The floor where the supervision office was located remained quiet.
The corridor was long.
The lights were steadily on.
Cold white light tubes were embedded in recessed grooves in the ceiling, extending row after row toward the end of sight. The light was even, without flicker, without breaks of shadow. The walls and floor maintained the same cool tone, gray-white materials reflecting a stable glow.
Few people stayed here.
Most students never came to this level.
The upper floors of the experimental building usually belonged to administrative areas.
Students only moved within training zones and dormitory areas. Rarely did anyone go upward.
Only those with permission could enter.
Closed doors occasionally appeared along both sides of the corridor.
There were no signs on them. Only numbers.
The numbers rested quietly on the metal surfaces, without decoration.
Seven walked forward along the corridor.
His steps were unhurried.
The sound of his soles touching the ground was light.
The corridor's material slightly amplified sound. Echoes stretched into the distance within the empty space, then gradually faded.
After a few steps,
the sound disappeared.
The experimental building had always maintained this state.
Order.
Silence.
Everything proceeded according to fixed arrangements.
Daily classes.
Daily training.
Daily records.
Every process was arranged, without deviation.
No unnecessary sound.
No unnecessary change.
A few minutes later,
Seven stopped in front of a door.
There was only a simple number on it.
Supervision Room.
The door was made of dark metal.
Its surface had been polished into a fine matte, reflecting no excess light.
A small access indicator light was embedded beside the door.
It was green.
That meant someone was inside.
Seven raised his hand.
Knocked.
The knock was not heavy.
His knuckles tapped the metal surface twice.
The sound was especially clear in the silent corridor.
A voice quickly came from inside.
"Enter."
Low. Steady.
Seven reached out and pushed the door open.
The hinge produced a faint mechanical sound.
The lighting inside the room was slightly dimmer than the corridor.
Light was concentrated over the desk area.
Several terminal devices were placed along the wall.
Data interfaces still remained on the screens.
Graph curves.
Training records.
Student numbers.
And a recording window of the training area.
A person sat behind the desk.
The supervisor.
He was looking at the terminal screen.
On the screen was footage from the training area.
The frame was paused at the end of training.
At the center of the training field,
Ros stood within the marked circle.
Her body maintained a standard posture.
Feet slightly apart.
Back straight.
Arms naturally hanging at her sides.
As if waiting for the next command.
She did not move.
She did not leave.
After training, most students would leave immediately.
But she remained there.
Like a paused motion.
There was no sound in the footage.
Only stillness.
The supervisor watched for a few seconds.
Then closed the footage.
The screen dimmed.
The room returned to silence.
The supervisor raised his head.
Looked toward the door.
"What is it."
Seven walked into the room.
The door closed behind him.
The air shifted slightly.
Besides the supervisor,
there was another person in the room.
That person stood beside the supervisor.
A boy.
Not very tall.
Slightly shorter than Seven.
But his posture was straight.
Like a pole fixed into the ground.
The boy wore a white mask.
The mask had no expression.
No markings.
Its surface was clean and simple.
Only hollow spaces for the eyes remained.
A gaze extended from behind the mask.
But no emotion could be seen.
The boy stood there the entire time.
No movement.
No speech.
As if long accustomed to silence.
Seven glanced at him.
Just a brief glance.
Then withdrew his gaze.
The supervisor noticed.
His eyes paused briefly between the two.
Then he asked,
"Training finished?"
Seven nodded.
"Finished."
The supervisor leaned back.
The chair made a faint friction sound.
"Then what did you come for."
Seven did not circle around the point.
"Training method."
The supervisor looked at him.
Did not interrupt.
"Continue."
Seven said,
"Repeated damage has no meaning."
The room fell silent for a second.
The supervisor did not speak.
Seven continued.
"Recovery performance is already stable."
"Further testing won't change the result."
The supervisor raised his hand.
Tapped his knuckles lightly on the desk.
The sound was small,
but clear.
"That's not something I can decide."
Seven was not surprised.
Training arrangements in the academy were never decided by supervisors.
They were executors.
The real decisions came from above.
Training plans.
Intensity.
Test cycles.
All determined by higher levels.
Supervisors maintained order.
Executed instructions.
Seven was silent for a moment.
As if organizing his words.
Then said,
"I know."
The supervisor looked at him.
"Then what do you want."
Seven said,
"A bet."
The supervisor's gaze paused slightly.
"A bet?"
Seven nodded.
"I win one match."
"You grant one request."
The room fell silent for an instant.
The masked boy still stood there.
Like a shadow.
The supervisor did not answer immediately.
He looked at Seven.
As if assessing something.
His gaze was steady.
Without emotion.
A professional soldier's habit.
Observe.
Judge.
Then decide.
After a few seconds,
he asked,
"What request."
Seven said,
"Adjust the training."
The supervisor spoke calmly,
"I don't have the authority to change arrangements."
Seven replied,
"Not change."
"Adjust the method."
The supervisor asked,
"Specifically."
Seven said,
"Reduce meaningless repeated damage."
"Increase combat training."
Silence fell again.
The masked boy still did not move.
His gaze rested on Seven from behind the mask.
As if listening.
The supervisor asked,
"If you lose."
Seven answered quickly,
"I stop interfering with training."
The supervisor looked at him.
"Forever."
Seven nodded.
"Agreed."
The supervisor was silent for a while.
Then said,
"Who's your opponent."
Seven answered,
"You choose."
The supervisor looked at him.
Paused for a few seconds.
Then said,
"I heard you beat Number 33 a few days ago."
Seven did not deny it.
He simply stood there.
Without explanation.
The supervisor continued,
"That match wasn't recorded."
"I'm a little interested."
His tone was steady.
Like stating a fact.
Silence filled the room again.
Then the supervisor said,
"Let's do it differently."
Seven looked at him.
The supervisor shut down the terminals.
All screens in the room went dark.
The lighting became simpler.
He stood up.
The chair slid back.
The metal frame made a short, sharp sound against the floor.
The supervisor walked to the door.
Stopped.
Said one sentence.
"Basement Level 3."
Seven did not ask why.
He simply nodded.
The masked boy had already followed.
The three of them left the office.
The door closed behind them.
The corridor remained quiet.
The lighting unchanged.
The elevator was at the end.
The supervisor pressed the button.
The doors opened.
The three stepped inside.
The lighting inside the elevator was slightly dim.
The floor indicator lit up.
B3.
The elevator began descending.
The mechanical sound was soft.
Numbers decreased one by one.
Soon,
the elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
The lighting on Basement Level 3 was dimmer than above.
The corridor was wider.
There was a faint metallic smell in the air.
Almost no one came here.
Most of the time, it remained sealed.
The supervisor walked to the wall.
Entered authorization on the control panel.
The screen lit up.
A string of access codes was input.
A few seconds later,
the indicator lights of the entire floor flickered once.
The supervisor said,
"The cameras are off."
Seven looked at him.
The supervisor continued,
"There's no recording on this level right now."
At the end of the corridor was a heavy door.
Much thicker than standard training rooms.
The metal surface was covered in fine scratches.
Like marks left by countless impacts.
The supervisor pushed it open.
Inside was an empty training space.
Smaller than standard fields.
But the ground was reinforced.
So were the walls.
The supervisor took off his coat.
Handed it to the masked boy.
Then said,
"Wait outside."
The boy did not move.
The supervisor added,
"You'll be affected by my ability if you stay inside."
The masked boy gave a slight nod.
Said nothing.
He took the coat.
Stepped back outside.
Stood by the corridor wall.
The door slowly closed.
The metal sealed.
All sound inside was cut off.
Only two people remained in the training field.
The supervisor walked to the center.
Looked at Seven.
"You beat Number 33."
His tone was calm.
"I want to see why."
The supervisor moved his wrist.
His joints gave a faint sound.
The motion was natural.
Like a routine check.
Seven asked,
"The bet still stands?"
The supervisor nodded.
"It does."
He paused.
Then added,
"But one condition."
"You beat me first."
Silence filled the room again.
No cameras.
No records.
No audience.
One outside the door.
Two inside.
The supervisor stood at the center.
Looking at Seven.
His voice low.
Steady.
"Come."