4. The Game at Villa Ascolassi (23 pgs.)

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ACT III- CHAPTER 4

THE GAME AT VILLA ASCOLASSI

Friday March 20, 2020

Villa Ascolassi Rome Italy

At noon on Friday, March 20, 2020, six months after the Gambino twins spoke with Genaro in the limousine, Alexandre fell at 200 kilometers per hour from the helicopter over Villa Ascolassi. He watched clouds like cotton bubbles casting shadows over the valley. His altimeter read 12,550 feet. He smiled, thinking that this weekend they would test the game alongside the book.

Everyone would attend except Ronald, Boris, and Maria, the mother of Boris’s daughters. They would all stay at the Norwegian cabin.

Ronald monitored the event from his satellite. Boris and Maria would take care of their daughters, and little Alexandre and Ronald, already walking their first steps. Alexandre and Ronald had wanted the meeting at the cabin. Francisca and Victoria insisted on Villa Ascolassi. They had planned a surprise.

The wind held Alexandre up, making his cheeks flap like flags in a storm. He remembered the educational games that had inspired his own. Intelligence and calculation always beat strength and audacity, yet together they formed the best version of man. It is not fair to leave the genie in the bottle, he thought as he passed through the mist.

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He flew like an eagle, smiling at the Mediterranean Sea beneath the clouds. At 3,000 feet he opened his parachute. Sitting in the harness, his smile grew as he saw Villa Ascolassi’s gardens and thought, What a joy to test the game alongside the book! He turned toward the football field and, against strong headwind, landed softly on the grass. I could be dead, but I survived, he thought sighing, and smiled.

Ricardo walked toward him. Behind, a line of white swans followed.

“Hello Alexandre! What a perfect landing!” Ricardo said, stopping three steps away.

“Ricardo! My friend! How nice to be here! I see you brought an entourage!” Alexandre said, pointing at the swans while gathering his parachute. From the corner of his eye, he saw Victoria running from afar.

“Alexandre, this is urgent! They want to kill us this weekend. Maybe we should leave,” Ricardo said before Victoria arrived.

“Who threatened us?”

“I think The Family,” Ricardo said.

“And are we going to spend our lives fleeing that mafia?”

“No,” Ricardo answered.

Alexandre felt fury. “They won’t stop us! But how did they find out about our secret meeting?”

“Oh! How I missed you, darling!” Victoria exclaimed in her sensual voice. Her golden curls danced in the wind. Her diamond tetrahedron, shining in her chest.

“Stay still to take your test!” She put on a mask, inserted a rod into his nose, removed it, placed it in a plastic bag, and ran back to the mansion.

“When did you receive the message?” Alexandre asked, watching Victoria leave, followed by the swans.

“An hour ago,” Ricardo said.

“The girls know?” Alexandre asked, pointing to Victoria as she reached the terrace.

“No.”

Francisca watched from afar. When they entered the living room, her calypso eyes met Alexandre’s.

“How was the flight from Rome?” she asked, five steps away.

“Without turbulence. Record time: fourteen minutes.” he answered.

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“I see Yellow is a better pilot every day. He is getting a special flight permit. The Italian government plans to close the airspace during the pandemic, can you believe it?” Francisca asked.

She and Ricardo, staying five steps away, explained the terrible news of the pandemic in Italy. Fifteen minutes later, Victoria returned.

“The test is negative! You don’t have the virus!” she exclaimed, jumping into his arms to kiss him like a teenager in love.

Days earlier, the Global Health Organization had declared a world pandemic originating in China. US President MacDoe criticized the Chinese government for hiding information. China said the virus was a covert US operation. Italy imposed quarantines and curfews with 50,000 confirmed cases and over 5,000 deaths. News and social media spread panic. Experts presented charts with infected cases and urged flattening the curve. It seemed orchestrated to create fear.

“Everything is ready to play!” said Victoria, pointing to the granite table with the game box. Next to it, the leather the folders marked DRAFT held their latest observations on the book. It was their last chance to make observations before the publication.

Victoria and Francisca had arrived six days earlier to prepare their surprise. They had spent six months in total secrecy to delight the men they loved, fearing last-minute pandemic measures could ruin it.

President MacDoe spoke daily against China in the White House and on Bird (later Y), the famous social media platform. His messages reached hundreds of millions, yet major media ridiculed, ignored, or censored him. Everyone knew he spoke without filters, upsetting both left and right.

For Francisca and Victoria, not holding the event that weekend meant delaying their surprise by months or even years. They had to do it no matter what. Ronald assured everyone that the book and game launch plan remained unchanged despite the pandemic.

After changing clothes, Alexandre approached Ricardo on the terrace of the pool.

“What are you reading?” Alexandre asked.

“I’ll show you the message I received,” he answered, bringing his phone screen closer for Alexandre to read.

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WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. NO ONE WILL BE LEFT ALIVE IN VILLA ASCOLASSI THIS WEEKEND.

It seemed like a Family-style threat. They decided to reinforce valley security but keep it secret, so Francisca and Victoria would not worry. The women were excited about the weekend surprise and making many phone calls, showing slight stress.

“Bring twenty more soldiers and four jeeps with rocket launchers,” Alexandre told Francisca. She nodded, asked no questions, and called Yellow to handle it.

After lunch, they swam in the long pool. Later, in the living room, they wrote down the weekend’s goal: to test whether the book could serve as a guide for the game’s questions. Each of them would record their observations in their folders. Francisca would take them to Oslo next Monday so that EVEREST LLC could begin publication. For the game’s production, Alexandre hired the publisher and added a supervisor.

They sat at the same granite table of their first philosophical meeting. In one corner, Ricardo placed the ball and the tetrahedron, but Ronald’s picture was missing.

“Where is Ronald’s picture,” Alexandre asked.

“Ronald told me to left it in the cabin of Norway. He doesn’t want to become an object of worship. He told me that the tool we are building is more important than us.”

“I completely agree,” Alexandre said.

Later, he opened the game box and unfolded the board. He placed coloured pieces and stacks of cards, explaining the latest changes. He named the game: The Champion’s Renaissance. “King Neo,” a swan with a golden crown, appeared on the board. It represented the crowned neocortex, the rational brain, as the sovereign of the human mind.

“And speaking of swans, we have to catch one before starting,” Alexandre said, standing. He moved toward the garden, expecting them to follow, but no one rose.

“Catch a swan?” Francisca asked.

“Yes. The first to catch one starts the game,” Alexandre said from the terrace.

“But those swans sting!” Francisca exclaimed.

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“Catching a swan could be part of the tradition, but if there isn’t a quorum, there isn’t,” Alexandre said, returning to his seat.

“I think it’s a good idea, but later, for our surprise,” Victoria said, winking at Francisca.

“You’re right,” Francisca replied, winking back. Alexandre raised an eyebrow, thinking, What are they plotting?

He explained the game as a metaphor for the mind’s journey to its best version.

“You start in your comfort zone,” he said. “To advance, you answer numbered questions with answers in the book. Correct answers allow you to roll dice. You roll two: the larger number for NEO, the neocortex or rational brain; the smaller for PAL, the paleocortex or instinctive brain. You move your token by the difference.

“Speaking of games, listen to Einstein!” Victoria exclaimed, reading from her phone. “Games are the highest form of research.”

Once the rules were clear, they wrote their Champion Constitution on a napkin, noting their life goals. They placed the tokens representing them on the board. It was the first act in the game. The first to reach their goal would win.

They rolled dice to see who would start; Alexandre won. He drew question 1: Is it true that cultural imprinting shapes man’s character? Yes or no? He answered yes. The book confirmed it. He rolled 6 for NEO, 2 for PAL. 6 – 2 = 4. He moved his blue token four spaces.

Francisca answered question 2 correctly. Her roll: 5 for NEO, 2 for PAL. 5 – 2 = 3. She moved her green piece three spaces.

They made final observations on the book and game, set to launch in eight months.

During a break, Alexandre saw Francisca and Victoria walking down to the pool terrace. He approached to see them from above. Both were on their phones. He raised an eyebrow and thought, What are they plotting so carefully?

He and Ricardo reached the mansion entrance. A military truck sat by the helipad, with two jeeps behind it.

“Only two jeeps?” Alexandre asked the captain.

“There are two more on the football field. We’ll reinforce positions; four more are on the way,” he said.

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“What ammunition do you have?” Ricardo asked.

“Powerful surface-to-air missiles on the jeeps,” the captain explained. “Also, pairs of soldiers with bazookas, grenades, and machine guns.”

They returned to the table. Alexandre told Ricardo he would call Ronald.

“Hello Ronald. There is a problem. Ricardo received a death threat, apparently from The Family. They plan to kill us this weekend.”

“Do the girls know?” Ronald asked.

“No.”

“Prepare the bunker to play there, if necessary,” Ronald said. “I am monitoring with my satellite, but be alert.”

They discussed other security details and returned to the table.

Francisca looked at Victoria for approval.

“We have a surprise,” Francisca said.

“Arturo?” Alexandre asked, pretending not to understand.

“No. He is not the surprise. By the way, is he still in Buenos Aires? Why hasn’t he arrived?”

“Two days ago, I spoke with him as he was leaving Ezeiza. Since then, he hasn’t answered me.” Ricardo replied.

“The only thing left is for the pandemic to cut our communications,” Alexandre said.

“Aren’t you going to ask what the surprise is?” Victoria asked. They did not, joking. She thought, They want us to believe they don’t care, but they are dying to know.

They continued playing. Each decision in the game had consequences and reflected real-life events. Aristotle, Plato, Kant, cultural imprinting, and the journey of sensory perceptions were the kind of topics in the questions.

Francisca answered her phone and went to the pool terrace to avoid being overheard, returning shortly after.

“Well, are you going to tell us the surprise?” Alexandre teased.

“It’s confirmed for tomorrow,” Francisca said, smiling at Victoria, who smiled back. The airspace was closed, but special permission allowed three helicopters.

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“Should we stop for today?” Alexandre asked. The others nodded. They would resume the game the next day.

Ricardo and Alexandre checked soldier patrols. Francisca and Victoria talked on their phones by the pool.

“Some are scared of the quarantine. I fear not everyone will come,” Victoria said.

“How many helicopters are needed?” Francisca asked.

“Two.”

“The good news is we have a special air permit for three,” Francisca said.

“Yes,” Victoria confirmed.

All of them were exhausted by pandemic problems and the game’s complex questions, like the ontological conflict between Plato and Aristotle. Later, they played pool in silence until a joke broke it.

“Is your surprise Aristotelian or Platonic?” Alexandre asked, preparing him a whiskey behind the bar. He noticed Victoria leaning on the pool table. Apollo, he thought looking her body, how lucky you are that Aphrodite loves you. Ayayay.

“It’s not Kantian!” Francisca said, eyes on the table but her mind on the hospitalized helicopter pilot. He had been infected by the virus.

“Hope is the last thing you lose,” Victoria said, thinking about finding another one.

Ricardo went to sleep. Francisca played soft jazz. With Victoria and Alexandre, they descended to the terrace of the long-illuminated pool.

The night was moonless. Soldiers’ voices echoed from distant rounds.

“What a starry night,” Victoria whispered, hugging Alexandre from behind.

“I’m happy to be together,” Francisca said. She slowly removed her clothes, as if unveiling a Greek goddess. She took two steps, jumped, and the pool light revealed her nude body. The only thing she was wearing was her diamond tetrahedron. Time paused until she disappeared underwater. Tomorrow will be another day, she thought while submerged, hoping to find another helicopter pilot.

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After swimming back, Francisca lifted her head at the edge of the pool. Victoria went to get a robe and a towel. Alexandre lay on his side, propped on one elbow, looking into her eyes.

“Why are you smiling, Apollo?” she asked.

“I remembered our encounter here.”

“We’ve grown since then, haven’t we?”

“Yes. I’m proud of you, and of all of us,” Alexandre said, glancing at her diamond tetrahedron between her bare breasts, aware of its meaning. Then his phone vibrated. He saw a message from an unknown number. I’ll read it later, he thought, to preserve the moment.

“We all risked our lives on this project,” she said.

“Yes, but it was worth it. We gained real self-esteem,” Alexandre replied, looking at the diamond on her chest.

“It’s the only way to attain pride, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, the good pride,” he said, his eyes fixed on the jewel.

“Self-esteem isn’t free. No gold can buy it,” she said.

“That’s right, my beloved Venus,” Alexandre said, kissing her on the lips.

Victoria returned with a large towel. Venus emerged from the water wearing only her green diamond tetrahedron. Aphrodite, with her blue diamond, dried the other goddess. Meanwhile, he read the message: SHE IS BEAUTIFUL, BUT I WILL NOT PULL THE TRIGGER.

He ran with them into the house. Then he went to the mansion’s entrance and showed the message to the captain. They reinforced security to eliminate any sniper who might be in the hills. He instructed Yellow to cover the pool and terrace with a white tarp. Then he called Ronald and informed him of the message.

“Someone saw Francisca swimming naked in the pool, probably through a sniper scope. Maybe they saw her from a satellite.”

“That was me,” Ronald said.

“What?”

“Is it a sin to enjoy the beauty of the woman I love?”

“Were you spying on me?” Alexandre asked.

“Absolutely. I have my satellite overhead. I see and hear everything,” Ronald said. Alexandre smiled as he realized the message was meant to make them put up the tarp. He admired his friend.

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Minutes later, Alexandre slept beside Victoria.

At 6:40 a.m., gunshots woke him. He dressed in seconds, grabbed his gun, and ran. Ricardo met him in the hallway. Together, they ran to the mansion entrance through the sculpture hall. Outside, Yellow tried to calm Arturo, who scolded uniformed men who had fired into the air upon seeing him arrive.

The soldiers recognized him. One asked for an autograph. What Italian wouldn’t know the Napoli legend?

“These idiots almost gave me a heart attack! What is happening? Are we at war?” he exclaimed, pointing at the jeeps. They greeted each other, keeping five steps apart.

“Come with me. Victoria will take your test,” Alexandre said.

As they walked down the sculpture hallway toward the main hall, Arturo explained how difficult it had been to fly from Buenos Aires to Rome.

“I thought I’d be a day late, but all my calculations were wrong,” Arturo said. “This virus has everyone crazy! I even lost my phone at Ezeiza!” He laughed recounting his pandemic odyssey. The streets of Rome were empty, hospitals full, funeral services were insufficient. “Have you started playing?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ricardo answered.

“Can I join?”

“Yes, as referee. I’ll explain you later,” Alexandre said, just as Francisca and Victoria arrived.

“What a scare! Stay still!” Victoria ordered. Wearing an antivirus mask, she inserted the test swab and left with the sample.

Keeping distance, Arturo told more stories of his trip, causing laughter. A short while later, Victoria returned.

“You are clean,” she said.

“Like the ball,” he joked.

Later, Arturo walked in the garden with Alexandre and Ricardo.

“Why so much security?”

“They want to kill us this weekend,” Ricardo said.

“Who?”

“The Family. I received a threat.”

“When?”

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“Yesterday.” Ricardo handed him his phone.

“Fuck them! Nothing will stop us from publishing the book!” Arturo exclaimed.

The sun rose, glad the Argentine Odysseus had arrived. Francisca took him to his room, and they agreed to meet in an hour.

At eight, everyone breakfasted on the pool terrace, shaded by a large awning. Yellow whispered to Francisca. Her eyes sparkled, her smile bright.

“Are you going to tell us the surprise?” Alexandre asked.

“No need. You’ll know soon,” she said, glancing at Victoria.

After breakfast, they returned to the game room. The board, tokens, dice, and leather binders were in the same place. At the end of the table, The ball and the black granite tetrahedron. Alexandre explained Arturo’s role as referee. He would check whether the book’s answers were easy to understand and suggest changes if needed.

The valley’s beautiful view framed a perfect sunny day. Soldiers reminded them of The Family’s constant threat. Alexandre’s gaze lingered on the living room wall, recalling the sound of shotguns and crystal glasses at the first philosophical meeting’s oath of fire.

“What are you thinking, darling?” Victoria asked.

“In the philosophical sound of that wall,” he answered, glancing at Ricardo and Arturo, who remembered and smiled.

They resumed the game. When the question about fallacies appeared, the book explained that they were false arguments that seemed true. For evasion, the book said it meant refusing to see the evidence, citing Galileo being condemned by the Vatican for trusting his telescope more than the dogma.

During a break, Alexandre and Ricardo received the same anonymous message:

2 + 2 = 5

They knew Francisca had received that message when her father was kidnapped. Clearly, The Family knew they were there. Danger hung in the air. Alexandre called Ronald. They agreed to reinforce security. From Norway, he would survey the area with a drone. They decided not to tell the girls.

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Francisca and Victoria were on the pool terrace, then ran upstairs to the living room, excited.

“And why so much joy?” Arturo asked.

“And why that funeral face?” Francisca asked, but they didn’t answer.

They continued playing, taking question cards, debating answers, rolling dice, and recording observations in the book drafts. Just after Francisca won and raised her fists, dancing in her chair, they heard distant helicopters, which soon flew very low over Villa Ascolassi.

“What synchronicity!” Francisca exclaimed, raising and dancing.

“The surprise has arrived!” Victoria said, checking her watch: 11:50 a.m.

The girls ran to the football field; the boys followed. Two goddesses, jumping in joy. Two white helicopters preparing to land.

The luxury helicopters’ sound rolled like drums, announcing a party — or a catastrophe. The blades stopped, doors opened. Passengers stepped out: the boys in tails, the girls elegant in high heels.

Alexandre couldn’t believe it. His French World Cup teammates had arrived with their spouses. He felt joy, fear of The Family’s threat, admiration for Francisca and Victoria, and confusion about the newcomers’ role in finalizing the book and game.

With The Family’s threat, danger now extended to the 2018 World Cup champions and their partners.

Yellow and her assistants arrived with golf carts to transport luggage. Victoria and her team went to work, inserting cotton-tipped swabs into everyone’s noses to test for the pandemic.

Using a megaphone, Yellow instructed them to maintain a five-step distance until results arrived. Alexandre and the newcomers enjoyed the valley’s view as they walked toward the mansion, staying at the saloon entrance until Victoria returned twenty minutes later.

“No one is infected,” she announced, inviting them into the grand reception room for the cocktail party. Male and female voices echoed.

The event was five-star, perfectly orchestrated by the two Greek goddesses.

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“Alexandre, why so many soldiers?” a teammate asked.

“To repel the pandemic virus! You never know!” Alexandre joked. He quickly found Francisca.

“Tell the captain we need twenty more soldiers to watch for snipers,” he said.

“I’ll take care of it,” Francisca replied, locating Yellow to relay the message.

Inside, the cocktail party buzzed; outside, on the adjacent lawn, four trucks and twenty workers assembled prefabricated pieces under a supervising architect. The structure would become a stage in twenty minutes.

Victoria and Francisca had designed every detail with the architect: a stage for the homeowners to play the game, seating for guests, a tall whitish tent supported by steel pillars, a floating floor level with the lawn, and four distinct spaces defined by large vases, flowers, and Carrara marble sculptures. Rugs, marble coffee tables, and leather armchairs matched the game pieces’ colours: yellow, green, red, and blue.

Ronald controlled a drone from Norway, observing every detail. The goddesses’ surprise was both exquisite and risky.

On one side of the stage, a table and four leather chairs mirrored the game-piece colours. Alexandre, Francisca, Victoria, and Ricardo would sit there. A camera above the board projected the game onto a twelve-by-five-meter background curtain. A high-powered projector produced high-definition images. A massive stopwatch with red numbers was set on one side of the stage. Beside it stood two pedestals with sculptures: the ball on one, the black granite tetrahedron on the other. Ricardo had placed them. Both were lit with directional lights. As always, they gave the space a special character.

Inside, the cocktail continued uninterrupted.

“Alexandre!” Maurice Dubois greeted him, the man who had assisted his goal in the World Cup final.

“Maurice! Every time I see you, I remember that pass!” Alexandre said, tailcoat on.

“Yes. How to forget it!” Maurice smiled. “What an impressive event you’ve organized!”

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“You won’t believe it. It’s a surprise from them,” Alexandre said, pointing to Francisca and Victoria in black dresses. Their long legs rested on high heels; diamond tetrahedrons hung from their gold chains. Aphrodite and Venus were more beautiful than ever.

“Incredible,” Maurice said, smiling.

“Yes. Incredible surprise,” Alexandre agreed.

Shortly after, the architect and his team vanished, leaving the stage perfectly assembled, as if by magic.

Victoria called for an official photograph on the football field with helicopters in the background. Some women removed their shoes from the grass. Thirty-two guests took positions on the tiered platform. Victoria captured several photos. Afterward, they returned to the mansion, changed, bathed in the pool, and explored the gardens, as expansive as a golf course.

At lunch, seated at the long dining table, Francisca thanked everyone for attending and for raising five million euros for the charity game. Four teams of eight would compete, each representing a different beneficiary. Victoria would lead the red team, Ricardo the yellow, Alexandre the blue, and Francisca the green. Yellow distributed team-coloured shirts.

At 3:30 p.m., all guests wore sports pants and sneakers, their team colours displayed. Victoria explained the rules, seated at the game table on the stage, watching the teams from above.

Meanwhile, Alexandre, Arturo, and Ricardo finalized the emergency escape plan with Ronald, marking arrows, travel times, and weapons on a map.

“Do you hear me?” Francisca tested the microphone from the stage.

“Yes!” the teams replied.

“Well,” she continued, “as Victoria explained, the game consists of answering questions from the cards. But first, write your Champion Constitution. It’s like a country’s constitution, but for the best version of yourself. Write your life goals and the price you are willing to pay for them. One team must win before midnight; otherwise, donations will be returned and the event’s objective lost.”

At four in the afternoon, the camera above the table turned on a green light, projecting the image of the board onto the enormous background curtain. Each team had a low table with food and drinks served by waiters in white, bow ties matching the team colours. Arturo, as the wild card, could sit in any sofa with any team.

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“No one moves from here until one team wins the game. Do you agree?” Francisca asked, observing two soldiers at the garden’s edge, followed by a line of swans.

“Yes! A toast to that!” someone from the red team shouted. Everyone toasted, ignoring the soldiers protecting them.

“Someone has to win before midnight. Only then will you know who the beneficiaries are,” Francisca added.

“Give us a clue!” a blonde from the green team demanded.

“Here’s one: What do Nicaragua, Namibia, Romania, and Madagascar have in common?” she asked on the stage, sitting in her green leather chair. Silence followed and added, “If no one wins, you will never know.”

“Now, we need to know who starts. Two options: roll the dice or catch the swan. What do you choose?” she asked, smiling at Alexandre.

“Catch the swan!” some shouted.

“Roll the dice,” others said.

“Raise your hand if you want to catch the swan,” she instructed. Twenty-three hands went up. “You won. We need one brave person per team. Who offers?” Silence. Then four men, one per team, stepped forward.

“On the count of three, go out and catch a swan. Hold it above your head for three seconds. Each team will shout to signal you succeed. Ready?”

“Yes!” they said, taking their positions.

“One, two, three… go!” Francisca shouted. They ran into the garden.

The swans, seeing four humans running toward them, panicked. Three jumped into the pool; a man in a green shirt followed one. When a swan tried to escape, he grabbed its leg. The bird pecked him and flapped its wings, until he finally managed to lift it above him — just as the terrified swan relaxed its sphincters and deposited its load on his head. Laughter erupted. The spectators nicknamed him the “Swan Hero.”

“The green team starts! Maybe it’s an omen!” Francisca exclaimed, jumping like a child.

They returned to their places, ready to begin.

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“Let’s start?” Francisca asked into the microphone.

“Yes!” came a chorus of voices in different colours.

From her green chair, Francisca stretched her arm toward the game table. The four teams watched the projected board as she read aloud the first question card.

Question 1: Does cultural imprint shape the character of man? Yes or no?

Her team consulted the green leather binder labelled DRAFT. To her surprise, the other teams did the same, even when it wasn’t their turn.

Ronald, flying a silent drone, watched the scene with pride and thought, they created a focus group. It was valuable for capturing audience reactions — priceless data for production and marketing.

After the green team answered correctly, they rolled the dice. The projected image showed: 5 – 2 = 3. Francisca moved the green token three spaces. The process repeated for each team: draw a card, discuss, check the book, roll the dice, move the token.

Later, Victoria took a card for the red team. Question 21: In sports and in war, he who knows the terrain best wins. True or false?

They answered ‘true’ and debated briefly. The book confirmed the answer. They rolled: 6 – 6 = 0.

“Oh no! Too much paleocortex!” Arturo joked, causing laughter.

During a break, Francisca and Victoria went to the pool terrace to make phone calls, clearly organizing something. At the same time, Alexandre received another anonymous message:

NO ONE WILL BE LEFT ALIVE UNDER THAT TENT.

Ricardo had received the same. Alexandre called Ronald, who recommended installing a satellite radar on the roof.

“The Family is watching us from a satellite. Put the radar in place so I can monitor from mine. That will help,” Ronald said, detailing its specifications.

“Understood,” Alexandre said, hung up, and called Yellow. “Get this radar. I need it in an hour.”

“I’ll handle it,” Yellow replied. Doing the impossible was his specialty, even under curfews or pandemics.

Francisca returned to the stage. “How are you?”

“Good!” a weak voice replied.

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“Do you want to continue or stop?”

“We want to continue,” replied the same weak voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you give up?”

“No,” a faint chorus responded.

“Do you really give up?”

“No!” a slightly louder voice said.

“Who is going to win the game?”

“Us!” a red team woman shouted.

“No! We are!” a yellow team member replied.

“No! It will be us!” a man from the blue team yelled, standing and cheering. Seconds later, teams motivated each other.

“We will win!”

“No! We will!”

“Bravo!” Francisca exclaimed, clapping. She was relieved: the early epistemology questions had caused mental nausea for many. Discover its power required acclimatization. It was like climbing Everest. I read Objective Epistemology five times to grasp its full power, she recalled. “So,” she asked, “do you want to continue racking your brains with more epistemology?”

“Yes! We want to rack our brains with it!”

Francisca’s exhortation had worked. The four teams had recovered from mental nausea and were ready to continue climbing toward the best version of themselves.

After a while, Yellow signalled to Alexandre: the radar had arrived.

“We’ll take a twenty-minute break,” Francisca said. Some players went to the bathroom; others stretched their legs in the gardens. Almost four hours remained until midnight, enough time for any team to win.

Shortly after, Francisca, Victoria, Ricardo, and Alexandre received the same message on their cell phones:

6:17 FOR THE GREAT DAY OF HIS WRATH HAS COME; AND WHO WILL STAY STANDING?

It was a quote from the Book of Revelation in the Bible; an unmistakable threat in the style of The Family. They exchanged serious looks and entered the mansion’s living room. Arturo remained on the stage, joking with the guests.

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“What’s happening, Alexandre?” Francisca asked, frowning.

“Yesterday, Ricardo received a threat. They plan to kill us this weekend. Hence the extreme security measures. Ronald is monitoring everything. We believe it’s The Family, they’re using satellites to hack our phones,” Alexandre explained.

“Remember, they are my guests. What else should I know?” Francisca demanded, her voice military-sharp.

“If we’d known your surprise, we would have told you. Do you want to cancel the event?” Alexandre asked.

“No,” Francisca replied firmly.

“Do you think we’re safe with the radar?” Victoria asked.

“They’ll detect any air attack in advance. Ronald is watching via satellite. We have ready a plan to escape to the bunker,” Alexandre said.

“Air attack?” Francisca asked.

“We need to be ready for any scenario,” Alexandre clarified.

“Alright. We answer the remaining questions quickly so a team can win. After that, guests return immediately to Rome,” Francisca said.

The night was starry. Guests were in place, ready to continue, when a loud explosion shook the earth. Seconds later, a helicopter’s sound approached.

Like a tiger striking from behind the hills, it launched a missile that destroyed the radar. Explosions and machine-gun fire erupted at the villa entrance.

“Follow my assistants’ instructions! Everyone to the bunker!” Yellow repeated through a megaphone.

A man — the Swan Hero — fell down the stairs, split his left eyebrow, and blood stained his clothes, leaving his green T-shirt completely covered in red.

Alexandre, Arturo, and Ricardo, armed, sprinted through the sculpture hallway toward the entrance. Another explosion rocked the roof, shattering windows and scattering paint. Flames lit the burning military vehicles.

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It was a completely black helicopter, manufactured in Russia, model Dragunov. It flew silently and had two red points, like the eyes of the devil. When it targeted something, its lasers incinerated everything they saw. It looked like the Black Beast of the Apocalypse. It intercepted missiles fired from different directions. Dozens of soldiers emptied their bazookas. It destroyed all the military vehicles at the entrance. Then it ascended like a rocket and launched four missiles at the football field.

One missile struck a helicopter; the others hit the missile-launching jeeps, already disabled by an electromagnetic pulse bomb. The explosions lit up the valley, and the shockwaves shattered every window.

Without anyone knowing, Ángelo Petri watched from a distant hill, a bazooka on his shoulder. Amid flashes of fire, he aimed at the Black Beast and fired. The missile hit the tail. It did not explode, but it wounded. The beast disappeared beyond the hills.

Silence returned. The captain directed the platoons: remove bodies, extinguish flames.

“Sixty seconds,” the captain said as Alexandre approached.

“What do you mean?”

“That black beast did all this in sixty seconds,” he replied, gesturing to the destroyed vehicles. From then on, it would be known as the Black Beast.

Another helicopter took off from the football field, heading to the Mediterranean. The pilots of the helicopters they had arrived in had fled. The villa was isolated: no vehicles, no helicopters, no communications. Four soldiers were dead; twelve wounded.

Shortly after, the survivors emerged from the bunker. The Swan Hero’s green T-shirt was soaked in blood. He wore a large bandage on his forehead to stop the bleeding. A deep wound had severely damaged his eye.

Mobile phones had no signal. An electromagnetic pulse bomb had disabled them. The projector and stopwatch were inoperative. The ball and tetrahedron remained on their pedestals. Francisca ordered Yellow to replace the projector and stopwatch with others stored in the bunker, kept in a Faraday vault. She also instructed him to use the emergency radio to contact Stefano Rossi, the pilot of her helicopter who had taken it to a nearby villa.

Panic began to subside, but several women still wept, shaken by the violence and chaos.

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“This is all our fault! God, forgive our sins! The end of times is here! Humanity is being punished! The pandemic, and now this! I repent my sins! I repent my sins! I repent my sins!” a woman cried, staring at the sky.

Half an hour after the Black Beast’s attack, Francisca and Victoria convinced the guests to return to the game site.

“An attack like this makes no sense!” someone from the green team shouted.

“The helicopters! Francisca, you got us into this! We want out! We want the helicopters!” a brunette from the yellow team demanded.

“Francisca, we demand an explanation!” another from the blue team added, all voices overlapping.

“Do you want an explanation? Fine. I have good news and bad news,” Francisca said, standing centre stage.

“First, the bad news: due to the pandemic, Italy is under curfew. You cannot leave by land until tomorrow. Walking to Rome would take hours and land you in jail. All vehicles, including a helicopter, were destroyed. The other helicopter escaped with the pilots. Electronic devices are down. You are isolated until the curfew ends.”

She paused, letting the gravity sink in.

“Now, the good news: the spare devices we had in the bunker’s vault survived the electromagnetic bomb, including a satellite phone. I contacted my pilot at a nearby villa, where I have my own helicopter. He will arrive here at one in the morning. Anyone who wants to fly to Rome can do so, but you will have to spend the night at the airport until the curfew is lifted. I recommend that you stay here. Your families in Rome are unharmed, so there’s no need to alarm them. The army is investigating the attack; I will keep you informed of any developments,” Francisca concluded.

Shortly before, the captain had contacted Stefano, Francisca’s pilot, instructing him to get in touch with someone at a nearby military base and ask a few questions. The high command was unaware that the captain and his platoons were at Villa Ascolassi.

“Can I know what happened?” Francisca asked the captain.

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“They confirmed it was a terrorist attack, but apparently the targeted the wrong objective. The Italian army shot down the helicopter — no survivors. Nothing from tonight will appear in the news. If anything leaks, it will be denied. Tell your guests not to speak of this. We were never here. Do you understand how delicate this is?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,” Francisca said, placing her hand on the captain’s shoulder. Then she addressed the guests.

“I have more good news. The helicopter that attacked us belonged to terrorists who chose the wrong target. It was shot down, no survivors. The danger has passed. The army’s operation is secret; nothing will appear in the news. For official purposes, nothing happened tonight. Do not share this incident. Military intelligence could misidentify you or your families as accomplices of the terrorists. At one in the morning, helicopters to Rome will be available. The threat is gone. We are safe and protected.”

The guests calmed, reassured by the certainty of their return to Rome. Francisca returned to the stage.

“Since we have nothing to do until the helicopters arrive, what are we going to do?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” asked someone from the red team, still wearing the game shirt.

“Why should we let foolish terrorists dictate our actions?” Francisca pressed.

“I don’t get it! Explain yourself!” demanded a blonde from the green team.

“Are we going to sit paralyzed with fear until the helicopters arrive?” Francisca challenged.

“And what do you propose? Resume the game? Forget it!” exclaimed the blonde.

“I refuse to live at the mercy of terrorists who confuse their targets,” Francisca said.

“Francisca! The game is over! You act like a dictator! Selfish! You only care about your goal!” the blonde protested, seeking support from others.

“You are free to abandon the game; I respect your choice. But I won’t. Two hours remain until midnight. Who from the green team follows me?” Francisca raised her hand. One, then another, then four players joined her. Alexandre, Ricardo, and Victoria followed suit.

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“It’s crazy to continue after what happened!” the blonde insisted.

“You don’t abandon an objective because of unforeseen events,” someone from the yellow team countered.

“But this crosses the limit,” someone from the blue team said.

“Who sets the limits? Us, or the unforeseen?” a red team member asked.

“Let each decide for themselves,” another suggested.

“Either we all follow, or none,” others concluded.

Debate raged for a moment, a civil war of ideas, but those who continued valued individual freedom. The hysterical blonde could argue; others could agree or not. Like free trade, individual choice prevailed.

Finally, each team agreed to maintain at least four active players and use relays if needed. Francisca ensured that, legally, the charity event and donation prize remained unaffected.

Two hours remained. No team had yet entered the Champions’ Road, the final stretch to victory in the board of the game.

They resumed the game and continued debating. One question opened the topic of whether happiness was an end in itself; another, about life and death. They discussed the Iliad: the gods envied men because they were mortal, and life was valued precisely because it had an end. The attack at Villa Ascolassi and the pandemic highlighted death. Lives ended daily; hospitals were overwhelmed, coffins lined the streets, and death in Italy was visible everywhere.

In four other countries, sixteen children checked their phones. For them, that day would also end.

Half an hour before midnight, anxiety rose. Cronus, Greek god of time, youngest of the Titans, son of Uranus and Gaia, seemed to delight in Villa Ascolassi, devouring every remaining second.

After the helicopter attack, Ronald lost control of the drone he had been flying. But Francisca retrieved another from the bunker and he continued filming. In his hacker’s cabin, Ronald worked surrounded by large screens, controlling multiple satellite surveillance systems with sophisticated equipment. On one of the screens, he saw the images the drone transmitted. In the living room of the same cabin, Boris played with his twin daughters, and the young children of Ronald and Alexandre.

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Yellow, the man who did the impossible, had acquired two radars. One had been destroyed by the Black Beast; the other remained safely in the bunker vault. Later he installed it and connected it to the Internet, as Francisca and Victoria insisted.

The jaws of Cronus, indifferent to human desire, devoured every second: 00:03:30… 00:03:29… 00:03:28…

When it was her turn, Francisca drew a question card about art. After a lively debate, the conclusion was unanimous: art should inspire and elevate man.

Cronus didn’t care: 0:01:07… 0:01:06… 0:01:05…

They answered correctly. Francisca rolled the dice. The green token landed over the other representing their Champion Constitution. The green team had won just before time ran out.

“Yes! Yes! We won!” Francisca exclaimed, tears in her eyes, as Cronos’ jaws froze when the countdown hit 00:00:07 — just seven seconds before the fatal hour.

She stepped down from the stage, hugging her entire team. Even the hysterical blonde who had refused to play was celebrating with them. Despite the smell of smoke, they jumped and sang, their voices echoing throughout Villa Ascolassi.

Ronald celebrated too, making the drone dance in the air. Blue stars twinkled above, winking at the small planet, in a small galaxy among trillions, each containing more than two hundred billion stars.

After the celebration, Francisca took the microphone to announce the beneficiaries of the five million euros raised.

“This is our first event. We will repeat it when the pandemic ends,” she said, standing beside Victoria. She explained that each team had played for students in different countries: red for Namibia, blue for Romania, yellow for Nicaragua, and the winning green team for Madagascar.

“Now we will connect with the four beneficiaries in Madagascar. The five million euros you donated will finance their university degrees, doctorates, and future research projects,” Francisca said.

A short video introduced the students. On the projection screen, four young people in green T-shirts appeared, seated in a hotel room in Antananarivo, Madagascar, with Molly, the local coordinator.

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“Do you hear me?” Francisca asked.

“Yes,” Molly responded.

“The green team won! You are the beneficiaries!” Francisca announced. They could become leaders of the movement, she thought, smiling.

The students stood transfixed. At Villa Ascolassi, the players watched them, eyes glistening with tears.

“They want to say something!” Molly said.

“I have no words to express my joy. Just thank you,” said Miora Rakoto, a seventeen-year-old tall, slender, with African features and deep black skin. She planned to study archaeology at Harvard.

Domoina Rahiramalala, of similar appearance, said she would study medicine at Oxford.

Rudy Nomenjanahay, tall and strong, with lively eyes and a deep, thunderous voice like Zeus himself, would study astrophysics at Cambridge.

Yandee Adrianasolo, confident and serene, with a lion-like intelligence in his gaze, would study engineering at MIT.

They spoke briefly with the players, bringing joy all around. Francisca then reminded them that the helicopters would arrive soon, though nobody seemed in a hurry to leave.

For those staying, Yellow handed out room keys while his staff moved luggage. Minutes later, the helicopters arrived.

The night was clear. The stars seemed to look on with sadness as the blades spun, carrying passengers toward Rome. Among them was the Swan Hero, with a patch over his eye, in urgent need of treatment to save him. He leaned out, waving from above, his green shirt completely stained with red. The helicopter grew smaller and smaller. Silence and twinkling stars; peace and the smell of smoke.

They had survived the Black Beast. The final refinement of the book and game had been achieved.

At the Oslo offices of House Publisher EVEREST LLC, a large sign was placed on the wall: LAUNCH: NOVEMBER 3.

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