Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of fingers lightly drumming against a desk broke the sterile silence of Classroom 3A. Kairo Valen sat near the window, sunlight pouring across his desk like a spotlight. His face was calm, almost bored, but his eyes were alive—scanning, calculating.
The classroom was pristine. Walls snow-white. Desks aligned with surgical precision. Every student sat straight-backed, eyes fixed on the holographic lesson screen projected at the front of the room. A soft voice echoed from the system's AI instructor, guiding the lesson with calm repetition. Every student followed without question.
Except Kairo.
He blinked. Once. Twice. Slower than average, but heavier, like trying to blink away fog.
Something's not right.
The lesson was about societal harmony and emotional calibration—terms dressed up to sound more important than they were. Kairo had already memorized everything. The real test was sitting in this room for 45 minutes pretending not to notice how unnatural it all felt.
The girl beside him tilted her head just slightly toward him, still facing the front.
"You're blinking more than average," she whispered without looking.
Kairo turned to her slowly. Her tone was soft, polite, clinical. Her smile was... perfect. Too perfect.
"That a problem?"
"Not unless you're destabilized. But they'll notice."
He held her gaze a second longer, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a small smile—not forced, just enough to blend.
"I'll try to keep it within protocol," he said.
The girl didn't respond. She simply returned her eyes to the screen and resumed absorbing.
Weird.
Kairo looked around. Everyone was so... synchronized. Their reactions timed. Their emotions measured. He could almost hear the rhythm to it. A metronome ticking beneath the surface.
The drone camera above the board hovered with smooth precision. Every blink, every twitch—it probably noticed everything. And yet, none of the students seemed to mind.
Not even the girl next to him, who hadn't blinked in nearly a full minute.
---
The class ended with a soft, melodic chime.
Every student rose in unison, bowing slightly toward the front screen before speaking as one:
"Clarity is unity. Unity is peace. I am balanced."
Kairo stood a fraction of a second late, and his voice didn't quite carry the same tone. No one commented, but a few heads flicked in his direction—just for a moment.
He didn't break stride.
Even his silence seemed rehearsed.
---
The halls were just as clean. Just as silent. Surveillance drones hovered overhead, scanning passively. The windows outside showed gleaming towers, clear skies, transport capsules drifting in straight lines.
Kairo walked with his hands in his pockets.
Other students walked in perfect rhythm, two-by-two, like some kind of moving display model. Smiling. Always smiling.
His next class was in ten minutes, but he wasn't going there.
He turned a corner into the east corridor—rarely used this time of day—and leaned casually against a wall. A camera above rotated slowly, paused on him, then resumed.
He stared right at it.
"Keep watching," he murmured under his breath.
Then he moved again.
---
Cafeteria.
Kairo stepped into the dining hall and immediately noticed it.
The sound. Or rather, the lack of it.
Hundreds of students. No chatter. No laughter. Just the hum of food dispensers and trays clicking onto tables.
He grabbed a tray and scanned the room. Every meal was portioned identically—perfectly balanced nutrition. Every table had four seats. Every person smiled. Every motion was contained.
He sat at an open seat beside a trio of students who gave him a practiced nod, then returned to their meal.
Except the guy across from him. He didn't eat. He was watching.
Not staring, just observing. The same way Kairo was.
"New?" the guy asked casually.
Kairo looked up. "Depends on how you define new."
The guy smirked. "You don't move like the rest of them. That's all."
"You mean I blink."
The smirk turned into a small laugh. "Yeah. That too."
They fell into silence for a moment. The other two at the table kept eating mechanically.
"You know how long it takes to teach someone how to smile without thinking?" the guy said. "Four weeks. Max. After that, it sticks."
Kairo poked at his food. "Sounds like a virus."
The guy nodded. "Exactly."
"Do they notice?" Kairo asked.
"They do. But they don't care. They think it's better this way. Predictable people don't break things."
Kairo looked around the room again. Identical trays. Identical portions. Identical faces.
"They don't realize," he muttered, "that predictability is its own weakness."
The guy across from him tilted his head, intrigued.
Before Kairo could ask his name, the overhead speakers chimed:
"Reminder: Evaluation Week begins tomorrow. Please ensure your Clarity Index remains within optimal range. Fluctuations may result in mandatory review."
The guy across from him stood. "Guess that's my cue. Don't blink too much, 3A."
He disappeared into the crowd.
Kairo didn't look away until the boy was completely gone.
And the moment he left, something shifted.
Two students at another table suddenly rose and followed after him—discreet, subtle, but noticeable. Kairo narrowed his eyes.
Guess I'm not the only one being watched.
---
Later. Emotional Behavior Class.
The instructor was stern-faced, gray-suited, and hollow-eyed. Her voice was like a lullaby designed by an AI. Not too high. Not too low. Comfortably flat.
Kairo sat quietly as one student after another went to the front, answered scripted emotional prompts, and returned.
"Name," the instructor said when it was his turn.
"Kairo Valen."
"Emotional self-state?"
"Fine."
"Please elaborate."
Kairo blinked slowly. "I don't feel anxious. Or overly pleased. I'm stable."
The instructor narrowed her eyes. "And your perception of your peers?"
"They're very well trained," he replied calmly.
A few students turned their heads slightly.
"And the institution?" she asked.
Kairo smiled faintly. "Structured. Efficient. Slightly eerie."
Someone behind him coughed.
The instructor gave a neutral nod. "Thank you."
He walked back to his seat.
The room didn't breathe until he sat down.
Then someone whispered from the back, just loud enough for Kairo to hear:
"He's different."
Kairo smiled to himself.
---
That night, in his dorm, Kairo stood by the window. The city lights stretched far into the distance, a glowing testament to artificial peace. Soft music played faintly from a nearby unit. Screens hovered mid-air showing system-approved entertainment.
He stared for a long time.
Then turned toward the desk in the corner. A biometric scanner hummed quietly, monitoring everything.
Heart rate: Stable. Pupil dilation: Normal. Thought patterns: Inconclusive.
He walked over and waved his hand. The screen shut off.
He laid down on his bed, hands behind his head, eyes wide open.
He could feel it—like something was watching, but not with eyes. With data. With numbers.
"This isn't a dream," he whispered to no one.
No response.
Then, almost lazily, he smiled.
Not the kind they taught.
Not the kind the system could measure.
But something far more dangerous.
---
To be continued...