The echoes of the fight between Mark and David faded within days. In the halls there were still passing comments, but soon they were replaced with new gossip, new arguments, new distractions. For most, it had been "just another kids' fight."
For Lucy, it wasn't.
He knew he had failed. And he knew he had to train.
On Tuesday, while waiting for literature class, he overheard two girls arguing in the back row. Laura accused Sofía of copying her homework. Sofía denied it angrily.
The threads were clear: between them was a green bond of friendship, stretched thin. And above Sofía flickered a yellow hue: disguised self-interest.
Lucy thought, "This is the perfect case to practice."
He stepped closer, clumsy but determined.
"I know what happened," he said, trying to sound firm. "Sofía, yesterday you were in the library looking through Laura's notebook. You said you'd only check it, but you copied more than half."
The words came out harsher than intended. The thread quivered. Sofía's eyes widened. Her face flushed. Laura stared at her, shocked.
"Is that true!?" Laura cried, hurt.
Sofía lowered her gaze, unable to deny it. The Sentence had worked… but in the worst way. Instead of resolving, it had broken a bond.
The green thread between them snapped, turning gray. Laura shoved her things aside, offended. Sofía glared at Lucy with tearful eyes.
"Who asked you to meddle?" she spat.
The silence in the classroom was heavy. Lucy stepped back, chilled by his own mistake.
During class, he couldn't focus. Guilt gnawed at him. He had spoken the truth, yes, but without weighing the consequences. He had exposed something private without care. The Sentence didn't just force acceptance—it could destroy relationships with a single misused word.
At recess he hid in the bathroom and opened his notebook, writing furiously:
The Sentence is not for display.
Not all truths should be spoken.
Judgment requires compassion.
He closed his eyes, recalling his grandfather's letter: "Karma does not lie, but men's hearts do." Now he understood that naked truth could be as dangerous as a lie.
When he left the bathroom, he bumped into David, the boy from the fight. His face was still swollen, but he gave a shy smile.
"Thanks for trying to help… even if it didn't work out."
Lucy was speechless. How could he thank him after everything? But those words helped him decide: he had to learn to use the Sentence carefully. Not like a blade that cut blindly, but like a scalpel.
Watching David walk away, Lucy pressed his notebook to his chest.
Next time, he wouldn't make the same mistake.
That night, in his sleep, he dreamed again of threads breaking and tangling. And at the edge of the dream, his grandfather's voice echoed:
"The judge who does not weigh his words condemns the innocent."
Lucy woke with his heart pounding.
He had made his first grave mistake. But that mistake had brought him one step closer to understanding the weight of his power.
Judgment was only beginning.