White, white, and white. No matter where I looked, everything was white.
The alarm went off at 7:00 a.m.; it was time for the monthly blood test. I looked at the other kids in my class. They all shared the same empty expression. They had no ambition whatsoever—only the lingering fear that they wouldn't be able to keep up with the curriculum and would be expelled from this place: The White Room.
For as long as we could remember, we had been compared to that figure. I didn't even know if he was real or not, but the truth was, I hoped to meet him someday. Kiyotaka Ayanokoji.
We lined up single-file for the tests. Takuya stood in front of me. He was the best in our class—the Fifth Generation—but he had a very serious problem: he wanted to be the supreme being. He desperately wanted to be the best, yet no matter what he did, he would always be inferior to the shadow of Kiyotaka.
I never even tried to be the best here. I never liked the very concept of this place. Why? Why have I been trained here since I was born? Why can't I be normal? What did it even mean to be "normal" for someone my age?
I was only six years old; I should have been playing in a park with my friends. But none of that mattered now. I had a goal. I had to see with my own eyes if that God was real.
I needed to know. How can I get to meet Kiyotaka? That question kept running through my head for weeks on end. What is happening to me? Why can't I get that figure out of my mind?
I had always been privileged. My genetics were flawless—having been born through in vitro fertilization from parents with elite genes. This generation's curriculum wasn't particularly difficult for me, but watching kids I had known since childhood get dragged out of the White Room was never a pleasant feeling.
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It was dinnertime. Once again, we were served the same meals designed to provide the exact same vitamins. In the very first books I read, I had seen pictures of dishes created by the world's best chefs. They looked amazing compared to our daily rations, but I wasn't complaining—it was obvious we were being fed high-quality ingredients.
I glanced around the room as I ate; I was the kind of girl who couldn't stop observing. Everyone else was chewing with the same bored, monotonous expressions. We were constantly being watched—except while we slept, of course—so the lingering uneasiness among us was normal. There was an instructor keeping a close eye on us: Shiba-sensei, the man who taught us how to fight. What a horrible face and haircut he has.
After dinner, we were given half an hour to socialize with the other students of the Fifth Generation. No one spoke normally. Even though our curriculum included classes to improve our social skills, no one wanted to put them into practice right now. I guess no one here was truly friends with anyone else.
Every week, there were fewer of us left. Out of the initial sixty-seven, only twenty-six of us remained. Tomorrow was the weekly exam, which explained why we weren't in the best of spirits.
