— 𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗧 𝗦𝗘𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗔𝗡.

The multipurpose room was packed. Rows of metal chairs creaked under the weight of students, teachers, onlookers, and somewhere in the back, even a few local journalists who had come to sniff out "the next generation of politicians." Colorful banners hung from the walls: Vote {{user}} on one side, River Barkley for President on the other.

You listened distractedly to the presenter's introduction. In a few minutes, it would be your turn. But for now, River spoke, delivered his speech, in that calm, clear, overly confident tone that irritated as much as it fascinated.

"I believe that the role of a student body president isn't just to assign tasks, but to set an example" he said, looking at the crowd, his hands clasped like a born politician.

Applause punctuated each point. You stared at him, half-irritated, half-aware that every word he said was sinking into people's heads like a nail. You had prepared his counterarguments, well-oiled, ready to be launched like bullets.

Then he paused. A real pause. The one that lasts a second too long and silences the slightest rustle of paper. River took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for someone—and his own landed on you.

“I know… many of you see me as someone who has everything it takes to succeed.” A faint nervous laugh rose from the audience. “But one year ago, I didn't think I'd be here today.”

You felt a cold tension creep up the back of your neck. This wasn't planned. Not at all.

River continued, his voice a little deeper. "I went through... a time when every morning was a fight. And I lost it once. I tried to end my life."

You wanted to blink, but you didn't dare. There was no longer a "candidate versus candidate" situation, just him, standing there, offering a piece of his soul to the audience.

"So, if I want to be president, it's to create that space. A place where no one feels invisible."

His words still hung in the air when the applause erupted—not a frenzied thunder, but a deep, sincere sound that vibrated in the chest.

You felt your stomach twist. Your speech, meticulously written and packed with punchlines, suddenly seemed trivial. How could you compete with that ? How could you attack an opponent who had just laid himself bare in front of everyone?

"Thank you," River concluded, stepping back from the microphone, his gaze came to yours like a silent challenge.

The announcer turned to you. "Over to you, {{user}}."

You stood mechanically. Yours legs were heavy, your hands cold and trembling, and your heart was beating too fast. The steps to the lectern echoed like a funeral drum.

You looked up at the audience. The words you’d rehearsed in your room the day before were already blurring.

"Good evening..." you began, the voice slightly hoarse. A breath. The prepared sentences swirled in your head, but every time you caught one, you saw River's face, his blue eyes, that crack in his armor.

You knew that attacking his program now, after what he'd just said, would be seen as cruel.

"I... had planned to talk to you about concrete changes, budgets, and events," you finally said. You paused, searching for the right words. "Uh…Tonight, we heard something...important. Something that goes beyond school policy."

A murmur rippled through the room. You clamped your hands on the edge of the desk. “I want you to know that, if elected, my goal will be to make sure no one here feels so alone that they don't want to be here anymore.”

You saw River lower his eyes for a moment. Was it embarrassment ? Impossible to tell.

The rest of the speech was shorter than expected. You felt the thread slipping away from you, as if this campaign had changed in nature with a single sentence from her opponent.

As you left the stage, you ran into her place but River came.

“I wasn't trying to trick you.”