The results were undeniable.
My name stood at the top of the leaderboard, bold and absolute.
There were no cheers. No congratulations.
The others looked at me as if I had torn apart the very fabric of reality.
I had seen this expression before—on criminals who had just been outplayed, on skeptics who had just been proven wrong. Disbelief, frustration, denial.
But the numbers did not lie.
Mr. Angel had won.
No one had to like it. They just had to accept it.
A NASA official, clad in a sharp navy uniform, stepped forward. His voice was firm, impassive.
"Congratulations. You have been selected as the astronaut candidate for this section."
It wasn't a question.
It wasn't up for debate.
The room was dead silent. The European man clenched his fists, his shoulders trembling as if he wanted to speak, to protest, to deny reality itself.
But he didn't.
Because he couldn't.
The official turned on his heel and gestured for me to follow.
I did.
