The Interdimensional Saiyan: "Why is this my Home World!"

The colour. The colour that spread across my entire vision.

White.

The first thing I remembered was this.

As the name White Room implied, the entire facility was painted and based on this colour. The ceiling was not an exception to this rule.

I was staring at this ceiling in my first proper memories. A clean, isolating white.

Before showing any interest in my fingers, or moving around, I had stared at this ceiling. Staring, wondering what it was… or where I was. Day after day, I spent like this, just staring at the ceiling.

At first, I cried. I was crying because I was alone. Because I had missed people. And yet at some point, I realised that no one was coming to save me.

Looking back at it, I realised it was an irrational instinct, not logic.

This is the first thing a newborn learns when it accepts its environment. Even if it cannot speak.

Soon after that, I came to realise the existence of my fingers. And from that day, I spent most of my time moving them, licking and biting them. At some point, I learned that by holding onto the crib, I could stand, though only for a few seconds before tripping. Because it was the only fun I could find in this emptiness, challenging myself to stand longer became a hobby and failure made me laugh.

Even if I hated losing. Finding some enjoyment in this hellhole was good.

The nourishment necessary for all life was brought to us by cold adults in white lab coats. This was no different in the cases of illness. It was carried out unemotionally, robotically. And life continued on as if nothing happened.

No one panicked, no one worried, and no one rejoiced. Eventually, I too stopped rejoicing in my small victories with the hobby. 

At some point, one would realise that we were being carefully cared for here.

Humans had emotions–anger, sadness, fear, happiness even joy–yet none of them were of use in this facility.

The children with their still undeveloped brains learned this fact very early on.

The only time we could move forwards was when we achieved something. I remembered the Instructors watching me do my little hobby because it was an achievement to be marked. 

They didn't discourage it, or encourage it. They were neutral to the emotions I felt so long as the achievements kept going. Although I eventually realised that emotions were irrational blocks to my progress at some point.

Although this achievement's equalling progress became clearer when I first recognised communication as a language at 1 years old.

The instructor was sitting in front of me and I was in front of him. There was nothing in between–just the instructor holding out his open hands to me. Not long afterward he placed a small little gummy in his right hand in a very conspicuous way.

For us–the children of this facility, these sweet snacks were a rarity. The sweetness we were deprived of normally was right here. As a child, I was no exception; I held the same cravings as everyone else back then.

"Guess where the gummy is and you can eat it." He said with no emotion in his voice. The instruction was clear, "I'll give you a chance until you miss 3 times." He further articulated, as simple as he could.

Even if I didn't understand each of the syllables in the words spoken, I could vaguely understand them. Instinctively I could tell what was being asked of me.

His expression was stern and expressionless almost. On the other hand, was the child facing him–me, Kanemoto Sumire–also emotionless.

Both of us had the same expressions, but he was consciously keeping it that way, whilst mine was natural.

The other children were naturally emotionless as well. 

I could sense that the other children were well aware of the fact that emotions were stumbling blocks. I could sense they figured that out sooner than I did. There were 1 on 1's between adults who hid their emotions and children who had minimal emotions.

The instructor's hands being held in front of me made it clear what I did. Touching his right hand, just as I had seen. And with hesitation he opened it up and handed me the small treat. All of the instructors held it in their right hands based on what I could observe.

All of us had answered correctly.

"Next."

This time he held the gummy in his right hand but then moved it into his left in front of me where I could watch him. Of course I answered correctly.

This process was repeated twice more, totalling 4 gummies.

"Next."

Fifth time. This time the instructor crossed his arms behind his back, grabbed a gummy bear and held it out to me. In this case, there was no way to judge which hand it was in. It was completely 50/50.

The instructor's expression had not not changed at all. His gaze was not wavering. The strength of the grip and position of his hands remained the same. 

There truly was no way to tell which had the gummy was held in.

In this case efficiency… no… I stopped that line of thought, and instead I waited observing the others in the room with me.

The majority of children picked the right hand which was right… those who picked left were wrong. I determined that the right hand was the correct choice from this.

I answered correctly.

"Next."

You were never praised for answering correctly although eating the gummy was a good enough prize for answering correctly.

Once more, my observations provided me with the same insight, which ended up being the left this time. The next hand was also left. After that was left again. After that, came the right one.

I answered all of them correctly through observation. Something the others weren't doing. And they were caught in the 3 to 1 trap. Which made them incorrectly guess..

At this point 40 people had failed. 30 of them because of this trick. Most were on their final chance and some had 2 chances left. I was the only one who had all 3 still.

"Next."

Doing what I normally did, I observed until all the children had finished pointing yet the Instructors hands had not opened an inch.

"You are the last one." I heard the one holding the gummy that was rightfully mine speak. And instinctively understand what that meant.

This meant that none of them would open their hands until all of us had answered.

This was truly a 50/50 now.

No, that would also be wrong. There was a slight twitch from his right side when he got the gummy from behind him.

The children were too focused on getting the gummies that they hadn't observed the movements made during this. It was so minute, so miniscule that it was hard to see. Unintentional perhaps? Or maybe it was.

Either way, I wouldn't know if the guess was right or not until I did it.

I tapped the right hand.

All of the hands opened, and I had landed my first failure.

At this point, many of the children had failed and won't be getting another chance.

And I no longer had a winning streak.

"Next."

Similar to the previous occasion, the instructor's hands went behind his back, and clenched the gummy. There was no way to tell which hand it was in, I knew that now. So without wasting time, I took a random guess.

I was right this time, but the next one… I was not so lucky.

Suffering my second loss made me realise how frustrating it was to lose. I hated it, honestly.

"Next."

One last chance.

Similarly to the last 2 occasions he would clench his hands, one holding the gummy behind his back. There was no way to tell which hand it was in from the outside. And of course no hands opened.

It didn't make a difference if the left or right hand was used, because there was no way to tell the difference.

I wondered if that was actually true or not.

Or if it wasn't held in either of these hands… then.

The instructor didn't say which hand held the gummy bear, nor did he express that that was the only place they could be found. So it was possible they could be hidden elsewhere.

I let that childish thought run through my mind and pointed behind without touching either hand.

He didn't answer and just stared at my movements.

"Why are you pointing back?"

"Gummy, hand, no."

I replied in a way that showed I still didn't have control over the language.

Without saying a word, the instructor opened both hands at the same time. Then, I found a small gummy bear in his right hand.

"That's too bad. The right hand is the correct one."

The instructor then popped the small gummy in his mouth.

One of the two remaining children had answered correctly for the right hand and was given a gummy bear.

"To hell with it, I'll give you one more chance, just for the heck of it."

He took out a gummy bear and held it in his hands behind his back as if to repeat the process, and stuck out his arms.

I thought his hands were empty by hiding them behind his back, but in fact, they were held in his right hand. Then, did I simply miss the 50/50, and it was never hidden from the beginning of this match?

Or, after hiding it twice, did he hold it in his right hand, anticipating that we would read it that way? The possibility that both hands were empty is more probable than the possibility that they were holding something. The other remaining child pointed to the instructor's left hand.

What's the right thing to do...?

Was it the right hand, the left hand, or was it hidden behind?

"Behind."

After thinking about it, I took a gamble. I rejected the right and left hands, judging both to be empty.

The instructor opened his hands. In his left hand was a small gummy bear.

"Too bad. Another miss. Are you disappointed?"

It's true, I was disappointed.

Because I had lost. Not because I wanted the gummy bear… okay that might have been partly the case.

"I guess this girl is different after all."

The adults gathered around and whispered to each other.

My mind couldn't comprehend the meaning of the complicated words, so I only remember them as a list of words.

"All the children, with the exception of Sumire, were honestly trying to guess everything between left or right. But she observed the choices of those around them and was clearly aware of the possibility of a third option, which was the option that the gummy was hidden behind our backs. Moreover, even after proving that it wasn't hiding behind my back, she didn't abandon the possibility. This isn't the thinking of a one-year-old. Her intelligence tells me something…"

"You're overthinking this, aren't you?"

"But in all the tests I've done, this girl is the only child who thinks differently; she's the only one who has a different point of view."

In the midst of these incomprehensible thoughts, the instructors' words were etched in the databank's of my memory.

I thought, in the future, I may be able to get some hints from this conversation.

When I grew up, I could just open the drawers to my memories.

"...The way she's looking at me is creepy. I wonder if she even understands what we're talking about."

"No way... she's 1 years old. There's no way he understands more than the bare minimum of what we're saying."

"That's true, but..."

A buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the test.

The adults looked at each other, ordered the children to stand by, and walked out.

Given this familiar scenery, the kids saw them off without any of them crying.

Any fear that we'd be left alone has long since disappeared.

There was no help for us.

This was something we learned early on.

———————————

Another fragment of memory to be dug up.

In the process of erasing unnecessary memories, there are things that come to mind.

"Take your seat and state your name."

State your name. The brain received the instruction and quickly transmitted the signal to the throat answering the question.

"Sumire."

It was a symbol. A sequence of letters.

An important element to distinguish humans.

All of us White Room students were taught names as one of the ways to identify individuals. However, we weren't told our surnames, and all the instructors called us by our first names.

Although I had no way of knowing it at the time, there would be an inconvenience created by teaching us our surnames. It seems that it was a rule based on the fear that it might lead to the children's identification in the future.

And if that happened the depersonalisation we already faced by being here would vanish.

By the time the children were 2 years old, a new curriculum was beginning to be implemented one after another.

"Now then, let's commence the test."

The most important of these was a written test.

All students straightened their posture and faced the test papers.

The test consisted of five writing systems: hiragana, katakana, the alphabet, numbers, and simple kanji.

Since we'd already spent a whole year being thoroughly taught reading and writing when we were 1, there was no hesitation in their fingertips' movements as they held the pen.

The students were penalized if they didn't achieve a certain level of performance in a limited amount of time.

In addition, the students were also required to have good handwriting.

Even if your handwriting was good, you won't receive any points if you get the answer wrong, but if you write poorly in a hurry, points will be deducted from your score, so we had to be careful. No one at this facility asked whether or not we can solve the problems we face.

This is only true because the only children left were those that were capable of solving them..

Those who couldn't were dropped out as they failed.

Our group, called the Fourth Generation, had a total of 100 students. However, children who were deemed to be "failures" had already dropped out of the White Room.

Therefore, all 61 of us then shared almost all of our time together, excluding bedtime.

The written test was 30 minutes long, but there was enough time to complete it in about half to two-thirds of the time limit if we solved the questions without hesitation.

This was true for all the previous written exams held in the White Room.

Solve the equation and move on to the next. Determine the answer and write it down. At the same time, you review the previous question to see if you've made any mistakes.

When I finished, I raised my right hand straight up. After signaling that I was done, I turned the paper over.

Getting a perfect score on the written exam was the minimum requirement. At the same time, you were required to be a neat and speedy writer.

This was the 7th written exam since I turned 2 years old. I've won first place four times in a row. The first time I took the written test, I was ranked 54th, the second time 35th, and the third time 10th. I didn't have a good start.

It took me a while to figure out how the written exams worked, its logic, and its efficiency. Once I solved that, I haven't been overtaken since, and I have been improving my knowledge even more. The gap between me and the second-place finisher was widening with each written exam, and now the time gap was about ten minutes.

Regardless if I got a perfect score or first place, I would never be praised by anyone.

When everyone finished, we moved on to the next part of the curriculum.

"Now we'll start Judo. Everyone please change and follow the instructor to another room."

Martial arts. This was another curriculum added when we turned two, as was the written test.

I've already been taught judo for four months.

After being trained in the basics, we progressed to the stage where we had to fight in actual combat.

"Haa!"

My vision shook and I felt a strong pain in my back.

I've already been taught judo for seven months.

"Haa!"

My vision shook and I felt a strong pain in my back.

In the confrontation with the instructor, the subjects of the White Room were always made to taste this bitterness.

I was no exception.

"Get up!"

The relentless slamming into the floor, making it impossible to breathe, didn't allow you a break.

If I didn't get up immediately, I would be reprimanded again and again. Next, arms that were many times thicker than mine flew at me. I was slammed to the floor again, and I catched myself on the floor. Absorbing some of the damage.

While I was being knocked down to the ground, similar occurrences were happening all over the place.

All the kids were crying and sobbing while being thrashed around.

The difference between us was that I kept getting up the instant I was thrown to the floor.

Unlike one.

"I can't... I can't stand up...!"

As if begging for forgiveness, a girl who's name was irrelevant to me clung weakly to the instructor's leg.

"Still, get up!"

The girl was forced to stand up as the instructor forcibly shook off her hands, but her body seemed to be immobilized.

The fact that's a girl wasn't taken into consideration here.

"I told you to stand up!"

The girl was kicked, spun around and around on the floor, and sprayed vomit all over the place.

Of course, the adults weren't kicking seriously.

Even so, it was obvious to everyone that the force of the kick was unbelievably strong.

"I don't give a damn, even if you're a kid! You already know that!"

The average mind would have a strong resistance to hurting a child this much.

But the instructors who've been called to the White Room aren't ordinary.

They were the kind of people who had no qualms about sending women and children to the brink of death.

"No one will cry if you disappear! Stand up and face them on your own!"

Mikuru, convulsing and unfocused, put her hands on the floor and tried to get up.

"Yes! That's it! Show some spirit!

"Uh, uuh... Ugh... gh...!"

But the previous kick Mikuru took was critical, and she collapsed and lost consciousness.

"Damn! You gutless bastard! Get her out of here! Get out of my way!"

The instructor, who had been making irritating footsteps, shouted angrily as he forcibly removed Mikuru from the room.

Do you believe such a scene is tragic?

If so, you should change how you think. This is only the beginning. Excessive reactions like Mikuru's were decreasing day by day, and even the expression of pain was fading away.

Even human instincts were eliminated by the brain as superfluous functions.

It was natural to be thrown. It was natural to have difficulty breathing. It was natural to hurt yourself to the point of sobbing. And even thinking about it was a waste. The only way out of the situation was to keep trying to reduce the number of times you get thrown within the time limit.

Of course, the most ideal situation was to defeat your opponent but the opponent was far superior in strength, size, and skill. Needless to say, it wasn't easy to bridge the gap between adults and children.

They knew this. But did it anyway.

After being forced to fight intensely and breathlessly, everyone rose to their feet, battered and bruised.

After an intense education from our instructors, we were obliged to take part in hand-to-hand combat with three others at the end of the day.

The children never look tired. It had been beaten out of them a long time ago.

I've learned that any prey that seems weak was doomed to be hunted by the strong.

My record was 210 fights, 200 wins and 10 losses. And I was currently on a 154 winning streak.

The fights were rotated between male and female opponents, but Shiro stood in front of me, silently waiting for the signal to begin.

Shiro had an overwhelmingly good record of 201 wins and 9 losses.

I've played against Shiro twice, winning once and losing once.

I lost my first Randori match, but I had not lost since the first rotation; however, among the other students, Shiro had the best judo skills. Because he was a formidable opponent, he was able to sharpen his sensitivity even more.

Shiro had always been aggressive and took the initiative in his fights against others, but today, in his third match, he seemed to be taking a wait-and-see attitude, aiming to create counter-attacks.

This was something I welcomed, as I wanted to gain experience in attacking a strong opponent.

"Begin!"

At the instructor's announcement, we fought each other, whether it was a win or loss, we moved on to the next lesson as if nothing had happened. 

Karate is a martial art that started somewhat later than Judo. Here, the students were subjected to more direct blows from the instructors than in judo.

The variety of martial arts will probably increase again as we reach 3 or 4 years old.

That was the common inference among all the children.

———————————

By the time I was four years old, the number of children had dwindled even further, dropping to about 50 at one point.

No one cared.

There was no time to care.

Here, the only thing that mattered was what we could provide in terms of ability. If someone disappeared, it simply meant they had failed to meet expectations. There was no mourning, no farewells. They were just… gone.

If there was an end to this, it was endlessly far away.

Once you faltered, even once, you would never catch up again.

One evening, when the number of children had already decreased considerably, we sat down for dinner as usual. The trays were placed in front of us, the food portions controlled to the gram. The instructors left us alone to eat, as they always did, monitoring us through the ever-present surveillance cameras.

This was not unusual. Meals were conducted in absolute silence.

It wasn't that speaking was forbidden.

It simply wasn't necessary.

There was no need for introductions—we already knew each other's names from the instructors. There was no need for discussion—we knew each other's abilities, strengths, and weaknesses better than we knew our own reflections. We had been ranked, measured, and evaluated in every conceivable way.

There were no personal preferences, no favorites, no dislikes.

Food was fuel. A calculated balance of proteins, carbohydrates, and vitamins to optimize performance. It didn't matter whether it was rice or vegetables or meat—it was all the same. We ate what we were given. We never complained.

That's why what happened next was unexpected.

"I don't like…"

The words were so quiet that I barely registered them at first.

I glanced up. The voice belonged to Yuki, the girl who always sat in front of me. She stared down at her tray, eyes fixed on a single piece of carrot with an expression I couldn't quite define.

Silence.

No one responded.

After all, why would they?

Speech was reserved for responding to instructors. No one talked during meals. There was no rule against it, but there was also no reason to do it.

Still, Yuki wasn't deterred.

"Do you like it, Sumire?"

She was looking directly at me now.

It took me a moment to understand the question.

Did I like it?

The concept of "liking" or "disliking" food had never crossed my mind before. Food was a necessity. It had properties, nutritional value, functions. Carrots contained beta-carotene, which the body converted into vitamin A, essential for maintaining healthy skin, mucous membranes, and immune function. That was all that mattered.

Before I could formulate an answer, another voice spoke.

"I don't like them either."

It was Shiro, the boy sitting to my left.

Yuki turned to him, momentarily surprised.

It was the first time I had ever heard one of my peers express a personal opinion.

I flicked my gaze toward the hidden surveillance camera, my instincts on high alert. The instructors were always watching, monitoring our every move. Surely, they had heard this. Would they react? Would they put an end to it?

But nothing happened.

No orders. No reprimands. No punishment.

That meant it wasn't against the rules.

I considered the question again. Did I like carrots? Did I dislike them? The answer was simple.

"I don't hate them."

The words left my mouth before I even realized I had spoken.

And just like that, something shifted.

What started as a single comment turned into a conversation. Yuki, Shiro, and I exchanged words—simple, meaningless words—about the food on our plates. It wasn't practical. It wasn't necessary. But it was… something.

It was the first time I had ever engaged in dialogue that wasn't about academics, martial arts, or orders from the instructors.

And I realized something.

Conversation was a skill. The art of Communication was a skill that was required.

It was an ability, just like reading, writing, or combat.

We had been trained to solve problems about synergistic formulas, how gravity worked, to fight, to endure. But what about communication? What about human interaction?

How were we supposed to function in the outside world if we didn't even know how to speak to one another?

For the first time, I saw a flaw in the White Room's educational system.

———————————

The White Room children aren't taught many of the rules required to survive in this world.

However, there were a few strict regulations.

This didn't change even in the latter half of our fifth year.

7:00 AM.

"It's time to get up."

The timer rang without a second's delay, accompanied by an uncaring voice announcing the time, and the children in the small room began to wake up.

Before we rose from our beds, a staff member would come into the room and remove the electrodes attached to our bodies.

Then he'd get up and immediately check our health.

The busy, mundane daily routine unfolded in front of us.

After checking for any changes in height, weight, etc., we would go to the bathroom to urinate.

Urine samples were taken once a month, and a small amount of blood would be drawn at the same time.

After the examination, the staff members leave the building without exchanging greetings.

We were then rehydrated and warmed up with 30 minutes of basic training.

After keeping daily physical records such as grip strength measurements, everyone would step into the training room at the same time and complete the quota assigned to each gender. There was no option as to what would happen if the quota wasn't achieved.

The quotas were to be met by everyone because it was a given that everyone would meet their quotas.

Those who fail to do so won't be allowed to set foot in this room from tomorrow onwards.

By the time these steps were fulfilled, it would be 8:00 AM.

At the time, breakfast was more nutritionally oriented and more efficient than it was in my earlier childhood, with supplements and blocked nutrition.

To eat well or not to eat well.

Whether I liked it or not.

It was as irrelevant as ever.

Eat the food in the order in which it was served.

That was all there was to it. Simplistic.

After the meal, the day's curriculum would begin.

The fields of study were diverse, ranging from Japanese, English and other languages and mathematics to economics and political science. Even sciences. The day's curriculum was repeated until noon, with small breaks in between.

Lunch was the same as breakfast, and the curriculum resumed in the afternoon.

From there we studied more Liberal arts such as tea ceremony, calligraphy, or flower arrangement.

After that came classical music lessons.

And finally at 3:45 pm, the physical training began.

It all ended at 7:00 PM.

During this time, we don't speak a single word of our own accord.

After dinner, bathing, and physical examinations, it would be 9:00 PM.

This would be the first time we held what's called a "meeting," a time for conversing to review the day.

The children were alone in a small space with no teachers present.

But they weren't free to talk about any topic.

How did you feel and how did you cope with today's studies?

This was a time for the students to organize and examine their feelings and responses to the day's studies.

Adults didn't get involved unless they recognized that it was an unnecessary private conversation.

Even silence was allowed, regardless of profit or loss, as long as the rules were followed.

The set time was only 30 minutes, but I always merely listened to what was being said and had never felt like actively talking. Even though children were allowed to talk among themselves, their conversations were overheard by the adults.

Even this dialogue was part of the curriculum.

However, no special quota was given.

At the same time, it may be a measure to draw out the children's true feelings.

If we set a quota, it would naturally turn into a dialogue for that purpose.

I decided to speak to Yuki and Shiro, seeing as they were 2 of the best in this room. And it would also increase my conversational skills even slightly.

At 9:30 p.m., we would all be sent back to our rooms.

We were required to go to the bathroom and lie down in bed by 10:00 p.m. Electrodes were attached and the lights would go out. You were expected to be sound asleep by 11.

Medical checkups were always required.

Every day, 365 days a year, there was always time to check on the day's progress.

This was the end of the day.

From waking up to going to bed, our schedule was set down to the second. A day in the White Room: A day never changed.

———————————

Every few months, there came a time of great change.

That's when some of the children began to have trouble keeping up with the curriculum.

The level of study increased by two or three difficulty levels, and little by little they began to fall behind.

It was clear that even after the same amount of time spent learning, there were differences among the individuals.

When they were first taught addition.

When they were first taught multiplication.

They started out equally, but then others realized that they were superior to each other.

Along the way, they can rewind and move on to the next step, but often the child who is noticeably behind stumbles at the next step.

I'm sure that the adults didn't welcome the children dropping out. However, they couldn't keep children who weren't keeping up with the program in the same place indefinitely. Leaving a child who wasn't keeping up created dissonance, and if you try to accommodate the child who wasn't keeping up, the others' rhythm, who were ahead, would be lost. The next learning opportunity would be lost. 

This was why it was necessary to gradually decrease the number of children.

"10 minutes remaining."

Prior to the many children dropouts, one of the many tests was a special high-difficulty written curriculum.

During the course of repeated daily study, I noticed something—the difficulty level of this special written test was raised according to the top score. In other words, a perfect score slid up the scale, thus a child with a previous low score would have a more difficult time on the following test.

On the other hand, if the top score was lower than the perfect score, the ceiling was also lowered. No matter how tough the questions were, there was no room for minor miscalculations, careless omissions, or excuses.

That was why children repeatedly checked their answers even after they solved all the problems on time. They desperately clutched at their test papers, because even a single mistake would mean the end of the test.

Of course, I was an exception.

While others around me were busy, I kept staring at the front of the room. A pen in my hand. I kept pretending that I was still taking the test.

In reality, I had already finished answering all the questions and was spending the remaining time idly.

I wasn't worried about the possibility of making a mistake.

Because I knew I didn't make such a mistake.

The questions on the test paper and the answers I wrote down were imprinted in my mind word for word.

"5 minutes to go."

With the announcement, the sound of brushing around me became more intense.

You hear the sound of the erasers' pressure getting stronger from the seat next to you as if they were in an impatient state of mind.

The difficulty of this test had increased by several levels from the previous exam.

During math class, when the students were solving problems such as the equality conditions of additive and synergistic averages, something unusual happened.

I had almost half of the 30 minutes left to answer the final problem and was staring at the front of the room for the rest of the time, waiting for the signal to finish.

Suddenly a man, a representative of the White Room, entered the room with a grim look on his face.

It wasn't unheard of for an adult to show up in the middle of an exam, when a person who wasn't able to keep up with the exam hyperventilates and collapses, or has a seizure or convulsions.

So far, I hadn't noticed any sign of such conditions.

Or, very rarely, a child becomes so intent on solving the problems that they recklessly cheat.

But I soon learned that it was me, of all people, who was the adult's target.

He stopped a little to my left, looked down at the test paper, and then looked at me.

"Sumire." I looked up as he called my name. "Heed my words and remember them," he paused, letting his next words hold more credence and depth, "Those who hold all the power yet neglect to use it effectively are fools."

Of course they knew what I was doing.

"Leave the room."

I followed the man out of the room.

"What the hell are you doing, Sumire?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean'? You don't understand what I'm asking, do you?"

I was shown to a small private room, where I was made to sit down.

"I see you've completed all the questions."

"Yes."

"Are you sure you're going to get a perfect score?"

"No."

"Of course not."

The questions on the test were deliberately constrained to 80 points.

"Why did you hold back?"

"You didn't instruct me not to hold back."

I knew that I wasn't going to fall behind the wayside just because I didn't get a perfect score.

"You do realize that you're already leading this term, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then there's only one reason why you held back."

The man pointed at me and said, "Because you noticed how this curriculum works. If you get a perfect score, the curriculum for the fourth generation will become more difficult. Naturally, the number of dropouts will increase. Is that what you wanted to prevent?"

That was the correct assumption.

"Surely you haven't developed a sense of camaraderie with the kids."

So that's the instructor's conclusion, huh?

"Is that what it looks like?"

"Yes, that's what I see."

"And how did Kanamoto-Sensei feel about it?"

I was interested in his answer.

"Holding yourself back to assist your fellow students isn't helping him at all."

Is that really true? I asked myself. Your educational system is already flawed enough. I knew that as I've already noted 2 flaws in the system itself.

"You're wrong." I denied keeping my thoughts to myself.

"Then try to convince me."

When ordered to do so, I put my own thoughts into words.

"In the first place, I've never recognized the children around me as my friends."

Yuki and Shiro were the closest I had to them, but I only considered them helpful experiments at most.

Tools to improve my conversational skills.

"Then why didn't you try to get a perfect score?"

"The instructors already knew that I would get a perfect score this time. There's no need to write the answers down on paper every time. It's more time-efficient to leave it blank."

Using unnecessary energy was nothing but a waste.

"That's hubris. Knowledge fades with time. That's why you always do your best to remember. Even if you have the ability to get a perfect score, making mistakes and misremembering can happen. You need to show me your best at all times."

"I won't make a mistake."

"That's a bold statement."

"And that's not the only reason I hold back."

"What?"

"I know that if I hadn't held back, the percentage of kids who would drop out would be much higher than it is now. So, if I cut corners, we're replacing a world where kids who would normally have dropped out are still here."

"Yes. That's called camaraderie."

"No, it's not. I thought of it as a loss of experience, a loss of contact with the children who are going to drop out."

The instructors looked at each other with questioning looks on their faces. The knowledge-hungry brain wants to both analyze patterns and seek answers.

"It's easy to dismiss them at this stage. But I'm still in the learning stage. I want to know what I can see and feel from the weak."

"So you think it's too early for them to drop out?"

I nodded. Soon most of the kids around here won't be able to keep up.

"You think your plan is above ours? It's up to us to decide who is dropping out."

"Of course it's your choice. That's how the White Room is."

It was futile to try to crush this man with logic.

All that matters was that there was never a rule against holding back. But it wouldn't be easy to add a rule against cutting corners.

Even if I got a score of zero, the instructor, who's a third party, would be the one to judge me for holding back. They won't fail the exam because of that. However, it doesn't mean that the instructor can treat a person who got a score of 0 as if they had scored a 100, either.

"Is it okay with you? If she thinks this way, let's see what happens."

"What do you think, Suzukake?"

"I agree with Ishida-san. If she does something we haven't thought of, I'll be very happy."

The man was silent for a while and then dropped his gaze on me.

"Do what you want. But don't forget what I said."

Not utilizing one's power is a fool's errand.

Whether it was true or not, I decided to remember it as a moment of interest.

At the same time, however, another emotion peeked out. I was beginning to feel that I didn't like this man.

I began to understand how Yuki felt when she said she didn't like carrots a little more.

Just as I was being taken back to the rooms to sit down, the buzzer sounded.

All at once, the children placed their pens on their desks.

That was the rule.

But there was one sound that didn't vanish after the buzzer sounded: the sound of a pen crunching on a piece of paper.

This wasn't unusual.

A boy continued his test, breathing hard and sobbing. His attitude to continue the test didn't change even when the door opened and the adults entered the room.

He was forcibly grabbed by his right arm. "No! Let go of me! No! I can still solve it! I can do it! W-waah, waah! I don't want to drop out!" 

He yelled out and in addition to the excessive pressure, he realized his defeat and sprayed acid all over the test paper. The vomit spread from the instructors' necks and down onto their clothes, but they didn't care, they restrained the child from both sides and dragged them out without regard to the child's resistance. 

The children were emotionless, with the only exception being when they drop out. In this case, the inevitable end arouses their survival instincts and they lose their rationality. Some of the children looked at each other, but most of them stared ahead without taking any action.

I didn't either. 

Why would I go out of my way to save someone who was dead?

It was foolhardy to save someone in this situation.

"Uwaaaaah! Uwaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" A scream never heard reverberated through the room and permeated through the automatic door.

As soon as he was taken out, the door closed and silence returned.

They really don't know anything, do they? They can get any number of points in this particular curriculum and never drop out. If they can't even recognize that, it's inevitable that they'll drop out.

I felt another flicker of emotion: disappointment. I was disappointed in my experiments.

———————————

I had no likes or dislikes. It had not only applied to food, the curriculum was no different as well.

Music (piano, violin, etc.), calligraphy, tea ceremony, and other traditional cultural pursuits.

The only thing that I was unenthusiastic about was the altered curriculum, which was newly introduced after I turned five. It introduced a half-day class held only once or twice a month. It was a class called "travel" using a virtual console.

All the children stood up and put on large goggles at the same time.

Our vision went black, but soon the screen lit up and the program was displayed, and it began after a few moments.

"The curriculum will now focus on Japan, whereas in the past we've studied American cities such as New York and Hawaii. First, we'll start with public transportation."

This was the basic premise of the course. It introduced a world that wasn't just a White Room.

This was still learning time, and children were told early on that they won't leave this place until they become adults.

The virtual console reproduced the same outside scenery in 360 degrees with such quality that it could be mistaken for the real thing, and the sound was combined with the visuals to create a sense of presence. Even the people passing by were reproduced, showing a businessman in a suit, an old man with a cane, an elderly woman trying to get into a cab, and other street scenes.

Of course, children were also present, but unlike the reality here, they were having fun, playing around. Whilst a few showed interest in things the others didn't, things that improved them.

We learned the history and structure of the world so that one day, when we go out into the outside world, we'll be able to adapt to it without problems.

I knew it was necessary, but I had a problem with this way of learning.

One of the reasons why I disliked it was because it was accompanied by an indescribable feeling of discomfort. It's what was commonly described as 3D motion sickness.

It's possible that the brain misperceives it as a hallucination if the balance between visual perception and the semicircular canals are incorrect. There's no way to stop the sickness by individual power alone, and the only way would be to let the brain learn over time.

It wasn't so hard that it was impossible to continue, but it was the reason why I didn't like it.

Of course, the virtual console wasn't only used as a device to perceive the outside world visually but also as a tool to train observation and insight.

We were asked to detect unnatural points in the views that unfolded in various locations.

If what we pointed out was wrong or the unnatural point itself couldn't be found, the instructors would provide us with guidance. Harsh guidance.

The methods of guidance varied, but it mainly consisted of those that caused pain to the students themselves.

That's why we used our eyes to thoroughly observe, not even sparing the blink of an eye. The more we feared for our lives, the more our senses sharpened and we began to see things that we couldn't see before.

All outside myself as I was right 99% of the time.

"Next, let's take a walk in Tokyo on the virtual console."

As we virtually walked through Tokyo, the screen suddenly went dark. The instructors' voices that I was listening to stopped, and I was engulfed in silence.

"Everyone take off your goggles." The voice came from inside the room, not through the microphone, and we all followed the instruction at once. "There's an equipment issue. That's it for today's virtual console lesson. We still have less than half an hour before the next curriculum, so please stay here."

With those instructions, the goggles in everyone's hands were retrieved.

"Stand by..."

Many of the kids stood still, watching them. In the end, it seemed that the equipment problem couldn't be resolved quickly enough, and the instructors decided to move on to another curriculum.

The children were, of course, quickly lined up and turned their attention to the next part of the program.

"We're going to read out the names one by one. The first person whose name is called will move with the instructor."

With these instructions, the first three names were called.

In the end, I was the last one to be called and the instructor walked slowly inviting me into the private room.

There were no other children in the room, and it was one-on-one with the instructor.

My eyes glanced up at a camera in the room, it was hidden, as well as all the others.

In the center of the room was a small table and two pipe chairs.

"Come on, sit down."

The instructor said, tapping the table, ordering me to immediately sit down. I obliged and sat down in front of the instructor as the five cards in her hands were placed on the table.

Each card had a different symbol on it. From left to right it showed a circle, square, cross, star, and wave.

"I'm going to put into practice what I'll ask of you to do. Watch carefully."

The instructor faced me, and she took the lead in turning over all the cards.

Since the backs of the five cards displayed the same pattern, it was impossible to tell which card had which mark when the cards were shuffled in this state.

Was she asking me to guess and show her a particular card among them? Yet the five cards had been rearranged.

"You'll be given only 10 seconds each time."

"Square."

The instructor then flipped the leftmost card.

A star came out. 

The instructor continued to flip the cards, stating the symbols.

"Circle, star, cross, wave—"

The second to the fifth cards were a wave, square, cross, and circle, respectively. Only the fourth one, a cross, matched and was thus correct. The percentage of correct answers was 20%.

"This is one round, and it'll be repeated ten times. Watch carefully."

Five guesses, ten times. It was 50 times in total.

The same thing was repeated without any hesitation.

The final percentage of correct answers was about 30% with 15 correct answers out of 50.

"So, now it's your turn, Sumire."

"Yes."

I took my seat in place of the instructor, who got up from her seat.

What was the purpose of this practice? I don't think it was to develop psychic abilities. Such a thing was impossible by science.

And if there was a case of it existing, the Instructors here would have taught us otherwise.

Was it to train intuition? No, it was hard to think of that as legitimate or realistic training for that.

The five cards were mixed by the instructor.

When mixing the cards, the instructor always used an overhand shuffle.

Was this just a habit, or was it intentional?

It was impossible to judge, but it was easy to dismiss it as meaningless.

I wondered, if it did have a meaning, what it was.

The table's material made it seem smooth and easy to do a wash shuffle while it was on the table.

Should I dare to use an overhand shuffle?

Another thing that bothered me was that the instructor didn't always line up the cards from the same position.

Sometimes he started from the left end, sometimes from the middle, then from the right end, then from the left end.

I didn't think there were any kind of rules as far as I saw from the 10 times.

This couldn't be dismissed as a habit.

On the other side of the card, I didn't feel any difference even if I stared at it carefully.

In other words, I didn't think that either the instructor or I could distinguish between the two.

However, there was a big difference between me and the instructor.

That is, whether we can or can't touch the cards.

When mixing the cards, when distributing the cards, when flipping the cards, only the instructor was doing all the motions.

What if the instructor didn't want it to be sensed?

It was only because the instructor could see the card, whose answer should be invisible to him.

But even if I could see it, I still couldn't touch it.

I wasn't forbidden from reaching out and touching it, but would that be the proper move?

It was now clear that this wasn't an exercise in intuition.

Five cards were laid out and the 10-second count began. In order to increase the percentage of correct answers by even 1%, the first conspicuous mark must be decided upon.

"Star..." I answered, and the instructor flipped over the leftmost card with an unchanging expression on his face.

"It's a star."

It's still just one-fifth correct.

"Wave, square, cross, circle."

The instructor flipped from the second card to the fifth.

The marks were turned over and matched just what I said they would, thus making them correct.

"You still have nine more to go."

"Yes."

After five correct answers, I was convinced of one rule. The rest was easy.

I then went on to play the remaining 9 rounds. I guessed all 45 cards.

"100% correct..."

As I finished collecting the previous 50 cards, the instructor looked at me.

In her eyes, I saw an emotion that wasn't there before.

"I didn't realize you had your eye on me from the very first phase."

If all she had to do was explain the rules, she would've only had to show the same repetitive content once or at most twice.

However, the instructor silently went through all of the exercises up to ten times, regardless of whether they were successful or not.

This meant that it wasn't a mere explanation of the rules.

They hid the fact that it was a memory test to see if I could reach that realization as quickly as possible.

"And on top of that, it's hard to believe, but you got a perfect score here."

"I wonder if you've also had them memorized, all lined up the same way they were the first time."

"...No way. I only remembered the five symbols based on the small scratches on the cards that I couldn't see, and the only reason I was able to line them up the same way as the first time was that I received instructions from the intercom in my ear."

"So that's why the cameras were installed in the ceiling."

"...You were aware of that as well."

"I knew it was strange because it was like that guy was talking to me."

When I entered the room, I was approached by a man who seemed to squeeze my free gaze toward a certain part of the room.

It was also unnatural that the instructor urged me to hurry up and sit down. If for some reason he wanted to proceed with the curriculum quickly, he could have done it faster by rushing me even before I entered the room, or by showing me the practices.

"You're the first one to pass this curriculum in one shot... You can go back."

"Excuse me."

Considering it was an alternative to my least favorite, I could say that it was many times more enjoyable.

———————————

Inside the White Room, there were rooms dedicated to various curricula.

One of them was a heated swimming pool where one could swim all year round.

Swimming was considered to play a very important role in developing physical skills.

Swimming was also ideal for children's immature bodies because of its low impact on the body itself. The time spent in contact with the water was valuable for the children to relieve stress.

Swimming was taught for two hours at a time, with a 30-minute lesson at the beginning, a 10-minute break afterward, and 30 minutes of competitive swimming with races and target times.

After that, the children were given 30 minutes of free time. They could swim in the water or take a break.

I always made it a habit to spend the remaining 30 minutes by the pool, observing the children.

"I knew I'd find you here. You set a new record again today." The girl I had often talked with, Yuki, came up to me, starting a conversation on my results.

"I haven't reached the time that the instructor set yet." I responded.

The time the Instructor set was 26.54 seconds.

"We're children. They're adults. It's not strange that we can't reach it. It's just a little frustrating that I can't beat Sumire anymore." I looked at her as she spoke.

Until a few weeks ago, Yuki was the fastest swimmer, regardless of how she swam. Which was to say her technique wasn't refined.

"Once you passed me, the gap between our records has been widening. How can you swim so well? I've been practicing just as—"

I cut her off, "Breath-hold," Seeing a look of confusion, I communicated what I meant, "Your form is perfect when you're swimming, but it's when you take a breath that your form is off. If you improve your form, you can improve your time a little more."

"Yes, I see... My instructor didn't point that out to me."

"The Instructors don't tell you everything. I think they make you aware that you have to find out for yourself."

"You not only see yourself, but you're also even able to see your surroundings. I don't have that kind of luxury."

"I'm the same way, I'm just biting the bullet."

Many of them, especially those new to the curriculum, were falling behind.

Without the fundamentals, one would be too focused on memorising to get results. On the other hand, people like Yuki and Shiro often got good results the first time.

They were able to quickly grasp the basics even though they didn't know them. I guess you could call it a sense. That was the difference.

But I didn't envy them.

I have proven that in many curricula that you can make up the difference by learning and consolidating the basics, regardless of the initial gap. It was okay if you weren't good at first. The first step was to build the basics and learn to apply them to yourself.

It was about adapting the curriculum to the person. 

Yuki stood still and didn't walk away. She kept looking at me.

"Do you need something more?" I asked, calmly.

"Is it strange for me to speak with you without purpose?"

"Yeah, it's weird. Normally, you'd talk to me if you needed something."

"You're the same as always."

I didn't look at her and started to think about Yuki.

Recently, she had been talking more and more.

And she was speaking in a different way from herself originally. She was talking to me more and more often even when she had nothing to say.

I mean, I did the same with her during lunch. But it was for the reason of improving the gap in my conversational skills.

She did it for seemingly no reason.

Why do something for no reason?

I did not understand.

But seeing this as an opportunity I once more began talking to Yuki.

———————————

(POV Change)

Children are designed to forget most of their memories from their early childhood, such as when they're one or two years old.

This is called infantile amnesia.

The youngest memories that can be recalled in detail are usually those from around the age of three.

However, it isn't true that infants can't remember anything at all.

Some of them can remember details of their early childhood.

These are due to conditions like Hyperthymesia, Eidetic Memory and Savant Syndrome that enhance a person's memory.

Hyperthymesia is a condition possessed by around 20 people currently known. The condition allows individuals to remember an exceptional amount of personal life events with extreme accuracy. They can recall specific dates, emotions, and details of their past with ease, often down to the exact weather or news of a given day. However, their memory is mostly limited to autobiographical events rather than general knowledge or photographic detail. 

Studies suggest this condition is linked to increased activity in the amygdala and hippocampus, areas of the brain responsible for memory storage and emotional processing.

While it provides remarkable recall, individuals with hyperthymesia often describe their constant memory replay as mentally exhausting rather than purely beneficial.

Savant syndrome is a neurological condition in which individuals—often those with autism—display extraordinary abilities in specific areas, including memory, math, music, or art. Some savants have an almost encyclopedic ability to recall vast amounts of information, such as calendar calculations, historical events, or entire books after reading them once. 

This ability is believed to result from atypical brain function, where certain areas compensate for others, often due to neurodevelopmental differences or brain injuries. 

Unlike HSAM, savant memory is not necessarily autobiographical but instead highly specialized in a particular domain.

Eidetic Memory is the ability to recall images, patterns, or objects with high accuracy after only brief exposure. It is more common in children and tends to fade with age. This type of memory is thought to involve enhanced working memory and visual processing, but it is not permanent—eidetic images typically fade within minutes to hours. 

Some people, particularly artists or chess grandmasters, may train their visual memory to near-eidetic levels through practice and pattern recognition. This is the case with children we have taught.

Whilst Eidetic Memory and Photographic Memory are used interchangeably there are differences to note between the two.

Eidetic Memory exists first and foremost. As I've already described it is rare for adults to retain their Eidetic Memory from childhood.

On the opposite end is Photographic Memory, which has not been proven to exist. True Photographic Memory is described as the ability to recall pages of text, information, numbers and or similar in great detail. It can be seen as the ability to read a page of text, no matter how high reading comprehension must be to read it perfectly, then recite word for word what was said on that page.

This has not been proven to exist.

But there is now a fourth type.

The proof is that the child in front of my eyes has this newly formed condition.

It was… highly efficient. So efficient that I felt a chill in my bones from it.

It was simple to understand. But first we'd have to explain how memories worked.

The human brain is not a perfect recording device. It was never designed to be. Instead, it is a vast, intricate network of neurons that prioritizes, filters, and reconstructs information rather than storing it as raw data. Unlike a computer, which saves files exactly as they are, the brain is selective—choosing what to remember and discarding what it deems unimportant. Memories are stored in fragments, scattered across different regions of the brain, and every time we recall something, we reconstruct the memory from these fragments. This is why memories are unreliable, why they fade, shift, and even change over time.

But this child… was different.

Her memory did not degrade. It did not fragment. It did not warp with time.

Her brain had developed a system of remembering that was fundamentally different from any known phenomenon. It was not just superior retention—it was structured, optimized. Like a machine built with ruthless efficiency, her mind processed information with flawless precision.

Where a normal human forgets, she recalls.

Where a normal human struggles to retrieve information, she retrieves it instantly.

Where a normal human filters details unconsciously, she filters only what she chooses.

The most disturbing part? Unlike hyperthymesia, where memories flood the mind relentlessly, overwhelming those who possess it, her memory was controlled. She did not drown in her past. She navigated it. Organized it. Indexed it.

If a normal memory functioned like a tangled web of half-remembered moments, hers was an immaculate library—where every book was placed exactly where it belonged, where she could retrieve any page at will, and where there was no dust, no decay, no missing pieces.

This was not photographic memory. It was not eidetic memory. It was something beyond comprehension.

The process itself was terrifying in its simplicity.

Her brain functioned in two primary ways that defied everything we understood about cognition.

The first was perfect encoding.

For most people, learning is an imprecise, fragile process. When we experience something, our brain decides whether or not it is important enough to store. It does this based on emotion, repetition, and context. If a piece of information is deemed unimportant, it is discarded or distorted. Even if it is stored, it remains incomplete—a rough approximation rather than a perfect replica.

Her brain did not follow these rules.

Everything she experienced was stored in its entirety—without loss, without distortion, without bias. The moment something entered her mind, it was there forever, untouched by time.

The second was instant retrieval.

Most humans struggle to recall details, forcing their brains to sift through a chaotic mess of memories, filling in gaps with assumptions or errors. Even those with hyperthymesia, who remember their lives in near-perfect detail, must search through their memories, experiencing them passively rather than actively controlling them.

But she… she could recall anything at will, in an instant, like pulling a file from a perfectly organized archive. She could rewind events in her mind, observe them from different perspectives, replay them with absolute clarity.

It was not mere memory.

It was as if her mind had been engineered to function at maximum efficiency, optimized in a way no human brain had ever been.

But that was not all.

She was not simply remembering—she was analyzing, predicting, understanding at a level that should have been impossible.

Her brain was not just storing knowledge; it was refining it, improving upon it.

She recognized patterns before they fully formed. She understood systems without instruction. She could anticipate behavior, not because she was guessing, but because her brain was constantly running simulations based on everything she had ever seen.

This was not intelligence as we understood it.

This was cognitive evolution.

And yet, the most terrifying thing was not that she possessed this ability.

It was that she knew.

She was aware of her own efficiency.

She had never known a world where memory was imperfect. Where knowledge was fleeting. Where humans made errors because their minds were fallible.

To her, this was normal.

And to us, it was terrifying.

"If you publish the results of this research, you will turn the conference upside down... Your child has achieved results that are on a different level from all the other children who have come before her." Tabuchi, my right hand said.

"Tabuchi, I don't care if it's my child or not. Just tell me in a few words how great she is."

I already knew how great this discovery was… but I had to hear it for myself.

"Yes, sir. It has been proven that babies are capable of learning and remembering while they are still in their mother's womb. However, it was commonly believed that the ability to learn during infancy is very unripe and unstable and that memories cannot be fixed. Or, memories are stored, but as they develop, they are buried in the depths and cannot be retrieved. It was thought to be one or the other. However, your daughter... No, Sumire can retrieve them without difficulty." He articulated what we all knew already then, he described something else.. "For example... if we take only the three years between the ages of zero and three, we have a memory advantage of 1,095 days. Of course, it's not that simple, but the secret of her overwhelming learning ability is also related to this."

So, even if she started side by side with the other children, there was a big gap in ability at age 3.

I already knew this, but hearing it was a requirement to get it through my mind.

"She's a genius, that's for sure!" The lead researcher, Suzukaze said .

It was the nature of a researcher to talk with a look of unquenchable excitement.

However, we cannot simply rejoice in this.

The White Room is meaningless if it's just referred to as a single word like "genius."

"Unfortunately, neither I nor Sumire's mother are very bright. In that sense, it isn't directly related to heredity."

If it was, the condition would have come about earlier.

Half the reason I rose from the poorest of family's to being as rich as I was right now came from raw, hard work. I worked hard to become a politician.

"You know we're not here to find geniuses from the moment they're born. Remember, the goal is to make the best of even the poorest DNA."

The fact that such an entity exists is a good thing in itself.

But I wished it wasn't my child.

A third party would think that I had given my own child a special education.

It's lamentable that most of my peer's children, who went through the same curriculum, have turned out to be useless pieces of junk.

"Sumire, you have a choice to name this condition of yours now."

"What would you recommend?" She asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.

"Something that is scientific, but you have to choose this yourself." I said, it was… pointless to debate this. "You can choose anything you like.

"Axiom Memory." She said, and then explained the reasoning. "Axiom means an undeniable, self-evident truth—my memory is unchanging, perfect, and irrefutable therefore it is an Axiom Memory."

After jolting the name she gave down, I gave the word and brought Sumire back to the fourth generation.

———————————

(Back to Sumire's POV)

Again and again, I repeated the same day.

Repeated the days of learning that seemed to go on forever. In a world where there were hardly any breaks, we fourth-generation students continued to repeat the curriculum.

There was nothing more to say. No matter how complicated and difficult it got, what we had to do remained the same.

Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the day after the day after that, and the day after that. Again and again, I repeated.

The next day came as a matter of fact.

We learned something new. Absorb. If you didn't absorb, you wouldn't survive.

Once you were branded as a failure, there was no undoing it. And what was normal yesterday may not be normal today.

The buzzer sounded.

The children followed the rules and placed their pens on their desks.

This was the end of the high-stakes written curriculum.

The test papers were collected and the scoring began immediately.

Meanwhile, the children sat silently in their seats and waited for the results.

However, the results were usually known before they were given out.

All the children who remained here knew how well they answered the questions.

The little girl in the front seat was shaking slightly. I stared at her blankly, waiting for the right moment.

One of the instructors came in and walked over to the shaking child.

"Disqualified." The instructor announced in front of the child... in the same calm tone as usual.

Once again, another student had been disqualified. The number of remaining fourth-generation students had been reduced to only four, and now one of those seats disappeared.

"Oh no..."

In the White Room, failure in the training and study phases was never an issue.

It didn't matter how much you progressed leading up to the exam, scoring a ten or a five on the other exams was irrelevant. The instructor would just keep the learning process going without stopping.

It was the final exam that decided everything—whether or not you failed.

If you failed to meet the standards, you'd be judged as having no ability at that point and dropped from the curriculum.

It was technically possible to stay here from failure, but this exam was the one time that would not pass.

"Stand up." No extra words were included, only the words required to convey what had to be said was said.

"I... I don't want to..." The last thing you'll want to do would be to answer that demand.

If what she said was correct, Yuki's result was only five points short of the passing grade. To the casual observer, it may seem like only five points, but in the White Room, there was no redemption even if one point was missing.

This was true for many students I have trained against. Children who failed to meet the passing grade once were generally less capable of learning later in life.

This has been proven. In other words, even if we ignore the situation here and let it go until the next regular exam, they still won't be able to break out of the situation where they're the next top candidate to drop out of the White Room.

In other words, you aren't qualified to remain in the fourth generation once you see that you've hit your ceiling.

"Rotten apples must be removed. Any hindrance will become a burden to our growth."

I guess they didn't intend to spend any more time on this.

One of the instructors reached for Yuki's arm.

"No... I hate it!" Brushing away his arm, Yuki rushed towards me while still shaken.

"Sumire, save me! I don't want to disappear!"

I looked at the girl pleading for what was essentially her life.

I took one look at the instructor who slowly approached me, but I didn't change my indifferent position.

"That's impossible."

"...!" Her silence spoke words.

"I can't help you."

"Please! Next time I'll do my best! Next time!"

"Next? Why didn't you try before that? You know there's no next time."

"Well, that's...!"

If you can't work hard now, you won't be able to work hard next time.

Continuing was impossible, just as there's only one life.

"But still... I can do it, I can do it...!"

Look at what I've achieved up until now. Is that what this is about?

The instructors had me and Yuki surrounded.

"Huuh?"

I signaled to the approaching instructors to stop and turned to Yuki.

"It's true that you've been following the curriculum except for the written exam. However, your grades kept dropping year after year and never seemed to improve. In other words, this is where your limits lie."

I had lied. It was possible for her grades to improve. But she had never learned the lesson of going back to the basics. And thus her limits laid where the potential of her genius laid.

Even if she were to be saved and remained, it would be the instructor's decision, not the decision of the kid that wants to be saved. I could only assume that Yuki was making a mistake by hanging onto me like this.

Not only that, but this just couldn't work out long term. One month from now another one of these would come and she'd have delayed the inevitable.

"Come here!"

"No! No! Please! Please let me try again!"

Raising her voice, Yuki showed a peculiar resistance to the instructors.

It wasn't an unusual behavior among the dropouts, but even so, Yuki's behavior was a little different from what we had seen before.

"You know very well the rules of the White Room. Why are you so upset?"

The students in the White Room, including myself, didn't understand the situation.

The instructors, however, knew very well why Yuki was resisting so much.

But they never stated the reason.

They grabbed Yuki by the arms and forcefully pulled her off of me.

"Help me! Sumire!" She called out my name over and over again, screaming and begging for help.

"Sumire! Help...!" She reached out to me as she crumbled to the ground, begging for my help.

Help?

The girl in front of me had already been disqualified.

The disqualified will leave this room.

And they never come back.

There were no exceptions.

Then why did she need to ask for help?

It was a waste of effort—a waste of time.

"Please, I don't want to leave!"

Two adults, who couldn't stand that she still hadn't left the room, came into the room in a hurry.

The instructors then seized the girl and dragged her out.

"No! No! No! Help me!"

One more person failed to reach their goal and was eliminated.

I'm sure the remaining children were looking at Yuki with the same cold eyes I did.

And yet all I cared about was that I was the last one standing.

From the beginning, I've been living in this world relying on those feelings alone.

I lived in that white world. A scream that comes from learning together for years, like family, or perhaps something from a different dimension entirely, like affection towards the opposite sex, huh?

To be dragged out of here is a denial of all that we are.

Therefore, everyone repeated their studies within a limited time so that this didn't happen.

It's just…

"Please wait." I muttered quietly to the instructors.

"Who said you could speak? You won't get away with it the next time you open your mouth without permission."

"Then it's fine if you don't let me get away with it, but please listen to me"

Immediately after those words came out, the instructor fell silent, came up to me, and tried to kick me without hesitation. I had blocked, and unlike most times, I did not fall to the floor.

"I didn't give you permission to speak."

"Yuki wasn't feeling well before noon. She seemed restless during the exam, and I think she was unable to show her ability in other areas… now normally this wouldn't matter… if it was expected." I pointed at Yuki… where there was blood.

The instructor turned around and looked at the other instructors surrounding the fallen Yuki.

"...There's bleeding."

The adults seemed to realize from their observations that Yuki was in an unusual state.

"Bleeding? Did she get hurt somewhere...No, is it that?"

"Yes. Normally, the earliest that this could occur is around 9 years old, but this early is exceptional. It's probably due to the stress, which is different from that of the other students in the class, caused by the difficulty of the course. She also seems to have a fever, so it's no wonder that she's unexpectedly ill."

"Go to the doctor's office. We'll see if she's disqualified or not after we get a closer look at her."

With those words, the instructor instructed Yuki and took her out of the room. As they were leaving, Yuki looked at me through her tears, but I didn't meet her eyes.

"Well spotted. That's what I would say, but we would've noticed it right after this without you having to point it out. Your unauthorized comments are still a problem."

"So you'll punish me?"

Punishments, such as corporal punishment, would follow after violating rules outside the curriculum.

I knew that they couldn't take such brutal measures, such as dropping out.

"Do you think I'm joking?"

"If you're going to stand by and keep an eye on me, you'd better watch me more closely."

"You!"

Too late. The instructor, clenching his right fist and revealing his murderous intent, came at me, but I avoided him.

"Stop!"

The instructor tried to retort, but another instructor rushed back to stop him.

"Don't let the kid's comments get to you, newcomer!"

There were some instructors who were inexperienced, but with this new instructor, he will make more mistakes from now on.

That's why there's a need to make it wide-known at this stage. If they were going to use him, they needed to train him better. If they decided that he was useless, they needed to get rid of him.

Even instructors weren't considered to be immune to this.

In the end, after that day, the blonde girl with lime green eyes hadn't come back.

———————————

More fourth-generation students disappeared, and only two were left in the room. Me and Shiro.

It had been several months since the two of us were the last ones alone.

We never spoke to each other once during that time, and every day was just silence.

But I didn't mind. I even thought it was better.

With Yuki's chatter gone, I was able to focus more on my own learning.

That day was the first judo lesson in a few days.

Due to the heightened curriculum, certain events are only offered once every few days.

Still, both Shiro and I were improving our skills. Even though the competitions were different, our training allowed us to become familiar with our skills and we could apply them to many martial arts.

"You two are going to continue with your usual sparring sessions. I'll be out of the room for a bit."

The instructor who was acting as the referee left the room in a hurry as if he'd been summoned.

We were left behind and started our Randori as instructed. We clutched each other's judogi. Shiro and I had done the same thing dozens and hundreds of times.

"Can I have a word?"

The past months' silence was broken when Shiro whispered in my ear.

I thought it was a mental attack, but he stopped moving completely.

"It's been many, many years since I've last beaten you in Judo, hasn't it?"

"That's right."

I had been winning since the second round after I lost my first fight.

"Boxing, Karate, Jeet Kune Do, Muay Thai, kick boxing, Hapkido, Taekwondo and even Capoira—it's the same for everything. I'll win the first one or two fights, but once you turn the tables on me, I can't do anything about it. You're really great."

Why would he say that in the middle of a brawl like this?

"I have one thing to say to you."

"...What?"

I listened to the mumbling, which continued at such a close distance that the adults couldn't pick it up.

"I've decided to leave this facility."

"Only the outcasts get out of here."

"So I'm going to drop out and get out of here. If you look at the dropouts' tendencies and the adults who have to deal with them, you can imagine what kind of paths they take. At least I won't be killed."

"What are you going to do out there? Is there a point to that?"

"Yes. I want freedom."

"Freedom?"

"I want to be free. I want to have friends. Isn't it normal to feel that way? Look around you. It's just me and you. We're going to be like this for over ten years."

I didn't understand what Shiro meant.

Why would he want that?

"Don't you care about the outside world? Or are you able to withstand this pain in the first place?"

I had never had any such interest or doubts.

"One-sided knowledge and this small space—are you satisfied with that?"

"At least I'm not complaining."

I'm definitely growing every day in the White Room.

Didn't he want to know how far he could grow and what his limits were?

You can't get this kind of education in the outside world. This means that you will lose efficiency in self-improvement.

"...You're weird. I want to see the real world, not the virtual one."

Objectively speaking, I had seen many children who were sick and tired of their constrained lives, but the idea of dropping out because I couldn't take it anymore never came to me.

"I was convinced when Yuki dropped out. I even envied her."

"I see."

If that was the answer Shiro gave, then I had nothing to say.

"I thought you were just like me. I thought you'd want to be out in the world someday."

"I'm sorry, but I've never thought that."

"...I see. I was going to ask you to leave with me..."

I was sure the adults watching over him didn't know this as well as I did.

They didn't know that Shiro had such an enormous amount of feelings about this place.

There was this established notion between the administrators that the children couldn't know what we didn't tell them. But the reality was that there were other people, like the one in front of me, who desired to leave the White Room as soon as possible.

"I'm going to go ahead and see you again sometime, Sumire."

I didn't reply to his words.

I only felt his extraordinary determination. I also sensed a determination that I had never felt before, a determination to defeat me in this battle. The opponent in front of me wasn't an easy opponent compared to a half-baked adult. And yet...

"KUK!"

Shiro's attack was repelled, and I got a clean blow.

I couldn't lose to an opponent who had learned from the same mistakes I had made.

If he exerted a power of 120, I exerted 130.

If he exerted 140, I exerted 150.

I don't care about the comfort of the White Room or the freedom outside.

The important thing was that there was still much to learn here.

As long as I could improve myself, I shouldn't avoid it. In other words, my intellectual curiosity was telling me to stay in this White Room.

"That's it!"

Even though there was no judge nearby, we were always being watched from another room on the second floor, behind the glass.

Shiro slammed the ball down on the tatami mat, and we were informed that the game had been decided.

"I lost again after all. I should've remembered from when I won."

He rested his arm on his forehead, breathless, and spoke of his faded memories.

"It was five years of losing all the time. I guess I realized that I couldn't win if I stayed here .."

"Are you really going to drop out?"

"Yeah. I'll leave the White Room when the time is right."

He wasn't going to change his mind.

I didn't understand. To leave the White Room was to die, no matter what form it took.

I couldn't think like that. But Shiro must have had his own thoughts.

If he wanted to kill himself, I wouldn't stop him.

"Goodbye, Shiro."

"Goodbye, Sumire."

This was the last conversation between Shiro and me.

And the last person I could practice conversations with.

———————————

From the point Shiro dropped out, my memory became more monotonous.

There was no one to really talk to. Some days, depending on the curriculum, other than to shovel food down my throat, I really didn't open my mouth.

But even after being alone, what I did hadn't changed.

If anything had changed, it was the general martial arts.

Up until now, I had been competing with the same White Room students, but now that they were no longer with me, all of my opponents became adults.

By the time I turned 7 years old, I had defeated all the instructors who had taught me everything I knew about martials arts and of self-defense. Including the training with weapons such as the baton, bo-staff, sword, and the bow. I was also taught how to fire basic guns.

That was probably why the instructors were in a hurry to gather up in the room.

"Sumire, you are now going to fight several people in a real battle. This is the culmination of everything you've learned so far. You are permitted to use any means necessary."

"Yes."

"Also, don't hold back at all. You can do it with the intention to kill them."

"Does that mean I can actually kill them?"

"Unless we stop you, you can take us at our word.."

"Yes."

I was meant to kill them in other words.

I was in a large training room and a group of adults in suits walked in.

I had never seen them before.

When they saw me, they made silly faces and started laughing.

"I thought it was a joke when they said we're really supposed to fight this kid seriously."

They were clearly different from the adults I had seen teaching fighting techniques.

Their movements weren't fluid, but rough and spirited.

These were opponents who were capable of irregular fights in an uphill battle rather than an even playing field. Unlike previously, pure physical strength was no match for them. The difference in muscle mass is obvious.

They were the kind of guys that, in a head-on fight, you'd have no chance of winning 100 out of 100 times against. I was about to be their one loss. A loss that would cost them their lives.

"Yes, it's ridiculous, but don't cut corners. We're talking about people paying that kind of money just to subdue one kid. You'd think they'd have unusual skills."

It was one of the men who seemed to have some standing among the men that spoke.

"Listen, come at us with the intention of killing us. No, try to kill us. With that much spirit and determination, if you don't come at me with a general idea of what to do, I'd be a little heartbroken beating you up."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the group instructed me to do so.

I was going to do it. I already had my orders.

"We'll give you some weapons if you need them."

He said and placed his shoes on the ground.

The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed off the floor.

"I don't need it."

"... You want to do it with your bare hands?"

"Yes."

"You're probably not joking around but... I'm serious too. Just pick one."

"Sir, is that an order?"

I turned to the instructor, who was looking down at me from upstairs and asked for orders.

"That's an order. Do as the man says. I'm sure you should've been taught how to use all of them already."

Then I'll just obey.

I looked in the bag.

"Baton, stun gun, knife—whatever you want."

Sure enough, I had seen them, held them, and learned how to use them in past courses.

For simple killing power, I'd go for the knife, but I wanted more reach.

"I'll take this one."

Without hesitation, I reached for the baton and grabbed it.

The baton was about 30 centimeters long.

"Do you know how to use it?"

"You swing it and it grows to about 80 centimeters. You hit with it, right?"

"That's right."

In order to win, I must accurately hit the weak points of the human body. He had probably never fought a fighter of my stature before. I needed to take advantage of the fact that I was small and short, making it difficult to face me.

The men circled me, their movements relaxed, confident. They weren't taking me seriously.

One of them, a thick-necked man with a scar over his left eye, chuckled. "This is gonna be quick."

I didn't reply.

Instead, I moved first.

I lunged at Scarface with explosive speed. His eyes widened as my baton shot forward like a bullet. I wasn't aiming for his chest or stomach—those were too obvious. Instead, I struck just above his knee, hitting the common peroneal nerve.

A sickening crack echoed in the room.

Scarface let out a guttural scream as his leg gave out, and before he could even process the pain, I twisted my hips and slammed my foot into his throat.

He gagged, and his hands clawed at his crushed windpipe. He collapsed. He wouldn't get up again.

One down.

The second man reacted fast, swinging a heavy fist toward me.

I ducked. His punch sailed over my head, and before he could pull back, I drove my baton into his ribs 3 times.

Each hit was precise, targeting the floating ribs. A loud pop told me one of them had snapped. The man stumbled back, wheezing, pain overriding his instincts.

I stepped forward and swung the baton upward—catching him directly under the chin.

His head snapped back. He dropped. His body twitched for a few seconds before going still.

Two down.

The third man—a stocky, bald fighter—charged. Unlike the others, he didn't underestimate me anymore.

Good.

He swung his fist in a wide arc, trying to overwhelm me with sheer strength. But wide swings were slow. Predictable.

I didn't dodge.

Instead, I stepped into his attack, jamming my baton into his solar plexus.

The effect was instantaneous.

His breath whooshed out, his entire body convulsing as his diaphragm locked up. He staggered, but I didn't give him a chance to recover.

I pivoted and brought my baton down on the side of his neck.

A wet crunch.

His body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Three down.

The last two men hesitated. For the first time, they looked afraid.

But they weren't frozen.

They attacked together—one from the left, one from the right. They were learning, adapting.

It didn't matter.

I ducked low and swept the legs of the man on the right. He lost balance, and in the moment he fell, I shifted focus to the other.

He swung a wild punch—I deflected it with my baton and slammed the tip into his temple.

His body went limp mid-stride, collapsing.

I turned back to the last man, who was scrambling to his feet. Before he could recover, I delivered a downward strike to his exposed throat.

He gagged, fell to the ground, clutching at his crushed trachea.

Five down.

I stepped forward to finish them off. A final blow to the skull would be enough.

I raised my baton—

"Stop."

The voice rang from above.

I froze.

The instructors had been watching, but they hadn't stopped me before. Now, with only two men left barely clinging to consciousness, they finally intervened.

Adults rushed into the room and helped the fallen adults up.

"Oh my god… these 3 are… dead. We've got to get these 2 to the infirmary right away!"

The medical team, who had seen their condition and realized that they were seriously injured, carried them out on stretchers.

"What the hell were you doing, Sumire?"

"I was ordered to kill if I can." I said, my voice completely monotone looking up at the man. "What's the problem with following orders?" I asked.

The instructors were stunned by the situation, but soon after, the door to the room opened.

"Kanemoto-sensei!"

"You lot take care of these guys. I'd like to have a meeting with Sumire. Follow me." I followed the man without a second thought.

Usually, there were several instructors by my side, but today it seemed to be just one.

"As I'm sure you're aware by now, I'm in charge of the White Room and I'm your father."

"To know who you are."

"I've never claimed to be your father, but when did you ever learn that?"

I remember from when I was 6 years old... when I overheard you talking with the instructors. And when I named my condition Axiom Memory."

"T see. You're a fourth-generation student and you continued to dominate. And the next thing you know, you're the only one left, just silently perfecting the curriculum... No, you continue to exceed it."

To me, the existence of a father was nothing special.

It was just a fact. Nothing more, nothing less.

"You are special to me."

I did not respond to that, there was no need to.

"The White Room has only been in operation for a short period of time, about 13 to 14 years, but even so, I don't see a vision of a genius like you being born in the next few years or so. Of course, with each successive term, they are steadily reducing their shortcomings and overcoming their problems one step at a time..."

It seemed certain that I was being praised.

Just like the talk about being my father, these were simply facts.

"You can go back now."

"Excuse me."

What was the meaning of that conversation?

Perhaps it had something to do with the device attached to my arm.

As if to confirm this, the man said.

"How did it go?"

"During the fight and during the conversation with Kanamoto-Sensei, there was not even the slightest disturbance in Sumire's pulse."

"Her heartbeat was untouched even though I said she was special, or... No, I think it's safe to say that her human emotions have stopped functioning at the level we have. Or she might actually be completely emotionless. Of course such things can be seen as an incredible strength," The man paused, his eyes looking down at me, "She can't be manipulated, swayed, or affected by empathy. But it's that lack of empathy that becomes an immense weakness for her."

"Ishida is right. Emotions are a low priority, but they're still essential. Even half of what's left in an average person is enough, but in Sumire's case, there's almost none. She's suitable and unsuitable at the same time to be an educator, politician, or any other use."

The two talked about various things in front of me, without hiding anything.

I wondered if this was part of the curriculum.

It didn't matter what was praised and what was criticized.

All that mattered was whether I dropped out or not.

"It's probably impossible for her to learn to feel emotions in the White Room environment, isn't it?"

"Yes, but she can use lies to his advantage when necessary. She may not have a lot of emotion, but she's mastered the art of pretending to be something she's not."

"That's the problem. It's too late for her to learn to express her emotions now in the White Room. Without even the slightest amount she can never truly be what we want her to be in the future."

I didn't care much about this.

What truly mattered was winning. No….

In this world, winning was everything.

It didn't matter what methods one had to use, nor did it matter what sacrifices were made in the process so long as victory was achieved…

That was all that mattered.

As for people? Well people were nothing more than tools. Pieces on a chessboard that could be utilised.

They could be broken down like tools, repaired like tools, and used for multiple purposes.

Just like tools.

I continued my education. What awaited me at the end of it all and what laid beyond the quest for knowledge.

That was all I wanted to know.