Talent [Affinity (Green)] has been drawn.
[Affinity (Green): You naturally possess above-average charm and are more likely to gain the trust of others. (Effective on both males and females)]
Item [Ichinose Honami's Self] has been activated. Talent [Affinity (Green)] has been upgraded to [Approachable (Blue)].
[Ichinose Honami's Self: At the start of each simulation, three talents will be randomly upgraded (Gold-level talents cannot be further enhanced; includes initial and solidified talents).]
[Approachable (Blue): You naturally possess extraordinary charm, making it easier to gain the favor and trust of others. (Effective on both males and females)]
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"Love consists of only three variables: touch, movement, and play. If you can provide these three variables, you can fulfill the entire needs of a primate." —Harry Harlow, American comparative psychologist, member of the National Academy of Sciences.
Ayanokouji Atsuomi tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. Nearly four years had passed since his conversation with Sakayanagi Narimori. Since then, Narimori had intentionally reduced his visits to the facility, and his attitude toward the White Room had clearly changed.
But Ayanokouji didn't care what Narimori thought of the project. On the contrary, he had grown increasingly fascinated by various psychological experiments. Most psychological findings could be directly applied to education, and with that belief, White Room's core philosophy underwent a transformation starting with the fourth generation.
The "teachers" became "instructors," and the "students" were now "test subjects." Stripping away all prior notions of compassion, White Room's new identity was that of a clandestine research facility hidden deep in the mountains.
Under this sudden pressure, the first three generations quickly spiraled into chaos. Many refused to cooperate. Now in their teens, these children resisted the endless repetition, rejecting life within this stark white environment.
Without a doubt, the initial three phases of the White Room had failed completely.
Fortunately for Ayanokouji, his direct superior Naoe had seemingly anticipated this outcome. Instead of rebuking him, Naoe offered words of encouragement. In return, and to demonstrate his commitment, Ayanokouji Atsuomi even sent his own biological son into the fourth generation roster.
Yet now, he found himself facing a new kind of humiliation.
Despite the effort and expectations placed on the fourth and fifth generation children—raised from birth within the White Room—the blank canvas he had envisioned remained untouched.
Worse, many of the children raised in the facility were scoring below average in evaluations.
Language, behavior, learning ability—none aligned with the project's goal of creating a stable system to produce geniuses. Harshly put, sometimes Ayanokouji felt more like the administrator of a massive facility for children with developmental disabilities.
A few did exhibit rare talents, but White Room's purpose was not to cultivate exceptions. It was to create a universal, replicable formula for genius. One or two successes meant nothing.
"Take a walk with me."
After signing off on the documents, Ayanokouji rose from his chair and addressed the assistant at his side. This position had once been intended for Narimori, but he had declined due to "work obligations."
Ayanokouji knew this was merely an excuse. Still, the Sakayanagi family's Tokyo Advanced Nurturing High School was indeed approaching a leadership transition. Under the pretense of "familiarizing himself with new responsibilities," Narimori had found a convenient escape.
"Yes, Ayanokouji-sama."
This new assistant, chosen for his background in psychology, differed from Narimori in one major way—he fully endorsed the White Room project and would go out of his way to find experimental data to support Ayanokouji's theories.
They left the office and walked through the pristine white hallway. Ayanokouji clasped his hands behind his back, glancing into the large rooms separated by one-way glass.
"You mentioned this morning you made a new discovery?"
He paused and turned.
"And one that could solve White Room's current dilemma?"
"Yes, Ayanokouji-sama."
The assistant's excitement showed as he handed over a prepared document.
"Though the fourth and fifth generation children were raised under identical conditions, our data reveals a subtle but meaningful difference."
"Specifically, the fifth generation exhibits better psychological health overall."
The assistant added cautiously:
"This difference wouldn't be apparent from short-term data. I spent three months closely observing both groups before reporting."
Sensing the gesture, Ayanokouji nodded.
"Go on."
"Of course."
Bowing respectfully, the assistant smiled and said:
"Since you appreciate interesting psychological studies, I'd like to introduce a particularly brilliant experiment before sharing the discovery."
His intrigue piqued, Ayanokouji listened.
"Rhesus monkeys share 94% of their genes with humans. That's why psychologist Harry Harlow chose them. Using humans would've led to consequences like those faced by Watson."
The assistant shrugged.
"Harlow separated infant monkeys from their mothers and placed them in isolated environments. He constructed two fake 'mother' figures: one made of wire holding a milk bottle, and another of soft cloth with no nourishment."
"According to Harlow, they represented 'the warm, soft mother' and 'the provider of sustenance.' Shockingly, the infants clung to the cloth mother almost exclusively, only approaching the wire mother to feed."
Smiling, the assistant continued:
"I once heard Narimori say, 'Through physical contact, we learn warmth. That warmth is never a bad thing.' It turns out he was right. Contact comfort is the core of love."
"Later, however, Harlow observed that monkeys raised by fake mothers could not function as adults—socially or cognitively. They couldn't even reproduce."
"Worse still, artificially inseminated females neglected or abused their offspring. One even crushed her baby's skull."
Ayanokouji's expression turned cold.
He suspected the assistant might follow Narimori in discouraging the project. But instead, the assistant pressed on calmly:
"To fix this, Harlow allowed physical movement and peer interaction. Monkeys raised in this environment developed normally."
"Love comprises touch, movement, and play. Provide those, and you meet a primate's emotional needs."
Ayanokouji smiled.
But the assistant wasn't finished.
With a hint of mania, he continued:
"Harlow went further. He tested how far the infants would go for their surrogate mother. He created mother figures that ejected them, sprayed cold air, even had spikes. Yet the infants returned. Again and again."
"Even when injured, they hugged her, kissed her, nuzzled her—giving her all their love."
His eyes gleamed:
"It was perfect. Ever since I entered this field, I've dreamed of replicating that experiment. Preferably with human subjects."
Ayanokouji clapped, snapping him out of it.
"So your discovery is..."
"Yes! It's related to that experiment."
The assistant bowed again.
"White Room provides food and education—but like the wire mother, it lacks warmth. That's what differentiates the fifth generation."
"There's someone among them... who plays the role of the cloth mother."
"He isn't as brilliant as your son, but... he might be the true key to the project's success."
Ayanokouji's gaze sharpened. Not because his son was mentioned—but because of the assistant's conviction.
"You're that confident? Humans aren't monkeys."
"I am. And time will prove me right."
The assistant continued eagerly:
"I propose a control experiment. Split the fourth generation in half. Create a 'cloth mother' figure for one half."
Ayanokouji paused.
He began walking again. The assistant hurried after him.
"So who is it? This fifth-generation surrogate mother?"
They stopped outside a fifth-generation room. Through one-way glass, everything inside was visible to them, but for the children, everything was just blank white walls.
The kids were finishing a running exercise. Soon, they rested for five minutes before cultural lessons.
All wore the same white tunics, making them nearly indistinguishable—like a flowing white river.
Then something different happened.
One boy stood out.
Ayanokouji spotted him immediately.
Unlike the others, he smiled.
He unbound the elastic holding his pencils, reached forward, and clumsily tied the hair of the girl in front of him.
It was a tiny, awkwardly done pair of pigtails—yet strikingly childlike and pure.
Other children whispered, some smiled. Not as openly as the boy, but genuinely nonetheless.
"Cloth mother... attachment... affection... unwavering loyalty..."
The assistant murmured.
Ayanokouji squinted and read the name tag on the boy's uniform:
Ryo.
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