Jérémy Chapi :
I woke up with a jolt — the alarm violently pulled me out of the dreamworld, my mind still foggy from deep sleep. That abrupt awakening tore me away from my conversation with Elowen, and the words we'd exchanged still echoed through my head.
Dragging myself out of bed, I headed to the bathroom. A long, hot shower and a strong coffee finally managed to pull me fully into the waking world.
As I stepped out of the kitchen, I saw my daughter stretching awake on her futon, still drowsy.
"Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?" I asked, noticing her amethyst-colored hair sticking up in every direction. She had probably stayed up late working on her painting.
She nodded with a sleepy smile.
"Like a dormouse… but I wouldn't say no to a few more minutes."
She yawned widely — and as always, her yawn made me yawn too. We exchanged a knowing smile. I glanced at the clock and let out a playful laugh.
"Well, I'd better get going. I hope I come back alive, ha ha!"
"I hope so too, otherwise I'll blow up their whole base," she replied with that dark humor of hers that, coming from her, always amused me.
I smiled.
"Your job today is to keep an eye on Séraphina and Daniel. They're probably going to try creating celestial rings. Be careful with their attempts… and be careful yourself."
"No worries," she said, shaking her head. "I'll comfort them when they realize it doesn't work. But if by some miracle they do succeed… that would be risky for us, wouldn't it?"
I headed to my room to put on the suit they had brought me. The moment I removed it from its plastic covering, that strong new clothes scent hit me. Running my fingers over the fabric, I felt how refined and soft it was. They weren't joking about the quality.
"Honestly, the chances are low. And if they manage it, it might actually take some weight off my shoulders. We'll see what the future brings."
Fully dressed in navy blue — jacket, vest, trousers — with a crisp white shirt, I still struggled with the red tie.
"Wow, Dad, you look amazing!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
"Oh please… it's embarrassing enough having to wear this penguin suit. And it makes my round belly stick out, doesn't it?" I muttered awkwardly.
"Not at all, Dad. Trust me, it suits you really well," she said with a sincere look that reassured me.
I picked up the tablet from the workbench and gave her a warm smile.
"Well, I'm off. Have a good day. We'll stay in touch through the tablet."
"Yes, good luck, Father. Kiss!"
"Kiss, my sweet girl."
I left the workshop, ready to face the day.
Walking back through the corridor toward the elevator, I headed for Natali's office. I had grown used to this underground life, its artificial lighting mimicking the sun's cycle — brightening and dimming with the "hours" of the day. Still, I made a habit of stepping outside occasionally; recycled air always ended up feeling oppressive.
Eventually, I reached Natali's door. Taking a deep breath, I tried to convince myself it was "just a little training session" and that there was nothing to worry about. What a lie… I didn't believe myself for even one second.
I knocked.
"Come in," came her voice through the wooden door.
"Good morning, Natali. How are you?" I asked as I entered.
Behind her desk, dressed as always in her impeccable black suit, she was busy sorting through a stack of documents.
"Good morning. I'm doing very well, thank you. I hope you're ready," she said bluntly as she set her pen down.
"I guess I don't have much of a choice," I replied with a sigh as I took the seat she pointed at, clearing the space around her files.
"In one week, you will stand before the United Nations in New York. There, expect to be questioned about your presence in Atlantis and about the future you envision for the world. As of today, no one outside this base knows about your request to form an independent nation."
"And… I'll have to prepare for all that?"
"Exactly. And more. You must be flawless."
She stood up, walked around the desk, and stopped right in front of me.
"Stand up straight… And where is your tie?"
I got up and took the tie from my pocket. She snatched it gently from my hands and began tying it herself.
"Listen carefully," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Politics is full of monsters ready to devour you. When you walk into that room, they will analyze everything: your gait, your gestures, the way you speak."
Her words carried weight.
"To be clear," she continued, tightening the knot a bit too much — deliberately, I was sure — while meeting my eyes, "I cannot perform miracles. But I can reduce the obvious flaws you might show."
I already knew I wasn't built for this kind of environment — I preferred my workshop a thousand times over. But clearly, Natali wasn't going to give me a choice.
She stepped back, leaned slightly against her desk, and fixed me with a sharp, uncompromising look.
"Straighten up. Shoulders back. You must project confidence."
I tried my best, though I felt like a poorly carved statue.
"Listen… I understand what you're trying to do, but—"
"There is no 'but'," she cut me off. "If you truly want to change this world, you must give something of yourself to achieve it."
Her tone left no room for argument.
"From now on, you will spend every day with me until your appearance at the UN."
I stared at her, thrown off by her determination. I could already tell these sessions were going to be exhausting. But deep down… she was right. She understood this world far better than I did.
So I resigned myself to follow her instructions.
"Your hands," she continued sharply. "Never put them in your pockets. Keep them relaxed at your sides or ready to shake hands when necessary."
I straightened again, feeling stiff and ridiculous. That's when she grabbed my left hand and lifted it toward her face. Her expression tightened instantly.
"What happened to your wrist?" she asked, pulling up my sleeve. The jacket and shirt stretched, revealing a dark bruise covering most of my forearm.
"It's nothing," I answered quickly, wincing as the fabric irritated the injury. "Just a small accident on a work site."
She frowned.
"Séraphina didn't report anything."
She examined my arm a moment longer, then concluded:
"You will go to the infirmary after this session. And if the bruise remains by the time of the meeting, we'll have to conceal it to avoid any… unfortunate interpretation."
I adjusted my jacket, pulling the sleeve back down over the sensitive area, while the training resumed. Natali assessed everything — how I sat, what I did with my hands when I didn't know where to place them, the exact posture I should adopt behind a podium. She corrected my movements, pointed out what to avoid — especially anything resembling religious or military posture.
The morning was shaping up to be very long…
My patience was wearing thin, and she clearly noticed. Her observant eyes never left me. I suspected she was deliberately pushing the difficulty to test how much I could handle. Being constantly watched, corrected, and overloaded with information was far more tiring than I had expected.
"Well, we're nearing lunchtime. We'll head to the cafeteria, and I'll show you how to conduct yourself properly at the table."
The disappointment must have flashed across my face.
I had naively hoped I'd get a break during the meal…
But of course, she would continue even while I chewed.
We made our way to the cafeteria, where a beautifully set table awaited us in a quiet corner. I noticed the looks from the soldiers present, which made me slightly uneasy.
Daniel, Séraphina, even my daughter were absent.
I expected to see them here… or at least receive news from them.
Nothing.
Radio silence — even on the tablet.
Le réfectoire était spacieux, avec de grands buffets pour satisfaire tous les goûts, un large choix d'entrées et de desserts, et trois plats principaux préparés par un chef. Plus d'une centaine de tables étaient réparties dans cette vaste salle.
En arrivant à notre table, Natali me fit signe de l'aider à s'asseoir, m'expliquant que la galanterie faisait partie intégrante du protocole.
« Selon la galanterie, vous devez m'aider à m'asseoir. »
Je saisis la chaise derrière elle et la tirai… un peu trop brusquement. Le frottement sur le sol grinça. Son regard parla avant elle : mauvais point. Je recommençai alors plus doucement, sans bruit.
Elle s'installa avec une grâce naturelle que je lui enviais, et je repoussai la chaise avec toute la délicatesse dont j'étais capable.
« Très bien, » murmura-t-elle. « La galanterie à table fait aussi partie du protocole. »
« Je vais vraiment devoir aller jusque-là ? » grommelai-je en prenant place face à elle.
Elle ne laissa aucun détail de côté. Le pire fut la disposition des couverts : une quinzaine de pièces parfaitement alignées me donnaient l'impression d'être devant un tableau de bord du Liberty… mais en plus compliqué. L'entrée arriva : des verrines colorées, magnifiquement présentées. Je pris ma serviette et commençai à la poser sur la table tout en observant les différents couverts.
« Comprenez bien les règles de bienséance à table, » expliqua Natali, sérieuse. « Même durant un repas, vous devez dégager une bonne image. » Elle marqua une pause, puis ajouta : « Voyez ces couverts comme des outils. Chaque action a un protocole. Peut-être que cela vous aidera à mieux vous repérer. »
"And… which protocol are you talking about?"
"The basics of proper etiquette, for example: place your napkin on your lap, but only after I do. Keep your hands visible — it shows attentiveness and openness. Match your pace to mine. A formal meal is not a race. And eye contact is fundamental courtesy: stay focused on your interlocutor."
"Stop… please, slowly," I interrupted, not wanting to sound rude. "That's a lot to take in for a start."
"That is precisely why we will repeat these exercises every day until your departure. I will adapt to your pace."
She resumed her explanations — still precise, but less intense than before.
The use of each utensil, the correct way to hold a glass, how to give a toast, how to drink properly: everything was codified.
The meal was delicious, but this constant rigidity nearly dulled its flavor.
I couldn't help observing how perfectly Natali embodied everything she taught. Every gesture of hers seemed natural, elegant, precise. My gaze lingered on her as she took a bite of tarte tatin — the way her lips closed gently around the fork, her impeccable posture, her deep blue eyes one could almost drown in… Everything about her radiated calm and mastery.
Lost in my thoughts, I was caught off guard when she suddenly looked up. I immediately turned away, cheeks flushing.
She dabbed her lips with a napkin, then said in a soft yet firm tone:
"I would ask that you refrain from staring at people during a meal."
"Sorry…" I muttered, mortified.
The day had been long.
After lunch, Natali put me through a series of simulated UN-style questions.
She didn't release me until around 5 p.m., right when my irritation was starting to show.
Yet she still accompanied me back to my warehouse, a faintly amused smile curving her lips.
I sent my daughter a message to let her know I was coming, but she simply replied to "take my time," which worried me. Normally she always updated me about the workshop.
"You did rather well for a first day," Natali said as we walked.
"You're only saying that to motivate me," I replied with a tired smile.
"No, I mean it. But there is still work to be done, of course," she added with a nod so serious it almost made my teeth grind.
Finally, we reached the warehouse door. I was about to thank her and enjoy a moment of peace in my workshop.
"Thank you for everything, but I admit I'm looking forward to getting back to my—"
I didn't even get to finish my sentence.
The door slid open… revealing a war zone.
Flames crackled here and there.
Melted metal had pooled into glowing puddles across the floor.
The central machinery was partially liquefied.
Séraphina and Daniel each held an extinguisher, desperately trying to smother what very clearly looked like the aftermath of a disastrously failed experiment.
Natali arched a brow, an amused smile blooming on her lips. She immediately turned on her heels, offering me a glance filled with barely concealed laughter.
"Well… it seems you'll have some work here as well. Good luck!"
And she left.
I stood frozen, arms hanging uselessly at my sides, staring at the disaster.
For someone who had just spent the entire day learning discipline and composure… this chaotic mess felt like cosmic irony.
My daughter Iris rolled up to me with an innocent smile.
"Hi, Dad! Did your day go well?" she asked cheerfully, as if nothing catastrophic was happening behind her.
I rubbed my forehead with a sigh, doing my best to ignore the ruins of the workshop.
"Let's just say that, despite the fatigue, I think I had a better day than you did…"
She fidgeted, tapping her index fingers together like a guilty child.
"Well… they wanted to try… and that's the result," she admitted, her expression begging for forgiveness and mercy.
I shook my head, half-laughing despite myself.
"Alright. I'm just going to lie down for two minutes… then I'll come help you."
Exhausted after such a long day, I headed to my room and collapsed onto the bed.
Eyes closed, I let the fatigue finally pull me under — savoring a brief, peaceful moment before diving back into the chaos of my everyday life.