Being ignored was freedom.
Being opposed was clarity.
Being considered, Stefan was learning, was something else entirely.
It carried weight.
The invitation arrived on cream-colored paper, delivered by hand rather than post. No letterhead. No seal. Just a name, a time, and a location in Strasbourg that did not advertise itself as important.
Fabio read it twice before handing it to Stefan.
"They didn't go through channels," he said quietly. "That's intentional."
Stefan nodded. "They don't want witnesses yet."
Vittorio watched him carefully. "You don't have to attend."
"I do," Stefan replied. "This is the transition point."
"From what," Gianluca asked, "to what?"
Stefan folded the paper once, precisely. "From observation to relevance."
No one argued.
The building in Strasbourg was unremarkable—stone façade, narrow windows, no visible insignia. Inside, however, everything was deliberate. Lighting calibrated to avoid shadows. Furniture positioned to encourage conversation without comfort.
There were six people in the room when Stefan entered.
All older.
All controlled.
All watching him with the same quiet intensity.
One of them gestured to an empty chair. "Thank you for coming."
"I was invited," Stefan replied calmly. "That implies intent."
A few exchanged glances.
"You're young," a woman said. Not unkindly. "You know that."
"Yes."
"And yet," another added, "you speak as if time answers to you."
Stefan met their gazes one by one. "Time answers to preparation. Age only determines how early one begins."
That earned him silence.
Good silence.
The woman leaned forward. "We've reviewed your… positions."
"Which ones?" Stefan asked.
She smiled faintly. "The ones you think you're only expressing academically."
Stefan returned the smile. "Then you know I avoid absolutes."
"And yet," the man beside her said, "you've centered your thinking around a federal Europe."
"Yes."
"Why not incremental reform?"
Stefan didn't answer immediately.
"When systems decay," he said finally, "incremental reform stabilizes decline. Structural reform resets trajectory."
"Bold words," someone muttered.
"Accurate ones," Stefan replied.
Another voice cut in, sharper. "And who decides the structure?"
Stefan didn't hesitate. "Those who understand the consequences of delay."
The room stilled.
"That sounds dangerously close to elitism," the woman said.
"It's dangerously close to responsibility," Stefan corrected. "Elitism excludes. Responsibility obligates."
That distinction landed.
They questioned him for nearly two hours.
Not about policy specifics—but about limits.
What would he compromise?
What would he delay?
What would he abandon if resistance proved too costly?
Stefan answered honestly.
"I'd compromise on pace."
"I'd delay on optics."
"I'd abandon methods, not objectives."
When it was over, no one stood immediately.
"You're not asking for permission," the man at the far end finally said.
"No," Stefan agreed. "I'm mapping inevitability."
As Stefan left the building, he understood something crucial.
They were no longer deciding whether he was dangerous.
They were deciding whether he was usable.
The consequences were not immediate.
They never were.
Instead, subtle shifts followed.
A professor requested Stefan's input on a research draft—privately.
A policy youth group altered its agenda to include topics Stefan had raised months earlier.
A journalist asked for a background conversation, then never published it.
Signals.
At school, the balance changed again.
Some students avoided him now—not out of fear, but uncertainty. Others sought proximity, mistaking gravity for influence.
Stefan adjusted carefully.
Too open, and he'd become a symbol.
Too distant, and he'd become a myth.
Both were dangerous.
He chose instead to be consistent.
Training with Krüger reached a new phase.
"You're carrying tension differently," Krüger observed during a cooldown. "Less explosive. More… contained."
"Because reactions are expensive," Stefan replied. "Anticipation is cheaper."
Krüger frowned. "You talk like someone who expects conflict."
"I expect friction," Stefan said. "Conflict is what happens when friction is mismanaged."
Krüger shook his head. "You're thirteen."
Stefan met his eyes. "And counting."
Late one evening, Stefan stood again at his window.
The city lights below were steady, indifferent to ambition. Somewhere, decisions were being postponed. Somewhere else, compromises were being framed as victories.
In his previous life, this was where hesitation set in—where the weight of being considered slowed momentum.
He would not repeat that mistake.
Being considered was not a burden.
It was leverage.
He opened his notebook and added a new line beneath his existing plans.
Phase Two: Normalize the Question
Not impose.
Not demand.
Normalize.
If people asked whether Europe should federate often enough, the question of how would follow naturally.
Stefan closed the notebook.
They were weighing him now.
Measuring.
Calculating.
Estimating risk.
Let them.
Because weight only mattered if you intended to stop moving.
And Stefan Weiss had no intention of stopping.