The Comical White House

"Hey, Nagami. You got a moment?"

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka stepped out from the crowd to strike up a conversation.

"Oh, it's Ayanokoji. What's up?"

Nagami stopped the motion of hammering a wooden stake into the ground.

"I'm genuinely curious: how did you manage to redeem someone as twisted as Kushida?"

"That, huh? Let me think."

Nagami tapped his palm with his fist, as if something had just clicked.

"It's simple. Because she was a good person to begin with. She possesses the qualities of a good person: enthusiasm, kindness, gentleness, and compassion."

Ayanokoji remained expressionless, resting his chin on his hand in thought.

"Between Kushida and Horikita, who do you think is more of a villain?"

"That's..."

Ayanokoji hesitated.

"You aren't a masochist, are you, Ayanokoji? The black marks on your arm might protest that statement."

"Uh... now that you mention it, maybe a little."

Ayanokoji recalled the wounds on his right arm from being poked by a compass from time to time, and deep down, he felt a sense of agreement.

"But, a 'good person'? Nagami, you must know about the things Kushida has done, like betraying the class. That doesn't sound like a good person to me."

Ayanokoji had spotted the flaw in the logic.

"Mm, I know. Let me give you an example: if doing one bad deed is equivalent to doing ten good ones, would you, as a good person, do it?"

"The classic trolley problem. It's a difficult choice. Throughout history, countless figures have become subjects of controversy for sacrificing a minority."

"My advice to her was: as long as little Kikyo is happy, that's all that matters. If things really go south, just don't get the blood on me."

"And yet, you specifically schemed against Ryuen of Class C for this matter. Your actions don't match your words."

"People deserve a chance to turn over a new leaf, right? I'll just have to see how she performs in the end."

Nagami shrugged, as if to express his helplessness.

Is this some kind of privilege for beautiful women? Ayanokoji wondered.

Nagami's strange moral compass left him baffled; he was capricious about some things, yet deadly serious about others.

Such a contradictory personality was difficult for someone raised in the White Room to comprehend.

"By the way, I still don't know what this 'White Room' you mentioned is."

The White Room was a closed facility for cultivating high-end artificial geniuses. The children inside were very young, and once selected, they were required to obey every order from their instructors.

No one inside was allowed to have emotions, and they operated under a brutal elimination system.

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, the most outstanding product of the White Room, recounted the entire process of how he escaped the facility with the help of his butler.

"To destroy a person is to destroy their free will. It seems you are free."

Nagami praised him.

"Free? I'm just curious about emotions," Ayanokoji countered.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to say a few words about the White Room."

"It's a ridiculous product. That makes me wonder: if artificial geniuses can be cultivated, why can't those who were 'eliminated' also be trained into geniuses?"

"In essence, it's normal for a few geniuses to emerge from so many test subjects in the White Room. They screen for talented students through exams and then unilaterally declare that they have cultivated artificial geniuses."

"They are clearly just skimming the cream of the crop, yet they claim to be cultivating talent. It's laughable."

"Rather than cultivating talent, they are more like social experimenters performing emotional deprivation on normal people to observe the changes. From a modern perspective, the White Room is nothing but a prison for murder."

"It's a pity that psychology has remained a 'black box' for centuries, with various theories emerging one after another. But the misdiagnosis rate for mental illness is ridiculously high—it's a field as rare and superstitious as shamanism in modern society."

Perhaps in the future, a "Newton" of the psychological world will emerge to unify the field.

These remarks left Ayanokoji silent for a long time. He hadn't thought about it from this perspective before, and his curiosity about psychology deepened even further.

He nodded slightly, silently noting Nagami's words in his heart. He felt as though he had taken another small step toward understanding emotions.

"You're working quite hard to make money, Nagami. You must have studied psychology quite a bit."

"Why do you ask?"

"Isn't it to earn tuition fees by working as a host in Tokyo?"

"Rumors! Absolute rumors!"

Nagami retorted loudly, his face turning red with indignation.

"I earn my money through legitimate physical labor! Those host clubs have nothing to do with me!"

"Mm, perhaps. But your words today have given me more to think about regarding the world outside the White Room."

Ayanokoji looked toward the bustling crowd in the distance; it seemed the ingredients had arrived.

"Is it already this late!"

After saying this, Nagami dropped his hammer and walked over to inspect the hunting haul.

The flickering flames of the campfire emitted a warm glow.

In this quiet wilderness, a group of students gathered around the fire, sitting at a makeshift wooden table where the ingredients for dinner were being prepared.

The camp atmosphere was peaceful and orderly; some students were busy organizing ingredients, while others were setting up the camp's small kitchen.

One student took an aluminum pot out of an airdrop package, its surface shimmering with a faint silver light, looking exceptionally sturdy and practical.

Hasebe Haruka was carefully cutting ingredients on a cutting board nearby, the blade slicing through vegetables with a crisp "crunch," her movements as slow as an elderly person learning to type on a keyboard.

"Let me do it."

"Arigato!" For the average student, cooking was clearly beyond their capabilities.

A quick bit of cooking.

Fat-reducing meal

Preparing to cook a French-style fat-reducing meal for himself.

In the camp kitchen area, Nagami was seen skillfully picking up a knife and starting to chop vegetables.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The collision between the cutting board and the kitchen knife played a beautiful melody, drawing the eyes of those around.

Broccoli, carrot sticks, onions, and tomatoes were piled together in neat, uniform sizes.

Cooking was, after all, a basic skill for every fitness enthusiast.

"Kagami, what kind of dish are you making?"

Kushida was momentarily captivated by Nagami's skillful knife work and couldn't help but ask.

"Today I'm making pan-seared onion salad and pan-seared cod."

He first took the cod out of the sack, used the back of the knife to stun the fish, and gently patted it to remove excess moisture. The fish meat appeared a translucent white with firm texture.

"There is nothing more delicious than fresh ingredients."

The fish was laid neatly on the cutting board, and the blade slid gently against the surface of the fish, emitting a faint "hissing" sound.

The blade sliced through the fish skin, revealing the snow-white meat inside; the texture was delicate and firm, emitting a faint scent of the river.

Nagami skillfully filleted the fish, each movement incredibly precise. The slices were uniform in thickness, as thin as transparent clouds, yet the texture was clearly visible.

When the last slice of fish was neatly arranged on the plate, the fish slices looked like layered petals, glowing with the luster of white jade. The edges curled slightly, appearing incredibly tender, as if they would melt on the tongue with just a gentle lift of the chopsticks.

At this moment, he took a bottle of cooking oil from his bag and drizzled it into the frying pan.

Ike was helping to build the fire on the side, and the flames gradually grew stronger.

After the pan heated up slightly, he gently placed the fish slices into it, producing a light "sizzling" sound. Slowly, the outer layer of the fish turned a light golden color.

The air was filled with a faint, appetizing aroma.

When the last slice of fish was neatly arranged on the plate, the fish slices on the plate looked like golden petals, their edges curled slightly.

The broccoli and carrot sticks were arranged as a garnish to add to the aesthetic.

"Nagami-san, sugoi!"

Waves of praise came from the group.

He continued by putting the chopped onions into the pan; the aroma rose with the temperature in the pan, gradually spreading and filling the air.

He set the pan-seared onions aside, while the other ingredients—fresh green lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and more—had already been washed and neatly arranged on plates.

The second dish, pan-seared onion salad, was complete.

The freshly prepared French-style fat-reducing meal was placed on the table by the campfire, and the aroma drifted away with the night breeze, drilling straight into their noses.

The students sat around together, their faces showing unconcealable anticipation, their eyes fixed on the delicacies on the plates, as if they couldn't believe this was a meal that could be eaten in a wilderness environment.