Lights flashed. My eyes snapped open. People in white coats scurried around me, scribbling into clipboards, their faces blurred behind gleaming glasses.
I was fully aware of the state I was in. An infant with consciousness at birth.
My eyes drifted across the sterile white walls. Everything swam in a haze. I sucked on my tiny fingers, tasting only the faint tang of sterilized air. I tried to cry—but no real tears came. Only soft, pitiful wails, which startled the people around me. They rushed forward, blankets flying, plucking me up and placing me inside a small, humming capsule.
Numbers blinked across monitors. My infant mind strained to comprehend their intentions. Words swirled in fragmented shapes. I understood urgency. I understood unease.
Then a sharp sting pierced my fragile body. Pain. I screamed instinctively. Faces froze. Hands hovered. And then—a green light flashed across a monitor. The tension evaporated. They relaxed. As if some experiment had been completed—and I had survived. Something I was never meant to survive. Something that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Hours passed. Another sting—a sedative this time—flowed into me. I resisted. I struggled. Consciousness slipped like water through my fingers, and I sank into a dream.
Unicorns of impossible colors. Forests glittering with impossible light. Mountains that scraped the sky, rivers flowing like liquid silver. Everything was sharper than reality had ever allowed. Beside me, another infant slept. Our fingerprints matched. I assumed we were the same. Shapes, colors, sensations—everything became a language I had never known, a code I instinctively began deciphering.
---
When I woke, the instructors erupted in celebration, leaping and clapping as though they had discovered a treasure buried deep within the earth.
"You… you've been in a coma for three years," one said. "You are now three years old."
Strange sensations coursed through my body, as if my mind and muscles were waking for the first time. Every heartbeat, every twitch, every breath felt conscious. Deliberate. Observed. Cataloged.
They taught me to speak. I watched their lips, copying the shapes, the motions. Slowly, words formed.
"You are… big potential not to be wasted," one instructor said. The words clung to me, heavy with meaning. I knew, somewhere deep inside, I had been chosen. For something greater. Something that would demand more than mere survival.
Then I met a girl.
"Hello! I'm Hayami!" Her eyes were wide, bright with joy.
"Hello there. I'm…" I paused, realizing for the first time I had no name.
"What is wrong? Do you have a name yet?" Hayami asked, concern sharpening her features.
"I… I don't have a name yet," I said honestly.
"Oh! You can get your name from that lady over there!" She pointed. A beautiful woman stood nearby, surrounded by children, radiating calm authority, her eyes both sharp and warm at the same time.
Curiosity overrode fear. I crawled toward her.
"Oh my… you are Kaijou?" the woman said. Her eyes softened when they landed on me.
"I… don't have a name yet," I said, suspicion gnawing at me. Perhaps Kaijou was my name.
"Kaijou, come with me," she said, taking my tiny hand with surprising gentleness. She led me into another room.
"My baby, I'm your mom. But only call me Kaede, okay?" she said, her voice a delicate mixture of warmth and command.
"You… are my mother? Is my name… Kaijou?" A flood of questions surged through my mind—unspoken, but vivid.
"Your name is Kaijou. But here… don't say it yet. Only I will call you that until the right time." she said, pulling me into a hug that pressed warmth into every inch of me.
I smiled unconsciously, feeling something for the first time that was not observation. Not calculation. But belonging.
---
Time flowed, and I grew. I learned to speak, to observe, to think. Yet I was never merely a child. I was a subject. A potential. A weapon forged in someone else's vision. I watched. Calculated. Even play became a lesson in strategy.
— Time Skip: 5 Years —
The years passed under watchful eyes, nurtured by hands that were not my own. I was an alien in my own life, acutely aware that every lesson, every expectation, every harsh word was shaping me into something I had never asked to become.
One day, the door opened. A man entered. Staff bowed immediately.
"This is my son, huh? Fascinating. How has he done these past years?" His eyes gleamed with predator-like curiosity, hunger flickering just beneath the surface.
"Yamada-sama. Everything has gone smoothly. Your son may be naturally gifted to have survived this far," one staff member said.
"Is that so? Enlighten me," Yamada said, voice sharp, calculating, a subtle twitch at the corner of his jaw betraying excitement.
"At the age of five, your son has already completed high school-level education. He shows immense potential."
"Excellent. Genius minds fail too often because they possess too much awareness. This time, we'll brainwash them early to fix that. Any other successful cases?"
"Subject 918, in particular. Comparable statistics to your son. Both achieved perfect results."
"Good. Rivalry accelerates growth. The pressure to outdo peers is invaluable," Yamada said, leaning slightly forward, eyes glinting through the one-way mirror.
"Yes, Yamada-sama. This year alone, 400 subjects have passed genetic modification successfully."
Yamada's lips curved, just slightly, predator savoring the hunt. Four hundred. Ten had been the previous year.
"Very well. Competition for the top spot will be fierce. Let's see if my son keeps up," he said, anticipation coating every word.
---
The door burst open. A woman's fury and fear filled the air.
"Yamada! Let these children go! They didn't ask to be dragged into this hell for your thirst for power!"
His smile faltered, just for a heartbeat.
"Kaede, we've discussed this. I'm nurturing them to be the best," he said, cold as steel.
"By stealing their childhoods?! Normal children grow up with toys, love, warmth—not as tools!"
He shoved her against the wall. "This project is mine. These children have no other family. I give them purpose."
Kaede froze, then glanced through the mirror. My small form worked on a problem calmly, aware that my every thought, every calculation, every observation was being watched, recorded, measured.
"No… my baby. You can't force him into this fantasy," she whispered, voice breaking, lingering on him just a moment longer than she could bear.
"Other children endure harsher treatment. My child is no exception," Yamada said, turning away. His greed outshone any guilt.
Kaede left, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her footsteps echoed down the sterile hall. Yamada stared into the mirror, dark reverence in his gaze.
"My son. Subject 900. My successor. My masterpiece. My pride. You will not fail my dream."