The question lingers.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
"…who did you decide was worth saving?"
The room tightens.
All eyes shift to him again.
Leo doesn't answer immediately.
Not because he doesn't have one—
but because the question itself is flawed.
"I didn't decide that."
His voice is quiet.
Flat.
A pause.
The instructor watches him carefully.
"Then explain."
Leo's gaze finally lifts from the screen.
Not toward the instructor—
but toward the others.
"I didn't choose who survives," he says.
A beat.
"I chose who could."
Murmurs ripple across the room.
"That's the same thing," someone snaps.
Leo's eyes shift slightly.
Just enough.
"No," he replies calmly.
"It's not."
"You told them not to follow anyone!" another voice rises.
"If they had just stayed together—"
"They would have died together."
Silence.
The words land harder than intended.
Or maybe—
exactly as intended.
"That's not survival—that's just giving up on people!"
Leo doesn't react.
Because this isn't about morality.
It never was.
"Following the wrong decision guarantees failure," he says.
A pause.
"Refusing to follow gives them a chance."
Something shifts.
Not agreement.
Not acceptance.
Understanding.
And fear.
A chair scrapes lightly.
Not aggressive.
Not loud.
Controlled.
"You're assuming they can think for themselves."
The voice is calm.
Measured.
Leo turns.
The same boy.
But this time—
he's not challenging.
He's analyzing.
"And if they can't?" the boy continues.
A slight tilt of his head.
"Then your instruction doesn't save them."
A pause.
"It just exposes them."
Silence.
The room feels smaller now.
Because that statement—
is true.
Leo studies him.
Just for a moment.
"They were already exposed," he says.
"Crisis doesn't create weakness."
A pause.
"It reveals it."
The rival's eyes sharpen.
Not offended.
Interested.
"Then you're not trying to save them," the rival says.
"You're filtering them."
No response.
Because again—
that's not wrong.
"Enough."
The voice cuts cleanly through the tension.
The instructor steps forward.
"Your arguments are irrelevant."
A pause.
"Because the outcome has already been recorded."
Confusion spreads instantly.
"What outcome?" someone asks.
The screen flickers.
Then changes.
A new image appears.
A room.
Ten people.
The same profiles.
Moving.
Talking.
Real.
Silence shatters.
"No way…"
"That's not—"
The footage continues.
Arguments.
Decisions.
Mistakes.
A leader emerges.
Others follow.
Exactly as predicted.
And then—
failure.
One by one.
"This was not a simulation."
The instructor's voice is calm.
Too calm.
Someone drops their pen.
"They were real people…"
No one denies it.
Because it's undeniable.
"Your instructions were transmitted."
A pause.
"All of them."
Breathing stops.
Because that means—
every choice made here—
changed something out there.
The screen shifts again.
Names.
Numbers.
Outcomes.
Then—
his.
Highlighted.
"Highest survival rate."
A pause.
The instructor looks directly at him.
Not impressed.
Not shocked.
Just… certain.
"But not everyone you could have saved… survived."