Perfect Elegance

Chapter 1 - The Masterpiece

I stepped into the office, my footsteps reverberating throughout the room by the sheen white tiles. The air was heavy with anticipation, and the silence stretched taut between us.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the headmaster looked up from his papers, his gaze piercing and shrewd.

"Kiyotaka," he called out my name, his voice emanating a deep tone of authority, "you have completed several levels of the White Room's curriculum, even surpassing ones that go beyond the human limit. I must say I am impressed," he remarked, reaching out for the glass of wine which had been standing atop his desk, drinking it.

He continued, "With that said, I have—"

As he was on the brink of continuing his sentence, I was abruptly awakened by the sound of voices drifting into my ears, pulling me back to reality. The bus was filled with a chorus of murmurs and disgruntled sighs, indicating that something was amiss. Slowly, I regained my bearings, realizing that I was seated in a crowded vehicle, witnessing the ever-changing cityscape through the window.

With a groggy mind, I attempted to shake off the remnants of the dream that had recalled my past.

However, before I could fully gather my thoughts, the commotion on the bus intensified. Two voices clashed in a heated exchange, their words intertwining with the rumble of the bus engine. Curiosity got the better of me, and I directed my gaze towards the source of the turmoil.

A grown-up woman, her face etched with concern, stood next to a frail elderly woman. The old woman's legs trembled visibly, making it evident that she was struggling to maintain her balance. The cause of their distress stood directly in front of them—a young, well-built blond man of high school age, seated nonchalantly in one of the priority seats designated for those in need.

"Hey, you there. Can't you see that this elderly woman is having trouble?" the woman's voice carried a mix of exasperation and indignation, her tone demanding an explanation for his behavior. Her voice was also loud enough to cause almost everyone's attention to shift onto them.

Hearing her reprimand, I focused my attention on the unfolding scene, my analytical nature kicking into gear. The young man remained unfazed, crossing his legs with an air of arrogance, his smirk unyielding. He didn't even bother to glance in the direction of the concerned woman, displaying a self-assurance that bordered on audacity.

"That's a really crazy question, lady," the blond retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm. His piercing crimson eyes locked onto the woman, his gaze unyielding. The audacious grin never left his face. "Why should I offer up my seat? There's no reason for me to do so."

Some murmurs of disbeliefs rippled through the bus, as some passengers exchanged incredulous glances, while some simply looked away or didn't care. The tension in the air grew palpable, and I found myself drawn into this confrontation, assessing the dynamics at play.

Observing the scene with an almost detached perspective, I pondered the nature of human behavior and the intricate webs of empathy that intertwined society. The blond teenager seemed to embody a particular brand of entitlement, one that rejected the very notion of compassion or the recognition of another's struggles. In contrast, the woman who had confronted him emanated a sense of justice and empathy, a willingness to stand up for those who were unable to advocate for themselves.

"You're sitting in a priority seat. It's natural to offer up those to the elderly."

"I don't understand. Priority seats are just that: priority seats. I have no
legal obligation to move. Since I'm currently occupying this seat, I should be the one who determines whether or not I move. Am I supposed to give up my seat just because I'm young? Ha! That reasoning is nonsense."