{ THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW }

"Subject 715, Test #1229. Commencing."

From behind a reinforced glass barrier, three scientists observed the boy as he stepped into the test chamber. He was painfully thin, his expression vacant, his movements mechanical. His shaved head was uneven, as if the one who had done it hadn't bothered to be precise. The room was vast, its sterile white walls, floor, and ceiling stretching endlessly, giving the illusion of infinite space.

One of the scientists leaned toward the microphone, his voice echoing into the chamber.

"715. Walk to the black circle in the center of the room."

Without hesitation, the boy obeyed, his empty yellow eyes fixed straight ahead.

The scientist continued.

"5t, Y: 3816.21, X:184677.2, Z: 23.4

LS: equal, RS: equal, Center.

R: 3

Domain: equal. Space, start."

Upon hearing the command, the boy raised his hand. His dull eyes suddenly gleamed with an eerie yellow glow, and in response, a strange object materialized in the air before him. It pulsed with light, shifting and morphing as though it had no defined form—liquid yet solid, flickering between existence and nonexistence.

From behind the glass, the scientists let out quiet sighs. One shook his head, another rubbed his temples in frustration. Disappointment hung thick in the air.

"It worked just the other day," one muttered, scanning the monitors in search of an anomaly.

They flipped through stacks of documents, cross-referencing past test results.

"The calculations are correct. He just doesn’t understand," another sighed.

A third scientist leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of coffee. "We're stuck. We pushed past a huge breakthrough, and now we’re going in circles."

"Agreed," the second scientist responded, clicking his pen absentmindedly. "His ability defies the laws of physics, and yet... neither we nor he can make proper use of it."

"Let's try again."

They turned back to the microphone, reading out another set of mathematical coordinates.

Numbers were the only language that could even attempt to describe the impossible nature of Subject 715’s power. He could manipulate matter that didn’t follow the laws of the universe—an ability that bent space itself. And yet, no matter how much they tried to quantify it, to instruct him, true control remained elusive.

The moment the boy let out his first cry—just seconds after leaving his mother’s womb—a strange, glowing matter spiraled around him. It had no defined shape, no logic to its form. It flickered and glitched through space itself, warping reality as it tore through the delivery room. Within moments, everyone nearby was dead.

That was the day the organization took him.

Raising him was a costly endeavor. His abilities had gone out of control multiple times, leading to severe losses for the organization. To contain him, they stripped him of normal human interaction, limiting his emotional connections from the very start. Instead, they filled his mind with numbers, equations, and laws of physics—his entire existence shaped by mathematical principles. From the moment he learned to speak, they taught him to describe his power in terms of logic and formulas.

Using advanced graphs and calculations, they instructed him on how to place the matter exactly where he willed it to be. This was the only way he could learn. The only way he could function.

Upon hearing the second command, 715 extended his hand once more. The glowing matter appeared before him, shifting and stretching unnaturally. Then, it veered sideways—was it his mistake, or a flaw in the instructions? It didn’t matter.

The substance shot through the walls effortlessly, piercing them like a hot knife through butter.

Alarms blared. Lights flickered. The scientists panicked. The anomaly kept expanding, growing beyond control. It spread, threatening to consume the entire test chamber.

"Stop—!!! Stop!!!"

But just as it was about to spiral further out of reach, the power to the entire facility was cut.

Everything went dark.

The glowing matter vanished into thin air, defying the very laws of physics—the law of conservation of energy meant nothing to it.

Gasps and heavy breaths filled the small observation room.

"I thought we were dead," one of the scientists muttered, still catching his breath.

"We will be if this shit keeps up," another snapped. "If we don’t produce results soon, the higher-ups will tear us apart."

The dim beams of their phone flashlights cut through the darkness as they instinctively began tidying up the scattered documents and equipment.

"First things first—let’s get the power lines fixed," one of them said. "We’ll resume testing as soon as possible."

With that, 715 was escorted back to his personal room.

Two men were deep in conversation in his room while 715 sat silently. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of two electric lamps placed by the scientists.

"This one worked because the limits aligned with the origin. What if we adjusted the formula this way too, sir?" the younger scientist asked.

"How? The maximum starts at Y:2881.5 and exceeds the origin. Are you blind?" the older replied sharply.

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"R-right… but if we could ch-change the form like that…" the younger continued hesitantly.

Then, without warning, glowing objects began to materialize around the quiet boy. Their radiance outshone the lamplights, and both scientists immediately turned their heads toward him, their eyes widening in shock.

"W-What the—" the older muttered. "Did you give him a command?"

"N-no, sir…" the younger stammered, equally surprised. He stepped closer to 715. "Why did you activate?" he asked dryly, as if he was speaking to a machine. "No orders were given."

The boy looked up and replied simply, "Because it's dark."

Both men gasped, their eyes growing even wider.

"What is the meaning of this…" the older whispered.

"N-no… this wasn't… supposed to happe—" the younger began, but couldn't finish.

"Why is he deciding on his own!?" the older shouted at his colleague. "You're supposed to be controlling him! You were meant to prevent this! He mustn't have autonomy or will!"

"I—I was, sir. Even I don't know why he—" the younger stammered.

"Fix this immediately," the older demanded, turning toward the door.

"Y-Yes, sir," the younger replied.

Then, grabbing the lamps with them, they left the room in a hurry, utterly choosing to avoid being in that room.

The boy sat in silence, staring at the door as it prepared to automatically close before him. His vacant eyes gave the impression that his mind was empty, devoid of thought. In reality, however, he was running real-time simulations of hundreds of geometrical calculations and differential equations in his head. Maintaining a stable manifestation of the mysterious matter required constant calculation of its four-dimensional coordinates, as he processed countless logical tasks within his mind.

Even when a girl slipped into his room, his constant thinking remained uninterrupted. As the door shut completely behind her, their eyes met.

He stared at her silently, taking in the strange event before him. It was odd—too odd. Not just to him, but to the entire organization. This was something that shouldn’t be happening. A girl, someone completely foreign to this place, was standing in his room. No one but him and a select few scientists had ever entered his room before. In the first place, he’d never seen a girl this small. The only females he knew were the adult scientists who monitored him. But she—someone his age—was different.

The girl stared back at him, wearing an expression he couldn’t recognize. Her entire presence was new to him. And amidst the endless equations in his mind, a single thought surfaced: she was truly odd.

The silence broke when the girl hesitantly spoke. "Um..." she mumbled, fidgeting with her fingers.

715 didn't respond. He simply watched her, unblinking, unmoving.

In all her years here, Hanabi had never met anyone who felt this... hollow. Even the scientists, cruel as they were, had something behind their eyes—ambition, frustration, something. But this boy? There was nothing. No curiosity, no hesitation. Just a quiet, mechanical stillness, like a puppet waiting for its strings to be pulled.

Her gaze shifted to the strange objects orbiting around him. Their fluid, ever-changing forms were too mesmerizing to ignore. She hesitated for a moment, then took a step toward him.

715's focus wavered.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about her movement unsettled him. Disruptions like this always led to disaster. Every time his concentration broke, the matter spiraled out of control, causing destruction—hurting people. He had never thought much of it before. But now, for some reason, he did.

For a fleeting moment, Hanabi caught something in his eyes—a flicker of struggle. Then, the glowing objects around him glitched violently, their light faltering. She barely had time to react before the glowing objects disappeared entirely, leaving them both in the dark.

Silence settled between them once more. Hanabi reached out cautiously, her hands feeling through the darkness. But as her eyes slowly adjusted, she could make out faint outlines—enough to see him still staring at her, unmoving.

Something flickered in his gaze, something almost human. The sight sparked an unfamiliar excitement in her chest. Maybe she could talk to him.

Summoning her courage, she took a deep breath. "M-My name is Hanabi!!!" she blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut as if bracing for impact.

Nothing.

Then, a soft glow returned, bathing the room in golden light. She hesitantly opened her eyes.

And then, at last, she heard him.

"I'm confused," he said, his voice empty, void of emotion.

Hanabi gasped, her eyes widening in shock before a bright, genuine smile spread across her face. "M-My name!" she repeated eagerly. "I'm Hanabi! What's your name?"

He tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes unblinking. "I don't understand."

Her excitement didn't waver. "Your name! What do people call you?"

But the words meant nothing to him. A name? The concept was entirely foreign. His existence had always been defined by numbers, coordinates, and commands. The longer they interacted, the deeper his confusion grew.

Yet, for the first time, confusion wasn’t something undesirable to him. It wasn’t a mistake in calculations or an error in execution. It was… something else.

There was something beyond this unknown she presented to him. He didn’t understand it—but the mere fact that understanding was possible ignited something deep within him.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just confused. He unlocked something all humans should have—

Curiosity.

He asked himself, What did people call me? What was she talking about? Was there a variable that referred to him? Was he part of the equation, not just the one solving it?

For the first time, his mind wasn’t filled with numbers and formulas but something entirely different—an evaluation of his own existence. But unlike the calculations he had mastered, this had no clear answer. No matter how much he thought about it, there was no solution, no conclusion to reach.

"I don't understand," he finally said after a long pause.

Hanabi stared at him, neither of them looking away. She scratched her head, muttering, "Hmm..." There was something about his confusion—it felt real, raw. He truly had no idea.

Her eyes drifted back to the glowing object, its shifting form just as captivating as the boy himself. "Hey… what's this?" she asked, pointing at the floating matter that pulsed with light.

715 followed her gaze. "Absolute Effector," he answered flatly before looking back at her.

"Absolute Effector…?" she echoed. "So that's its name, huh?"

Without hesitation, she reached out toward it.

His eyes widened. "Don't—!" he shouted, his hand darting toward hers.

But it was too late.

The moment his focus wavered, the matter glitched. A jagged fragment of light shot forward, piercing straight through her chest.

His breath caught as he watched blood spill from her mouth.

She was just as shocked—not by the pain, but by him.

For the first time, she had seen real emotion in his face.

His widening eyes locked onto hers. He froze.

The barrier flickered erratically before phasing out of her body, then slowly stabilizing once more.

Something unbearable welled up inside him—an unfamiliar, unexplainable feeling.

He had expected her to collapse, to fall lifeless to the ground. But she remained standing.

Wiping the blood from her mouth, she blinked at him, her eyes still shining as bright as ever.

“W-Woah… that surprised me,” she muttered, glancing down as the hole in her chest sealed itself shut.

He stared. Hard.

The tear in her clothes remained—undeniable proof that what had happened was real. But the wound itself was gone.

The confusion in his head swelled, growing louder, more tangled.

"I'm… confused," he murmured.

She tapped her chest where the wound had been. “Oh… this?” she said casually. “Don’t worry. I don’t die.” Then, with a bright smile, she looked up at him. “Dad said I was special—blessed by the gods above. That I was chosen to end the suffering in this world. That’s why my body is immortal.”

He understood none of that and she knew it.

So instead, she shifted her attention back to the floating matter, pointing at it again.

“So this thing is called Absolute… Absolute what again?”

“Absolute Effector.”

“Right. Absolute Effector.” She nodded, then turned her finger toward him.

“And you?” she emphasized, her finger pointed directly at him. “Who are you?”

And then, something clicked.

A name—he had no concept of it. But an identity? That, he understood.

"715," he answered.

She tipped her chin down, murmuring to herself, “Hmm… 715…" after a brief pause, she shrugged. “That doesn’t sound like a name, but whatever.” She looked back at him, her smile unwavering. “Nice to meet you, 715. I’m Hanabi.”

Finally, he understood.

A name—the word itself was unfamiliar, meaningless. But identity—that, he grasped. Identity dictated value. It dictated purpose.

So that was her identity. She was—

“Hanabi,” he muttered.

Her smile widened, the light in her eyes shining even brighter.

“Yes!” she chirped, overflowing with joy.

But the moment was cut short.

The door suddenly slid open.

Hanabi’s eyes widened in shock while 715 remained still, silently observing.

Standing at the doorway was the escort she had escaped from.

She gave 715 a final look before she was dragged away.

A look unlike any he had seen before.

Something stirred within him as he watched, a feeling unfamiliar, unquantifiable. He couldn't understand it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Then the door slid shut.

And just like that, she was gone.

The room was silent once more.

—

Hours passed. The facility’s power was restored, the dim emergency lighting replaced by the stark, sterile white glow of the overhead panels. The hum of machines returned, and with it, the routine.

Inside the test chamber, 715 stood at the center once again.

"Subject 715, Test #1229. Commencing."

The commands came in a steady monotone, each coordinate delivered with precise calculation. He raised his hand and obeyed.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then, the matter flickered into existence.

The scientists leaned in, breath caught in their throats. Their eyes widened. Their knees weakened.

Finally.

After countless trials, endless failure—

The matter took form.

The most basic shape in the universe: a perfect sphere.

It hovered in the air, smooth, flawless, untouched by the laws of the world around it.

The room erupted.

"Fuck yeah!"

"Let’s go!"

Some laughed, some cursed, some grabbed onto each other in sheer disbelief. The sight before them was a breakthrough beyond anything they had accomplished before.

715 remained still, unfazed by the outburst.

The hollow sphere wavered.

It flickered.

And then—It vanished.

Barely a few seconds. But it was a success nonetheless.

Days passed, and with each one, 715’s progress soared.

He no longer struggled with the fundamentals. The barrier bent to his will, forming precise two- and three-dimensional shapes—a triangle, a pyramid, a disk, a square, a cube. Each success fueled the scientists’ euphoria. Their voices buzzed with excitement, their notes filled with frantic scribbles, their hands shaking with the weight of their discovery.

They believed they had perfected him.

They didn't notice the subtle shift beneath the surface.

They didn't see how his pauses grew longer, how his gaze lingered on his creations as if searching for something beyond mere calculations.

They didn't realize that 715 was beginning to think.

That he was beginning to wonder.

That he was no longer the empty puppet they had shaped him to be.

[ To be continued ]