A Dream Withheld

Chapter 0 - Dream

Ayanokouji Kiyotaka POV:

"That is all for today," The instructor announced, his voice breaking the silence of the room. "Return to your housing quarters now."

I simply nodded, offering no response as I turned to leave the room. The familiar routine of navigating the corridors that brought me to my destination. With a quiet click, I opened the door to my quarters and stepped inside, immediately laying down on the bed.

15 years, I've lived in these white walls. 15 years, as a subject.

My life was devoid of colour, devoid of meaning.

Each day blended into the rest, the same routine turning stale after a while. Naturally, the challenges also got easier over time, so it wasn't particularly difficult to adapt here anymore. The feeling of loneliness invaded my life quite quickly however, considering that I was the only one remaining in my generation.

This facility, created by my own father, Ayanokouji Atsuomi, was meant to be an educational institution, a place where humanity could be molded into its most capable form. But the methods employed here were anything but humane, stripping away anything that made us human in the first place, in the pursuit of perfection.

But what is perfection? What defines the pinnacle of humanity?

It's a question that has plagued philosophers and thinkers for centuries, with no definitive answer in sight.

Salvador Dalí's quote, "Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it," speaks to the idea that perfection is an unattainable ideal. While some may interpret this as a pessimistic view, it can also be seen as a freeing perspective.

In many aspects of life, whether it be art, personal growth, or professional endeavors, striving for perfection can often lead to frustration, anxiety, and even paralysis. The pursuit of perfection can become an endless cycle of dissatisfaction, as there will always be room for improvement or refinement.

The prevailing belief is that perfection is an elusive concept, a mirage on the horizon that can never truly be reached. No matter how close we come, there will always be flaws, imperfections that taint the facade of greatness.

It's a sobering realization, that no matter how hard one strives, no matter how meticulously one plans, there will always be room for error. It's a humbling reminder of our own fallibility, our inherent capacity for making mistakes.

It's like chasing a light at the end of a tunnel, you see it shining in the distance, a beacon of hope drawing you forward. You run towards it with all your might, driven by the promise of reaching your goal.

But the closer you get, the further away the light seems to drift. No matter how fast you run, it remains just out of reach, teasing you with its elusive glow. It's a frustrating experience for the common man, as if the universe itself is playing a cruel joke on you.

In much the same way, the pursuit of perfection can feel like an endless chase. No matter how hard you strive, how diligently you work, perfection remains an ever-distant ideal, always just beyond your grasp. And yet, despite the futility of the endeavor, we continue to run towards that light, driven by the belief that one day, we might finally reach it.

So do I think I'm the perfect human?

No, I don't delude myself into thinking that I'm the epitome of perfection. Far from it. In fact, I recognize my own flaws and imperfections all too well. I'm as flawed and imperfect as they come, riddled with shortcomings and deficiencies that make me undeniably inhuman.

Yet, the people around me beg to differ.

It's a curious dichotomy, isn't it? While I may view myself as deeply flawed and imperfect, others may perceive me quite differently. In the context of the White Room, where perfection is equated with the pinnacle of human prowess, my perceived imperfections may be seen as mere trivialities in comparison to the standards set by the institution.