"Hey, Nagami. Got a minute?"
Ayanokoji approached him, keeping clear of the crowd.
"Oh, Ayanokoji. What's up?"
Nagami paused in the middle of driving a stake into the ground.
"How did you do it? You redeemed Kushida, even though she was so twisted. I'm really curious."
"You mean that? Let me think."
Nagami tapped his palm with his fist, as if he'd just had an idea.
"Easy. She was a good person to begin with. She had all the qualities of one: she was helpful, kind, gentle, and compassionate."
Ayanokoji rested his chin on his hand, his expression blank as he thought it over.
"Who do you think seems more like a bad person, Kushida or Horikita?"
"Well..."
Ayanokoji hesitated.
"Don't tell me you're a masochist, Ayanokoji. Those dark spots on your arm are going to protest."
"Uh... Now that you mention it, maybe I am."
Ayanokoji thought of the wounds on his right arm from when he was occasionally stabbed with a compass, and found himself agreeing a little.
"But a good person? You know about the things Kushida's done, right? Betraying her class and all that. That doesn't sound like something a good person would do."
Ayanokoji had spotted the flaw in his argument.
"Mm-hmm, I know. Here's an example: if doing one bad thing were equivalent to doing ten good things, would you do it, as a good person?"
"That's the classic trolley problem. It's hard to decide. Countless historical figures have been controversial for sacrificing a small number of people."
"My advice to her was, 'As long as little Kikyo is happy, that's what matters. If things go wrong, just don't get any blood on me.'"
"But you went out of your way to scheme against Ryuen of Class C over this. Your words and actions don't match."
"She deserves a chance to turn over a new leaf, too. In the end, it's up to how she acts."
Nagami spread his hands, as if to show how helpless he was.
Was it a privilege reserved for beautiful women? Ayanokoji wondered.
Nagami's strange moral code left him baffled. Sometimes he was so capricious, yet in other matters he was utterly serious.
His contradictory personality was difficult for someone who'd grown up in the White Room to understand.
"By the way, I still don't know what this 'White Room' you mentioned is."
The White Room was an enclosed institution that raised high-level artificial geniuses. The children there were very young, and once selected to enter the White Room, they had to obey every order from their instructors.
No one inside was allowed to show emotion, and they were subjected to a brutal elimination system.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka was the White Room's finest creation. He told Nagami the whole story of how he'd escaped the institution with the help of a butler.
"To destroy a person, you have to destroy their free will. It seems you're free."
Nagami praised him.
"Free? I'm just curious about emotions."
Ayanokoji disagreed.
"Please don't take offense at what I'm about to say about the White Room."
"It's a laughable creation. Which brings me to a question: if artificial geniuses can be cultivated, why can't the people who were eliminated be cultivated into geniuses, too?"
"Fundamentally, with so many test subjects in the White Room, it's only natural that a few geniuses would emerge. They screen students for aptitude through exams, then unilaterally declare that they've cultivated artificial geniuses."
"They're obviously cherry-picking the best, yet they claim to be cultivating talent. It's laughable."
"Rather than cultivating talent, they seem to be conducting social experiments, stripping ordinary people of their emotions and observing how they change. From a modern perspective, the White Room is a prison that kills people."
"Unfortunately, psychology has remained a black box for centuries. Theories of every kind keep popping up, but the misdiagnosis rate for mental illness is ridiculously high. It's a rare field in modern society that's practically no better than fortune-telling."
Perhaps in the future, someone like Newton would come along and unify the field of psychology.
Nagami's words left Ayanokoji silent for a long time. He'd never considered things from this angle before, and his curiosity about psychology grew stronger.
He nodded slightly and silently committed Nagami's words to memory. He felt that he'd taken another small step toward understanding emotions.
"You've worked hard to make money, Nagami. You must have studied psychology quite a bit."
"Why do you ask?"
"Wasn't it so you could work as a host in Tokyo and earn tuition?"
"Rumors! Absolutely baseless rumors!"
Nagami loudly protested, his face flushed with anger.
"I make an honest living with my body. Those host clubs have nothing to do with me."
"Sure, maybe. Still, what you said today has given me more to think about regarding the world outside the White Room."
Ayanokoji looked toward the distant crowd, which was bustling with activity. It seemed the food had arrived.
"Is it that late already?!"
With that, Nagami dropped his hammer and went to inspect the results of the hunt.
The leaping flames of the campfire cast a warm glow.
On the quiet open plain, a group of students gathered around the fire, seated at a simple wooden table where they were preparing ingredients for dinner.
The camp was calm and orderly. Some students were busy sorting the ingredients while others put together a small camp kitchen.
One student took an aluminum pot out of an airdrop bag. Its surface gleamed faintly silver, and it looked especially sturdy and practical.
Nearby, Hasebe Haruka carefully chopped ingredients on a cutting board. Her knife sliced through the vegetables with a crisp sound, and her movements were as slow as an old person learning to type.
"I'll do it."
"Arigato!" For ordinary students, cooking was clearly beyond their abilities.
Just a little cooking.
Fat-reducing meal
He was preparing to cook himself a French-style fat-reducing meal.
At the camp kitchen, Nagami expertly picked up a knife and began chopping vegetables.
Thump! Thump! Thump! The knife struck the cutting board in a beautiful rhythm, drawing everyone's attention.
Broccoli, carrot sticks, onions, and tomatoes were arranged in neat piles.
Cooking was a basic skill for anyone who loved working out.
"Kagami, what can you cook?"
Kushida had been captivated by Nagami's deft knife work and couldn't help asking.
"Today I'm making pan-fried onion salad and fried cod."
First, he took the cod out of the sack and stunned it with the back of his knife, then gently patted it dry. The flesh was a translucent white, firm in texture.
"Nothing beats fresh ingredients."
He laid the fish neatly on the cutting board. The blade skimmed lightly over its surface with a faint, soft hiss.
The knife cut through the skin, revealing the pure white flesh beneath. It was delicate and firm, with a faint scent of river water.
Nagami skillfully filleted the fish, each cut precise. The slices were even in thickness, as thin as translucent clouds, yet their grain remained clearly visible.
When he'd arranged the final slice neatly on the plate, the fish resembled layered petals, gleaming like white jade. Its edges curled slightly, making it look incredibly tender, as though it would melt on the tongue if picked up gently with chopsticks.
Then he took a bottle of cooking oil from his bag and drizzled it into a frying pan.
Ike helped build the fire nearby, and the flames gradually grew stronger.
Once the pan had heated a little, Nagami gently placed the fish slices inside. They sizzled softly, and little by little the outside of the fish turned a light golden brown.
A faint, appetizing fragrance filled the air.
When he'd arranged the final slice neatly on the plate, the fish resembled golden petals, their edges curling slightly.
Broccoli and carrot sticks added a more attractive touch to the platter.
"Nagami-san, sugoi!"
A chorus of praise rang out.
He continued by adding the chopped onions to the pan. As it heated, their fragrance rose and gradually spread through the air.
He set the fried onions aside. The other ingredients—fresh leafy lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and more—had already been washed and neatly arranged on a plate.
The second dish, pan-fried onion salad, was done.
The French-style fat-reducing meal he'd just prepared was laid out on the table by the campfire. Its aroma drifted on the night breeze, making everyone's mouths water.
The students sat around the table, unable to hide their anticipation. Their eyes were fixed on the delicious food, as if they couldn't believe such a fine meal was possible in the wilderness.
Before you continue