I asked Kazim to arrange the call.
Not a hacked broadcast. Not a forced transmission.
A meeting.
The screen lit up slowly, stabilizing into a wide chamber lined with metal and glass. At the center sat the Director of the Academy—calm, composed, hands folded as if this was a scheduled discussion, not a confrontation.
"You asked for my time," he said. "You have it."
I didn't waste words.
"Stop lying to the students."
His expression didn't change.
"Tell them the truth," I continued. "Tell them how you treated them. The ones I rescued. The experiments. The cages. The auctions disguised as 'transfers.'"
Silence.
"You sold children," I said flatly. "For money. For equipment. For influence. You broke them, then called it training."
The Director smiled.
A small one. Controlled.
"You call it torture," he replied. "We call it preparation."
Kazim's jaw tightened beside me.
"They trusted you," I said. "You took their lives before they even understood what freedom was."
The Director leaned back in his chair.
"And you," he said, voice sharpening, "stole them. Kidnapped academy assets. Killed soldiers. Destabilized order."
"Order?" I echoed. "You mean profit."
His eyes hardened.
"You are dangerous," he said. "Not because you fight—but because you make them question."
I took a breath.
"Then fight me."
That got his attention.
"One on one," I said. "No students. No soldiers. No tricks."
Kazim turned sharply. "Kiyoto—"
I raised a hand.
"If you win," I continued, eyes locked on the screen, "you keep them. The academies. The students. I disappear."
The Director's fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"And if you win?" he asked.
"You tell them the truth," I said. "All of it. You release them. No conditioning. No lies. No chains."
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loud. Not wild.
Contained. Sharp. Almost offended.
"You think this is a game?" he snapped suddenly, voice rising. "You think honor still exists in war?"
He stood.
"You are a murderer wearing ideals like armor!" he shouted. "You butcher my soldiers and dare lecture me about morality?"
The screen flickered slightly as his power surged through the system.
"You don't get to challenge me," he growled. "You are a symptom. A disease."
I didn't flinch.
"Then cure me," I said.
Silence slammed down hard.
The Director stared at me—really stared this time. Measuring. Calculating.
Slowly, his anger cooled into something colder.
Confidence.
"Very well," he said. "I accept."
Kazim inhaled sharply.
"But understand this," the Director added, leaning closer to the camera. "When I break you, I won't just keep the students."
"I'll show them what happens to monsters who think they're saviors."
The screen went dark.
Kazim turned to me. "You know he's not going to play fair."
I nodded.
"I know," I said quietly.
That's why I asked.
Because villains don't refuse when their ego is challenged.
And because truth, spoken by force, still counts as truth.