The World Is Mine For The Taking

The candidates began delivering their speeches one by one, each taking their turn under the spotlight.

Their visions weren't bad at all, honestly. One candidate proposed revamping the uniform policy to accommodate students with less financial privilege. Their idea wasn't about scrapping uniforms altogether—no, they insisted on keeping a formal dress code, stressing that the academy deserved nothing less. Still, making it more accessible? That hit a chord, and the murmurs among the crowd showed it resonated with plenty of students.

Another candidate came out swinging with the idea of banning smartphones in classrooms, claiming it would help students focus better. I couldn't help but smirk at that. As much as I hated to admit it, they weren't wrong. I had to admit, despite owning the only company that sold smartphones, this idea hit home. They weren't wrong at all. Smartphones were becoming increasingly common among younger demographics because of how user-friendly and convenient they were. This was especially true for students who spent their time scrolling instead of actually learning, their attention spans probably shot to hell.

Then there was the candidate pushing for more merit-based policies, focusing heavily on training. Milham was an academy for magic knights, after all, and they argued that rigorous training should be the top priority. While the academy already rewarded merit to an extent—you could see the clear divide between the bronze, silver, and gold classes—they wanted to sweeten the deal with additional rewards for hard work. It wasn't a bad pitch, especially if it got students off their asses and into action.

Each of them had solid ideas to improve the academy, but realistically, with the student body split between two major candidates, most of these visions wouldn't see the light of day. At least, not right away. Unless, of course, the winning candidate was smart enough to pull their rivals onto the council. It'd be a strategic move—more hands to help push those visions forward.

The real question was, who the hell was going to win this thing? With the two frontrunners locked in such a close race, it felt like the whole school was holding its breath.

Finally, the tension in the gymnasium thickened as the first of the top two contenders made her entrance. Princess Myrcella, in all her regal glory, strode toward the podium with a commanding grace that silenced the room. Her every step was calculated, her expression calm yet purposeful, as if she knew exactly how to captivate an audience without even trying.

When she reached the podium, she placed her delicate hands on either side and leaned into the device where she could amplify her voice to be loud enough for her voice to reach all throughout the gymnasium.

"Hello, everyone," she began, her lips curving into a soft smile that felt almost intimate, like she was speaking to each person individually. The sheer charisma in her tone struck like a chord, and the gym seemed to vibrate with the energy of her presence. "I am Myrcella, and I'm running for the presidency of the student council."

She started her speech by simply introducing herself, but even with just that, she managed to seize the crowd's full attention. It was like every word she spoke carried a weight that demanded to be heard. Her charisma right now was through the roof, commanding the room with an effortless presence.

"I stand before you today," she said, her tone unwavering and brimming with confidence, "not as the Princess of this kingdom, but as a fellow student—someone just like you—who wants to lead this academy. I'm not asking for your votes because of my title. This school doesn't care about what you are outside its walls. In here, we're equals. No matter where you come from or what your status is, this academy treats everyone the same. Out there, I may be a princess, but in here, I'm just another student. And like all of you, I want what's best for this academy. That's why I'm here now, asking you to hear me out. You don't have to vote for me. Choose whoever you think deserves to lead us forward."

She paused, closing her eyes and taking a slow, deliberate breath. Even that small gesture was enough to make the entire room hold their breath with her, the tension thick in the air.

"My vision for this academy," she continued, her voice softer but no less powerful, "isn't grand or revolutionary. Honestly, some of the ideas shared earlier are more impressive and worth your attention."
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She swept her gaze across the audience, her sharp yet warm eyes seeming to connect with each person individually. It felt like she was silently testing if they were truly paying attention—not that she needed to, considering how utterly captivated everyone already was.

"All I want is something simple," she said, her tone steady but resolute. "I want this academy to become a place where anyone with the dream of becoming a magic knight has the chance to achieve it."

The room fell silent, her words landing like a bolt from the blue. Shock rippled through the audience, their faces frozen in disbelief. Even I was stunned, my mind scrambling to process what she had just said. Beside me, Johanne looked equally baffled.

Milham Academy was designed to nurture cadets, shaping them into magic knights. But only those who reached and graduated from the gold class could claim the title of magic knight. Silver-class graduates often ended up in other professions, like Irene and Rose, who had both taken professorial paths after leaving the academy. Bronze-class graduates? Their options were even more limited, leaving them to scrape together careers far removed from the prestige of magic knighthood.

Gold-class graduates, on the other hand, not only had the option to become magic knights but also found doors opening to high-profile professions that could bolster any résumé. Princess Myrcella, however, was essentially proposing to tear down that system. Her vision was bold—radical, even. She wanted to make it so that no matter what class you belonged to, bronze or gold, every student who graduated from Milham could become a magic knight.

"I know this is some kind of impossible vision," she admitted. And she wasn't wrong. It was near impossible. If she even tried to pull it off, there was no way the administrators would allow it.

"But I will try," she continued, her voice firm. "That's the reason so many people have visions, isn't it? Because they at least want to leave something behind to be remembered for. Essentially, they want to create a mark in history. I don't plan on anything that grand, but all I want is for students here to have equal opportunities. Those who want different professions should be free to aim for any class they want, and those who dream of becoming magic knights should be able to do the same, no matter their starting point."

She paused, her words sinking in, the silence almost deafening. Her next words came with a resolute conviction that hung heavy in the air. "It's ambitious, I know. It could take years—decades even—but I plan to get it done."

Her tone was unshakable, her expression resolute as if daring anyone to call her bluff.

She was right. It was ambitious—hell, more than that. It was outright ridiculous. There was no way she could pull this off in the academy's rigid system. Even if she could, it would take years of painstaking effort. Yet, as she scanned the crowd, locking eyes with us, there was something in her gaze—unwavering determination—that made it hard to dismiss her outright.

"That's why," she continued, her voice cutting through the murmurs, "for the entirety of my student life here, I plan to stay as president."

Two years. That was all the time she had left in this academy. She was planning to accomplish this monumental goal within that short span. The notion was absurd, practically undoable. Naturally, many were skeptical. Sure, the students struggling to rise to the top wanted it to happen. But the sheer impossibility of her promise made even them hesitate to believe her.

"Of course," she said, her tone softening but no less resolute, "if you think my vision is foolish, if you believe it's impossible, you're free to vote for someone else with a more realistic plan. And if I do get elected and fail to make progress this year, I won't stop you from voting me out in the next election—or even petitioning the academy staff to strip me of my position. All I ask is that you give me a chance. That's all I have to say."

If I were honest, a part of me wanted to support her. But what about the third-year students? Would they believe she could achieve any of this before they graduated? And what about the gold-class students who had clawed their way to the top through relentless effort? The entire idea was absurd. Yet, at the same time... something was stirring within the crowd, an unmistakable energy flickering to life.

"I think I'm changing my vote for her," someone murmured nearby.

"Me too. It'd be good for more students to have a shot at becoming magic knights."

"There's no harm in believing her. I think she could be a capable leader."

Her voice had reached them. It was incredible, really. It wasn't just her charisma that had them hooked. Her words carried weight, a raw sincerity that struck a chord deep inside. And as she stepped back from the podium, the gymnasium erupted into applause, the thunderous sound rattling the walls and shaking the floor beneath us. Her impact was undeniable.