Late evening settled over Hope’s Plaza. Campers retreated to their makeshift tents, vendors shut down their carts, and attractions powered off one by one. The neon glow of the city took over, streetlights and the windows of skyscrapers scattering flecks of golden color through the cool night air. People lingered in small groups, finishing late dinners, chatting, laughing, unwinding.

  Sir Vu strolled across the dimming plaza while his gnome workers packed up Dream Factory equipment for the night. He held a tall steaming glass layered in several shades of magenta, as if it were a sunset trapped in crystal.

  He stopped before the Tree of Hope, close to the roots but far enough to see part of its full towering form. Under the night sky the ancient trunk and branches looked truly ethereal, its faint iridescent light painting its withering leaves in shades of orange-green and blue, tracing them as they fell.

  “You look tired." Sir Vu murmured, as though the Tree were listening.

  He took a sip.

  “You know, wrinkles and bald spots don’t suit you, Chad.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “What do you think of your nickname? ‘Tree of Hope’ is fancy and all but how about something shorter, snappier? I tried Brad, Bill, and Brad-Bill, but Chad just rolls off the tongue.”

  Another sip.

  “Unfortunately I don’t have beauty treatments for ancient arboreal wonders, but I bet you’ve got better eternal youth secrets than anyone. Still looking pretty good for something that should have turned into ash centuries ago. Cycle of life and death after all. Ah, or does the secret lie in you actually being mechanical?”

  He tilted his head, studying the dim trunk lines and duller glow.

  “Your other Tree buddies are scattered. Must be boring. The crowds must be distracting too. What do you think of my Hope Bounce? Ingenious, right? People flying fifteen meters. You’ll finally be able to see them even if your eyesight’s not what it used to be.”

  He grinned.

  “I like crowds, I thrive in them, but even I know they can wear you down. Would be nicer if the devotion was real, hm? Cheer up though, they do hunger for your blessings.”

  He paused, thoughtful. Then:

  “Hey, here’s an idea: start whipping annoying people with your roots. Or maybe leaf-slapping? Yes yes, if another actor claims the sap they’re selling is yours and that it made him hear your voice and he starts singing, you could make him choke on a leaf.” He shrugged. “Am I too cruel? You can slap me too. ‘The Great Leaf Slap of the Mogul.’ That would be something. Sure has a ring to it.”

  He finished his drink and exhaled.

  “Well. I’ve got to go, Chad. Cheers.”

  ------------------------------------------

  Morning arrived with chaos and clamor, the plaza springing to life as people stirred and ran their routines. In minutes, everything and everyone was up and moving again: attractions, carts, vendors, scientists, and campers vigilantly stationed beneath the imposing canopy of the Tree of Hope. Bjorn had risen earliest, his booming voice counting drills of push-ups and stand-ups, waking others in turn. Those who hadn’t slept on the plaza began trickling in, turning the space into a heaving, anthill-like crowd within moments. The same scenes played out at the other three plazas.

  Lana approached the scientists stationed at each of the Great Trees’ barks, seeking news.

  “It’s as cryptic as it’s always been, but at least now we have some understanding behind this…‘Biological Paradox,’” the chief researcher explained straightening up. “The bark and roots aren’t organic cellulose. They’re a self-repairing crystalline fiber with metallic and organic properties intertwined at the molecular level. Any instrument attempting to sample them is disrupted by their adaptive lattice, which absorbs or reflects probing frequencies. It’s like light hitting a mirror that…learns and adapts, and absolutely doesn’t want to be identified, sending back false reflections.”

  “Like a camouflage?” Lana asked.

  “Yeah, why not call it that?” the scientist laughed “Our sensors, drones, or sonar probes lose calibration or transmit white noise. The readings always conflict. Temperature oscillates between -20°C and +300°C within milliseconds. Even with ultra-precise nanoscanners, the data loops back nonsensically.”

  He paused then added after a thoughtful pause, looking back at the equipment spread out around the Tree’s trunk “We’re convinced they emit a radiation of some sort as well. The discovered book, cleared from all its fluff, confirmed it.”

  “And what about their health?”

  “Whose? The Trees'?” the researcher chuckled “We know they aren’t real beings now. They don’t have ‘health’. On a technical level, we barely understand what they are or how they function, let alone how to repair them if they were damaged.”

  “Aren’t they, though?”

  “Honestly,” the scientist said with a shrug, “I wouldn’t mind if they collapsed. At least then we could dissect them.”

  Lana said nothing, her heart heavy, and turned away. From beneath each Great Tree’s canopy, she picked up a fallen leaf, staring at them with a quiet sadness. At Hope’s Plaza, she spotted Bozo leaning against a lamppost, far back from the crowds, cigarette in hand.

  “Hi, Beau…” she said softly, approaching him.

  He gave a brief nod, exhaling a thin trail of smoke.

  “It’s really lively around the Great Trees now, isn’t it?” she forced a small smile.

  “Sure is,” he replied.

  “You don’t have your usual spot to play your synth anymore. It’s completely taken over.”

  “If you get breaks that don’t depend on you, you take them,” he said casually.

  He inhaled another puff, his gaze flicking toward her hands, where she clutched the four leaves. She noticed.

  “Ah…yes,” she said, holding them out. “I gathered them from the ground near the base of each Tree.”

  Bozo’s hazel eyes lingered on the leaves, studying them intently. Each differed in shape, size, shade, and condition.

  The Tree of Hope’s leaf was the largest, broad like a maple star, thick and lightly waxed in texture. It was usually the vibrant, lively green of young spring leaves, shot through with luminescent veins but now the glow was gone. The color was dull and tired, and the edges curled inward as though the leaf were folding in on itself.

  The Tree of Wisdom’s leaf was medium-sized, almond-shaped, a deep sage blue-green with delicate veins fine as calligraphy. Its surface was matte and papery, like an old parchment folio. It was not a showy leaf, but beautiful when examined closely. Also the only one that still looked healthy, especially when compared to the other three decaying next to it.

  The Tree of Purity’s leaf was the smallest, soft and heart-shaped. When held to the sun it was usually gossamer-thin, like the finest batiste, allowing light to pass through. Its texture was velvety, with an almost imperceptible silver shimmer. Its current state was the more shocking: blackened, dusty, the fragile tissue tearing and decomposing into powder at the slightest touch.

  The Tree of Humility’s leaf was unremarkable at first glance, hardly different from those of ordinary trees seen in the Academy Grounds. Irregular in shape, modest in size, its moss-toned green and fibrous texture made it quiet and humble by nature. Now it was battered and torn at its edges as if having endured cruel cutting.

  “I’m worried about them, Beau…” Lana murmured.

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  Bozo tapped ash from his cigarette. “You wrote your PhD thesis on the Trees. Aren’t you disappointed they’re not what you thought they were? That you spent years tending and studying constructs instead of real greenery?”

  “I know I should be.” Lana’s voice tightened, then softened. “And yet… I’m not. Because either way, I’ve grown attached to them. Even if they aren’t true trees, they’re living entities. I still feel that.”

  She stared up at Hope’s canopy.

  “I don’t understand how their creator made them, whoever he was. How he could have possibly merged botany with technology, and then imbue them with such properties and… power. I didn’t get the chance to see the ancient book Elisabeth based her article on, but fellow scientists who did see it confirmed it was authentic. Really dates five hundred years back. They told me the book has many legends, though, things one shouldn’t take seriously. Like the idea that the Great Trees sense virtues and convert them into renewed soil energy.” She gave a sad smile. “I would've loved to believe that though…”

  Bozo exhaled a ribbon of smoke, his eyes traveling over the bustling plaza.

  “Many refuse to believe anything that threatens their comfort or interests—even when the truth becomes staggering.” he said quietly.

  Lana looked at him earnestly.

  “And what do you think about the scientists' stance?”

  Bozo’s gaze darkened thoughtfully. “When dealing with surreal phenomena, science alone isn’t enough. The greatest wonders of the world weren’t built on logic and calculation alone, but on a balance of those things with faith and ideals.”

  He paused. The cigarette’s tip burned a deep, dangerous red.

  “And if they encounter something dark and uneasy hidden in those phenomena, they should drop it altogether and walk away before it consumes them.”

  Lana fell silent for a longer while, then looked down at the four leaves in her hands.

  “Do you… think it’s possible the crowds are making the Trees deteriorate faster? I feel like I can see them dying day by day, and ever since the frenzy started, it’s like that death is approaching even faster.”

  “It’s possible.” Bozo answered simply.

  Lana sighed heavily. “Well… my only comfort is that at least the Tree of Wisdom looks alright. It is Wisdom, isn’t it? I didn’t mix that up? Honestly, I like the Trees’ new names. It’s easier than calling them by compass direction.”

  She then smiled affectionately and added:

  “You always played under Wisdom. Is it your favorite?”

  Bozo’s expression didn’t shift.

  “You could say that.”

  Suddenly, shouting and shrill panic tore through the air. Lana and Bozo turned just in time to see chaos erupt at the Hope Bounce.

  A long line of hopefuls had been waiting their turn, while others were already springing upward on the massive trampoline, trying to reach the desired 15-meter target. Then, without warning, Bjorn launched himself out of the crowd like a fired missile, shoved past everyone, and dove onto the trampoline. People stared in disbelief before angry shouting exploded behind him.

  “HEY! WAIT YOUR TURN LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!”

  “WHO DOES THIS GUY THINK HE IS?!”

  Someone in the crowd even threw a sandal.

  The three Dream Factory gnomes operating the Hope Bounce froze, eyes bulging, clipboards trembling.

  “S-sir, please!” one squeaked. “There is a line! Please wait your turn!”

  “THERE IS NO LINE IN WAR!” Bjorn yelled back mid-air.

  And he bounced with thunderous force, each leap higher than the last, performing full military aerial flips while shouting like a drill instructor:

  “I WILL REACH TWENTY! THIRTY! FIFTY METERS! STRAIGHT TO THE TOP OF HOPE’S CANOPY!”

  One gnome screamed in terror:

  “Sir, the safety net only goes to 18 meters!”

  Another dropped his clipboard and sprinted off at full speed:

  “Bring Sir Vu! Bring Sir Vu right now!”

  The crowd boiled.

  “Get off the trampoline, musclehead!” a furious camper yelled, climbing up the structure.

  Several men began clambering up the base of the trampoline despite gnome security trying to block the way, waving tiny no-entry flags and squeaking in terrified protest.

  Within seconds the Hope Bounce was overloaded, the structure groaning as bodies swarmed the frame. Those who reached the top tried grabbing Bjorn by the legs to pull him off. He responded by furiously kicking them away as he soared up again and again, unshaken, unstoppable, and absolutely committed to achieving orbit.

  The situation was seconds away from catastrophic collapse-

  -when Sir Vu finally arrived on the scene.

  He stared at the chaos, then took the magenta megaphone his gnome secretary Morris handed him. Calmly, but in that expertly wielded advertising voice, he announced:

  “Anyone who disembarks now gets a 30% discount at all Dream Factory gift shops and one free motivational coaster of their choosing! First ten down also receive two free rounds of Hope Bounce later in the day!”

  The furious mob swarming the trampoline paused. Then immediately jumped off and sprinted toward the merchandise stalls, trampling each other in capitalistic enlightenment. Bjorn, however, kept bouncing furiously, shouting military cadence into the sky.

  Sir Vu approached the base of the trampoline, surrounded by exhausted and devastated gnome security.

  “We tried, sir…” one whimpered.

  “It’s perfectly fine, my little dreamlings. You fought valiantly.”

  He looked up at Bjorn and called:

  “HEY! Boy! If the Tree of Hope is going to choose you, it will do so while you’re standing still! If selection depended on air-time, the Tree wouldn’t be Hope incarnate! It would be an athletics coach!”

  One gnome tugged at his sleeve and whispered:

  “But Sir Vu, you said the Hope Bounce actually made the Great Tree notice participants more, increasing their chance of being chosen…”

  “Shh, dreamling. Merchandising does not equal truth.”

  He then raised his voice again, shouting to Bjorn:

  “What you’re showing right now -cutting the line, shoving people, terrifying my security, and nearly snapping my structure in half- isn’t hope, it’s desperation! And desperation doesn’t prove someone has hope! It only proves they need it!”

  Bjorn’s passionate leaps slowed… then stopped entirely. He stood still in the center of the trampoline, head bowed, the springs settling beneath him. After a long moment of silence, he quietly stepped off the bounce and walked down on his own.

  Sir Vu observed him closely, saying nothing. For the first time, Bjorn’s face wasn’t twisted in determination, eyebrows knotted and veins standing out from shouting and exertion. He was still now, eyes distant and lowered. He looked younger like this. He stood in front of Sir Vu then sat at the trampoline’s edge, and for the first time spoke, not yelled:

  “Maybe I am desperate. I just… for me physical challenges are a tangible way to show motivation. And drills, pushing myself until I drop, keep my mind busy instead of tormented by thoughts I don’t want. When those thoughts come back, I push myself harder to force them to shut up. So I… yeah. Sorry for all that.”

  “Why do you want to be chosen so badly?” Sir Vu asked.

  Bjorn took a breath.

  “Not just for the powers themselves. I mean… yeah, I want them. But I have a bigger reason. My Pa was a doctor. An optician. Good man. Honest man. One day a patient with an eye problem came to him and… that was the last time I saw my Pa. The guy set his office on fire. My Pa’s body was later found burned, and his arm infected with rot. The criminal was never found.”

  Bjorn’s fists clenched.

  “I know what you’re thinking: musclehead wants the Tree’s powers to avenge his Pa. But no. I don’t. Vengeance is stupid. Instead of letting you grieve in peace and sleep at night, it chains you to anger. The criminal never leaves your head. My Ma kept repeating it to me, drilling it into my head. Otherwise… I’d probably be on that vengeance path right now... I want powers to prevent things like that from happening to others. Maybe the Tree of Hope grants future insight, or strength to beat criminals into a pulp before they act. That would be awesome.”

  Sir Vu was silent for a long moment, unusually serious. Finally, he said:

  “If there’s one thing clearly visible in you, it’s sincerity. Saying all that aloud likely counted far more than every push-up and air flip you’ve done.”

  He patted Bjorn’s shoulder and handed him a small, glitter-covered Tree of Hope figurine. Bjorn stared at it, wide-eyed.

  “It’s a prototype. You can have it.” Sir Vu said “I’m debating whether to carve ‘Chad’ under the roots or above the canopy.”

  “Chad?” Bjorn echoed.

  “The Tree of Hope. I nicknamed it. Suits it perfectly, doesn’t’ it?”

  Bjorn blinked, then burst into laughter. Sir Vu smirked.

  ------------------------------------------

  That night, Sir Vu didn’t leave with his Dream Factory carts and gnomes. The plaza was completely silent, people curled in sleeping bags beneath the Great Tree’s vast canopy, only streetlamps and the pale moonlight illuminating the space.

  Sir Vu approached the Tree of Hope’s bark carefully, mindful not to disturb or wake anyone. For once, he didn’t look like the flamboyant, mocking, grinning mogul everyone knew. He was serious, thoughtful.

  “Today I listened to a boy confess more truth in five minutes than in all the business meetings I’ve endured in years,” he murmured to the Tree. “He wanted power because he wanted fewer funerals in the world. That sure is an example of hope, eh, Chad?”

  He paused before adding, his fanged smile fading. “There’s more to people than meets the eye. First impressions are often false. I’ve always noticed it in my line of work, grinning as scammers fed me their propositions with what seemed honest faces. Musclehead… he’s in the opposite category.”

  He tapped the Tree's bark gently. “I didn’t believe it at first but you do have sincere, truly hopeful hearts sleeping under your branches. So pick, Chad. And don’t die.”

  With that, he turned and walked away.

  In the quiet night air, a soft flicker of light pulsed from the spot Sir Vu had touched, spreading through the bark and traveling along the Tree of Hope’s roots all the way to the top of its canopy. The light briefly weaved through the branches, reaching the edges of the leaves before fading, still again.