Simon Lööf plays Simon, a young man raised in a small industrial town in Sweden, where honesty, hard work, and quiet endurance define a person’s worth. His parents, modest and proud, have spent their lives ensuring he’d have the opportunities they never did. When Simon is accepted into the University of Lund to study law, it feels like the fulfillment of that dream — a way out, a path toward success and respect. But Simon’s arrival in Lund doesn’t bring the belonging he expected. From the very beginning, he feels like an outsider — too poor, too uncertain, too aware of the invisible distance between himself and the students born into privilege. His roommates, the children of lawyers, doctors, and politicians, treat him politely but distantly, with the sort of condescending charm that makes him feel smaller each time they smile. The city itself is cold and old, full of cobblestone streets and whispered secrets. Simon spends his days attending lectures and his nights working at a café to cover his rent. Yet beneath the surface of this routine simmers a growing unease. He wanted to study law because it was safe, because it promised structure — but what he really craved was meaning, something raw and alive. That craving finds its spark one evening when Simon, on his way home, stumbles into a protest outside the university. The crowd is loud, chaotic — young people chanting, waving banners, faces half-hidden beneath scarves. Simon doesn’t even know what the protest is about before the police charge. In the confusion, he’s knocked down, dragged toward a police van, and then suddenly pulled away by a masked stranger. That stranger is Max (Nora Rios), a fiery, unpredictable woman with sharp eyes and a reckless smile. She takes him through alleys, away from the chaos, and when they finally stop, Simon realizes she’s laughing — laughing at the absurdity of it all, at the world’s hypocrisy. She thanks him for “not being afraid,” even though he never meant to be brave. Then she disappears as suddenly as she arrived, leaving Simon with nothing but the echo of her voice and the strange feeling that his life has just shifted. Days pass, but Simon can’t stop thinking about her. When he runs into Max again at a university party, it feels like fate. She’s everything he’s not — confident, rebellious, magnetic. She speaks in riddles and contradictions, mocking the rules he’s always followed. She introduces him to her friends — a small group of intellectuals and radicals led by Charles, a disillusioned former professor. Charles speaks of “radical honesty” — a philosophy that demands complete alignment between belief and action. “To live honestly,” he says, “is to refuse the comfort of hypocrisy. To act on what you believe, no matter the cost.” His words strike something deep in Simon. For the first time, he feels seen. As he spends more time with Max and Charles’s group, Simon begins to change. He skips classes. He reads manifestos instead of textbooks. He joins late-night debates about truth, justice, and corruption. The group challenges him to confront his passivity, to stop hiding behind the illusion of being “a good person.” One night, Charles gives Simon a test: steal something valuable, something that represents the world’s obsession with status and possession. At first, Simon refuses. He tells himself it’s just a game — that he’s too sensible to cross that line. But when Max whispers, “You’ll never know who you are until you break something,” he does it. The theft is clumsy, terrifying, and exhilarating. For a brief moment, Simon feels powerful — as if he’s finally acted instead of observed. But power comes with consequence. The boutique owner recognizes him from the university. Whispers start to spread. Simon becomes paranoid, unable to distinguish loyalty from suspicion. Meanwhile, his relationship with Max grows intense, volatile, and magnetic. They share nights filled with passion and silence, alternating between intimacy and distance. Max pushes him further into Charles’s ideology, convincing him that laws are just illusions created to protect the powerful. Simon begins to believe it — or at least, he wants to. But cracks start to form. Charles, who preaches honesty, hides his own manipulations behind philosophy. Max’s confidence begins to look more like desperation. And Simon, now trapped between the life he’s built and the life he’s pretending to understand, starts to lose his sense of self. When one of their operations spirals out of control — a plan to expose a corrupt politician through stolen evidence — Simon realizes the truth: the group isn’t fighting for justice anymore. They’re fighting for chaos, for the thrill of rebellion itself. What began as an idea has become a performance, and Simon can no longer tell who’s lying — or if anyone ever told the truth at all. In the film’s final act, Simon is forced to make a choice. After a confrontation between the group and the police turns violent, Max disappears, leaving behind only a note: “You wanted an honest life. This is what it costs.” Simon returns to his empty apartment, surrounded by the remnants of both worlds — the stolen watch still in his drawer, the law books gathering dust on his desk. He looks at his reflection and barely recognizes the man staring back. For the first time, he admits the truth: he doesn’t know who he is anymore. The film closes on Simon walking alone through the streets of Lund at dawn. The light is cold but clear. His future is uncertain, but for the first time, his steps are his own.