The metal hammer hit the two bells on top of the clock very fast.
Ring-ring-ring!
The loud noise filled the small room.
Albert lay still under his blanket. He did not open his eyes yet. His right hand came out from under the covers. It moved slowly and heavily.
His fingers slid across the wooden table until they touched the cold, blue clock. He felt the back of the clock with his thumb. He moved past the big winding keys and found the small slider button.
He pushed the button down.
Click.
The ringing stopped. The room was quiet again.
Albert opened his eyes.
Subjective reality is a nuisance, but necessary. The immediate neurological rush is what I must suppress. That insistent, brassy sound was merely a longitudinal mechanical wave traveling at approximately 343 m/s.
The twin bells were converting electrochemical energy from the cell into kinetic impact, then into acoustic energy with a peak sound pressure level likely exceeding 90 dB at point-blank range. This necessitated the rapid vibration of my tympanic membrane—a mechanical signal transduced by the cochlear hair cells into an electrochemical impulse.
The effect is a crude sympathetic nervous system response: cortisol and adrenaline spiking to forcibly terminate the last of my REM cycle. Excessive metabolic expenditure for a simple timekeeping device. The motion of disabling it, conversely, was a low-energy maneuver: a purely habitual extension of the arm—a class-three lever system powered by minimal motor unit recruitment. I estimate the total work done on that switch—force times displacement—was negligible, roughly 15 millijoules. Pure efficiency.
The object itself is an archaic beauty. It's powered by a single 1.5V AA cell, providing direct current. The ringing mechanism is secondary. The true marvel is the quartz crystal. The current applies mechanical stress, exploiting the piezoelectric effect to make it oscillate at a precise 32,768 Hz. This is the elegant core: a series of flip-flop circuits acting as binary dividers, reducing that frequency by powers of two 2^15 until it produces a single, reliable pulse per one second (1 Hz). That pulse drives the Lavet stepper motor, translating atomic-lattice resonance into the macro-motion of the gear train. All this complex conversion, just to dictate the precise nanosecond I must begin the performance of my next sixteen hours as a functional, neurotypical adolescent.
Must maintain zero outward signs of internal processing.
Albert looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the peeling paint. He watched the dust floating in a thin beam of sunlight coming through the curtains. Then he looked at the pile of school books in the corner.
He did not move. His body felt heavy on the mattress. He just lay there, staring at nothing.
Then, he shook his head.
Albert sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his face with both hands. He blinked hard. The long, complicated words about sound waves and energy faded from his mind.
He realized what he had just done.
"Crap," he whispered to himself. "I did it again."
He slapped his cheeks lightly.
Smack. Smack.
"I have to be very careful," he muttered. "The alarm just woke me up too fast. My filter was off. But I can't let that happen at school. If I start talking about circuits and frequencies, I won't make any friends. People will think I'm weird. Or worse, a creep."
He took a deep breath.
"Just be normal, Albert," he said. "Just be a normal high school student."
Albert stood up. He walked to the bathroom. The tiles were cold under his feet. He looked in the mirror. His hair was messy. His eyes had dark circles under them. He looked like a ghost.
He brushed his teeth slowly. Then, he put on his new uniform. The white shirt was stiff. He ate breakfast.
He picked up his backpack. He checked the contents with a quick, mental checklist.
Textbooks: Check.
Notebooks: Check.
Pencil Case: Check.
Compact Umbrella (Black, UV-coated): Check.
Tactical Flashlight (Imalent MS03 - 13,000 Lumens): Check
Forecast says 0% chance of rain. However, local microclimates in this district are unstable due to the urban heat island effect. Preparedness is not about probability; it is about binary safety. Wet or Dry. I will always carry an umbrella even if it does not rain.
He zipped the bag shut. Attached to the zipper pull was a silver metal keychain shaped like a complex geometric web of hexagons and lines.
The molecular structure of Caffeine. Maya gave it to me for my birthday because I drink too much coffee. To her, it's a cute shape. To me, it's the chemical formula for C8H10N4O2—the only thing keeping me awake. I keep it attached. Removing a gift from a Best Friend creates unnecessary social friction.
He pulled a standard black leather bi-fold wallet from his pocket to verify his daily logistical budget. He unsnapped the small coin pouch.
There is no coin on that particular section but his thumb brushed against a heavier, oxidized piece of zinc-alloy. He pulled the compartment open a fraction wider. It was a cheap replica of the Vongola Ring of the Sky from his childhood.
A mathematically flawed 200-yen gachapon investment. It holds zero monetary value and inefficiently occupies about 0.5 cubic centimeters of my wallet space. The alloy is already decaying but it brings me back to my childhood memories.
He pushed the ring aside, and snapped the pouch shut with a sharp click. The ring was immediately purged from his active working memory.
He walked out the front door. The morning air was cool. He walked with his head down, looking at the cracks in the sidewalk.
"This is my first day of High School. This is what they called High School Debut."
He stopped at the intersection and waited.
"They're late," Albert complained.
But then, he heard a loud voice behind him.
"Albert!"
Albert stopped. He stiffened. He knew that voice. He turned around slowly.
A boy was running toward him. It was Leo. He looked happy and full of energy.
Leo. Of course. Look at him. He's running, but he's not even sweating. He's tall, athletic, and has that perfect smile. It's annoying. I know he's my best friend, and he's a good guy, but does he have to be so perfect? Standing next to him just reminds me that I'm... well, me.
"Hey," Albert said. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.
Then, another voice came from behind Leo. It was soft and sweet.
"Good morning, Albert!"
Albert froze. His stomach did a flip.
Maya walked out from behind Leo. She was smiling, and her hair had this light, springy motion that followed the rhythm of her feet. The sun was flat and gray on the sidewalk, but on her, it looked bright—almost like she was standing in a different part of the day than the rest of us.
Maya. Oh, god. She looks incredible. Too bright. She's shining too bright. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. Calm down. Don't stare. If I stare, I'll turn red. Just look at her nose. No, that's weird too. Look at the ground.
Albert looked down at his shoes. He gripped his backpack strap tighter.
"Morning," Albert mumbled.
Maya tilted her head. She looked at his face closely.
"Don't be like that," she said playfully. "This is the first day of high school! Why do you sound so tired already?"
"Sorry," Albert said.
"Why are you apologizing?" Maya laughed. "You are doing it again!"
"I'm not," Albert said quickly.
Leo slapped Albert on the back. It was a friendly hit, but it almost knocked the wind out of Albert.
"Hahaha!" Leo laughed. "Classic Albert. He is in his 'one-to-three word' response mode again. Let him boot up his system, Maya."
The three of them began to walk together. Leo and Maya walked on each side of Albert. They talked about plans. Albert just walked in the middle, staring at the ground, listening to the sound of his heart finally slowing down.
As they walk, Maya notices the silver charm swinging from Albert's school bag. Her face lit up.
"Oh! You transferred it to your high school bag!" she chirped, reaching out to tap the metal charm. It was a complex geometric web of silver hexagons and lines—the chemical structure of Caffeine.
"Of course," Albert said, adjusting the strap. "It is a high-grade zinc alloy. It hasn't corroded in two years. Discarding it would be wasteful."
"I gave that to you for your birthday in Middle School!" Maya beamed at Leo. "I chose it because Albert is addicted to coffee. It's cute, right? It looks like a little honeycomb."
"It is C8H10N4O2," Albert corrected automatically. "It is the formula for wakefulness."
"See?" Leo laughed. "He loves it. He just won't say 'Thank you' without a chemical formula involved."
Albert looked away, but he didn't pull the bag away from her touch.
It's not just a formula. It's the first thing she ever bought me with her own allowance. But I can't say that. So I'll just say it's zinc.
They reached the big intersection before the school. The traffic light was red. A crowd of students in the same uniform waited at the crosswalk. Cars drove past them, kicking up dust.
Leo watched the silver hexagon swing back and forth, a shadow of envy crossing his face.
"Man, I wish I still had mine," Leo sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Remember? That fan from the calligraphy club gave me the Adrenaline molecule keychain after the relay finals."
"You lost it in exactly seventy-two hours," Albert pointed out without missing a beat. "Your ability to displace matter is statistically impressive. Somehow, you possess a high coefficient of entropy, Leo."
"It wasn't my fault!" Leo laughed nervously. "I don't get why I always lose things. It's like small objects just... migrate away from me."
"It is because you lack spatial awareness for non-moving objects," Albert muttered. "You run fast, but you leave your inventory behind."
"And it's not just losing things!" Maya chimed in, pointing an accusing but playful finger at Leo.
"Whenever something is stuck and you try to fix it, you just end up breaking it even worse with your brute force!"
Leo pouted defensively. "Hey! I'm just applying maximum effort to help! It's not my fault everyday objects are so fragile."
"Applying maximum kinetic force without mechanical understanding is not fixing," Albert stated flatly. "It is just accelerated demolition."
Leo groaned, defeated by the logic.
Maya laughed, but then she looked at her watch.
She frowned.
"Oh no," she said. "It's already 7:50. The gate closes at 8:00. We are going to be late on the first day!"
She looked worried. She started tapping her foot on the pavement.
"Relax, Maya," Leo said. He had his hands in his pockets. "We can run if we have to. I can make it in three minutes, easy."
"You can run," Maya grumbled. "But I don't want to be sweaty for the opening ceremony."
Albert stood silently behind them. He looked at the red light. Then he looked at the school gate in the distance.
Albert's Observation: Distance to the main gate is approximately 600 meters. Current variable: The traffic signal. Based on the flow of the perpendicular traffic, the phase change is imminent. Constraint: Crowd density is high. Walking speed will be reduced to 4 kilometers per hour, or 1.11 meters per second. Calculation: 600 meters divided by 1.11 meters per second equals 540 seconds. That is exactly 9 minutes. Current time: 7:50:15. Arrival time: 7:59:15. Margin of error: 45 seconds. Conclusion: Running is statistically unnecessary.
Albert adjusted his backpack strap.
"We don't need to run," Albert said calmly.
Maya looked at him. "How do you know? It looks far."
"The light is about to change," Albert said. "If we walk at a normal pace, we will get there with forty-five seconds to spare."
Leo grinned. He didn't look surprised at all.
"See?" Leo said to Maya. "The Computer has spoken. If Albert says forty-five seconds, it's going to be forty-five seconds."
"That's true," Maya said. Her worry vanished instantly. "We are talking about Albert. If he calculated it, we are fine."
"I didn't calculate it," Albert lied quickly. He looked away. "It... it's just a guess."
"Yeah, yeah," Leo laughed, slapping Albert on the back. "Just a 'guess.' Like that time you 'guessed' the exact questions on the math and other subjects on midterm exams in elementary school. Sure, buddy."
Suddenly, the traffic light clicked. The walking man symbol turned green.
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
The crowd started to move.
"Let's go!" Maya said cheerfully.
As they crossed the street, Albert kept his head down.
April 7, 2026 (Tuesday) | Time: Morning | Location: Zenith Academy Campus
They walked through the massive iron gates of Zenith Academy. The campus occupied a massive spatial footprint—a strict grid of glass buildings and structured landscaping.
A large digital board stood in the courtyard, displaying the class assignments for the 4,000 new first-year students. A high-density crowd of students pushed and shoved, generating physical friction as they tried to find their names.
"There are too many names," Maya said, standing on her tiptoes. "A hundred sections... the odds of us being together are basically zero."
"Don't say that," Leo said confidently. "We've been together since first grade in elementary. The streak won't break now."
Albert stood back, adjusting his glasses. He wasn't looking for his name. He was looking at the sorting pattern.
Most people assume class sorting is random. It isn't. An institution of this scale minimizes logistical friction by using deterministic variables. My first hypothesis was Geographic Proximity—grouping students by postal codes to simplify commuter traffic. That alone reduces the potential pool from 4,000 down to about 200 students living in our district. But relying on a single variable leaves an unacceptable margin for error.
Albert glanced at Leo and Maya.
To guarantee the outcome, I had made a second Hypothesis. I assumed they might use Academic Stratification. During the entrance exam, I didn't answer based on my own knowledge capacity. Instead, I analyzed the test structure and built a mental model of Leo and Maya's academic habits. I calculated which questions they would naturally solve and which ones they would fail, estimating their exact final scores. Then, I deliberately manipulated my own answer sheet to match their projected average.
"Found it!" Leo shouted, pointing at the upper quadrant of the screen.
"No way..." Maya gasped.
Class 1-4
125. Atherton Albert
150. Sterling Leo
155. Tachibana Maya
"We're all in Class 1-4!" Maya cheered, jumping up and down. "It's a miracle! Out of a hundred sections, we're together again!"
Leo grinned and wrapped an arm around Albert's neck. "See? I told you. Destiny, man. Pure destiny."
"Yeah," Albert said flatly. "Destiny."
It is not destiny. It is calculated probability. But if they want to call it destiny, I won't correct them. It's safer if they think we're just lucky.
"Attention all incoming first-year students," the mechanical voice of the P.A. system echoed off the glass buildings. "Please proceed directly to the Zenith Sports Stadium and locate your designated class sector. The opening ceremony will commence shortly."
Albert, Leo, and Maya adjusted their pathing vectors. The crowd shifted, moving en masse toward the massive domed structure at the northern edge of the campus.
As they walked, Albert observed the visual data. He was walking directly between Leo and Maya, which gave him a perfect vantage point to study the 'Halo Effect' in real-time.
Leo walked with a straight spine and a relaxed, highly symmetrical stride. His physical parameters were top-tier. Every time they passed a group of female students, their head-turning velocity was measurable.
Maya walked on Albert's other side. Her chestnut hair had that light, springy motion that caught the morning sun. The male students they passed practically stopped walking, their primary processing power entirely hijacked by her appearance.
Together, Leo and Maya generated a massive field of social gravity.
Albert, walking in the middle with his shoulders slightly hunched and his eyes tracking the concrete, was the error in the equation. To the outside observer, he was dark matter interrupting a binary star system.
They walked through the concrete transit tunnels and emerged into the Zenith Sports Stadium.
"Whoa," Leo said, his voice echoing slightly. "This place is massive."
Maya covered her mouth. "It's bigger than the ones on TV."
Albert scanned the geometry of the bowl. Four main tiers. Twenty radial sectors per tier. Averaging one hundred and sixty seats per sector block. Add the central floor area.
"The maximum seating capacity is approximately thirteen thousand," Albert said flatly.
They navigated the perimeter walkway until they found a white digital placard projecting: CLASS 1-4.
About thirty students were already gathered in the designated bleacher section, talking loudly and establishing initial social hierarchies.
Two girls are talking.
"Hey, did you remember the 20-page questionnaire that we answered right after the entrance exam last month? What was that all about?"
"I don't know. Maybe just some random survey for no specific reason."
Two boys are talking about a new Manga.
The first boy is holding a Manga entitled "The Student Council President Caught Me With My Secret Doujin Collection and Called Me a Degenerate, But After Confiscating Them for Evidence, She Became a Hardcore Fan and Now She Won't Return My Limited-Edition Volumes Until I Give Her a Plot Analysis!"
"I bought this new series today. I recommend it."
"The title is incredibly long."
Then there are 5 boys who are talking about girls.
"Hey, I saw something a while ago. It was a girl with an eyepatch and umbrella. She's like an anime character."
"Really? Where?"
The students of Class 1-4 were noisy talking while they were already divided into chunks or groups.
When Leo stepped into the designated zone, the ambient volume dropped.
He ran a hand through his hair and smiled—a relaxed, dominant display.
Here we go. The 'Leo Effect.' He just walked in, and half the class is already staring. It's always the same since we were in elementary school. It must be nice to be born with a face that acts like a VIP pass.
Then, Tachibana Maya stepped out from behind him.
She brushed a strand of her soft, wavy chestnut hair behind her ear. Her large, brown eyes sparkled under the classroom lights. She looked a little nervous, which only made her look cuter. She gave a small, shy bow to the room.
If Leo was the sun, Maya was the moon. The boys in the front row instantly sat up straighter. A few girls whispered "Kawaii" (Cute) under their breath.
And there's the knockout punch. Look at them. They're practically glowing. I can already tell they're going to be the royalty of Class 1-4.
Then, Atherton Albert walked in.
He walked between them, shoulders hunched slightly, eyes fixed on the floor. He looked like a shadow caught between two spotlights.
The class looked at the tall, handsome boy. They smiled. The class looked at the beautiful girl. They blushed. The class looked at Albert. They frowned in confusion.
The whispers started immediately.
"Who is that?"
"Is he with them?"
"Did he just follow them here?"
"They don't match at all."
"Maybe he just happened to be walking with them?"
"He looks so... gloomy. Why is he standing in the middle?"
Albert ignored them. He kept his head down.
"Let's find our seats before it gets too crowded," Leo said, completely unfazed by the staring.
"Okay, Leo!" Maya said brightly.
The class gasped. The Class 1-4 sector went dead silent. for a second.
Albert winced.
The whispers flared up, doubling in volume.
"Leo? Just Leo?"
"She dropped the honorific?"
"Are they dating?"
"They must be really close..."
Crap. She used his first name without honorific. That's a social bomb. Now everyone thinks they're a couple, or at least intimately close. And since I'm standing with them, I'm going to be scrutinized.
Albert's Objective:Minimize social exposure. Scanning sector... Option A: The front row of the bleachers. Rejected. High visibility to the stadium floor. Option B: The center mass of the class. Rejected. Surrounded on all axes by extroverted particles. Option C: The top-left corner of the assigned sector. Defensive advantage: The concrete wall covers one flank. The adjacent seat is occupied, but the occupant is a female student reading a thick hardcover book. Her visual focus is locked downward. Probability of interaction: Less than 5%.
Conclusion:Strategic location acquired.
Without saying a word, Albert detached himself from Leo and Maya's gravitational pull.
Leo and Maya tried to follow him, but they were instantly blocked by a wall of classmates introducing themselves.
"I'm Sterling," Albert heard him say. "Nice to meet you."
"I'm Tachibana," her sweet voice drifted over the noise.
The opening ceremony concluded on the open expanse of the athletic field. Forty students per class stood in neat, organized grids.
Before they were dismissed to the main building, a voice echoed over the PA system. Four specific names were called from Albert's class. He watched those four students break formation and step away, looking confused. Glancing across the field, Albert noted the pattern: exactly four students from every class were being extracted and held behind.
The remaining thirty-six were instructed to march to the classroom.
They were not allowed to walk freely. Faculty members arranged them into a strict, single-file sequence in the corridor. Albert checked the names of the students directly in front and behind him.
It wasn't alphabetical. It wasn't by height, nor by entrance exam scores. The sequence appeared entirely arbitrary to the untrained eye.
Upon reaching the classroom, the thirty-six students were split down the middle. Eighteen were directed to form a line outside the front door. The other eighteen were routed to the back door.
Albert found himself third in line at the front door.
A staff member holding a clipboard walked down the corridor, meticulously verifying their pre-arranged order one last time. Satisfied, the staff member nodded. The front and back doors were unlocked simultaneously.
"You will enter the room one by one from each door," the staff member announced, holding up a stopwatch. "Every 15 seconds, the next student in line will enter. You may choose whatever seat you want. Begin."
The first two students stepped inside. One was from the front door and the other one was from the back door.
Fifteen seconds later, the next two came in.
When the stopwatch hit the 30-second mark, the staff member pointed at Albert.
He stepped through the front door.
The classroom was an eight-by-five spatial grid. The teacher's operational zone was anchored at row 1.
Albert immediately calculated his optimal pathing vector. To maximize isolation, his target coordinate needed the highest scalar distance from the front. The mathematical attractor was row 8, column 5—the back corner by the window.
He walked down the aisle. As he approached his target, he noticed something odd.
On the exact center of every single desk, a blank white piece of paper lay face down.
He didn't let it alter his trajectory. He walked towards the chair at (8,5).
Simultaneously, a female student slid into the seat. She had entered from the back door at the exact same time (t-interval) with Albert. Her proximity to the back row gave her a spatial advantage, reducing her required travel distance. She claimed the coordinate, locking it.
Crap. That girl beat me to it. I prefer the seat on row 8 column 5 because of two reasons. First, that was the most isolated seat in the classroom. Second, that was the legendary Protagonist Seat in Anime.
Albert simply recalculated. He shifted his vector to the adjacent desk, (8,4), and deposited his mass into the chair.
Row 8 column 4 is the second best isolated seat. Row 7 column 5 is equally isolated with Row 8 column 4 but I'm not comfortable if someone is sitting behind me. This is much better. And besides, this seat is also a Protagonist Seat in some Anime.
Fifteen seconds later, the 4th interval began. Another 2 students came in.
The classroom was a standard rectangle. To my right, there were two sliding doors built into the same wall. One was at the very front, positioned next to the teacher's whiteboard. The other was at the very back, right next to the last row of seats.
From the teacher's perspective at the front of the room, both doors would be on the left. For us students sitting at our desks, they were always on our right. This layout meant that the entire right side of the room was a high-traffic zone, while the left side, near the windows, was the most shielded from the hallway noise.
Another fifteen seconds later, 5th interval. Another 2 students came in.
The classroom is a closed system. This is like Pedestrian Dynamics. Everything can be solved by Math. In simple Algebra, there are only 3 basic parts of the equation. These are the constant, the variable, and the coefficient. But in the Social Force Model, we can add additional parts such as vectors, attractors, and active particles.
On the sixth interval, two familiar figures walked through the doors—one from the front (Leo), one from the back (Maya). His childhood friends.
Using Math, we can actually predict where students will sit. Leo and Maya will naturally sit adjacent to me. For them, I am their social coefficient in this math equation. That's why it is predictable that Maya will sit on row 8 column 3 while Leo will sit on row 8 Column 2. The reason why Maya occupied the seat next to me is because she has shorter traveling distance than Leo. If only Leo and May swapped their entrance point, then Leo would have been sitting beside me.
Albert looked at the strange paper on his desk.
Destiny is Math. It is not a coincidence. Students who choose the front seats are probably near sighted. That is a biological constant in the math equation. The moment they were born, it was already decided that they will always choose to sit in front of the classroom. It's not destiny. It was simply Math. The students who will choose the edge or corners are probably introverted just like me. That is a psychological constant. The students who would choose the center are probably extroverted. They want to increase their radii to create more interactions. That's a psychological constant in the equation as well. The students are the active particles, the vectors are the direction and their speed, the attractors are the chairs.
It was already the 8th interval. Albert looked at the classroom
If only I have the complete data--their constants, variables, and coefficients of all the students who are the active particles in this closed system, I can accurately predict where they are going to seat--attractors. Using Math, I can compute the exact seating arrangement of the 40 students.
Then at the back of his head, he remembered something about the 20-page questionnaire after the Entrance Exam. It was like a survey form with questions about whether the students are nearsighted or not, questions about whether the students prefer crowded places or not, and what psychological choices questions. It was incredibly long survey form.
Albert leaned back. He watched the room fill, two active particles at a time, every 15 seconds. It was like watching a physics engine render a simulation frame by frame.
At the 12th interval, a boy stepped through the front door, adjusting thick glasses. At the exact same second, a tall, athletic girl stepped through the back door.
Albert narrowed his eyes, tracking their velocity vectors.
The boy from the front door immediately bypassed the empty front desks, aiming straight for the isolation of the back row. The girl from the back door ignored the rear seats, marching purposefully toward the very front row.
They were moving in opposite directions down the same narrow aisle.
At exactly between row 4 and row 5—the geographic center of the grid—their paths intersected. Neither adjusted their trajectory in time. Their shoulders collided with a dull thud, causing the boy to drop his bag.
"Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking," the girl said.
"My fault," the boy muttered, scrambling to pick up his bag.
Albert's eyes went cold.
That was not a coincidence. They were opposite extremes. One desired the front, the other desired the back. They had been placed in opposite lines and released at the exact same time interval. If two masses with similar walking velocities are released from opposing coordinates and aim for each other's starting points, an intersection in the exact center is mathematically guaranteed.
Then a student at the front flipped the paper from her desk and Albert noticed the reaction. The girl froze for few a seconds then turned left and right. She looked confused.
On every desk, there is a white paper. No one dared to look at it because they are afraid that they will get scolded by the teacher if they look or maybe they are afraid to look because they were not instructed to flip the paper.
But Albert, overwhelmed by curiosity, took a quick peak and flipped it back. He froze from what he had just seen.
The room was now occupied by thirty-six settled active particles.
A minute later, the final four students—the ones who had been held back on the field—walked through the door. Their entry times were completely staggered. They looked around, realizing almost the entire grid was locked.
For these final four, their internal personality constants were rendered mathematically irrelevant. The physical space was exhausted. They were forced to occupy the remaining random coordinates simply because the room's entropy had reached zero.
The forty active particles were settled.
The physical rotation of the front door hinges interrupted the silence.
The teacher entered the closed system. He didn't carry a textbook, a seating chart, or a roll call ledger. He walked to the front of the room, folded his hands behind his back, and surveyed the grid.
"Welcome to Zenith Academy," the teacher said, his voice carrying a dampening variable that instantly silenced the room. "You were instructed to choose any seat you wanted. Now, look at the paper on your desk. Turn it over."
A ripple of movement went through the room as forty hands reached out.
Although he already knew what's written, Albert still picked up the blank sheet of paper in front of him and flipped it. Printed in stark, black ink in the exact center of the page was his name: Atherton Albert.
Directly in front of him, his childhood friend Leo gasped. "What the hell? It has my name on it."
"Mine too," Maya whispered, staring at his paper as if it were a bomb.
To Albert's left, the female student who had beaten him to the corner seat (8,5), let out a sharp intake of breath. She dropped the paper back onto the desk. Albert glanced over. Her name was printed on it flawlessly.
Chaos erupted in the classroom. Students stood up, comparing papers, their voices pitching higher in panic."
How did they know?" a boy in the center row yelled. "I just picked this seat randomly!"
"No, you didn't," the teacher cut through the noise. "You are sitting exactly where this institution calculated you would sit before you even woke up this morning."
"Mine was wrong sensei," a boy revealed.
"Of course, it will not always be perfect. There will be a margin of error. Who got the wrong names in the paper?" The teacher questioned.
8 students raised their hands. 32 out of 40 were correctly predicted.
"Eight of you are holding papers with the incorrect names. Four of them are the anomalies we held back on the field to act as controlled variables. The other four are the uncontrolled variables."
Albert ran the math instantly.
32 out of 40. A 80% success rate. But in reality, it was a 88.9% success rate for the controlled variables. The four incorrect papers belonged to the students whose choices were artificially restricted by the room's maximum density.
The teacher spoke again.
"During your entrance exam, you provided your psychological and physical constants via a 20-page survey," the teacher continued, his eyes sweeping over the terrified students. "This morning, you were placed into a controlled entry sequence. You believed you were making free choices, but your choices were already bound by your psychological parameters and the time interval we assigned you."
The color drained from the faces of the students. They hadn't just walked into a classroom. They had walked into a mathematical trap, and the proof was resting on their desks.
A perfectly calculated bounding box, Albert thought, his thumb tracing the printed letters of his own name. He felt a sudden, sharp thrill of intellectual adrenaline. Destiny is just an equation. And this school holds the variables of this equation.
Albert stared at the piece of paper on his desk. The stark black ink spelling his name felt less like a greeting and more like a receipt.
All around him, the remaining thirty-one students were descending into a low, panicked murmur as they flipped their own papers. They were terrified because it felt like magic. Or mind reading.
Albert just smiled faintly. It wasn't magic.
It was just a game of physics, played perfectly.
It's like a pachinko machine, Albert thought, leaning back in his chair and observing the room. Or a vertical pinball board enclosed behind a sheet of glass. The glass box itself is this classroom. It's a closed system. In physics, it is called 'phase space'—a defined box where every possible outcome is contained inside, and nothing from the outside can interfere.
The forty empty desks are the scoring pockets at the bottom of the board. The attractors. They are the final destinations pulling everything toward them. And us? The forty students? We are the metal balls. Active particles dropped into the machine.
Albert watched the boy with thick glasses in the front row nervously adjusting his collar.
If you take forty metal balls and dump them into a pachinko machine all at exactly the same time, it's absolute chaos. They crash into each other mid-air. They ricochet off the pegs and scatter randomly. You can never predict which ball will land in which pocket because the time they were dropped is a complete mess. That's the variable. The variable of time is the engine of chaos.
But the school didn't dump us all at once. They split us into two lines and released us one by one, every fifteen seconds. They removed the chaos. They took control of the time variable.
Once you control the variables, all that's left are the constants.
Albert's eyes drifted to his two childhood friends sitting directly in front of him, still staring at their name tags in shock.
Every ball dropped into the machine has unique physical properties built into it from the factory. Those are the constants. The school extracted our constants last month using that twenty-page psychological survey. A nearsighted student is like a heavy, solid lead ball. When you drop it, it doesn't bounce around; necessity drags it straight down into the very first row. An extrovert is a highly bouncy, rubberized ball that naturally ricochets toward the center pockets to maximize its contact with other balls. An introvert, like me, is a smooth ball that naturally glides down the quiet, outer edges of the board to avoid friction. The path each ball takes as it rolls toward its pocket—our walking path down the aisle—is its vector. Its trajectory.
But what happens when you introduce coefficients? Albert tapped his finger rhythmically against his desk. A coefficient is a multiplier. A modifier. In this case, it's a social bond. Imagine that some of the metal balls are highly magnetized. When my two childhood friends entered the room fifteen seconds after me, their natural trajectory didn't matter anymore. We share a high social coefficient. They were magnetized to my location. That magnetic pull overrode their natural vectors, dragging them straight down the aisle to lock into the pockets directly adjacent to mine.
Albert looked back at the teacher, who was calmly waiting for the panic to subside.
It's brilliant. They knew our constants: our psychological weights and biological traits. They knew our coefficients: our magnetic social ties. All they had to do was dictate the variable—the exact fifteen-second interval we were dropped into the phase space. Once they did that, mapping our vectors to the correct attractors wasn't a guess. They just dropped the balls into the machine one by one, and watched gravity do exactly what the math said it would do.
"Now then," the teacher spoke again. "Let's start with self-introduction."
Albert froze.
Endnote of Chapter 1
This story will have a long endnote in almost every chapter. The purpose of this is to hold the universe of the story and prevent it from falling apart. The Narrator, the god of this universe is not the law here. The endnote must be disclosed right after every chapter for the law of the universe be enforced. If the endnote is separated, the universe will collapse. This story prioritizes realism over anime tropes.
Law of the Universe
Math + Logic > Narrator's Will.
Entities of the Universe
1. Narrator. This entity is the god of this universe. It will issue requests to the Logic Engine. The Logic Engine can either grant the Narrator's request or deny it.
2. Logic Engine. This is a computer software where the Math of Psychology is being processed (solved). This is not an AI (LLM). The Logic Engine only functions purely as a tool for computation of the Math Equations of the universe in this story. It will be explained further in the endnotes of future chapters.
How is the Story written?
Traditional Workflow: Narrator's Command--> Scene Generation.
The actual Workflow is: Narrator's Request --> Logic Engine (Physics, Biology, Math, Psychology) --> Scene Generation.
Math of Psychology
Every interaction in this universe is solved by the Logic Engine using different math formulas. In the example of the of predicting the seating arrangement, the Zenith Academy use the following derivable psychological math equation:
Ui,t(c)=[αPi(c)+βSi,t(c)−γDi(c)]×Ωt(c).
This math formula is just an example of how constants, variables, coefficients, vectors, and attractors can be used to predict or even manipulate destiny, just like how Zenith Academy predicted the seating arrangement with high accuracy of 88.9% (32 out of 36).
Disclaimer: This model can be adjusted based on the available data (constants, variables, coefficients, vectors, and attractors).
Use of AI for Research
The plot and heart of the story are 100% human-made. However, the world-building is treated like a simulation. AI and specialized logic software are used to 'stress-test' the ideas, ensuring that the science isn't just 'magic' but actually follows real-world laws.
The Logic Engine and AI are just tools used by human writers.
The Logic Engine is not an AI. It is a computer software used to compute the Math of this universe. Think of it like a calculator.
The AI is a tool for facts verification only. Think of it like a consultant.
The AI is a high-end fact-checker while the Logic Engine computes the math and science. It's a human-driven story supported by a framework of rigorous research.
Ignore this.
Logic Engine Log of Chapter 1
Constants:
Umbrella
Vongola Ring
Caffeine Molecule Key Chain
Tactical Flashlight (Imalent MS03 - 13,000 Lumens)
Leo's Absentmindedness or Chronic Misplacement
Leo's Clumsiness or Heavy-handedness