[In the real world - Ray's Voice]
The air froze in my chest, and I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I looked at "Skyro" with an astonishment I couldn't suppress; his features were terrifyingly calm.
"Dan?" I pronounced his name with difficulty, as if the letters weighed tons on my tongue. "Do you mean that Dan... that fearless monster, was just Number 39 in that organization?"
Skyro didn't look at me. His eyes remained fixed on some unseen point beyond the horizon. He let out a long sigh.
[Skyro's Voice]
Yes, Ray. He was Number 39. In that place, names were a luxury we didn't deserve. We were just numbers logged in experimental records, mere tools being forged into lethal weapons.
I remember that night well, a night of heavy silence. We were lying in our cramped room, and Dan was staring at the ceiling with a rigidity I didn't understand at the time. I asked him, perhaps searching for a lost shred of humanity amidst all that ugliness: "What is the pleasure in killing, Dan? Why do you kill while enjoying it?"
A suffocating silence prevailed. Minutes passed where I felt I would choke from the weight of the air. Dan was recalling his past in those moments; I saw it in his deeply sunken eyes. Then, in a voice devoid of a single ounce of emotion, he said: "Because pain... was always mine."
I couldn't reply. I felt then that his words were the sole summary of his life; a child kneaded with pain until he knew no other language. He kept staring at the ceiling, and I kept gazing out the window at the outer courtyard, watching the shadows dance under the floodlights. I wondered: Is a person born a monster... or slowly made into one?
Sleep eventually overcame us on that bitter question.
We woke in the morning to the violent screech of the metal door. There was no morning greeting, only the hoarse voice of the guard shouting his usual phrase: "Food time!"
We walked through monotonous corridors, their walls screaming with an oppressive whiteness, until we reached the cafeteria. The hall was vast, entirely and painfully white to the eyes, containing ten tables in the center arranged with strict military precision. Each table had only two seats to ensure isolation even while eating. There were children like us, aged between twelve and fourteen, their faces wiped clean of any childhood innocence—pale, like wax statues placed to play a role they had never chosen.
I searched the room for "Hugh," and I found him.
He was sitting in the furthest corner of the hall, completely alone. He wasn't eating; instead, he was staring at the table with a strange, intense focus. But what truly caught my attention was a torn piece of white cloth wrapped tightly around his neck, as if hiding a wound or a bruise he didn't want anyone to see.
I signaled to Dan, and we carried our meager plates, containing a slice of tomato and a little dry rice, and headed to his table.
"Hugh..." I called out as I sat in front of him.
"Hello, comrades..." Hugh whispered, his voice so low it seemed he feared the walls themselves were listening. "I caught valuable prey last night."
Dan furrowed his brows in boredom: "Prey? Did you catch a rat to eat?"
Hugh chuckled lightly, leaning across the table toward us: "Better... information. I managed to sneak near the ventilation shaft of the guards' room. I heard them talking about the rankings, and about the monsters they breed here."
Dan's look shifted from boredom to sharp interest: "Speak."
Hugh lowered his voice even more, gesturing with his eyes toward the main door of the cafeteria, which hadn't yet opened for the rest of the "elite."
"The guards tremble at one person... they call him 'Number 21'. They say he isn't just a child in training, but a 'completed weapon.' He hasn't lost a single point since entering, and he killed three people in last week's test with a single touch."
Hugh looked at us with a grim seriousness: "My advice to you... if you see Number 21, avoid him. This boy isn't human; he's something else."
A sudden silence fell over the cafeteria, as if Hugh's words had summoned the devil himself. All eyes turned toward the door.
"21" entered alone.
He wasn't surrounded by guards, nor did he need anyone to pave the way for him. He walked with an eerie calmness, his features rigid as if carved from solid rock. His eyes didn't settle on anyone, as if we were all just pieces of furniture in his path.
He headed to a table in the far corner, a table that remained empty despite the crowd because everyone understood that approaching 21's vicinity meant playing with fire. He placed his tray, holding the usual portion of rice, and sat with a perfectly straight back. He didn't touch his spoon, nor did he look at the food. He just sat there, staring into the void before him with a terrifying stillness, as if in a state of meditation or waiting for a signal only he could hear.
I whispered to Dan while cautiously watching the scene, recalling Hugh's warning: "So... this is 21? The monster you talked about?"
Dan didn't reply. He was watching him with eyes gleaming with a savage glint. Dan stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles one by one, the sound sharp and clear in the quiet hall. His smile was widening—that unmistakable smile that always surfaced when he smelled impending blood.
"The highest point scorer... and the completed weapon?" Dan muttered as he began to move. "Let's see if this stillness hides something worth the effort."
Hugh quickly grabbed the edge of Dan's uniform, his voice filled with anxiety: "Dan! Are you crazy? Didn't you hear what I said? The guards say he kills with a single touch!"
Dan ignored him completely, yanked his clothes from Hugh's grip, and walked with heavy, confident steps toward 21's table. He stopped right in front of him, staring down into the face of 21, who didn't even blink. 21 remained entirely still, didn't raise his head, and showed absolutely no reaction to Dan's massive presence shadowing his table.
With a swift, provocative motion, Dan reached out, grabbed the edge of 21's rice bowl, and slowly flipped it over onto the table and the floor. The white grains of rice scattered everywhere, staining the pristine floor.
Dan said in a cold, mocking tone: "Oh... my hand slipped."
Then, something happened that I hadn't anticipated. 21 didn't get angry, and he didn't shout. In a fraction of a second, 21 shifted from his static posture. His movement was too fast for my eyes to track. I saw Dan freeze in place, his eyes widening in genuine shock, as if his body had suddenly shut down.
Before any of us could comprehend what had happened, 21 delivered a single punch, short and concentrated, dead center into Dan's stomach. It wasn't an ordinary punch; the echo of the impact was heavy, like an iron hammer striking a sandbag.
Dan's massive body folded in on itself. He stumbled backward a few steps, then fell to his knees, before his face slammed hard into the floor. He began coughing violently, blood spilling from his mouth to stain the scattered rice on the ground.
Complete dismay swept over the cafeteria. I was certain Dan was finished, that the blow had shattered his insides. But, as 21 prepared to sit down again with the exact same calmness, something happened that sent shivers through my body.
Dan began to laugh. A choked laugh mixed with blood.
Dan raised his head. His face was flushed, blood covering his lower lip, but his eyes were blazing with an unprecedented madness. He leaned on the table and stood up with difficulty, panting deeply as if trying to force air into his crushed lungs.
"This is it..." Dan said, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. "This is what I've been waiting for!"
He cracked his neck and stood up straight despite the obvious agony in his movement. He looked terrifyingly thrilled, as if that blow hadn't broken him but awakened a dormant monster inside him. He took a fighting stance, his eyes fixed on 21, who also stood up coldly, the veins in his hands bulging powerfully, indicating he was fully prepared to finish him off.
The real battle was about to erupt, had the cafeteria doors not burst open violently. Three guards rushed in, wielding crackling blue stun batons, shouting in a voice that shook the hall: "Stop! Return to your dorms immediately!"
Two guards grabbed Dan, who struggled fiercely to break free, screaming hysterically: "Let go of me! We're not done yet! 21, I'll cut your throat in the next test!"
Meanwhile, the third guard stood before 21, who simply stepped back and sat down in his place calmly, as if nothing had ever happened. Dan glared at his opponent as he was dragged outside, shouting loudly and provocatively: "Enjoy your peace for now, 21... next time, no one will intervene."
We returned to the room. Dan sat on his bed clutching his stomach, his face still bearing that crazed smile despite the pain. "He was fast..." Dan whispered, looking at his own hand that trembled with adrenaline. "Too fast... I didn't even see him move."
I told him while trying to inspect his wound: "He almost killed you with one blow, Dan. Be careful, this guy isn't joking around."
Dan laughed mockingly while looking up at the ceiling: "Whoever fears death doesn't deserve to live in this section, Skyro... 21 is the real test, and I will pass it even if it costs me my life."
While we were talking, the door opened. A guard entered, holding a white piece of paper, and stated with excessive mechanicality: "Number 39... transfers to Room 4. Number 37... transfers to Room 8. Move now!"
We looked at each other for the last time before parting ways. I gathered my few belongings and headed to Room 8. I opened the door, and the room was dead quiet. There, on the opposite bed, sat the girl bearing the number 23.
She turned to me with a mysterious smile and said in a tone that made my heart tremble for no reason: "Welcome... it seems we will be sharing this silence together today, Number 37."