The city thrummed with restless energy as the polling stations closed. Shadows danced across the old government buildings, their once-gleaming marble now dulled by years of the same faces, the same voices. Tonight, the air smelled of change—pungent, raw, and a little bit dangerous. In the main square, ordinary people clustered in feverish groups, whispering about the possibility of a new dawn, while the venerable halls of the Old Boys’ Club stood silent and brooding, their windows dark.

Sir Reginald Huxley, Prime Minister, paced the length of the ornate carpet, his brow furrowed. "This is absurd. The public has gone mad—how can they expect a bus driver to run education?" Lord Barrington, Foreign Affairs Minister, polished his spectacles with trembling hands. "We are bred for this—trained at the finest schools, groomed for leadership. The world will laugh at us." The radio crackled with the Radical Party’s anthem, confirming the unthinkable: the Old Boys had lost.

Marta Reyes, Bus Driver and new Minister of Education, is hoisted onto the shoulders of her neighbors. "We did it! Now we show them what we know!" Nearby, Darren the Butcher, now the Health Minister, grins as his apron flaps in the morning breeze, and Sophie the Shopkeeper, newly appointed Minister of Art & Culture, waves shyly to her customers. The city is awash with hope and the scent of fresh bread, but beneath the laughter, uncertainty simmers.

Marta glances at a pile of official documents, her brow creasing. "Does anyone know what a budget proposal looks like?" Darren shrugs, cleaning his hands on his apron. "I thought we’d just… talk to the doctors?" Sophie flips through a thick manual. "We’ll learn. We have to. The people are counting on us." Yet, their voices are tinged with apprehension as the enormity of the task settles on their shoulders.

President Van der Meer, Foreign Old Boy Leader, leans toward Sir Reginald, his voice low and scornful. "A bus driver, a butcher, a shopkeeper. They have no place among us, Reginald. The world will not wait for amateurs." "Their little experiment will collapse soon enough. The people will beg for the return of order." The Old Boys nod, their eyes cold, as they plot their return.

Marta stands at the podium, voice weary, facing a restless crowd. "We tried our best. We wanted something new, but perhaps… perhaps some jobs are harder than they look." In the parliament, ministers shuffle papers with confusion, mistakes multiplying. The streets buzz with discontent—promises unmet, dreams soured by inexperience.

Sir Reginald addresses the nation, his voice echoing over the square. "Let this be a lesson. Leadership requires more than good intentions—it demands knowledge, training, sacrifice. A bus driver must drive, a leader must lead." The people listen in silence, the weight of their failed dream heavy as rain begins to fall, washing away old banners and hopes alike.