"So," she said, folding her hands. "The reviews are in. Mythware promises control but delivers fragility. It offers visibility but leaves backdoors. It claims to be a teaching tool, but the overwhelming consensus—from teachers, students, and IT staff—is that it is a surveillance blunt instrument that breaks as often as it works. The three-star average is a lie. The five-star reviews are either from the company's own employees or from schools that haven't yet hit the 'uninstaller' wall."

She paused for effect.

"It started, as these things always do, with a promise," she said, looking at the five other members of the procurement committee. "The Mythware classroom management software sales pitch was a symphony of control. 'See every screen,' they said. 'Guide every click. Mute, blank, and broadcast. The digital classroom, tamed.'"

Elena’s voice dropped. "Listen to this. 'We attempted to remove Mythware from 200 lab computers over the summer. The official uninstaller left behind 47 registry keys, a hidden kernel driver named 'MWDrv.sys,' and a scheduled task that re-installed a stub on reboot. We had to manually image every single hard drive. This software is digital herpes. You will never truly be rid of it.'"

The silence in the room was now heavy, a physical weight. Marjorie Lin, the gentle elementary school principal, looked genuinely disturbed. "It... stays? Even after you delete it?"