The White Room Dropout - A CotE Fanfic

Prolouge

I woke up to the familiar sight of the white room's pristine walls. It was just another day in my seemingly endless existence. As I got out of bed and began my daily routine of rigorous training, I couldn't help but reflect on my life so far.

I was born and raised within these walls, a product of the white room's relentless pursuit of perfection. From a young age, I was trained to be a prodigy, to surpass all others in intellect, physical ability, and strategic thinking. And I succeeded. I became known as the "Masterpiece of the demonic 4th generation," a title that only fueled my ambition further.

But as I spent more and more time in the white room, I began to realize the true cost of my success. I was stripped of my ability to feel human emotions, leaving me detached from the world around me. To me, human interactions were simply puzzles waiting to be solved, without any real meaning or significance.

As I walked through the long, white corridor, memories of the white room flooded my mind, each one etched with its own peculiar significance. Among them, a particular recollection surfaced—the image of a girl being taken away for failing the ruthless tests we were subjected to in this very corridor.

I remembered vividly how she had pleaded, her voice filled with desperation, as tears streamed down her face. She reached out to me, her eyes searching for a sliver of compassion, a glimmer of humanity. But in that moment, I felt nothing. No empathy, no connection to her suffering. I merely watched as she was whisked away, her cries echoing in the sterile corridors of the white room.

The memory remained a presence, even as I found myself standing once again in the very hall where countless tests had taken place. The cold, impassive gaze of the instructors pierced through us, their voices sharp and commanding. We, the children of the white room, stood in formation, our bodies tense, knowing that what awaited us would be yet another grueling trial.

I glanced at my peers, their faces a mixture of determination and apprehension. We were the so-called "geniuses," the chosen few who had been molded and honed for greatness. But in this moment, as we awaited our fate, I couldn't help but question the true purpose of our existence. Was it solely to surpass one another, to prove our superiority in the eyes of those who had shaped us?

The instructors called out our names, one by one, their voices echoing through the hall. The weight of expectations bore down upon us, the pressure to excel immense. As I stepped forward, a surge of detached clarity washed over me. I would navigate this test like I always did—with calculated precision, my mind a well-honed weapon.

As the instructors called out the names of the other children, a sense of trepidation filled the hall. Whispers spread like wildfire among my peers, their voices laced with fear and uncertainty.

One of the instructor's gaze fell upon the next set of combatants, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and challenge. "Kiyotaka," he announced, his voice cutting through the anxious silence. "You will face Miyashiro, Suzuki, and Kawashima."

The blindfold was placed over my eyes, and darkness enveloped my world. Deprived of sight, my other senses heightened, allowing me to perceive the slightest shifts in the air, the faintest sounds of movement. The uncertainty that gripped my opponents became palpable, their unease tangible in the charged atmosphere.

They stepped forward, their expressions a blend of apprehension and a desperate resolve. They had heard tales of my abilities, my unmatched intellect and combat prowess, and now they stood before me, a mix of fear and determination etched upon their faces.

The crowd held its breath as the battle commenced. My movements were fluid, precise, guided by an instinct honed through countless hours of training. Each strike landed with calculated accuracy, exploiting openings and vulnerabilities I sensed through the subtle cues in my surroundings.