The Consultant of God

His name was Antoine Serval. Born into a simple family. Very religious. He had quickly understood that much was expected of him. So he had excelled.

Elite schools. Fast tracks. Consulting firm. He wore success like armor. And behind it, an immense hunger. One day, he was offered a strategic position in a conglomerate that was restructuring education on a global scale. "We are going to help millions of children learn. Efficiency. Algorithms. AI." He accepted and signed protocols. Had "unprofitable" rural schools closed. Automated follow-ups. Everything worked. KPIs soared. Shareholders adored him. But some evenings, in the empty open-plan offices, he heard a sound. A rustling. Like a breath within the walls. And then one night, he dreamed of a desert. Of an immense god, made of screens and concrete. Sitting. Mute. And around him, eyeless children, tapping on endless tablets. He woke up. Sweating. But he went back to the office. He continued. He climbed even higher. And one day, at the summit, he gave a speech on "the ethical responsibility of progress." He was applauded. Very loudly. But in the room, an old man raised his hand. And said:

— "To whom do you answer, Antoine? Who is your true master?"

There was no answer.

Only a silence.

And in that silence, Baal smiled.