"Nature wants children to be children before they become adults." —Jean-Jacques Rousseau
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Every time he was forcibly injected with drugs, Kitagawa Ryo felt like he was drifting between reality and nightmare.
In this half-conscious state, he followed the scripts and gestures the assistant had prepared for him, offering the visiting children warm, familial greetings.
Today, once again, was the scheduled consolation time.
This time, the one permitted to enter the room was Yuki—who had been acting strangely ever since Ryo had collapsed and been taken away by the White Room staff.
Perhaps it was because half of the fourth-generation students were emotionally tied to her, or because the White Room couldn't afford to allow such abnormal behavior to spread, but for whatever reason, Ryo was allowed to see her again after so long.
Yuki's situation was different from Ichika's. While the fifth-generation students always sought love from Ryo, craving the emotional feedback he provided, Yuki stood on the same footing as Ryo.
Like a leaking and filling reservoir, she both received and gave.
She possessed the same gentle qualities as Ryo—qualities that didn't belong in the White Room.
"Ryo."
Her eyes unfocused, Yuki looked more like the patient than Ryo lying on the bed. Still trapped in her previous panic, she simply repeated his name.
Stripped of everything, the only thing the girl could hold onto was the forcibly imprinted presence of Kitagawa Ryo.
"I'm here."
Like adding a spine to her fragile frame, Ryo's voice instantly revived her.
Almost as if trying to provoke her further, the White Room had escalated its cruelty toward Ryo recently. Not only had they used a dangerous arterial injection that left him unconscious, but they also forced Yuki to witness the aftermath.
Whether she wanted to or not, they made her believe it was her failure—her inaction—that caused his suffering. They drowned her in guilt.
"It was my fault... I won't let it happen again."
When judgment lies solely in the hands of the White Room, the outcome is predetermined.
Ryo understood. He and Yuki were just samples—specimens. And in order to study balance, one must understand the extremes.
No matter how many times she vowed never to make another mistake, the White Room would never stop tormenting them. They didn't even bother to fabricate reasons anymore.
To Yuki, the pain of someone else being tortured because of her was unbearable.
Perhaps due to her young age and the closed environment, her pure kindness was even greater than that of Ichinose Honami.
The pain others endured hurt her more than her own.
Because she had always believed this, she could never escape the cycle of suffering.
"If Ryo dies, it will be my fault."
If Ichika was a hero in a classical adventure game with clear goals and promised happy endings, Yuki's reality was a steady march toward despair.
She truly believed that if Ryo died, it would be her fault.
Instilled with warped emotions, Yuki now gave off a dangerous aura that Ryo couldn't ignore.
"Ryo shouldn't be the one suffering. It should be me."
Her deep purple eyes quickly brimmed with tears. Ryo felt them slide down her face and onto his forehead. She had completely convinced herself that he was protecting her, and matched that belief with the emotional logic within her heart.
Still, just seeing Ryo alive and feeling his embrace seemed to restore some clarity in her. The assistant entered at just the right moment to announce the end of visitation time.
As Ryo watched her leave and prepared to lie back down, the assistant returned to his bedside.
Ryo, unaware of Sakayanagi Arisu's visit, looked at him in confusion.
"..."
The assistant was silent for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh.
"Honestly, I think your current phase could still benefit from another two years of observation. But some decisions are beyond me."
Leaving that cryptic remark behind, the assistant exited the room and returned to the fifth-generation classroom, where the top-ranked student was visibly losing ground.
Ayanokouji Atsuomi's expression had darkened. The assistant, who had worked under him for years, could immediately sense his displeasure.
This match was a special exam designed to test the limits of the fifth-generation students. The White Room's mission was to create artificial geniuses. So far, only Ayanokouji Kiyotaka had come close to being a true success. The only other close contender was Ichika, now engaged in a match against Sakayanagi Arisu.
In other words, the outcome of this match could determine the future trajectory of the fifth-generation experiment.
And by extension, it could determine how much longer Ryo would be allowed to exist.
Just as planned years ago: if it was concluded that the fifth generation had reached its limit, then Ayanokouji Atsuomi would activate a long-prepared plan:
[Sever the Mother's Umbilical Cord.]
No name could be more fitting.
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"Um, Sakayanagi-san... I hope you don't mind me asking, but is this your cat?"
As Sakayanagi Narimori and Ayanokouji Atsuomi observed the match intently, a flustered security guard walked into the classroom, carefully cradling a cat in both arms.
"This cat jumped out of your car and ran straight inside."
"Ah... yes, she's ours. I'm terribly sorry for the trouble."
Taking Hotaru from the guard, Narimori couldn't help but feel a little confused. The cat was usually lazy and calm—even during their trips to the beach or amusement parks, she would quietly stay in the car. Why had she suddenly run off today?
"Maybe she got hungry waiting while you were inside so long," Atsuomi commented casually, still focused on the board.
"Perhaps."
Narimori chuckled, stroking the cat that had brought his daughter so much luck.
Satisfied that everything was in order, the security guard left. The White Room had extremely strict security protocols—had it not been for the cat belonging to the Sakayanagi family, she would have been shot on sight.
The small incident didn't distract anyone. Both Arisu and Ichika remained locked in their game, not even glancing up.
"Impressive..."
As the game neared its end, Arisu finally broke her silence with a note of praise for her opponent.
From this point forward, her turns slowed noticeably. One minute. Two minutes. Then three. She stared intently at the board with growing frequency.
"Truly impressive. Honestly, you—and this place—have met my expectations."
With the clock ticking down, Arisu offered another compliment.
The more she spoke, the heavier Ichika's heart became, sinking like a stone in deep water.
She had given it everything. Even the special moves she had saved for Ayanokouji Kiyotaka had been countered, step by step, with ease.
"This is the first time I've actually broken a sweat during a match. You're strong."
"Honestly, even if I lost, I wouldn't be surprised. I've only been learning chess for six months."
Her opponent wasn't from the White Room.
Ichika looked up at Arisu. There was no doubt: she was enjoying the game. The process, the struggle—it didn't matter who won.
Such people didn't exist in the White Room.
Not for Ichika. This wasn't just a win-or-lose scenario.
There was only one possible outcome.
Like a brutal, one-life-only game on the highest difficulty.
The thought alone made her cast a resentful glance toward Arisu.
She tried desperately to find a way to turn the match around. But time ticked on mercilessly.
"...And with this, it's over."
With a graceful move, Arisu pushed forward her piece, sealing the victory.
"That was a delightful battle. I almost regret ending it."
Breathing deeply, exhilarated from defeating a powerful opponent, her heart beat faster with joy.
It was the first time Hotaru had ever seen Arisu so happy. Perhaps, to her, this victory was a gift to her father.
Her opponent—the top-ranked fifth-generation student of the White Room—was no small challenge.
Arisu looked back at the board with genuine joy in her eyes, likely savoring each step of the battle. Nearly three hours of intense focus had tested not only their minds, but their stamina as well.
Sweat formed lightly on her forehead and nose. She took several deep breaths to calm her heartbeat.
"I won."
From the standpoint of destroying the White Room's image, this victory was incredibly satisfying.
Meanwhile, for Ichika, it wasn't until the final checkmate that time seemed to move again.
Her stomach churned violently. Her body, drenched in sweat and chilled by dread, stung with a strange heat.
Her strength vanished. Her thoughts blanked out.
Her heart screamed in turmoil, a boiling anguish that almost drove her to lunge at Arisu.
Ignoring her defeated opponent, Arisu returned to her father like a child proudly presenting her high test score.
"I won!"
"You've always been amazing, Arisu."
Delighted by her victory, Narimori patted her head. Arisu looked up and saw Hotaru in his arms. Smiling brightly, she went over and stroked the cat's head.
"I won."
Her joy was so overflowing, she even repeated the words to the cat.
Hotaru, however, remained unimpressed, glancing at her with disinterest.
"She might be hungry."
Narimori checked the time on his phone. It was already noon. After all, the match had lasted nearly three hours.
"Let's head to the dining hall. I already asked them to prepare lunch."
Though Atsuomi was less than thrilled by Arisu's victory, he still had his ace—Kiyotaka. Composing himself, he smiled and extended an invitation.
"Sure. If possible, I'd like to meet that fourth-generation student this afternoon... Kiyotaka, right?"
Arisu asked curiously, lifting Hotaru from her father's arms.
"Kiyotaka is the most exceptional student we have. His chess skills are even higher than Ichika's."
Atsuomi had already noticed how accommodating Narimori was toward his daughter. Hoping to draw the Sakayanagi family back into the White Room, he eagerly tried to pique her interest.
Sure enough, Arisu looked intrigued—almost like she wanted to skip lunch altogether and challenge Kiyotaka right away.
As the group made their way toward the White Room's dining hall, Hotaru suddenly wriggled out of Arisu's arms, leapt to the floor, and darted down the corridor.
"Hotaru?"
Startled, Arisu instinctively gave chase.
This was one reason she had started to embrace having a pet. In the past, her frail body couldn't even retrieve a blown-away hat.
Now, running down the hallway in pursuit, Arisu felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
Like Alice chasing a rabbit into Wonderland.
Hotaru stopped in front of a door. Arisu had never seen her, often aloof and silent, this frantic before. The cat meowed anxiously, pacing in circles at the threshold.
Atsuomi, following behind, instinctively moved to stop her. But before he could speak, Arisu placed her hand on the doorknob.
And then, the door opened.
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