“Before we begin the preliminary hearing, I’d like to speak with both the plaintiff and the defendant. Please approach the bench,” the judge said, arranging papers in front of him to show he was well-prepared.

  A young, gaunt man in a three-piece suit and a woman in her mid-forties, dressed out of fashion and wearing a peculiar hat, rose from their seats and walked up to the judge's table.

  “Plaintiff, do you truly believe that it was the Predictor that prevented your win?” the judge asked, seated slightly looming over the parties.

  “Well, yes! I wrote it all down,” the woman replied, shrugging irritably. “The screen showed the emotion ‘Joy’! And I would never feel joy at someone else winning!”

  “Exactly. You wouldn’t,” the young man in the suit said calmly.

  “Do you wish to add something, defendant?” the judge shot him a stern look.

  “No, Your Honor! I offer my deepest apologies for the inappropriate remark,” he said, and it seemed if he had a top hat, he would have taken it off and pressed it to his chest in repentance.

  The judge turned back to the plaintiff:

  “Are you sure you don’t want to accept the settlement offered by the defendant?”

  “Three years of free service? Instead of thirty-six million? I wasn’t born yesterday, Your Honor!”

  “Yesterday? That’s debatable.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just a figure of speech.”

  “So, you're claiming,” the judge interrupted before tensions could escalate, “that you were participating in an offline lottery, and when five of the drawn numbers matched your ticket and everyone was waiting for the final ball, your Predictor displayed the emotion ‘Joy.’ You…” the judge read from the document, “…squealed with overwhelming happiness so loudly that those around you jumped, the lottery operator flinched, and accidentally bumped the machine, causing the ball with number six to be released instead of five, which was your number.” He looked at the plaintiff, his expression conveying just how absurd he found the claim.

  “That’s right,” she nodded proudly, as if the case had already been won.

  “And you,” the judge turned to the defendant, “claim that the Predictor bears no responsibility, that everything happened as it was meant to, and that nothing can alter the course of events?”

  “Precisely, Your Honor.”

  “But your Predictor is designed to display the emotion its owner will feel exactly ten seconds later. People change their decisions based on seeing negative emotions on the screen. Your Predictor changes the future, the outcome. It says here that your Predictor has saved lives, reduced traffic accidents by sixty-eight percent…” the judge glanced at a document. “…and reduced domestic conflicts by thirty-four percent.”

  “We’ve never claimed that in our advertising or public communications. We have never said our device helps avoid accidents, death, or misfortune. We position our product solely and exclusively as an emotion predictor.”

  “I know. I see it every day—before I even finish reading the verdict, the entire courtroom either sobs or cheers. I was the one who pushed to ban Predictors in court…” The judge paused, catching himself. “Tell me this—when your Predictor helps someone avoid death or make a better decision, your company gladly accepts donations from the grateful, correct?”

  “That’s correct…” the defendant replied cautiously, sensing the judge’s disapproval.

  “And has it ever happened that someone won the lottery and donated part of their winnings to your… organization?” the judge asked, rummaging theatrically through his papers.

  “Yes, it has happened, but, Your Honor—”

  The judge cut him off.

  “And what’s the largest donation from a lottery win?”

  “As far as I recall…”

  The judge found the document and read:

  “Eight million. Exactly ten percent of the winnings, correct?”

  “That’s right,” the defendant admitted.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “But…” the judge paused, giving him a chance to speak.

  “But these are donations, not demands from our organization. The donations fund discount programs that make our otherwise expensive product accessible to low-income individuals.”

  “Like beggars!” the plaintiff chimed in.

  “Exactly. They have emotions too…”

  “At least now they don’t harass everyone,” the judge smiled slightly. “Only those whom the Predictor shows ‘Joy’ or ‘Satisfaction’ when they consider approaching. Complaints about beggars have dropped…” He checked another paper. “…by ninety-eight percent since April.”

  “And now they use it for manipulation!” the plaintiff squealed. “They approach strangers, point to the ‘Joy’ on the screen and demand money—‘The Predictor told me so!’”

  “Exactly! It’s basic psychology. Look: the beggar approaches someone who was going to give money anyway—they give it, and the beggar feels Joy. The beggar approaches someone who wasn’t going to give money, but sees ‘Joy’ on the screen and, reluctantly, gives money to be left alone. The beggar still feels Joy! The Predictor predicts the owner’s emotion, not the passerby’s. In both cases, the prediction is correct. Understand?”

  “But in that case, didn’t the Predictor influence the decision?”

  “Not at all. That person was always going to give—just not happily. Otherwise, beggars would succeed with everyone. Get it?”

  “But statistics! Statistics don’t lie!” the plaintiff exclaimed, feeling she’d caught him.

  The defendant, the judge, and the bailiff all stared at her in confusion.

  “Indeed, statistics don’t lie, as you say. But your data came from a directed analysis. You didn’t account for the rise of self-driving cars, increased public transport usage, stricter fines, or simple human behavior. Walking into traffic with a Predictor in hand is still stupid. So is hitting someone when your Predictor is showing ‘Fear.’”

  “And young men use it to seduce girls!” the plaintiff continued. “They approach them in bars, say they want to sleep with them, and show ‘Joy’ on the screen! And the silly girls fall for it!”

  “That’s… true,” the defendant hesitated. “But again, that’s not the Predictor’s fault. Same logic as with beggars.”

  “Tell me,” the judge said, turning back to him. “Is it possible to train oneself to feel joy at any outcome—or to trick yourself into experiencing ‘Joy’ ten seconds in the future and thus manipulate the Predictor?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s impossible to fool the Predictor. The brightest minds—psychologists, spies, actors—have tried and failed.”

  “But…” the judge prompted.

  “But sometimes, the user does end up feeling the predicted emotion, even if the outcome is unexpected.”

  “How so?” the plaintiff asked, surprised.

  “Yes, do explain,” the judge urged.

  “Say you want to punch someone. You look, see ‘Joy,’ and think: ‘Great, I’ll do it!’ But you miss. He punches you back. Then a cop runs in and arrests him. The Joy isn’t from the punch—it’s from the consequences. Real Joy! That’s what the Predictor shows.”

  “There’s one more thing I want to clarify before I ask my standard questions, get the standard answers, and set the date for the hearing,” the judge leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled near his mouth so the audience couldn’t read his lips.

  “Tell me—why exactly ten seconds? I know private and government entities have asked you to increase or at least explain it, but…”

  “I can only say what we always say, because it’s the truth: we don’t know. Do you know how the device was invented?”

  “Lie detector,” the judge and plaintiff replied in unison.

  “Correct! The old polygraphs measured sweat, heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, etc. We tried to improve it—electrochemical signals. That’s our niche. Less than one percent of our revenue, but we’re proud of it. The earlier we detect a reaction, the more truthful it is. Skilled liars can override signals within milliseconds. So we tried detecting even before the question was asked. As a lie detector, it didn’t work… but one lab tech noticed it predicted his emotions—ten seconds into the future. At first, no one believed him. Then… we all got Predictors.”

  “And have you developed any theories?” the judge asked.

  “Yes. The main one is that everything is predetermined. Just like we wrote in our reply to the plaintiff. Studies in the early 2000s showed the hand moves before the brain sends the signal. The brain doesn’t control the hand—it tricks us into thinking we’re in control. Cause and effect is an illusion. The foundation of quantum theory. No causality. No reason for quantum entanglement. The particles are just connected. One’s spin changes, the other’s changes too. Instantly. No signal, no delay.”

  “Because it was always going to happen. And we’re just observers?” the judge asked, still covering his mouth.

  “Exactly, Your Honor.”

  “But your Predictors save lives, resolve conflicts…” the judge leaned back in his chair.

  “We’ve never claimed that, sir. Our theory says that everything happens as it was meant to. A man sees ‘Fear’ on the screen and doesn’t cross the street on red. He wasn’t meant to die. Whether he crossed or not doesn’t matter. There’s only the outcome. The one that was always going to be.”

  “But I lost! And it said ‘Joy’! It doesn’t add up! Your theory falls apart!” the plaintiff cried, wringing her hands.

  The defendant shrugged and opened his palms.

  “But you did scream with joy. So there was Joy—either the device read it early, which is impossible, or…”

  “Or?” the judge leaned in.

  “Or, ten seconds after reading ‘Joy,’ I realized I was going to win. I screamed. The operator bumped the machine. The wrong ball dropped. And I rejoiced at the thought of suing you and squeezing money out of your pockets…”

  The plaintiff turned crimson, her mouth trembling open, knuckles white on the edge of the table.

  The judge leaned back and looked at her. The defendant regarded her in a new, somewhat startled way.

  “All I meant to say,” the defendant concluded, “is that the Predictor doesn’t make mistakes. And there are countless theories as to why.”

  “Very well,” the judge said loudly so everyone could hear and remember, “If neither party intends to amend the claim or accept the settlement, I hereby set the date for the next hearing. And without any Predictor, I can already foresee… it will be a long and boring day.”