke, the weight of his gaze pressing down on each of them. "Your perspectives were carefully noted," he began, his words formal but weighted. "Your voices were assessed on clarity, ingenuity, depth, and…" he paused, gaze lingering on Kael, "…the audacity of your vision."
Kael met the Attorney's gaze evenly, his pulse steady, though he could feel the collective tension tightening around them all.
"The first representative who will advance to the final round…" the Attorney's voice rang out. "…is Ethan Kross, from Redvale Political Academy."
Flashes went out as applause filled the room. Kael watched as Ethan stood, bowing respectfully to the board before turning to climb the stairs. When he passed Kael, a sly, mocking smile flashed on his face, an expression meant only for Kael. Kael held his stare, betraying no reaction, though his blood simmered beneath the surface.
The Attorney's gaze was piercing when he continued. "And the final representative is... Kael Arden from Riveton University."
Kael released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, feeling a quiet surge of triumph wash over him. Along with camera flashes and applause, he caught a few approving glances from the board and subtle nods of acknowledgment. Professor Aldwin's applause was fierce, her expression a strange mixture of pride and relief, though her surprise was unmistakable.
With a respectful bow to the board, he made his way up to the stage, avoiding eye contact with the other representatives as they shuffled to join their professors in the audience, an unspoken deference to the council's judgment hanging heavily over them.
His eyes seeked the Vyranth's but he wasn't looking. He was talking to one of the Directors, a hand covering his mouth as the director nodded, agreeing with whatever he was saying.
Once everyone had settled, the Attorney General's voice cut through the thick silence. "Now that we're all settled, I'll brief you on this final round." His gaze swept over Kael and Ethan, eyes sharp. "The final question will be presented, and each of you will have one minute to state your position. Following this, you will engage in a crossfire debate, an exchange meant to probe and challenge each other's answers."
A pause stretched, long and heavy, as the Attorney adjusted his notes before his gaze locked on each of them. "For this final round is a question of weight, not just of intellect, but of moral fiber and raw resolve," he says, his voice like a quiet storm. A hush falls over the room, each word settling like a stone.
"What would a leader sacrifice first — their people or their own humanity?"
Kael blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question's unsettling simplicity. It struck him as almost childish in its straightforwardness, as if posed by a naive mind rather than a seasoned council.
Such a small question, so straightforward — yet there was an insidious undercurrent to it, a depth that belied its appearance. It felt almost deceptively simple, inviting them to dismiss it, to underestimate its significance.
Kael's mind raced, grappling with the implications. There had to be more to it; a trap hidden within its elegance, a delicate snare woven into the fabric of the inquiry.
This could be the perfect setup, Kael thinks. He suppresses the churn of nerves, steels his voice, and turns to the council.
"Mr. Arden, you may begin."
Even more suspicious, Kael mused. Why grant him the first word when they surely had their answers ready? It was a calculated move, a play that suggested they sought to gauge his response first, to see if he would reveal any cracks in his armor.
Was this a game to them?
No.
Actually, a serious question would be: Did they truly believe they could unsettle him with such a seemingly innocuous question?
"Leadership is often mistaken for guardianship," he begins, his tone low but commanding. "People assume that leaders hold power to protect and uphold the moral high ground. But there's something everyone here knows yet rarely admits: sacrifice is inevitable. And a leader's duty is not to shield their people from hardship but to ensure their survival at any cost — even if that cost is their own humanity."
A ripple of discomfort runs through the room. Kael's voice darkens, his gaze hardening. "Let's not pretend that leadership is for the selfless or the pure-hearted. It's for those who understand the bitter truth: when everything is on the line, ideals don't save lives — actions do. And sometimes, those actions mean crossing lines others dare not."
He pauses, letting the silence sink in before delivering the next line. "So, when faced with the impossible choice — yes, I'd sacrifice my humanity. Better to be damned by a history that lives on than to die upholding principles in a world that no longer exists."
"Mr. Kross," the attorney calls, "your perspective."
"Thank you for your question, sir" Kael almost rolls his eyes. "If a leader sacrifices their humanity first, then what is left to lead? A shell, a tyrant, someone the people fear and distrust. No," he says, addressing the council, his voice smooth. "I don't believe in sacrificing one's humanity. True strength is standing firm, leading with principles, not abandoning them. If we justify the means by the end result, we're no better than dictators. And a true leader knows that protecting humanity is what saves society — not sacrificing it."
Kael almost scoffs, irritation bubbling beneath his composed exterior. Ethan's answer feels too polished, too diplomatic — a careful dance around the question rather than a genuine response. He is clearly playing it safe, trying to appease the council instead of digging into the raw reality of the situation and judging by the flicker of approval in some of the council members' eyes, the way they nod slightly at Ethan's words, it's all working.
Ethan glances at Kael with a faint smile, "I believe that humanity isn't something we sacrifice. It's something we uphold — something that keeps us from becoming exactly what our people fear." His voice rings out with confident assurance. "If a leader loses their humanity, they lose their sense of accountability, their sense of honor. A leader must have integrity. Sacrificing humanity, even for the sake of survival, leads to nothing but a cold, empty reign. I would choose my humanity because that's what gives my leadership meaning."
Ethan then turns to the audience, his eyes scanning the room. "I challenge the idea that any society — any people worth saving — can thrive if led by someone who has abandoned their own humanity. A leader must be the compass, not a ruthless survivor. Abandon humanity, and all you're left with is tyranny dressed in survival's clothes."
The attorney general gives a small nod of approval, noting their contrasting perspectives. "Thank you, both. And now, the floor is open for a rebuttal."
Kael dives in, his voice sharp, and direct. "The concept sounds noble, Mr. Kross. Holding on to humanity as a precious ideal. But when people's lives are at stake, principles don't stand a chance against necessity. Let me simplify Attorney General's question so you could understand it better and answer well on point — when your people's survival hangs in the balance, would you sacrifice your humanity and watch them suffer? Or do what needs to be done?"
Ethan's smile fades, his voice sharpening as he meets Kael's gaze head-on. He totally expected Kael calling him out. "Sacrifice? Yes, a leader will always face sacrifice. But the moment they lose sight of humanity is the moment they lose the people's trust. Because without that trust, without a leader who believes in something greater than survival, society fractures. And that fracture? That's when true collapse begins."
The audience murmurs in approval, caught by Ethan's vision. Kael's gaze narrows, his mind working quickly, dissecting Ethan's words, finding the seams.
"You think survival is a lofty concept for the powerless, Mr. Kross?" Kael's voice is edged with irony. "Maybe you've never been in a position where the choice wasn't whether to uphold humanity but how much of it you could sacrifice to keep the people alive. If you insist on keeping ideals in the center of leadership, fine — but understand that in a world on the brink, those ideals become chains."
The attorney general raises a brow, intrigued.
Ethan's response is immediate, his tone controlled but hard. "That's precisely the kind of rhetoric tyrants use to justify atrocities. A leader's duty is to protect their people, but the very moment they sacrifice their own humanity, they're no longer fit to lead. They're a risk to the very people they claim to protect."
Kael's eyes narrow as he leans forward. Again with dodging the question but he remains quiet this time. The Attorney General will interrupt if any of them strayed away from the topic.
"Risk?" he repeats. "You think stability and survival come without sacrifice? If you can't make the difficult decisions, Mr. Kross, you have no business calling yourself a leader. Leadership isn't about being liked; it's about understanding that sometimes, the worst thing a person can do is the right thing."
Ethan's eyes flash, his composure breaking just enough to reveal a sliver of frustration. "That's exactly the kind of mentality that creates dictators, Mr. Arden. If you think sacrificing your humanity is the cost of leadership, then you're the last person who should be entrusted with power. When a leader loses their own humanity, they're capable of anything. That's what history tells us."
"History also tells us that leaders who avoid their people's needs watch their societies fall." Kael's voice drops, his tone cool and measured. "So tell me, Mr. Kross. If you truly believe that humanity is everything, then what would you do if the choice was to either save a few at the cost of many? Would you cling to your humanity then? Would you keep your principles while the people around you suffer for it?"
Ethan pauses, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his carefully maintained expression. Kael presses forward, unrelenting. "Because if you'd rather cling to humanity than ensure survival, then you aren't leading — you're performing. And if a leader can't stomach the cost of the job, then they don't deserve to hold it in the first place."
Ethan's jaw tightens, the smooth veneer starting to crack. He shifts slightly, clearly rattled. "A leader's job," he says, his voice sharper now, "is to keep society from descending into chaos. Sacrificing humanity is the quickest way to lose everything."
Kael leans back, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He knew where Ethan was descending. "Then you're choosing ideals over people. It's easy to stand by pretty principles when you're not the one forced to pay the price. But I've seen firsthand what happens when a leader clings to humanity over survival."
Ethan, clearly pushed, snaps back, "And maybe that's why you can't see past your own arrogance. You think sacrificing your humanity makes you strong. I think it makes you a monster."
A hush falls over the room at Ethan's words. Kael's gaze hardens, and for a moment, his response is almost dangerously soft. "And maybe, Mr. Kross, it's time you admit that even you would do the same, if pushed far enough." Kael's voice is low, challenging. "If it came down to it, and you had to choose — sacrifice hundreds to save millions or cling to 'humanity' and lose them all — what would you pick? Because until you've faced that choice, every word out of your mouth is just that: words. And I refuse to put my people at risk over an ideal."
Ethan looks momentarily caught off guard, his eyes narrowing as he meets Kael's intense gaze. His jaw tightens, and he fires back, voice hardening. "Your philosophy is cold. People led by someone who can discard their humanity isn't a society; it's an empire built on fear, on survival alone." He's leaning forward now, speaking faster. "The difference between us, Kael, is I believe in something more than survival."
A beat. Kael's expression doesn't waver, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Then you believe in a world that doesn't exist."
The tension in the room is palpable. Kael holds Ethan's gaze, unwavering. Ethan finally breaks eye contact, frustration flickering across his face.
The attorney general clears his throat, preparing to conclude. "The responses were… illuminating. It will be the board's responsibility to weigh these perspectives and decide which reflects the vision we need moving forward. We'll reconvene at the evening—"
Before he can finish, Ethan's voice rings out one last time, defiant. "A leader's job is to bring society to a place of peace, not to surrender their humanity for it."
Kael's reply is swift, like a knife in the dark. "Then let's hope you never find out what it costs to lead in the real world."
Silence.