"Today is September 13th. Recorder: Suzukake Tōya."
A man's voice played from the videotape, followed by the image of a middle-aged man adjusting the camera angle to face himself in a stark white room.
Had Kitagawa Ryo been present, he would have instantly recognized the man as Ayanokouji Atsuomi's assistant. While Atsuomi was the official head of the White Room, most of the detailed and exhausting work had been handled solely by this man: curriculum development, the execution of special trials for the fourth and fifth generations, and more.
Suzukake was also, notably, a psychologist—and a storyteller.
His radical ideologies and obsession with extreme psychological experiments had long excluded him from the academic mainstream. But in the early, rough days of the White Room, someone like him was exactly what they needed. And with Sakayanagi Narimori stepping away after learning the program's dark truths, Suzukake had risen to the position of Atsuomi's assistant.
Just as Atsuomi harbored unspeakable secrets, Suzukake, despite his daytime deference, had his own hidden habits.
As a researcher of psychology and education, the White Room offered him unparalleled freedom. Experiments that once had to be silenced or abandoned could now be carried out fully. Every data set became a rare and precious commodity. Not long after joining the White Room, Suzukake could no longer contain his excitement.
He began secretly duplicating daily experiment charts, and every few months, he recorded footage capturing his thoughts and research progress, storing it all on his personal device.
"I've been in the White Room for a few months now. Based on my observations, Ayanokouji-sensei isn't particularly concerned with the well-being of the children. He's also been quite generous with me."
"This is a wonderful opportunity. There likely won't be another facility like this."
"Humans are such fascinating creatures. Ever since coming here, I'm reminded of that almost daily."
"The Little Albert experiment already proved that fear can be artificially instilled. Building on that, I began experimenting with how to trigger accelerated learning."
"Children are naturally curious about the world. They learn instinctively, even without instruction. But it's a slow, unconscious process. So I attempted to forcibly speed it up."
Here, Suzukake paused, unscrewed a bottle of mineral water from the table, took two sips, and then continued.
"From infancy, I began replicating a version of the Little Albert experiment. I embedded psychological conditioning into the test subjects because, in my view, mental maturity should be the foundation of development."
"For ordinary people to become geniuses, they must work harder. If we can trigger premature cognitive development during the earliest stages of awareness, that period becomes the key to narrowing the gap."
"So I used various punishments to forcibly accelerate their minds before they could even understand what was happening. I made them feel fear—physical pain, emotional pain, anything that worked. I taught them that if they couldn't learn, if they couldn't answer correctly, they would suffer. That was the logic I aimed to engrain."
"Of course, many of the fourth-generation students have fallen behind under such intense methods. But one child—Ayanokouji Kiyotaka—is different. He demonstrates astonishing learning ability, adaptability, and practical application. His growth continues daily, with no visible limit."
At the mention of Kiyotaka's name, Suzukake's expression shifted. He rested his chin on his hand, his eyes thoughtful.
"Although other White Room researchers believe they can still cultivate someone on Kiyotaka's level, I believe he was a complete anomaly—a special case produced by this warped environment."
"More like a mutation. An unreplicable result."
"If we truly want to realize the goals of the White Room project, we must begin looking for a different path forward."
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"Today is July 23rd. Recorder: Suzukake Tōya."
The next tape began playing automatically after the last ended. Nearly a year had passed, and Suzukake's tone now carried a distinct excitement.
Sure enough, this version of Suzukake looked far more energized than the previous one.
"Today, I made a breakthrough."
He swallowed hard and leaned close to the camera, his face flushed with thrill.
"Among the fifth-generation students, I found the key that might break our current impasse."
"That child is called Ryo. No—his actual name doesn't matter..."
Suzukake rambled in disorganized thoughts, recounting the events of the day.
"The Rhesus monkey experiment—I loved that one when I was studying psychology."
"But in my view, the biggest flaw in that experiment was the use of rhesus monkeys instead of actual human infants, despite the genetic similarities."
"Of course, the Little Albert experiment drew its fair share of criticism back then too. But scientific progress requires bold innovation!"
"Like the medieval physicians who dissected stolen corpses for the sake of anatomical studies."
Suzukake lifted his head, clearly feeling his actions were utterly justified.
"The Rhesus monkey experiment was never some sentimental parenting study..."
"A sealed environment, a newborn, and a cloth mother—I have a hunch that if I can execute this perfectly... No, this experiment will be perfect."
His face flushed red as he waved his hands in ecstasy.
"All these years in the White Room, we've never answered the question of whether artificial geniuses can truly be created. But one thing has been proven: every child has a theoretical limit."
"At first, I hoped to unlock their potential through fear. But as time went on, that fear disappeared."
"I don't mean metaphorically. It truly vanished. Along with fear, other emotions also faded. The fourth-generation children rarely express any desire to communicate, especially Ayanokouji Kiyotaka. I can hardly detect emotional fluctuations in him at all."
"And with emotional numbness came their limits. As the curriculum intensified, the dropout rate among the fourth generation increased annually."
Suzukake grew more composed, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"So, when I discovered that fifth-generation child, I thought again of the Rhesus monkey experiment."
"Thankfully, Ayanokouji-sensei is a man who values results over methods. That's actually what drew me to this program in the first place. In some ways, he gave me complete freedom."
"And so, I began the White Room version of the 'Rhesus monkey experiment.'"
Suzukake gave the camera a pale smile.
"And I believe it will succeed."
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"Today is October 23rd. Recorder: Suzukake Tōya."
Unlike the gap of a full year between the first two recordings, this third tape came just three months after the second.
Suzukake adjusted the camera as usual and began speaking softly:
"This is my third time recording."
"Before starting, I rewatched the first two entries. Everything I said back then could be found in files and reports, but I left those videos as reminders not to forget my passion."
"Come to think of it, I've been here nearly ten years."
"Someday I might grow tired of all this, so I want future me to remember today's enthusiasm. It's like how Ayanokouji-sensei carved that quote about behaviorism into his desk."
Suzukake beamed with confidence.
"The fifth-generation experiment has been quite successful. Originally, we worried that emotional enrichment would reduce learning efficiency. But Ryo's presence continues to push the fifth-gen students to exceed their limits. They're like children trying to earn their mother's praise. Ryo himself has rare potential."
"Using Ryo as a template, we found a similar subject among the fourth generation."
"The trigger? A smile."
Suzukake smiled slightly at the memory but quickly returned to his usual seriousness.
"Among all the children in the White Room—not just the fifth, but the fourth as well—Yuki is the first to smile on her own."
"A smile is a combination of facial muscles: the zygomatic, orbicularis oculi, and the corrugator supercilii. But more than that, it carries deep emotional weight. No—not assigned meaning. Humans are innately healed by smiles."
"Through her smile, I saw the same affinity and potential that Ryo possesses."
"But compared to Ryo, Yuki is still too immature. Even the smile that first caught my attention hasn't appeared again."
"So I placed her near Ryo. Children this age have a strong tendency to imitate. She would learn communication, comfort, encouragement... and, of course, how to smile sincerely."
"These are all skills essential to love. To accelerate this, we decided to make Yuki 'fall in love' with Ryo. Through persistent visual and auditory cues, and both psychological and behavioral suggestions, we manufactured that affection."
"The experiment was a success."
"She 'loves' Ryo now. She's become a 'loving' and 'lovable' little girl."
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"Today is May 30th. Recorder: Suzukake Tōya."
On this day, Suzukake Tōya looked visibly burdened, sighing audibly into the camera. After forcing himself to pull together, he slowly began recounting the recent events:
"Ryo has left the White Room. He was taken away by the Sakayanagi family."
"It's a bit of a shame I couldn't witness firsthand the complete demise of a test subject who once brought me so much excitement. But in reality, he's already a broken child."
"There's no way a six- or seven-year-old could survive physically in an environment where they're repeatedly injected with addictive substances and mentally subjected to constant brainwashing. Staying here would have killed him—but leaving might kill him even faster."
Even while speaking of death, Suzukake's expression remained blank, his eyes devoid of emotion—as if he were merely stating a trivial fact.
"However, before Ryo was taken, Ayanokouji-sensei had me perform a DNA match test."
"It was rumored that the heir to the Kitagawa family might be among the White Room students, so I ran matches based on age through the fourth and fifth generation."
"And I did find someone. To my surprise, that child was Ryo."
"But I felt no particular emotion at the time. In fact, there was even a strange flicker of delight."
"The idea that I had been conducting these experiments on the sole heir of a major conglomerate all these years..."
Suzukake licked his lips, then pressed them together and finally let out a chuckle:
"I know the Kitagawa family. They're a conglomerate so vast they could crush me with a flick of the finger. But so what?"
"Over the years, so many children have been discarded from the White Room. Either sent back to their parents or dumped into orphanages—but either way, they were broken. Mentally, they had already collapsed. As expected, Ayanokouji-sensei easily covered everything up."
"There's nothing more fulfilling and entertaining than this. Even after Ryo's departure, there will always be new test subjects. I've long resolved to devote my entire life to this mad project."
Suzukake snapped his fingers:
"Oh, and I heard there's an arranged marriage—across generations—between the Sakayanagi and Kitagawa families. If not for the risk that exposing the truth might drag the White Room down with it, I honestly would've loved to see if the Sakayanagi family would accept such a battered, ruined child."
He whistled abruptly and reached for his phone to stop the recording:
"Honestly, I really wanted to tell the child I created all this to his face before he dies..."
"The life he could have had, so vastly different—"
"I destroyed it."
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"That concludes the footage retrieved from the home of Suzukake Tōya, assistant to the White Room."
"After the White Room was exposed, Ayanokouji Atsuomi swiftly destroyed all past experiment reports and data. But he clearly never anticipated that his assistant had such a habit."
"Of course, we, the police, are also continuing our investigation for more evidence."
Sakayanagi Arisu simply stared blankly as her father negotiated with the authorities.
The brief footage had been enough to sketch out what Ryo had experienced in the White Room over the past few years.
While she was still conducting her preliminary investigation into Ayanokouji Atsuomi, Ryo had already made his move.
Unbeknownst to her, Ryo had targeted the assistant of the White Room all along.
Ryo understood that Ayanokouji Atsuomi was a politician through and through, driven solely by profit.
But the assistant was different—a true madman, nearly obsessive. Back in the White Room, Ryo had already noticed the many subtle traces left by this man.
He remembered clearly the last thing the assistant had said to him when he was on the brink of death:
["Though I think you're still in a good stage for observation, sometimes these decisions aren't mine to make."]
All he cared about was the experiment currently at hand.
So while Ayanokouji Atsuomi might have casually erased all unfavorable data to protect the White Room, his assistant would never do that.
That data was the most important thing to him.
Yet reality had exceeded even Ryo's expectations. The assistant hadn't just preserved a few scattered reports—he had kept complete footage, enough to expose everything about the White Room's past.
But at this moment, Sakayanagi Arisu didn't care about any of that.
Curled up on the sofa, knees hugged to her chest, she stared at the screen, now black after the footage had ended.
She pressed her lips together tightly.
She felt something simple, something raw:
Heartache.
Even though she had already recovered from her illness—so why did it hurt so much now?
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