"It's 1993 right now," the President continued, "which means we're seven years away from the twenty-first century. And let me tell you what the twenty-first century looks like."
She paused for effect.
"Robots farm the fields. Automated factories run without a single human hand on the line. People won't need to work—you'll wake up, eat, sleep, play video games. You won't even need to leave the house; someone will deliver your food and clothes straight to your door. You'll be able to chat with anyone on earth from your couch, and tour incredible places around the world without stepping outside. That's the twenty-first century. Seven years from now, you'll be living like Tony Stark."
The author's note: This is true. I'm a '90s kid. I thought exactly what those students are thinking right now, and looking back, I can't believe how completely we bought into it.
The crowd erupted.
"Wait—is that real?"
"I think I've heard something like that before..."
"Didn't Howard Stark say something about this? At last year's New Century Technology Outlook?"
"He did! It was all over TV and the papers!"
"So the President isn't making it up?"
"Of course she's not. With the President's intelligence, how could she be lying? This is happening. Seven years and I never have to work again. I'm going to play games all day."
"I'm playing Contra every single day."
"Contra? Are you serious? Street Fighter is the only game worth playing. I'm going to master every character."
"Does this mean we can actually change girlfriends like Tony Stark?"
Maya listened to all of it with her perception and felt no surprise whatsoever. Back in the old country, the '70s and '80s kids had been just as thoroughly sold on the "twenty-first century" promise. Every conversation, every daydream — "in the twenty-first century, it'll be like this, in the twenty-first century, it'll be like that." Thinking about it now, she found it genuinely funny.
But she hadn't been entirely lying.
Automated farming was real. Lights-out factories were real. As for eating, sleeping, and gaming all day—plenty of shut-ins had that covered. Chatting with anyone on earth from your couch, browsing virtual tourism from your living room—that was just a laptop. Food and clothing delivered to your door—that was online shopping and courier services. And as for changing romantic partners daily... well, that depended entirely on how fast you could flip through your digital collection. If your bandwidth held up, new options were unlimited.
Technically accurate, more or less.
She'd spent the morning with Matt turning the problem over from every angle. A clean solution hadn't materialized, because this wasn't a puzzle—it was human nature. You couldn't know what someone would choose once the school day ended. Shadow Imitation Jutsu could control a body; it couldn't change a mind.
She'd even considered simply letting it happen. After a night with casualties, the survivors would understand the cost in a way that no speech ever could. People learned fastest from loss.
But she was the President. There's an old saying: don't meddle in affairs outside your post. The flip side was equally true—when you're in a position, you bear the matching responsibility. She couldn't just set it aside. And even if she found those reckless classmates frustrating most of the time, they'd called her President—which meant they were hers to protect.
Without an elegant solution, she'd gone with the direct one.
Lay it all out in public. Put the facts in front of everyone—the recruitment scheme, the mechanics, the likely outcome. Once most students understood, a consensus would form. And once a consensus existed, even the stubborn holdouts would feel its gravity. Shared belief was its own kind of force.
She'd seen it work in both directions. Back when celebrities started showing off their wealth and their children online, it became a trend and everyone lapped it up. Then once public opinion turned against that behavior, those same spectators became the harshest critics, piling on anyone who accidentally flashed a luxury car. She'd seen crowds get swept up in behavior they never would have chosen alone, and she'd seen that same crowd turn on people who represented what they'd just decided to reject. Social consensus moved people without them noticing. That was why she had gathered several hundred students together.
A decade ago, a woman had gone on record saying she'd rather cry in a BMW than laugh on a bicycle. The public mocked her relentlessly—including plenty of girls who'd never left school. A decade later, a BMW and property had become baseline prerequisites for dating. Those same schoolgirls had quietly updated their standards. Not because they'd thought it through, but because the environment had shifted around them.
The "twenty-first century" speech was for something different—it was some illusory hope, or a dream. If you believed tomorrow could be better, you didn't need to gamble everything on tonight.
She gave the idea time to settle. Let it ferment.
When the Young and Dangerous films first came out, every kid with a tattoo and a cleaver thought he was the next Chen Haonan. The crowd cheered them on. A decade later, those same films were cultural shorthand for "loser" — nobody was standing up to declare themselves the boss of Causeway Bay anymore. The environment had shifted. The crowd had shifted with it, then gone further.
That was what she was building right now.
Then she moved.
"I already know which students came to school armed today. I know who's planning to be in the streets tonight."
Ignoring the stir that ran through the crowd, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.
She read from it, steady and unhurried:
The reactions were immediate and scattered across the crowd:
"William, you absolute idiot—she just put you back together two weeks ago and you're already at it?"
"I know, okay, I know—I'm not going anymore, I swear—"
"Harvey, you brought a— we're done. I mean it."
"Jenny, listen—I picked it up off the street, I wasn't going to use it—"
"Hanks—"
"I KNOW. I'm going to the gym RIGHT NOW. I'm so stupid, I can't believe how stupid I am—"
"Everyone whose name I just called: take your weapons to the school gymnasium. Someone will be there to explain what happens next."