"More questions?" Principal Watanabe's smile was becoming increasingly strained. "Of course, Takahashi-kun. Though I hope you understand that at some point, questioning needs to give way to action."
"I understand," Kenji replied, settling back into his chair while mentally cataloging every detail of the room—exits, potential weapons, the positions of each person in the circle. "I just want to make sure I fully understand the scope of what you're offering."
"Excellent approach," Dr. Matsumoto said, though her tone suggested she found his continued questions anything but excellent. "What would you like to know?"
"The fifteen thousand students you mentioned—are they all in high schools?"
"High schools and universities," Professor Tanaka replied. "We find that the 16-22 age demographic is optimal for the kind of neural plasticity our program requires."
"And they're all taking the same formulations?"
"Variations based on individual needs and local cultural factors," Dr. Matsumoto explained. "But the core compounds remain consistent across all sites."
"What about side effects? Long-term studies?"
"As I mentioned, we've seen no negative side effects in our three-year trial period."
"What about the subjects themselves? Have you asked them about their experience?"
Sato Hiroshi perked up. "I can tell you about my experience! Everything is so much better now!"
"But can you remember what it felt like before? Do you miss anything about your old way of thinking?"
Sato Hiroshi's expression became confused, as if the question literally didn't make sense to him. "Why would I miss feeling bad about things?"
"What if some of those bad feelings were important? What if worry sometimes protected you from making dangerous choices? What if sadness helped you process loss and grow from it?"
"Those are very sophisticated questions for someone your age," Principal Watanabe observed. "Almost like you've had extensive experience with psychological concepts."
Warning bells went off in Kenji's head. He was pushing too hard, asking the kinds of questions that revealed too much about his actual background.
"I read a lot," he said simply. "Psychology, philosophy, that kind of stuff."
"Most seventeen-year-olds don't have the attention span for serious philosophical reading," Professor Tanaka noted. "You really are quite exceptional."
"Or quite unusual," Dr. Matsumoto added, studying Kenji with clinical interest. "Tell me, Takahashi-kun, have you always been this... mature? This questioning of authority figures and complex social systems?"
"I've always been curious about how things work."
"Including how people work?"
"Especially how people work."
"That's a very adult perspective. Most teenagers are primarily concerned with their immediate social environment—friends, popularity, romantic relationships. But you seem to think in broader terms. Almost like someone with extensive life experience."
Kenji felt the walls closing in. They were getting suspicious, and he needed to redirect the conversation back to gathering intelligence rather than defending his cover story.
"Maybe that's why your program appeals to me," he said. "The idea of helping people optimize their potential on a large scale."
"Yes!" Nurse Yamada exclaimed, leaning forward with renewed enthusiasm. "That's exactly the kind of vision we're looking for in our leadership candidates!"
"Tell me more about the leadership program. How many people are involved at that level?"
"Currently about fifty individuals across all our sites," Dr. Matsumoto replied. "They're the ones who help identify new candidates, facilitate the introduction process, and provide ongoing support for participants."
"Like student council, but for mind control," Kenji thought, but said, "That sounds like a big responsibility."
"It is," Principal Watanabe agreed. "Which is why we're very selective about who we invite to that level of involvement."
"What kind of selection criteria do you use?"
"Intelligence, obviously. Leadership potential. Social influence among peers. And perhaps most importantly, the ability to see the bigger picture—to understand that sometimes short-term discomfort is worth long-term benefits."
"The ability to rationalize taking away people's free will," Kenji translated mentally.
"How do you identify candidates?" he asked aloud.
"Various methods," Professor Tanaka replied vaguely. "Academic performance, social observation, psychological profiling."
"Psychological profiling?"
"Nothing invasive. Just standard assessments that help us understand personality types and predict who might be most receptive to our approach."
"Have you been profiling me?"
"Of course," Dr. Matsumoto said matter-of-factly. "How do you think we identified you as a candidate in the first place?"
"I assumed it was because of my volleyball performance."
"Your athletic ability was certainly impressive, but that's not what caught our attention. It was your behavioral patterns—the way you interact with both peers and authority figures, your problem-solving approach, your emotional regulation under pressure."
"You've been watching me."
"We observe all students to some degree. It's part of our responsibility as educators. But yes, we've been paying particular attention to you since you transferred to our school."
"How long have you been running this program at Sakura High?"
"About eighteen months. We started with a small pilot group and gradually expanded as we refined our methods."
"How many students are currently participating?"
The adults exchanged glances.
"Perhaps we should focus on your own participation before discussing broader program details," Principal Watanabe suggested.
"I'd like to know what I'm joining."
"You're joining a community of individuals committed to human optimization and social improvement," Dr. Matsumoto said. "The specific numbers are less important than the mission."
"The numbers matter to me. Are we talking about ten students? A hundred? The entire school?"
"We prefer to grow organically," Nurse Yamada said. "Starting with the most promising candidates and allowing the benefits to speak for themselves."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting right now," Principal Watanabe said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Takahashi-kun, I appreciate your thoroughness, but at some point trust becomes necessary. We're offering you an extraordinary opportunity, but it requires a leap of faith."
"A leap of faith that involves permanent brain modification."
"A leap of faith that involves becoming your best possible self."
Kenji's phone buzzed again. Another text from Agent Sato: "In position. Create distraction when ready."
He looked around the circle one more time—at the adults who thought they were saving the world, at Sato Hiroshi who had already lost himself to their vision of improvement, at the special pudding cup that represented everything wrong with their approach to human enhancement.
"I have one more question," he said.
"Yes?" Dr. Matsumoto asked with poorly concealed impatience.
"What happens to people who refuse to participate but know too much about the program?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. For the first time since the meeting began, none of the adults seemed to have a ready answer.
"That's a very specific concern," Professor Tanaka said carefully. "Is there a reason you're asking?"
"Professional curiosity. I assume you've encountered resistance before."
"Some initial hesitation is normal," Principal Watanabe replied. "But we've found that most people come around once they understand the benefits."
"What about the ones who don't come around?"
"Everyone comes around eventually," Dr. Matsumoto said with the kind of confidence that made Kenji's skin crawl. "It's just a matter of finding the right approach."
"The right approach to what? Coercion?"
"The right approach to helping them see past their initial fears and misconceptions."
"And if they still refuse after you've helped them see past their fears and misconceptions?"
"That scenario doesn't really arise," Nurse Yamada said. "Once people understand what we're offering, they want to participate."
"Because you've altered their brain chemistry to make them want to participate."
"Because they recognize the value of what we're offering."
"Through altered brain chemistry."
"Through enhanced clarity of thought."
The circular logic was making Kenji dizzy, and he was starting to understand how they rationalized their actions. In their minds, they weren't violating consent—they were helping people make better choices. The fact that those "better choices" aligned perfectly with the conspirators' goals was just a happy coincidence.
"I think I need some air," he said, standing up from his chair.
"Air?" Principal Watanabe asked.
"Fresh air. This is a lot to process, and the library feels a bit... stuffy."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Dr. Matsumoto said quickly. "We're at a critical juncture in our discussion."
"Critical how?"
"The formulation really is time-sensitive. If you wait much longer, we'll need to prepare a new batch, which could delay your participation for weeks."
"Maybe that's what I need—a few weeks to think about it."
"No," Professor Tanaka said firmly. "That's not an option."
The pretense was officially over.
"Why not?" Kenji asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Because you know too much about the program to remain unaligned with our goals," Principal Watanabe said simply. "We've shared sensitive information with you under the assumption that you would be joining us. If you choose not to participate, that creates... complications."
"What kind of complications?"
"The kind that are resolved through alternative approaches to ensuring your cooperation."
Sato Hiroshi was looking confused by the sudden change in tone, but his chemically-enhanced contentment seemed to prevent him from feeling genuinely alarmed.
"Alternative approaches," Kenji repeated.
"We have formulations that work much faster than our standard introduction protocol," Dr. Matsumoto explained. "They're not as pleasant, and the adjustment period can be more difficult, but they're quite effective for reluctant participants."
"You're talking about drugging me against my will."
"We're talking about helping you overcome irrational resistance to a program that will improve your life."
"By force."
"By necessity."
Kenji looked at the exits—the main library door he'd entered through, and a fire exit near the back of the building. Both were probably locked, and he wasn't sure he could reach either before the adults stopped him.
"What if I screamed for help?"
"The building is empty, and these walls are quite thick," Principal Watanabe replied calmly. "Besides, who would you be calling for help against? A group of educators offering you an opportunity to improve yourself?"
"A group of criminals running a mind control operation."
"A group of researchers working to optimize human potential through nutritional intervention. Which story do you think people would believe?"
He had a point. Without evidence, Kenji's claims would sound like the paranoid delusions of a troubled teenager.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Now you make a choice," Dr. Matsumoto said, holding up the special pudding cup. "You can take this voluntarily and experience a gradual, pleasant introduction to your enhanced self. Or we can use other methods that will achieve the same result with significantly more discomfort."
"Those are my only options?"
"Those are your only options."
Kenji looked at the pudding cup, then at the faces around him—people who genuinely believed they were doing the right thing, even as they threatened to forcibly alter his brain chemistry.
"Can I ask one final question?"
"Of course," Principal Watanabe said with the patience of someone who knew he'd already won.
"How many government agents have you done this to?"
The question hit like a bomb. Every face in the circle went pale, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Government agents?" Dr. Matsumoto asked slowly.
"People like me. Undercover operatives investigating your operation. You've done this before, haven't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Principal Watanabe said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Forty-year-old agents pretending to be teenagers. You've encountered this situation before. That's why you have fast-acting formulations for reluctant participants. That's why you're so prepared for resistance."
"You're seventeen years old," Nurse Yamada said, but she was backing away from his chair.
"No," Kenji replied, dropping his cover completely. "I'm not."
The fire alarm began blaring.
Agent Sato had created her distraction.