{Hachiman's Perspective}
Ever since I first opened my eyes in this bizarre world, nine years have slipped through my fingers like sand. My existence, comfortably cushioned by an obscene mountain of wealth, has proceeded with a terrifying lack of friction. There have been no exhilarating developments, no cataclysmic disasters—nothing. My daily routine is so mind-numbingly simple it's almost alarming: I wake up, indulge in gourmet delicacies, play games, and devour an inexhaustible cycle of books. Afterward, I retreat to the lush, verdant gardens surrounding this manor to nap amidst the greenery.
In my previous life, I used to sneer at the ultra-rich. I couldn't for the life of me fathom why anyone would squander a fortune on sprawling gardens that seemed like nothing more than a bottomless money pit. I figured a room with a powerful AC and some shiny gadgets was the pinnacle of existence. But having experienced it firsthand, I've had a revelation. Nature is perhaps the only thing capable of tethering a twisted human psyche to some semblance of sanity, providing a buffer against the crushing weight of the duties they must eventually shoulder... Or at least, that's the lofty pile of nonsense I use to justify myself while I'm currently rolling around in the grass.
"...Hm. The weather seems to be in a foul mood today. It's strangely erratic."
I mutter to myself, squinting at a sky that has turned an unnaturally oppressive shade of grey. A sudden chill snakes down my spine—not the mere bite of a cold breeze, but a primal instinct screaming that something is 'off-kilter.'
"Come to think of it, why is it so quiet? I haven't seen a single soul all day."
It was too quiet. Even for a manor of this scale, which prized its tranquility, this wasn't 'peaceful'—it was 'hollowed out.' Usually, you'd see a servant or two scurrying about, performing their duties with the precision of clockwork. Today, there wasn't even the ghost of a footstep. This mansion I inhabit is less of a home and more of a gargantuan fortress, hemmed in by sky-high walls. I don't even know my own coordinates on a map. I just know the general geography resembles my old world. The one true stain on this new life of mine is the fact that I am effectively under house arrest. I cannot take a single step outside. My nine-year-old body is perfectly imprisoned. I've attempted to escape more times than I care to count, only to be intercepted before I could even glimpse the main gate.
And then there's the most unsettling anomaly: the 'servants.' They aren't the charming maids in lace you'd find in Akihabara. They are more like 'dolls'—meticulously programmed entities. The smiles they wear are fixed, empty things, paired with eyes that lack even a flicker of life, like masks stretched over a hollow interior. Every time they bow, I feel less like a person being served and more like a data point being processed by a machine. At first, the lack of a 'genuine' heart in their service bothered me, but after nearly a decade, I'd started to convince myself it was just extreme professionalism... or perhaps I was just lying to myself.
Stranger still is the 'mysterious water' my parents have forced me to drink every day since I turned five.
(Flashback)
"Here you go, Hachiman. From now on, you need to drink this every day."
"Huh? What is this exactly?"
"It's a health supplement. It'll make you strong and healthy."
(Present)
It's a clear liquid with a faint, clinical odor—reminiscent of iron and chemicals. My parents always insisted it was a "special supplement formula" for my wellbeing. It burns in my chest for a moment after I swallow it, but I can't deny the surge of vitality it provides afterward.
After rolling around on the lawn for a bit longer... I decide I can't ignore the atmosphere anymore.
"...Alright. Time to check things out."
I push myself up, dusting off the grass and leaves from my trousers. Once I'm satisfied with my appearance, I head back inside the manor.
"Where did everyone go? This is getting a bit uncanny... Hey, Sebas! You there? Mary! Milla! If anyone's around, give me a shout!"
...
...
...
Silence. Total, absolute silence.
I swallow hard. This isn't funny. No matter how much of a loner I claim to be, I'm not built for a horror-movie setup where a ghost could jump out at any second. I decide to expand my search—the bathrooms, the drawing rooms, maybe even the rooftop...
25 Minutes Later
Hachiman: "Hah... hah... hah... Damn, I'm exhausted."
I'm gasping for air. Note to self: I really need to start an exercise regimen. If I'm going to live a life of leisure, I need a body that doesn't collapse after twenty minutes of walking. Regardless of my physical state, the result of my search is the same: the house is empty.
What happened? Is it a staff holiday? Unlikely. In all my years here, I've never seen them take a single day off.
In that moment—
"Mmm...! (Muffled noises)"
A sudden, freezing sensation clamps over my face from behind. A pungent, chemical odor stings my nostrils, surging straight into my brain. Anesthetic.
"Mmph...!"
I thrash, but the body of a nine-year-old is useless. The arm locked around my throat is as unyielding as an iron vice. My vision begins to warp and fragment. The hallway lights flicker and then dive into darkness. A searing heat spreads through my chest as my strength evaporates. The last thing my fading senses register is the silhouette of a tall stranger in an unfamiliar uniform—and a pair of eyes looking down at me with a coldness that makes the doll-like maids look positively warm.
"Subject Number 8 secured..." a voice murmurs.
Subject 8? What are you... And then, the world vanishes into the abyss.
....
.
.
.
.
The darkness is absolute.
Beep—Beep—Beep...
"How is the status...?"
Hm?
Beep—Beep—
"Heart rate and pulse are within the designated parameters. Step 1: Project Nursery is now successfully complete. We are currently preparing for Step 2... conditioning the body for cellular integration."
Ugh... what is that noise...? Milla?
Beep—
"Good. For this 'X-class' project, we cannot afford to disappoint them."
...X-class?
"Understood."
"...Um.. Ugh.." (The sound of waking up)
After a few groggy moments, I finally force my eyes open. The first sensation to hit me isn't the softness of a bed; it's the biting chill of metal. My wrists and ankles are pinned down by restraints against a slanted examination table. My bare back is pressed against a freezing steel frame in what looks like a high-tech lab. The rhythmic beep... beep... beep... from the pulse monitor continues with an irritating persistence.
"Where... where am I?" I murmur with a raspy voice, my consciousness still fragmented.
"Professor, it seems Subject Number 8 has regained consciousness."
"...!.."
My awareness sharpens. My first point of focus after waking is the woman standing before me. Yes... it's her. Milla. The maid who has looked after me since I was a child. But there's a jarring difference in the woman before me—it's her clothes. She isn't wearing her daily maid outfit; she's in a lab coat.
"Milla?" I call out to her, my voice thick with confusion.
"..."
She doesn't respond to my voice like she usually does. Her face is a void of emotion, more so than usual. She looks exactly like a robot.
"Oh, you're awake, kid?"
"?"
After a moment, a tall man in a dark uniform steps into my field of vision near Milla. He looks to be in his late 40s. What's reflected in his eyes isn't 'me'—it's a 'result.'
"Who are you? Where is this place?"
I ask him with a detached tone, even as a wave of anxiety surges within me. I'll worry about Milla later; it's clear she isn't going to respond to anything I say.
"Ho~ You're unexpectedly composed. Usually, kids your age would be panicking, crying, and screaming the moment they wake up in an unfamiliar place. It's quite rare to find someone who carries themselves with such maturity."
I narrow my eyes. It seems my behavior isn't very 'nine-year-old-like' in this situation... This is getting harder than I thought. But you can't blame me; I've acted like this the entire time I was in that manor, and no one ever uttered a single complaint.
"Well, I'll answer the questions of the first one to wake up."
First one? What does that mean? I turn my head left and right, and only then do I notice the other tables stretching out in a long row. To my right, there are seven beds. To my left, twelve. On each of them lies a child around my age. It seems the children they brought here are all exactly nine years old.
"I am Professor Fergus, the head of this facility. And where you are right now is a laboratory. Or, if you prefer, you can call it an 'experimental chamber,'" the man introduces himself with a jocular tone that drips with underlying danger.
"...Gulp."
I swallow hard. A laboratory? Now that I'm looking closely, my body is covered in dozens of needles and wires... Am I about to become a guinea pig? What do I do—
"...Um... Papa..." Just then, the voices of other children begin to rise as they wake from their slumber.
I turn toward the sound of their voices.
"...Where is this..?" Some are confused.
"Hey! Who are you people?!" Others are panicking.
"...What are all these wires?!"
"...Sniff... Uwahhh..." And some are crying, which is the normal reaction.
"..."
It looks like my nine years of luxury have reached their expiration date. From here on out, this is going to be the worst kind of hell—one that will surely be etched into my memory for the rest of my life.