Masterpiece: One final Test

Chapter 0: One final Test.

The White Room was a place devoid of life, its pristine walls stretching endlessly into the void. It wasn't just a facility—it was a concept, an existence built on cold logic and precision. No warmth, no kindness, no weakness. Just a sterile training ground for children destined to become something more than human. And at the pinnacle of this creation stood Kiyotaka Ayanokoji.

Sitting in the middle of the stark, empty room, Kiyotaka waited without impatience or anticipation. His hands rested on his knees, his posture relaxed but unnaturally still, like a machine powered down between tasks. Emotion, impatience, curiosity—all irrelevant. They had no place here, just as they had no place in him. At least, that's what he had been taught.

The door slid open, and in stepped Atsuomi Ayanokoji—Kiyotaka's father in the most technical sense of the word. But their relationship had never been familial. Atsuomi was the architect of the White Room, and Kiyotaka was his greatest creation. A creation, not a son.

Atsuomi walked in with his usual measured steps, his eyes immediately falling on Kiyotaka. He studied him, just as he always had, with that clinical gaze that saw a masterpiece of his own making.

"You've grown," Atsuomi began, his voice calm and even, with just the slightest hint of satisfaction. "Not physically, but in the influence you hold. Every student in the White Room has felt your presence, whether they know it or not."

Kiyotaka did not respond. He did not need to. Compliments meant nothing here—they were as hollow as the empty room surrounding them. Instead, he watched Atsuomi with cold, expressionless eyes, waiting. He had learned long ago that his father never spoke without a purpose.

Atsuomi approached slowly, each step deliberate, his eyes never leaving his son. "You've exceeded my expectations in every possible way. Intelligence, combat, strategy—no one has ever reached your level."

Kiyotaka's gaze remained unblinking. The praise, though predictable, held no weight. He knew it was true. No one had ever matched him, and no one ever would. This was a fact, not arrogance. After all, he had never known failure.

"And yet," Atsuomi continued, his tone shifting slightly, "there is still one area where you are incomplete."

Kiyotaka tilted his head ever so slightly, the closest thing he ever showed to curiosity. "Incomplete?"

Atsuomi nodded, a thin smile forming on his lips. "Yes. You've mastered every field we've put before you—sciences, mathematics, physical combat. But there's one thing the White Room cannot teach you."

Kiyotaka remained silent, but his father's words hung in the air. He already knew what was coming.

"Social skills," Atsuomi said, as though revealing some profound secret. "The ability to interact with others, to influence them not just through intellect or dominance, but through manipulation of their emotions."

A slight pause followed, but Kiyotaka's expression didn't change. He wasn't surprised, nor particularly interested. The idea of manipulating emotions was trivial, unnecessary. The students here, the instructors, everyone he had encountered—none had posed a challenge that required anything more than logic and precision.

"Emotions," Kiyotaka repeated in his usual monotonous voice. "I was taught that they were weaknesses."

Atsuomi's smile widened just a fraction. "In this place, yes. In the White Room, emotions serve no purpose. But beyond these walls, in the real world, they are a tool. People are ruled by their emotions, whether they realize it or not. To control them, to truly dominate them, you must understand and witness what makes them human."

Kiyotaka's gaze drifted for a moment, considering the implications. The idea of stepping outside the White Room was foreign to him. This place was all he had ever known—a perfectly controlled environment where weakness had no place. The outside world, with its unpredictability, was a battlefield he had never faced.

But then, another thought crossed his mind, one that lingered just beneath the surface. A thought he had suppressed for years, buried deep beneath layers of training and control. 

What if someone out there was stronger than him?

He didn't believe it was possible, but the faintest flicker of curiosity stirred within him. He had never known defeat. But if someone could defeat him, could they prove his father wrong?

"And what if," Kiyotaka began, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever, "your perfect creation were to develop emotions of his own? What would you do then?"

Atsuomi's smile faltered, just slightly, but his response was immediate. "You won't."

Kiyotaka's gaze locked onto his father's, unblinking. "But if I did?"

Atsuomi's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a chilling tone. "If that happens, Kiyotaka, I will return you here to this room. I will strip those weaknesses from you, no matter how long it takes or how painful the process. You were created to be perfect, and I will not allow emotions to ruin that."

The silence that followed was thick, but Kiyotaka remained as still as ever. His father's words didn't surprise him. They only confirmed what he already knew. Atsuomi didn't see him as a person—he never had. He was an object, a tool, something to be honed and sharpened until it reached the peak of perfection. And if that tool were to dull, it would be reforged, no matter the cost.

Kiyotaka finally spoke, his tone unchanging. "You're afraid that I'll become human. That's what you're really worried about."

Atsuomi's expression darkened slightly. "Emotions are a flaw, Kiyotaka. You've never needed them before, and you won't need them now. You're beyond such things."

Kiyotaka's eyes flickered, though only for an instant.

He didn't believe his father's words entirely. Perhaps emotions were a weakness—he had never felt them, after all—but if they were such a danger, why did they hold so much power over the people he had observed from afar? Why did they drive people to madness, to strength, to desperation?

"What happens if I encounter someone who can defeat me?" Kiyotaka asked, his voice a monotone, though the question itself held an edge of challenge. 

Atsuomi's smile returned, cold and sharp. "There is no one stronger than you, Kiyotaka. I've made sure of that."

Kiyotaka didn't respond. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, his thoughts turning inward. Deep down, a part of him yearned for something different. He didn't know what emotions were like. Perhaps, in a way, they could be the one thing his father hadn't accounted for.

"Is that why you're sending me away?" Kiyotaka asked after a long pause. "To test me? To see if I can suppress whatever human flaws might arise?"

Atsuomi stepped closer, his voice lowering as he spoke. "You'll be attending the Advanced Nurturing High School. It's an institution where the brightest minds compete, not just academically, but socially. It's a place where you will be forced to navigate relationships, emotions, desires. You'll need to control people, not through fear or intellect, but through subtle influence. It's the final lesson."

"And if I fail?" Kiyotaka asked, his eyes never leaving his father's.

"You won't," Atsuomi replied, his voice cold. 

Kiyotaka stood, his movements fluid and controlled. "Understood."

With that, Atsuomi exited the room, the door sliding shut with a soft hiss. Kiyotaka remained still for a moment. He had always been the best—no one could defeat him. But now, a part of him wanted someone to. He wanted someone to prove that man wrong.

As he went to prepare for his depature of the White Room, Kiyotaka couldn't help but wonder again the nature of emotions. If they were something his father feared because even he couldn't be able to control them.

And perhaps that was exactly what Kiyotaka needed.