The face that appears is young, handsome, and carefully arranged. Prince Maxon Schreave looks directly into the camera with an expression that suggests warmth without quite reaching it. Behind him, the palace library gleams in soft, staged light.

Opportunity, he calls it. Unity. Tradition.

The words are smooth and polished, worn soft by repetition. No mention of the cameras that will follow every step. No mention of the scrutiny, the elimination, the cost of being seen.

The broadcast ends with the prince offering a final smile—warm, rehearsed, impossible to read—and then the screen returns to the standard programming, as if nothing has changed.

But it has.

Outside, the city has already begun to stir with excitement. Inside, in the quiet of a modest home, the silence stretches.