Kamiki chewed the candy in his mouth and swallowed it.
The instructor continued taking notes on his tablet.
“The test is over for you, Kamiki,” the instructor said in a cold, detached voice.
“Return to your mat.” Kamiki gave a slight nod.
He stood up, dusted himself off, and walked briskly toward the three girls waiting for him in the corner.
The girls were sitting side by side on the mat, watching him approach.
Kamiki sat down next to them, a relaxed smile on his face.
“How did it go?” Kamiki whispered.
“Did you guys manage to get any candy?” Yuki eagerly leaned forward, slapping both hands against the pockets of her small shorts.
“I got six whole candies!” Yuki said, her eyes sparkling.
“The instructor moved his hands super fast, but I caught every single one.” Shiro tilted her head slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She pulled the candies from her pocket and showed them in her open palm.
“I got six too,” Shiro said flatly.
“It wasn’t that hard.
But after a while, it just got boring.” Kamiki turned his gaze to Kiyone.
As usual, Kiyone was entirely expressionless.
There wasn’t a single trace of emotion in her golden eyes.
“How about you, Kiyone?” Kamiki asked.
Kiyone rested her hands on her knees.
“I got seven,” she said in a monotone voice.
Yuki cut in, her large eyes locked onto Kamiki, her curiosity written all over her face.
“Kamiki, how many did *you* get?” Yuki asked.
“You were up there way longer than us.” Kamiki leaned back and slipped his hand into his shorts pocket.
The crisp rustle of candy wrappers echoed through the quiet room.
“Well…
I think I got 18,” Kamiki said casually.
All three girls froze instantly.
“Eighteen?” Yuki repeated, her jaw dropping in disbelief.
“The instructors gave us three strikes,” Shiro said, blinking her large silver eyes.
“The test was supposed to end the moment you made a mistake.
How did you go that long without messing up?” “I didn’t make a single mistake,” Kamiki replied.
“In the end, the instructor just didn’t want to drag it out anymore, so he called it format.” Even Kiyone fixed her gaze intently on Kamiki at this answer.
“That’s impossible,” Kiyone said.
“After a certain point, visual tracking creates an illusion in the brain.
The instructor was cheating.
He was switching the candy’s location completely silently behind his back.
Eventually, he wasn’t even holding the candy in his hand at all.” Shiro slid forward on her knees, leaning in very close to Kamiki’s face.
“Incredible,” Shiro whispered.
“How did you guess so accurately?
What’s your secret?” With Shiro asking, Kiyone and Yuki focused entirely on Kamiki with immense curiosity.
The noise level in the room dropped.
Kamiki had captured the absolute attention of the three genius girls.
“Actually, I didn’t just rely on my eyes,” Kamiki said.
“What do you mean?” Yuki asked, knitting her brows.
“How can you see without your eyes?” “Like this,” Kamiki explained.
“When the instructors switch the candy behind their backs, they leave certain openings.
I just pieced all those tells together.
First, I looked at their shoulder alignment.” Kiyone listened intently.
“The shoulders?” she asked.
“Yes,” Kamiki said.
“When passing the candy from the right hand to the left, the instructor’s right shoulder would drop by a fraction of a millimeter.
His left arm would stretch just a bit further back.
It’s a fundamental rule of body mechanics.” “What about when they brought their hands forward?” Shiro asked.
“For that, I looked at hand tension and muscle structure,” Kamiki said.
“The hand holding the candy is always clenched tighter.
The hard object inside the palm stretches the skin, making the knuckles turn slightly white.
The empty hand stays more relaxed.” Kamiki smiled gently.
“I watched you guys.
You actually picked up on this too.
I noticed.” The three of them nodded simultaneously.
Kamiki was right.
The girls had caught some of these cues during their own tests, but they hadn’t been able to map it out as comprehensively as Kamiki did.
“I also paid attention to sounds,” Kamiki continued.
“I listened for that incredibly faint friction of the candy wrapper.
And I didn’t just focus on my instructor; I kept track of my entire surroundings.” Kamiki turned his eyes to Kiyone, his smile deepening.
“Kiyone-chan did the same thing I did.
She didn’t just look at her own instructor.
She analyzed the responses of the other subjects around her, filtering their reactions, their hits, and their misses.
Right?” “Yes,” Kiyone said flatly.
“I observed the answers of the adjacent subjects while they were trying to find the candy.
I mapped the instructors’ hiding rhythm based on that data.
It increased the probability percentage.” “That’s exactly why you’re amazing,” Kamiki said.
“Good job.” As he spoke, Kamiki reached out and pinched Kiyone’s habitually cold, expressionless cheek, squeezing it gently between his fingers.
Kiyone went completely rigid for a moment.
Her golden eyes widened slightly.
That light pressure and warmth on her cheek shattered the rigid logic of her mind once again.
The concept of “sweetness” that Kamiki had taught her was now merging with this phrase—”good job.” *’Pointless physical contact,’* Kiyone thought to herself.
Yet, she didn’t push Kamiki’s hand away.
She just kept staring into his violet eyes.
Seeing this, Yuki immediately barged in.
“I looked around too!” she claimed, thrusting her cheek toward Kamiki.
“Pinch me too!” Kamiki laughed, pulling his hand back from Kiyone’s cheek to pinch Yuki’s instead.
“Good job to you too, Yuki,” Kamiki said.
Shiro silently took Kamiki’s other hand and placed it against her own cheek.
“I couldn’t see the shoulders clearly,” Shiro murmured.
“But I watched the muscles.
I’ll do better next time.” “You guys are already doing amazing,” Kamiki said firmly.
Those words completely shifted the atmosphere in the room.
Everyone felt a surge of warmth.
Yuki was already grinning from ear to ear, while a faint smile graced Shiro’s lips.
The most incredible transformation, however, was Kiyone.
Even her eyes showed a subtle shift—a fleeting spark ignited within those cold, golden depths.
Kamiki watched the girls, a growing sense of pride swelling within his chest.
The ice of the White Room was completely thawing.
“Well then,” Kamiki said, looking around.
“Let’s play a game.” Yuki jumped up excitedly, clapping her small hands together.
“A game?
What game?” she cried out.
Hearing this, the other two immediately looked at Kamiki as well.
“Kamiki-kun, can you teach us new games?” Shiro asked.
Kamiki chuckled.
“Alright, alright.
Calm down,” he said.
“I’m going to teach you much harder, but much more fun mind games.” From that day on, a new era began in the White Room.
Kamiki taught them how to build word chains.
He showed them how to construct memory palaces.
He turned rapid mental multiplication into a sport.
Whenever the instructors weren’t in the room, this place was their kingdom.
Kamiki taught, and the girls turned into absolute monsters.
Just like that, another entire year flew by in the blink of an eye.
Time didn’t stop.
The calendar marched forward.
The fourth generation was now 3 years old.
And the era of games in the White Room was officially over.
The real education was about to begin.
The old, empty room that held nothing but mats was gone.
In its place stood cold, gray, miniature desks.
The atmosphere in the room was now drastically heavier.
The cameras on the walls pivoted with rigid precision.
The instructors held disciplinary rods in their hands.
Classes had officially begun.
The children now sat at their desks from morning until night, learning numbers and memorizing the alphabet.
Reading and writing education was being pushed at the highest possible level.
These three-year-old children were subjected to a pace that would break an ordinary adult.
That day, a deathly silence hung over the room.
The only sound was the scratching of chalk.
In front of them lay white sheets of paper and black ink pens.
The instructor stood at the podium, his voice echoing through the room.
“Today, you will learn Kanji,” the instructor announced.
“Advanced level symbols.
You will be flawless.” He drew a complex Kanji character on the blackboard.
Even the stroke order was critical for the symbol to be written correctly.
“Begin,” the instructor commanded.
“You have thirty seconds.” Every child in the room seized their pens.
Kamiki calmly analyzed the symbol, committing it to memory within a split second.
Moving his small hand, his pen glided smoothly across the paper, executing the symbol flawlessly.
Kamiki turned his head slightly to look at the girls.
Sweat was dripping from Yuki’s forehead.
Her tiny hands were trembling, but she was trying to draw the symbol with absolute concentration.
Shiro, on the other hand, had gone completely mechanical.
Without taking her eyes off the board, her hand moved smoothly, finishing the lines in perfect alignment.
Kiyone was already done.
She set her pen on the desk, watching the instructor with her golden eyes.
Her handwriting was even more symmetrical than what was on the board.
“Time’s up,” the instructor said coldly.
“Pens down.” The instructors began pacing between the rows, inspecting each child’s paper one by one.
A child in the back row hadn’t finished the symbol in time; the lines were crooked and messy.
The instructor loomed over him.
“Slow,” the instructor barked.
“And ugly.” He brought his rigid rod down hard against the boy’s desk.
The child flinched in fear but did not cry.
Crying in the White Room only doubled the punishment.
The boy simply bowed his head.
The instructor arrived at Kamiki’s desk.
He looked down at the paper.
The symbol had been written incredibly fast and was immaculate.
The instructor moved on without a word.
He advanced and stopped in front of Yuki.
Yuki swallowed hard as the instructor examined her paper.
“Incorrect stroke order,” the instructor said harshly.
“You wrote fast, but you failed to follow the rules.” The instructor raised his hand and slammed the rod onto Yuki’s desk.
“You will rewrite it.
Penalty points have been added.” Yuki’s eyes welled with tears.
She wiped them away quickly with her sleeve.
“Understood,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor.
Finally, the instructor checked Kiyone and Shiro’s papers.
He found zero errors in either.
They had written quickly and beautifully.
The instructor returned to the podium.
“Those who cannot write quickly and beautifully have been disciplined,” he said coldly.
“There is no room for weakness in the White Room.
Moving on to the second symbol.” Kamiki picked up his pen again.
He looked at Yuki in the next row.
Her spirits were crushed.
Kamiki gave her a subtle wink, signaling her to *stay calm*.
Seeing this, Yuki took a deep breath and gripped her pen tighter.
She was going to give it everything she had.
The second symbol came.
Then the third.
The lines on the board grew increasingly convoluted.
The time limit remained thirty seconds each time.
The instructors kept their eyes locked on the children’s hands.
Kamiki’s pen never faltered; every single stroke was executed to perfection.
An hour later, the dynamic in the room shifted.
Yuki wasn’t making any mistakes anymore.
The hands holding her pen no longer trembled.
She was drawing the lines in the exact correct order.
Yuki’s adaptability had quickly kicked in.
She hadn’t been crushed under the ruthless pressure of the White Room; instead, she had absorbed it, using it to evolve.
In truth, all three girls possessed this same immense capacity for adaptation, but their growth manifested in vastly different ways, dictated entirely by their personalities and innate talents.
Yuki was incredibly gifted in social intelligence.
She could read people’s emotions instantly and possessed high communication skills.
Even in this sterile room, she could form bonds rapidly.
Shiro was physically superior.
Her muscle control, balance, and speed were flawless.
Kamiki could clearly see it—Shiro would eventually become the best fighter among the three.
Her physical capacity defied logic.
Kiyone was on an entirely different plane.
She was the pinnacle of analytical thinking and pure deduction.
She perceived the world through data, probabilities, and logic.
She could grasp the core of any information within milliseconds and put it into practice.
The instructor dropped the chalk onto the desk.
“That’s enough for today,” he said coldly.
“Clear your desks.
Return to your mats.” The instructors marched out of the room with heavy steps.
The door slammed shut behind them with a loud groan, followed by the echo of the lock turning.
Shiro rose slowly from her desk, stretching her arms upward and popping her small shoulders.
“Finally over,” Shiro said flatly.
“That was really boring.
Drawing the same lines over and over is pointless.” Kiyone also stood up calmly, neatly leaving her paper on the desk.
“It’s not pointless,” Kiyone countered.
“They are testing our motor skills and visual memory.
However, the level was too low for us.” Kamiki stood up as well, but his eyes weren’t on them.
His gaze was locked onto a specific spot in the corner.
Yuki, who was usually bursting with energy, hadn’t moved from her desk.
She sat there, head completely bowed, staring blankly at the floor with her hands clasped tightly over her knees.
The three of them noticed it at the same time.
Shiro stopped stretching, her eyes fixing on Yuki.
Kiyone halted her steps, her gaze analyzing Yuki’s posture.
Kamiki didn’t waste a second.
He walked quickly to Yuki’s desk and knelt before her, bringing himself down to her eye level.
“Yuki?” Kamiki said softly.
“What’s wrong?” Yuki didn’t raise her head, her hair completely veiling her face.
Kamiki reached out, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder, wanting to offer comfort.
“Yuki, are you upset because you made a mistake?” Kamiki asked gently.
“It was just the first symbol.
You wrote beautifully afterward.
We all saw it.
Even the instructor couldn’t find fault with you again.” Shiro walked over to join them.
“Yeah, Yuki,” Shiro added.
“Your later papers were really pretty.
I think they were even neater than mine.” Kiyone stood a bit further away, adjusting her tone to speak.
“Statistically speaking, your success rate is over ninety percent, Yuki.
There is no logical data supporting your distress.” Yuki continued to look down.
Yes, she was upset about making a mistake.
Messing up in the White Room ate away at her.
But that wasn’t the main reason.
The real cause was a profound sense of shame gnawing at her mind.
Her eyes had filled with tears right after she messed up.
She hadn’t been able to hold them back in front of the instructor.
Most importantly, she had cried right in front of Kamiki.
She had shown weakness the moment the instructor struck the desk.
The same thoughts replayed in her mind like a broken record.
*’I cried right next to Kamiki-kun,’* Yuki thought, her eyes welling up again.
*’He saw me.
He definitely thinks I’m a coward now.
He sees me as weak.’* To Yuki, her worth in Kamiki’s eyes meant everything.
She was terrified of losing his affection, absolutely terrified of appearing pathetic to him.
Kamiki felt Yuki’s shoulder tremble even harder.
He realized instantly that this wasn’t just about a Kanji mistake.
“Yuki-chan,” Kamiki said, his voice softening even further.
“Look at me, please.” Yuki slowly lifted her head.
Her eyes were bloodshot, dried tear tracks staining her cheeks, her lower lip quivering slightly.
“I’m…
I’m not weak, Kamiki-kun,” Yuki choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
“I didn’t want to cry.
I really didn’t.” Kamiki smiled.
Without a second thought, he reached up and caught her plump, tear-stained cheeks, squeezing them gently with both hands.
“Who ever said you were weak?” Kamiki said clearly.
“You’re very strong.” Yuki blinked.
“But I cried,” she said.
“Tears came out when the instructor hit the desk.
Don’t you think I’m a coward?” “Never,” Kamiki replied.
“Crying isn’t a sign of weakness, Yuki.
Besides, what did you do right after you cried?
You gripped your pen tighter.
And you wrote every single symbol perfectly after that.” Shiro nodded.
“I would have cried too,” Shiro lied, saying it purely to make Yuki feel better.
“That rod hits really hard.” Kiyone stepped closer.
“Biologically speaking, shedding tears lowers cortisol levels,” she stated evenly.
“This allowed you to focus better during the subsequent exercises.
Therefore, it is not a weakness; it is a system flush.” Yuki looked at Kiyone’s eccentric explanation and Shiro’s support, then locked eyes with Kamiki once more.
Kamiki gently nudged her cheeks side to side.
“See?” Kamiki said.
“Nobody thinks you’re weak.
You’re the brightest light in our group.
If you’re not happy, this place gets too dark.” The massive wave of sorrow clouding Yuki’s face began to dissipate.
The warmth of Kamiki’s hands radiated through her cheeks.
“Really?” Yuki asked, the tears in her eyes finally drying up.
“Really,” Kamiki assured her.
“Now, I want to see that beautiful smile of yours again.” Yuki paused for a beat, then suddenly flashed a massive grin, her eyes crinkling with joy.
She wrapped her small hands around Kamiki’s wrists.
“Okay!” Yuki said brightly.
“I am super strong.
I won’t cry next time!” Kamiki pulled his hands back, looking over at Shiro and Kiyone.
“And there’s our Yuki, back to normal,” he said.
That faint smile returned to Shiro’s face, while Kiyone silently turned back to her spot.
Yet, her mind was busy weighing Kamiki’s words.
*’Crying isn’t a sign of weakness…’* Kiyone repeated internally.
It was a sentence completely antithetical to the rules of the White Room.
But for some reason, coming from Kamiki, it sounded much more accurate.
Following this brief storm, the number 18 in her mind silently began to shift toward 19.