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Dawn crept gently over the schoolyard, painting the flagpole in pale gold. The courtyard was no longer silent—there was a hum in the air, a restless energy like the earth itself was leaning forward to see what would happen.

Students moved in small groups toward the assembly hall, some laughing a little too loudly, others whispering as if afraid to break the fragile balance of the morning. Banners that had drooped the night before now caught the fresh wind, snapping in quick bursts of color.

Emil walked beside his grandfather, clutching a folded piece of paper in his pocket—the ballot that would soon carry his choice. His steps felt heavier than the paper deserved.

Inside the hall, the student leaders sat at the front like two tall trees at opposite ends of a clearing. One smiled warmly at everyone who passed; the other sat upright, eyes sharp and watchful, as though every glance was a chess move.

Grandfather leaned toward Emil. “This is when the roots you spoke of last night matter most. But remember, not everyone sees roots. Some only see branches swaying in the wind.”

A murmur swept the hall as the principal approached the podium to explain the voting process. Emil looked around. The undecided students from the night before were here too, their faces thoughtful, scanning the room as though still weighing invisible scales.

When the first name was called to vote, Emil’s heartbeat quickened. One by one, students rose, walked to the ballot box, and dropped their folded choices inside. The sound of paper meeting paper was soft, but to Emil, it felt like the thud of falling leaves—each one part of a larger season that no single tree could control.

As Emil waited for his turn, he felt the question from the night before echo in his mind: How do you decide who to trust? And now another question joined it—Will the garden grow, or will the storm take more than it should?