Toy Soldiers — Chapter 7 Part 2

Ceres Sociology and Economics Classroom

The projectors hummed, casting cold light across the wall as the students sat in silence. Theo in one corner, Ceres in the other. She was restless, searching for his eyes, trying to communicate some remnant of tenderness, but Theo remained unyielding, his eyes fixed on the desk, his mind still heavy with the memory of Gene — the friend who, in two weeks, would be executed in D Square. Friends… at least they had been.

The teacher, wearing a worn-out suit jacket but speaking with a sharp voice, launched into the lesson, his tone heavy with indoctrination:

— Here we see the systems that exist: Socialism, Capitalism, and Ceresianism.

The projector crackled and displayed a sequence of words against a red background.

— Socialism — the teacher continued, pacing from one side to the other — is a political, social, and economic system that advocates social or state ownership of the means of production, seeking a more equal distribution of wealth and power. It is characterized by the pursuit of social equality, state control over the economy, and the absence of social classes, with the ultimate goal of achieving a communist society, without private property and without a state.

The class remained silent. Ceres stared at the screen. Theo did not move.

The teacher stopped in the very center, finger raised:

— But… there is an irreparable flaw. Everyone, even under this system, carries human selfishness, the urge to stand above others. It never made it beyond the page where it was implemented — a page, incidentally, no more useful than toilet paper.

The projection changed to a black silhouette labeled “CG67.” The teacher sneered:

— Here enters our libertarian CG67. I will not say his name — because it is forbidden even to speak it, this worm. He sells dreams so that others can have power. They are starving people without hope… but then again, hope is also a form of torture, isn’t it? Childish dreams, from people called “left-wing extremists,” “baby killers who support abortion.”

His voice became heavy with contempt:

— They corrupt citizens in the name of an imaginary freedom. A freedom without purpose, without leadership, without meaning.

The background of the screen now showed black-and-white photographs of dead revolutionaries, young people holding weapons aloft, torn flags, inscriptions: “Viva la Revolución.”

The teacher gave a dry laugh, staring at the class:

— How pathetic… catchphrases designed to numb people to the real struggle.

And the silence returned to the room. Ceres lowered her eyes. Theo did not even blink.

The projector changed slides. Now, a worthless banknote unfolded across the screen — a collage of skyscrapers, stock exchanges, men in suits shaking hands.

The teacher cleared his throat, opened an ironic smile, and continued:

— Capitalism… a very good ideology. — The room shuddered at the provocation. — Yes, good… at least for some.

He paused, letting the discomfort spread.

— It’s a shame so many people out there keep repeating: “Ah, capitalism is savage.”

He furrowed his brow, savoring the mockery.

— Savage? — he repeated, forcing the word like an open wound. — People are savage. The flaw isn’t in the system. It’s human.

He paced in front of the class, growing increasingly impassioned while the students followed him in silence.

— They hide behind pretty little terms: supply and demand, quick profit… as if those were polite ways of saying: we can step on your necks, formally, delicately, without making a sound.

The projector now showed rising graphs, multinational slogans, images of factories filled with exhausted workers.

— They use capitalism — just as they used socialism — to hide their character. They disguise opinions inside “arguments” so they don’t have to admit they are simply selfish, in the name of dysfunctional families and imaginary gods. And on top of that… they fight one another over it!

Some students shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Theo remained motionless. Ceres bit her lower lip.

The teacher gave a cold smile:

— You know? There are people in this system who like to say, “I have strong opinions.” But in reality… that is merely a confession that they are weak.

The projector then changed to a brutal mosaic: data, numbers, photographs of children in brothels, chained men, human trafficking.

— Capitalism can work, yes. It works! — His voice rose, sharp. — But behind the curtains… in the countries that “win” through capitalism… there are more slaves today than there were three hundred years ago. — He slapped the screen with an open palm. — Most of them, sex slaves.

The room breathed heavily. The teacher crossed his arms, his voice soaked in venom:

— But stop and think… why are there more slaves than in the past?

Silence.

— Because it makes money.

If it makes money… couldn’t helping people make money too?

He smiled mercilessly.

— Think about it.

The silence that followed was so dense it seemed to crush the air.

The projector changed slides. Now an aerial image of Ceres rose before them — endless green fields, clean and symmetrical cities. At the bottom, the words:

MÃE CERES FEEDS US. MÃE CERES EDUCATES US. MÃE CERES DEVOURS US.

The teacher remained silent for a moment, simply contemplating the image before speaking in a grave voice:

— Now… Ceresianism.

The ideology of our Mãe Ceres.

He slowly walked between the rows, looking at one student after another, until his voice cut through the silence:

— What is the point of talking about food… scarcity… welfare… when your stomach is full?

He stopped, imposing, in the center of the room:

— Our system is not concerned with freedom. It is concerned with survival above freedom.

He pointed toward the image of Ceres on the screen:

— All of you here have food, water, leisure, education, dignified work. All of you are valued… and devoured… within the scope Mãe Ceres permits.

You have the right to have children, security, medical care, large or small jobs, guaranteed.

And then came the sentence that silenced even the skeptics:

— And yet… with all of this… we have taken away from you the one thing that has always destroyed mankind: scarcity.

There was something almost religious in his speech, something that resonated deep within the hearts in that room.

— There is no hunger in Ceres. Not dogs, rats, nor cats go hungry.

Our land is fertile. We export technology, agribusiness, medicine. We have eradicated ninety-five percent of known diseases and viruses.

Our mothers go to Pietà, with full assistance for their children until the age of ten. We have a ninety-percent birth rate.

His voice softened, almost paternal:

— Women who lose their children, through fate or violence, remain in Pietà to care for future mothers.

Women who are raped are cared for, protected, but they have the right to leave their children in Pietà and return to their duties.

And then, the smile. Cold. Triumphant.

— The cost of all this?

Freedom.

The word hung in the air like a sentence.

— That same freedom that has always destroyed empires, families, people.

The teacher walked slowly, savoring every step.

— Ceresianism has proven to the world that we can accomplish what not even an imaginary god could.

The projector changed to a brutal image: coffins lined up, covered with inscriptions of ancient gods and prophets.

— We killed the gods. — His voice was low, but cutting. — Metaphorically, we brought their coffins here and showed them how it is done.

He paused, letting the image burn into every student’s retina.

— None of these “gods” ever fed the world. None educated it. None devoured it the way Mãe Ceres does every day.

She is not immortal. But even so… she achieved perfection: the domination of freedom within a system that… works.

The teacher raised his open hand toward the entire room, like a conductor about to begin the climax of a symphony.

— You will never see a citizen of Ceres with their ribs showing from hunger.

The silence was absolute. He smiled.

— Mãe Ceres conquered something greater than any cosmic god.

Those who oppose her? Good luck to them.

Good luck against hunger.

Good luck against us.

His final words echoed like thunder through the room.

For a moment, the silence was so dense that it seemed no one would dare break it.

Then a timid applause sounded — hesitant, solitary. But it was enough.

Others followed, growing louder, until the entire class was standing, applauding deafeningly.

But it was not just applause.

It was real.

It was pride… and envy. Raw envy, from those who knew they lived under absolute power — and at the same time feared and admired that power.

And then, as one unified chorus, the room recited:

— Mãe Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us… and who devours us.

At the Ceres Swimming Pool, After Class

The sound of water striking the edges echoed through the gymnasium like a metronome. The girls had already scattered into groups, discussing the sociology lesson and mocking the teacher’s indoctrination. But in the pool, only two remained.

Ceres adjusted her black swim cap, her swimsuit clinging to her body, and was already at the edge of the lane when she felt Ana’s shoulder brush against hers. It was not a touch. It was a message: get out of my way.

— Always in this lane, huh, sweetheart? — Ana said, sweet as poison.

— It has the fewest waves — Ceres replied dryly, without looking at her.

The teacher, seated with a clipboard and stopwatch, watched with that sadistic smile. This was his game: seeing which of the two would break first.

The two positioned themselves side by side on the starting blocks. The gymnasium grew tense. A group of girls whispered in the corner, divided between cheering, envying, or fearing them.

— On my mark — said the teacher.

They dove at the same time. The water exploded open. Every stroke was an attack. Every breath, a momentary victory.

They surfaced almost together at the opposite edge, slipping onto the next starting block, now running. When Ana overtook her, she slammed her shoulder into Ceres. Ceres lost her balance for a second. But she returned the favor on the stairs, with a shove that was anything but accidental.

At the end of the ramp, both were panting — droplets of water and tears of anger mingling. The teacher smiled.

— Good work, Ana. Leadership, for now. But Ceres… you forced her to evolve. That is what I want to see. No modesty. No excuses.

Ana leaned toward Ceres and whispered cruelly:

— I don’t need some bitch in heat trying to rub herself against Theo.

Ceres smiled back bitterly:

— In heat, yes. At least Theo’s dick works with me.

They stared at each other like predators, hot tears of silent hatred running down their faces.

The teacher merely wrote it down, satisfied:

— Keep it up. This is how champions are made.

Ceres Stays

The girls scattered, laughing loudly, commenting on the barbs between Ana and Ceres as if it were an episode of some cheap soap opera. Ana walked out, wrapped in her towel, head held high in her pose of superiority.

Ceres stayed.

Motionless.

At the wet edge of the pool, feeling her heart pounding and her chest burning.

She looked at the teacher’s stopwatch. He did not look back at her. He did not need to. He knew she would not leave.

Ceres clenched her fists against her knees, her thighs trembling. She felt her pride wounded, but also a corrosive pleasure — the pleasure of knowing she was forcing Ana to evolve. She was not dead weight. She was a thorn driven deep, impossible to ignore.

Hot tears mingled with the water on her face. It was not sadness.

It was living hatred.

Ana, already far away, cast one last contemptuous glance before disappearing into the locker room.

Ceres, now standing, raised her head and answered with a crooked, almost mocking smile.

The teacher finally lifted his eyes from the clipboard and met hers. He smiled. Cold. Barely perceptible.

— That’s what I want to see, Ceres. That you don’t run off to lick your wounds like some little animal.

Ceres stretched her body and took a deep breath. Instead of leaving, she walked to the edge of the pool and threw herself back into the cold water, alone, with feverish determination. Each stroke firmer than the last.

She would not leave until she was certain that next time, Ana would have no way to call her a bitch.

Deep down, she already knew: even if it cost her everything, she would not lose to anyone.

Steps of Hatred

Ceres surfaced and dove again, each push more aggressive. Her breathing muffled, her hair plastered against her face, her shoulders burning — and in the middle of it all, the memory.

Theo.

In the field, on that freezing afternoon, when she was still trembling inside from everything she had lived through in Arcadia. She tried to hide the terror behind insolence. But Theo saw straight through her.

He was crouched down, wrapping white tape around his fingers before training. He said calmly, almost in a whisper:

— Hatred… it doesn’t go away. Never. But you can stack it, you know? Step by step. Until you’re high enough that no one can knock you down.

She remembered asking him, half-mocking:

— And you? Do you have steps like that too?

He raised his eyes to her and smiled. A cold smile.

— Me? I already have an entire staircase. I’m just waiting for the right time to kick Dark’s head off.

Ceres fell silent then, but inside… she became envious of him. Of the calm with which he carried that immense hatred without ever losing his composure. He had the presence of a leader. He knew how to use his own darkness.

And from that day on, she began painting that white streak in her hair, just like his. A reminder to herself: keep her head held high, even when everything inside was burning.

In the pool, she opened her eyes underwater and thought of Ana. There was nothing truly unforgivable that Ana had done — but she was the perfect opponent onto whom Ceres could project everything she still could not unleash upon the world.

She imagined concrete steps beneath her feet. Every insult from Ana, every contemptuous glance, every time she had been knocked down: one step.

And soon, very soon, Ceres would be at the top of the staircase.

When she surfaced to breathe, her eyes briefly met the teacher’s, watching her from the bench, taking notes with that same almost imperceptible smile.

Ceres raised her chin, still breathless, and silently promised:

“You’ll see. I’ll be better than all of you.”

And she dove again.