Chapter Text
A child’s mind is a curious thing. A young, underdeveloped brain requires outer stimulus and experimentation to form a general consensus of their surroundings. Hidden hypotheses are proven, different results subtly catalogued into the mind. And thus, an early human being will base its truths on the proven, physical reality; not easily able to entertain premises that are blatantly false.
A child’s mind is also the most malleable at this time; many would argue that this is the most critical stage of their life. Though, certain researchers believed that, if one began an early education from birth, any child could become ‘genius’; that a rigorous education would even flatten genetic imbalances. These researchers believed it so much, in fact, that they created an entire organization to confirm their beliefs: the White Room.
Rows and rows of desks - all arranged into a ‘perfect’ array - constructed my home, which I spent most of my day - and life - studying and learning within. A glaring electronic screen remains gazing down, the emboldened demiurge; blurry windows that lead to nowhere have faded into our walls; the ever-present air-conditioning still hums a constant tune, the white noise of our universe. When I close my eyes, this imagery is burned into my mind, echoing into my dreams.
-
The earliest memory I have of my existence is of the first time leaving this stable room.
The bell was ringing, the futuristic chime meant to be a soothing reminder of the time. But that was the first time we had ever heard such a thing, and when another ‘thing’ or ‘animal’ began ticking-and-ticking, our confusion had only magnified. One of the adults, clad in a full-white outfit, clapped twice and called us to “line up by the door in sequential order”. In a messy chorus of clacks, we dropped our pencils and clumsily stood up.
It was easy to infer that we would be assembling in the order of our subject codes; although, no one knew the numbers of every single student in the generation. The woman kindly encouraged us to communicate, and so we mingled, doing our best to coo out our codes in elegant words (which ended up being mostly gibberish).
Sometime in between, the chime rang again, but we were too focused on our current task; we had finally drawn a scraggy semblance of a line after four minutes. None were too tall or too short, none lagged far behind or far ahead, nor was anyone of a particular personality; each and every one of us were told to have the capability to triumph over geniuses. Some adults nodded, and we finally made it to the dining hall.
The second set of adults, however, appeared displeased. Blatant frowns wrought their faces as they told their grievances - “Three minutes behind the goal,” I remember one of the women saying. She used one of the intonations we were to be taught in the future. (I doubt she was truly that distraught.) “As a result, tonight’s meal will be decreased.” Subject 5-56 was given an additional reduction for being the “slowest” out of the generation.
We were shocked, obviously, but there was nothing to prove that this was unnatural, nothing we could do to prevent such an occurrence from happening; so we pitifully banged our fists and cried our worthless tears before realizing that the food had gone cold.
Cause and effect. The expectations and consequences were clear, so we adapted. Before long, our bodies moved immediately after the chime. Pencils would drop, papers would be stacked into neat piles. Subject numbers were memorized, so all that remained was speed. (No one wanted to be the obvious loser, after all.)
After the subject numbers, we were to be lined up in order of grip strength, then the score of a specific assessment, sometimes the sum of two times recorded during a swim trial. Each of us implicitly began to memorize the data of the others. Once, a student was purposefully set up to fail in order to reduce the number of remaining subjects, until the perpetrator was caught and punished - ending future schemes.
No one questioned the existence of such a ritual. Complaining would just be unsightly.
-
In our earliest years of education, my generation was nearly equal in ability. The difficulty level was trivial, and not getting perfect marks often meant ridicule. Our curriculum began with maths, Japanese, and physical education; with history, psychology, physical sciences, among others, added on when we became five.
I kept my face plain, just as everyone else did, completing tasks with perfunctory precision. I was even in the top places of my generation. Of course, they never announced or printed out our placements; we had long been able to figure them out ourselves.
Many subjects began to struggle as the current of information increased. It seized them with ferocity, drowning them down the tide. At this time, our learning period would reach its maximum at eleven hours of formal education per day. Besides that - one hour was designated for rest in between lectures or physical tasks, three hours were solely dedicated to study and review, and the other hour was spent on meals and sparse travel.
Some would begin to squeeze in additional cramming during nap time or the allotted rest time, however the minimum rest time of nine hours made it so that it could be detrimental to our growth - a precarious gamble that would only pay off in the short term.
Collaboration was also encouraged during the study period. However awkward it was, knowing how to smile and frown on command, I still found for myself a meager circle of subjects to learn from. Subjects 5-05 and 5-07 would casually walk toward me once the rattling chimes rang. Then, in the blink of an eye, we had somehow become attached at the hip. Study time quickly became my favorite, and I grew to smile easily even if the emotion had yet to show.
Portions of our classroom would flip to become bookshelves; subjects were allowed to request specific books, which would also be delivered at this time. The gymnasium - in a room adjacent to us - had the door to it unlocked, and I knew many of the females were relieved that several males would leave to go there. Study time would gradually increase as the material we learned grew increasingly complex. Teachers were not allowed to assist during this time, though our perceived freedom made it worth it.
Here, our placements seemed to be forgotten. Even when subjects whispered of meal alterations based on grades, or when ridicules flew into the ears of those struggling, it was not to the point of removal. All subjects remained well-fed, well-groomed, and well-rested. We hung on with all our might; to see what end? We had no idea.
After our final page had been read, the final problem left to rest, we would return to the sleeping quarters. Our wristwatches were examined for malfunctions; batteries would sometimes be replaced. Every once in a while, our blood would be drawn. And then-
-darkness.
-
The days would open immediately when the lights turned on. With barely a single sound, the black becomes the usual white, and I have already opened my eyes. I keep them open, knowing that the electric sting that may strike from my wrist at any given moment. My heart would beat faster and faster; I breath with quick succession. An active heart rate - not at rest. (I’ve gotten so good at keeping track, perhaps even rivalling my wristwatch.)
Subjects exit their rooms, washing and relieving themselves with rehearsed precision. We had grown into one another, cogs of a machine molded through time, carefully calibrated to optimize the process. Then we head to eat. A perfectly straight line - sequential, synchronized. And finally, we enter our familiar domicile.
Another searing memory is of the day before my generation turned seven.
Special gifts would usually be given the next day - a signed novel, a cupcake, an odd drink of sorts. However, that also meant one had to pass the examination the day before. Previously, the majority of subjects could pass, some even with flying colors. Such a day marked a greater leap in difficulty. Everyone was nervous. 5-05 and 5-07 had sent me their anxious glances, though quickly masked when other subjects were watching. A single day, representing the accumulation of the year’s education.
The Japanese essay did not have a challenging prompt and foreign languages came naturally to me, so that portion had been completed rather quickly. Issues began arising when the maths exam arrived.
I studied the material thoroughly - I truly did. So why were the problems so foreign to me? Flipping to the next page did not help with my anxiety. 5-07 was breathing heavily at her desk, loudly. I began using different theorems and equations that I was uncertain would work out, reaching out to any branch of luck I could cling onto.
The test ended. The papers were collected, and the next exam began.
The test ended. The papers were collected, and the next exam began.
The test ended. The papers were collected, and dinner began.
The adults were frowning again. Not even a scowl - used to display anger, displeasure, or disapproval. It was a flat, disappointed frown. We subjects all realized the time and method of the punishment, but not the magnitude.
“Your humanities were nearly sufficient,” a woman stated in a clipped tone. “However, your results in maths, physics, and chemistry were all far below average. Each and every single one of you have failed to reach the benchmark.” Her steely gaze swept across the room. “As a result, you will be sufficiently punished, and the difficulty threshold will not increase for these subjects. An unfortunate outcome.”
We nodded silently as quarter-full trays were placed onto the table. Meals were essential for bodily and mental health, and even a slight alteration could disrupt routine; this was explained to us by our wellness instructor. Reduced meals meant someone was below standard - it was humiliation and degradation. After we finished, most subjects sat quietly to wait for dinnertime to finish.
Until, abruptly, a group of male subjects began to pounce on the woman. This time, we were physically fit, and partially trained in the arts. Subjects 5-45, 5-46, and 5-32 managed to topple her off-balance while 5-43 screamed at the top of his lungs.
“We’ve studied hard, trained hard, day after day! And now, after making us take the wrong exams in maths, physics and chemistry, you dare punish us for your own incompetence! You push us toward difficult problems we’ve obediently attempted to solve, and that isn’t enough for you?! You’re attempting to push us past a finite limit!”
More adults burst into the meal room, quickly restraining the dissidents. The woman rearranged her hair, dusting herself off. She remained unflappable.
“We have done nothing except nurture your growth. Feed you, cloth you, house you. There was no error in the examination; the threshold was simply never reached. Do not attempt to fabricate false truths.”
“You are pushing us to complete an impossible task!” the subject retorted hotly, arms restrained behind his back.
Without another word, the males were dragged out and the adults left the room. I never saw those subjects again. Where did they go? To the almost-six-year-old me back then, it may as well have been the end of their lives.
The everyday ritual had been disrupted, other subjects with traitorous thoughts inside their heads. That was when the existence of Ayanokouji Kiyotaka was introduced.
-
It was the very first time we had left our sparse reality. The hallways were equally bland, equally absent of any scent, still with the air conditioning and our footsteps. Shadows evaded our feet, as if the area were constructed solely of bone hit directly under the sunlight. Anticipation was inevitable. The route had already been memorized when our generation arrived at the spectating room.
For the very first time, we stood witness to another ‘generation’. A real, tangible, physical world spanned far beyond which we were familiar. Logically speaking, there were many, many generations besides our own - we were clearly the fifth. And yet, we had inordinately transformed from stars into comets.
With keen interest, we sat in a perfect array on the white floor, gazing at the window into the white room just beyond. It was identical to our lecture room, just that every single desk had been removed.
Except one.
The male had brown hair and a perfect posture. An instructor had just finished the lecture on some kind of calculus I had never seen before, far beyond the scope of my own learning. My chest held itself up in anticipation; no one dared to tarnish the silence with their breath.
Quickly, fluidly, as if he had no care in the world, the unknown boy went up to present a solution to an earlier problem. I still remember that lesson - Stokes’ Theorem, which I wouldn’t learn until I was nine. By that age, I knew that this ‘miracle boy’ had far surpassed the measly minds of my own generation.
The show continued. He sparred against two men at once, and although he was unable to fully overcome them, he had managed to dodge and weave for long enough. (Meanwhile I could hardly handle a single opponent.) There was no need to glance around to perceive the thoughts of my peers. It bled into the air - our sweat; our beating hearts that, in the moment, seemed so close to bursting into a brilliant crimson out onto my hands.
Questions were asked and asked. His previous years’ statistics had been presented with adulation, an uncontrollable sneer tucked just beyond their skin. Sweet, eager, giddy smiles of toddlers were displayed on the instructors’ faces for all to see. True satisfaction of a task sufficiently accomplished. Everyone saw that look; the subtle difference that our hawkish eyes caught on to.
Returning likely meant that the door to the fourth generation would remain locked forever, but the presence of that anomaly pervaded the atmosphere - it stuck onto our clothes even from beyond that one-way glass. And his name - Ayanokouji Kiyotaka.
I will never forget it for as long as I live.
“So. I believe that was sufficient rest. A good enough present for the next year of learning, don’t you think?”