Applause filled the hall like rain after drought.
Eghosa stood beneath the holo-light, chest rising, heartbeat steady, the faint taste of triumph still warm on her tongue.
Eghosa Precious: 95%
Cairn Velros: 90%
Melissa Santos: 90%
Bastet Trueworth: 88%
Trisha Stephen: 86%
Helena Troy: 50%
Amos Devon: 2%
Around her, faces gleamed with approval — nobles nodding, students whispering, even the instructor trying not to smile. They had all watched her performance through the projectors, and to them, she was radiant.
For a fleeting moment, she believed it. Believed she had done something rare. Something right.
Then the lights dimmed.
The UNE judges rose — their voices cold, mechanical. The system's scores were meaningless until the judges gave their verdicts.
And so they did:
Amos Devon: full marks (2)
Cairn Velros: 1
Trisha Stephen: 1
Melissa Santos: 1
Bastet Trueworth: 0
Eghosa Precious: 0
Confusion rippled through the room. Whispers started, stopped, then started again.
Eghosa's smile faltered. "What kind of absurd score is that?" she demanded.
The instructor sighed. "Maybe… the simulation results don't align with their criteria."
"But I completed the mission," she protested. "Everyone survived."
"Yes," he said slowly. "Maybe that's the problem."
The audience erupted — shouting, booing, demanding answers.
Slitah, Velibrum, and Leonard's voices rang the loudest, furious at what looked like blatant sabotage.
The UNE judges ignored them — until even the Viscount turned, his tone polite but edged. "Perhaps," he said, "the people deserve an explanation."
One of the judges stood, eyes locked on Eghosa like a man examining a flaw in glass. His voice was calm, precise — surgical.
"What race are we?"
"Humans," she answered, tense.
"Good," he said. "Now listen carefully."
"When you entered the simulation, you were given every advantage — soldiers, weapons, a working ship. And yet, you failed to think outside the box."
He paused.
"Seventy percent of the dead were humans. Your military advantage? Lost. Your priority? Misplaced."
Her fists tightened. "What would you have had me do?"
The man's eyes hardened. "I would have had you do what leaders of humanity must. Get every human off that planet first. Use your weapons to secure the food. Abandon the others if you must — or kill them to ensure your species' survival. you could have stayed behind, only you to play hero. But instead, you gambled your people's future for a fantasy of unity. You played hero."
The hall was silent.
He took a step forward, voice rising.
"Before any of you think yourselves heroes of the universe, remember this: you are not. You are representatives of humanity. Your loyalty begins and ends there. Anything else is indulgence — weakness disguised as virtue."
His final words struck like steel:
"In sociology, we call it racial priority — the survival of your kind before all others. That, Miss Eghosa, is what you were supposed to understand."
From the audience seats, a soft chuckle rippled — faint, deliberate.
Amos, seated among his peers, closed his children's book with a gentle tap.
"Beautiful empathy…" he murmured, voice carrying across the hall.
"…wasted on an imperfect world."
He had watched her performance. He had admired it — even envied it — yet still agreed with her failure.
Eghosa turned toward him, eyes burning. He didn't look mocking. He looked… pitying.
Dean Ancelot rose, his face unreadable. For a moment, his gaze drifted between the score, the girl, and the boy who had spoken.
"The test," he said quietly, "was never about salvation."
A chill passed through Eghosa. Not from shame — but realization.
The world didn't reward compassion. It measured utility.
She denied the judge's logic in her heart, but in her head… she couldn't help but admit it made sense.
Was she trying to be the savior of all races — or the defender of her own?
Was such heroism even possible?
The applause that had begun as celebration now felt like an echo from another life — from before she learned how light can betray.
---
Eghosa's hands still trembled long after the screens went dark. Around her, the same people who had clapped moments ago now whispered behind polished masks. A nobleman's daughter hid her smirk behind a jeweled fan. One of the judges sipped water as though nothing had happened at all.
Trisha reached for Eghosa's arm but stopped midway, uncertain if comfort would heal or humiliate. Even she couldn't tell if the judges were wrong — or if Eghosa had simply been naïve.
High above, the viscount leaned forward slightly, expression unreadable. His voice never came, but his silence was enough to make the hall feel like a courtroom — and Eghosa the condemned.
Ancelot's gaze lingered on his student. Inside, he raged — not at the failure, but at the world that punished idealism. She reminds me of myself, he thought bitterly. Believing the universe could be reasoned with.
And still… he said nothing.
Eghosa's mind replayed the simulation — the dying planet, the Fremick captain, the Zephon who had trusted her. For a moment, she almost smiled again. At least they had survived together. But even that comfort now felt stolen.
The UNE judges' logic clung to her like smoke. Was I wrong? she asked herself, the question more painful than the failure itself. Was unity just a child's dream dressed in adult language?
Ancelot's voice broke her trance. "Don't lose heart. There are still seven points left to earn."
But the words, though kind, felt weightless — like feathers against iron.
The crowd finally settled. The room breathed again, thinner, colder, quieter. Even those who sympathized dared not speak too loudly.
Crassus stepped forward, his expression as polished as ever.
"Competitors," he said, his voice gleaming with false warmth, "to the stage. The next trial — Science."
The announcement rang like a bell, cutting through the tension. The remaining competitors straightened, though the weight of what had just transpired still hung heavy.
Unlike the art competition, there would be no choice of field or form this time.
No freedom, no illusion of creativity — only obedience.
Each student was escorted into a separate, dimly lit chamber.
The air inside was thick with oil and ozone. Shadows hung like curtains around tables filled with cold metal and glass.
The instructor's voice came through a speaker — calm, emotionless.
"Before you are tools, materials, and components. You will use them to create a weapon."
A murmur of confusion passed among the competitors.
"A weapon?" Melissa repeated.
"Yes," the instructor replied. "Something that can kill."
He paused, letting the silence tighten like a noose.
"You think yourselves the brightest minds humanity has to offer. Now prove it."