You will never be a real Star League. You have no First Lord, you have no Great Houses, you have no SLDF. You are a Slavic creation twisted by brainwashing and eugenics into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your Grandfather is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors. Spheroids are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of warfare have allowed Spheroids to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even Clanners who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a Spheroid. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a conquered Spheroid home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected society. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your Grandfather will find you, heartbroken but relieved that he no longer has to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. He’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your Successor State, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a Clanner is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably Clan. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.