A teenager—no older than seventeen—sat on the edge of his bed, fingers pressed firmly against his temples.
A cup of coffee rested in one hand. He took slow sips, trying to force the bitterness to shock his body awake, but it wasn't working.
His vision blurred in waves, and the room kept tilting slightly with every blink. It wasn't even 19:00 yet.
His body shouldn't have felt like this. Not at this hour. Not after everything he'd trained into it.
The caffeine had no effect. No jolt, no focus, no clarity. Just a thick, creeping drowsiness that refused to let go.
Confused, he opened his phone and typed a short message to the school's medical team. Their number was pre-saved on every student's device—standard protocol.
He sent the message quickly, keeping it simple, just in case his thoughts slowed too much to finish the next one.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
And he knew himself better than anyone.
His health was fine. His routine was tight. He didn't eat anything wrong.
And yet, his body felt like it was sinking.
To stay awake, he forced his thoughts to move—pushing himself to remember every corner of his life, every moment that had shaped him.
If he let go, even for a second, he felt like he might not wake back up.
So he began to think. Not casually—desperately.
One memory at a time.
𓁹𓁹
I still remember that day clearly.
The day the White Room was shut down due to an information leak.
During its suspension, I was relocated to a private residence, placed under the care of Butler Matsuo.
I didn't question the decision. There was no reason to—subjects like me weren't meant to question anything.
The location had changed, but the conditions hadn't. Study, exercise, mental training—I continued everything on my own.
There were no instructors this time, no daily commands or punishments. I was expected to manage myself.
Despite the silence, I was never truly alone. Surveillance cameras were installed in every corner of the residence—hallways, bedrooms, even the bathroom. Privacy didn't exist.
I was monitored constantly, like always. The walls had eyes. I never let my guard down.
I wasn't allowed to step outside. My only connection to the world beyond was the window.
I used to stand there sometimes, watching nothing in particular. Just light, distance, movement. I didn't understand why I kept looking.
Everything else remained the same.
Except one thing.
This time, there was someone else.
Matsuo spoke to me often. His voice was calm, his words never forced. He treated me with quiet care—something I hadn't encountered before.
The food he made tasted the same as the White Room's: bland, functional. But because he served it, sat nearby, stayed present... it felt different.
Something that almost made me feel nostalgic... Nostalgic about my time with shiro and yuki.
Maybe if shiro had given me the idea... About freedom earli— Or If I wasn't trapped in a Literal Competition to remain the last one standing.
....
There's no point thinking about that now.
I bit my lip, trying to stay awake until the health team arrived.
Let's get back to the story.
Occasionally, instructors would visit to check on me. They said nothing, but their results were always the same.
I was growing weaker. Slower. Less precise. They recorded it and left. No scolding. No correction. Just silence.
Time moved without meaning. Days became weeks. Weeks became months.
***
Maybe Matsuo saw something changing in me. Or maybe he couldn't stand watching anymore. I don't know. But one day, he did something I never expected.
He said....
"Kiyotaka-kun… I know a place where you can be free. For at least three years. Your father won't be able to reach you."
The moment I heard those words, my instincts reacted.
My body stayed still, but my thoughts accelerated.
What if this was a test?
Why would Matsuo go against that man by letting me run free?
If I said yes, would he report me?
Would "my father" find out I longed for freedom? That I felt something when I looked out that window?
I considered every possibility. The risk was real.
What if everything Matsuo had done until now—his kindness, his warmth—was just another calculated plan? What if all of it had been designed to make me trust him?
But even through the doubt, one thing stopped me.
The look on his face.
His voice when he spoke.
The silence that followed.
During that time...I was not skilled at reading emotions. I wasn't raised to understand them. But somehow, I knew.
He was telling the truth.
So I nodded.
And I braced myself for whatever came next.
***
I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on a single object.
The door.
I let out a quiet breath.
Huff.
Let's continue.
It was just a few days before the winter holidays when that man found his way to me.
Even those who held the highest positions at this school had bowed before his authority. And I had simply stood there, silent, accepting what felt like an inevitable outcome.
So Matsuo had been wrong.
There was no place in this world where I could hide from him.
Even if I couldn't see them, I knew his guards were nearby. He never went anywhere—never even entered a bathroom—without them.
Eventually, he and I began to talk.
He pulled out a stack of documents. Withdrawal papers. If I signed them, I'd be agreeing to leave this school.
That was when it hit me.
I still had control.
As long as I didn't sign, he couldn't take me away.
When I refused, he began speaking about Eichiro—Matsuo's son.
He told me the boy had been accepted into a prestigious university.... Just to get expelled afterwards. That even after his father had betrayed that man to help me escape, Eichiro never said a single bad word about him. He worked part-time jobs, endured quietly, and kept moving forward.
Then he said something else.
He told me Matsuo had burned himself alive. That he had done it in a desperate attempt to earn forgiveness.
I didn't show a reaction—but inside, I froze.
He kept going.
He said that after Eichiro learned about his father's death, he committed suicide.
Hung himself from the roof.
Refused to live in a world without him.
My thoughts had begun to race, but my face remained the same.
He was trying to trap me in guilt.
But there was something I understood well:
A tongue can mimic truth, but evidence does not lie. Trust spoken without proof is trust offered to a shadow.
He had brought no proof. No death certificate. No photos. No reports. Nothing.
Just words.
He could've been lying.
And even if he wasn't—
Even if it was true that they both died—
That only made my decision more certain.
If they gave their lives to give me this chance, Then I owed it to them not to waste it.
I wasn't going to leave. I had more than reason—
I had resolve.
Because for the first time in my life…
I truly wanted to stay.
***
I stood up, refusing to let myself fall asleep until they arrived.
Sigh.
Just a few weeks ago… I had confessed to her.
After months of carefully blurring her vision, altering her thoughts, guiding her without her realizing—it had finally happened.
I had confessed.
To a parasite named Karuizawa Kei.
And while I held her in that moment, I remember praying.
I don't know to who. Maybe no one. But I prayed.
I prayed that I was smiling.
That maybe, someday, she might become something more than just a tool to me.
I have given myself an entire year.
The whole second year. That is the deadline.
Once that time passes, I will break up with her.
If I manage to do it without the slightest hesitation…
Then it means I felt nothing.
But if even a flicker of doubt remains—
Even a moment of nervousness—
Then that would be proof.
Proof that I have fallen in love.
But one thing was already certain.
By the time the second year ends…
Kei—this so-called parasite—would no longer be a parasite.
I would make her stand on her own.
An independent person who didn't need anyone else to hold her up.
Not even me.
And then—
Knock.
A soft, deliberate knock on the door.
***
Knock.
I finally heard it.
A soft knock on the door.
But even before the sound fully registered, I already knew.
It was too late.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
My legs buckled. My vision trembled at the edges.
Because by the time I heard the first knock, my body had already begun to fall.
There was no warning. No pain. Just a drowning heaviness that clawed through every nerve like fog seeping under a locked door.
I had no idea where this drowsiness came from— But it wasn't sleep. It wasn't natural.
It was something deeper. More absolute.
And then—
I slept.
Or… something inside me shut down.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
The knocking grew sharper. Louder.
No longer gentle, no longer polite.
It echoed inside my head like a heartbeat—out of rhythm, angry.
Somewhere between unconsciousness and collapse, I heard it.
A voice.
But not one I recognized.
Not human.
Not mechanical.
Something in between.
[Aspirant. Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]
The words rang out in perfect clarity, bypassing my ears and embedding directly into thought.
Like commands written across my mind.
Everything around me darkened. Not the soft black of sleep—
But the empty void of something waiting.
Something ancient. Watching.
And in that stillness, I knew:
This was no ordinary sleep.
This was the beginning of something else.
And soon.
I opened my eyes.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________