The twenty-one days leading up to the end-of-quarter board review were a masterclass in psychological warfare, waged entirely by Leo through perfect submission. He became the model employee David Chen always wanted: diligent, unquestioning, and seemingly devoid of ambition. When David "corrected" his work, Leo would thank him with earnest humility. When David offloaded tedious administrative tasks onto him, Leo completed them with inhuman efficiency. He took the blame for every minor hiccup, his face a flawless mask of professional accountability.
To David, it was a victory. He had successfully broken the brilliant but arrogant new hire. Leo Zhang was now his tool, a high-performance cog in his managerial machine. His confidence swelled into a swaggering arrogance.
To the rest of the team, Leo became an enigma. Anna saw him as a defeated rival and treated him with condescending pity. Ben watched him with a worried, furrowed brow, the [Ally] status on Leo's system flickering with [Concern] and [Confusion]. He couldn't understand Leo's complete capitulation.
Leo paid them no mind. Every interaction, every condescending remark, every stolen piece of credit was just data. With Calm Mind (Lv. 2), his world was a silent, intricate clockwork mechanism, and he was merely waiting for the gears to align. The Receipts folder grew, no longer just a collection of evidence, but a meticulously cross-referenced archive of David's entire operational pattern.
The day of the audit meeting arrived. It was the most important meeting of the quarter, where each department head presented their results to the executive board, including two VPs. The air in the main boardroom was thick with tension and the smell of expensive coffee.
David Chen was in his element. He strode to the front of the room, radiating a confident charm. He began his presentation, his voice smooth and commanding as he walked the board through Project Nightingale's successes. He painted a picture of a well-oiled team navigating complex challenges under his steady, insightful leadership.
Finally, he arrived at the centerpiece: the Q4 financial projections. It was the same slide where he had publicly shamed Leo three weeks prior.
"And here," David said, his voice resonating with pride, "is the bottom line. A final, consolidated profit margin of 18.5%. A testament to this team's resilience and my focus on realistic, achievable targets."
Maria, the sharp-eyed VP on the video screen, watched him without expression.
David gave a magnanimous smile. "Of course, these top-line numbers are supported by an immense amount of background data. My lead analyst on this, Leo Zhang, has prepared the supplementary deep-dive. Leo, if you would, please walk the board through the data reconciliation process."
It was the final, perfect act of condescension. He was parading his broken subordinate to prove his own control.
Leo stood. He felt nothing. No anger, no vindication, no fear. There was only the cold, clear certainty of the System's countdown clock hitting zero. He calmly walked to the podium and connected his laptop.
His presentation appeared on the massive screen. It was stark, sterile, and brutally professional. The title simply read: Project Nightingale: Q4 Data Reconciliation & Evolution.
He moved through the first few slides with quiet efficiency, explaining the data sources and methodologies. Then, he brought up the final, critical slide. It was titled Projection Timeline Analysis.
The slide was split into three columns.
The first column was labeled October 28 - Initial Projection (Based on raw source data). It showed a clean, undeniable figure: 21%. Each source file was hyperlinked.
The second column was October 29 - Managerial Review & Adjustment. It showed only one number: -2.5%.
The third column was October 29 - Final Submitted Projection. It showed the number David had just presented: 18.5%.
Leo picked up the laser pointer. "As you can see," he began, his voice perfectly level, "the initial forecast, based on the raw, aggregated telemetry from all data streams, was a 21% margin." He pointed to the first column. "The data was compiled and locked at 17:00 on October 28th. All original source files are timestamped and available in the project archive via these links."
He then moved the laser to the second column. "Following a managerial review the next morning, a downward adjustment of 2.5% was implemented to account for potential vendor fee fluctuations." He paused for a fraction of a second. "The raw data inputs from our vendors, however, remained consistent throughout this period."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't make an accusation. He simply stated a sequence of verifiable facts. He let the data tell the story.
The room was utterly silent.
David's confident smile had frozen on his face. He stared at the screen, a flicker of panic in his eyes.
It was Maria who broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension like glass. "Mr. Zhang," she said, her eyes fixed on David's paling face. "Are you saying the source data never changed, but the projection did? On what basis was that 2.5% adjustment made, Mr. Chen?"
David opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had been so used to Leo taking the blame that he had never bothered to invent a plausible reason for the change. He had no defense. The data, so elegantly and neutrally presented, had become an inescapable cage.
Ben stared at Leo, his mouth slightly agape. The confusion in his eyes was replaced by a sudden, dawning comprehension, which quickly morphed into a look of profound respect. Anna looked from the screen to David to Leo, her smug expression melting into disbelief. They all understood. This wasn't a mistake. It was an execution.
Leo clicked his remote, moving to a final, blank slide. "That concludes the supplementary data," he said quietly, and returned to his seat. He had not landed a single blow, but his opponent was on the floor, gasping for air. The king was dead. The throne was now empty.