Part 4 — The place where the experiment begins
Around one in the afternoon, I arrived at the dormitories that would be my home for the next few years.
The building stood like a block of glass and steel, perfectly symmetrical, without a single detail out of place.
The receptionist on the first floor handed me a key card with my name engraved on it: Sayuri Akurisawa — Room 401, along with a small handbook of internal rules.
As I rode up in the elevator, I leafed through the contents of the brochure.
The tone was as impersonal as a military order:
"Avoid unnecessary noise. Do not waste water or energy. Keep the premises clean. Violations will affect the collective score."
No mention of visitors or departure times.
Just rules. Precise. Cold.
It was clear that the "freedom" promised at the ceremony had limits that we had not yet reached.
The elevator stopped on the fourth floor with a slight sound.
When I opened the door to my room, I was greeted by a simple, almost clinical space: a bed, a desk, a small kitchen, and a window overlooking the campus gardens.
Eight tatami mats, if measured in the Japanese style.
Enough to live in, but not enough to escape.
I put my bag on the bed and exhaled.
For the first time, the silence wasn't uncomfortable... it was liberating.
I had spent too many years under the watchful eye of others: teachers, tutors, "observers."
People who measured my every move.
Here, for the first time, I could decide what to do, when to do it, and with whom.
An illusion of freedom, perhaps... but still, mine.
Freedom.
In English, Freedom.
In French, Liberté.
Different words, same mirage.
I turned on the touchscreen panel next to the desk.
It showed my current balance: 100,000 Kurei.
The number glowed blue, as if it were a prize.
But for me, it was just another variable in the system.
"One hundred thousand... a comfortable amount for those who don't understand how control works," I muttered.
In the manual, there was a final section that few would bother to read:
"Personal resources are subject to monthly evaluation. The administration is not responsible for losses resulting from misuse."
I put my bag on the bed and exhaled.
For the first time, the silence wasn't uncomfortable... it was liberating.
I had spent too many years under the watchful eye of others: teachers, tutors, "observers."
People who measured my every move.
Here, for the first time, I could decide what to do, when to do it, and with whom.
An illusion of freedom, perhaps... but still, mine.
Freedom.
In English, Freedom.
In French, Liberté.
Different words, same mirage.
I turned on the touchscreen panel next to the desk.
It displayed
So that was it.
They gave us money, food, comforts... and expected us to reveal our weaknesses in return.
I dropped the manual on the table and lay down on the bed.
The white ceiling felt empty, without history.
And for the first time in years, I smiled slightly.
Not because I was happy.
But because I understood the game from the beginning.
Everyone else would think this was paradise.
I knew it was a game board.
And the first move had already begun.