COTE : Is Talent Everything? (Rewrite)-Chapter 145 - 141: The Counterfeit Boy Part 1

The strongest, the most exceptional, and the most abnormal in the White Room.

One was called the masterpiece.

The other, the mutation.

This is the story of dissecting those two "humans"—

---

The White Room—a facility designed to artificially produce geniuses. A sterile, white environment devoid of ornamentation, it was an unprecedented experimental institution. Some called its plan "grandiose, absurd... and terrifying."

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Years after its inception, the facility's director, Ayanokōji Atsuomi, observed the progress of the ongoing 4th Generation.

The White Room's curriculum was divided into ten tiers, each increasing in difficulty. The highest, most grueling tier was the β Curriculum—a program so extreme it risked fatalities. It was currently being implemented for the 4th Generation.

The reason for subjecting the 4th Generation to this curriculum was simple: Atsuomi's own son belonged to it. By imposing the harshest education on his generation, Atsuomi aimed to strengthen the facility's standing among its investors.

"Progress report, Ayanokōji-sensei."

One of the instructors addressed Atsuomi. Since this was the first implementation of the β Curriculum, Atsuomi personally oversaw the 4th Generation's education.

"The 4th Generation children have turned seven. Your son, Kiyotaka, continues to lead the group with exceptional performance. Following closely is Shirō, who has also maintained high results."

Atsuomi showed no reaction to his son's name. To him, Kiyotaka was not a child—he was a possession.

"However, we still cannot fully comprehend Kiyotaka's capabilities. Suzukake has been monitoring him, but..."

All instructors in the White Room were researchers excelling in their fields—though many had been exiled from academia due to past misconduct. Suzukake was one such figure, the architect of the White Room's educational framework.

Despite his parents' unremarkable DNA, Kiyotaka's abilities were extraordinary. The depths of his potential remained unknown.

"Is that all?"

"No, there is one more matter."

The instructor handed Atsuomi a document containing a child's photo and academic records.

"Hachiman? This child?"

The instructor nodded.

"Hachiman was previously unremarkable. His only notable achievement was an anomalous result in the gummy experiment at age two."

The gummy experiment tested a child's ability to discern which hand held a candy—a method to cultivate observational and skeptical thinking from infancy. Only Kiyotaka and Hachiman had produced anomalous results. Beyond that, Hachiman had been just another face in the crowd.

But the instructor continued.

"However, after turning seven, his growth rate became abnormal. In terms of sheer potential, even Suzukake evaluates him as surpassing Kiyotaka."

In the White Room, being ranked above Kiyotaka held immense significance. Others had temporarily surpassed him, but Kiyotaka always caught up.

"Abnormal?"

"Yes. There were no early signs—just sudden, explosive growth. From nearly failing, he now rivals Kiyotaka and Shirō in a frighteningly short time. Frankly, it's unnatural."

"What of his parents' DNA?"

"Suzukake assessed them as entirely ordinary."

In other words, like Kiyotaka. The possibility of a student surpassing his son flickered in Atsuomi's mind.

"Leave Hachiman to Suzukake."

"Understood."

With that order, Atsuomi turned his attention to Hachiman's ongoing training.

---

Color.

The colors that filled my vision.

But every day, all I remembered was an endless expanse of—

White.

---

"Begin the academic test."

A white room.

White desks arranged in rows. Fifty-one children sat at them, pens in hand, awaiting the instructor's signal.

"Start!"

Since the age of four, written exams had become routine. Like the others, I worked through the problems—proofs of summation, multidimensional spatial diagrams, and more. As I finished, the instructor spoke again.

"Stop."

The scratching of pens ceased, leaving the room in silence.

"Results will now be announced."

Papers were collected, and the instructor began listing scores in descending order.

"100% accuracy. First place—Kiyotaka."

Kiyotaka had achieved a perfect score for the fourth consecutive time. Though he had started at 24th place, he had climbed relentlessly to the top.

"60% accuracy. 35th place—Hachiman."

Scores continued to be called. Mine was 35th out of 51—a drop from 27th last time. A lack of study was likely to blame.

"..."

After announcing the top 50, the instructor stared at his tablet, then walked toward the seated children.

At that moment, the child beside me began trembling. Only 50 names had been called—the remaining one was theirs. They must have realized their fate.

"Failure to meet the baseline results in expulsion."

In this facility, failing to meet standards in academics, physical ability, or any other metric meant literal expulsion. The original 74 students had already dwindled to 51.

The only reason these children, who knew nothing of the outside world, endured the curriculum was the threat of expulsion. Failure meant removal—a fact ingrained in all of us.

"W-Wait! One more chance...! I can still do it, I can—!"

"The decision is final."

"No... NO!"

"The rest of you are dismissed. Today's curriculum is concluded."

"...!"

For a moment, my eyes met the expelled child's. Overwhelmed, they couldn't speak—but their gaze held a despair that seemed to plead even with me, a stranger.

I didn't know what to do with that look. We had never spoken. I had no obligation—or means—to help.

Besides, communication was nonexistent among the 4th Generation.

From birth, we had been conditioned through physical and psychological discipline. While this produced superior abilities, it also eroded our sense of self.

"Let's go."

Turning my back on the expelled child, I followed the others back to my room.

---

The endlessly white hallway. Though familiar, I habitually searched for any color other than white.

After returning to my room, I headed to the cafeteria. Running late, I found the halls empty.

"Hm?"

Just then, I spotted two children rounding a corner. Thinking nothing of it, I followed—only to hear a soft thud.

"...Kiyotaka and Yuki?"

Peeking around the corner, I saw Kiyotaka and a girl named Yuki. She had fallen, the sound likely from her hitting the ground. But it was strange—there was nothing to trip over.

"Why did you fall? Tripping over nothing is odd."

Unable to ignore her, Kiyotaka offered a hand.

"Or is it fatigue? No, you don't seem tired."

"...Yeah."

Yuki took his hand but seemed unsure why she had fallen.

"I'm not tired, but I just... fell. Weird, right?"

As she spoke, her face shifted into an expression I had never seen before. Her cheek muscles, the orbicularis oculi around her eyes, the corrugator supercilii near her brows—all forming something new.

A smile.

"Let's go together?"

She tugged Kiyotaka's hand, pulling him along until they disappeared from view.

"...What was that?"

That expression—a smile—was something I had never seen before. I didn't understand how she had made it.

"Can I smile too?"

Driven by curiosity, I bypassed the cafeteria and rushed to the restroom. Ensuring I was alone, I stood before the spotless mirror.

I tried lifting the corners of my mouth, pinching my cheeks, even pulling at my eyelids—but no matter what, I couldn't replicate Yuki's smile.

"What are you doing?"

"...Eh?"

While tugging at my face, I was startled by a voice. Another 4th Generation boy—Shirō—stood behind me, looking puzzled.

My surprise wasn't at being caught in an odd act, but at being spoken to at all.

"You're Hachiman, right? Why are you in front of the mirror?"

"...Practicing. Smiling."

Confused, I answered honestly. Shirō looked even more bewildered.

"Practicing smiling? Why?"

"I saw a girl smiling earlier. Wondered if I could too."

"But... do people practice smiling?"

"Eh?"

Now that he mentioned it, Yuki's smile had been effortless. The idea of forcing one seemed absurd—yet my curiosity had blinded me to that.

"Pfft—what's that about?"

"!"

My eyes widened. Shirō had just done what I couldn't—smiled, if only for a second.

"Why did you smile just now?"

"Dunno. Looking at you, it just... happened."

Even Shirō seemed surprised. A smile—something that came naturally, without thought.

"Do you want to smile, Hachiman?"

I hesitated. Did I want to? Had seeing Yuki and Shirō made me desire it without realizing?

"I don't know."

"What are you two doing? You should have finished eating by now."

The instructor's interruption ended our first conversation.

---

"There are tomatoes today."

"Hachiman, you don't like tomatoes?"

"They make me go bleh, so no."

"...Want me to eat yours when the instructor isn't looking?"

"Really?"

"Trade me your carrots, then."

After the restroom incident, Shirō began talking to me more often. Though we never interacted openly, we exchanged words during meals or breaks in combat training.

At first, I was unsure—but I soon found our conversations meaningful. Unlike before, when I had no connections, the White Room's harsh routine felt slightly easier to bear.

At age six, a new VR curriculum was introduced—simulated travels to teach societal norms and public systems. Though just images, experiencing something beyond the facility's walls was exhilarating for all of us.

Shirō, especially, adored it. During our rare talks, he often spoke of the outside world.

Then, one day—

"Hachiman, want to leave this place with me someday?"

During sparring, Shirō suddenly posed the question. I had expected more talk of the outside world—not this.

"Out of nowhere... Why?"

We couldn't stop mid-spar. I dodged his strikes as I replied.

"I've always thought something was off here. The facility forces knowledge on us. Everything is forced."

"But since birth, that's all we've known."

"Then I'll reject normal. I don't care if it's abnormal—I want freedom. I want to see the outside world. Not through VR. For real."

His expression was fiercer than ever, his attacks carrying extra weight.

"I want to be free. I want to experience the world with friends."

"Friends?"

The unfamiliar word made me pause. Shirō smiled—just like that day in the restroom.

"You, Hachiman. My first friend."

With that, he swept my legs and pinned me. But there was no pain—he was faking the hold to keep talking.

"Let's leave together. Once we're older—once we're strong enough to survive on our own. Let's go."

He released me as the instructor called the match. To outsiders, it had looked like a prolonged submission.

"Shirō."

Before the next session, I discreetly approached him.

"I don't know if I care about the outside world. But if it's with you... I think I'd like that."

I whispered it, then walked away.

Shirō spun around, his face alight with joy—if only for a second.

This wasn't a lie. Since meeting Shirō, something inside me had changed. Maybe this was what happiness felt like.

With him, I could keep discovering new things. If we left, if we were free—there would be even more. So yes, I wanted to go with him.

"Though it won't be easy."

When Shirō said "once we're older," he meant old enough to survive alone. Even with VR-gained knowledge, two children would struggle.

Shirō was exceptional—especially in combat, perhaps the best in the facility.

But I wasn't. Before we could leave, I might face expulsion. To keep our promise, I had to improve.

"Begin the physical aptitude test."

Even if I had no talent.

If I stayed as I was, I would be discarded soon.

=================================

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