Four students stood side by side in the room of the Fourth Generation, eating their meal.
Kamiki dipped his spoon into the soup, bringing it calmly to his mouth.
It was utterly flavorless.
The nutritional value was perfectly balanced, but all taste had been systematically stripped away.
In the White Room, there was no room for pleasure.
Without taking his eyes off his food, Kamiki glanced across the table.
Yuki was eating with relish.
Two years had passed.
Within these walls, time had flowed like water.
They were five years old now.
For the Fourth Generation, the Beta Curriculum had transformed into a living hell.
In the beginning, there were over seventy children.
Now, that number had plummeted below thirty.
Most of them simply couldn’t endure it.
Their mental health shattered.
Their bodies broke down.
One by one, they were dragged from the room, never to return.
But these four were the exception.
Kamiki, Kiyone, Shiro, and Yuki.
They hadn’t been crushed between the icy teeth of the White Room.
Instead, they had become the very whetstones that sharpened those teeth.
Their adaptability was terrifying.
The more the pressure mounted, the faster their minds worked.
The more the instructors cranked up the dosage, the more monstrous they became.
This dynamic had created a strange, self-sustaining loop among them.
They were constantly pulling each other up.
The moment one accelerated, the others ran even harder to catch up.
The gap between them and the rest of the children had widened into an unbridgeable chasm.
Inside the White Room, they had established a kingdom of their own.
Mentally, Kamiki called upon the system.
He opened the panel in his mind and pulled up Yuki’s profile.
Right next to Yuki’s name, a specific value materialized: *Affection Number.* > **[ Yuki: 97 ]** A faint smile touched Kamiki’s lips.
It was a staggering number—an almost flawless level of devotion.
Ever since that crying fit two years ago, Yuki had completely anchored her mind to him.
A single word from him held more authority over her than all the rules of the White Room combined.
Yet, this affection hadn’t made her weak.
Quite the opposite; it had turned her into a monster.
Yuki was no longer the timid girl she used to be.
Her social intelligence had always been the highest in the group—she could read people’s emotions and thoughts within fractions of a second—but now, she was thriving across the board.
Her written exam scores were sky-high, and she displayed an unbelievable grit during combat training.
Out of the remaining thirty students, Yuki was firmly ranked fourth.
There were only three people ahead of her: Kamiki, Kiyone, and Shiro.
Yuki only ever lost to those three; she utterly crushed the rest of the children.
In fact, even Shiro and Kiyone were starting to find her difficult to handle.
Beneath Yuki’s sweet, cheerful facade lay an immense, brewing power.
The burning desire not to appear weak in Kamiki’s eyes had become her ultimate fuel.
Kamiki shifted his gaze slowly to his left.
Shiro was standing right beside him.
The past two years had left a profound mark on her as well.
Her hair had grown quite long, and it was already obvious that she would grow up to be a true beauty.
Her deep blue eyes formed a flawless contrast with her pale, porcelain skin.
Kamiki called upon the system once more.
The panel shifted in his mind, bringing up Shiro’s profile.
> **[ Shiro: 93 ]** Another staggering number flashed across his vision.
An indescribable sense of satisfaction washed over him.
*’I am truly grateful for the hand Fate has dealt me,’* he thought silently.
He wasn’t alone in this brutal purgatory.
These genius girls surrounding him were turning into his greatest pillars of support—and his most lethal weapons.
Their loyalty was far sturdier than the walls of the White Room.
Shiro had truly evolved into a beast over these two years, constantly pushing the envelope, especially in combat classes.
Her muscle control and reflexes were immaculate, to the point where she had even surpassed Kiyone in this specific field.
She was now the second-best fighter, right behind Kamiki.
And it wasn’t just physical.
Her exam scores were a perpetual 100.
Perfect marks had become nothing more than a mundane routine for her.
Her social skills had also seen noticeable improvement; she no longer stayed quiet like before, speaking up more often and expressing clearer reactions.
Sensing Kamiki’s gaze, Shiro rested her spoon against the edge of her plate.
She tilted her head to the left, locking her blue eyes directly onto his.
A faint, playful smirk danced on her lips.
“I know I’m beautiful,” Shiro said, her voice entirely serene.
“But staring at a girl for that long is rather rude, Kamiki-kun.” Hearing this, Yuki stopped chewing.
She immediately chimed in, her eyes widening.
“What?
Who is Kamiki-kun looking at?” Yuki asked eagerly.
“I’m pretty too!
You can look at me all you want, Kamiki-kun!” Kamiki let out a soft chuckle, maintaining his gaze.
He kept looking straight into Shiro’s deep blue eyes.
“I don’t think it’s rude,” Kamiki replied evenly.
“I was just thinking about how much you’ve changed over the past two years.
You’ve truly grown, Shiro.” Shiro’s smirk widened a fraction, a proud glint flashing in her eyes.
“My grades are always a hundred,” Shiro noted.
“And I’m right behind you in combat training.
It won’t be long until I catch up.” Kiyone placed her metal spoon down.
The sharp, metallic clink echoed across the table.
She raised her head slowly, fixing her amber eyes directly on Shiro.
“That is impossible,” Kiyone stated.
Her voice still carried a machine-like monotone, but the faintest tremor in her tone suggested that something within her had shifted.
“Kamiki absorbs information significantly faster than any of us.
Over the past five years, we haven’t managed to surpass him in a single field.
Data does not lie.” As she spoke, Kiyone cast her eyes slightly downward.
Though her delivery remained mechanical, a trace of emotion finally bled through her words—a subtle, almost imperceptible hint of frustration.
Kamiki observed her demeanor intently.
In his mind, he called upon the system one last time.
The interface refreshed instantly, bringing up Kiyone’s name and her underlying profile.
> **[ Kiyone: 34 ]** Kamiki’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the corners of his lips twitching upward.
To an ordinary person, a score of 34 might seem low.
But this was Kiyone.
In the original timeline, it would have been practically impossible for her to feel even a single point of affection or attachment toward another human being.
For a prodigy who viewed the world strictly through the lens of utility, numbers, and raw logic, a 34 was a monumental leap.
The ice-hearted masterpiece of the White Room was secretly developing a genuine sense of admiration and loyalty toward him.
Kiyone’s aptitude was undisputed.
Her written test scores were a constant 100, just like Yuki’s and Shiro’s.
But that was merely the surface.
In reality, Kiyone was miles ahead.
Their grades only looked identical because 100 was the absolute ceiling; if there were no upper limit, Kiyone’s scores would have shattered it long ago.
The physical domain was no different.
Despite Shiro being an absolute combat prodigy, Kiyone went toe-to-toe with her.
Out of every ten matches between them, Kiyone secured four victories, with at least one match always ending in a draw.
Even in her weakest areas—emotions and socialization—she had made massive strides over the past two years.
She now actively participated in these table conversations and was fully aware of her own limitations.
Sensing Kiyone’s underlying frustration, Yuki reached across the table and took her hand.
“Don’t be sad, Kiyone-chan!” Yuki cheered brightly.
“Kamiki-kun is basically an alien anyway!
It’s only natural that we can’t surpass him.” Shiro nodded in agreement, her blue eyes never leaving Kamiki.
“Yuki is right,” Shiro said.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.
One day, I will best you, Kamiki-kun.” Kamiki locked his gaze onto Kiyone, his voice radiating a calm, reassuring warmth.
“You don’t have to surpass me,” Kamiki said flatly.
“I am not your ceiling.
You are already at the absolute peak of your own potential.” “The peak is a relative concept,” Kiyone countered.
“If there is a data point higher than me standing right in front of my eyes, then *that* is where my peak lies.
You are the greatest obstacle ahead of us, Kamiki.” Kamiki smiled faintly.
“Alright, alright,” he conceded.
“Finish your food.
The instructors will be here shortly.” Yuki drained the last drop of soup from her bowl, setting her spoon aside.
She then stared down at the boiled carrot slices remaining on her plate, her face twisting into a pout.
“But I really hate these carrots,” Yuki whined, her voice dropping to a low whisper.
“They taste so weird.
Even chewing them is tedious.” Shiro gave a slow nod, turning her blue eyes toward her own plate.
She had already pushed her carrots to the side.
“I dislike them as well,” Shiro added flatly.
“The texture is too mushy.
The mouthfeel isn’t pleasant.” Kiyone joined the consensus, her amber eyes scrutinizing the orange slices on her plate.
She poked a carrot with the tip of her spoon.
“The sentiment is shared,” Kiyone said, her mechanical tone fully returning.
“The glucose content is high, but the aromatic profile is highly unappealing.” All three girls looked up at Kamiki simultaneously, as if waiting for his validation or a way out.
In the White Room, being a picky eater was considered a severe infraction.
Yet, in Kamiki’s presence, they felt safe enough to voice it.
Kamiki looked at their plates one by one.
Then, he tossed the carrots from his own plate into his mouth, chewed calmly, and swallowed.
“You all know the answer to this,” Kamiki said, his tone serious yet gentle.
“These carrots are necessary for your physical maintenance.
The vitamins inside protect your ocular structure and accelerate cellular regeneration.” Yuki’s shoulders slumped.
“But Kamiki-kun…
they taste awful.” “Preferences hold no value in the White Room, Yuki,” Kamiki stated firmly.
“You know this better than anyone.
Your bodies require these nutrients, especially under this grueling curriculum.” Kamiki then looked into Shiro’s blue eyes.
“Vitamin A is essential for your visual tracking capabilities.
Carrots are packed with it.
If you want to catch up to me, you need to finish those.” Shiro paused.
Kamiki’s words hit her right where it mattered.
A sudden flash of fierce determination ignited in her blue eyes.
She plunged her spoon into her plate, scooped up a large carrot slice, and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoroughly without a single flinch.
“I’m finishing them,” Shiro said after swallowing.
“My vision will surpass yours.” Kiyone picked up her spoon as well, consuming her carrots in a calm, rhythmic manner.
As always, she had yielded to pure logic.
Yuki watched her two companions in sheer disbelief.
Both of them were eating the carrots now, leaving her completely isolated.
“Fine, then!” Yuki huffed stubbornly.
“I’m eating them too!” Yuki snatched her spoon and began stuffing the carrots into her mouth.
Her face contorted with every bite, but she didn’t slow down.
She chewed them all violently and forced them down with a heavy swallow.
Her plate was left spotlessly clean.
“Look!
I ate all of them, Kamiki-kun!” Yuki declared proudly, puffing out her chest.
Kamiki chuckled softly at her childish competitiveness.
Reaching out, he gave Yuki’s cheek a gentle, affectionate pinch.
“Good job, Yuki,” Kamiki said.
“Now you’re stronger.
Well done.” An instant, radiant smile broke across Yuki’s face, the dreadful taste of the carrots instantly forgotten.
Shiro slowly tucked a long strand of hair behind her left ear, her blue eyes fixing onto Kamiki’s face.
Her expression had turned uncharacteristically solemn.
“By the way, Kamiki-kun,” Shiro murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Should we hold ourselves back a bit during the next round of tests?” Kamiki set his spoon down.
“Why?” he asked evenly.
Shiro took a deep breath, lowering her gaze to the gray tiles beneath them.
“Too many people are getting eliminated because of us,” Shiro explained.
“Every time the instructors see our scores, they raise the bar.
The other children can’t keep up with this level anymore.” Hearing this, Yuki immediately leaned forward, nodding vigorously in support of Shiro.
Anxiety flickered in her eyes.
“Yes, exactly!” Yuki whispered, glancing around apprehensively.
“Shiro is right.
Every time we push our scores higher, the atmosphere in this room grows heavier.
Because of us, the others are under immense pressure.
Just the other day, the boy in the back row fainted during a test.
They never brought him back.” Kiyone remained silent, sitting motionless at the table.
However, her amber eyes were fixed entirely on Kamiki, waiting to see how he would respond.
Kamiki felt the weight of all three pairs of eyes on him.
His serene expression didn’t waver in the slightest.
He clasped his hands together on the table.
“This is better for them,” Kamiki said, his voice icy, clear, and uncompromising.
Yuki frowned in confusion.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“How could this possibly be better for them?” “Because it gets them out of here faster,” Kamiki replied, locking his eyes onto Yuki’s.
“The White Room does not harbor the weak.
They were bound to be eliminated sooner or later.
By driving the pressure up, we are merely accelerating the process.” Shiro blinked her blue eyes.
“But getting eliminated…
it breaks them.” “And what happens if we hold ourselves back?” Kamiki challenged, lowering his pitch slightly.
“The instructors will stabilize the difficulty.
And those inadequate children will be forced to languish in this hell even longer.
They will endure the exact same torture, day in and day out, for an extended duration.” Kiyone gave a slight nod of agreement at his words.
“That is mathematically sound,” Kiyone stated flatly.
“Instead of prolonged, drawn-out suffering, a short-term, high-intensity burst of pressure is preferable.
In a sense, it serves as a form of salvation for them.” “Salvation?” Yuki murmured, weighing the heavy word in her mind.
“Yes, Yuki,” Kamiki said gently, reaching across the table to place his hand over her smaller one.
“Staying here is not a reward.
This place is an absolute hell.
We are simply the ones capable of enduring it.
For the others, leaving is the best outcome.” Shiro exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
Kamiki’s logic was brutal, but it was absolutely flawless.
“So, we continue at full power?” Shiro clarified.
“At full power,” Kamiki commanded with absolute certainty.
“Do not hold yourselves back for even a single second.
Every time you stand before the instructors, you become more of a monster than before.” Kamiki slowly withdrew his hand from Yuki’s and looked down at his plate, his mind working at an elite pace.
*’Under thirty…’* he mused internally.
He recalled the original timeline from his memories.
Under normal circumstances, there should still have been around fifty children left in the room at this stage of the Fourth Generation.
The Beta Curriculum was an absolute meat grinder, yes, but the rate of elimination had never been this catastrophically rapid.
*’My mere presence here,’* Kamiki realized, *’has fundamentally altered the trajectory.
I’ve triggered a perfect butterfly effect.’* His gaze drifted across the three girls sitting at the table.
Yuki, Shiro, and Kiyone.
Kamiki’s existence hadn’t just catalyzed his own growth; it had set off a massive chain reaction.
He had gathered these three prodigies around himself ahead of schedule, teaching them affection, absolute devotion, and the most cutthroat yet constructive form of competition.
This had forged a terrifying synergy among the four of them.
*’The four of us,’* he thought to himself.
*’We have constantly pushed one another past our limits.
Whenever one of us accelerated, the other three shattered their own boundaries just to avoid being left in the shadow.
And as we evolved, the instructors pushed the difficulty of the tests light-years beyond the original timeline just to keep up with us.’* This reaction from the instructors had triggered an unforgiving wave of natural selection.
Kamiki and the girls could adapt to this monstrous pace because they were anomalies—their capacity for adaptation knew no bounds.
But the remaining children didn’t possess that luxury.
They were simply being crushed beneath the weight of an artificially accelerated, heavily intensified hell.
*’The gap between us and the rest has widened so drastically,’* Kamiki concluded, *’that even sharing the same room feels like an absurdity.
As we grew into giants, they drowned in the wake of our storm.’* Shiro noticed Kamiki slipping into silence, her blue eyes narrowing slightly.
“Kamiki-kun?” Shiro called out.
“Are you thinking about something?
You have that distant look in your eyes again.” Snapping out of his thoughts, Kamiki raised his head and met Shiro’s deep blue gaze.
“It’s nothing,” Kamiki replied smoothly, his tone perfectly composed.
“I was just calculating the next phase.
As our numbers dwindle, the instructors’ focus on us will intensify.
Our margin for error is now officially zero.” Shiro offered a faint smile, an unshakeable confidence radiating from her.
She held her head high.
“Don’t worry, Kamiki-kun,” Shiro said.
“I can handle it with ease.” Yuki immediately cut in right behind Shiro, her eyes sparkling.
She locked her amethyst gaze directly onto Kamiki.
“Yes!” Yuki chimed in enthusiastically.
“As long as you’re by my side, I can endure anything, Kamiki-kun!” Kiyone pushed her empty plate toward the center of the table, her face devoid of any emotion.
“This poses no issue for me,” Kiyone remarked flatly.
“My physical and cognitive capacities have not yet approached their thresholds.
I can sustain this.” Meanwhile, Shiro shifted her gaze away from Kamiki, turning her eyes slowly toward Yuki.
Her mind began a razor-sharp evaluation.
Yuki hadn’t just uttered a statement of loyalty; within the icy, sterile walls of the White Room, that was a pure, unadulterated confession of love.
And that confession had fiercely triggered Shiro’s own suppressed emotions.
Because Shiro loved Kamiki too.
She was deeply, profoundly attached to his dark, protective genius.
To Shiro, Kamiki was the sole sanctuary in this living hell.
Shiro took a quiet, deep breath.
*’Yuki…’* she thought to herself.
*’She has always been a threat.’* They were both in love with the exact same boy.
And the sheer depth of Yuki’s affection made her a lethal rival capable of shaking Shiro’s own position in Kamiki’s life.
*’She has been improving much faster lately,’* Shiro analyzed, watching Yuki’s plate.
*’She’s shattering her limits just to catch Kamiki-kun’s eye.
Written exams, martial arts training…
there’s no trace left of that timid girl.
I won’t let her take Kamiki-kun away from me.’* Noticing Shiro’s intense stare, Yuki tilted her head to the side.
“Is something wrong, Shiro-chan?” Yuki asked, throwing on her usual sweet, cheerful mask.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Shiro narrowed her eyes slightly, letting a playful yet highly competitive smirk slide onto her face.
“It’s nothing,” Shiro replied, her tone laced with a subtle edge.
“I was just warning you not to fall behind me during the next lesson, Yuki.” Yuki let out a soft giggle.
“We’ll see about that, Shiro-chan.
I am never losing to you.” Kamiki silently observed the quiet war brewing between the two girls.
Shiro viewing Yuki as a direct threat was precisely what he wanted.
Satisfied, he closed the panel in his mind.
“Good,” Kamiki intervened, his dark, commanding resolve instantly silencing the girls.
“Keep that hunger.
When the instructors walk through that door, channel this rivalry entirely against them.” The heavy door swung wide open, and the shadow of the instructor fell across the room.
Without a single word, the four children immediately stepped into formation, lining up perfectly.