"Hello, school leaders, faculty, and students!"
Gerald Thornton gripped the podium with both hands, radiating the practiced warmth of a man who'd spent decades performing sincerity.
"Seeing the outstanding results of our graduating class fills me with pride — genuine, heartfelt pride."
"But I'm not envious. Do you know why?"
He paused for effect, scanning the crowd with the timing of a politician on the campaign trail.
"Because I firmly believe that under my guidance, this year's incoming seniors will achieve even greater results!"
"Tell me, students — do you have that confidence?"
"...yes."
The response drifted up from the courtyard like air leaking from a tire. Scattered. Flat. The kind of enthusiasm you'd expect from several hundred teenagers who'd been standing in the sun for forty minutes listening to speeches.
Thornton's smile tightened. His fire-and-brimstone pep talk had landed with all the impact of a wet sponge. But with cameras rolling and reporters watching, he couldn't exactly scream at them to show more spirit.
He swallowed his irritation and pressed on.
Below the stage, Megan Pryce was trying very hard not to laugh.
"Sophia." She elbowed her friend, grinning. "Look at Thornton's face. He's dying up there. Two years of tormenting us, and he can't even get a crowd to clap. This is honestly the best thing I've seen all week."
She leaned closer.
"Serves him right, too. After what he did to your old classmate Ethan."
Sophia Langford's expression didn't change. The name registered the same way a car alarm registers when you've heard it every day for a month — background noise. Meaningless.
"I don't care about revenge. What I do know is that this assembly just embarrassed him in front of the whole province. Which means when we're seniors, he's going to make our lives a living hell to compensate."
Megan's grin evaporated. "Oh God. You're right. We're stuck under him for another entire year."
She slumped forward, already imagining the misery.
On stage, Thornton's speech was building toward something.
"I firmly believe that the students under my charge will produce results that surpass anything this school has seen."
"This confidence comes not only from their talent and dedication —"
"— but also from the fact that, as we transition into the senior year, we have removed the black sheep from our ranks."
The courtyard stirred.
Teachers exchanged glances. Students who'd been half-asleep snapped upright. The drowsy hum of a long assembly sharpened into the electric buzz of people who sensed blood in the water.
"Is he talking about who I think he's talking about?"
"He's going after Mercer. At the commendation assembly. On live television."
"This guy is ice cold. Ethan's already gone — what's the point of kicking him while he's down?"
"The point is Thornton's promotion got torpedoed. This is payback."
Near the faculty section, Dr. Helen Archer's face went rigid. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That the Grade Director of the highest-ranked school in the province would use a televised assembly to publicly slander a former student — a minor — was beyond anything she'd thought even Thornton capable of.
Ethan had spoken out because he'd been bullied and mistreated for two years. Anyone with the full picture would understand that. And now Thornton was rewriting the narrative in front of cameras that would broadcast it across the entire region.
If this wasn't defamation, what was?
On stage, Thornton was hitting his stride.
"I want to make a self-criticism here. Ashford Prep has always been a model of secondary education in our city — in our entire province."
"And yet, under my watch, a student was allowed to publicly insult a member of our faculty."
His voice cracked — perfectly timed, perfectly calibrated.
"That is my failure. As his Grade Director, I take full responsibility."
"Not only did I fail to improve this student's academic performance, I also neglected his moral development."
He dabbed at the corner of one eye with his thumb. Anyone who didn't know better would think this was a man consumed by guilt — a dedicated educator haunted by the one student he couldn't save.
The reporters in the front row leaned forward. Cameras zoomed in.
"As for this student's name — for the sake of his future, I will not disclose it. I only hope that after leaving Ashford Prep, he can find it in himself to become a decent person."
The speech ended. Applause — genuine this time, from people moved by the performance.
In four sentences, Gerald Thornton had rewritten history. A bullied kid who'd finally fought back was now a "black sheep" who'd insulted his teachers. A corrupt administrator protecting his promotion was now a selfless educator grieving over a lost cause.
And every reporter in the building had their story.
Forty minutes across town, Frank Holloway was sitting in front of his television, and the vein in his temple was about to rupture.
He'd been watching the assembly livestream — partly out of professional interest, partly to keep tabs on the school that had chewed up and spat out his nephew. When Thornton had taken the stage, Frank had poured himself a cup of tea, expecting the usual bloviating.
The tea was now cold. His knuckles were white around the armrest.
"Removed the black sheep from our ranks."
"Publicly insulted a member of our faculty."
"For the sake of his future, I will not disclose his name."
Every word was calculated. Thornton hadn't named Ethan — of course he hadn't. He didn't need to. The incident had been the biggest scandal at Ashford Prep in years. Anyone who spent thirty seconds asking around would know exactly who the Grade Director was talking about.
And by not naming him, Thornton got to play the magnanimous educator while letting the media do his dirty work.
Frank stood up so fast the chair scraped back three feet.
"That's it. Even if I lose my job today, I'm going down there and telling every reporter in that building exactly what that man did to my—"
"Frank." Linda stepped in front of the door. "Sit down."
"MOVE."
"If you go now — with your relationship to Ethan public knowledge — every reporter there will write the same headline: 'Disgraced student's uncle storms assembly in unhinged tirade.' You won't clear his name. You'll confirm everything Thornton just said."
Frank's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
She was right.
The air went out of him like a punctured tire. He dropped back into the chair and stared at the TV screen, where Thornton was shaking hands with the principal to a round of applause.
"Then what do you suggest?" His voice was raw. "My own nephew — the boy I raised — is being slandered on live television, and I'm supposed to sit here and watch?"
Linda sat down beside him. When she spoke, her voice had lost its usual sharpness. It was quiet. Deliberate.
"Right now, all we can do is wait."
"That old snake said Ethan's grades are bad and his character is worse? Fine. Let him have this moment."
"When that kid finishes building his five-million-mark invention — and he will finish it — Ashford Prep is going to realize exactly what kind of genius they threw away."
She leaned back, and a thin, dangerous smile crossed her face.
"And when that happens? Thornton will be begging our boy to come back. On his knees."
Frank stared at his wife.
Linda raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You just called Ethan 'our boy.'"
Linda blinked. Her mouth worked for a second.
"I did not."
Frank didn't push it. But for the first time all evening, the knot in his chest loosened — just a fraction.
Meanwhile, in a factory building on the outskirts of Ashford City, Ethan Mercer set down his tools.
The experiment was progressing smoothly. If nothing went wrong, the small nuclear reactor would be operational within a week.
But a System notification had just interrupted his work, and when he opened the interface, his jaw nearly hit the floor.
[Prestige: 29,847]
Twenty-nine thousand. Nearly thirty thousand points.
He stared at the number. Blinked. Stared again.
What the hell happened?
He'd been locked inside this factory for ten days straight. No contact with the outside world. No public appearances. No Prestige-farming opportunities. The last time he'd checked, he'd been sitting at 500 points.
Where had twenty-nine thousand come from?
PLZ Throw Powerstones