A truly exceptional politician should aim for more than just meeting expectations. For instance, even when a guest craves sushi, the politician should be able to successfully pitch curry or beef bowls instead—and still leave them utterly satisfied.
Ayanokouji Atsuomi recalled a conversation from ten years ago with Naoe Jinnosuke. Back then, he had used that very analogy to win Naoe over, earning his trust and ultimately being entrusted with the White Room project.
Rather than being dragged around by public opinion, it was better to proactively shape it—to market your goals ahead of time. This was a tactic the Kijima faction had consistently employed, and it was no wonder they had grown strong enough to threaten even the powerful Naoe faction.
This was also why Atsuomi was convinced that the current uproar had been orchestrated by Kijima's people. Over the past few years, they had refined this method to an art.
Advanced Nurturing High School was the prime example: despite only graduating about a hundred students per year—fewer than forty from Class A—it had somehow become one of the most well-known high schools in the country. This gave Kijima enormous political capital and public exposure.
"Ayanokouji-sensei, we've arrived."
The driver's voice snapped Atsuomi from his thoughts. As the car came to a halt, he squinted at the grand sight of the school.
Perhaps because it was class time, there were few students in sight. Unlike the remote, hidden White Room, Advanced Nurturing High School sat on a vast artificial island. Even compared to many universities, its scale was impressive.
"The Chairman is already waiting in the reception room."
A school staff member, who had clearly been prepped for his arrival, approached and bowed politely.
"Understood."
With that, Atsuomi followed the man inside. Sakayanagi Narimori was already seated, tea prepared and waiting. Upon seeing Atsuomi, he stood and offered a neutral greeting:
"Ayanokouji-sensei."
The title hadn't changed, but Atsuomi knew well that their positions were no longer the same. He returned a hollow smile.
"Sakayanagi... Chairman. I haven't had the chance to congratulate you. Who would've thought that someone once involved in the White Room project would end up as Chairman of Advanced Nurturing High."
Detecting the sarcasm laced within Atsuomi's words, Narimori merely shook his head and calmly replied:
"I still hold deep respect for you, Ayanokouji-sensei. But I took this role because I agreed with my father's vision in founding this school. Surely you understand that, don't you? Since the very beginning, the school's philosophy hasn't changed."
"I'm not here to deny your choices. If you want to carry on your father's legacy, fine. But if that's the case, why let Ryo stir up such a commotion?"
Atsuomi smirked coldly as he brought up Kitagawa Ryo.
Back when he had agreed to let Narimori take Ryo out of the White Room, it had been a calculated move. It would accelerate the Fifth Generation's timeline, and honestly, he didn't expect much from a drug-addicted test subject.
Even though the Naoe faction couldn't publicly back him, the White Room had become a massive operation. Masked as a shelter for illegitimate children, it had ties to countless political and financial elites.
This, too, was part of Ryo's plan. The current favorable buzz around the White Room actually benefited those influential figures who had sent their own illegitimate children into the program.
After all, back when they were persuaded to do so, Atsuomi had pitched the same "nurturing talent" rhetoric.
Thus, if Ryo were to suddenly reveal the White Room's dark truth, it would publicly shame these figures. A mutual destruction scenario was not out of the question.
Which is why Atsuomi, having made up his mind, now had no choice but to respond to their expectations.
"If I said this was all Ryo's idea, would you believe me?" Narimori asked.
"That would be about as miraculous as a magical cure falling from the sky for congenital heart disease."
Narimori smiled faintly and nodded. "I wouldn't mind a few more miracles like that."
"Enough games."
Atsuomi waved dismissively, his gaze sharp.
"Where is the boy? I want to see him."
"So, you came prepared."
"Of course. I have what he wants."
Feeling he had regained the upper hand, Atsuomi continued boldly:
"Let me guess. You used the White Room kids to strike a deal with Ryo—no, to deceive him. He's just a child."
"Do you look down on children that much, Ayanokouji-sensei?"
"If it were someone like Kiyotaka, I'd show a little more respect."
Atsuomi rubbed his teacup and raised an eyebrow.
"Still, I never expected you to throw your own daughter in as a supporting character for this charade."
"So in the end, you still don't believe in Ryo's capabilities."
"Obviously. That whole culture festival stunt was a scripted performance, wasn't it?"
"Then believe what you will."
Narimori sighed and shook his head. Ever since that USB incident, it seemed no one believed him when he told the truth.
"But Ryo does want to see you."
"So that's why you arranged the meeting here."
Atsuomi glanced around the school's reception room. This was Advanced Nurturing High—his usual bodyguards had been left outside.
"We just didn't want you agitating the boy further."
"How noble of you," Atsuomi sneered.
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It had been nearly a month since they last met, but Kitagawa Ryo showed none of the fear or anxiety Ayanokouji Atsuomi had expected.
Atsuomi set his teacup down with a furrowed brow. The White Room's foundational principle was the Little Albert experiment. Every child from the White Room was instilled with a natural fear—of the institution and of Atsuomi himself.
Even Yagami Takuya, a physically formidable student who didn't blink at the idea of murder, became helpless like a baby before the staff of the White Room. That was by design—no one wanted to raise a den of ungrateful wolves.
By that logic, Ryo, who had endured more suffering than most, should have shown even greater signs of reverence or dread.
But there was nothing—just a pair of black eyes staring calmly into his own, devoid of fear. The sight sent an inexplicable chill down Atsuomi's spine.
"Want to know how things are going in the White Room? Your friends, perhaps?"
Snapping back to reality, Atsuomi leaned forward to reassert control of the conversation—a posture meant to apply psychological pressure.
"I don't need to know. The media will tell me soon enough," Ryo replied calmly, unbothered.
Before Atsuomi could interject, Ryo continued, cutting him off.
"Since you came here, it means you're prepared to expose parts of the White Room too. The reporters camping outside this school will break the news soon enough—'Ayanokouji Atsuomi secretly visits Advanced Nurturing High.' That headline should be live in about an hour."
Atsuomi was caught off guard by Ryo's certainty and finally shed his underestimation.
"Since you're promoting the White Room, we won't hold back either. Every resource we have will be used to support you."
Ryo understood immediately. Atsuomi wanted to capitalize on the surge in public attention without exposing the entire project. He planned to push Ryo forward as the poster child of the White Room.
Seeing Ryo's pensive look, Atsuomi pressed on:
"Advanced Nurturing just wants to prop you up and tarnish the White Room's name."
"And you think I had it better in the White Room?"
Ryo casually showed the needle scars on his left arm.
"Even if I'm being used by Advanced Nurturing, it's still my choice."
"So the price they offered was your personal freedom. Don't forget—it was I who granted you that freedom."
Atsuomi smiled darkly.
"In fact, I control the freedom of every child in the White Room."
His tone shifted—part threat, part lure.
He had anticipated Ryo's emotional attachment to others in the White Room. That lingering sentiment was proof Ryo still cared. It made Atsuomi think Ryo might truly possess extraordinary potential.
If Ryo could defeat someone like Sakayanagi Arisu, he would surpass even Kiyotaka—a genius with emotions, unlike Kiyotaka's detached brilliance.
That thought ignited a new fire in Atsuomi's heart.
"Advanced Nurturing wants to ride your success, but the White Room can truly shape you."
He hesitated before adding:
"Yes, the White Room's past methods were inhumane. But without it, you and the other abandoned children would've died. At least we gave you education."
"So I should be grateful, huh? Grateful to you and the White Room?"
"It's a matter of mutual benefit. And don't think you're negotiating with me from a position of power. We need a representative—that's all."
Atsuomi's face darkened instantly, his sharp gaze scanning Ryo like a hawk. But to his dismay, the intimidation didn't work.
Ryo remained unfazed.
"If it's mutual benefit, then bargaining is natural. Not everything has to be a binary of support or opposition. There's always room to negotiate a result acceptable to all."
The words reminded Atsuomi of Naoe Jinnosuke's teachings—but hearing them from a child felt uncanny.
Perhaps, the moment he agreed to this secret meeting, he had already lost the upper hand. His own greed had lured him into the fire.
"Let's get to the point."
Atsuomi extended his hand, fingers spread.
"The White Room needs your victory. In return, we'll support your actions—as long as you promote the White Room's reputation. Positively."
"Do that, and I'll grant freedom to those Fourth and Fifth Gen students you care about—just like I did for you."
Ryo understood the implication. Atsuomi didn't genuinely care about the White Room's success. Like Naoe, he just wanted a visible achievement in the field of education—a topic close to the public's heart—to boost his political capital.
He was tired of waiting. Ten years wasted. He wanted quick results to climb higher.
What came afterward didn't matter.
He'd already sacrificed his own son for political theatrics—what were a few more pawns?
This entire charade was just a larger political performance.
And no one could quit now.
From the moment the White Room's name was revealed, there were only a few paths left.
Ryo wasn't surprised.
"Then let's work together."
-------------------------------------
"He's gone again."
Sakayanagi Arisu sighed, leaning on the window frame as she watched the car disappear.
"Don't worry. The White Room can't touch him now."
Narimori stretched lazily.
"You'll see him again tomorrow—though as an opponent."
"I know."
Arisu nodded softly. Though it was just a performance, something felt hollow.
For the first time, she had found a rival. And for the first time, someone besides her father she could love.
Two joyful things—yet they brought unease.
It felt like something important was being overlooked.
According to Ryo, his only goal was to end the White Room's cycle of pain and free others like him.
As the car vanished from view, Arisu sat back on the couch and absentmindedly opened a book.
It was a collection of Shakespeare's works:
"These violent delights have violent ends." —Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI.
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