Chapter 12.7: “Rejected Residual Heat or the Reconstructed Score”
The air in the student council president’s office had completely rejected the clamor of the outside world.
The double-layered soundproofing spell had even calculated air convection‚ rendering it so transparent that not even a speck of dust was allowed to drift. The cold light of the magical lamp streaming through the window split the desk like a sharp blade‚ emphasizing the inorganic contrast between light and shadow.
In contrast to the “failures” gasping in the mire beyond the boundary‚ this room was far too clear—and utterly lifeless.
“…Mark’s defection merely removed a fatal noise from the score. At last‚ the beautiful theory moves toward completion.”
Yet within that cage called “perfection‚” only my left hand spoke the truth.
I slowly removed my white glove‚ as if performing a ritual.
What appeared was no longer a healthy skin tone. A grotesque stony texture had devoured my forearm entirely and was reaching the elbow joint—“gray‚” erosion level 2.
Heavy.
As if absorbing all the stagnation of the world‚ it sank beyond gravity itself. Each time I passed magic through it‚ a neural abrasion like shards of broken glass flowing backward through my veins assaulted me.
I was using my body—myself—as a filter to purify the world. To confine this mad pressure within me‚ crush it‚ and ultimately become a beautiful‚ cold statue.
For a fleeting moment‚ something creaked deep within my chest.
But before I could recall what that emotion was‚ my calculations froze it.
Knock‚ knock.
A precise rhythm echoed—one that did not disturb the silence.
“President. Excuse me… It is time for your regular treatment.”
My secretary‚ Ceres‚ entered the room without a sound. Her violet-black hair was immaculate‚ accentuating her cold‚ sharp intellect.
“…Ceres. Today‚ the ‘output loss’ in my left arm is especially severe. Computational efficiency has dropped by about 0.01%.”
As I placed my left arm on the desk mechanically‚ I clicked my tongue inwardly at that number.
(0.01%… Exactly the same value as the significant difference those failures supposedly gathered in the mire. A mathematically nauseating coincidence‚ as if my deficiency directly determines their survival probability.)
Seeing the gray (stone) crawling up to my elbow‚ Ceres’ amethyst eyes moistened with pain. Her trembling fingers gently touched my petrified skin along with a cold ointment.
“…!”
Hot.
Her fingertips were astonishingly warm.
To me‚ who lives in absolute zero silence‚ it was both a “poison” that scraped against my nerves and the only “anchor” proving that my existence was still tied to this world.
Ceres spread the ointment‚ gently kneading the hardened skin.
At that moment—
Crack.
A dry sound like an old string snapping echoed through the room.
My crystallized skin crumbled into sand‚ entangling with Ceres’ fingers as it peeled away onto the stone floor.
I looked down coldly at the ash-like sand scattered across the floor—remnants that were once my flesh and blood—as if inspecting someone else’s remains.
“President… The area of exfoliation has expanded compared to yesterday.”
“…No problem. It is merely the process of impurities (flesh) being shaved away as I approach pure stone. This sand is nothing but ‘error residue.’”
The intense pain of my skin peeling away—I processed it not as “pain‚” but as a mere “numerical error” in my mind‚ immediately discarding it.
Ceres’ fingers gently traced the hypersensitive skin left behind.
Her breath brushed against my exposed arm‚ and the suppressed exchange of heat temporarily melted my ice-cold magic circuits. This was different from past treatments—a terribly sensual and cruel ritual meant to hold back one heading toward death.
“President… You’ve become so ‘cold’…”
Ceres pulled my wrist to her chest and embraced it tightly‚ as if to kill her own warmth.
The absolute-zero chill emanating from my arm drained the color from her slender fingers‚ turning them white and numb like ice sculpture. Yet rather than fear the loss of sensation‚ she embraced my arm even more deeply‚ as if taking on part of my “fate of becoming a corpse” as the greatest joy.
The lukewarm humanity I once rejected—unlike the “heat” of survival that fools cling to in the mire.
Ceres’ devotion‚ willing even to turn to stone with me‚ was a cold‚ insane anchor that kept me on the side of perfect “silence.”
“…Ceres‚ step back. The tuning is complete.”
I forcibly pulled my left hand from her arms and put on a new white glove. Along with the faint warmth remaining on my fingertips‚ I perfectly concealed the truth called erosion beneath elegant cloth.
“The 0.01% significance those discarded formulas (Arias) gathered in the mire is not enough to shake my score… Ceres‚ what is the synchronization rate of that ‘new component’ waiting by the window?”
With the gloved fingertips‚ I pointed mechanically to the shadow by the window.
There stood a “vacuum” devoid of all heat—reconstructed to completely overwrite the fatal noise named Mark.
The “gray” erosion packed beneath the white glove no longer leaked even a single degree of chill. Once again‚ I returned to the “perfect‚ flawless mask” of the student council president.
“…President. Are you… alright now?”
Ceres stepped back‚ hiding her cold‚ whitened fingers against her chest.
In her amethyst eyes coexisted relief at having anchored me to this world—and inescapable fear of me turning to stone with each passing second.
“An unnecessary concern‚ Ceres… More importantly‚ let us hear the evaluation of that ‘component’ over there.”
In the shadow by the window I indicated‚ a girl sat‚ not even processing our exchange as background noise.
Her name was Zephyr. Unit number Z-0.
In my score‚ purged of the “impurity (noise)” named Mark‚ she was the newly reconstructed concertmaster who executes pure speed via the shortest path.
“…Soran. Mark’s ‘resonance’ has completely disappeared from the score.”
She descended from the window frame without a sound‚ as if even gravity had been discarded.
At that moment—
The already silent room lost even the concept of “sound.”
The ticking of the magical clock‚ the air currents—even Ceres’ faint breathing—were all absorbed and vanished into a “silence…” around her.
It wasn’t that there were no footsteps or rustling; friction and air resistance were mathematically discarded along her path‚ creating a physical “vacuum.”
“…Beautiful. A pure speed that rejects sound.”
I exhaled faintly in satisfaction‚ without even the slightest warmth.
Zephyr approached me. Her razor-sharp gray-white short hair swayed slightly in the pristine air.
Her eyes held a jade color—the proof that all emotional hues had been discarded.
—The same cold color as that detestable “Observer (Nagi)‚” who views the world as mere data.
It proved she no longer possessed human emotion‚ and for me now‚ that inhumanity was the most reliable answer.
“With this‚ no noise will mix into my vacuum… Synchronization is possible with 0.00% error.”
Zephyr raised the “arm” exposed from her right sleeve.
Seeing its grotesque form‚ Ceres stifled a short scream deep in her throat.
Her right arm had completely transformed into eerie gray stone up to the shoulder.
Erosion level 3—a living “heavy stone mass” that should have completely lost bodily function.
Yet she made no attempt to hide it. While we concealed our collapse with white gloves‚ she exposed that color of death as if it were proof of “evolution.”
“…Isn’t it heavy‚ Zephyr? That stone arm.”
“The concept of weight is defined solely by friction and resistance… In my theory‚ mass does not exist.”
She swung her stone arm carelessly.
Without a single sound of friction‚ the air distorted—then rushed in afterward‚ violently whipping Ceres’ hair.
Along the path of her arm‚ rapid cooling due to adiabatic expansion occurred‚ blooming beautiful ice crystals across the window glass. The room temperature plunged below freezing in an instant.
If Mark was the “heat of life” accelerating with sparks‚ she was the “vacuum of death” freezing everything as it glides.
The “zero-friction rail” Mark once reached through desperation—she realized it effortlessly by merely rewriting equations.
“…Ah. Your speed is the only correct answer to my theory‚ Zephyr.”
“Understood… For the next extermination mission‚ I will overwrite silence without leaving a single impurity.”
Her jade eyes aligned perfectly with mine.
There was no “trust” or “passion.”
Only perfect synchronization between machines sharing the same score.
I pressed my gloved left hand quietly against my chest.
That 0.01% bug (error) the impurities (Arias) scraped together in the garbage dump—no matter how clumsy or warm it was‚ before this “Reaper of Vacuum‚” it would freeze instantly and be discarded.
“Ceres… Call the other ‘instruments.’ It’s almost time to begin.”
My voice was swallowed into Zephyr’s vacuum without a single echo.
What ruled the office was absolute-zero silence.
We began our “cold conducting” to save the world.
Walking down the vacuum corridor created by Zephyr—one that allowed not even echoes.
Draped in absolute-zero silence‚ I stepped deeper into the office—into another inhuman domain ruled by pale holographic light.
“President. The remaining ‘instruments’ are already in position.”
As Ceres’ voice regained a faint echo crossing the vacuum boundary‚ the shadowed space was repainted by the central computation system’s glow.
There stood Else‚ an analyst directly linked to the academy’s system.
Behind her silver-rimmed glasses‚ cold eyes tracked endless streams of inorganic formulas‚ while gray veins—proof of cognitive acceleration—crept eerily along her pale neck.
“…You’re late. My score requires no further blanks (noise).”
“My apologies‚ President. The final classification of ‘uncertain elements’ at the boundary observatory took 0.03 seconds longer than expected.”
With a flick of her slender fingers‚ the battle data from that observatory unfolded.
But it was not depicted as a “muddy struggle for survival.” Everything was coldly symbolized‚ system logs streaming across her retinal UI.
‘[ Judgment: statistical garbage (noise) ]’
‘[ Warning: detected thermal override… error discarded in 0.03 seconds ]’
“The ‘proofs of survival’ gathered by an outdated analysis unit… laughable. A purification formula that took it two hours to compute was completed by my central logic in three seconds. The 0.01% significance you were concerned about is merely computational lag caused by inferior processing power.”
Else dismissed their life-risking achievement like trash.
“Heat equals output loss… President‚ efficient destruction.”
Beside the desk stood Ignis‚ holding a spear.
His right arm‚ like Zephyr’s‚ had turned to gray stone up to the shoulder.
Yet he wielded it effortlessly‚ as if it were no longer part of his body.
“The excessive heat in the vanguard… mere energy dissipation. Freed from pain‚ my stone arm can ‘discard’ the power source (heart) via the shortest path.”
“…Correct‚ Ignis. Unnecessary sound disrupts harmony.”
In the corner‚ Valt stood unmoving‚ raising his heavy shield.
His feet had fused completely with the stone floor—an “absolute barrier” integrated with the ground.
“Defense of designated coordinates complete… No noise will enter beneath me. Heart rate synchronized to metronome. Fluctuation fixed at 0.00%.”
His words were devoid of emotion—mere system output.
Soran surveyed these “perfect instruments” and smiled faintly.
“Aria’s ‘trash’ will all be overwritten by my silence. Else‚ status of the next mission—‘Sky High Azure’?”
“No problem. A region with theoretical survival probability of 0%… but under our score‚ it becomes a ‘stroll.’”
Her glasses reflected cold white light.
It was a premonition of their “muddy practicality” being crushed from above.
Blue logs streamed across her retina as she announced the result.
“[ Judgment: source of impure noise ]… The ‘ancient heart fragment’ Aria Adel carries is not a catalyst of salvation.”
With a swipe‚ its data was deleted into trash.
“It merely delays collapse physically… an ugly clinging remnant. For a perfect score‚ it is irregular noise.”
I took a baton from the desk.
“Impure residual heat will freeze in the absolute zero of the sky… Aria‚ I’ll show you how fragile your sound is.”
I flicked the baton.
Instantly‚ all sound vanished.
Zephyr synchronized perfectly and moved.
Others followed—perfectly synchronized.
“…Perfect‚ President. No dissonance remains.”
Ceres whispered like a final prayer.
“This is not a song of salvation… but a requiem of death.”
“Let’s go… to overwrite the world’s noise with 100% correctness.”
The silent gate opened to “Sky High Azure.”
“…Let us go‚ President. The perfect stage awaits.”
Ceres adjusted my collar.
“I do not call this sacrifice… it is inevitability.”
“Salvation is not dreaming of uncertainty… it is sealing everything in eternal silence.”
“All instruments synchronized. No error.”
“Wise decision… no impurity belongs in our sky.”
They advanced silently through the gate.
“Aria… your sound no longer reaches me.”
The world trembled faintly beyond the gate.
“Silence… this world has too much excess noise.”
The door closed without sound.
Ahead lay the “Sky High Azure‚” a lifeless sanctuary beyond the clouds.
What would be played there was not salvation—
but the beginning of a requiem of death that would discard all impurities and overwrite the world with perfect theory.
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