> "Change is rarely loud. It begins in the silence, behind one-way glass."
— Suzune Horikita
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White Room — Upper Wing Corridor
The echo of their footsteps bounced softly against the cold, sterile walls. None of the delegation spoke. Even Ryuen, for all his usual arrogance, seemed subdued—eyes scanning the architecture, absorbing the symmetry.
The halls were a blueprint of psychological warfare:
Perfect.
Colorless.
Empty.
The children who passed bowed lightly, murmuring "Sensei" with an eerie synchronization that unsettled even Ichika, who had once breathed this environment like oxygen.
And then, the door slid open with a quiet hiss.
> "Observation Room 4," Kiyotaka said.
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Behind the Glass
The room they entered was dark—save for the glass wall, revealing a brightly lit classroom beyond it.
Inside, about twenty students sat perfectly upright, working through a logic assessment projected on the front screen.
> "If Subject A can outperform Subject B in mental agility but fails to respond under emotional duress, what value can Subject A provide to a group dependent on trust?"
The children's hands moved rapidly. Answers were sent to a central device—tracked in real-time. The scoreboards didn't just measure correctness. They calculated decision time, confidence rating, and emotional micro-reactions.
Manabu leaned closer.
"This isn't education. It's behavioral deconstruction."
Kiyotaka's voice was steady.
"It was. Now it's correctional."
"You say that like it's better."
"It's not worse."
Suzune didn't speak. She simply studied the children. She could see their spines rigid, breaths shallow. She could see the learned fear.
But she also saw something she didn't expect: notes written in messy script on the desk of one girl. Doodles in the margins. Her name was written in small Hangul at the top corner—Yoo Hae-rin.
> A name.
She turned to Kiyotaka.
"You let them write their names?"
"I encouraged it."
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Kei's Glance
Kei hadn't looked directly at Kiyotaka since they entered. Her eyes now, though, shifted to him. She studied the curve of his jaw, the even tone of his voice, the way his eyes seemed both alert and… distant.
She hated it.
> This isn't what you were meant to become…
But when her gaze returned to the children, a flicker of surprise crossed her face.
One of them was giggling.
Laughing.
A boy had accidentally entered the wrong command into his tablet. Another leaned in and whispered something back with a sly grin. A third tried to hide his smirk.
Three children. Smiling.
It was so unnatural that Ryuen stood up.
"Alright. No. Something's off here. Are we in the wrong damn building?"
Ichika spoke for the first time.
"No. You're in the right place. You're just too late to see the real White Room."
She turned toward Kiyotaka, her voice colder.
"Did you tear it down? Or just put wallpaper over the rot?"
He didn't flinch.
"Both."
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Intermission — Office of the Director
They were led into a private meeting room, where tea and data tablets were arranged neatly.
Kiyotaka sat at the head of the table. The former observers now sat as guests—except none of them truly felt comfortable.
Each tablet displayed a live student profile: name, skills, emotional stability rating, behavioral risks. Graphs. Patterns. Dossiers. Everything Kiyotaka could read in seconds.
Suzune:
"How many students have failed this new system?"
Kiyotaka:
"None."
Ryuen (skeptical):
"No failures? Sounds like PR bullshit."
Kiyotaka didn't blink.
"Not because they're perfect. Because the system now accounts for failure. For growth. For fear."
Ichika (quietly):
"And for names…"
Kei's tablet showed Subject #21—Yoo Hae-rin, the girl who had doodled stars in the margins.
"She cries sometimes during the night," Kiyotaka said softly. "We added counseling protocols. The staff is trained to respond without sedation."
The room went still.
Because they all knew—once, he had cried in this same room.
And no one had come.
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Closing Scene — One Student's Interview
Before they left, Kiyotaka made a request.
> "You'll speak to one student. Ask anything. She will answer freely."
Suzune was chosen.
They brought in Hae-rin—11 years old, small, nervous, but not lifeless. Her eyes held fear, yes—but also curiosity.
Suzune asked gently:
"Do you know where you are?"
"Yes," she replied. "It's a school."
"Do you know who teaches you?"
"Professor A."
"Do you… like him?"
A pause.
Hae-rin looked down.
Then she nodded.
"He gave me my name."
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Last Lines
As the delegation prepared to leave, Suzune walked slightly behind the others. She turned one last time to Kiyotaka, who stood alone at the hallway's end, watching.
"You're not who I remember," she said.
He didn't respond.
"But maybe that's the point."
She walked away.
He remained still.
And the silence welcomed him home.
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[End of Chapter 2]
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