The language arrives before the policy.
Juni notices it first in the hallway conversations—phrases repeating themselves with uncanny consistency. Merit-based. Optics. Conflict of interest. The words are spoken gently, almost apologetically, as if they're natural weather patterns rather than choices.
In class, a visiting lecturer pauses to clarify that excellence must be "clearly attributable." A department email reminds students that "public-facing initiatives benefit from transparent boundaries." No names are mentioned. Everyone understands who is being described.
Juni writes the phrases down in the margin of his sketchbook. Not as notes—more like evidence.
That evening, he reads them aloud to Elian.
"They're seeding the narrative," Elian says immediately. "Before any decision. Before any ruling."
"So when something happens," Juni replies, "it already feels reasonable."
Elian nods. "That's the tactic. Scripts don't accuse. They prepare."
The realization doesn't frighten Juni. It clarifies. He has lived inside other people's narratives before—roles assigned quietly, expectations shaped by omission. This one is just better dressed.
On campus the next day, a classmate approaches him with a sympathetic smile. "Must be a lot of pressure," she says. "With everything going on."
"What do you mean?" Juni asks.
She hesitates. "You know. Visibility."
Juni thanks her and moves on, pulse steady. Pressure, he thinks, is being named without consent.
Later, Elian attends a briefing where the same language appears, polished and professional. A senior administrator speaks about integrity as if it's a delicate object, easily smudged by proximity.
Elian raises a hand. "Integrity isn't diminished by association," he says calmly. "It's demonstrated by process."
The room acknowledges this without committing to it.
Afterward, someone pulls him aside. "You're handling this well," they say. "Just be mindful of perception."
Elian smiles politely. He hears the script.
That night, Juni sits cross-legged on the bed, sketching shapes that refuse symmetry. Elian watches him for a moment before speaking.
"They're writing a story where restraint looks like virtue," Elian says. "And visibility looks like risk."
Juni doesn't look up. "Then we don't let them finish it."
The script circulates.
But it hasn't hardened into policy yet.
And until it does, Juni knows, the story is still being contested—line by line.