5.4
Every few months or years, there came a time of great change.
That’s when some of the children began to have trouble keeping up with the curriculum.
The level of study increased by two or three difficulty levels, and little by little they began to fall behind.
It was clear that even after the same amount of time spent learning, there were differences among the individuals.
When they were first taught addition.
When they were first taught multiplication.
They started out equally, but then others realized that they were superior to each other.
Along the way, they can rewind and move on to the next step, but often the child who is noticeably behind stumbles at the next step.
I’m sure that the adults didn’t welcome the children dropping out.
However, they couldn’t keep children who weren’t keeping up with the program in the same place indefinitely.
Leaving a child who wasn’t keeping up created dissonance, and if you try to accommodate the child who wasn’t keeping up, the others’ rhythm, who were ahead, would be lost.
The next learning opportunity would be lost.
This was why it was necessary to gradually decrease the number of children.
“10 minutes remaining.”
Prior to the many children dropouts, one of the many tests was a special high-difficulty written curriculum.
During the course of repeated daily study, I noticed something—the difficulty level of this special written test was raised according to the top score. In other words, a perfect score slid up the scale, thus a child with a previous low score would have a more difficult time on the following test.
On the other hand, if the top score was lower than the perfect score, the ceiling was also lowered.
No matter how tough the questions were, there was no room for minor miscalculations, careless omissions, or excuses.
That was why children repeatedly checked their answers even after they solved all the problems on time.
They desperately clutched at their test papers, because even a single mistake would mean the end of the test.
While others around me were busy, I kept staring at the front of the room with a pen in my hand. I kept pretending that I was still taking the test.
In reality, I had already finished answering all the questions and was spending the remaining time idly.
I wasn’t worried about the possibility of making a mistake.
Because I knew I didn’t make such a mistake.
The questions on the test paper and the answers I wrote down were imprinted in my mind word for word.
“5 minutes to go.”
With the announcement, the sound of brushing around me became more intense.
You hear the sound of the erasers’ pressure getting stronger from the seat next to you as if they were in an impatient state of mind.
The difficulty of this test had increased by several levels from the previous exam.
During math class, when the students were solving problems such as the equality conditions of additive and synergistic averages, something unusual happened.
I had almost half of the 30 minutes left to answer the final problem and was staring at the front of the room for the rest of the time, waiting for the signal to finish.
Suddenly a man, a representative of the White Room, entered the room with a grim look on his face.
It wasn’t unheard of for an adult to show up in the middle of an exam, when a person who wasn’t able to keep up with the exam hyperventilates and collapses, or has a seizure or convulsions.
So far, I hadn’t noticed any sign of such conditions.
Or, very rarely, a child becomes so intent on solving the problems that they recklessly cheat.
But I soon learned that it was me, of all people, who was the adult’s target.
He stopped a little to my left, looked down at the test paper, and then looked at me.
“Kiyotaka.”
I looked up as he called my name.
“Remember well. A person who has power yet neglects to use it is a fool.”
Of course they knew what I was doing.
“Leave the room.”
I followed the man out of the room.
“What the hell are you doing, Kiyotaka?”
“What do you mean?”
“‘What do you mean’? You don't understand what I'm asking, do you?”
I was shown to a small private room where I was made to sit down.
“I see you've completed all the questions.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you're going to get a perfect score?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
The questions on the test were deliberately constrained to 80 points.
“Why did you hold back?”
“You didn't instruct me not to hold back.”
I knew that I wasn’t going to fall behind the wayside just because I didn't get a perfect score.
“You do realize that you’re already leading this term, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s only one reason why you held back.”
The man pointed at me and said, “Because you noticed how this curriculum works. If you get a perfect score, the curriculum for the fourth generation will become more difficult. Naturally, the number of dropouts will increase. Is that what you wanted to prevent?”
That was the correct assumption.
“Surely you haven't developed a sense of camaraderie with the kids.”
I see. So that's the conclusion the adults have drawn.
“Is that what it looks like?”
“Yes, that’s what I see.”
“And how did Ayanokouji-sensei feel about it?”
I was interested in his answer.
“Holding yourself back to assist your fellow students isn't helping him at all.”
Is that really true? I asked myself.
“You're wrong.”
I denied it.
“Then try to convince me.”
When ordered to do so, I put my own thoughts into words.
“In the first place, I’ve never recognized the children around me as my friends.”
“Then why didn't you try to get a perfect score?”
“The instructors already knew that I would get a perfect score this time. There’s no need to write the answers down on paper every time. It’s more time-efficient to leave it blank.”
Using unnecessary energy was nothing but a waste.
“It’s hubris. Knowledge fades with time. That's why you always do your best to remember. Even if you have the ability to get a perfect score, making mistakes and misremembering can happen. You need to show me your best at all times.”
“I won't make a mistake.”
“That's a bold statement.”
“And that's not the only reason I hold back.”
“What?”
“I know that if I hadn't held back, the percentage of kids who would drop out would be much higher than it is now. So, if I cut corners, we're replacing a world where kids who would normally have dropped out are still here.”
“Yes. That's called camaraderie.”
“No, it's not. I thought of it as a loss of experience, a loss of contact with the children who are going to drop out.”
The instructors looked at each other with questioning looks on their faces.
The knowledge-hungry brain wants to both analyze patterns and seek answers.
“It’s easy to dismiss them at this stage. But I’m still in the learning stage. I want to know what I can see and feel from the weak.”
“So you think it's too early for them to drop out?”
I nodded. Soon most of the kids around here won't be able to keep up.
“You think your plan is above ours? It's up to us to decide who is dropping out.”
“Of course it’s your choice. That’s how the White Room is.”
It was futile to try to crush this man with logic.
All that matters was that there was never a rule against holding back.
But it wouldn’t be easy to add a rule against cutting corners.
Even if I got a score of zero, the instructor, who’s a third party, would be the one to judge me for holding back.
They won’t fail the exam because of that. However, it doesn’t mean that the instructor can treat a person who got a score of 0 as if they had scored a 100, either.
“Is it OK with you? If he thinks this way, let's see what happens.”
“What do you think, Suzukake?”
“I agree with Ishida-san. If he does something we haven't thought of, I'll be very happy.”
The man was silent for a while and then dropped his gaze on me.
“Do what you want. But don't forget what I said.”
Not utilizing one's power is a fool's errand.
Whether it was true or not, I decided to remember it as a moment of interest.
At the same time, however, another emotion peeked out.
I was beginning to feel that I didn’t like this man.
I began to understand how Yuki felt when she said she didn’t like carrots a little more.
Just as I was being taken back to the rooms to sit down, the buzzer sounded.
All at once, the children placed their pens on their desks.
That was the rule.
But there was one sound that didn’t vanish after the buzzer sounded: the sound of a pen crunching on a piece of paper.
This wasn’t unusual.
A boy continued his test, breathing hard and sobbing.
His attitude to continue the test didn’t change even when the door opened and the adults entered the room.
He was forcibly grabbed by his right arm.
“No! Let go of me! No! I can still solve it! I can do it! W-waah, waah! I don't want to drop out!”
In addition to the excessive pressure, he realized his defeat and sprayed his gastric juice all over the test paper.
The vomit spread from the instructors’ necks and down onto their clothes, but the adults didn’t care, they restrained the child from both sides and dragged them out without regard to the child's resistance. The children were emotionless, with the only exception being when they drop out. In this case, the inevitable end arouses their survival instincts and they lose their rationality. Some of the children looked at each other, but most of them stared ahead without taking any action.
“Uwaaaaah! Uwaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!”
A scream never heard before reverberated through the room and permeated through the automatic door.
As soon as he was taken out, the door closed and silence returned.
They really don't know anything, do they?
They can get any number of points in this particular curriculum and never drop out.
If they can't even recognize that, it’s inevitable that they'll drop out.
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