Another full five months passed.
Inside the walls of the White Room, time flowed like water.
Throughout this period, the instructors never paused.
Every day, every hour, they continued to push the children to their absolute limits.
The training grew progressively harsher.
Flashcards on tablets displaying complex symbols remained a constant fixture.
To stimulate neural development, classical music played for hours on end.
In the background, foreign language tracks looped continuously so their ears would adapt.
It wasn’t just mental, either.
To reinforce the children’s muscular structure, specialized massages were administered daily, paired with rigorous physical exercises.
And finally, they reaped the fruits of their labor.
Currently, every single child in the fourth generation could walk with ease.
Slowly but surely, they were also learning to speak.
Under normal circumstances, a toddler’s first words at this age would be “Mama” or “Papa.” However, in this cold, sterile environment, those words held zero meaning.
The children only offered short, mechanical responses to the instructors’ prompts.
Except, of course, for one person.
Kamiki Johan now held one hundred percent control over this tiny body.
His vocal cords were fully developed.
He could utter any word he desired, in whatever tone he pleased.
The instructors had just stepped out of the room.
The children were left to themselves on the mats.
Kamiki moved immediately.
He walked straight toward Kiyone, who was sitting in the corner.
Kiyone was exactly as she always was—staring blankly at the wall.
There wasn’t a single shred of emotion in her eyes.
Kamiki stopped right in front of her and dropped to his knees.
“Hey, Kiyone,” he said.
His voice was far too clear and fluent for a child.
Kiyone slowly raised her head and looked at Kamiki.
Once again, he was met with those dull, golden eyes.
Suddenly, Kamiki reached out.
He caught Kiyone’s tiny face between his hands.
“Don’t look so lifeless,” Kamiki said, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.
He gently pinched her cheeks between his fingers.
Kiyone froze.
She continued to stare with those blank eyes, but this time, a microscopic, almost invisible trace of astonishment surfaced in her gaze.
Because in the White Room, no one had ever touched her like this.
The instructors only handled her like a mere specimen, with cold, clinical hands.
This warm, sudden gesture caught her completely off guard.
Seeing her reaction, Kamiki’s smile widened.
“You’re really cute, Kiyone-chan,” he said cheerfully.
Using both hands, he continued to squish her chubby cheeks, gently shaking them side to side.
By now, Kiyone could comprehend everything around her with perfect clarity.
She engraved every command from the instructors, every audio cue from the tablets, and every single word into her mind.
Yet, she couldn’t quite figure out this boy named Kamiki standing before her.
*Why?* Kiyone questioned internally.
*Why is he touching me?* She peered into Kamiki’s eyes.
There was a strange glint in those coal-black irises.
Kiyone’s mind scrambled to analyze the situation.
Everyone else in this room was mute.
They either feared the instructors or sat around vacantly.
Even Shiro kept to herself in a corner.
So why was this boy so energetic?
Why was he so eager?
Kiyone parted her tiny lips.
She wanted to speak.
She couldn’t stitch words together perfectly yet, but she had to ask.
“Wha…
wh…
y?” Kiyone managed.
She was trying to say, *Why?* Kamiki stopped pinching her cheeks and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Because we’re friends, Kiyone-chan,” Kamiki said.
“Don’t you ever forget that.” Kiyone knew what the word *friend* meant; she had seen it in the dictionary data on the tablet.
But in the White Room, the concept of a “friend” wasn’t supposed to exist.
Kiyone tilted her head slightly, continuing to study Kamiki.
This boy was fast becoming the greatest riddle she had yet to solve.
Kamiki smiled back at Kiyone’s bewildered expression, keeping his hands firmly on her shoulders.
“Do you know what friendship means?” Kamiki asked, his voice incredibly soft.
“It means protecting each other.
Having fun together.
Sharing the loneliness in this room.” Kiyone kept staring at him, scanning the dictionary data in her mind.
The literal definition matched, but the logic didn’t compute.
“Pro…
pro…
tect?” Kiyone murmured, struggling to form the word properly.
There were only instructors here.
And there were only tests.
What did it mean to protect each other?
Why would anyone protect anyone else?
Still failing to grasp it, Kiyone kept her head tilted.
The blank yet curious look in her eyes remained unchanged.
Seeing her puzzled, adorable stance, Kamiki couldn’t hold back any longer.
He suddenly extended his arms, scooped Kiyone up by her tiny torso, and pulled her into a tight hug.
Kiyone’s body tensed for a split second.
For the first time in her life, she was feeling this kind of warmth.
Kamiki rubbed his cheek against Kiyone’s soft one.
“You really are too cute,” Kamiki said gleefully.
“So cute, Kiyone-chan.” Kiyone was at a total loss for what to do.
Her arms dangled uselessly at her sides as she simply tried to run a mental analysis on this bizarre sensation.
Right then, the sound of rapid footsteps approached from behind.
There was a sudden movement across the mats.
It was Yuki.
In this world, Yuki had inherited the immense potential of the original story’s Ayanokoji.
Because of this, she was developing at a terrifying speed.
Physically and mentally, she was one of the brightest sparks of the fourth generation.
But unlike Kiyone, Yuki was a far more social child.
She hadn’t completely lost her human emotions.
She loved spending time with Kamiki.
She took great joy in playing with him and trying to talk to him.
Though she couldn’t form full sentences yet, she constantly made sounds, eager to communicate.
Kamiki turned his head and saw Yuki approaching them with a bright expression.
He immediately released Kiyone and faced Yuki.
“How are you, Yuki-chan?” Kamiki asked, waving with a smile.
Yuki stopped.
She looked at Kamiki with large, radiant eyes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, without tripping over her tongue, she spoke.
“Good,” Yuki said.
Her voice echoed clearly across the room.
In that exact instant, all three of them froze.
It was as if time itself had ground to a halt.
Kamiki’s eyes widened in sheer shock.
Kiyone’s gaze instantly snapped over to Yuki.
An absolute silence enveloped the room as a massive wave of shock rippled through it.
Up until now, the children of the fourth generation couldn’t articulate words seamlessly.
Yuki, Shiro, and Kiyone knew the vocabulary, but they always stuttered.
Their voices came out fragmented and elongated.
Yet, Yuki had just said it in a single breath.
A crisp, clean, smooth “Good.” Not a stutter, but a direct, flawless delivery just like an adult.
*Her potential is absolutely terrifying,* Kamiki thought to himself.
*This girl truly carries Ayanokoji’s raw power.* Kiyone was equally stunned.
She observed Yuki’s sudden linguistic leap, drawing immediate comparisons within her own mind.
Shaking off the shock, Kamiki walked over to Yuki and took her small hand.
“You’re amazing, Yuki,” Kamiki praised.
“You learn so fast.” Yuki grew even more ecstatic at the compliment.
“Ka…
Kamiki…” she tried, attempting to say his name.
This time she stuttered a bit, but the light in her eyes didn’t dim.
Kiyone watched Yuki from where she sat, her golden eyes filled with deep, analytical thoughts.
“Kiyone,” Kamiki called out, pointing a finger at Yuki.
“You should follow Yuki’s example.” Kiyone slowly turned her head toward Kamiki, merely listening.
“You never talk,” Kamiki said, his voice carrying the gravity of a teacher.
“The more you speak, the faster you’ll learn.
Try to be a little social.” Kiyone remained silent, weighing the word *social* in her head.
Meanwhile, Kamiki was assessing the situation internally, comparing the two girls.
*In reality, their potential is identical,* Kamiki reasoned.
*Their intelligence levels are monstrous.
But Yuki is more social.
She doesn’t shy away from communication, which is likely why she picked up speaking faster.* Yuki nudged closer to Kamiki, tugging at the edge of his clothes.
“Play…” Yuki said, straining a bit to get the word out this time, but pushing through regardless.
Kamiki gently patted her hair, then looked at both girls.
“Now, both of you wait for me,” Kamiki instructed.
He stood up, taking small strides toward the opposite end of the room.
Shiro was sitting all by herself in the corner.
Her silver hair fell all the way down to her shoulders.
Over the past few months, it had grown quite long, practically glowing against the backdrop of the white room.
She looked incredibly precious, yet her gaze remained entirely vacant.
Kamiki stopped in front of her.
Bending down, he grabbed Shiro by her arms and hoisted her up gently.
Shiro offered no resistance whatsoever, resembling a lifeless porcelain doll.
Holding her hand, Kamiki led Shiro back to the other girls.
Now, the three most exceptional girls of the fourth generation stood side by side.
Kamiki sat down across from them.
“Alright,” Kamiki announced, looking at the trio.
“Now, I want all of you to try and speak.” Yuki clapped her hands happily, while Shiro tilted her head slightly, her long silver hair draping over her face.
“To…
speak?” Shiro uttered.
Her voice was incredibly faint and raspy, delivered with a heavy stutter.
Kamiki nodded, adopting a determined expression.
“Yes, to speak,” Kamiki repeated.
“You need to learn how to talk quickly.
It’s very important.” Kiyone’s lips twitched as she locked her golden eyes onto Kamiki’s violet ones.
“Why…
important?” Kiyone asked.
This time, she connected the words with much more clarity.
Kamiki smirked inwardly.
*That’s it,* he thought.
*The more I push, the more you unlock.* “Because,” Kamiki whispered, leaning in close.
His voice was barely a breath.
“We need to fully understand what the instructors are talking about.” Kamiki had successfully captured the absolute attention of all three girls.
In this freezing, sterile room of the White Room, these future geniuses had, for the first time, focused on a power outside of their instructors—they focused on Kamiki.
Kamiki straightened up, eyeing the three girls intently.
He flashed a wide grin, wanting to keep the children’s engagement alive.
“Now, we’re going to play a game,” Kamiki declared.
Yuki’s eyes lit up instantly.
She shifted excitedly in her spot, smacking her tiny hands together.
“Game!” Yuki chirped, her voice brimming with joy.
Kiyone merely blinked, matching the word *game* with her internal database, but waited silently.
Shiro raised her head slightly, peering at Kamiki from behind her long silver bangs.
“What…
game?” Shiro asked, her voice still muted and halting.
Kamiki began to outline the rules, raising a single finger.
“It’s very simple,” Kamiki said.
“I am going to say a word to you.” The three girls listened to him seamlessly.
“And you will say a word back that relates to it,” he explained.
“But you have to say it fast.” Kiyone knitted her brows slightly, trying to grasp the logic.
“Like…
what?” Kiyone questioned, selecting her words with increasing ease.
Kamiki provided an immediate example.
“For instance,” Kamiki said.
“If I say *apple*, you say *tree*.” Yuki nodded, appearing to understand.
“I want a word that is closely linked to mine,” Kamiki added.
“Whatever pops into your mind first, say it.” Kiyone’s golden eyes narrowed.
It was a word-association test.
It was highly similar to the examinations the instructors forced them through, but this time, it was packaged as a game.
“We’ll go in order,” Kamiki said, gesturing toward Shiro.
“Let’s start with Shiro.” Shiro looked down at herself in surprise.
“Then Kiyone,” Kamiki continued.
Kiyone gave a microscopic nod of acknowledgement.
“And finally, Yuki,” he concluded.
Yuki giggled happily, adopting a ready stance.
Kamiki took a deep breath, selecting his first word.
He wanted to gauge their cognitive processing speed.
“Are you ready?” Kamiki asked.
“Ready!” Yuki chirped instantly.
Kiyone and Shiro nodded their heads in silence.
Kamiki turned to Shiro, looking straight into her eyes.
“Here comes the first word,” Kamiki said.
“Water.” Shiro didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second, her silver hair swaying.
“Ocean,” Shiro answered.
No stuttering, delivered in one clean shot.
Kamiki smiled.
“Excellent,” he praised, pivoting immediately to Kiyone.
“Cloud.” Kiyone’s mind fired at warp speed.
Zero hesitation.
“Rain,” Kiyone stated.
Her voice was completely flat and devoid of emotion, but lightning-fast.
*Incredible,* Kamiki thought.
It was Yuki’s turn.
He snapped over to her.
“Sun.” Yuki grinned ear to ear.
“Hot!” Yuki shouted, her voice ringing out in the room.
Kamiki clapped his hands.
The game was progressing beautifully.
All three monstrous infants were executing word association flawlessly.
“You’re all doing great,” Kamiki encouraged.
“Now, I’m upping the tempo.” For the first time, a faint spark of competitiveness flared in Kiyone’s eyes.
Shiro, on the other hand, was entirely locked into the game.
Within the freezing walls of the White Room, a young boy had just initiated a battle of wits.
Kamiki leaned forward slightly, the violet reflections in his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Faster now,” Kamiki urged, his tone impatient.
“Get ready.” All three girls anchored their eyes onto Kamiki.
The atmosphere in the room sharpened instantly.
Kamiki looked directly at Shiro.
“Darkness.” Shiro didn’t skip a beat, her silver hair falling slightly over her face.
“Night,” Shiro replied, her voice ice-cold.
Kamiki pivoted to Kiyone in a flash.
“Cage.” Kiyone’s golden eyes didn’t track a millimeter.
Her mind processed the data in a millisecond.
“Room,” Kiyone answered, her tone deadpan.
It was glaringly obvious she was referring to the White Room.
Without stopping, Kamiki tossed the pass to Yuki.
“Flower.” Yuki bounced on the spot with glee.
“Scent!” Yuki cheered.
Kamiki doubled his speed, practically hurling the words at them.
He whirled back to Shiro.
“Cold.” “Snow,” Shiro fired back.
“Time,” Kamiki threw out, eyeing Kiyone.
“Clock,” Kiyone shot back.
“Food,” Kamiki commanded, turning to Yuki.
“Milk!” Yuki shouted.
The game had completely transcended reality.
Any outside observer would never believe that eleven-month-old infants could perform word association at this blistering speed.
Words were flying through the air.
None of them tripped.
None of them stuttered.
Kamiki smirked internally.
*This is fantastic,* he thought.
*I’ve completely triggered their speech centers.* In this dark and silent corner of the White Room, a very bizarre bond was forging among these three children.
And inside the observation deck, the instructors were completely paralyzed by this massive development.
The interior of the instructors’ room was freezing.
One of the massive screens lining the wall displayed the white room housing the fourth generation.
The three instructors standing before the monitor had turned to stone.
Their eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.
Through their headsets, the children’s voices came through with crystal clarity.
*”Darkness.” -> “Night.”* *”Cage.” -> “Room.”* *”Flower.” -> “Scent.”* The speed at which the words were being traded would test the boundaries of a fully grown adult.
Yet, the ones executing it were mere eleven-month-old infants.
“This…” a younger instructor stammered, his voice completely cracking.
“How is this even possible?” The senior instructor set his coffee mug down on the console.
He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.
The coffee spilled onto the desk, but he didn’t even glance at it.
“They aren’t stuttering,” the senior instructor muttered.
“Not a single one of them is faltering.
Where are the language development reports?!” The third instructor frantically hammered away at the keyboard, bringing up various graphs on an adjacent screen.
“According to the projections, the fourth generation should barely be babbling syllables,” the younger instructor said, cold sweat pooling on his forehead.
“These metrics are completely impossible.” The stern-voiced head instructor stepped forward.
He locked his glare onto the boy with the violet-tinted eyes on the screen.
Kamiki sat dead-center among the three girls, conducting the game like an expert maestro.
“The girls aren’t the anomaly,” the head instructor spoke, his voice grimmer than usual.
“The problem is that boy.” The other two instructors nodded grimly.
“Kiyone, Shiro, and Yuki…” the younger instructor added.
“They are absolute monsters.
We already knew their potential was off the charts.” “Yes,” the senior one concurred.
“But they are merely subjects.
They could never have reached this milestone on their own.
He is the one pulling them up to this level.” On the screen, the game raged on.
The way Kamiki hurled the words, the manner in which he directed the girls—it was plain as day.
He wasn’t acting like a toddler; he was behaving like a veteran professor shaping geniuses.
The head instructor slammed his fist onto the console.
“This boy…” he growled through gritted teeth.
“This Kamiki…
is he even human?” “His brainwave readings appeared within normal parameters,” the younger instructor replied fearfully.
“But his intellect…
it’s as if his mind is mocking us.” “Do you remember the day he sabotaged our evaluation?” the senior instructor chimed in.
“He deliberately provided incorrect answers.
We should have realized it back then.” The debate within the room escalated rapidly, panic visibly setting in among the staff.
Never in the history of the White Room had such an anomaly occurred.
“What are our orders?” the younger instructor pressed.
“Do we halt the curriculum?” The head instructor kept his eyes glued to the monitor.
His gaze held a volatile mixture of raw fascination and sheer terror.
“No,” the head instructor commanded.
“We intensify it.
If that boy is human, we will find his breaking point.” He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone in the room understood the unspoken implication.
Meanwhile, on the monitor, Kamiki was gently tapping Kiyone’s nose, smiling with an elegance that no eleven-month-old infant should possess.
“Kamiki,” the head instructor, Suzukake, murmured under his breath.
“You will either become the White Room’s greatest masterpiece…
or its ultimate nightmare.” As the cameras continued to record, the instructors kept taking notes in a state of absolute shock.
The fourth generation of the White Room was being completely reshaped at the hands of a single child.