After finishing my punishment in the library—which, for me, had felt more like a paid vacation—I returned to the academy's dull routine.
Lectures about history. Tasteless meals in the cafeteria.
I preferred isolation.
The fewer people I interacted with, the fewer variables I had to worry about.
That's why I chose a table in the farthest corner of the noisy cafeteria. It was an outcast table—just like me.
A perfect place to enjoy my hospital-grade meal and observe the main characters from afar.
I saw all of them.
Ethan was sitting with a group that included Serena and Leo. Rick was with a few other students.
Chloe was laughing loudly at another table, causing a small spark to burst from her metal cup, startling the student beside her.
Damn tomboy.
Everything was… disturbingly normal.
I was about to dig into my "mystery meat" when a shadow fell over my table.
I looked up in irritation, ready to say, "This seat is taken" to someone who didn't exist.
But the words died in my throat.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked calmly, that same ever-present smile on his face.
He didn't wait for my answer. He sat down across from me and placed his tray on the table. It held nothing but a cup of tea and a small salad… a strange combination.
"…."
Silence settled over our table—heavier than the entire cafeteria's noise.
He moved calmly, his steps even, as if he hadn't fought a brutal battle just days ago.
His dark brown hair looked slightly messy under the cafeteria lights, with caramel-colored strands catching the glow.
Even his thin black-framed glasses were perfectly in place—not a millimeter out of line.
Everything about him radiated calm…
Toru Kaneki.
What does he want? I thought, returning to my food and pretending indifference.
I didn't speak. He didn't ask.
We stayed like that for a full minute—him sipping his tea, me pushing food around my plate.
A silent war of nerves.
This guy was one of the most irritating characters in the story.
He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a villain. He was truly unpredictable.
His skill, [Mimic], was one of the rarest and most dangerous abilities in existence.
It wasn't simple "copying." It was a complex process of analysis, storage, and reconstruction.
In the story, the truth of his ability wasn't revealed until much later.
Everyone—including the main characters—believed he somehow possessed multiple abilities. They called him things like "The Multi-Skilled" or "The Versatile."
He didn't defeat his opponents with brute force. He broke them… and enjoyed doing it.
He didn't collect abilities to become the strongest. He collected them to have the right tool for every situation.
He didn't think like a fighter. He thought like a craftsman assembling his tools.
But the real question remained: why me?
Why this sudden interest?
Out of all the strong and interesting students in this class, why choose to sit with "Adam Lester"—the guy who spent an entire training session hiding behind a pile of rubble?
It didn't fit his personality.
Toru didn't waste time. Every action he took had a purpose.
"The coffee here is terrible, isn't it?" he suddenly said, cutting through my thoughts.
I looked up at him. He was talking about coffee.
There was no coffee on my table…
Is he indirectly saying he's been watching me and knows I like coffee?
"It does the job," I replied coldly.
"I prefer tea. Black tea with a bit of lemon. It helps with concentration."
Oh… so he's on the tea side.
"Valuable information," I said dryly.
He smiled. "You don't talk much, Lester."
"I don't have much to say."
"I don't think that's true," he said, leaning forward slightly. "I think you have a lot to say—you just choose not to. That's very different."
Just as I thought. He'd been observing me for a while.
"Did you know," he continued, "that the design of these cafeteria chairs is inefficient from an engineering standpoint? The back angle forces the spine into an unnatural position, causing long-term strain. It would've been better if the angle were 100 degrees instead of 95."
I stared at him.
Is he seriously talking about chair design now?
He was jumping from topic to topic at random—coffee, my personality, chair design.
This wasn't a conversation. It was… a disguised interrogation.
What a cheap psychological tactic.
He was throwing out different bait, waiting to see which one I'd bite. He was searching for a reaction—for any piece of information, no matter how trivial.
"I hadn't noticed," I said, returning to my food. "I don't spend much time analyzing chairs."
"You should. It's the small details that reveal the bigger picture in most stories."
"And what bigger picture do you see in these chairs?" I asked, deciding to play along.
"I see a system that prioritizes aesthetics over function. A system that values appearance over substance," he said, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.
"And that applies to many things in this academy."
A subtle jab at the academy's management—its structure, lessons, and instructors.
I decided to change the subject.
"I heard your team did well in the sparring match, despite losing."
"We gathered valuable data," he said simply. "The final result wasn't important."
Valuable data. The words made me uncomfortable. He didn't see battles as experiences—but as data collection… or more precisely, skill acquisition.
"What about your team?" he suddenly asked. "You won. Was your data valuable too?"
"It was a chaotic fight," I replied, avoiding the question. "Serena is an excellent leader, and Ethan and Chloe are incredibly strong."
"And you?"
I had already run away.
"I was observing."
"Just observing?" He narrowed his eyes. "Interesting. Because I was observing you as well. And you seemed… very calm. Unnaturally calm for someone in the backline while his team was fighting to win."
I walked right into that one.
Every word I said was being analyzed and dissected.
"Calm comes from confidence," I said, throwing out the vaguest cliché I could think of.
"Confidence in what? Your team? Or yourse—"
"The outcome," I cut him off.
Silence fell again.
This was the first time I'd spoken to someone I couldn't read… despite knowing his character from the story.
I had no idea what was going on in his head. He operated on a completely different level.
He reminded me of Leo.
He wasn't interested in power—but in information. Not in winning—but in understanding.
And that was what made him dangerous.
"I should go," he said suddenly, standing up. "I have some research to do."
"On chair design?" I asked sarcastically.
He smiled. "Something like that."
He turned to leave.
But before he did, he stopped and looked at me over his shoulder.
"By the way, Lester. The carnival incident… the reports about it were very interesting. Especially the parts that were omitted."
Then he walked away.
I remained seated, my food now cold.
Damn it… damn him.
He wasn't interested in me just because of the sparring match. He'd been looking into me from the very beginning.
The carnival incident… the omitted parts.
I'd been overthinking and missed the core of it. His goal was much simpler—something about what happened and what was said about me had caught his interest.
I had just become the center of his attention.
What a headache.
I sighed, my appetite completely gone.
The rest of the classes passed in a haze of boredom.
A lecture on "Types of Discovered Horror Chains" was so dry I was convinced the professor himself was about to fall asleep mid-explanation.
Then came "Basic Physical Training," which was basically two hours of running, jumping, and exercises meant to remind us that no matter how amazing our abilities were, we were still just fragile vessels of flesh and bone—easily broken.
I went through the motions mechanically, my mind elsewhere.
Stuck on that cafeteria conversation.
The carnival incident… the omitted parts.
Toru's words echoed in my head like an annoying loop. He wasn't just suspicious—he was actively investigating.
If I had any real strength, I would've beaten him to the core.
And worse—him and Kai Morgenstern. The two biggest threats to my fragile "peace" had both put me under the microscope.
I returned to my dorm room after the day ended.
I tossed my bag onto the floor, closed the door behind me, and let out a long, exhausted sigh.
Finally… silence. Isolation.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the empty wall in front of me.
My thoughts raced.
Power… authority… horror stories… the original novel… future events.
All of it led to the same dead end.
Me.
Who am I…? What am I doing? What is my role? Who is Adam Lester?
Instinctively, I summoned my status screen.
The semi-transparent blue panel appeared in the air before me, displaying my familiar—pathetic—data.
[Name: Adam Lester]
[Age: 16]
[Rank: F-]
[Physical Stats]
Strength: [F-]
Agility: [F]
Endurance: [F]
Intelligence: [C+]
Perception: [B-]
Mana: [F-] (Inactive)
[Skills]
[Narrative Architect Blueprint (EX)]
(Ability to analyze and understand the fundamental structure and logical patterns of any embodied "narrative" or "story." Reveals hidden conditions, loopholes, and multiple possibilities within the narrative.)
(Note: The nature of this skill exceeds known standard classifications. It cannot be fully evaluated or understood, nor can it be upgraded through conventional means.)
Not much had changed. Only Endurance had gone from [F-] to [F].
A decent improvement—but considering what I'd been through, it hardly felt worth it.
But my eyes lingered on those last two words.
Mana: [F-] (Inactive)
Beyond my high perception and intelligence, this had always been the strangest—and most concerning—detail in my status.
In this world, mana was everything. It was like blood flowing through one's veins.
From what I'd read in the library records, I'd finally come to understand its nature more deeply.
It wasn't just magical energy. The "metaphysics of mana" was far more complex than that.
The prevailing theory—one that gained traction after the Day of the Fall—was that mana wasn't merely fuel. It was source code… the fundamental fabric from which everything was built.
And souls… the souls of living beings, were the interface that interacted with that code.
We don't "use" mana—we "rewrite" small parts of reality through our souls.
Skills are the tools that allow us to execute these "commands."
Mana is generated from the soul and stored in a vital organ known as the "mana core," connected to the heart.
The greater the capacity and strength of this core, the more complex and powerful the commands one can execute.
Someone like Ethan has a mana core with immense raw capacity—like a super-powerful processor.
Someone like Serena has a uniquely structured mana core—like multiple specialized cores, each attuned to a different aspect of the "source code" (fire, ice, etc.).
But me?
My status screen says my mana is "inactive."
That doesn't mean it's zero. It doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Even an unawakened person has some mana… as long as you have a soul, you have mana.
Which means mine is… dormant. Asleep. Like a program that's never been run.
How is that possible? I wondered, staring at the words.
How can my mana be inactive, yet I have a skill?
[Narrative Architect Blueprint (EX)]
A skill of unknown rank that lets me see "information" no one else is supposed to see.
It was a blatant contradiction. It broke the very rules this world was built on.
Having a skill means my soul interacts with the "source code."
And that interaction requires active mana.
Unless…
Unless my skill doesn't use this world's mana.
The thought sent a chill through my body.
Unless it runs on a completely different system.
That would explain a lot.
I sighed, a dull headache forming behind my eyes.
The more I thought about it, the more questions arose.
Can I… activate it?
I'd never tried before. I had accepted it as part of my strange condition.
But now, after seeing Ethan's power, Serena's versatility, and even Toru's tricks, I felt weak. Like a mere spectator in a dangerous game—and knowledge alone might not always be enough to survive.
I sat cross-legged on my bed.
I had read about methods of "feeling" mana—both in the novel and in books.
It required calmness, focus, and reaching one's inner "core"—the mana core.
I closed my eyes.
I tried to focus.
To ignore the noise of the outside world… and the noise in my own mind.
I tried to listen to my body. To my blood flow. To my heartbeat.
I tried to feel that extra organ—the core connected to my heart.
One minute passed.
Nothing…
Five minutes passed.
Nothing but back pain from sitting like this…
Ten minutes…
I started to feel sleepy.
I opened my eyes, exhausted.
Total failure.
It was like trying to turn on a computer with no power source.
Nothing. Complete emptiness.
I couldn't feel any energy, any flow… anything.
Either I didn't have a mana core at all—or it was so deeply asleep that I couldn't awaken it.
That possibility had always lingered in the back of my mind.
I sighed again, exhaustion taking over completely.
Pointless.
I let my body fall onto the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes.
Analysis and thinking were more exhausting than any physical training.
I stared at the dull white ceiling again.
Another day in this absurd world.
Then I closed my eyes and surrendered to sleep—escaping the puzzles of reality into the darkness of unconsciousness.