What is Freedom?
Third person POV:
The auditorium dimmed as the colossal screen crackled to life, bathing hundreds of students in a cold, bluish glow. Conversations died immediately. Even the air itself felt suspended, anticipating what would potentially come next.
A voice—flat, measured, and chillingly familiar—spilled from the speakers. A voice they had never expected to hear in such a raw, unfiltered state. Several students stiffened on instinct; even teachers subtly straightened. Ayanokoji's thoughts—his mind—was being projected before the entire school.
The video opened on a tidy, almost sterile dorm room. Ayanokoji lay on his bed like a figure carved from stillness, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion clinging to him like a shadow.
What is freedom to you?
Is it something you're given or earned?
Is it tangible?
Can you touch it?
Sartre once suggests that "Freedom is what you do what's been done to you". On that topic of existentialism, the idea that one's freedom is shaped by the response to external circumstances is a moving reflection. Does your freedom derive from the actions of others, or does it spring forth from the crucible of your own choices?
John Stuart Mill once proclaimed, "The worth of a state in the long run is the worth of the individuals composing it." In this light, does the collective yearning for freedom fortify the foundation of a society, or does it rest upon the shoulders of individuals striving for liberation? Can freedom truly exist in isolation, divorced from the social and societal pressures from outside?
I don't buy into abstract notions. Can you hold freedom in your hand, feel its weight, or is it just a philosophical construct that vanishes when scrutinised? How would you respond to Nietzsche's perspective that "Freedom is the will to be responsible for our selves"?
Visualise this for me: you're standing there, and I hand you what's supposed to be freedom. Does it have a texture, a tangible quality, or is it as intangible as the air we breathe? I'm not looking for a poetic rendition; I'm asking if freedom is something you can hold onto, or if it slips through your fingers like fine sand.
According to Nietzsche, freedom isn't some abstract notions; it's the will to be responsible for ourselves. Can you buy into that idea, or do you think it's just another philosophical construct that crumbles under scrutiny? Is there weight to Nietzsche's claim, or is it just more words? I want specifics. Do you see freedom as. Concrete reality, something you can touch, or is it just a mental exercise.
The philosophical cascade continued, each line delivered with emotionless precision. Sartre, Mill, Nietzsche—names that would make even honour students pause in thought—were unpacked with dispassionate clarity. The monotonous tone only made the depth more startling.
By the time his monologue faded, the auditorium had been swallowed whole by silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
The kind that presses on your ribs.
For many, it felt as if the world they thought they understood had been flipped on its head.
Ayanokoji—the quiet boy who blended into crowds like smoke—possessed a mind that operated on terrifying complexity.
A now second-year student whispered to his neighbour, "Man that's some deep stuff ain't it?"
"Yeah, dude it's no joke," his friend muttered, still dazed.
Class D, more than any other group, looked shell-shocked. They had lived with him for a year, yet somehow knew next to nothing about him at all.
"Hey was Ayanokoji-kun always so clever?" Ike blurted out.
"Nah man, I don't think so, but that was some crazy thinking, I didn't even understand 90 percent of what he was talking about," Sudo admitted, his face twisted in confusion.
Horikita's voice cut through the whispers like a blade. "Well if the both of you actually studied efficiently and paid much more attention in class perhaps you could concede to understanding what he's thinking better." Her posture was rigid—too rigid—and the faint tension between her brows revealed what she refused to say aloud: She was worried about her neighbour. Deeply.
Then the screen shifted.
What was I thinking about? My mind was surprisingly restless as I climbed into bed. Why was that? Was it the upcoming second year? Tsukishiro was would serve a problem, my peaceful life would hang in the balance. I had to worry about them finding out about Kei too. Was this anxiety?
This year was eventful, to say the least, and now I just wanted some rest.
Forcing myself to sleep was a common routine, I had been doing this for years now—whether in the White Room or in ANHS, where I now resided.
"Haah..."
I took in a deep breath. Closing my eyes.
Relax your body, arms, legs, facial muscles. Drop your shoulders and let your hands drop to the side of your body.
Stabilise your breathing
Think of a relaxing scene...
One without...That Man...
One without compasses...
One with ice cream...
One with a peaceful life...
One without Horikita...
And...Sleep...
Two girls—Matsushita and Sato—tensed almost imperceptibly at the name Kei, glancing at each other with knowing, uneasy eyes. Others, however, were fixated entirely on Tsukishiro. His composed expression, illuminated by the screen's glow, took on an uncanny quality.
Hashimoto looked ready to provoke him. Kanzaki was almost ready to question him. But one glance at Tsukishiro's faint smile—polite yet deliberate and utterly wrong—froze both in place.
Then Ryuen's laughter broke the tension like a hammer. "Kuku, so Suzune, how does it feel knowing your friend on screen wants a life without you in it...?"
Ibuki practically choked from laughing too hard (she sure knows about choking am I right?).
Ishizaki was slapping his knee in delight, as if he was hearing the funniest thing.
Horikita's reply was sharp and clipped. "I'd appreciate if you stopped calling me by my given name... I believe there are more important and pressing matters to deal with..."
Ryuen's laughter tapered off. His eyes narrowed, mind already dissecting the pieces. White Room. That Man. Sleep routines bordering a military style system. A mind honed into something inhuman. He leaned back, smirking—but his thoughts were far from amused.
If this was Ayanokoji's resting state... What kind of monster had been walking among them all year?
Haruka, who had seated herself close to Akito, Keisei and Airi, unconsciously gripped the edges of her chair. "W–Wait... this is seriously Kiyopon...? This?" she whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.
The philosophical monologue, the unnaturally calm introspection—it didn't match the quiet, bored boy she knew. And it made her feel slightly anxious.
Her feelings of anxiety were overridden by the feelings of worry at the well-being of said Kiyopon, however.
Akito frowned deeply, arms crossed. "...This isn't normal... People don't usually think like this before bed. What would make you want to think about things like that before drifting off?"
His comment was filled with concern: sharp and worried concern. His bro seemed to be embroiled in some deep troubles...
Airi, small and trembling beside them, looked ready to cry. "Kiyotaka-kun... you... you weren't okay at all, were you...?" The soft tremor in her voice melted into the auditorium's hush.
Keisei sat stiffly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Of all people, he should have expected this. He knew Ayanokoji wasn't normal — he had seen glimpses, subtle flashes of intelligence no "average" Class D student could ever produce. Yet even he felt his throat tighten when he heard the monologue.
"To think, Kiyotaka was capable of thinking such advanced philosophical thoughts, is slightly beyond me. His grades were so average, when we studied together, I thought for sure he was fairly normal intelligence-wise. Although, oddly stoic..." His brows knitted as he pushed up his glasses.
How much was he hiding this whole time? And why didn't I notice sooner? Why didn't any of us? Behind the frustration lay something else — something painfully human:
Insecurity.
Keisei had always believed that effort and study could close the gap between him and those "naturally gifted." But, listening to this? It felt like he had been lied to so much. Completely fooled by someone he considered a close friend.
Haruka nudged him lightly.
"Yuukimu... you okay?"
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"I'm fine. I'm just... reassessing my thoughts on him. That's all..."
But when Ayanokoji's thoughts mentioned Kei—and the anxiety of being found out—Keisei's eyes narrowed.
"...So he was dealing with all of this alone. No wonder he always seemed so detached." For a moment, he looked strangely guilty.
"I misjudged him," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Maybe more than anyone else did."
Kei's reaction was the most visceral. Her breath hitched when the screen showed him lying in bed. When his exhausted voice reflected: '...I had to worry about them finding out about Kei too...' Her hand flew to her mouth. He was thinking about me. Even while he was disappearing into— into whatever dimension they said he went to... he was worrying about me.
But the thought didn't comfort her. It crushed her. Her boyfriend had vanished. No clue. No contact. No reassurance. And now she was forced to listen to his private thoughts. The calm, emotionless cadence masking the of his situation stress. Yet she was unable to reach him. She stared at the screen as though it might swallow her whole.
Please be alive. Please come back. Please... don't leave me.
Hirata, seated beside the girls closest to Kei's circle, noticed her shoulders shaking. His voice was gentle. "Karui— Karuizawa-san... are you alright?"
She didn't answer. She was frozen, eyes glimmering with something far more desperate than simple worry.
Hirata felt sick.
Not because of the content—though Ayanokoji's mind was far more complex and heavy than he'd ever suspected—but because he knew, unmistakably, that a classmate had been suffering quietly beside them.
Ayanokoji's tone was calm. His thoughts were not. Worry about this Tsukishiro. Tension for Karuizawa's situation (whatever it entailed). Concern for the future. Exhaustion that sounded years old, all piling up.
Hirata clenched his fists... Did I truly fail to notice how much he was carrying? Again?
He looked toward Class D, his expression tightening with guilt.
The philosophical monologue ended, and Ichinose hadn't moved for nearly 10 seconds. She sat perfectly still, hands laced tightly together on her lap, her polite composure cracking at the edges.
Ayanokoji's voice—that weary, hollow tone—echoed in her mind.
She had known he was thoughtful.
She had known he could be perceptive when he wanted to.
But this?
This was loneliness so deep it felt like drowning.
Her breath trembled.
Ayanokoji-kun... how much were you hiding behind that poker face?
And the part that hurt most—the part she disliked for not noticing—was that he had thought about Karuizawa-san, not her. Not even once. Ichinose lowered her head, swallowing a tight, bitter ache.
She could think about that later, what mattered most was that Ayanokoji-kun was alright and they would soon find out.
They would right?
Amikura noticed immediately. She always did with Honami. Ichinose's gentle smile had faded entirely, replaced with a glassy, unfocused stare that she wore only when something struck her deeply.
Amikura leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. "...Honami? Are you alright?"
Ichinose blinked, startled back into the present. "O–Oh. Yes. Sorry, I just... wasn't expecting that."
Her voice wavered, betraying her. Amikura placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "This must be hard for you. Just breathe, okay? We're all here."
Ichinose gave a small, grateful smile—but her eyes drifted back to the screen, full of unspoken worry and lingering tension.
Hiyori sat among Class C with her usual calm, ethereal presence—hands folded neatly around one of her many precious books, eyes bright with quiet fascination.
But the moment Ayanokoji's inner monologue began dissecting existential philosophy, her eyes widened ever so slightly.
"...His thoughts really are beautiful," she whispered under her breath.
There was no fear in her voice. Just wonder—a soft, intellectual delight.
So this is what my book buddy thinks about when he's alone. This depth... this loneliness... Ayanokoji-kun, you're carrying an entire world inside your mind, aren't you?
Sakayangi watched the footage with unsettling stillness. Where others had flinched, laughed, or worried, she remained utterly calm—her cane resting against her seat, fingers tapping its handle with faint interest.
Her eyes never left the screen. As Ayanokoji spoke of Sartre, Nietzsche, responsibility, and freedom, a soft hum escaped her.
"...Fufu. As expected of him."
This was no surprise to her. No shock. No revelation. She had known just how capable The Masterpiece of the Whiteroom truly was.
So that is where your mind wanders when the world thinks you sleep. How very like you, Ayanokoji-kun.
But when his thoughts shifted to Tsukishiro—and then briefly to Karuizawa—her gaze sharpened, almost predatory.
"...You were under far more strain than I anticipated," she whispered. Simple curiosity getting the better of her, the sheer awe which had captivated her, 8 years ago, had returned in full-effect, speeding up the drumming of her weakened heart.
A darker fascination woven with admiration and longing for the opponent she had been denied for so very long took its place. Her smile widened, serene and chilling especially to Kamuro, who was sitting beside her.
"Even lost in another dimension, you remain extraordinary. Please don't keep me waiting too long, Ayanokoji-kun. Our game hasn't ended just yet..."
Then, as the boy had drifted off into a slumber, an eerie breeze resounded in the auditorium. It was a breeze, which would eternally change everything for all parties involved. As they got to experience their dear friend, classmate, student and peer in a parallel world. One filled with many, many mysteries. One filled with many, many obscurities. One filled with many, many dangers...
Whoosh~
(A/N Ok this was very short but this is the introduction of the whole story and him getting transported into AOT. So I thought I'll make it a separate chapter. Chapter 2 will be longer and conclude all the event of chapter 1 of the original story. Until next time. Cya!)