A few months later.
When the alarm sounded,
77 was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria.
The cafeteria was large.
The ceiling was high.
Rows of white light panels stretched across it.
The lighting was steady.
No shadows.
All the tables were evenly spaced.
The floor was spotless.
As if it had just been mopped.
There was a faint disinfectant smell in the air.
Not sharp.
But constant.
At this time,
there weren't many people.
The period after afternoon training.
Many students had already left.
Those who remained ate slowly.
Some leaned back in their chairs to rest.
Some looked down at their terminals.
Some talked quietly.
Their voices were absorbed by the ceiling.
The cafeteria was always like this.
Never too noisy.
Never completely silent.
The nutrient paste tasted as monotonous as ever.
Like a precisely calculated formula.
Protein ratio stable.
Very low sugar.
Almost no salt.
It wasn't bad.
But it wasn't memorable.
You would forget it soon after finishing.
77 looked down at his bowl.
The spoon lightly tapped the bottom.
Once.
Again.
And again.
A steady rhythm.
Metal against ceramic.
A soft sound.
Like keeping time.
Only a little residue remained in the bowl.
The spoon kept striking the same spot.
"Hey, Little Seven."
Someone called from the side.
A hint of deliberate tone in it.
77 didn't look up.
The spoon kept tapping.
"How many times have I told you—"
The person seemed ready to continue.
But the words never came out.
The alarm cut into the air.
Sharp.
Clean.
No buildup.
Red light replaced the white in a single second.
The entire cafeteria turned cold in color.
The alarm continued.
No pause.
The sound layered over itself in the space.
This wasn't a training alarm.
Not a routine test.
Those were shorter.
More regular.
This one was more urgent.
Experimental zone anomaly alert.
77's hand stopped.
The spoon hovered midair.
People around froze for a moment.
Some looked up.
Some frowned.
Some cursed.
Some just glanced at the lights—
and kept eating.
Because the cafeteria doors were not locked.
The automatic doors only flickered once.
System check.
Confirmed this was not a danger zone.
The doors returned to normal.
A broadcast voice came on.
Mechanical.
Emotionless.
"An anomaly has occurred in the training zone."
"Relevant personnel, evacuate immediately."
"An anomaly has occurred in the training zone."
"Relevant personnel, evacuate immediately."
The voice echoed through the cafeteria.
77 was already on his feet.
His chair slid back slightly.
The tray remained on the table.
The bowl unmoved.
The spoon fell into it.
A soft clink.
He didn't look back.
"X-777, what are you doing?"
A cafeteria staff member leaned out from behind the counter.
Voice alert.
77 didn't answer.
He was already running.
The cafeteria doors slid open.
The corridor outside was already red.
The alarm louder.
His footsteps echoed.
77 ran fast.
His breathing grew heavier.
But he didn't slow down.
There was only one thought left in his mind.
No way.
It can't be there.
Ros was still training today.
At this time,
training shouldn't be over yet.
"No way…"
he murmured.
Barely audible.
The experimental building entrance was ahead.
The doors were open.
But warning lights flashed inside.
77 rushed in.
The atmosphere inside was completely different.
The first containment door was descending.
A metal slab sliding down from the ceiling.
Steady speed.
No pause.
Like a prewritten program.
77 didn't slow.
He charged straight through—
slipping underneath just before it sealed.
The metal door shut behind him.
A heavy sound spread through the corridor.
"The experimental building is entering lockdown."
The broadcast continued.
The second door had already begun to close.
77 kept running.
Faster.
His shoes scraped the floor.
The sound amplified in the empty hallway.
Someone ran out from a side door.
Saw 77.
Stopped.
Someone grabbed a communicator.
Voice urgent.
"Someone heading toward the training—"
Cut off.
77 was already past them.
Didn't stop.
The closer he got to the training zone,
the more unstable the air felt.
Like it was being compressed—
then suddenly released.
Ability fields fluctuating.
The indicator lights on the walls flickered.
Green.
Red.
Back to green.
A heavy impact sounded in the distance.
Not footsteps.
A shockwave hitting metal.
The structure trembled slightly.
77 ran faster.
Breathing heavier.
Still no slowing.
"Ros…"
The name squeezed out of his throat.
Distorted.
The training zone entrance was ahead.
The final door was descending.
Only half a gap remained.
77 dove forward—
sliding through just before it closed.
His shoulder slammed the frame.
Pain.
He didn't stop.
Inside, the lighting was brighter.
Blinding white.
Red alarms still flashing.
The air vibrated.
Not wind.
Field resonance.
The test platform stood at the center.
Ros was fixed there.
Wrists.
Shoulders.
Waist.
All locked in restraints.
Metal supports rose from the floor.
Connected to energy monitoring lines.
Indicator lights flashing wildly.
Green.
Yellow.
Red.
Constantly changing.
Her body trembled.
Not struggling.
More like forced output.
Fine cracks kept appearing across her skin—
then healing instantly.
New cracks.
Heal.
Split.
Heal.
Split.
Abnormally fast.
Regeneration should have been gentle.
Passive.
Only triggered by injury.
Now it was being driven.
Forced.
Energy cycling too fast inside her.
The system kept reading data.
Recovery speed.
Tissue reconstruction rate.
Energy consumption.
Numbers refreshed wildly on the screens.
Some already beyond normal ranges.
"X-777, stop advancing."
Security reacted immediately.
Two rushed forward—
grabbing his arms.
A third pinned his shoulder from behind.
Strong force.
77 was forced down.
His knee hit the ground.
"Let go of me!"
he shouted.
They didn't release him.
Only tightened their hold.
Researchers stood outside the safety line.
Their attention barely on 77.
Terminals lit up.
Data flooding.
Stability curves starting to fluctuate.
Recovery index rising.
Models recalculating.
No one approached the platform.
They were recording.
Observing.
77 saw clearly.
"…You knew this would happen."
he said.
No answer.
Then—
he saw Seven.
Standing on the other side.
Closest to the platform—
yet not stepping in.
His posture steady.
As if he had always been there.
His gaze moved between equipment and data.
No panic.
No urgency.
He was watching.
Calculating.
Evaluating.
Waiting for the lowest-loss solution.
"Seven—!"
77 shouted.
Seven looked over.
His gaze landed on 77.
Paused briefly.
77 thought he would say something.
Even a command.
Even just "stop."
But Seven said nothing.
He only raised a hand—
signaling security to continue restraint.
77 understood.
Seven hadn't missed it.
He had chosen.
System stability—
over the person on the platform.
"Enough."
77 said softly.
The guards didn't notice.
He closed his eyes.
His ability activated.
Not an outburst.
A disturbance.
Output suppressed extremely low.
So low the system could barely detect it.
But the direction—
precise.
He slipped it into the gaps of the experiment parameters.
Not destruction.
Just interference.
The data on the screens jumped.
Curves broke.
"Parameter anomaly—!"
Researchers looked up.
Terminals recalculating.
"Suppression model destabilizing!"
"Safety thresholds shifting!"
The smooth curves fractured.
Blank zones appeared.
The stability equations couldn't close.
For the first time—
the lab truly descended into chaos.
Researchers stepped back.
Terminals flashing wildly.
Ros's state was forced to change.
No longer a controllable variable.
The system couldn't maintain the stable range.
Seven turned sharply.
Looked at 77.
They met eyes—
at close range—
for the first time.
77 smiled.
Faint.
Almost invisible.
Not provocation.
More like exhaustion.
"If you won't save her,"
he said hoarsely,
"then stop pretending everything is normal."
The system stuttered.
Lights flickered.
Monitors went black for a split second.
The air felt wrong.
As if a layer of space had been erased.
Edges blurred.
Like static noise.
Seven stepped forward.
About to enter the platform zone—
At that exact moment—
the system rebooted.
Monitors restored.
Logs reset.
The suppression system took over again.
Ros's output was forced back below threshold.
Chaos collapsed.
Equations closed again.
Researchers exhaled.
"It's stable."
"Anomaly removed."
Security regained control of 77.
His arms twisted behind him.
Body lifted off the ground.
Order returned.
Alarm stopped.
Red lights off.
White light restored.
As if nothing had happened.
X-777 was taken away from the training zone.
Not long after,
he was placed in an isolation cell.