The next day at noon.
Valentina sat alone in the cafeteria, her head lowered as her thumbs flew rapidly across her phone's keyboard.
Valentina: Friend, you finally decided to come online.
Chiba: ?
Valentina: Did you see the email I forwarded to you?
Chiba: Jane's request list? Yeah, I saw it. Do you want me to reimburse her? Don't tell me the base has gone broke.
Valentina: …
Chiba: Sis, just say what you need to say quickly — I'm about to board my flight.
Valentina: Why do you think Jane wanted all those things on her very first day at the base? Any idea?
Chiba: None.
Chiba: If you want to know, maybe you should ask her yourself.
Valentina: Of course I'm going to talk to her — we've got our first interview this afternoon. But why do you sound completely unconcerned? She just went through such a tragedy, and this information could be important.
Chiba: Hahahahaha.
Valentina: ?
Chiba: Sure, she did just go through something terrible, but don't forget she grew up in Shortbell Alley before entering the convent. That kid's seen plenty of storms. You really got startled just because she asked for some furniture and decorations on her first day at the base? Calm down, Valentina — the person I chose won't be any trouble.
Valentina: …So what was your reason for choosing Jane, then? I've already heard several people talking about it today.
Chiba: Ha, I just thought she had a rather special scent.
Valentina: Scent?
Valentina raised her head thoughtfully — and suddenly noticed Jane standing directly in front of her, holding a lunch tray. She couldn't help but flinch in surprise.
"I'm sorry… did I startle you?" Jane asked softly.
"Ah, no…" Valentina quickly gathered herself.
Today, Jane was wearing the uniform she'd received yesterday — a white shirt under a dark blue sweater, with a gray pleated skirt. On the left side of her uniform jacket was an embroidered gold insignia: the emblem of the Reserve Training Base — a long sword piercing through a pair of pincers, and beneath it the letters AHgAs.
"May I sit here?" Jane asked
"Of course." Marcia pulled her tray a little closer to herself as a polite gesture. She glanced at her phone screen just in time to see Chiba's profile picture turn gray after a final message: "Boarding now, bye."
"Did you sleep well last night?" Marcia asked, putting her phone away.
Jane nodded. "Yes. I talked a lot with Liz yesterday and also met Turan and Delid, but we didn't talk much. This morning, I took a two-hour course selection training, though there are still many things I don't understand. After our talk this afternoon, I plan to go to the computer room to check the course selection system."
"That's great." Marcia smiled. "Seems like you've already found your rhythm here."
Jane nodded again. "Yes, thanks to Liz. She's told me a lot about daily life."
The two ate quietly. When they finished, Jane followed Marcia to her consultation room.
On the way, Marcia couldn't help thinking of what Chiba had said earlier — "Her scent is… unique." She subconsciously moved a little closer to Jane.
Indeed, Jane carried the faint trace of that special scent common to Mercurial Children — but that was typical for new recruits.
What exactly did Chiba mean by unique?
"Miss Marcia?" Jane's voice suddenly brought Marcia back from her thoughts. She blinked and realized they were already standing before the consultation room door.
"Oh, sorry…" Marcia quickly took out her key card. "I always get lost in thought and forget what's right in front of me. Please don't mind it."
"I don't," Jane said softly. "Actually, being with you feels very easy."
Marcia couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you…"
The consultation room was empty. Along one wall stood two gray metal cabinets filled with thick file folders. By the window sat two pale yellow single armchairs facing each other at an angle, and near the door was a rosewood desk. Marcia turned on the computer and gestured for Jane to come fill out a psychological scale.
Jane watched for a while, then quickly learned how to use the system.
The base was now using the newly revised Symptom Self-Rating Scale-270, updated last year with new standards. It followed the seven-point Likert scale and contained 270 questions that assessed 17 distinct dimensions such as anxiety, depression, and antisocial tendencies — all with excellent reliability and validity.
The new version improved upon the old one by adding two special subscales: the Vanity Scale and the Defense Scale — 30 questions in total, specifically designed for lie detection.
Normally, most people scored very low on those questions. But if someone tried to beautify themselves or hide their true thoughts by choosing answers that sounded better or more correct, their scores on those sections would spike.
That meant the entire questionnaire would be unreliable.
These 30 lie-detection items were scattered throughout the 240 main questions, allowing psychologists like Marcia to easily detect unreliable responses — and even infer a person's tendency to lie.
About half an hour later, Jane submitted her answers.
Marcia adjusted the nearby camera and began their conversation.
Today's discussion stayed simple — about Jane's daily life at the base, her routines, and the coming days.
Jane kept glancing toward the camera's red recording light, clearly uncomfortable under its gaze — a common reaction for newcomers.
"Will anyone watch these recordings?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Marcia said, "but only a few have access. Including me, there are four — no, five people, counting Chiba. Usually, no one checks them. They're just archived for reference. If something goes wrong in your development later, we can look back to find the cause."
Jane's eyes lingered on the red light. "I understand."
There were many things Marcia wanted to know about Jane — her early memories, her birthplace and childhood, her education in Short Call Alley and St. Anne's Convent, her hobbies, her turning points…
But Marcia knew now wasn't the time. Not yet.
There would be plenty of sessions like this — once a month, adjusted as needed — until Jane reached adulthood.
At 3:50 p.m., Jane rose from her seat and politely said goodbye. Once the door closed behind her, Marcia sat back at her desk and checked Jane's questionnaire results.
As expected, the moment she scrolled to the results page, red text appeared across the screen:
"Invalid Measurement."
Below it, a line of black text read:
"The subject's Defense Scale score is excessively high. Results cannot be trusted."
---
(End of Chapter)