The room A-0174 was too quiet for three people who had already seen too much.
Haruka sat by the window, elbow resting against the cold frame, watching the world outside like it was a stage play he had already memorized.
He thought to himself once:
"I can't use my Chrono Split on people to know their future reply, they'll see the blue glow... I have to use more of my brain, he said he will stand on our graves... tsk..."
The wind barely moved the curtains. Everything felt paused—like time itself was holding its breath.
Yume broke the silence first.
"Haruka… you've been weird lately."
He didn't turn.
"I've always been weird."
"That's not what I mean." Her voice sharpened. "You're distant. It's like you're here, but not here."
Saito leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing like always. "He's thinking again. That dangerous kind of thinking."
Haruka smiled faintly.
"Thinking is dangerous now?"
Saito shrugged. "Depends. You don't just think, you overthinking."
That word hung in the air.
Calculate.
Haruka finally turned his head slightly, enough for his eye to catch them both in his peripheral vision.
"Tell me something," he said calmly. "When you talk to someone… do you hear only what they say, or what they mean?"
Yume frowned. "What kind of question is that?"
"Autistic kind."
He stood up slowly, walking towards Yume—not aggressively, not even with intent. Just… inevitability.
"When you speak," he continued, "your tone shifts slightly depending on your confidence. When you hesitate, your eyes move left—not randomly, but searching for a safer version of truth. When you're afraid, you hide it behind irritation."
Yume stiffened.
Saito narrowed his eyes.
Haruka's voice didn't rise. It lowered.
"I don't listen to words anymore. I listen to patterns."
Silence again.
This time, heavier.
Yume crossed her arms. "So what? You're saying you've figured everyone out?"
"No," Haruka said.
A pause.
"I'm saying… I can."
—
Training that day felt different.
Not harder.
Not faster.
Just… controlled.
Every movement Haruka made was precise. Efficient. No wasted energy. It was like he had already simulated the outcome before moving his body.
Saito charged at him during sparring.
Fast.
Direct.
Predictable.
Haruka sidestepped before Saito even committed to the punch.
"You're leading with your shoulder," Haruka said mid-motion, deflecting the strike with minimal effort. "That means your next move is a hook."
Saito froze for half a second.
That was enough.
Haruka tapped his chest—lightly. A finishing move, if he wanted it to be.
Yume watched from the side, unease growing in her chest.
"Again," Saito muttered.
They reset.
This time, Saito changed his approach—feint, delay, unpredictability.
Haruka smiled.
"Option B," he whispered.
Before Saito could react, Haruka moved first.
Every step, every strike—it was like watching someone play chess against an opponent who didn't realize the game had already ended.
—
Class felt even stranger.
Voices blended into noise.
Laughter, whispers, complaints—all of it sounded hollow.
Haruka sat at his desk, eyes half-lidded, not bored… but analyzing.
He's lying about finishing his homework.
She's pretending not to care, but she's watching him.
That group? One leader, two followers, one silent observer.
It wasn't guessing.
It was certainty.
His brain didn't process people anymore—it constructed them.
Like characters.
Like scripts.
Like stories waiting to be directed.
He leaned back slightly.
This is easy.
Too easy.
And that's when the thought hit him.
A quiet one.
A dangerous one.
If it's this easy… then what's the point of playing fair?
—
Night fell.
Room A-0174 was dim, lit only by a single weak light.
Yume had already fallen asleep.
Saito was pretending to.
Haruka stood in front of the mirror.
Just… staring.
At himself.
At the person he used to be.
His reflection stared back—same face, same eyes.
But something was off.
Something missing.
"…Pathetic," he whispered.
The word barely escaped his lips.
His reflection didn't react.
Of course it didn't.
"Still hesitating," he continued, voice growing quieter. "Still pretending emotions matter."
He stepped closer.
Hand against the mirror.
Cold.
"You feel bad for people who don't even understand themselves."
A pause.
Then—
He laughed.
Soft at first.
Then sharper.
Then… wrong.
"Look at you," he muttered, eyes widening slightly. "Trying to save everyone… trying to be good…"
His smile twisted.
"Weak."
The word cracked something.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… enough.
His breathing slowed.
The laughter stopped.
And in its place—
Silence.
Complete.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
"Emotions," he said calmly, "are inefficiencies."
His reflection agreed.
Or maybe… it didn't matter anymore.
"I don't need them."
And just like that—
He let them go.
Not erased.
Not destroyed.
Just… sealed away.
—
The next day, Haruka walked into class differently.
Same posture.
Same face.
But the presence?
Completely altered.
He approached a group of students mid-conversation.
"Hey," one of them said casually. "What's up?"
Haruka smiled.
Warm.
Friendly.
Perfect.
"I was thinking," he began, voice smooth as silk, "we could organize something bigger. A system. A group that actually does something instead of just existing."
They leaned in.
Hooked already.
"Like what?" someone asked.
Haruka's eyes flickered—just slightly.
"Influence," he said. "Structure. Control over outcomes."
They didn't fully understand.
But they didn't need to.
That was the beauty of it.
"I'll guide you," he continued. "All you have to do is follow."
No resistance.
No hesitation.
Just curiosity… slowly turning into loyalty.
Across the room, Yume watched.
Something felt off.
Deeply off.
Saito noticed too.
"That guy…" he muttered under his breath. "He's not playing anymore."
—
By the end of the day—
Three students.
Then five.
Then more.
Drawn in not by force—
But by design.
Haruka stood at the center, invisible threads connecting him to each of them.
A system forming.
A network.
A beginning.
He looked out the window again, just like before.
But this time—
He wasn't watching the world.
He was rewriting it.
"Alastor…" he whispered.
The name felt right.
Like it had always been waiting.
And somewhere deep inside—
Buried beneath layers of logic and control—
Something human stirred.
Faint.
Distant.
Ignored.
For now.