PROLOGUE — PART II
Resonance
Genesis always had rules.
Wake up. Examination.
Therapy. Experimentation.
Rest. Then everything started over again.
Day after day. Week after week.
There were no calendars on the walls. No clocks showing how long they had been there.
The children at Genesis were never taught to count time.
Because for them... The future wasn't something they needed to know.
"Akira, don't run." Reina's voice came from behind him.
"I'm not running." "You're walking fast."
"That's different."
Reina let out a soft laugh as she hurried to catch up with Akira in the observation corridor they were allowed to walk through every afternoon. Along the right side of the corridor, large panes of glass revealed various laboratory rooms. Researchers moved back and forth carrying data and samples, as if the presence of the two children were simply another part of the routine.
"What are you looking at?" Reina asked.
Akira pointed to a small pot behind the glass. "A plant."
Its leaves were small. Green.
The only truly living color in all of Genesis.
"Why do they take care of it?" Reina shook her head.
"Maybe so it won't die." Akira fell silent.
For some reason, the simple sentence felt heavy.
Takumi was reviewing the research results when a young researcher handed him the latest report.
"Subject A-001 is showing a significant increase in synchronization."
"And Subject R?" The researcher hesitated for a moment.
"Her resonance is increasing too... but her physical condition continues to deteriorate." Takumi opened the next page.
The longer he read, the deeper the lines on his forehead became.
The dosage of medication had increased. The duration of the experiments had increased.
Yet Reina's body was finding it increasingly difficult to recover. "Has Seiji seen this report?"
"Yes." "What did he say?"
The researcher lowered his head. "'Continue according to protocol.'"
Takumi slowly closed the file. He had known Seiji longer than anyone else in the facility.
Once, they had dreamed of creating a therapy for incurable diseases.
They wanted to give people hope. Not create children who had to live with pain.
In the main experiment room, Seiji Amamiya stood before a gigantic screen. Wave after wave of brain activity filled the monitor.
Beautiful. Orderly.
And something that had never been seen before.
"Emotional resonance," he murmured. "The theory was right..."
A senior scientist approached. "Professor, if this increase continues, Subject R may be unable to maintain her stability."
Seiji kept his eyes on the screen.
"And Subject A-001?" "Still able to adapt."
"That's what we're looking for." "But..."
Seiji finally turned toward him. "Every scientific revolution demands a price."
The room fell silent again. No one dared to contradict him.
That night...
Akira awoke to pain spreading from the back of his neck to his fingertips.
His breathing came in short, shallow bursts. Sweat soaked his pillow.
He was used to it.
But tonight was different. Amid the pain...
He heard someone crying.
Quietly. Very quietly.
Akira got out of bed.
With unsteady steps, he walked toward the glass door. From the dim corridor, he saw the room across from him.
Reina was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Her shoulders trembled.
The IV bag still hung beside her bed. Akira raised his palm toward the glass.
Tap...
Tap...
Reina lifted her head. The moment she saw Akira, she hurriedly wiped away her tears and smiled.
A forced smile.
"Did I wake you?" Akira shook his head.
"Does it hurt?" Reina gave a small nod.
"A little." "They said it would definitely be better tomorrow."
Akira gazed at Reina's face for a long moment. "Then..."
He pulled something from beneath his pajamas.
A paper bird. Its folds were still messy.
"I made this." Reina smiled more sincerely.
"Another bird?" "Yeah."
"Why birds all the time?" Akira looked up at the white ceiling.
"Maybe... because they can go anywhere."
For a moment... Neither of them spoke.
The two children simply looked at each other through the thick glass separating them.
The glass was transparent.
Yet it felt like a different world.
At the end of the corridor, unseen by either of them, Airi stood watching the two children. She was still holding Reina's examination results in a folder.
She knew what the numbers inside meant. Cell damage.
Declining organ function. Resonance that continued to increase.
And a small body that was running out of strength.
"What are you looking at?" Seiji's voice startled Airi slightly.
"Your child," Airi replied softly.
Seiji looked toward Reina as well. For a moment, his gaze softened.
Only for an instant.
"Look at her," Airi said. "She's still trying to smile."
"That's because she's strong." "No."
Airi's voice began to tremble. "It's because she's afraid of disappointing us."
The words left Seiji silent.
"She always apologizes after the experiments," Airi continued. "As if the pain she suffers is her fault."
Silence filled the corridor.
"I never taught her to be like that," Seiji said quietly.
"But Genesis did." Airi looked at the man.
"We built this place to save humanity."
"We still are." "No."
Tears began to fill her eyes. "This place is slowly teaching children that suffering is something they have to accept."
The next day...
Akira and Reina met again in the playroom. But this time, Reina looked much paler.
She stifled a cough several times. While she was drawing, the crayon fell from her hand.
Akira quickly picked it up for her. "Are you tired?"
Reina nodded. "I had a dream."
"What kind of dream?" "There was a sky."
Akira smiled.
"And then?" "We ran."
"Where did we run?" Reina shook her head.
"I forgot." She stared at the blank drawing in front of her.
"But I remember..." "What?"
"...that it felt warm." Akira didn't understand.
He had never felt the warmth of the sun.
But seeing the way Reina smiled as she told him about the dream... He hoped it truly existed.
Takumi stood in Genesis's archive room. He opened one old report after another.
The more he read, the clearer one reality became—the reality he had spent so long trying to ignore. The research target was beginning to change.
Safety limits were revised. Ethical approval was cut back.
The term "therapy" was slowly disappearing. It was being replaced by a single word that made his chest tighten.
Optimization. Humans...
Were no longer treated as patients. Instead, they were treated as something that had to be perfected.
Takumi slowly closed the folder. From beyond the archive room door, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard.
Seiji.
The two friends looked at each other without saying a word.
There was no anger. No hostility yet.
Only two people slowly realizing that they were heading toward different destinations.
And elsewhere...
Airi held the sleeping Reina's small hand as the sedative kept her unconscious. She gazed at her daughter's peaceful face in sleep.
Then, for the first time... She whispered in a voice barely loud enough to hear.
"I promise..." "I'll take you to see the real sky."
The promise was simple. But from the moment those words were spoken...
Genesis's fate began to shift, little by little. No one noticed.
Not even Genesis, which seemed never to sleep... noticed that the greatest threat to the project was not an investigation from outside.
It was the love slowly growing within its own walls.