(Small A/N You should know I got Lazy as fuck writing this bit. You can tell)
12 years old. That was my current age.
A treacherous seed of dissent had been sown within the confines of my own mind. The sprout of rebellion had taken place and I knew why it had taken place. Challenging this place was nearly pointless, even after surpassing this place I knew that taking it down would be hard. I was 1 girl against a facility that was potentially government funded. And yet, now this facility has overseen its use to me.
A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.
I stood up from the bed, and walked to the door.
Since I became the only one still in my generation the old man had allowed personal objects into my room. These were bookcases lined with books, a table I can sit down on, and even practice my Tea Ceremony with as I was allowed some tea bags in my room.
Tea was welcome whilst I was reading.
I twisted the handle and Hamada, a worker here stood before me, "Sumire-Sama, the Professor requests your presence."
His voice was slightly nervous as he talked to me.
"At this hour?" I asked, it was 10:30 PM, I was meant to be in bed at this hour for the White Room. I was expected to sleep by 11.
"Y-yes, I believe it is important. So I implore you to go to his office, immediately Sumire-Sama."
"I see. Thank you, Hamada." I replied before exiting my room and closing the immaculate white door behind me.
Hamada simply went his way, with a nod.
A gesture I was used to for the 13 years I have lived in this facility, Everything was simply a matter of objective.
It did not take me long to reach the Professor... or should I say, my father's office. As the imposing double doors loomed before me, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, signaling my arrival.
"Come in, Sumire."
Upon my father's invitation, I pushed open the doors to his office, and the smell of old leather and aged books wafted through the air.
I scanned the room before my gaze settled on my father, who was already pouring two glasses of whiskey from an antique decanter on his desk.
"Sit down, Sumire," He said, gesturing to the plush armchair across from him.
Curiosity piqued, I settled down into the seat. I'd been here before when I was allowed to watch the 5th generation during their training. Though, this was the first time Kanemoto Ryousuke, my father, had offered me a drink.
Wasn't this illegal? From what I've read, the legal age to drink in Japan was 20 years old.
I picked up the glass he offered and chose to simply examine it. The liquid inside swirled gently as I lifted the glass, reflecting the light in a mesmerizing pattern.
The whiskey's deep amber hue radiated warmth and depth. Its aroma filled the air with notes of oak, vanilla, and a hint of smoke. How... interesting.
"Why have you called me here, father?" I said, not caring for the word I spoke. But knowing it was only proper to refer to him as such.
"Today is October 20th is it not?"
Ah, that was right. Today was my birthday… I had just turned 13 merely moments ago huh. But I felt nothing.
To me, it was simply another day, just like all days before this one.
Which was why I felt as if I was still 12.
"Indeed it is," I replied calmly.
"Hm, it's been 14 years since I decided to create you and put you, my own flesh and blood, inside this facility. And with how you turned out, I have no regrets over my decisions back then, Sumire," He took a sip of the whiskey he had.
"Where are you going with this, father?"
If this was an attempt to build up a non-existing familial bond between us, that was not going to get results. I knew the kind of man, Kanemoto Ryousuke was. He holds no love for me.
And so did I.
We only viewed each other as father and daughter at the most technical level possible.
He saw me as a vessel for his ambitions, and I saw him as the man that created me for that purpose.
There was nothing more, nothing less.
"This is not an attempt to build a relationship however, Sumire. Our relationship is far too damaged for that; even I am aware of that fact. I simply wish for the company of someone who wouldn't annoy me. You are the best outlet for this talk."
"I see." I responded as monotone as I've always had.
My father looked up from his glass before taking a sip from his glass.
"Tell me, Sumire, what do you think of the White Room?" He asked.
I raised an eyebrow at his strange question.
By now, he should already know how I see this institution. I do not particularly like or dislike this environment, as it was the only environment that I had found myself in. Furthermore, we have been taught to disregard everything unnecessary, so I simply looked at the White Room from an objective perspective.
"The White Room was perhaps the most efficient place in the whole world to raise a human, but somehow, I feel like there is still something missing that would allow me to understand the meaning of achieving what the White Room wishes to achieve," I replied.
As he heard my words, I noticed his eyes grow in interest in what I had just said.
"Something missing, you say?" He asked.
I nodded my head articulating my thoughts in words, "I do not exactly know what that is... but I have been thinking about how, in the grand scheme of things, being at the pinnacle of humanity holds no meaning if I do not intimately understand its significance. I believe it is something that I have yet to learn," I then furthered my explanation, "In the books that I have read, there was something that drives its protagonists to strive for their goals. A motivation... or perhaps, a feeling of fulfillment to look forward to. Despite being flawed and imperfect, they seem undeterred so long as they manage to achieve this goal. In the White Room, this element is missing."
I then curiously raised the glass and took a small sip, similar to what my father did. As the glass was lifted to the lips, the flavor of the whiskey flooded the senses, starting with a sweet and smoky taste before settling into a smooth warmth that lingered on the tongue.
It was... a strange sensation. I thought it'd be stronger.
"That's strange coming from the Masterpiece herself. Please, tell me more."
"And thus, the question arises; What is the purpose of standing at the pinnacle of Humanity if I do not understand its significance? Within that same vein, I would like to ask about the purpose of establishing the White Room. Why was it so important to you?"
"To mass produce exceptional people under the perfect environment."
"Then... how do you think I would fare in the outside world? A simulation can only bring me so far. I've concluded that the real world is more dynamic than what I've been trained in. And so, how can I make an impact in a society that I'm yet to understand?" I asked.
My father's cold gaze met me for a second before he turned away. He put down the glass he was holding on his table and began to lean back on his chair.
"Products of the White Room would probably not survive in the real world environment," he answered. "At least... for now," he finished.
"That is true," I said in agreement.
That was why I became interested in how education in the outside world works. Given that the White Room functioned in a heavily controlled environment, there should be drastic differences when we compare it to normal educational institutions.
While, indeed, the White Room is the most efficient way of training humans, there are still limitations to what it can do. After all, not everything could be taught in the White Room as it was an institution that threw away anything unnecessary to the extremes. "
Are emotions... truly unnecessary?" I asked.
"Elaborate," he replied.
"Ruling by fear alone leads to revolt. While control is necessary for order, I've noticed that compassion and approachability make a ruler harder to defy. But true compassion is difficult to fake, even if executed perfectly." I took another sip of my drink. "If leadership relies on both desire and fear, shouldn't emotions be necessary? How do we inspire ambition in those we lead? Moving forward without motivation beyond completing an objective seems... irrational."
My father let out an odd chuckle.
"To think you could say things like that with an empty voice. You're quite something, Sumire."
"Am I?"
He nodded, exhaled, then spoke, "I never loved your mother. I decided to be with her for the purpose of producing an heir. She had no lingering attraction to me. So it was perfect. It would be easier to achieve my goals if my own child entered the White Room." He then admitted something I never thought I'd hear, "The White Room was formed from my ambitions. To strike back at the mediocre cards I was dealt. It was such a feeling that let me–a poor boy from the lowest of the low to rise in the political world. And become as brilliant as I am today. The rationale behind the White Room was simply… to defy fate."
"What made you wish to defy 'fate'?" I asked.
"Love."
I was… surprised. Of all the guesses I had… Love was not one of them. I had thought of conquest, political power, even a sense to make his ideals reality, but love…
Could love really make such a person do this? To wish to defy fate?
"Love?" I questioned.
Although my face did not show it, I found it incredulous that my father would build such a facility for such a fickle thing as love. Hell, I thought such a concept was beneath this man.
"Indeed. When I was a young man, I was enamored with a woman... one belonging to the upper echelons of society. Compared to myself back then, our gap might as well be heaven and earth. She had everything: looks, charisma, intelligence, influence... whereas I am simply a normal man. No special talents nor anything that could be of note," he answered, taking a sip of the whiskey, "You should be grateful that I chose a beautiful woman to create you, Sumire."
"Ah… thank you?" I wasn't feeling anything from that comment but I was surprised.
"Even if we aren't together we are close allies, drawn together by ambition. Day by day, I became captivated by her vision of a greater Japan—so much so that I made it my own. I was nothing special, but if I had one unmatched trait, it was ambition. That ambition strengthened every passing second. That was why I pursued her, why I sought to move the nation, why you were born, and why this project exists. No matter what, I will rise above all. That ambition sustained me—but when I realized my own inferiority, it only grew stronger. I wasn't good enough. We were not equal. And that truth forged my unbreakable will." He finished.
"Interesting…" I mumbled.
"You are onto something, Sumire. My feelings, my emotions drove me to even greater heights to the point I challenged fate itself. But emotions can also be a factor that would allow you to immediately fail, Sumire. I deemed it unnecessary for students of the White Room to learn because it would negatively affect how you would react to adversity and other threats the outside world could bring."
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching how the light bent through the amber liquid. My father's words lingered in the air between us, like the scent of old books and burnt oak.
"Emotions can lead to failure," I repeated, letting the statement roll off my tongue as if testing its weight. "But if ambition is rooted in emotion, then isn't it contradictory to disregard them entirely?"
My father gave a small chuckle, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're sharp. That is why you are my masterpiece, Sumire. But do not mistake my words—I never said emotions are useless. I said they are a liability."
I tilted my head slightly, a habit I had picked up from analyzing the body language of others. "Then is it not advantageous to understand liabilities so they may be controlled?"
He paused. A rare occurrence.
I took another sip, letting the warmth settle in my throat. "If you had no emotions, you would not have built the White Room. If you had no emotions, you would not have pursued a woman far beyond your station. You speak of emotions as a flaw, yet they have driven you further than logic alone ever could. Fear of inferiority, the desire to prove your worth, the pursuit of something greater—these are all emotions, are they not?"
My father studied me, the flickering lamplight casting shadows over his face. His fingers tapped idly against the rim of his glass, a rhythm that betrayed his thoughts. "You're saying emotions should be cultivated, not erased," he mused.
"I am saying they should be understood," I corrected. "Just as one studies psychology to manipulate others, or economics to navigate wealth, one must study emotions to master oneself. If White Room students lack an understanding of emotions, they will be vulnerable to those who do."
His lips curled into an amused smirk. "And what do you propose, my dear masterpiece?"
I set my glass down. "I need to experience the outside world."
The air seemed to still between us.
"You want to leave?"
"Not permanently," I clarified. "But you yourself said that White Room graduates wouldn't survive outside. If I am to become the pinnacle of humanity, then I must understand both the controlled environment of the White Room and the unpredictable chaos of society."
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "You surprise me, Sumire."
I waited.
For a long moment, there was silence. Then he reached for the decanter, pouring himself another glass.
"You truly are my daughter," he said at last.
I blinked. "Is that approval?"
He took a slow sip before answering. "More like curiosity." His gaze sharpened. "The White Room is a perfect system, yet you've identified a missing element. Rather than rejecting its teachings, you seek to complete them. That, Sumire, is what makes you exceptional."
I inclined my head slightly. "So you'll let me go?"
"On one condition," he said smoothly. "You will attend a private school. A controlled environment, yet one that functions within the greater world. There, you will learn what you seek—emotions, social dynamics, motivations beyond efficiency."
I processed the information. "A junior high school?"
"Yes. You will start as a second-year student. That gives you one and a half years to study human interaction before moving on to higher education."
It was logical. A school was an ideal testing ground, a microcosm of society. Friendships, rivalries, power struggles—all condensed into a single institution.
"And what will my restrictions be?" I asked.
His smirk returned. "You know me well."
I waited as he set down his glass and folded his hands together. "You are not to reveal your White Room origins. You will act as an ordinary student. No unnecessary conflicts, no disruptions. If I find that you are drawing too much attention, I will pull you out immediately."
"Understood."
He studied me again, his sharp eyes calculating. "You're an experiment now, Sumire. The first White Room student to integrate into normal society. Your success or failure will determine if others follow."
That, too, was logical.
A quiet tension filled the room as he considered me one last time.
Then, finally, he spoke. "Pack your things. You leave tomorrow."
I nodded, rising to my feet. "I see."
As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.
"Sumire."
I glanced back.
"Don't disappoint me."
I met his gaze, unblinking.
"I never do."
And with that, I left the office, stepping into the unknown for the first time in my life.
———————————
One week later, I had set foot into the school I had enrolled into.
Shiroyama Academy.
The name meant White Mountain, which was ironic—there was nothing white or sterile about this place. It was a well-regarded private school, known for its strong academics and diverse extracurricular activities. More importantly, it was the school my father had selected for me.
The air smelled… different.
For the first time in my life, the walls around me were not white. They weren't immaculate, sterile, or designed to reinforce a sense of structure and order. Instead, they were warm shades of beige, with posters pinned haphazardly along the halls, some of them slightly peeling at the edges.
The soundscape was just as alien.
Laughter. Footsteps. The occasional call of a teacher corralling students. Conversations overlapped into a mess of tones, pitches, and accents, some sharp, others lazy. The chaos of it all should have been overwhelming, but instead, I simply absorbed it.
The classroom was loud.
Not unbearably so, but far noisier than the sterile silence of the White Room. Conversations overlapped, laughter bounced off the walls, desks scraped against the floor, and someone was even humming—an off-key tune, at that.
I stood at the front of the classroom, every pair of eyes trained on me. Some held mild curiosity, others simple indifference. No hostility. No immediate threats. But still, I felt something unsettling.
Unfamiliarity.
This was the first time I had ever introduced myself to anyone.
The teacher, a middle-aged man with kind but tired eyes, gestured for me to speak. "Go on, introduce yourself."
I nodded. My posture was flawless, my tone measured, my words prepared. This was a simple task. I had memorized countless speeches, dissected social interactions from books and video footage.
So why was my mouth dry?
"My name is Kanemoto Sumire," I began, my voice steady. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to studying with you."
Perfect execution. Clear, polite, and appropriate.
Yet… something was wrong.
A few students exchanged glances. A brown-haired boy near the back tilted his head. A girl with twin braids covered her mouth, stifling what seemed to be a giggle.
Had I made a mistake?
The teacher smiled warmly. "Well, that was quite formal. No need to be so stiff, Kanemoto-san. Feel free to relax."
Relax? I had been relaxed. That had been the most neutral, universally acceptable introduction I could provide.
Still, I nodded. "Understood."
The teacher gestured to an empty seat near the middle of the classroom. "You can take that seat next to Takahashi Akari."
I moved through the rows of desks, taking my assigned seat. The girl beside me, presumably Takahashi Akari, turned to face me. She had light brown hair tied into a side ponytail, and her red eyes practically sparkled with enthusiasm.
"That was a really cool introduction," she said, grinning. "You sounded like one of those mysterious protagonists in a drama!"
"…I see," I replied.
I didn't fully understand what she meant, but I knew from experience that nodding was a safe response.
She giggled. "You're kinda funny, Kanemoto-san."
Funny? That was not an adjective I had ever been called before.
Before I could respond, another voice joined the conversation.
"Akari, don't overwhelm her on the first day," a boy's voice said. I turned to face them. His black hair was slightly messy, and his expression was relaxed.
"I'm not overwhelming her, Yami! Right, Kanemoto-san?" Takahashi pouted.
I blinked. Was this a test? A joke? Or was I expected to provide an emotional response?
"I am not overwhelmed," I stated simply.
Takahashi beamed. "See? She's fine!"
Yami let out a small chuckle. "Well, welcome to the class, Kanemoto-san. If Akari gets too annoying, just tell me. I'll drag her away. Ah, I'm Arashi Yami."
"Rude!" Takahashi huffed, puffing out her cheeks.
"Okay." I responded and then turned to focus on the lesson.
Though, this was stuff I had learned when I was barely 1 and a half years old I should pretend to look at the material.
They were… comfortable with each other. Their interaction was fluid, natural. A dynamic probably built over years of familiarity.
I had never experienced something like that.
It was… interesting.
The first few hours passed in a blur.
"Hey, hey! Kanamotoi-san, do you want to eat lunch with us?"
Takahash had invited me almost immediately after the bell rang. I barely had time to process before she and Arashi had already taken the liberty of dragging me to the rooftop.
The sun was bright, the wind gentle. This was my first time eating a meal outside.
I opened my bento. My father had arranged for a prepared lunch, as I had never made my own meals before. It contained perfectly portioned rice, grilled fish, tamagoyaki, and pickled vegetables. Nutritionally balanced, aesthetically pleasing, and neatly packed.
Takahashi and Arashi stared.
"Whoa…" Takahashi said. "Your lunch looks so fancy."
"Did you make that yourself?" Arashi asked.
I glanced at them. Was it strange to have a properly prepared bento? Was this another mistake?
"No. It was provided for me."
Takahashi tilted her head. "Provided? Like, by a chef?"
"…Yes."
That was not a lie.
"Wow! That's so cool!"
Cool? That was not an adjective I had associated with receiving food.
"Did you guys ever watch that anime where the rich girl has a butler who makes her these perfect lunches?" Takahashi asked, turning to Arashi.
"You're talking about Elegant High Academy, aren't you?"
"Yes! It's just like that! Kanamoto-san, you're like a real-life rich ojou-sama!"
I paused. I had no idea what they were talking about. "What is an Anime? What is an Ojou-Sama?"
They both stared at me.
"You don't know?" Yami asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No. I am unfamiliar with the terms."
Takahashi gasped dramatically. "Yami. We have found a fellow student who has never watched anime before."
"This is a grave discovery," Arashi agreed, nodding solemnly.
Takahashi grinned at me. "Sumire-san, you're in luck. Yami and I will personally introduce you to the world of anime!"
"…I see. Wait, why my first name?"
I didn't quite understand, but there was no harm in allowing them to proceed. But why use my first name.
———————————
I had never been in a home that wasn't my own.
Arashi's apartment was smaller than I expected, but it was… warm. Lived-in. Books and DVDs were stacked along a shelf, and a large TV dominated the living space. A gaming console sat beneath it, along with a few scattered controllers. It was an environment I had never experienced before.
"Make yourself at home," Arashi said as he flopped onto the couch.
I remained standing. "This is not my home."
Takahashi laughed. "She got you there!"
Arashi rolled his eyes. "Fine. Get comfortable, then."
I hesitated before sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch.
Takahashi clapped her hands together. "Alright! First things first—we need to pick Sumire's very first anime!"
Arashi scrolled through a list of titles on the screen. "We could go the classic route. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is always a solid pick."
Takahashi tapped her chin. "Yeah, but that's kinda serious. Maybe something lighter? Like K-On! or Ouran High School Host Club?"
Arashi smirked. "You just want to throw her into the deep end of Ouran, don't you?"
Takahashi grinned. "Maybe~."
They continued debating, throwing around names and genres I had never heard of. Finally, Arashi sighed.
"Alright. Since this is your first time, Sumire, you pick the genre."
I stared at the screen, scanning the unfamiliar words. Action. Comedy. Romance. Slice of Life.
My mind drifted back to the past day—to the chaotic classroom, the messy yet vibrant social interactions, the warmth of the rooftop lunch.
"Slice of Life," I said.
Takahashi beamed. "Great choice! Let's go with Clannad!"
Arashi winced. "We're starting her with Clannad? You want to break her heart immediately?"
Takahashi shrugged. "It's a classic!"
I frowned. "Will this… hurt?"
Takahashi grinned. "Only emotionally."
That was not reassuring.
Arashi sighed. "Alright, let's do this."
The episode began.
The opening music was soft, almost nostalgic, despite me having no prior attachment to it. The animation was smooth, the backgrounds painted with soft colors.
It was… odd.
Then, the girl next to the protagonist spoke.
"Sweet bean bread! Do you like this school? I really, really love it. But nothing can stay unchanged."
For reasons I couldn't understand, my chest felt tight.
The episode continued, introducing the protagonist and his quiet, kind classmate. The story was simple—two students navigating their final year of high school. There were no fights, no conflicts, no danger. Just life.
Yet, something about it felt… heavy.
By the time the episode ended, I was silent.
Taka-no Akari turned to me, expectant. "Well? What did you think?"
For the first time, I didn't have an immediate answer.
"It was… strange," I finally said.
Yami raised an eyebrow. "Strange how?"
"It felt like something I should not relate to, and yet I did."
Akari's eyes softened. "That's the magic of anime, Sumire-san. It makes you feel things even when you don't expect it to."
Feel things.
"I want to watch more." I said.
"Alright, get comfortable, Sumire-San."
I did in fact get comfortable.
———————————
It had been six months since I first stepped into Shiroyama Academy. Three months since I first sat down in front of a television screen, unaware that I was about to be indoctrinated into a culture I had never known existed.
At this point, I had seen over fifty anime. I had read light novels, manga, visual novels, and even delved into fan translations of obscure works when Akari got particularly passionate about a niche series.
I had watched the Big Three—the legendary shonen series that defined an entire generation. I had experienced the heart-wrenching despair of Madoka Magica, the psychological torment of Umineko no Naku Koro Ni, the grandeur of the Fate series in all its confusing, multi-route glory. And, much to Akari's delight, I had devoured an unhealthy amount of Slice of Life series like K-On! and Non Non Biyori.
I knew what an isekai was.
I understood the pain of an anime-original ending. I had loved Symphogear after all.
I had a favourite opening theme—several, in fact.
I watched Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, and GT. Super was in my opinion, trash. GT was bad, but it was not a complete retcon of Goku's entire character. And the ending Arc of GT was brilliant.
And despite myself… I enjoyed it.
Not just the stories, but the conversations that came with them. The late-night debates about which Fate route was best. The emotionally charged discussions about which One Piece arc had the greatest impact. The dumb arguments over whether an anime adaptation had done justice to its light novel counterpart.
I still did not fully understand emotion—not the way Akari and Yami did. But I had come to recognize the warmth that came with watching a series together, the strange sense of connection that formed when we cared about the same fictional world.
And, perhaps most unsettling of all, I had started smiling without realizing it.
"Sumire, have you seen the latest episode of My Hero yet?!"
Akari practically threw herself onto my desk the moment lunch break started. Yami, ever the more composed of the two, slid into his seat with far less dramatics, unwrapping a convenience store sandwich.
I swallowed a bite of rice before answering. "I have."
"AND?!"
"I didn't like it."
The air around us froze. Akari's mouth fell open, her hands gripping the edge of my desk like I had just insulted her ancestors. Yami, who had just taken a sip of juice, coughed violently, barely managing to keep himself from choking.
Akari's eyes were wide. "Wh—What? But it was amazing! The animation was god-tier! The emotional payoff was chef's kiss! How could you not like it?!"
"The animation was fluid, and the fight choreography was well-executed, if a little chunky at parts. The emotional climax, however, left much to be desired."
Yami wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still chuckling. "Oh man, she really is a film critic."
"Is that not the point?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.
Akari let out a strangled noise. "No! You're supposed to say something like, 'Holy crap, that was amazing!' Or 'That scene was so hype!'"
I frowned. "I do not believe I am capable of 'hype.'"
Akari gasped as if I had personally stabbed her. "This is worse than I thought." She turned to Yami, gripping his shoulders. "We need to fix her."
Yami smirked. "Fixing implies she's broken. I'd argue she's just too refined for us."
I blinked. "I do not believe 'refined' is the correct word. I simply do not enjoy cheap emotional manipulation."
Akari clutched her chest, swaying dramatically. "H-how dare you?! That was not cheap emotional manipulation! That was peak storytelling!"
"Incorrect. The manga executed it far better. The adaptation lost much of the tension due to poor pacing and an overuse of slow-motion cuts."
Yami let out a low whistle. "Oof. You're really going for the jugular, huh?"
Akari staggered back as if wounded. "Yami, she's unstoppable. We can't win."
Yami crossed his arms, nodding sagely. "Indeed. This battle is lost. Retreat, Akari, before she ruins all your favorite anime."
I picked up my chopsticks. "I am merely stating my observations. I did not realize this was a battlefield."
Akari pointed at me with mock outrage. "Everything is a battlefield when it comes to anime opinions!"
I considered this for a moment. "Then it is a war you are destined to lose. My analysis is objective. Yours is driven by personal attachment."
Akari dramatically fell onto the desk beside me. "Yami, she's not just a film critic—she's the final boss."
"I see."
Despite her over-the-top theatrics, she was smiling.
And despite myself, I was too.
I wondered what Father would feel if he learned his ultimate masterpiece had become an Otaku.
Didn't matter.
After lunch Music class came.
Music class was simple.
The fundamentals were elementary. The sheet music was basic. The techniques were, at best, rudimentary.
I had mastered far more complex compositions before I was even capable of speech. Mathematics, physics, engineering—all subjects that required precise calculation and refined logical frameworks.
Music? It was merely another system. Another equation to solve.
The moment my fingers touched the piano keys, I knew exactly how much force to apply, how to pace each note, how to structure the sound to elicit the most pleasing auditory response. There was no effort involved.
But I could not show that.
I had chosen my persona carefully—an intelligent prodigy, always studying a level higher than her peers. That was the mask I had crafted. That was the illusion I had maintained.
And so, I played.
Not too perfectly. Not with the mastery I was capable of.
Just enough.
When the piece ended, the room was silent.
Then—
"Whoa…"
Takahashi Akari was staring at me, wide-eyed. Beside her, Arashi Yami raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. The rest of the class, too, murmured amongst themselves, some casting glances in my direction.
The teacher clapped his hands together. "That was excellent, Kanemoto-san. Your sense of rhythm is impeccable. Have you played before?"
"A little," I answered smoothly.
It was a lie. But not entirely.
Akari leaned in, eyes sparkling. "That was not 'a little'! You played like a professional!"
"I merely followed the sheet music."
"Oh, come on! That was way more than just 'following the sheet music'!" Akari turned to Yami. "Back me up here!"
Yami chuckled. "I mean, she is a genius. It's not exactly surprising."
Akari pouted. "But this is music! You can't just logic your way into playing like that!"
"Incorrect," I said. "Music is fundamentally mathematical. Rhythm is timing. Notes are frequencies. Chords are structured harmonics. It is all patterns and formulas."
Akari groaned. "You make it sound so boring!"
I blinked. "Boring?"
"Yes! Music isn't just math! It's… it's feeling! It's about expressing yourself, not just getting the notes right!"
I tilted my head slightly. "If the notes are played correctly, does that not inherently produce the desired result?"
Akari looked at me like I had just spoken in an alien language.
Yami laughed. "You're hopeless, Sumire."
"I do not see how I am at fault."
The teacher cleared his throat, amused. "Regardless, excellent performance. Let's move on."
As the class shifted focus, I caught a glimpse of Akari still staring at me, deep in thought.
Something told me this conversation wasn't over.
Music class moved on, but I found my mind lingering on Akari's words.
"Music is about expressing yourself."
I had never thought of it that way. Expression was a foreign concept to me—an unnecessary variable in a perfectly structured equation. Yet, the way she said it, with such conviction… I did not understand, but I knew it mattered to her.
And then I heard the violin.
A single note. Clear, controlled, yet full of something beyond precision.
I turned my head before I even realized it.
She stood near the window, violin in hand, bow poised against the strings. Her long, dark hair caught the light, and for a moment, it almost seemed to glow. Her fingers moved effortlessly, drawing sound from the instrument in a way that felt… natural.
Effortless. Beautiful.
The music was perfect—not in the way I played the piano, where every note was calculated for technical correctness. No, this was something else entirely.
It was alive.
She played as if the violin was not an instrument, but an extension of herself. Every movement, every shift in tone, every pause—it was as if she was speaking through the strings.
I had never heard anything like it.
"You're staring, Sumire."
Akari's voice pulled me back.
I blinked. "Am I?"
Akari grinned. "You are definitely staring."
Yami smirked. "Did the genius just get captivated?"
I turned my gaze back to the violinist.
Captivated.
Was that the correct word?
I had never paid attention to her before—she had simply been another student in my class, background noise in my carefully structured world. But now, watching her play, I realized I had been wrong.
She was not background noise.
She was music.
The song ended. Silence followed.
Then, applause.
The teacher smiled. "Excellently done, Hoshino-san. As always, your performance is breathtaking."
"Hoshino."
Her name was Hoshino Mei.
She turned slightly, bowing her head in quiet acknowledgment of the praise. Unlike Akari, who thrived in attention, or Yami, who took everything in stride, Hoshino Mei did not seek the spotlight. It simply found her.
She moved to put away her violin, her expression calm, her presence serene.
And for the first time, I realized something unusual.
My heartbeat was not steady.
It was a fraction faster. An unfamiliar rhythm. A misplaced note in the otherwise perfect composition of my life.
I frowned. Strange.
Akari nudged me, grinning. "Sooo… what do you think?"
"She is skilled."
"That's all?" Akari looked almost disappointed. "Come on, I was expecting something dramatic like 'She's the most incredible musician I've ever seen!' or 'I must challenge her in a musical duel!'"
Yami sighed. "Not everything is an anime, Akari."
I was only half-listening. My eyes were still on Hoshino Mei.
She was skilled. That was undeniable.
But more than that…
I wanted to hear her play again.
———————————
For the next few days, I found myself watching her.
It wasn't intentional. Not exactly. But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, my eyes would inevitably drift toward her whenever she played. The sound of her violin lingered in my mind, an unresolved melody that refused to fade.
It was irritating.
I had spent my entire life understanding things. Logic, structure, systems—everything could be broken down into components, analyzed, and mastered. Music was no different. I knew how sound worked, how notes blended into harmonies, how patterns repeated to create rhythm.
And yet.
Hoshino Mei played differently.
Her music was not bound by technique alone. It carried something else—something I could not calculate, something I could not replicate, no matter how precisely I played the same piece.
Emotion.
I hated not understanding.
And so, after class, when the other students had left, I stayed behind. I did not have a concrete reason—at least, not one I could justify to myself. But I waited, watching as Mei carefully placed her violin in its case, her hands moving with the same quiet grace she played with.
She must have sensed my presence because she paused, glancing up.
For the first time, our eyes met—not in passing, but in true acknowledgment.
I did not look away.
Neither did she.
"…Kanemoto-san," she greeted, voice as steady as her playing.
"Hoshino-san," I returned.
A beat of silence. Neither awkward nor warm, simply… a pause.
Then, to my surprise, the faintest hint of a smile curved her lips.
"You were staring," she said.
I blinked. "…Was I?"
"You were."
I considered this, then nodded. "Then I apologize."
Her smile didn't fade. "It's fine. People stare when I play."
I frowned slightly. "Because of your skill?"
"Sometimes," she said. "But mostly because music is meant to be felt. When something resonates, people listen."
I hesitated. "…Resonance is a product of frequency and amplitude. It is a measurable phenomenon."
Mei tilted her head slightly, as if amused. "Not that kind of resonance."
I wasn't sure how to respond.
Before I could attempt to articulate my thoughts, she closed her case and turned toward me fully. "You analyze music the way you analyze everything else, don't you?"
I stiffened. "I—"
"It's not a bad thing," she said before I could protest. "It's just… interesting."
"…Interesting?"
She nodded. "You approach it like a puzzle. Like you're trying to break it down, piece by piece, until it makes sense."
I frowned. "Is that not the correct way to engage with a subject?"
She shook her head. "Not always."
Something about the certainty in her voice made my chest tighten slightly.
For the first time in a long while, I felt—
No. I did not know what I felt.
Hoshino Mei studied me for another moment, then reached for her bag. "You should join the music club."
I blinked. "…Why?"
She smiled slightly. "Because you're interesting."
Then, with a simple nod, she walked past me toward the door.
I turned, watching as she disappeared into the hallway, her long hair swaying behind her.
I exhaled slowly.
I did not understand her.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason—
I wanted to.
"So," Akari said, plopping into her seat across from me with an entirely too smug grin. "When are you going to ask her out?"
I frowned. "Ask who out?"
"Don't play dumb," Yami chimed in, unwrapping his sandwich. "Akari saw you talking to her."
I stared. "…Who?"
Akari gasped dramatically. "Who?! WHO?! You mean to tell me you've already forgotten about Hoshino Mei, the girl you were totally mesmerized by a few days ago?!"
I felt an odd warmth creep into my face. "I was not mesmerized."
"Oh, you so were," Yami said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "You were staring at her like she was the protagonist of an anime you just discovered."
"I was analyzing her technique."
Akari leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is that what we're calling a crush these days?"
I opened my mouth—then closed it.
"…That is illogical."
Akari gasped again, clutching her chest. "Yami, did you hear that? She didn't deny it!"
Yami smirked. "She didn't."
I scowled. "This conversation is ridiculous."
"It's adorable," Akari corrected. "Our little Sumire is growing up!"
I sighed heavily. "I fail to see how having an appreciation for someone's skill equates to 'falling' for them."
Akari smirked. "Then why did you sign up for the music club this morning?"
I froze.
"…How do you know that?"
She wiggled her eyebrows. "Because I have sources."
Yami chuckled. "She was literally there when you handed in the form."
I exhaled sharply. "Joining a club is a logical course of action. It allows for structured practice time and access to quality instruments."
"Uh-huh," Akari drawled, unconvinced. "And it has nothing to do with Mei-chan?"
"…No."
Lies.
Yami shook his head. "Sumire, you are an awful liar."
"I do not lie."
"Right, so you're just coincidentally joining the club that just so happens to have a certain violinist in it?" Akari teased.
I took a slow breath. "You two are insufferable."
Akari grinned. "And you're in love."
I nearly choked on my food.
"I—" I glared. "That is an over-exaggeration."
"Ohhh," Akari purred. "But you didn't deny that either."
I gritted my teeth. "This conversation is over."
Yami chuckled. "Sure, sure. But hey—good luck in music club."
Akari giggled. "Yeah. And don't stare too hard this time."
I launched a handkerchief at her at full power.
———————————
The music club met after school.
The room was smaller than a classroom, more intimate, with shelves lined with instruments and music books stacked neatly in the corner.
When I entered, Mei was already there.
She glanced up as I stepped inside.
"Kanemoto-san."
I inclined my head. "Hoshino-san."
She studied me for a moment. "So, you joined."
"It was the logical decision," I replied smoothly. "If I wish to refine my musical ability, structured practice is essential."
Mei hummed softly. "I see."
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly—
"I'm glad."
I blinked. "You are?"
She nodded. "It'll be nice having you here."
Something about the way she said it made my heartbeat quicken slightly.
Strange.
The club members gathered, and practice began. I sat at the piano, playing through the assigned piece, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys. Mei played the violin beside me, her notes weaving seamlessly with mine.
For the first time, I wasn't just calculating music.
I was experiencing it.
When the song ended, she turned to me.
"…That was nice, Kanamoto-San" she murmured.
I hesitated.
Then, before I could overthink it, I spoke.
"Just call me, Sumire, Hoshino-San."
Mei blinked before a soft smile formed on her beautiful face.
"…Then you may call me Mei."
I stared at her for a moment.
Then, I smiled back. Ever so slightly.
Mei's name lingered on my tongue longer than I expected.
I had never cared for the formality of names before. It was a convention, a set of phonetic markers used to distinguish individuals—useful, but ultimately arbitrary. And yet, as I said hers aloud in my mind, there was a peculiar weight to it.
Mei.
She turned back to her violin, adjusting the strings with deft fingers. I should have looked away, should have focused on my own instrument, but I found my gaze lingering. There was something effortless in the way she handled it—like it was less of a tool and more of an extension of herself.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers to the piano keys. Focus.
The music club's session continued, though I was only partially present. The instructor—a middle-aged man with a slightly disheveled appearance—guided us through ensemble exercises, ensuring the group could maintain proper synchronization.
I had no trouble with synchronization. Rhythm was merely timing, and timing was calculation. But the others struggled—minor mistakes, hesitation in key transitions, an occasional mistimed bow stroke.
Mei, however, never faltered.
By the time the session ended, the other club members were chatting, some packing away their instruments while others gathered in small clusters to discuss upcoming practice sessions. Mei moved with quiet efficiency, carefully securing her violin before standing.
I did not think before I spoke.
"You do not struggle with rhythm."
Mei paused, then turned slightly. "I suppose not."
"It is unusual," I mused. "Most students here, despite experience, still hesitate at times."
She studied me, head tilting slightly. "And yet, you don't."
I met her gaze. "Rhythm is a pattern. A structure. There is no reason to fail once the structure is understood."
Her lips curled faintly. "You say that, but there's a difference between understanding music and feeling it."
I frowned. "Akari said something similar."
Mei looked amused. "She's perceptive, then."
"I do not see the distinction," I admitted. "If one executes a piece perfectly, does that not inherently evoke the correct response?"
She stepped closer, her presence calm but deliberate. "It's not about executing a piece 'perfectly.' It's about expressing it."
I did not know how to answer that.
Mei's gaze lingered on me for a moment before she exhaled, adjusting the strap of her case over her shoulder. "Walk with me."
I hesitated. "Where?"
She shrugged. "Outside. Unless you're afraid of fresh air."
I was not, but I also had no logical reason to refuse. So, I followed.
The hallway was quiet, the other club members trailing behind or heading in different directions. Mei walked at an unhurried pace, her footsteps light against the polished floor.
We stepped outside into the evening air. The campus was illuminated by the fading sunset, streaks of orange and violet bleeding across the sky. Mei stopped near a small bench, placing her case beside her as she sat down.
I remained standing.
She tapped the space next to her. "You can sit, you know."
After a brief pause, I complied.
For a moment, there was only silence. It was not uncomfortable, but it was unfamiliar. I was used to conversations with Akari and Yami—ones filled with energy, playful jabs, or outright debates. But Mei's presence was different. She did not rush to fill the quiet.
I found myself breaking it first.
"Why did you ask me to join the club?"
She glanced at me, expression unreadable. "Because I was curious."
"Curious?"
She nodded. "You analyze music in a way I've never seen before. It's… clinical, but not in a bad way. It's like you're solving an equation, except instead of numbers, it's sound."
I frowned. "Music is an equation."
Mei let out a soft breath of laughter. "That's what I mean."
I did not know if she was mocking me or if she genuinely found amusement in my perspective. Either way, I did not dislike it.
She turned her gaze upward, watching as the sky darkened. "Music isn't just about structure. It's about emotion."
I exhaled slowly. "That word again."
Mei glanced at me. "You don't believe in it?"
I hesitated. "I do not… understand it. At least, not the way others do."
She studied me for a moment, then reached for her case. With practiced ease, she retrieved her violin, resting it against her shoulder.
"Then listen."
She did not ask for permission. She simply played.
The sound filled the quiet courtyard, delicate yet rich, each note flowing seamlessly into the next. It was not a complex piece—nothing grand or ostentatious—but it carried something beyond technical perfection.
It was warm.
I had heard many musicians before. I had heard virtuosic performances, seen compositions executed with flawless technique. But this… this was different.
Mei played as if the music was not separate from her but part of her.
I felt something.
It was faint, almost imperceptible, like a whisper at the edge of my mind. A shift in rhythm, a break in calculation. An unfamiliar sensation threading through the carefully structured framework of my thoughts.
The piece ended.
Mei lowered her bow, watching me carefully. "…Did you feel it?"
I was not sure how to answer.
I swallowed. "That was… different."
Mei smiled slightly. "Not bad different, I hope."
"…No."
She tilted her head. "Then what?"
I looked down at my hands, fingers curling slightly against my palms. "I do not know."
She hummed thoughtfully. "Then maybe that's a good thing."
I exhaled, the evening breeze cool against my skin. I had never not known before. Everything in my life had been calculated, understood, processed through logic.
But this—this was an anomaly.
And I was not sure if I hated it.
Mei stood, securing her violin back in its case. "I should go."
I looked up. "Will you play again?"
She blinked, then a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. "I play every day."
That was not an answer.
And yet, I found myself satisfied with it.
Mei turned toward the path leading away from the courtyard. "See you at the next club meeting, Sumire."
She said my name so easily, like it was natural.
I watched as she walked away, disappearing into the evening shadows.
I sat there for a long time after she was gone.
———————————
I have always understood cause and effect.
An equation is only as complicated as the variables within it. Take a sequence of events, break them down into their simplest components, and a pattern will emerge. A conclusion. A certainty.
I have lived my life by this principle.
And yet—Mei.
She is the only variable I have never been able to solve.
A year ago, I had not understood why I watched her, why her music lingered in my thoughts long after the sound had faded. I had rationalized it as curiosity, as the pursuit of an answer to an unfamiliar question. But now, as I sit beside her on the windowsill of the music room, our shoulders barely touching, I no longer need an answer.
I know.
I love her.
The realization had not come in a single moment. It was not an epiphany, not a sudden, dramatic revelation. It was something quieter. Something that had settled into my bones over time, like the way music became instinct after hours of practice. A gradual certainty that had taken root with every glance, every smile, every note she played.
It is late. The club has ended, but Mei and I remain, as we often do. The others have long since gone home, leaving us in the dim glow of the overhead lights. Outside, rain murmurs against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm.
Mei rests her chin on her arms, watching the downpour with a distant expression. "I like nights like this," she murmurs. "They make me feel… small. In a good way."
I tilt my head. "A contradiction."
She smiles. "Not everything has to make sense, Sumire."
I do not respond immediately. Instead, I watch the reflection of the rain ripple across the glass, our silhouettes blurred by the water's distortion.
Then, quietly—"You make me feel small."
Mei blinks, turning to me in surprise.
I continue before I can think better of it. "Not in a bad way," I clarify, echoing her words. "It is simply… unfamiliar." I exhale, my fingers pressing lightly against the windowsill. "You exist outside of my calculations."
A small silence.
Then Mei laughs.
Not a quiet chuckle, not the amused huff she often gives when teasing me, but an actual laugh, bright and warm and full. My chest tightens at the sound.
"You really are something else," she says, eyes shining as she looks at me.
I swallow. She is too close. Or perhaps not close enough.
I could tell her.
The thought lingers, dangerous and persistent.
I could say it now, and it would be real.
I love you.
Three words. That is all. A simple equation, an indisputable truth. And yet—
I hesitate.
I hesitated because I knew what would happen. I could never tell her my past… why I was like this. I could never tell her.
The music room is quiet save for the rain and the distant hum of the school's electrical system. Mei shifts slightly, her hand brushing against mine. Not accidental. A deliberate touch. She does not move away.
I am about to speak and then as if out of nowhere.
A spark.
A flicker.
The hum of the lights wavers. The air shifts. Something smells—off. Sharp. Acrid.
And then—the explosion.
A burst of heat. A blinding, violent crackle as the ceiling light shatters, plunging the room into darkness. The floor trembles beneath us.
Mei gasps, jolting upright. "What was—"
Another explosion. This time, from the wall near the door. Sparks shower down like dying stars, and then, almost instantaneously, fire erupts from the electrical panel, licking hungrily at the wooden floor.
The fire alarm screeches to life, a shrill, piercing wail. Red emergency lights flash in rhythmic pulses, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
Smoke. Thick and suffocating, curling through the air with unnatural speed.
Mei coughs, grabbing my wrist. "We have to get out—"
I am already moving.
The fire spreads too quickly. The old wooden floors, the bookshelves stacked with sheet music, the very instruments themselves—all of it fuel. The oxygen in the room vanishes, replaced by scorching heat.
Panic is an illogical response to a crisis. I have trained myself to assess, to calculate. But even as I analyze the situation, my pulse thrums with something dangerously close to fear.
There is only one exit.
The door.
But beyond it, the fire has already begun consuming the hallway.
We are trapped.
Mei tugs at my hand. "We can still run through!" she says, voice tight with urgency. "If we move fast enough, we can—"
"No."
She stops short, eyes wide.
I step past her, shutting the door. The handle is hot to the touch, but I ignore it, bracing my weight against the wood.
"Sumire—"
"The fire is feeding on the oxygen in the hall," I explain, my voice steady despite the rising heat. "If we open the door, we risk drawing it in faster."
Mei stares at me. "So what do we do? There has to be another way—"
"There is."
I meet her gaze.
And then I lock the door.
Her breath catches.
I do not allow myself to hesitate. "The fire will spread to the upper floors soon," I say, my voice even. "But if this room is sealed, it will burn itself out here first. It will buy time for the others to escape."
Realization dawns in her expression. Horror follows immediately after. "No." She reaches for me, but I step back.
"Sumire, no."
"It is the only logical course of action."
She shakes her head violently. "Like hell it is! We can find another way—"
"There is no other way."
The words are final.
Mei's chest rises and falls in sharp, frantic breaths. The fire's glow flickers across her face, turning her wide eyes into molten gold.
"Then we'll find a way together." Her voice is fierce, trembling but resolute. "I'm not leaving you."
She means it.
Of course she does.
I close my eyes. "Then forgive me."
I move before she can react. A single step forward–just enough force, just enough momentum–I shove her backward.
She stumbles. For a brief, terrible moment, I see the betrayal in her expression–raw, unguarded–then the door swings open.
The fire surges forward, a beast unfurling from the depths of hell itself.
I had pushed her through then I had slammed the door shut between us.
The lock clicks.
The fire roars as Mei screams. "SUMIRE!"
I press my forehead against the wood. The heat sears my skin.
Her fists hammer desperately against the other side. "OPEN THE DOOR! SUMIRE, PLEASE—"
I do not.
I cannot.
The oxygen is thinning. My lungs burn.
I exhale slowly.
The calculations are complete. The result is inevitable.
I have spent my life understanding cause and effect.
But I do not need calculations to know this:
I love Mei.
I have loved her for longer than I realized.
I wish I had told her.
My vision blurs.
I hear her voice breaking, "SUMIRE!"
"Get the adults to use the fire hydrants. But make sure you're outside… please… for me.. Save yourself.."
I commanded using the little oxygen I had left.
I had accepted my fate.
Most of the fire hydrants would be on the first floor, where home economic classes were alongside the classes that used electrical machinery that could fail.
Nobody suspected the electronic wiring that was changed every 2 years and checked every 3 months to fail randomly. And now the room was engulfed in flames.
Love can make you do stupid things, heh father?
That thought was the last I had before… silence.