The pistol's slide clicked into place under Ayanokōji's fingers with surgical precision. His blank eyes reflected the **STATUS SCREEN** hovering over Dean's wrist:
**CURRENT WORLD: [COTE SECOND ITERATION]**
**WHITE ROOM AGENT STATUS: [PRIME SPECIMEN]**
**RECRUITMENT DIFFICULTY: [SS-RANK]**
Loki materialized leaning against a chalkboard, tossing a grenade pin like a coin. "This one smells like you," he said to Dean. "All calculus and carnage."
Ayanokōji stood. His chair didn't scrape—he'd calculated the exact millimeters needed to avoid sound. "You're not from the White Room's branch facilities." His voice was colder than the **STATUS SCREEN'S** glow. "Which means you're either defective prototypes or interdimensional contaminants."
Dean's NZT-enhanced mind mapped the classroom's kill-zones: the fire extinguisher (3.2 meters), the window latch (rusted), Ayanokōji's center of gravity (62% left foot). He grinned. "I'm the guy who's going to make you a god."
The **STATUS SCREEN** pulsed:
**RECOMMENDED APPROACH: [TRAUMA DUMP]**
**CONFIDENCE THRESHOLD: [4 SECONDS EYE CONTACT]**
Dean held Ayanokōji's gaze and projected the memory—White Room instructors screaming, children strapped to EEG machines, the stench of vomit and voltage. Then: Dean's own childhood. The Benefactor's first visit. The gun in his hands that fit like it had grown there.
Ayanokōji blinked. 3.8 seconds.
The classroom door burst open. Ichika Amasawa's knife grazed Dean's cheek before his Precognition could shout a warning. The **STATUS SCREEN** blared:
**WARNING: [WHITE ROOM ASSASSIN - ENHANCED REFLEXES]**
**THREAT LEVEL: [A-RANK]**
Ayanokōji caught Ichika's wrist mid-stab. "Stand down." His voice cracked like a whip. "They're mine to break."
Dean wiped blood from his cheekbone. The **STATUS SCREEN** updated:
**AYANOKŌJI KIYOTAKA BOND: [15%]**
**NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: [PSYCHOLOGICAL DOMINANCE]**
Loki sighed. "Boring." He snapped his fingers.
The grenade pin clattered to the floor.
The explosion took out the east wing.
---
Smoke curled from the rubble where the math department used to be. Dean crouched atop a fractured desk, watching Ayanokōji drag an unconscious Ichika from the wreckage. The **STATUS SCREEN** scrolled damage assessments:
**ANHS STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: [47%]**
**CASUALTIES: [0 - PRE-EVACUATION COMPLETE]**
**AYANOKŌJI'S INTEREST: [68%]**
"You planned this," Ayanokōji said, dusting concrete from his uniform. "The grenade was a distraction. You wanted to see if I'd save her."
Dean's grin was a scalpel. "Did you?"
Ayanokōji's knuckles whitened around Ichika's collar. The **STATUS SCREEN** flickered:
**RECRUITMENT PROGRESS: [INITIALIZING WHITE ROOM UPRISING]**
Loki kicked a chunk of plaster. "Enough foreplay." He tossed Dean a bloodstained flash drive. "The White Room's mainframe is ours."
Ayanokōji's pupils dilated—the first real emotion Dean had seen. "That's impossible."
Dean plugged the drive into his **STATUS SCREEN**. Holograms erupted: blueprints, training regimens, the Director's private files. "Everything's hackable." He swiped left. "Even you."
The screen updated:
**WHITE ROOM OVERRIDE CODES: [ACTIVE]**
**DIRECTOR'S VOICEPRINT: [ACQUIRED]**
**AYANOKŌJI'S FREEDOM: [PURCHASED - 10000 SP]**
Ayanokōji dropped Ichika. His hands flexed like he was testing new strings. "Terms?"
Dean extended a hand crackling with reishi. "Burn it all down."
The **STATUS SCREEN** flashed crimson:
**WHITE ROOM UPRISING: [INITIATED]**
**SP REWARD: [15000]**
**NEXT WORLD: [X-MEN - 12000 SP]**
Ayanokōji's grip was colder than the grave. "I want the Director's head."
Dean's laughter was a gunshot in the ruins. "Welcome to the revolution." The **STATUS SCREEN** blazed between them like a hellfire contract:
**AYANOKŌJI KIYOTAKA RECRUITED**
**WHITE ROOM UPRISING INITIATED**
**SP AWARDED: +15000**
**NEXT WORLD: [X-MEN - 12000 SP]**
Loki materialized atop a shattered chalkboard, kicking dust from his boots. "Let's make this quick." His dagger traced a green sigil in the air—the runes bled upward, rewriting reality itself. "I hate schools."
The Director's scream echoed through the collapsing facility as Ayanokōji's fist met his trachea with surgical precision. Dean's **STATUS SCREEN** logged each fracture in real-time:
**WHITE ROOM DIRECTOR: HP 100% → 23%**
**CRITICAL INJURIES: [TRACHEAL COLLAPSE, C7 VERTEBRAE FRACTURE]**
"Too slow," Dean muttered. The NZT in his veins mapped seven faster kill-methods before Ayanokōji's follow-up elbow crushed the Director's sternum.