"So, what you're saying is... you want us to keep acting out this performance?"
After hearing the story of Ellery Queen, Sakayanagi Arisu finally caught on and understood Kitagawa Ryo's intentions.
"Yes, just like the two cousins in the story—one used the pen name Ellery Queen, the other went by Barnaby Ross."
Ryo sipped his black tea, moistening his throat before continuing:
"Only, in our case, 'Ellery Queen' and 'Barnaby Ross' are Advanced Nurturing High School and the White Room."
Digging deeper, these names could also represent the powers behind each entity. Though Ryo didn't elaborate much, even Sakayanagi Narimori picked up on what he meant.
Just like Ryo had explained earlier: as a powerful family in both politics and finance, the Sakayanagi clan couldn't always act freely, even Narimori himself. Supporting Ryo's seemingly reckless actions had only one logical motivation—profit.
There are only two ways to surpass others: improve yourself, or tear others down.
Ryo's plan happened to accomplish both.
"And besides, it helps fulfill Arisu's wish too."
Ryo turned to Arisu with a sly smile.
"To generate lasting hype, both sides need to appear evenly matched. At least on the surface."
"No one pays attention to a nobody's provocation. That would just be seen as clout-chasing."
"The Ellery Queen duo succeeded because the works under the Barnaby Ross name—like The Tragedy of X and The Tragedy of Y—were considered some of the best detective novels in the world at the time."
"Genius versus genius—that's the formula for maximum impact."
He pointed at himself, then gave Arisu a deliberately provocative look.
"And as the daughter of Advanced Nurturing's director, you're the perfect match—in both identity and talent."
"Oh."
Faced with Ryo's mock-provocative stance, Arisu remained calm, simply resting her chin on her hand.
"But then why did you say you're a fourth-generation student of the White Room?"
She had assumed there was some hidden reason behind Ryo falsely claiming to be from the fourth batch when she knew he was from the fifth. But even after listening to his entire plan, she found no answer.
"Ah."
Caught off guard, Ryo gave an awkward smile and tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"You'll understand someday."
"..."
Clearly dissatisfied with his evasiveness, Arisu scrunched her nose and huffed, silently vowing to uncover the truth.
Narimori watched the scene with amusement. At first, he'd viewed Ryo—a child from the White Room—with guilt and pity. But the boy's strength of character and sharp mind far exceeded expectations. And it seemed he got along well with Arisu.
In a way, his White Room background might actually be more advantageous now.
Unaware her father was already contemplating the idea of Ryo marrying into the Sakayanagi family, Arisu was busy mulling over how best to play the role Ryo had given her.
"Just be yourself."
"Your image was already established during the culture festival. Everything you said back then clearly positioned you as the antithesis to the White Room's philosophy. That's why you're perfect."
Ryo waved dismissively and winked.
"Just deliver a few iconic lines later. We can ride the public opinion wave easily."
"Iconic lines?"
Arisu frowned in confusion.
"Here, let me show you."
With a grin, Ryo took her cane and stepped into the shadowy corner of the room.
Since Arisu's recovery, the cane was merely decorative, though she still carried it as a keepsake from her father.
He tapped the cane lightly on the floor. With each soft tap-tap, Ryo's voice took on an eerie, amused tone as his silhouette merged with the shadows:
"To bury false geniuses... only I am fit."
"For once, life has become slightly entertaining."
"I will prove to the world that genius isn't made by education—it is determined at birth."
Thanks to his [Con Artist] talent, Ryo perfectly mimicked Arisu's speaking style.
...Though the lines themselves made her chest tighten.
Had her heart disease not already been cured, she would have suspected a relapse.
Narimori burst out laughing and applauded.
"Those are definitely the words my daughter would say."
"Father!"
Arisu cried out in protest, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration. Even her normally affectionate "Papa" was gone.
Sure, it sounded like something she might say—but saying it in private versus broadcasting it to millions online were two very different things.
"But that's exactly why it works."
Seeing her sulking, Ryo shrugged helplessly.
"Besides, it's not just you. I have my own set of lines too."
That caught her interest. She hopped off the sofa, retrieved her cane, and asked:
"Okay, what are your lines?"
"Let's go back-and-forth. You say one, I say one."
"..."
After a moment of hesitation, Arisu imitated Ryo's earlier imitation of her voice:
"...To bury false geniuses... only I... am fit."
Then she looked up, eager to see Ryo's response.
"Hmph. You? Bury me? Don't make me laugh."
Ryo glanced at her sideways, feigning disdain.
"Pffft... hahaha!"
Narimori nearly doubled over, slapping the couch as he laughed so hard he had to wipe away tears.
Even Arisu couldn't hold back a giggle.
"That was so cheesy."
"But memorable, right?"
Ryo pouted.
After all, if a cringe-worthy memory is shared between two people, it's not so bad.
-------------------------------------
Just as Kitagawa Ryo and Sakayanagi Narimori had predicted, Ayanokouji Atsuomi swiftly gathered all the relevant information after a moment of panic.
Lightly and rhythmically tapping his fingers on the desk, Atsuomi quickly realized that the situation wasn't yet beyond salvage.
Regarding the sudden exposure of the mysterious institution known as the White Room, mainstream public opinion was still largely driven by curiosity. It hadn't tipped decisively in any direction. In fact, many who had long resented Advanced Nurturing High were even showing signs of support.
"I don't know what the White Room is, but if it knocks Advanced Nurturing down a peg, I'm all for it."
This was the mindset of many. And Kitagawa Ryo's stellar performance had only bolstered the confidence of those backing the White Room.
Just as Ryo had said: the White Room was destined to go public eventually—but only after it had been fully whitewashed, dressed up like a pristine, innocent girl. While Ryo's move had preemptively exposed it, with the right handling, it didn't have to be a bad thing.
Ayanokouji Atsuomi narrowed his eyes in contemplation. The biggest variable now was Kitagawa Ryo himself.
While Atsuomi thought highly of Ryo as a potential asset, he didn't believe any of this was Ryo's own doing.
How could a six or seven-year-old have orchestrated all this?
Especially a child raised entirely within the White Room, subjected to constant drug control and mental conditioning.
Clearly, he was just a pawn thrown out by someone else.
The reason Naoe Jinnosuke had so urgently distanced himself from the White Room was precisely because he saw it as a political assault by the Kijima faction—a simple maneuver to avoid collateral damage.
Atsuomi was convinced: once he'd steered through the current storm, the Naoe side would return, ready to snatch away the benefits Ryo had created.
But that was exactly what Atsuomi had anticipated from the beginning.
Because the moment the White Room gained traction, it would also become his stepping stone.
He gently touched the desk that had accompanied him for over a decade. The quote from a behaviorist theory carved into it had long since faded with time—just like those lost years.
If not for Ryo, the White Room might've needed another ten years before moving to its next phase.
As a politician who clawed his way up from the bottom, Ayanokouji Atsuomi never feared uncertainty. He had nothing to lose, and for people like him, uncertainty often meant opportunity.
But now—for the first time—he felt fear.
At twenty-five, he had used every penny he had—three million yen—to run for office. He lost.
But he didn't give up. At twenty-seven, he tried again—and won.
Yet now, standing at another crossroads, Atsuomi found himself hesitating.
Because what he was risking now was far more than three million yen and a few years of youth.
To secure his current position overseeing the White Room, he had spent years acting as a frontman for the Naoe faction. And on the White Room project itself, he had invested immeasurable social capital, resources, and, above all, his precious time.
To preserve deniability, Naoe's camp had provided him with no direct funding—not even permission to use their name.
Still, Atsuomi gritted his teeth and pushed the project forward.
It had already been ten years.
From his thirties to his forties—the golden decade of a politician's life—Atsuomi had devoted it all to this program.
Perhaps the safer move now was to say nothing.
As long as the White Room didn't formally surface, Ryo's words would remain baseless. The online frenzy would fade within months, and the project could continue in secret until it bore fruit.
But even Atsuomi couldn't say when that fruit would ripen.
To date, only Ayanokouji Kiyotaka had shown signs of being a near-successful subject.
Naoe Jinnosuke was nearly eighty.
For an old man, reaching his eighties symbolized both longevity and impending decline.
Atsuomi had spent forty years climbing his way into power.
Within the White Room, he was undoubtedly a major player.
But he wanted more. He wanted to get closer. To the true center of power.
Atsuomi knew himself well. He had only one extraordinary trait:
Uncontrollable, boundless ambition.
Born in poverty, he should've been content after becoming a legislator. But he wasn't. He should've been satisfied when Naoe Jinnosuke handpicked him. But he wasn't.
He wanted to rise to the top. To stand at the very summit of this nation.
That desire had carried him this far.
And now, recognizing the truth in his heart, Ayanokouji Atsuomi finally made a decision.
Perhaps the moment Ryo uttered the words "Ayanokouji-sensei," his fate had already been sealed.
But before issuing a formal response, Atsuomi decided to meet Ryo in person.
He believed he could once again turn the boy into a pawn solely under his control.
Physically, over eighty percent of individuals who've been addicted to certain drugs end up relapsing.
And psychologically…
Just as a child clings to their mother, so too does the mother hold a deep, unwavering attachment to her child.
Whether Ryo was a true genius or not didn't matter.
In fact, Atsuomi hoped he was.
He stood up from his chair, ready to place all his chips on the table.
It was the biggest gamble of his life.
All in.
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