The day of the election arrived. We all had to give speeches, but something felt wrong. The voting was a secret. There were no raised hands or open ballots; just sealed slips collected in secret. Hours later, the announcement came: "Rohan Mehta, with 210 votes, is the new Main Lead! And Kartik Singh, with 46 votes, stands second." The numbers didn't make sense. There weren't even that many students eligible to vote. But the result was final.

The next day, my loyal friends told me the truth. Teachers had pressured students to vote for Rohan. Mrs. Malhotra had told her class, "Do not vote for Kartik." Mrs. D'Souza had even promised Rohan, "Don't worry. I'll never let Kartik wear the crown." When I tried to defend myself, they hit me with the final blow. They called me "mentally unstable." The teachers laughed behind my back, and students whispered as I walked by. The throne was a lie, and I was forced into the shadows.

Days turned into weeks, and the politics got worse. But my own heart felt lighter. I no longer cared about titles or crowns. I watched as Rohan stumbled during programs, forgetting his lines and mispronouncing words. I knew the truth. Leadership wasn't about a badge; it was about strength and resilience. Aditya's fake games, Mrs. Malhotra's insults, the teachers' betrayal—none of it could break me. I had already won a much bigger fight: the one within myself.

I became the boy who had dignity when others were full of lies. The one who learned that silence can be louder than any speech. As I walked past my classmates, I smiled. I knew my story wasn't over. The ending wasn't written yet. This was just the beginning of my new life.