Path of Revelation Part 1/2

I stared up at the ceiling, my body aching in ways that reminded me I wasn't as durable as I liked to believe. My ribs protested every breath, and my legs felt like lead weights—but none of it mattered.

The message on my phone burned in the back of my mind.

I had to go.

The problem was getting out of here unnoticed. The school nurse had already proven to be as sharp-eyed as she was persistent, and I doubted she'd take kindly to me sneaking out while she was off fetching something from the storage cabinet.

My gaze flicked to the door, slightly ajar. Luck wasn't something I relied on, but if there was ever a time for it to show up, it was now.

I slowly swung my legs over the edge of the bed, biting back a wince as pain lanced through my side. My fingers curled around the crutch leaning against the wall—the one I hadn't planned on using but now had no choice but to borrow. Quietly, I pushed myself upright, feeling a cold sweat break out as my body opposed every movement.

Step by step, I shuffled toward the door. Each creak of the floorboards felt deafening like an alarm waiting to go off. But the nurse didn't return. No sudden footsteps came to stop me.

The door clicked shut behind me as I slipped into the hallway, the faint sound echoing in the empty corridor. The cool air outside the office was a welcome contrast to the stifling tension I'd felt inside.

I tightened my grip on the crutch and started walking toward the auditorium, my pace steady but deliberate. Every step sent a dull ache radiating through my body, but I ignored it. Pain was temporary, this was something I couldn't let slip by.

It wasn't logical. I knew that. Anyone reading this would call it reckless, impulsive, or downright stupid. But for me, it was none of those things. It was necessary.

The faint glow of the auditorium lights loomed ahead. I didn't stop to think about how this would look, how I probably seemed desperate or foolish. All that mattered was reaching the old equipment room beneath the auditorium.

Because sometimes, even the smartest move is taking the risk no one else would dare.

The old equipment room was exactly as I expected: dimly lit, dusty, and reeking faintly of mildew. A faint orange glow seeped through the obscured small windows, casting shadows over discarded gym mats and forgotten supplies. The air was heavy with stillness, amplifying the soft creak of the floorboards under my weight.

I glanced around, confirming what I already knew. No one was here. It was just me, a room that time had forgotten, and an eerie silence that hung like a storm cloud waiting to break.

But I didn't panic. My grip tightened on the crutch as I stepped further inside, the faint ache in my body causing a grounding sensation to travel through my arms.

The door slammed shut behind me with a jarring bang.

I froze.

The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot, each reverberation digging into my nerves. Slowly, I turned, half-expecting to see nothing but my imagination playing tricks on me.

Instead, the faint outline of a figure emerged from the shadows behind the now-closed door.

"Ah, you've arrived," came a calm, measured voice, its tone unnervingly smooth and controlled. The figure stepped forward, the dim light revealing the familiar features of Tsukishiro. His expression was as composed as ever, the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're punctual," he continued, his hands folded casually. His gaze, intelligent and calculating, locked onto me. "That's good. I do appreciate someone who understands the value of time."

"And yet," he added, taking a single step closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor, "I wonder... was it hope that brought you here? Or desperation?"

Tsukishiro's gaze bore into me, calm yet unreadable, as if he were dissecting every thought running through my mind. His polite smile persisted in a calculated expression that refused to give anything away.

I straightened my posture, despite the dull ache pulsing through my body, and met his gaze with as much composure as I could muster. "It was you, wasn't it?" I said, my voice steady but carrying an edge of accusation. "You planted Kushida to assault me."

His smile widened ever so slightly, as though amused. "Oh? And what makes you think that?" he asked, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. "That's quite a serious accusation, my boy."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "It's not just a hunch. There's no way Kushida would've gone that far on her own. Sure, she's a bitch and ruthless when it suits her, but attempting to outright murder someone? That's a leap even for someone like that."

Tsukishiro remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

"She must've felt invincible," I pressed on. "Confident that no matter what she did, there wouldn't be any consequences. And that confidence doesn't come out of nowhere. Someone had to assure her she'd get away with it." I narrowed my eyes. "And that someone... was you."

"Intriguing theory. But again, what evidence do you have to support such a bold claim?"

I took a step forward, ignoring the sharp protest from my injured body. "The cameras," I said. "The ones conveniently turned off when she attacked me. I've been around long enough to know that kind of coincidence doesn't just happen. You gave her the opportunity, didn't you? You created the perfect scenario for her to act, knowing full well what she'd do."

Tsukishiro chuckled softly, the sound as unsettling as his ever-present composure. "My, my," he mused, clasping his hands. "You've certainly put some thought into this, haven't you? But even if what you say is true, what would be my motive? What possible reason could I have to orchestrate such a... dramatic series of events?"

His tone was dismissive, almost playful, but I could see the glint in his eyes—a subtle acknowledgment that he wasn't denying my accusations outright.

I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to stand firm. "You knew," I said, my voice cutting through the thick tension. "You knew the school would be practically deserted during the sports portion of the Special Exam. It was the perfect setup."

Tsukishiro tilted his head slightly, his faint smile still intact, as if encouraging me to resume.

"You gave Kushida the idea," I pressed on, ignoring the unease bubbling in my chest. "You knew how much she hated me for what I did to her. And you calculated that if I were to conveniently 'sustain an injury,' I'd be stuck indoors—alone—while everyone else was busy with the race."

I let my words hang in the air for a moment before driving the point home. "And if I wasn't out there participating, I'd still have my phone on me. Unlike the students who were running."

Tsukishiro's expression didn't falter, but his hands came together in a slow, deliberate clap, the sound echoing in the empty room.

"Marvelous," he said, his tone brimming with fascination. "Simply marvelous, my boy."

My boy? Since when had I become that?

Before I could voice my confusion, he replied, "Your analysis is, I must say, almost entirely correct. I admit to planting the seed of an idea in Kushida Kikyou's mind. It was a simple nudge, a little push in the right—or perhaps wrong—direction. But even I didn't expect her to escalate things to the point of attempting..." He paused briefly, his smile widening slightly. "...actual murder."

His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Truly, what a troublesome girl."

The casual dismissal of her actions sent a chill down my spine. Tsukishiro wasn't denying anything; in fact, he seemed almost entertained by the entire situation.

"So, you did manipulate her," I said, my tone edged with anger.

"Manipulate?" he repeated, feigning surprise. "Oh, no. I merely suggested a way to level the playing field. What she chose to do with that suggestion, well... that's entirely on her, wouldn't you agree?"

I glared at him, "Level the playing field? That's one way to justify throwing a match, I guess," I said sarcastically. "But don't act like you didn't know exactly how far she'd take it. You picked her because she's unstable because you knew she'd jump at the chance to get rid of me!"

His brow lifted slightly, "I do admire your conviction," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "You're quick to see through things, even if your conclusions are always tinged with cynicism. But tell me—" his voice softened, the mockery thinly veiled, "—isn't it fascinating how easily people can be swayed when given just the right amount of desperation mixed with promises?"

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, but I forced myself to stay steady. Losing my temper would only give him more to toy with. "Hope and desperation aren't the same," I shot back. "You didn't give her hope. You dangled a way out of her insecurities and made her think there'd be no consequences. That's not leveling the field; that's manipulation, plain and simple."

For a moment, he studied me in silence, like a scientist observing an experiment. Then, he finally spoke, "Indeed. Very good. You've analyzed the situation so thoroughly, as expected." His tone was patronizing, and yet there was a strange glint in his eyes.

"Speaking of which," he said, his voice now quieter, almost contemplative. "Do you recall our conversation some time ago? About whether society truly treats students fairly these days?"

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to let his words sink in without resistance. "And what does that have to do with any of this? Do you always steer conversations into some kind of philosophical abyss?"

Tsukishiro chuckled softly, an unsettling sound that felt more like a predator toying with its prey than genuine amusement. "Oh, Hikigaya-kun, everything is connected. Especially in a society where fairness is little more than a comforting illusion. But let me enlighten you since you've come this far."

He turned away briefly as if peering into the past. When he spoke again, his tone shifted—less playful and more deliberate, each word chosen with surgical precision. "There once was a man, a remarkable man, in his own way. He was not born into privilege, nor was he endowed with exceptional abilities. By all measures, he was average, or perhaps even less than that. But what he lacked in talent, he compensated for with an unyielding ambition—an ambition to rise above the unfairness of the world."

I frowned, "So, another self-made man story? Let me guess: he clawed his way to the top and now thinks he's some kind of god?"

"Not quite," Tsukishiro replied smoothly, as though my interruption was expected. "He understood something most people fail to grasp. The idea of fairness? Justice? Those are tools. Constructs designed to maintain order, to pacify the masses. But they're not real. Not truly. And this man, this visionary, saw the futility in chasing ideals. Instead, he sought control—the kind of control that transcends morality, transcends society itself."

His voice grew colder like steel being tempered in fire. "He created something. An experiment, if you will. A place where fairness was stripped away, where children could be molded into something greater. He believed that if you take away the noise of emotions, of ethics, of so-called humanity, what remains is raw potential. A blank canvas upon which perfection could be painted. That place was known as the White Room."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I felt my stomach churn. "Children?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're telling me this guy—whoever he is—thought he could just... what? Build perfect humans like they're machines?"

Tsukishiro tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Machines? No, not quite. Machines are predictable and limited. What he wanted was something far more difficult. He believed that by isolating young minds and stripping them of distractions like compassion or individuality, he could create beings capable of wielding absolute power—leaders who could shape the future of the world. A pure meritocracy, untainted by weakness or sentiment."

"You're talking about children like they're tools. Experiments. How could anyone justify that?"

"Justify?" Tsukishiro echoed, his tone darkly amused. "Oh, but isn't it fascinating how society itself does much the same thing, albeit in subtler ways? Schools teach conformity. The workplace values obedience. Success is measured by how well you play the game, not by who you are. This man simply... accelerated the process, removed the pretense of fairness altogether."

"And you think that excuses it?" I shot back, anger bubbling to the surface. "That just because society is flawed, it's okay to treat people like disposable pawns?"

He leaned in slightly, his expression now one of unsettling calm. "I don't seek to excuse or condemn. I merely observe. But tell me, my boy—if you were offered the chance to rise above this broken system, to escape the chains of mediocrity, wouldn't you take it? Wouldn't you sacrifice a little fairness for the promise of true greatness?"

I stood there, the weight of Tsukishiro's words pressing down on me like an iron vice. His twisted logic burrowed into my thoughts, demanding to be processed, but every instinct screamed at me to reject it. And yet, he continued, his voice calm and deliberate, as though he were delivering a lecture to a particularly slow student.

"It's natural to resist," he said, stepping closer, his tone almost sympathetic. "To recoil at the notion that fairness and equality are illusions. After all, young people have been taught to believe in these things since we could first understand language. But let's pull back the curtain, shall we? Isn't it obvious that the systems we hold dear—the education system, the government, democracy itself—are nothing but elaborate falsehoods?"

I felt my jaw tighten as he went on, his voice taking on a cadence that was both measured and unnervingly persuasive.

"Take, for instance, our so-called democracy," Tsukishiro continued, a thin smile tugging at his lips. "A government 'by the people, for the people,' is that how it's sold? And yet, what is the foundation of democracy if not the concept of equality? A concept that, as you and I both know, does not and has never truly existed. It's a comforting delusion, nothing more. Look around you, my boy. The politicians we so proudly elect spend their campaigns smiling, shaking hands, and feigning empathy for the common man. They promise change, fairness, and a brighter tomorrow. But once they secure their positions, where do they go? Back to their ivory towers, far removed from the lives of the very people they claimed to represent."

He paused, watching me intently.

"They don't care about fairness or equality. They care about power. About preserving their status and expanding their influence. And why wouldn't they? Humanity isn't built on fairness—it's built on competition, on survival. Even the simplest organism seeks to dominate its environment. Why would human society, despite all its grand ideals, be any different?"

My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "That doesn't mean it's right," I said through gritted teeth. "Just because something exists doesn't mean it should."

"Right?" Tsukishiro chuckled softly, shaking his head. "What a quaint notion. Morality is as subjective as beauty. What's 'right' is simply what the majority agrees upon at any given time. And the majority—well, they're easily swayed, aren't they? A few empty promises, and a bit of fear-mongering, and they'll believe anything. Equality? Fairness? Those are words used to pacify the masses, to make them docile while those in power continue to climb higher."

He gestured broadly as if encompassing the entire world in a single sweep. "The education system teaches obedience, not critical thinking. The workplace values conformity, not innovation. And democracy? Democracy is a farce—a performance meant to convince the people that they have a choice. But tell me, my boy, when was the last time you felt that your voice truly mattered? That your actions, your votes, could change anything of significance in this unfair world?"

His words sliced through the air, their weight suffocating. My mind raced, searching for a counterpoint, but every argument I tried to muster felt like it crumbled under the relentless logic of his twisted worldview.

"I know you see it," he said, his voice softening, though the glint in his eyes remained sharp. "The world isn't fair, and it never will be. Those who rise to the top aren't constrained by morality or ideals. They understand the truth: that society is built on layers of misconception. The idea of equality is the greatest misconception of all—a convenient lie designed to keep the wheels of the machine turning while those at the top reap the benefits."

He stepped back, folding his hands behind his back as though he had just delivered some profound revelation. "It's a dark truth, I admit. But truth, by its very nature, is rarely pleasant.

Sure, I'd thought about these things before. How the world wasn't fair. How society ran on illusion and pretense. But here's the thing: when you approach the edge of the abyss, you don't jump. At least, not if you're still clinging to reason. I've looked into the abyss more times than I can count, but I've never let it swallow me whole. That's the difference.

Tsukishiro seemed to notice the shift in my expression, the faint glimmer of defiance that hadn't been snuffed out. He tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You're remarkable, my boy. Did I ever mention that you remind me of someone?

I didn't answer, the question hanging in the air between us like a drawn blade.

"Ah, but you do," he continued, his tone almost nostalgic, though it carried that ever-present edge of menace. "You and this man... you both have the same eyes. Those 'rotten eyes' that see the world for what it truly is—stripped of its illusions, laid bare in its cold, brutal reality."

Something twisted in my gut, but I stayed silent, my gaze locked onto his.

"Yet, there's always been something missing in you," he mused as if speaking to himself. "In him, I saw an endless ambition—a hunger that knew no bounds. But you? You lacked it. You saw the world's flaws, its darkness, and yet you stood there, rooted, unwilling to move beyond your own disillusionment. And I thought to myself... what a waste of potential."

He paused, as if savoring the moment, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around my neck.

"But then," Tsukishiro said, his voice shifting to something sharper, more commanding, "this Special Exam happened." He began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "And I saw something extraordinary. You showed me something I hadn't expected—something that changed everything I thought I knew about you, my boy."

His gaze snapped back to me, and for the first time, there was a genuine intensity in his eyes, as if he were speaking directly to my soul. "You didn't just adapt to the challenges thrown your way; you thrived. You displayed a level of adaptability that bordered on the supernatural. Every problem, every obstacle—they weren't walls to you. They were stepping stones. You dismantled them with precision and ingenuity that most people couldn't achieve in a lifetime, let alone in a matter of days."

My breath hitched, my mind piecing it together. He'd been watching me. Observing everything, from the smallest move to the most fleeting hesitation. Of course, he had access to the school's cameras. He'd been studying me like a subject in an experiment.

"And it was then," Tsukishiro said, his tone softening, yet somehow growing heavier with every word, "that I saw it. That glimmer of endless ambition toward your goal. It was hidden beneath this cynicism, buried under layers of self-deprecation and apathy. But it's there, Hachiman-kun. I saw it. I saw you."

He stopped the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place. "You have the potential to rise above geniuses—to transcend the mediocrity that binds this world. And it was during this exam that I realized... you've begun to embrace it. You've begun to shed your old self, to evolve into something far greater. Something extraordinary."

Tsukishiro's voice dropped to a near whisper, yet it was as sharp as a blade slicing through the air. His words lingered, wrapping themselves around my thoughts, each syllable pulling at the very core of my being.

"I am certain," he continued, his eyes never leaving mine, "that the Masterpiece saw in you the very same potential I did. But unlike her, I do not seek to exploit it for selfish reasons. No, you have more than just her support." His lips curled into a slow, small smile. "You have mine as well."

"You possess one of the greatest potentials I have ever seen," Tsukishiro said, as the air around us seemed to thrum with a quiet intensity. The world itself had shifted focus. His words were like a siren's call, pulling at the very essence of my being.

"All that remains is for you to accept it. You have the choice to transcend the limitations of your current self. To rise, to become something greater than you ever imagined."

The room seemed to grow warmer, the light flickering as the sun's rays pierced through the blinds, casting golden beams that made the air shimmer. Time itself seemed to stretch as if the moment had frozen in place.

"This is your chance, my boy," Tsukishiro said, his voice low but powerful, reverberating with an almost hypnotic force. "We can help you craft a path tailored to your potential. A curriculum designed specifically for you, one that will allow you to unlock every hidden facet of your mind, your abilities. The future is in your hands now, and with it, your every dream shall come true. The Masterpiece shall be yours as well."

All I had to do was take his hand, and it felt like my problems would disappear. No more constraints. No more fighting for others.

Tsukishiro extended his hand toward me, palm open, fingers outstretched. The light seemed to focus around him, illuminating his figure in a way that made him appear almost ethereal.

"Take my hand, Hachiman-kun," he said, his voice now carrying a weight that felt like fate itself. "With you and that man, we can free this world's chains. The path to greatness is before you. All you need to do... is reach out."

Everything around us seemed to fade into the background. The room, the sounds, the air—they all became irrelevant, reduced to nothing more than a backdrop for the choice I had to make.

His hand was still extended, unwavering, waiting for mine to meet it.

"Join me," he repeated softly, his eyes locked onto mine.