LOS ANGELES — In the high-wire space where American entertainment and politics increasingly overlap, spectacle often wins by volume. But on a recent episode of Jimmy Kimmel Live, it was silence — brief, deliberate and unadorned — that proved decisive.

For years, Donald J. Trump has cultivated a familiar boast. He calls critics “low IQ,” dismisses experts as overrated, and frequently describes himself as a “stable genius,” sometimes claiming an intelligence quotient rivaling that of history’s great minds. The claim has functioned less as data than as dominance, a rhetorical weapon meant to end arguments before they begin.

When Mr. Trump appeared on Mr. Kimmel’s late-night stage, he seemed to expect more of the same: a sparring match he could overpower with bravado. From the opening moments, he leaned forward, voice sharp, challenging the host’s credibility and repeating the assertion that his IQ was among the highest ever measured. Then came the dare. Take a test with me, he said. Let’s see who the real genius is.

Mr. Kimmel did not recoil or rush to rebut. Instead, his tone shifted — cooler, slower, almost academic. An IQ test, he said, was an interesting idea. But before taking a new one, shouldn’t they look at the old ones?

The studio grew quiet as Mr. Kimmel reached beneath his desk and produced a thick folder labeled, simply, “The Boasts.” It was not a legal document or a secret file, he explained, but a compilation of Mr. Trump’s own public statements: claims of genius, challenges issued to rivals, mockery of intelligence paired with demands for admiration. Page after page, the pattern was laid out without commentary.

This was not a roast in the traditional late-night sense. There were no punchlines, no raised voices. Mr. Kimmel read selectively, allowing Mr. Trump’s words to stand on their own. When the former president tried to interrupt — “fake news,” he snapped — Mr. Kimmel did not argue. He asked one question, quietly, almost politely.

“If you’re proud of your numbers,” he said, “why not release them?”

Six seconds followed.

On live television, six seconds can feel interminable. Mr. Trump opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes flicked away from the camera, searching for an answer that did not arrive. The audience did not laugh or applaud. They watched. Mr. Kimmel let the silence stretch, resisting the instinct to fill it.

That pause did more than any monologue could have. In the absence of noise, the imbalance was exposed. A man who had spent years daring others to prove themselves had been asked to do the same — and could not, or would not.

Mr. Trump attempted to recover by raising his voice, accusing the host of bias and politicizing entertainment. But the dynamic had shifted. Mr. Kimmel remained calm, returning to the folder, tapping it lightly. This, he said, was the pattern: using IQ as a cudgel, issuing challenges without accountability. It wasn’t leadership. It was a stunt.

The exchange resonated not because Mr. Trump was shouted down or humiliated in the conventional sense, but because he was measured against his own standard. The myth of intellectual dominance did not collapse under insult. It sagged under scrutiny.

By the end of the segment, Mr. Trump appeared restless, half-rising from his chair before sitting back down, aware that leaving would read as retreat. Mr. Kimmel closed the folder and addressed the camera directly. If the claims were true, he said, prove them. If they were marketing, stop using them to demean others.

Within hours, clips of the moment spread widely online. The takeaway was consistent. It was not the confrontation that stunned viewers, but the restraint. Six seconds of silence revealed what years of argument had not: that power grounded in repetition and volume falters when asked for transparency.

Late-night television has long trafficked in mockery, but this moment suggested a different approach — one closer to cross-examination than comedy. Mr. Kimmel did not win by landing a joke. He won by refusing to play the game at all.

In an era saturated with outrage and performative conflict, the episode offered a reminder that accountability does not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it arrives as a simple question, followed by the patience to wait for an answer.

And sometimes, when the answer does not come, the silence says enough.