[Location: Classroom of the Elite – Japan – Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School – Student Apartments.]
Kiyotaka Ayanokouji, a young high school student, carefully observed every corner of his new home: a simple, functional room, devoid of decorations that might suggest personality, yet sufficient for someone like him.
His eyes, ever analytical, traced the smooth walls, the bed perfectly aligned with the desk, and the window that offered a glimpse of a controlled yet pleasant landscape.
He understood perfectly what his stay here meant: until graduation, he would be completely isolated from the outside world.
There would be no unexpected visits, no phone calls interrupting his routine, no responsibilities beyond those imposed by the institution.
That thought, far from unsettling him, drew a faint smile across his face.
It was not a smile of happiness, but one of silent, calculated satisfaction.
The school offered privileges many would consider invaluable: a meticulously designed environment, unlimited resources, opportunities to shape one's future.
But to Kiyotaka, none of those advantages truly mattered.
What he valued was something far more fundamental: control.
Now he could decide what he wanted to do, when, and how—free from the chains that had bound him throughout his childhood and adolescence.
This place, with its explicit and implicit rules, was paradise compared to the prison in which he had grown up.
A paradise where, curiously enough, he might experience something he had only ever heard of: an ordinary school life.
Without bothering to change his clothes or concern himself with the formalities of the uniform, Kiyotaka let himself fall onto the bed.
For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and enjoying the silence—silence that was not forced, but natural.
"Well, I suppose that's it," he murmured, breaking the stillness. But like a candle extinguished by the slightest breeze, the brief smile vanished, replaced by his usual neutral expression. Cold. Indecipherable.
'Even joy was fleeting…' he thought as his body settled into the mattress. It was an observation devoid of emotion, as though he were analyzing a natural phenomenon rather than his own feelings.
His eyes fixed on the ceiling, studying it as if it were a blank canvas upon which to project his thoughts.
One word lingered in his mind, resonating strongly while simultaneously feeling absurd: freedom.
'Freedom…' he repeated to himself, letting the word drift through his consciousness.
For others, freedom was an ideal—something to be sought and protected at all costs.
For Kiyotaka, it was merely another concept, another tool that could be manipulated depending on the context.
True freedom, he believed, was an illusion; there would always be chains—visible or invisible—restricting one's actions.
He had understood this from a very young age, when he learned that even the act of breathing could be questioned if circumstances demanded it.
So rather than chasing something he knew to be unattainable, he chose to stop worrying about it altogether.
'First day of classes…' he reflected, redirecting his thoughts.
His mind began reviewing every detail of the day, as though it were a strategic game in which every move had to be calculated.
The faces of his classmates paraded through his thoughts: friendly smiles, curious glances, attitudes attempting to project confidence or superiority.
He recognized patterns, analyzed behaviors. Nothing he had seen struck him as extraordinary—yet at the same time, he couldn't quite categorize it.
The initial interactions, the unspoken rules governing the atmosphere, the apparent calm that blanketed the place… everything fit into a carefully designed mold that, for now, he would consider normal.
But Kiyotaka knew better than anyone that "normal" was often the perfect disguise for something deeper.
'So this is the game they've designed,' he thought, letting out a faint sigh. There was no frustration in it, nor excitement—just observation.
He closed his eyes once more, allowing the darkness to envelop him.
For now, he would play his role: the ordinary, harmless student who didn't draw attention. But deep down, he would always be prepared to adapt, to act. To win.
Ding!
[Icarus. It seems you are aware that the wax holding your wings will melt under the sun.]
Suddenly, Kiyotaka heard a strange sound, followed by the appearance of a holographic text window that covered part of his field of vision.
He observed it without surprise, wearing the same neutral expression as always. 'What's going on…?'
Though he wasn't well-versed in consumer technology, Kiyotaka recalled that only video games used similar text windows.
Even then, they required virtual reality headsets, and there were still significant differences.
Moreover, as far as he knew, current technology hadn't advanced enough to generate holograms without visible devices.
Analyzing the situation, he considered several possibilities. 'Is this an illusion? Is someone watching me?'
Slowly and silently, he raised his hand and attempted to touch the window. As he had expected, his hand passed straight through it without resistance.
He repeated the motion several times before stopping. Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, his mind already dissecting potential scenarios.
"Icarus and Daedalus…" he murmured, pausing deliberately. "You might be right. But…" his eyes narrowed slightly, "…I am not Icarus."
Ding!
[I know. Then—do you want to be truly free?][Yes. / No.]
Another holographic text window overlapped the previous one, this time presenting clear options.
Kiyotaka observed them with his analytical mind in full motion.
'Truly free?' he pondered. Though simple on the surface, the question clearly concealed a trap.
From his perspective, absolute freedom was an illusory concept. He had learned to live with that reality since his time in the White Room.
The fact that he was being offered a choice between "Yes" and "No" was peculiar. In his experience, freedom was never granted without hidden conditions, implicit rules, or unforeseen consequences.
'This is manipulation,' he concluded. Still, he also understood that ignoring the offer might have repercussions, since whoever was behind this clearly possessed advanced means to communicate with him.
Kiyotaka leaned back slightly, propping an elbow on the bed as he calmly observed the window.
"What does it mean to be truly free?" he asked—not to the window, but as a reflection spoken aloud. He didn't expect an answer, but perhaps it would provoke a reaction.
When none came, he returned his attention to the options. The neutrality on his face remained unbroken. Finally, he spoke in his usual, emotionless tone.
"If accepting your offer means someone else will control my fate, then that wouldn't be freedom. On the other hand, if rejecting it means losing significant opportunities, then that wouldn't be a free decision either." With that, he extended his hand and selected "Yes."
Not because he believed in the offer, but because he understood that playing along would give him more information about whoever had initiated this game.
'Let's see what your "freedom" really means.'
Ding!
[Great! Then welcome to the "Part-Time Workers Group"!]
Kiyotaka felt a faint sense of discomfort as he read the words.
And then, everything turned white.
_____
[Location: White World – Waiting Room.]
Instantly, Kiyotaka felt changes in his body, though he couldn't identify anything specific.
To be certain, he examined every part of himself meticulously before shifting his attention to his surroundings.
'This must be some kind of tasteless joke,' he thought as he observed the endless white floor, the elegant table, and the armchairs.
While he didn't dislike the color white, the irony was unmistakable: leaving one "White Room" only to enter another.
His gaze lingered briefly on the tea set and sweets placed atop the table.
'White armchairs, black armchairs, and a black table in the middle of all this white. Is there some kind of meaning to this?'
Without rushing, he calmly walked toward the table. He assumed that whoever brought him here wanted him to see this.
Upon arriving, he stood beside one of the black armchairs, observing the sweets, the cups, and the teapot without touching them.
'If this is part of a test, they're probably waiting for me to make the first move.'
After a brief analysis, he chose to sit down, leaning back slightly in a relaxed yet vigilant posture.
'If this is a game, the organizers are likely observing how I react,' he thought as he closed his eyes for a moment, demonstrating that patience and control were his greatest assets.
He assumed that sooner or later, whoever was behind all of this would reveal their purpose.
With a curiosity he couldn't entirely suppress, he extended his hand toward one of the cups. His fingers wrapped around it firmly yet unhurriedly, as though even that gesture might reveal something to the enigmatic host.
He lifted the cup and brought the liquid closer to his face, allowing the aroma of the tea to seep into his senses. It was delicate, with notes of jasmine and a slight acidity that suggested a high-quality green tea.
'An interesting choice,' he thought.
Elegant, yes—but meaningful. A welcoming gesture meant to convey sophistication without ostentation.
However, just before bringing the cup to his lips, he stopped abruptly.
Out of the corner of his eye, not far from his position, he saw another person appear.
/////
The beginning of the chapter is based on what was mentioned in COTE's light novel. Go read it if you're not convinced. Of course, because the author himself changed Kiyotaka's personality later on, I made my own interpretations.