"…Any system that relies on bloodline rather than capability will eventually be swept into the dustbin of history."
The young man roared out this final sentence, marking the end of his speech. Immediately, rounds of applause rose from the audience.
But then—A voice suddenly sounded at an ill-timed moment.
At once, all applause stopped. It was as if someone had pressed pause on everyone in the room.
The speaker was the high-ponytail girl.
"Senior Fubot, you said earlier that bloodline should not be the foundation of privilege. Then why is it that the reforms of the three western kingdoms of the Ymir Empire only pushed old nobles to the political margins? Why not strip them of their titles entirely?And the king as well—he also enjoys bloodline privilege, so why—"
"Shut up, Leflina."
The young man glared at her in fury. His finger trembled as he pointed at her nose and shouted:
"How dare you compare the king to that group of drunken wastrels. The bishop crowns the king; the king provides the pyres for the bishop. This is humanity's most enduring community of shared interests. Only with church and crown balancing each other can our civilization continue to thrive."
"But—"
"No 'but.' For tens of thousands of years of human history—whether it was the imperial dynasties three thousand years ago or eras even older—it has always been this way. Leflina, you really ought to study more history. Then you wouldn't have such laughable and foolish ideas."
As soon as he finished speaking, the group of young people below the platform burst into mocking laughter.
Factionalism is rooted in human nature. As long as people have different interests and viewpoints, small cliques will inevitably form. Even within the student organization Sparks Society, internal groups naturally emerged.
And due to differences in background, these cliques had their own hierarchy of disdain.
New nobles looked down on ordinary merchants. Ordinary merchants looked down on commoner students. And commoner students looked down on themselves.
Unfortunately, Leflina stood at the very bottom of this chain of contempt. However—unlike the others who accepted this position with shame—she had her own thoughts.
She was never fully swayed by the ideology preached by the Sparks Society. She always felt that what they promoted was not what she wanted. There must be an ideology more advanced—more complete.
She had this intuition. She even felt that she was meant to seek a path truly suited for human civilization.
Not for fame.
Not for profit.
But because something deep inside whispered that she must.
Furthermore, she believed that if the Sparks Society's ideals were to discover new paths for humanity, then shouldn't speech here be free, so more ideas could emerge?
Yet, the Society had devolved into a cradle for new nobles to attack old ones. Only opinions that benefitted the new aristocracy were "politically correct." This made no sense.
And so, at that moment, all of Leflina's pent-up dissatisfaction burst out.
She stood up straight, looked firmly at the young man, and spoke loudly:
"Senior Fubot also once said that poverty is the natural fate of the incompetent, and those people are poor because they're lazy. But has Senior Fubot ever met the workers in the magic-mechanical textile factories? Many of them work eighteen hours a day, yet still cannot feed their families. Is that because they're lazy?
You also said poor people are morally corrupt and we should avoid them. But isn't the wave of unemployment in Savant caused by the rise of magic-mechanical factories?Didn't farm owners convert farmland into sheep pastures for wool, leaving farmers without land to cultivate?
Shouldn't the ones morally corrupt be those capitalists?"
The more Leflina spoke, the more emotional she became. Yet none of the listeners noticed that some strands of hair hidden beneath her ponytail were gradually shifting to a pale lavender color.
"That's enough, Leflina," the young man growled.
Leflina had been a four-year member of their organization. Fubot had always found her reliable—aside from her lowly birth. He had even considered promoting her to an officer after the next term.
But he never expected her views to be so dangerous.
What were the Sparks Society's goals? To help the new nobles gain more influence—
To promote ideas that benefitted their class.
So what was wrong with supporting them?
Your standpoint determines your ideology.
Their ideas existed to defend their class interest.
But what did Leflina do?
Her "standpoint" strayed.
She dared to speak from the perspective of the poor. Did she forget her own family was merely middle-class in Savant?
She was openly betraying her class.
At that moment, Fubot even wanted to throw this traitor out of the organization.
But then he saw Mortia smiling quietly at the side, watching him.
And instantly—he calmed down.
Leflina was someone Mortia had brought into the Society. Even if he didn't care about Mortia's personal feelings, he must care about the feelings of the one behind her.
So Fubot simply grabbed his folder, shot Leflina a fierce glare, and left the café without another word.
After he left, the other young men and women also glared at Leflina and followed him out. Even a few ordinary-looking students threw snide remarks at her before leaving.
In the blink of an eye, the corner of the café emptied. Only Leflina and Mortia remained.
Mortia sighed helplessly, patted Leflina on the shoulder, and left as well without saying anything.
The sudden shift stunned the sixteen-year-old girl. She fell into confusion.
"Was I wrong? Why does no one agree with me…?"
Leflina slumped back into her chair, sorting through her notes.
She could understand why Senior Fubot rejected her—He was the heir of Gordon Trading Company, a marquis-to-be in the Garden Kingdom, and destined to lead reforms there in the future.
But what she never expected was—Even the commoner students who usually treated her kindly left without hesitation.
Wasn't her stance supposed to align more with their interests?