Year: 2009
Location: Saitama City, Japan
At the top of a tall building, inside a private office, a man stood gazing out of the large glass-paned windows, reinforced to protect against any external threats, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Dwindling rays of sunlight from the setting sun illuminated his face, revealing his golden orbs and light brown hair that was combed back neatly. Faint signs of wrinkles starting to develop on the man's face highlighted his growing age, but the finely pressed suit, polished formal shoes, and crimson tie ensured that the man maintained his sharpness.
Turning away from the countless buildings and homes highlighted in orange, the man glanced at his white, hydraulic desk that carried a tablet, an empty cup that previously contained coffee, and an ordered stack of paperwork. It was clear that the man was taking a break from his work.
"I better continue reading through the reports from my executives before the head of intelligence arrives," the man sighed out loud, resigning himself to continue with his work.
Taking a seat in his sturdy, wheeled chair, he adjusted the seat's height and reclining angle using the levers, finding the most comfortable position to continue with his work. Glancing down at the tablet, he picked up the new prototype electronic device that he had acquired from a certain individual. Typing in the passcode and subsequently entering an encrypted folder, he was presented with various summaries from the executives in his organisation.
These documents were confidential and only this man had access to all the information contained within the reports. His organisation took information control and security to the extreme, ensuring that all information was compartmentalised. In other words, people were only told what they needed to know to complete their jobs and only had access to information that was within the scope of their role.
In the unlocked, encrypted directory, six documents popped up, each published by various executives of the man's organisation: head of curriculum development, head of cybersecurity, head of security, head of procurement, head of social communications, and head of finance.
Double-tapping on the screen opened up the report written by Suzukake Tanji, the head of curriculum development. Opening the PDF file revealed neatly assigned titles for each generation and accompanying bullet points to summarise the key information.
"The new delivery we received earlier in the month contained 200 new subjects ready to undergo the thirteenth generation curriculum."
"Subjects from the seventh generation, who underwent the level six curriculum I designed, are not meeting the set threshold, resulting in an exponential increase from 3% to 27% in their dropout rate. This new data suggests that level six may be the limit for an average human. However, I recommend further testing to conclude with certainty."
None of this was of any consequence to the man, but the next two paragraphs made the man's eyebrows raise momentarily before a cold look overtook his expression.
"First generation subjects' numbers have decreased from 15 to 5 in the last week. Unfortunately, it seems that despite their visible lack of emotions, the remaining Subjects, G1-001, G1-027, G1-043, G1-067, and G1-097 attempted to perform a mutiny, successfully injuring one of our instructors who had let his guard down. I hypothesise that the first generation subjects had a silent camaraderie amongst themselves and the recent disappearance of over 10 subjects served as the catalyst to induce such a violent reaction. In my professional opinion, these subjects are unlikely to produce any more useful data. Therefore, I humbly request clarification on what disciplinary process we should carry out."
"Recently, the more sadistic instructors from the fifth generation have been constantly taunting their corresponding subjects, mocking them for being unable to reach the heights that subject G4-004 from the fourth generation has achieved. As a result, I observed an interesting phenomenon occurring with regards to how the fifth generation subjects are behaving. In short, the fifth generation, whose specialisation was communication, have split into two factions. One worships the results produced by G4-004, almost like he is a messiah figure for them. Conversely, the other faction resents G4-004. I humbly request clarification on whether disciplinary action should be taken."
'The first generation was merely a test run to establish which instructor would take the reins and construct the future generations' curriculums. Among the three instructors—Souya, Ishida and Suzukake—Suzukake nurtured his batch of children skillfully, obtaining the best results despite his subjects seemingly no longer possessing the innocence a normal child would have. I too believe their value has dwindled in terms of data. However, they can still be of use in another way.'
Under a secure line, the man transmitted his orders cryptically, using jargon that only select executives were privy to. Disciplinary actions fall under the code of DCP-XX, with the "XX" characters representing unique numbers that identify a particular disciplinary process in the White Room. However, this man had a different idea in mind...
"Proceed with the D-01 process," the man said ominously.
Executives who were given the greenlight to carry out any D-XX process knew all too well what such a process entailed. On the other hand, the D-01 process was something that newer executives had no knowledge of, as it was a procedure that is rarely used given how well order is maintained in the White Room. However, in the earlier stages of the project, certain examples had to be made to send a message to subjects, from specific generations, to what would happen if they dared to bite the hands of their master.
'Regarding the fifth generation, the outcome is favourable. The students have separated themselves into two categories. The first being weaklings who will always crumble when faced with a wall they can't climb. However, the second has the potential to possess the heart of a predator. If I want my vision to become true, which is to see Japan lifted up from its decline, then I must annihilate the old roots that have destroyed our foundations and allow the new seedlings to prosper in their stead. If I can nurture the youth, so that they can stand up to the geniuses around the world, then a new phase in Japan's history can be born.'
The heart of a predator. Those who possess such an attribute won't stumble, nor fall in the face of a mountain, but rather relentlessly strive to overcome the obstacle they face. That is what this man believed, at least. He was a person who started with nothing. No excellent attributes that could make him stand out from the crowd.
However, the one thing he did possess was his relentless ambition to stand at the top of Japan, no matter the cost. But there were always going to be obstacles in his way.
As he read through the rest of the contents, his gaze sharpened on the last paragraph in Suzukake's report.
"Regarding Subject G4-004, who had completed the beta curriculum approximately two weeks ago, we are beginning to administer the new testing modules that you provided to us. So far, everything we have thrown at him has been perfectly absorbed. His level of adaptability is truly an anomaly that I haven't fully deciphered, which is why I hope to be able to capture Subject G4-004s limits with a new curriculum. However, I will require time to create a proper extension of the beta curriculum that Subject G4-004 can undergo."
"Now, when it comes to combat, there is no one left in the White Room who can contend with him. I believe Subject G4-004's performance at the meagre age of 9 years old where he annihilated the group of ex-professional fighters, whose names have been forgotten, proved that fact. To continue his upward trajectory, we will be putting Subject G4-004 into increasingly disadvantageous positions to see how he performs. His results will be presented for use in the next monthly report."
Suzukake's report concluded there.
For a moment a faint smile flickered across the man's face before being replaced with his usual stoic look.
'Subject G4-004, or rather, my son, is continuing to benefit me with the data he has been generating. Not only has he gathered various investors, but the data he has provided has been priceless in constructing future curriculums.'
That's right, this man, Ayanokōji Atsuomi enrolled his own son, Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, into the White Room's most rigorous, harsh, and cruel curriculum in it's history. In Atsuomi's mind, as long as Kiyotaka survived through the first five years of the curriculum, whatever happens to him afterwards was of no concern to Atsuomi. Whether he died or not did not matter, as long Kiyotaka generated sufficient data.
After finishing Suzukake's report, Atsuomi moved onto the next report by the Head of Cybersecurity, Fujimoto Takashi.
"There have been no attempts to penetrate the White Room's network. However, there were attempts to infiltrate your files at one of your offices. Fortunately, all attempts were quickly neutralised. This is all thanks to the superior technology that has been acquired to us by yours truly. The new artificial intelligence that we have implemented, and have full control of, was able to identify any individuals trying to break into our network and swiftly back trace their location. Furthermore, the new encryption software is practically unbreakable, and the added contingency of decoy systems will help us to deceive any foolish, future hackers or investigators. However, we will continue to remain vigilant and not let our guard down, diligently monitoring the White Room's network to ensure any confidential information is not leaked."
As previously mentioned, the White Room organisation had many departments to maintain the integrity and secrecy of the facility. All critical pieces of information were stamped with their corresponding clearance level and managed by the cybersecurity department. However, this did not mean that all workers in the cybersecurity had permissions to access the intelligence within the documents. Only the head of cybersecurity had the access codes and even then there would always be a log of who opened what documents. Information control and security were among the top priorities in the White Room.
Atsuomi finished reading the remaining contents of Fujimoto's report and proceeded to skim through the reports from the head of security and head of procurement.
"There have been no unauthorized breaches reported in the White Room. We continue to maintain our secrecy with our location not being easily disclosed. Thanks to the new technology that Sensei acquired for us, we are easily able to subdue any rogue subjects who have broken down and decided to go on a violent rampage."
"Procurement processes for future generations have been operating smoothly. Our franchises are scattered orderly, with many unrecognised and undocumented children being filtered out. Any time where we can't meet thresholds, we look into black market brokers as a last resort source. Of course, we take proper precautions to ensure there are no traces."
Satisfied with what he was reading, Atusomi moved onto the relatively more important reports, starting with the report from social communications.
"With Ayanokōji-sensei's recent emergence in politics as a new politician, we are continuing to push forward our propaganda to pedestalize Sensei as someone who cares for the youth. However, as expected, the old guard are showing a lot of resistance. We recommend that Sensei should consider making more public appearances in the news. The social communications department can set up specific reporters to butter up the news. It is imperative that Sensei increase his presence in the Citizens' Party."
'As expected, the old rotten roots in parliament are preventing the new ones from expressing their potential. They continue to leach and weaken Japan's foundations, which has ultimately led to our decline. Those old fools with their silver tongues are continuing to plummet our country for their own benefit.'
It was evident that Atsuomi loathed the system that was in place and once he accomplished his ambition and became Prime Minister in Japan, he planned to dig out the fossils still remaining in parliament to make way for the young blood whose potential can start to flourish. Creating such a scenario will shake Japan momentarily but will eventually lead to Japan being uplifted from the mud that it was being dragged through. This was what Atsuomi believed.
However, the next sentence made Atsuomi click his tongue in annoyance.
"Ryosuke Tanaka, from the Peace Party, is continuing his attempts to recruit Sensei into his party. However, we have been declining his advances."
'It seems Ryosuke's age has finally caught up with him. Despite me constantly refusing his advances, he continues to try and recruit me. He truly is desperate, but his intentions are crystal clear.'
There are two major political parties in Japan. The ruling party, also known as the Citizens' Party, and the opposition party, also known as the Peace Party.
Ryosuke Tanaka was a prominent member in the Peace Party and had maintained his seniority for many years. Just like every other politician, he has a silver tongue that he carefully uses to manipulate the populous to support him. But underneath that public persona rested a snake who was ready to bite at any opportunity given to him. This was because overall, the Citizens' Party had more influence, power, and support than the Peace Party. However, conversely, the Citizens' Party's power and supporters was divided amongst the four existing factions.
Atsuomi was fully aware of what Ryosuke was aiming for when he tried to recruit Atsuomi.
'He wants to use me as an attack dog against the other factions, creating disorder and chaos to ultimately destabilise the Citizens' Party. His intentions are so clearly telegraphed that even a fool could evade such a simple scheme.'
However, Atsuomi did not resent Ryosuke for his actions, in fact, he thanked him in his head.
'An enemy whose intentions are known are easier to predict and prepare contingencies for.'
Proceeding to the final report in the encrypted directory, was the report completed by the Head of Finance, Kawamura Shinji.
"I am delighted to inform Sensei that we have received various new investors, including but not limited to, Kanzaki Engineers, the Ishigami Group, and Nogi Pharmaceuticals. Of the three I named, Kanzaki Engineers in particular took action to support our project without us even prompting their aid. Furthermore, some of our more prominent investors have increased their investment into the White Room project, with the largest increase being from President Amasawa, who has doubled his investment to ¥200 million. However, this was on condition that we accept another child, from one of his mistresses, into the White Room program."
A faint frown appeared on Atsuomi's face upon hearing the news. Atsuomi did not particularly like President Amasawa. During meetings with investors, he would always show up in unprofessional attire such as flip-flops, shorts or a classic Hawaiian shirt. But since he was a prominent investor in the White Room project, Atsuomi had to treat him with some care.
'Another child, huh? If he wanted to mess around with women he shouldn't have gotten married. Well, that's not my problem anyway. The more he can't control his urges, the more he will invest into our project to cover up his infidelity.'
As previously mentioned, the procurement process involved obtaining children mainly from 'legal' methods and also through black market brokers. However, sometimes, children born from mistresses of wealthy men were sometimes placed in the White Room project. These children were generally treated with more 'care'.
'It seems for the most part, things are progressing smoothly.'
Atsuomi continued reading through the remaining bullet points outlined in the financial report provided by Kawamura. However, he was interrupted by the sharp knocking outside the door of his private office.
'That must be the Head of Intelligence for the White Room, Takahashi Etsuo.'
Ordinarily, Takahashi would make a monthly report similar to the other executives. However, he had informed Atsuomi that he had critical information to report in person.
"You may enter, Takahashi."
The knob on the door twisted, gently opening with a low creak. The increasing clearance in the door revealed a handsome young man, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, carrying a secured, leather briefcase.
Adorning a tailored suit and a slim tie, Takahashi's emerald eyes met Atsuomi's before he quickly bowed to him as a sign of respect.
"Good evening, Ayanokōji-sensei, I have some important news to share with you."
Walking with graceful steps, he gently stepped towards the unoccupied seat opposite to Atsuomi. With methodical precision, he carefully laid the briefcase onto the empty space on Atsuomi's desk so that the lock was facing Takahashi, exerting great effort to ensure he did not disturb Atsuomi's belongings.
Takahashi subsequently fished the key for the briefcase out of his pocket, placing it in the lock and turning it anticlockwise. A following audible clicking sound indicated that the briefcase was successfully unlocked.
Given the smoothness of Atsuomi's desk, Takahashi was easily able to rotate the briefcase such that the unlocked side was facing Atsuomi, before gently opening the lid to reveal an assortment of papers.
Atsuomi's eyes naturally gravitated to the contents of the briefcase, where upon it being fully opened he began reaching for the documents containing the critical information that Takahashi had gathered. Takahashi, who had memorised a summary of the contents of the documents, had no personal use for them.
"Tell me what you've gathered, Takahashi," said Atsuomi, whilst skimming over the contents of the pages.
"Yes, Ayanokōji-sensei. For starters, there have been a few independent nameless journalists hoping to make it big snooping around the finances of our organisations. Ordinarily, journalists would have a good grasp of who or what to look into, knowing that they might meet an unfortunate 'accident' the next day if they unwittingly step on a dragon's tail. However, these journalists seem to have no care in the world to the point where it is very suspicious. I have a conjecture, though."
Atsuomi glanced up from the papers with his signature stoic expression before nodding his head slightly, prompting Takahashi to continue with his theory.
"I suspect that Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei goaded the journalists into investigating you, Ayanokōji-sensei."
The carefully selected words did not go unnoticed by Atsuomi. The use of "and" rather than "or" suggested that Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei were working together.
"Are you suggesting Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei are working together to undermine me, Takahashi?"
"Yes, however, it would be more accurate to say that this is a certain fact rather than a theory."
Upon hearing this statement, the normally calm, golden eyes of Atsuomi went wide for a moment, before quickly adjusting back to homeostasis.
"I assume this is the critical news you had to share with me then, Takahashi?"
"Indeed, Ayanokōji-sensei, Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei, who are both in charge of their own individual factions in the Citizens' Party, have joined forces. Their influence is dwindling in the face of Senator Kijima's growing support."
There were four major factions in the Citizens' Party. Prime Minister Miyako's faction, Naoe-sensei's faction, Isomaru-sensei's faction and Senator Kijima's faction. The best way to describe their dynamics would be to use the two sides of a coin as an analogy. One side illuminated by light, whilst the other is shrouded in darkness of the coin's shadow.
Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei presented the darker side of the coin, due to them stooping to underhanded tactics to maintain their influence and power in the party. These underhanded tactics were essentially crimes orchestrated through grunt workers or associates of Naoe-sensei or Isomaru-sensei. Both Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei had been in politics for a long time, and were often regarded as friendly, old rivals that were familiar with each other's tactics.
However, Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei joining forces was unprecedented. But in Atsuomi's mind, he was almost certain that Naoe held the reins when it came to who was the more dominant between the two.
'It seems that Naoe-sensei realised that his only way to survive and maintain his power in the party was to join forces with Isomaru-sensei due to Senator Kijima's presence and possibly my recent emergence as a politician.'
If Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei were said to be the dark side of the coin then Kijima was the light side, perched in the limelight as the Citizens' Party's 'golden-boy'.
Senator Kijima has a stellar reputation, with no scandals that suggested that he constantly drank or played around with women, his image was free of blemishes. Coupled with his clean policies, silver tongue, and youthful charisma, he had moved the hearts of the youth to the point where young party members blindly put their faith in him. Even Prime Minister Miyako had shown him favour.
However, Kijima's more noticable achievement was that he was one of the key individuals who introduced the existence of the Advanced Nurturing High School to the world, also known as ANHS. The government has big expectations for ANHS, which is visible from the extensive funding provided to the prestigious high school for students aged 15 to 18.
'It seems the tides are turning. I better contact him after this meeting with Takahashi.'
"Is there anything else, Takahashi?"
"Nothing major. A senior inspector from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department has been noticeably sniffing around Naoe-sensei and Isomaru-sensei's activities, but other than this fact, there is nothing else critical to report, Ayanokōji-sensei."
"Good work, Takahashi, you are dismissed."
"Thank you, Ayanokōji-sensei," replied Takahashi, as he bowed his head to Atsuomi before getting ready to leave.
Carefully collecting the critical documents, Takahashi placed them back into his briefcase, subsequently locking it with the key he used earlier to unlock it before proceeding to get up in an orderly manner to exit Atusomi's private office.
Upon leaving the office, Takahashi ran his hand through his chestnut brown hair, that had been cleanly styled upon previously entering Atsuomi's private office, before wiping the beads of sweat that had collected on the back of his neck.
'Even after working with him for years, I still feel nervous in his presence.'
This did not mean that he was fearful of Atsuomi, rather, it would be more accurate to say that he had a deep respect for Atsuomi.
Upon watching Takahashi leave the room, Atsuomi glanced at his tablet, checking the cameras outside for any possible eavesdroppers.
'It seems safe. I can now contact him with no risk.'
Opening up a secure line that had been encrypted with the advanced encryption technology Atsuomi had obtained, he contacted an individual who had been a significant driving force in ensuring that the White Room project came to life and reached the heights that it had reached thus far.
*RING* *RING*
The call rang twice before it was answered. Atsuomi spoke first.
"What is the status of Operation: Erebus?"
"It's complete, our reach has extended to the highest ranks of our enemies."
The voice that responded was calm and measured, delivering words with cold precision.
"Excellent. It seems that all the pieces in my plan are coming together. I give you, the Shadows of the White Room, full authority in executing Operation: Genesis"
"Understood," the voice on the phone replied before swiftly cutting the call.
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Location: Unknown
The room was sterile. No decorations in sight, just pristine, white walls stretching endlessly. Harsh and unyielding ceiling lights illuminated every corner of this vast room, ensuring there was no shadow in sight.
For most children, this environment would have felt suffocating, but not for the young boy, clad in a standard-issue white gown, perched at his white desk. Despite being only nine years old, his golden irises no longer possessed the innocence a child should have; rather, they only reflected the teachings imposed onto him by this facility.
Nevertheless, the young boy's gaze was focused on the monitor in front of him, as lines of text flickered across the screen. Numbers, equations, logical puzzles—they were the young boy's world, the only reality he had known since his birth.
It was not the love of a parent that greeted him, but the unforgiving white walls that welcomed him into this world. Children in his generation also suffered the same fate as him, but only this young boy understood the harsh reality of this facility shortly after his birth.
No one would come to save him. That was the truth this young boy understood.
With no one else but the young boy in the sterile room, only the faint whooshing sound of the large industrial air conditioners could be heard.
*HISS*
The opening of a mechanical door disturbed the atmosphere of the room, revealing an instructor adorning a long white lab coat, with one hand carrying a tablet and the other a special pen.
Whilst seated on his desk, the young boy turned his head slightly, causing the loose strands of light-brown hair on top of his dome to move as he carefully watched the older man approach him.
The instructor glanced at his watch before quickly scribbling down notes onto his tablet. With no warning the instructor spoke with an authoritative edge to his cold voice.
"Subject G4-004, begin the test."
On the screen, the puzzles changed, growing progressively more complex. The young boy's fingers moved quickly with precision, solving each of the problems depicted on the monitor with calculated efficiency and no pause. Hesitation wasn't allowed here, lest you incur the wrath of the punishments that follow by the instructors who were observing.
As the young boy worked, his mind wandered—not away from the task at hand, but beyond it. Each problem wasn't just a test; it was a glimpse into the world beyond these walls. A world he had only seen through virtual reality but never touched or smelled. Somewhere out there, people lived lives that went past logic and reason. They laughed, cried, and found joy in things that he couldn't understand. He wondered what it felt like for a brief moment, but quickly suppressed those thoughts. They weren't essential to his survival.
The instructor spoke up again, priming the young boy to work quicker. "Faster. Your current performance is 3% below target."
This was a lie. His performance had far exceeded the expectations set for him. But the instructor's inherent sadistic nature liked to push children to their limits and watch them break. After all, it took a 'special' kind of individual to find amusement in watching children suffer and collapse.
But this young boy was special. Although, initially, he may stumble with the tasks thrown at him, in the end, he will inevitably absorb all the teachings that the White Room hurls at him. This fact alone frustrated some of the instructors, which is why in the earlier stages, when there were more children in his generation, the instructors liked to single out and pick on the young boy.
However, none of this mattered to the young boy, as his fingers quickened to meet the set deadline. He wasn't afraid of failure. The fear that the White Room had engraved into his heart at a young age had disappeared, only leaving behind a hollow gap for the cold to seep in, freezing his heart. He understood the fundamental truth of the White Room—if you cease to grow, you you cease to exist.
He had witnessed countless children hit their limit, breaking down in despair when they did not meet the threshold for any of the tests. Seeing the once occupied desks being empty the next day, with the desk being removed shortly after, taught the other children what would happen if they didn't produce the required results.
Thus, the young boy always sought growth because he too did not want to disappear. That was the only thought that kept him from falling down from the insurmountable mountain that was the fourth-generation curriculum.
When the session ended, the young boy leaned back slightly, his breathing even and face unreadable. The instructor proceeded to scribble down notes onto his tablet, before glancing at the young boy to announce the verdict.
"Acceptable. You have your scheduled meal in room C1.04. But before that, remain seated because the higher-ups have a message to communicate."
Without another word, the instructor left the room, the door hissing shut behind him.
Sitting there for a moment longer, the ceiling lights suddenly shut off, leaving the sterile room in pitch black darkness.
The sudden projection of light onto one of the walls of the sterile room revealed a live feed of five first-generation subjects.
Their eyes, that were once dimmed by the White Room, no longer possessed any light left.
The condition that those children were left in was too horrific to describe.
But the message was clear, and the young boy understood it well. If you try to resist the White Room's authority and will, you will suffer the same fate as these subjects. It was an effective strategy to drive fear into the hearts of the subjects who may misbehave in the future, conditioning them to always obey.
The White Room staff had to drill one truth into the brains of all subjects from specific generations—there was no escape from the White Room's grasp.
The projected image disappeared, leaving the room in momentary darkness before the ceiling lights were powered on again.
His golden eyes quickly adjusted to the change in lighting, regaining their usual sharpness. The combat training the young boy had undergone enforced the importance of always keeping one's eyes open during any fight. After all, what good would a person proficient in martial arts be if obscuring their vision was enough to subdue them.
Recent changes in the young boy's physical education had put the boy in many disadvantageous situations where he had to be constantly analysing his surroundings to understand what his opponents could use against him and prepare the proper countermeasures. As the difficulty increased, the time he had to carry out his analysis decreased, forcing him to face stress that no child should have to face.
Leaving his desk in a methodical order, the young boy proceeded to walk toward room C1.04 to fuel his body with the appropriate nutrients.
Walking up to the mechanical door, he glanced at the camera nearby that had its field of view fixated on the door.
*HISS*
The clearance in the door revealed the same instructor who had administered the young boy's test, armed with a baton and stun gun that was holstered at his waist, underneath his long, white lab coat.
"Get moving, Subject G4-004," the instructor spoke with a voice devoid of any emotion.
Walking side-by-side, the young boy and instructor walked in an orderly fashion down towards room C1.04, following the directions indicated by the labels plastered onto the never-ending white walls.
The young boy had already memorised the internal structure of the White Room—well, at least what he had seen of the White Room's insides, and knew which directions to take to reach his predetermined destination. There were doors which he was not allowed to go past as there was no reason for him to enter those rooms from the White Room staff's perspective.
Whilst walking down the corridors, the boy observed the 2D lattice-structured circular openings present on the sides of the walls. There was no doubt in his mind what purpose they served.
'The White Room is all about efficiency, I know this for a fact. In the event there were intruders or subjects had escaped into areas where they weren't supposed to be, they could just deploy a sleeping agent to subdue the obstructions and then ventilate that gas out into the atmosphere. I'm sure this is the method they used to subdue the first-generation subjects shown earlier.'
The boy knew there would be no meaning in rebelling against the White Room's authority because their security was impenetrable. If one wanted to escape from this facility, they would have to wait for a miracle-like opportunity.
Having reached their destination, the instructor posted up next to the opening in the wall.
"You have 15 minutes to complete your meal."
As he walked into the sterile room, he was met various white tables, each with roughly six chairs situated around them. The tables were pristine, just like everything else in the White Room, neatly polished to reflect the faint glow of the ceiling lights above.
With orderly steps, he continued walking towards the cabinet, picking up a tray containing properly portioned nutritious foods for him to consume.
Taking his tray to a nearby table, he placed the tray on the table before pulling out one of the chairs to take a seat on.
Pulling his tray closer towards himself, he proceeded to analyse his meal.
'Skinless, steamed chicken. A source of amino acids necessary for protein synthesis to promote muscle repair and growth. The chicken being skinless reduces fat content and optimises absorption rates.'
Chewing the meat slowly, he pushed away thoughts that entered his mind of the food being bland.
'Taste is not essential when the objective is to fuel the body with nutrients. Minimal preparation ensures no unnecessary additives or spices that could interfere with digestion are present. The White Room can't afford for its students' abilities to be impaired whilst absorbing the curriculum's teachings.'
His eyes drifted to the quinoa in the top right of his tray.
'Quinoa, easy to prepare and store with a high nutrient density relative to its weight and volume. Rich in carbohydrates for sustained energy release, but the presence of fibre also improves digestion. The added protein complements the steamed chicken's amino acid profile.'
Lastly, the young boy's eyes drifted to the bottom right of his tray, containing steamed vegetables, specifically the vibrant green of broccoli and dull orange of the carrots. As the young boy took a bite of the carrot, a memory unwillingly played back in his mind.
"Do you like carrots, Kiyotaka?"
In the memory, Kiyotaka was seated at the same table and same chair. He picked this table because it was the closest to the long, horizontal, glass cabinet where they retrieved food, making it more time efficient to return his tray when he had finished eating.
A young girl with dirty, blonde hair that extended to just below her shoulder blades was seated opposite him. Her purple gaze poised on Kiyotaka, eagerly awaiting his answer. Her demeanour was a direct contrast to Kiyotaka's 'cool' and calm appearance, where he seemed to be indifferent to her presence at his table.
They were the only two seated at this table, with the remaining four seats being empty.
At the time of this particular memory, over 30 children had already disappeared from the fourth-generation curriculum, and the remaining subjects had only recently begun their group training after exiting their initial four year period of isolation training.
Kiyotaka had crawled his way to the top of the curriculum. However, his success had sealed the fate of countless other children in his generation.
The more sadistic instructors took this opportunity to demonise Kiyotaka, isolating him from the other fourth-generation students who had formed small groups amongst themselves. Although individuals in these groups were ultimately competing against one another, they all recognised Kiyotaka as a threat to their survival.
But there was one young girl who didn't. Subject G4-005, Yuki.
At the time, Kiyotaka did not understand why Yuki always followed him around or tried to interact with him, just like she was doing now when she asked him whether he liked carrots or not.
He had been alone since his birth, with nothing but his own abilities to trust. That was what allowed him to stay at the top. Forming emotional connections would be equivalent to chopping off one's own limbs, making survival in the fourth-generation environment impossible. That was Kiyotaka's perception. However, strangely, for reasons he didn't know himself, he talked to the young girl who always wanted his attention.
"I don't like nor dislike carrots. Carrots are rich in beta-carotene, which the body converts to Vitamin A, crucial for maintaining a healthy vision, immune function, and skin health, making it especially important to improve during our scheduled physical training. Coupled with the fact that carrots are a good source of fibre and are low in calories means that they are an essential food. How much I like, or dislike carrots is not a factor to consider."
Hearing such an analytical response, Yuki pouted.
"Kiyotakaaa, what kind of answer is that? You can only respond with a 'yes' or 'no'!"
Following her response, she shot him a small frown like she was disappointed in him, but only in a playful way, as a warm smile soon graced her face.
Shaking his head, Kiyotaka forcibly removed himself from the memory. He knew that thinking back on the memories he collected with Yuki as the focal point would only remind him of things he wanted to forget.
Kiyotaka didn't understand why today of all days he had recollected this particular memory. Eating bland meals, with carrots as one of the steamed vegetables, was a part of his daily life since his birth in this facility.
'I can't afford to dwell on such memories. I only have a limited time to consume the necessary nutrients before continuing my training.'
That was what he told himself. Keeping his body in the best of condition was the only thing that would keep him progressing in the fourth-generation curriculum.
The fourth-generation curriculum took individualism to the extreme. The foundations of the beta curriculum were taught in the first four years, where all students would undergo isolation training. Other than the contents of the curriculum, including both physical and mental training, the only other information the students of the fourth generation were given was an overall ranking table.
Each student's name, unique subject number to identify them, and their relative ranking with respect to the other students, ranging from 0 to 100, was given to them in the form of a table that was updated weekly. Since the instructors never gave any positive validation to the fourth-generation students, the only way they could know their position in the fourth-generation was through the ranking table. As a result, the ranking system gave birth to rivalries and constant competition between the students.
All fourth-generation students knew they had to compete, lest they meet their demise, similar to how the first-generation subjects recently did when they tried to revolt against the White Room's orders.
However, the more sadistic instructors did not stop there. To induce more despair in the already broken hearts of the fourth-generation children, they deliberately told them that the difficulty of the curriculum would continue to exponentially increase in line with the top ranker's scores.
Suffice to say, the fourth-generation students with weakened hearts and minds listened to the whispers from the devils, and bared their fangs at the top ranker, Kiyotaka.
And well... in the end, the one standing tall at the pinnacle of the fourth-generation's beta curriculum was Subject G4-004, Ayanokōji Kiyotaka.
But the price he paid was no small one.
...
...
...
Upon finishing his meal, Kiyotaka proceeded to return his tray to the long glass cabinet, placing the utensils and tray in the small counter designated for used dishes.
Turning away to leave the dining area, Kiyotaka's eyes strangely lingered on the seat opposite to where he had just been sitting, but the opening hiss of the mechanical door pried his eyes away.
"Let's go, Subject G4-004. You have a new training module to undergo today."
Stepping into the hallway, the door slid shut behind Kiyotaka, once again sealing away the memories of room C1.04.
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Location: Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department Headquarters, Japan
The dim light of a desk lamp cast long shadows across the crowded desk, where case files were meticulously stacked in precarious towers.
Senior Inspector Hiroshi Kameda was leaning backwards on his creaky chair, massaging his temples as his blue eyes scanned the latest report on organised crime. His personal office smelled faintly of old paper and burnt coffee, the familiar scent of a precinct that rarely slept.
"Nothing. Just another dead end," he muttered to himself, setting the latest report aside with more force than he intended.
Other than the everyday petty crimes recorded under organised crime in the report, there were two cases filed under missing persons. Apparently, two rookie, independent journalists had disappeared.
Over 80,000 people every year disappear in Japan, so no one would bat an eye if rookie journalists suddenly vanished from the face of the Earth.
'Looks like they went barking up the wrong tree. This is nothing new.'
Turning his eyes away from the report that now laid on his desk, he sharpened his gaze on the wall nearby.
On the wall hung a pinboard, depicting a complex web of connections—names, dates, places—all tied together with red string like a spider's web. At the centre of it all there were two key names with the photographs of their faces pinned violently to the pinboard—Naoe and Isomaru.
For five relentless years, he had been investigating Naoe and Isomaru independently, trying to uncover the full extent of their crimes. Bribery, embezzlement, racketeering—the list went on. However, whenever he thought he had a solid lead, it would evaporate like morning mist. Witnesses would recant their statements. Evidence would 'mistakenly' be mishandled or disappear, either being burned by flames following a gas leak or being buried. Even colleagues in law enforcement, who initially showed interest, would suddenly grow cold and dismissive, unwilling to risk their careers or their families.
Hiroshi was not someone who would fall in line. His sense of justice could not allow him to turn a blind eye to the illegal activities he knew that either Naoe or Isomaru were orchestrating. But the bitter taste of having no undeniable evidence to tie either Naoe and Isomaru to the crimes made his stomach churn. In his mind, catching grunt workers who were nothing but the cogs in the machine that is organised crime would never rectify any of the issues that plagues Saitama and Tokyo. If Hiroshi wanted to make a change he had to cut off the head of the snake, or in this case, snakes.
Glancing at the analog clock right above the long pinboard, he saw that it was nearly 9pm. Yet here he was, as always, poring over cases that no one else wanted to touch. In a department full of officers willing to turn a blind eye to corruption, Hiroshi was a rare breed: stubborn, principled and unshakeable in his quest for justice. However, those attributes and his unrelenting resolve had cost him, alienating him from his peers and earning him the reputation of being a fool who was chasing ghosts.
In their minds, trying to convict Naoe and Isomaru, who had ruled over the streets of Saitama and Tokyo for years, was the quest of a fool. They knew what happened to law enforcement personnel who happened to dig too deep.
Hiroshi knew this truth, but his heart couldn't stand seeing Naoe and Isomaru walk away scot-free. They had caused too much pain and damage to countless innocent families.
Swiveling his chair to meet the small window in his office, he gazed out into the landscape. A city stretched out before him, showcasing a sea of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there, children were laughing, playing, and dreaming of futures untainted by the rotten corners of this world. That was the ideal that Hiroshi wanted to protect, the reason he had sacrificed so much.
However, tonight was one of the nights that the cynical part of his mind started whispering the doubts that he had pushed to the back of his mind, creeping in like unwelcome guests.
The man looking back at him in the reflection of the mirror was a harsh reminder of the toll this mission has taken on him. His once jet-black hair was now streaked with strands of grey, his once charismatic face lined with fatigue and frustration. However, his eyes, deep and blue like the ocean, still carried the same determination that had driven him all these years.
"Hiroshi," he muttered to himself, "What are you even fighting for?"
Turning back to his desk, he picked up the photo frame perched in the left corner of his desk. It was a picture of his family, taken years ago. His wife, Chisato, with her signature warm smile that radiated love and patience. Beside her, stood his older daughter, Honami, her light pink hair glowing in the sunlight whilst holding Yukari's tiny hands. Yukari had been just a toddler when the photo was taken, her wide blue eyes sparkled like water in the ocean would, reflecting innocence and curiosity.
Hiroshi's chest tightened. He had missed so much: both of his daughter's birthdays, family trips, and Chisato's quiet moments of joy. All for what? A case that felt increasingly hopeless as the days went by.
'We were happy then. Before I took this case...'
Hiroshi had distanced himself from his family and changed his surname with the help of an acquaintance from the bureau, who told him he would offer no further help.
He resolved himself to only visit on Christmas day despite his aching heart begging him to see them more often. He would come with gifts and try to spend as much time as possible to compensate, but the Christmas rendezvous always ended with the same bittersweet taste when he had to leave them, only to return the next Christmas of the following year.
It was nights like these where he would question himself on whether he made the right decision. To stand against corruption instead of falling in line like the others.
The faint buzz of the nearby television, posted up in the corner of his personal office, pulled him out of his thoughts. A pretty female news reporter appeared on the screen and began the late night news broadcast.
Hiroshi paid the television little attention, choosing to continue sifting through the countless documents that were stacked in tall towers atop his desk. That was what he planned until a particular headline caught his ear.
"In political news, Ayanokōji Atsuomi, a rising figure in the Citizens' Party, continues to garner attention for his philanthropic initiatives aimed at supporting underprivileged youth. Ayanokōji's recent efforts include funding children's hospitals and shelters for at-risk children. Many see him as a man similar to Senator Kijima—a breath of fresh air in a party dominated by veteran politicians."
The mention of a new name in the Citizens' party was enough to turn his head and observe the television.
'I've never seen him before. The only prominent names I know that are in the Citizens' party are Naoe, Isomaru, Senator Kijima and of course, Prime Minister Miyako.'
Hiroshi's eyes narrowed as Atsuomi's face appeared on the screen. The man was young, probably in his mid or late thirties, with a polished demeanor and a smile that exuded confidence. His carefully chosen words about "investing in the future of Japan" and "creating opportunities for the youth and upcoming generations" were clearly designed to inspire hope in the audience's hearts.
"Hmph," Hiroshi scoffed under his breath whilst reaching for his cup of stale coffee. "Another one trying to make a name for himself."
He had seen it before many times—idealistic newcomers with grand visions, only to be crushed by the weight of tradition and corruption. The seniority system in Japanese politics was an impenetrable fortress guarded by greedy, old men in their late sixties and seventies, who had no intention of forsaking their power to make way for the promising youthful talents. The truth was that they did not care about their country and only cared about maintaining their power and influence. That was one of the fundamental reasons that had pushed Japan towards its decline.
At this moment, Hiroshi believed that Atsuomi would be no different than the other promising youths who had decided to try and make a name for themselves in Japanese politics. The system governed by the old men who occupied the top positions ensured that the young generation would be chewed out and spat out. The man on the screen, Atsuomi, would be no different. That was what Hiroshi thought.
However, there was something about Atsuomi that intrigued Hiroshi. Despite the smiles he showed on camera, Hiroshi's intuition painted a different picture of the man depicted on the television screen.
His demeanor, his posture, and his voice, as if his words were absolute. But it was his golden irises that intrigued him the most. Hiroshi's gut told him that they reflected a will akin to a predator, an indomitable ambition to devour all those who try to suppress him.
'Maybe he can change something.'
Hiroshi would keep Atsuomi in the back of his mind, checking the moves that he would make in the future.
The broadcast moved on to other news, but Hiroshi's thoughts lingered on Atsuomi's words about supporting the youth, particularly children.
He wanted a world where his daughter could grow up without fear, where Honami's kindness and Yukari's curiosity could flourish without the shadows of corruption and deceit. Was that dream worth the sacrifices he had made? Could he still be the father they deserved?
Hiroshi's phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from his wife, Chisato.
[21:15:36] [Chisato] Yukari wants to know if Papa will be home for Christmas this year.
The sentence made him hold his breath momentarily with a lump quickly forming in his throat shortly after. Regaining his composure, he quickly typed out a reply.
[21:15:45] [Hiroshi] Of course. I wouldn't miss it.
But even as he tapped send on his phone, doubt gnawed at him. Could he truly protect them while continuing to walk this dangerous path? Or would his pursuit of justice only bring more harm to the people he loved most?
Setting his phone down and swiftly turning back to his desk, Hiroshi's resolve hardened. He didn't have the answers to those questions yet, but he knew one thing: he had come too far and couldn't give up now. Not now, not ever. Someday, those snakes, Naoe and Isomaru, would grow careless and at that moment he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate the rotten roots that they had cultivated—no matter the cost.