The lack of sound in the dormitory was like a burden on the body. It exerted a heavy and suffocating pressure on each and every one of us.
It was a far-off and naive dream that I had imagined myself making a triumphant return after a mission completed successfully. We had not returned because we had triumphed, but rather because we had survived an internal catastrophe.
In the elevator, there was complete silence. Nobody looked into my eyes. The memory of those copies that had glitched, as well as the complete and utter void into which I had cast them, lingered in the air between us while we were together.
The experience of seeing me erase a shadow without a face was one thing. It was a different experience to witness the echoes of their own unmade selves unfold before their eyes.
Junpei could be seen fumbling with his keys, and his hands were slightly shaking. After what seemed like an eternity, he was finally able to open his door and sneak inside without giving his back a glance. The sound of the lock clicking was like a gunshot in the hallway.
There was a momentary pause in Yukari's response, during which her eyes briefly passed over to me. At this point, there was no sign of gratitude; rather, there was a perplexed kind of fear. She mumbled, "I... I need to lie down," and then she dashed off to her room as quickly as she could.
Keeping his arms crossed, Akihiko maintained his position for a brief additional moment. When he looked at me, his grey eyes were stern. In an unremarkable tone, he remarked, "You have successfully completed the task."
"But that is not how we conduct our business. We act as a unit... A reset button, which could potentially wipe out the entire system, is not something that we rely on." His disapproval cast a chilly shadow behind him as he turned and walked away from the situation.
Only Makoto and Mitsuru were left of the group.
Makoto gave me a drawn-out, quiet look. In his view, there was no discrimination; rather, it was a profound and exhausted comprehension of the situation. His eyes were witnesses to the humiliation and exhaustion that it had caused me, as well as the toll that it had taken on me.
It was clear to him that there was a significant chasm that had recently developed between me and the other individuals. Nevertheless, he did not offer any remarks. The only thing he did before withdrawing to his space was give a single nod, which was a silent acknowledgment of the new and painful reality.
Consequently, Mitsuru and I found ourselves alone in the common room. The silence carried a charge that filled the air.
She didn't look at me. She walked to the window, her back straight, her hands clenched at her sides. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigid line of her spine.
Her tone was severe and official as she asked, "Are you hurt?" though. No longer was the "Kaito" mentioned during our rooftop chat. I was "Tanaka" once more.
My voice was hoarse as I repeated, "No, I'm just... exhausted."
While maintaining her position in front of the window, she stated, "The energy drain was even more severe than it was during the full moon." "Your bio-readings have recently reached dangerously high levels. Should you continue to maintain that output for another thirty seconds, you will have immediately lost consciousness. You might have experienced a heart stoppage."
I had no idea that it was already that bad. I was not aware that I was so close to the edge of my capabilities, although the weakness I experienced was profound and a hollowing out of my very being.
"I had no choice," I mumbled, the defense sounding feeble even to my ears. "I simply did not have any other option."
"There is always a choice!" she yelled as she turned around to face me. "There is always." All of the composure had been shattered and gone. The fire in her eyes was a fury that was tinged with a fear that was unfiltered and unrestrained.
"The option to retreat to the past! Deciding to put your faith in your team to handle the situation! The option to look for an alternative path! You decided to go in the direction of absolute force, and by doing so, you put your life in danger and terrified everyone who encountered it!"
She delivered words that hit me like blows to the body. Her outburst took me aback, prompting me to retreat.
"You think I wanted that?" I shot back, a spark of my anger igniting.
"You saw what those things were! They were you! They were all of you! I couldn't just stand there and watch a corrupted version of you attack your true self! What was I supposed to do?!"
"Is that what you believe I desired?" A flash of my wrath ignited within me, and I fired back.
"You beheld the nature of those objects! There you were! Every single one of you! I couldn't stand by while the altered version of you attacked your true self! I don't know what to do!"
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE BETTER!" she shouted, her voice cracking. The sound echoed in the silent room.
She took a shuddering breath, struggling to regain control. "We have been training for this. I have been training you for this. To use precision, not a sledgehammer. You are being trained to be a surgeon, not a bomb. Your actions back there were those of a scared child, not of a member of SEES.
"We have been preparing ourselves for this. I have been preparing you for this challenge. The goal is to use precision instead of a sledgehammer. A surgeon, not a bomb, is the goal here. It was not a member of SEES who did what you did back there; rather, it was the behavior of an afraid child."
The truth she expressed delivered a knife to the gut. She was absolutely correct. I was in a severe panic.
All of my training and all of the control that I had worked so hard to achieve were rendered unusable when I saw that glitchy copy of her. The instinctive desire to safeguard her had triumphed over all other considerations.
My anger was drained out of me, and all that was left was a crushing sense of shame. I slouched my shoulders down. "I am truly sorry."
She also lost her will to fight. A deep exhaustion supplanted the fervor in her eyes. As if she were chilly, she embraced herself and averted her gaze.
"I can feel it," she whispered. Plus, I understand your motivation. That, though, is precisely what makes it so... terrifying. When we locked gazes once more, I was more struck by her vulnerability than by her wrath.
"Your power is sensitive to your deepest feelings." And your feelings are... difficult to predict. What if, in your next fit of panic, you accidentally delete irretrievable data? Is there a plan B in case you accidentally delete one of us?"
Ugly and unanswerable, the question lingered in the atmosphere. The terror that had been dormant in their thoughts had finally found an outlet.
"I don't know," I admitted, the words tasting like ash.
"We must determine," she stated, her voice regaining a hint of its characteristic intensity. "This must not occur once more. We will step up our training."
"We will practice situations that are very stressful. Our goal is to train you to the point where you can maintain composure under pressure by challenging you to your limits in a safe setting."
More like torture than training, that was the impression I got. Yet I sensed her correctness. There was no other way. She stopped halfway to her room's door and placed her hand on the knob. Beyond that, she turned away.
Tanaka, she urged, "Get some rest." Her tone was firm. "Tomorrow is the first day of your new regimen."
With her back to the door, it slammed shut.
On my own. It wasn't just the energy drain that left me feeling hollow inside. The only people who could comprehend my reality were far away, and I could feel that gap widening. I was at a loss as to how to climb the wall of professional responsibility that Mitsuru had erected between us.
Even after dragging myself to my bedroom, I couldn't get to sleep. I could sense the contentment of the Entity within me, even though it was silent. After I asked it to, it had done it. What mattered most to me was safeguarded by it. The social consequences and trust breakdown were lost on it. When its purpose was fulfilled, that was all it understood.
My versatility as a key, lock, and wrecking ball had been demonstrated. I would stay here in this overcrowded dorm, a captive of my own strength, until I could figure out when to become which one and how to do it.
I would watch as the trust I had laboriously built crumbled. Moving forward was not only difficult but also lonely. Even though the same icy, old presence had set everything in motion, I was the only one who could lead myself through it.
I played the roles of both the tragic hero and the playwright as the masterpiece transformed into a tragedy.