Perspective: Alessio Leone
Maybe Alessio should've noticed it.That faint sense of calm that had followed him since the beginning of the dinner — a rare pause between avalanches of plans — was far too good to last.But, as usual, he missed the warning.
The first sign came when Pablo Ricci stepped onto the stage.
The most media-hungry lawyer at the university, always a little more interested in spotlights than in actual cases, approached with a smile far too rehearsed to be casual.The microphone perfectly adjusted, the jacket open at just the right angle, and the posture of someone about to turn a dinner gathering into a performance.
Alessio watched the scene with the emotional distance of someone who had already turned off his attention.The dinner had done its job: connections made, impressions maintained, no significant blunders.Everything that mattered — or that he thought mattered — was already settled.
In his mind, the clock of the real world had stopped.While the hall filled with polite applause, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.The dark room, the visor on the stand, the distant hum of the system booting up.The fourth day inside the Black Tower awaited him — along with a handful of plans that would demand every ounce of strategy he had.
Pablo's voice faded into the background, replaced by the inner sound of thoughts lining up.Routes, schedules, loot tables, potential side events…The Tower filled his head like a second breath.
That's why, when the loudspeaker echoed his name, Alessio took a few seconds to process it.
"...and Dr. Alessio Leone, who has kindly agreed to join our little debate simulation!"
The murmur of the audience hit him like a delayed slap.Applause grew louder — followed by whispers.His name spreading from table to table, trailed by muffled laughter and rushed comments.
"He picked Leone?" someone whispered."This is going to get messy," another replied."Pablo doesn't forget easily…" a third added, half-amused.
Alessio's expression stayed neutral, but inside, only one word crossed his mind — absurd.
That kind of "simulation" was usually arranged days in advance.Both lawyers would receive the topic, prepare theses, and select citations.The goal was spectacle — and spectacle only worked when both sides knew the script.
But now… now it all felt improvised.Or rather, staged.
Pablo Ricci — the man who never forgot a humiliation — was about to turn the gathering into his personal stage.It was the kind of passive-aggressive move that suited him perfectly: trap your opponent in a social game, in front of everyone, without giving him a chance to decline.
Alessio let out a quiet sigh.He could, in theory, refuse.But that would ruin the atmosphere, embarrass the host, and confirm whatever rumor Pablo had been spreading.
So he simply straightened his jacket, rested his hands on the table, and stood up.Calm. Controlled.
The improvised stage at the center of the hall reflected the golden light from the ceiling.A second microphone was already being adjusted, and across from him, Pablo smiled with his usual predatory gleam — the smile of a man convinced his trap was perfect.
"Our theme will be professional performance in the use of legal A.I.!" announced the master of ceremonies, visibly thrilled.The crowd responded with polite enthusiasm.For them, it was entertainment; for Alessio, just another problem that hadn't been on tonight's agenda.
He didn't let any of that show.He climbed the steps and walked toward the center of the stage, silent steps, steady breath.
Beside the judges' table, Beatrice was already watching him.Her eyes — usually marked by a serene precision — now gleamed like blades of steel.The look she threw at Pablo was worth noting: sharp, unflinching, capable of slicing the microphone in half.
She knew.She knew it hadn't been planned, that the debate was planted, that Pablo was about to use the stage to settle old grudges before an audience unaware of the quiet war beneath the words.
And, for the first time that evening, Alessio was fully back in the real world.
Because, honestly, if there was one thing he hated more than wasting time…it was being used as someone else's prop.
Still, there was a reason behind Alessio's almost irritating calm.
The topic.
When the announcer declared the words "Professional ethics in times of legal A.I.", a silent irony crossed his mind.Almost like divine comedy.
Pablo Ricci probably thought he was being clever — provoking the "Courtroom Lion" on neutral ground, where rhetoric mattered more than substance.But, unfortunately for him, he'd made the classic mistake of men who think they're smarter than they are: underestimating the details.
Alessio wasn't a lawyer anymore.At least not in the personal timeline where he'd graduated over ten years ago.
He'd become something else — a strategist of intersections, someone who learned too fast and forgot only what was useless.
And of all the branches of law that had faded with time, Digital Law was the one that had never stopped pulsing in his memory.
It was the exception.The bridge between his two lives.The language that connected the man of the real world to the player who ruled the Black Tower.
And now, ironically, it was the very field Pablo had chosen to show off.
Alessio adjusted the microphone on his lapel and sat down at the table, crossing his legs with quiet composure.His expression was far too serene — which only seemed to irritate Pablo more, as he now spoke with theatrical fervor, gesturing as if defending humanity's morality before a divine court.
The audience was split between boredom and fascination.Some watched, others just waited for the wine to be served again.But Alessio?He simply listened.
Listened — and dismantled.