The notebook lay open on Yami's desk, its pages yellowed at the edges from too many nights spent under the dim glow of his desk lamp. The scent of graphite and dried ink filled the space between him and the pages, that familiar smell that always reminded him of stolen hours spent sketching game designs when he should have been studying. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds, painting stripes of gold across the paper that made the handwritten words seem to glow from within. His fingers left faint damp marks on the corners where he gripped too tightly, the paper rough under his fingertips from all the times he'd erased and rewritten the chapter title until the fibers began to fray.
"The Meaning of My Existence?"
That wavering question mark at the end always caught in his chest like a fishhook. He traced the ink with his finger, following the subtle cracks where he'd pressed down too hard that night. The memory came unbidden - his hand shaking not from fear, but from something deeper, more terrifying. After seventeen years of perfect grades, of obediently following every rule, of molding himself into the son they wanted, he still didn't know who he was beneath all that performance.
He turned the page carefully, revealing the first spread. Not text this time, but a carefully preserved sketch that made his breath catch even now. The pencil lines showed a floating city of impossible architecture, its spiraling towers connected by bridges of glowing light that he'd painstakingly shaded to look like actual code. He remembered drawing this - the way the paper had felt under his fingers, the ache in his wrist after five straight hours of rendering the intricate clockwork mechanisms that would power his dream game world. The memory was so vivid he could almost smell the eraser shavings and feel the weight of the textbook he'd hidden it under whenever his parents entered the room.
In the margins, his teenage handwriting crammed technical notes into every available space, the letters growing progressively smaller as he ran out of room:
"NPC memory system needs to track player choices across multiple playthroughs - implement persistent trauma algorithm"
"Weather system must affect character psychology - rain increases depressive episodes by 30% for characters with trauma backgrounds"
"Main quest about uncovering forgotten memories should force actual self-reflection in the pl-"
The last note ended abruptly where his pencil had snapped under sudden pressure. A coffee stain in the shape of a fist covered the rest of the sentence, preserving forever the moment his father had slammed the The University of Tokyo (UTokyo)'s brochures down on his desk. The heat of that shame still burned in his gut years later.
The facing page held only twelve words, written with such force the pen had torn through the paper in places:
"He made me burn them. I saved this one. Fuck him."
Yami exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet of his room. Outside, Tokyo buzzed with its usual evening energy, the distant hum of traffic and chatter seeping through the walls. His gaming laptop sat open on the desk, its cooling fan whirring softly as it processed the complex game engine code he'd been debugging all night when he should have been preparing for tomorrow's orientation at Tokyo Institute of Technology.
He turned several pages at once, the paper whispering against itself as it revealed months of careful planning. Printed acceptance statistics with red pen circles around Tokyo Tech's computer science program. A highlighted class schedule showing how required courses conveniently overlapped with game development fundamentals. Detailed notes comparing different professors' teaching styles and which might be more lenient with "creative" final projects.
"Unreal Engine uses C++ - same as Advanced Programming course requirements"
"Procedural generation techniques covered in Algorithm Design electives"
"Networking labs can double as multiplayer backend testing environment"
The numbers and plans swam before his eyes as he traced them with one finger, remembering the countless winter nights spent hunched over his desk, measuring out his rebellion in stolen minutes and calculated percentage points. Every circled course, every highlighted requirement represented another small victory in his secret war.
A photograph slipped from between the pages, landing face-up on the desk. Orientation day at Tokyo Tech. In the image, his parents stood proudly on either side of him in front of the university's historic gates, their smiles bright and genuine for once. His mother's manicured hand rested lightly on his shoulder in the picture, though he remembered all too well how her nails had dug in just before the camera flashed as she whispered through her perfect smile: "Just two years here, then straight to University of Tokyo's medical program."
The memory made his fingers twitch against the photo's glossy surface. This prestigious university - the dream school thousands of students killed themselves studying for - was nothing but a gilded cage to him. A place where he could access world-class resources while maintaining the facade they wanted. Two years to build something real before the inevitable medical school ultimatum came down.
His gaze fell to the page's final entry, dated last night before the start of his university life:
"Root128 hibernates tonight."
Not deletion. Not destruction.
Hibernation.
Yami cracked his knuckles and turned to his computer, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard with practiced ease. The terminal window filled with scrolling lines of code as the archiving process began, compressing three years of midnight hacking, of secret identities, of the only versions of himself that had ever felt truly alive into a single encrypted file.
"Compressing security protocols... 47% complete"
"Archiving penetration tools... 89% complete"
"Finalizing encryption... 100%"
The solid-state drive clicked softly as he plugged in the encrypted storage device, its status light pulsing a steady rhythm like a heartbeat. When the transfer completed with a soft chime, he ejected it carefully, turning the matte black rectangle over in his hands. It was heavier than its titanium casing suggested, weighed down by everything it contained.
The fingerprint-locked case opened with a whisper, accepting three items with solemn finality: first the encrypted drive containing his shadow self, then the infamous ksociety mask that had terrified government agencies across three countries, and finally a single handwritten note on expensive stationery that simply read:
"For when you're ready to stop pretending."
The biometric lock engaged with a quiet chime that sounded too cheerful for the occasion.
Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky outside his window when Yami finally stood, stretching stiff muscles. His minimalist backpacks waited by the door, its many compartments neatly packed with Tokyo Tech orientation materials. Only he knew about the hidden pocket in the lining, perfectly sized for one encrypted case.
Somewhere beyond the window, the spires of Japan's most prestigious technical university stood ready to welcome its newest model student. Kuragane Yami took one last look around his room, at the perfectly arranged desk and the closed notebook, then stepped out to meet his future.