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Chapter 75 Simulation
Chapter 75 Simulation (Total 32000 words published)
The prefab office was transformed within 24 hours.
The desk that was originally piled with documents was moved to a corner.
A space in the center of the room was cleared out, where two lecterns were placed.
This is the "debate simulation room" that Karen Miller created for Leo.
Although Karen and Ethan both felt that accepting unscripted debates was a risky move, as professional political consultants, once their boss made a decision, they would immediately put aside all doubts and instead implement the decision in the most professional way.
Karen sat behind the monitor, holding a stopwatch in her hand.
Her gaze was more dazzling than those spotlights.
Standing opposite Leo was a middle-aged man.
He wore the exact same dark blue suit as Mayor Cartwright, had the same hairstyle, and even perfectly imitated the arrogant expression typical of bureaucrats on his face.
This is a professional impersonator that Karen hired from Washington at great expense.
His job was simple: for the next five days, he had to impersonate Martin Cartwright, attacking and provoking Leo with the most cutting and sarcastic language until Leo developed a physiological immunity to the face.
Next to Leo stood a man wearing a tight black T-shirt and frameless glasses.
He was another expert Karen had brought in—a body language specialist from a top public relations firm in Washington.
"start!"
Karen pressed the stopwatch.
The actor immediately got into character, leaning forward with his hand on the podium and asking questions in a highly aggressive tone.
"Mr. Wallace, you keep talking about reviving the economy, but according to last year's report from the city's finance department, Pittsburgh's municipal deficit has reached a historical warning line. How do you plan to balance this budget while cutting public services? Where is the specific data to support this?"
Leo took a deep breath, his brain racing.
Ethan has been feeding him a massive amount of data these past two days.
According to previous financial reports, our deficit mainly stemmed from ————
"stop!"
The body language expert suddenly shouted, interrupting Leo.
He was holding a pointer, pointing it at Leo's eyes.
"Mr. Wallace, you blinked four times in the three seconds before you answered the question."
The expert's voice was cold and harsh.
"On television, frequent blinking indicates guilt, that you are lying, or that you lack confidence in your answers."
"The audience won't listen to the numbers you're talking about; they'll only see you panicking."
"Try again! Control your eye muscles, look directly at the camera, and don't blink!"
Leo rubbed his sore eyes and stood up straight again.
"start!"
Character actors are launching another attack.
"Mr. Wallace, your so-called workers' cooperative plan has been criticized by economists as an inefficient form of egalitarianism. How do you respond to this criticism?"
Leo held out his hand, trying to emphasize his point: "This isn't just a matter of efficiency, it's—"
"stop!"
Experts called for a halt again.
He stepped forward, grabbed Leo's arm, and forcibly squeezed his open hand into a chopstick shape.
"Don't wave your hands randomly, it looks like a drowning person crying for help!"
"Be forceful! Cut downwards! This represents decisiveness! It represents strength! It represents your control of the situation!"
"And your expression, it's so stiff!"
The expert poked Leo's lip with his finger.
"Smile! You have to keep smiling in this damn studio! Voters don't like to see a bitter, resentful face."
"But don't show your gums, that looks silly. Show eight teeth, that's called a presidential smile. Practice in front of a mirror!"
Throughout the day, Leo felt like he was no longer alone.
He became a robot that was being reprogrammed.
Ethan Hawke sat beside him, constantly tossing him attack and defense index cards filled with data.
"The Pittsburgh manufacturing unemployment rate curve over the past two decades?"
"Twenty years ago it was 4.5%, ten years ago it soared to 11%, and last year it fell back to 7.2%, but that was the result after the statistical method was adjusted. The actual unemployment rate is still above 9%," Leo recited mechanically.
What is the percentage of minority residents in the City Council's third electoral district?
"35%, of which 28% are African American."
"If Cartwright attacks your funding sources as opaque, which law should you invoke to retaliate?"
"The exemption provisions of the Federal Election Act regarding small donations."
Data, data, and more data.
Posture, posture, and more posture.
Leo's brain was crammed with tedious numbers, and his muscle memory was forcibly corrected.
Ten consecutive hours of high-intensity simulation, with no rest, no lunch, only black coffee and energy bars.
It was 10 p.m.
When the character actor once again posed a complex question about the impact of "real estate tax rate adjustments on small and medium-sized enterprises".
Leo got stuck.
His mind went blank; the damn data was a jumbled mess.
He paused for a second, then for two seconds.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!"
Karen slammed the notebook she was holding onto the table.
"Leo! What are you doing? Are you spacing out?"
Karen walked to the front of the classroom and stared at him sternly.
"In live television, two seconds of silence means death! It's like telling tens of thousands of viewers that you're an idiot and have no idea what you're saying!"
"If this is your level of competence, then we don't need to go on Sunday. We might as well just announce our withdrawal from the race and save ourselves the trouble of making a fool of ourselves!"
Leo felt a wave of dizziness.
His shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back and feeling cold.
My legs felt as heavy as lead, and my throat was on fire.
He slumped into the chair, his eyes glazed over, breathing heavily.
He felt like he was about to break down.
This "scientific" training method is gradually draining his soul, turning him into a puppet who can only memorize data and pose for photos.
Just then, Roosevelt's voice echoed deep within my mind.
"Trying to give up, Leo?"
Franklin Roosevelt's voice was calm, with a kind of elder's concern.
"If you walk out of this room now, no one will blame you. You've done enough. This level of training would break even a professional politician. Go home and get a good night's sleep."
"7
Leo slumped in his chair, his heart pounding.
give up?
The feeling of suffocation will disappear if you just nod.
But then he remembered Frank's calloused hands, Margaret being pushed to the ground, and the eyes that still chose to believe in him in the cold wind.
More importantly, Leo suddenly realized something.
That bridge leading to the past has long since broken.
Leo, the student who only knew how to sit in front of a computer and give orders, was already dead the moment he decided to make an offer to Morganfield, the moment he decided to reach out to Washington.
Now, he is walking a tightrope of power.
Taking a step back doesn't lead to boundless horizons, but rather to an abyss.
He has tasted the power of domination and witnessed the monstrous nature of authority; he can't go back.
"No."
Leo responded through gritted teeth in his mind, his voice revealing a resolute ruthlessness.
"I've come this far, with a cliff behind me and a mountain of knives in front of me."
"Whether it's for the sake of those behind me or for my own sake—I have no way out."
"How could I possibly give up?"
"Very good." Roosevelt's voice held a hint of relief. "You can only truly learn this skill when you realize you have no way out."
"This is modern politics, child. It's a sophisticated science, a performance about control."
"It may be boring and cruel, but it's a threshold you have to cross."
Then, Roosevelt's tone lightened, and he began to joke.
"Hey, on the bright side, at least they're just making you control your blinking, not making you stand and chat like I did back then, with steel braces strapped to your legs."
"Believe me, compared to enduring nerve pain and having to keep smiling at that damn Yalda conference, your suffering is nothing but a vacation."
"And, although that short, bespectacled expert was annoying, he was right about one thing—the way you blinked just now did look like a startled rabbit."
Leo's lips twitched involuntarily; the suffocating heaviness dissipated considerably in Roosevelt's teasing.
"Alright, break time is over."
Roosevelt's voice regained its strength.
"Stand up and continue."
"Don't complain about these rules, adapt to them, master them. Let this pain hone you, forging you from a rough iron ore into a sharp steel knife."
"Only in this way can you grow into a true leader."
Leo took a deep breath.
The burning sensation in his lungs gradually subsided, and he forcibly suppressed the emotions that brought him to the brink of collapse.
He looked up at Karen, who had a serious expression and seemed ready to be told to quit, at the expert who was still nagging and correcting his posture, and at Ethan, who was still clutching the stack of data cards in his hand.
Leo supported himself on his knees and slowly stood up.
He straightened his disheveled collar and retie the button that was making him feel suffocated.
Then, he reached out and took the thick stack of data attack and defense cards from Ethan's hand.
"Ethan, give me five more minutes to memorize this data."
"Karen, get that expert ready, let's start again."
"That one doesn't count."
Leo stared directly into the camera lens, the last trace of weakness in his eyes completely erased.
"This time, I will control my eyes."
"I will let all of Pittsburgh see that the person standing on this stage is an impeccable mayor."