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The observation deck hummed with low murmurs as the senior board watched the feed. Dr. Ayanami stood at the center, arms crossed, her expression a mask of clinical approval. Beside her, the lead psychologist adjusted his glasses, scribbling notes on a tablet.
"Remarkable," he muttered. "Zero cortisol spike. No micro-expressions of regret. Heart rate steady at 62 BPM throughout."
Ayanami nodded once. "This is what nine years of conditioning produces. Ruthless efficiency. The perfect weapon."
On the screen, Ryuji Shiratori walked the corridor back to his cell. His steps were measured—exactly 72 centimeters per stride, posture impeccable, face a blank slate. No clenched fists. No averted gaze. No sign that he had just dismantled the only three people who had shared his world for nearly a decade. It looked like any other walk: from meal hall to training room, from isolation to evaluation. Routine. Unremarkable.
The board exchanged glances, a rare flicker of awe passing through the room.
"He's ready," one said. "The other world won't know what hit it."
Ayanami allowed a thin smile. "Transfer in 24 hours. Monitor him closely until then."
The cell door slid open with its familiar hiss. Ryuji stepped inside, the door sealing behind him without a sound. The room was unchanged: white walls, single bed, small desk, adjoining bathroom cubicle. No personal items. No windows. Just the faint glow of the monitoring light in the corner—always watching.
He stood there for exactly seven seconds, staring at the wall. Then, without warning, he bolted to the bathroom. The door panel clicked shut behind him. He collapsed against the sink, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles turned white.
In the mirror, his reflection stared back: messy black hair, heterochromia eyes—one green, one yellow—cold and unyielding.
For a long moment nothing happened. The ruthless face in the mirror stared back: calm, symmetrical, monstrously composed.
Then the right eye, the green one, began to burn.
A single tear gathered at the corner , clung to the lashes, then fell...
Another followed. And another. Soon the green eye was streaming, tears sliding in silent, unbroken lines down the right side of his face.
The left eye, the yellow one, stayed perfectly dry. Unblinking. Cold. As if it belonged to someone else entirely.
The reflection looked like a broken doll: one half crying while the other half watched without feeling.
Inside his skull, the voices collided.
Frantic, cracking voice from the green side: Why? Why did we do that to them? Yuna was shaking… she looked at us like we murdered her soul…
Cold, flat voice from the yellow side: We followed protocol. We secured the mission. Emotion is irrelevant.
Irrelevant? The green voice screamed now, raw and terrified. They were the only people who ever knew our name! And we just threw them away like trash!
A choked sob tore out of Ryuji's throat, but only the right side of his mouth trembled. The left stayed still, almost smirking.
More tears, only from the green eye, hot, endless, carving wet tracks down his cheek while the yellow eye reflected the overhead light like polished glass.
He pressed his forehead to the mirror, breathing ragged.
We're a monster, the green voice whispered, devastated. Half of us is a monster.
Ryuji slid down the wall until he sat on the cold floor. He hugged his knees and let the green eye cry itself empty, tears pooling on the tiles beneath him while the yellow one stared straight ahead, unmoved.
Twenty-seven minutes of silence broken only by the soft drip from the right side of his face.
When the warning light blinked for schedule deviation, he stood up. Splashed water on His Face And Dried it carefully.
He straightened his posture. The ruthless mask locked back into place.
But the fracture was there now, visible only if you knew where to look..
He walked out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
Tomorrow Is The Day The Suffering might finally End ,..Tomorrow, the portal would open.
-if You Have Any Questions Feel Free to Contact me ! ❤️ - Terobero
NEXT : Chapter 1 Last Part