I tread silently through the corridors of Structure Twenty-four, my designated dormitory. My mind remains attuned to the peculiar clicking noises and subtle signals of the unseen inhabitants of this place.
My awareness tingles as I sense the presence trailing behind me. Her identity, marked by distinctive hair, does not escape me. Yet, I proceed without confrontation, ascending the seemingly endless stairs to my dormitory on the forty-fifth floor.
The silence of my surroundings heightens my sensitivity. Human attempts at masking sounds fall short, allowing me to focus on the peculiar auditory cues that elude others.
The persistent follower reveals herself in the hallway outside my dormitory, breaking the silence with an annoying chuckle. A stern request to cease stalking yields only more silence, prompting me to turn and face her.
Unexpectedly, she is already too close, her eyes fixed on me with unwavering intensity. My attempt to initiate dialogue is met with a sudden, obnoxious shout in my face.
“Hello there!”
I take two steps back away from her as she shouts in my face.
“Is personal space a foreign concept to you?”
“Eh? Everyone loves to be near me. I am the incarnation of perfection!”
Are humans usually this delusional?
I can not help but wonder as I observe her bizarre behaviour. Her confident demeanour and strange statement make me question if she is indeed human. Perhaps she belongs to a different species altogether, one that possesses a distorted sense of reality.
She seems unfazed by my behaviour and continues to pervert my personal space.
I can feel my irritation escalating as she shows no indications of backing off. Argumentation with her will be a fruitless endeavour.
“You are more of an abundance of irritation.”
She gasps in shock. I can already feel her frustration as she prepares to lash out at me.
“How dare you! Irritation? Me? Ha! What a joke.”
“Why are you even following me?”
Her presence is becoming intolerable, and her complete lack of self-awareness is infuriating.
“I have no desire to engage with you or entertain your delusions of grandeur. Therefore, I suggest you find someone else to annoy.”
I know that my stern words will not make her realise the boundaries she is overstepping, but it is worth a try.
“Well, you look strong. So I wanna fight you to prove my strength to be the best and—”
“I am sorry, but that is not going to happen.”
I interrupt her before she can finish her sentence.
“I have no interest in engaging in any kind of physical altercation with you.”
She looks taken aback, her face twisting with a mix of surprise and frustration.
“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
“It is not about being better. It is about respecting personal space and accepting that not everyone wants to be a part of your idiocies.”
“Hah?! Have you forgotten? I am the incarnation of perfection, the queen of this school! I can easily defeat you without trying.”
“Am I supposed to care?”
Her mouth opens in pure shock. She struggles to find a response, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind words.”
“I have no interest in your title or your ego. It means nothing to me. I value my strength and integrity, and I will not stoop to your level of petty competition. So go ahead and live in your delusions of grandeur. I will be over here, living authentically and true to myself.”
If she does not back off after those words, I will have to resort to violence; it is the quickest option, after all.
She seems severely perturbed, and her ego must be wounded.
“Well then… Let’s see if your actions match your words. Actions speak louder than empty boasts, after all—”
She gasps sharply as my fingers flick in her direction, stopping her words in their tracks. She is knocked out cold as silent shockwaves tear through her entire body.
I tower over her, my gaze fixed on her unconscious figure.
“Actions truly do speak louder than words, and sometimes resorting to violence becomes the only way to make someone understand the consequences of their actions.”
I sigh as I kneel towards the redhead’s body.
I have just created more unnecessary work for myself. There should be a wormhole to the infirmary structure I have heard about somewhere around here.
There do not seem to be any cameras around here either, so I am safe in that regard.
I haul the unconscious redhead down the winding passageways until I reach a wormhole. It appears to be the sole wormhole here, although it does not say where it goes. It is a risk I am willing to accept.
I enter the wormhole and come out into what seems like a white hospital institution.
I am convinced these wormholes take you to where you want to go, regardless of which one you enter.
It is most likely the infirmary structure.
I cautiously look around, making sure there are no immediate threats or surprises.
As I move further into the facility, I notice rows of empty beds and medical equipment neatly organised on tables. My focus shifts back to the unconscious redhead lying in my arms. I place her on one of the empty beds.
Somebody will find her eventually.
I turn around and head back through the wormhole to enter structure twenty-four. I somehow managed to leave my door open. How ludicrous of me.
I step into my dorm and lock the door.
A moment passes, and I fall flat on my bed, not even bothering to position myself correctly.
I let out a deep sigh and shut my eyes. Sleep is not a requirement for me, though it aids in killing time.
***
Morning comes, at least in terms of time. I refer to this area where The Twilight Institute is situated as the Twilight Zone since the sky remains twilight and any means of using the sunlight to tell the time is ineffectual.
I sit up from bed and stretch my body; apparently, it is something a human would do after resting.
As I stand up, I glance out the window and observe the hues of the twilight sky. It is as if visual time stands still in this peculiar place, trapped between night and day.
I turn away from the window and change into my uniform, a pristine white blouse, and a pleated black skirt. I carefully tie my black tie and slide on my black shoes, making sure every detail is perfect. The Twilight Institute’s strict dress code demands nothing less.
I exit my dormitory and lock the door behind me before leaving structure twenty-four through the conveniently placed wormhole. As I pass through the wormhole, I feel a subtle shift in time and space, whisking me away to the grounds of the institute.
The air feels different here, a mix of mystery and anticipation, almost as if the very atmosphere is charged with the knowledge and secrets that the institute holds.
As I walk through the campus grounds, I witness hundreds of students heading towards a large structure.
It must be the structure allocated for training. I can see the excitement and determination in their eyes as they eagerly make their way towards the training facility. The structure stands tall and imposing, like every other building here.
As I approach the building, I notice a myriad of students rushing to the front, which tells me the red-haired girl will try to proclaim her perfection again.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
If the redhead has woken up by now, it will be interesting to see her. And that blonde boy from earlier.
The gates abruptly open, and the inside of the structure, which I labelled as structure twenty-five, is revealed.
A colossal indoor arena unfolds, and, of course, everyone is in awe, not realising the rule board ahead of them.
“Whoa! This looks amazing!”
One awe-filled student announces to everyone.
However, their amazement is short-lived, as the stern, authoritative voice of our instructor cuts through the murmurs.
“Alright, listen up!”
The instructor’s voice booms through a microphone, the sharpness in her tone slicing through any lingering chatter.
“This is the training area. Before anything else, you will be sorted into groups based on your pathetic levels of strength. From the weakest to the so-called strong. Pay attention!”
The instructor’s eyes scan the rows of students, her clipboard held with a firm grip. There is no room for laxity in her gaze; she is here to ensure discipline.
“Welcome to the D.A.A. Also known as the Dynamic Affinity Assessment. You will take turns attacking these indestructible targets—at least, according to the Twilight Institute’s observations so far. We’ll record your names, numbers, and power strengths. And let me make this clear: the group you’re thrown into today might not be your cushy spot a month from now. Strength fluctuates, some of you will get stronger, and others…” She smirks, a hint of a savage edge in her expression, “will get weaker.”
Her gaze narrows as she points towards the targets with a no-nonsense tone.
“Each target has a number from zero to 274,877,906,944—or 238. Zero is for the weaklings, and 238 is for the ones with a backbone. When you hit the target, it vibrates. The harder you hit, the more it vibrates. Your physical strength score will be measured in vibrations. You land a punch, and we’ll see just how miserable or remarkable it is. Got it?”
The class nods, and I can already hear the whispers of anticipation and excitement.
“Good, now follow me.”
The instructor leads us to a large open space filled with rows upon rows of targets. Each target stands tall and proud, waiting to be tested.
The instructor positions us in front of the targets, making sure we all have a clear view.
“Each one of you will be taking turns in this evaluation, and make no mistake—I am selecting participants at random. There is no room for negotiation or preference. Yuka Nanami, you go first.”
A silver-coloured girl, who was announced as Yuka Nanami, steps back. I observe carefully, noticing the confidence in her stance and the determination in her eyes.
Yuka Nanami takes a deep breath, focusing her energy. As she launches her strike towards the target, her hand connects with precision. A powerful shockwave ripples through the target, causing it to vibrate intensely. The sheer force and controlled impact leave everyone except me in awe.
The instructor raises an eyebrow, intrigued by the unexpected display. The vibrations subside, leaving the indestructible target unharmed but resonating with the powerful energy Yuka Nanami just unleashed.
“Well, that’s an interesting twist.”
The instructor remarks.
“The reading is 352 strength points. Impressive, I suppose; it’s enough to pulverise multiple buildings—quite common in the Twilight Institute.”
Her words carry a biting disdain for anything less than perfection, leaving no room for mediocrity.
Yuka Nanami, oblivious to the undercurrent of critique, smiles like a pristine angel—an image that the instructor and I seem to find abhorrent, though the instructor’s disdain is more noticeable than mine.
Yuka Nanami bows gracefully, her silver hair cascading around her like a shimmering halo.
“Thank you, Instructor Shinoda. I’m honoured to be part of the evaluation.”
The instructor’s eyes narrow ever so slightly at Yuka Nanami’s innocence.
“Honoured, hm? Let’s see if that holds up as the evaluations continue.”
I doubt the order of her performance matters; she seems indifferent to it all. Nevertheless, she is a prime target for manipulation. Her serene demeanour and blissful unawareness are like flashing neon signs of vulnerability. It is almost too easy. Besides, there is a conspicuous absence of any ulterior motives from her end.
As the evaluations progress, I watch each participant showcase their abilities, some more impressive than others. The instructor maintains a critical eye, and her standards are uncompromising.
So far, there have been students displaying notable strengths, from manipulating elements to enhancing physical capabilities. Some of the participants have shown great potential.
Yet, despite their impressive showings, the instructor remains unwavering in her judgement.
Suddenly, the doors slam open, revealing the redhead from earlier.
Her eyes scan the room as if she owns it. The instructor eyes her with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.
“Apologies for my tardiness, Sensei. I couldn’t resist adding a touch of drama to my entrance.”
The redhead’s excuse for her tardiness, citing a dramatic entrance, is a blatant fabrication.
There is a noticeable gap between her words and the actual situation—a discrepancy not lost on the perceptive instructor. With an understanding that transcends surface appearances, I, too, recognise the falsehood.
Despite her seemingly nonchalant demeanour, the true reason behind her tardiness is apparent to me.
I mean, I am the one who caused it.
“It’s Instructor Shinoda for you! Besides, you’re late, though I suggest I’ll make an exception.”
“I’m sure my entrance made it worth the wait. Now, where’s my turn in this little spectacle?”
The instructor gestures towards the remaining targets, unimpressed but allowing the redhead to participate.
“It is, in fact, your turn now.”
The redhead smirks, her eyes gleaming with arrogance, as she steps forward, ready to make her mark in the evaluation.
The redhead raises her hand, and a black and red orb forms on her palm. Its origin essence feels very distinct from Dissonance Affinity. Of course, no one but me would realise that. It is a skill that I was born with.
The orb glows until it is the size of her palm.
The redhead locks eyes with the target, her smirk widening into a confident grin. With a flick of her wrist, she hurls the orb towards the target, releasing a surge of dark energy that engulfs it entirely.
After a few seconds, the dark energy dissipates, and the target is nowhere to be seen. It is as if the attack completely pulverised it.
The energy unleashed by the redhead seems to resonate with a malevolent force, creating an ominous atmosphere in the evaluation space.
The instructor narrows her eyes, gauging the aftermath of the redhead’s display.
“What on earth… The target is completely destroyed!”
The shock in her voice reverberates through the evaluation space, fraternising with an undercurrent of perplexity and marvel.
The redhead smirks triumphantly, seizing the moment. “Impressed, Sensei? I do have a flair for the dramatic.”
The instructor, attempting to regain composure, stammers.
“But… that’s not how the evaluation is supposed to go. The targets are indestructible—”
“Indestructible? How quaint. I bring a touch of reality to this little charade. Perhaps you should update your definition of ‘indestructible.’”
“This is unprecedented. We’ve never encountered an ability like this before. What’s your power?”
“Darling, I bring perfect destruction wherever I go. Call it my personal touch. As for the specifics, well, that’s a secret I’ll keep for now.”
“Your mindset is exasperating, Reiko Yami… However, I must begrudgingly admit, that in eighty-five years since the inception and testing of these targets, you stand as the sole individual to effortlessly annihilate one. No one, in all that time, could lay claim to such a feat. Undeniably, you now hold the title of the strongest.”
The instructor claps with genuine respect. I feel like I will not be seeing that for another two years.
The other students in the evaluation space murmur in awe and disbelief.
Reiko Yami, now holding the title of the strongest and basking in acknowledgement, is truly, at most, an interesting individual. It feels as though she is not even human.
However, she will never reach my level, and that is a fact.
As the evaluations continue, I patiently await my turn, ignoring the lingering gaze of Reiko Yami.
The instructor, now composed, continues overseeing the evaluations, her critical eye assessing each participant’s display of power.
Reiko Yami’s demonstration has set a new standard, challenging the very concept of indestructibility.
Finally, it is my turn. I step forward, facing the indestructible target with a calm demeanour. My power, unlike the flashy displays before me, is subtle yet potent. I extend my hand, and a faint glow envelops it.
I precisely aim a regulated blast of chaotic energy at the target. As the energy strikes, there is a faint hum in the air. The target quivers; its vibrations are observed; it is not destroyed.
“112? Are you truly so incompetent, or are my expectations too high? You have been surpassed by Yuka Nanami, and she’s hardly a shining example of talent. How you managed to pull together such a pitiful score is almost amazing. But frankly, from someone so completely uninteresting, why am I to expect more? Maybe your unique gift is mediocrity. It is quality, not ineptitude, that our institute necessitates. It would be beneficial for you to redefine what it means to be here. To be honest, you don’t live up to the expectations, and your performance is woefully inadequate. Instead of being a spectator to your own mediocrity, you are here to succeed.”
But I am not here to attract attention with ostentatious demonstrations of power or to be carried away by the capricious standards established by this institution. No, my goal goes beyond the petty praise of a simple assessment.
My main strength is the art of subtlety; I am a silent observer, a strategist in the background.
Therefore, even if she belittles my apparent shortcomings, I understand the need for self-control.
Excellence, in my world, is not measured solely by the vibrations of a target but by the intricacies of influence, manipulation, and strategic moves on the chessboard of power.
She may demand perfection, but what she means is limited to what she can comprehend. She is unaware that behind the surface of what she perceives to be ineptitude, there is a latent force that knows the actual nature of power and how to use it subtly.
I may not excel in the way she envisions, but I excel in ways she cannot fathom.
The evaluations continue, with each student exhibiting their unique abilities in an attempt to meet the uncompromising criteria established by the Twilight Institute.
As the last participant finishes, the instructor steps forward.
“It appears that we have a spectrum of abilities here, from highly exceptional to utterly insignificant. Keep in mind that this is merely the beginning. Later today, after your C.A.A., your group assignments will be revealed. Train diligently and refrain from letting anyone down.”
She then departs the arena, leaving the pupils on their own.
The students enthusiastically review how they have performed while offering support and praise to one another. They are devoted to proving to the instructor that they are capable of performing beyond her ideals in their designated groups.