Meanwhile, in a darkened observation room filled with glowing monitors…
On the largest central screen, the feed showed Carriage 4, now empty save for confused monsters. The sequence had just played out: the mimic's exposure, the psychic scream, the collapse, the timely teleportation, and the subsequent peaceful sleep of the survivors in the next car.
"What do you think?" a woman with long red hair asked, crossing her arms.
"Hmm. They did well," a man with an eyepatch over his right eye replied, his voice low. "Especially those two boys."
"Right," a third figure, a lean man with spectacles, agreed, adjusting his glasses. "The Leonhart clan's second son is different from the rumors we heard. He has good judgment, leadership, and combat skills. He doesn't freeze in a fight like most of his peers."
"True," the red-haired woman muttered, frowning slightly at the screen. "But I feel like there's something… off about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, though."
Suddenly, another voice joined the conversation.
"What about the other boy?"
The three observers went quiet.
The speaker was a woman, seated on a hovering disc-shaped platform near the ceiling. She was watching a holographic screen above her palm, her expression detached. It was rare for her to speak about others, especially students. Very few ever caught her attention.
"Cough," the eyepatched man cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, that boy also surprised me. He looks carefree—lazy, even—but his reaction time is elite. Like Leonhart, he doesn't flinch in front of monsters."
"I agree," the red-haired woman said, turning her gaze back to the monitors. "But what shocked me the most was how he figured out and exposed that mimic. I truly didn't expect that."
The woman on the disc said nothing, but her eyes remained fixed on the hologram above her hand, where streams of data about the examinee scrolled silently.
The spectacle man nodded. "His ability is on par with the genius candidates as well. To execute a multi-person teleport into a blind spot under that psychic pressure... his spatial perception and control far exceed his recorded level."
"Just what is his background?" the red-haired woman muttered, leaning closer to the screens as if searching for a clue. "A talent like that doesn't pop up from nowhere."
It was then that the woman on the disc spoke again, her voice still even.
"His name is Ryn Dale. He's from a lower-middle-class family. His father works in an arcane alloy refinery. His mother is a homemaker. He has a five-year-old sister. His academic and combat grades are consistently ordinary. He possesses a verified Green Core, Flux Vein. He, as we heard, is a Level 2 Adept Arcanist."
She recited the data flatly. Then, she paused. Her eyes, which had been passively scanning the streams of light, widened a fraction.
The subtle shift in her demeanor made the other three turn to her in anticipation.
"I think I know why he is like this," she whispered.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the data from her personal hologram to the largest central screen.
Ryn's official profile was now visible to everyone. She zoomed in, highlighting a section of his personal history that caught her attention just now.
_______ _____
[ SUBJECT: Ryn Dale. ]
ADDENDUM: CHILDHOOD INCIDENT.
- Abducted from family residence at an estimated age of 4.
- Listed as missing for a duration of 6 years, 7 months.
- Recovered at estimated age 11.
- Recovery Note: Subject presented himself voluntarily at a City Sentinel outpost. Investigation confirmed he had awakened a teleportation ability during captivity and used it to escape. Subject subsequently cooperated, leading Sentinel forces to the captors' location, facilitating a successful raid and multiple arrests. Case closed.
________ ____
"This…"
The room fell into a heavy silence.
"So…" The red-haired woman clenched her fist, as if recalling a bad memory. "He is one of the victims of 'that'?"
"Probably not," the woman on the disk replied coolly. "The files list the perpetrators as an independent trafficking ring. No confirmed ties to larger organizations."
The man with the eyepatch let out a low whistle. "He did that? At age eleven?"
"Correct."
The lean man with spectacles adjusted his glasses, peering at the data. "Trauma-induced awakening. Followed by a calculated, high-risk retaliation. That... explains the competence. And the detachment."
The room was quiet again, the hum of the monitors the only sound. They all looked at the screen where Ryn slept, his face calm and unbothered. The ordinary student with the green core now seemed anything but ordinary.
"What should we do with them then?" the man with spectacles asked, breaking the silence.
The red-haired woman straightened up, her professional demeanor snapping back into place. "We follow the protocol. Extract them from the dream realm first and transfer them to the infirmary as planned. We'll discuss grading and any... anomalies once the main exam cycle is concluded."
"Understood," the men nodded in unison.
"Furthermore, we still have to hear the other proctors' reports," the eyepatched man added. "And the headmaster will want a full briefing."
The woman on the disc said nothing. Her gaze remained locked on the monitor showing Ryn's sleeping face.
The data streams above her palm had stilled. For some reason, a quiet certainty settled in her mind.
That boy was hiding something far deeper than a traumatic past. She had a nagging feeling that his calm wasn't just detachment from pain; it was the calm of deep, still water hiding unknown depths.
'He didn't just figure out the mimic,' she squinted briefly. 'He might have noticed the 'grandmother' figure wasn't normal either.'
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
'...I'll have to pay more attention to him.'
With that final thought, the observation chamber lapsed back into the soft hum of machinery and the flicker of a hundred other tests unfolding, the fate of five survivors in Carriage 5 already being processed by the system, their next stop a clean, white infirmary bed.