Chapter 3: White Noise

I woke up and slowly opened my eyes.

The light was too bright.

My eyes squeezed shut on instinct, and for a moment, I was afraid to open them again.

So instead, I focused on sound.

Silence

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind you notice after a long day when the world finally gives you space to breathe.

This silence was thick.

Heavy.

It pressed against my ears until I became aware of my own breathing—slow, shallow, unfamiliar.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

I didn’t open my eyes.

I just lay there, suspended in the nothing, trying to remember how I’d gotten here.

That should’ve been easy.

It wasn’t.

There was a vague sense of before, but when I tried to focus on it, only the feeling of having forgotten something remained

Like when you leave your house and keep wondering if you forgot something even though you have everything you need with you.

My head throbbed, a dull ache that felt deeper than a headache. Like my thoughts themselves were bruised.

Eventually, curiosity won out over fear.

I opened my eyes again.

White ceiling.

Too white.

Perfectly smooth, no cracks, no stains. No imperfections. The kind of surface that wasn’t meant to be looked at for long, because the longer you stared, the more unreal it felt.

I blinked once.

Twice.

The room came into focus slowly.

A bed. A narrow one. Thin sheets pulled neatly up to my chest. My arms lay on either side of me, unrestrained—something I noticed immediately, with a strange mix of relief and suspicion.

No straps.

No cuffs.

That alone told me something was different.

I turned my head slightly.

White walls. White floor. A single door, seamless and closed. No windows. No clocks. No mirrors.

Of course.

Academy City didn’t like mirrors.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

I was wearing a hospital gown. The fabric was soft, warm—but not comforting. It felt like a reminder. Like proof that I hadn’t imagined any of what happened so far.

I tried to sit up.

A sharp pulse of pain shot through my skull, and I froze halfway, teeth clenched as the world tilted violently to one side.

“…Okay,” I whispered hoarsely. “Not doing that yet.”

My voice sounded small.

It sounded harsh, like I’d been screaming for an hour.

I lay back down and tried to calm myself.

The door slid open without a sound.

I flinched despite myself.

A nurse stepped inside.

She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with short brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears and a tablet held close to her chest. She wore the standard Academy City medical uniform—white, functional, impersonal.

She smiled when she saw my eyes were open.

“Oh. You’re awake,” she said softly. “Good.”

Her voice was calm. Professional. Reassuring in a way that felt practiced rather than sincere.

“How… how long was I asleep?” I asked.

She glanced down at her tablet. “A little over twelve hours.”

Twelve.

That felt… wrong.

I nodded anyway.

She walked over to the side of the bed and checked a small monitor I hadn’t noticed before, its display dim and angled away from me.

“Any dizziness? Nausea?” she asked.

“My head hurts,” I said.

“That’s expected,” she replied easily. “You were under a lot of stress.”

Stress.

I bit back a bitter laugh.

“Can I… talk to my parents now?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

Her fingers paused briefly on the tablet.

Just for a second.

Then she smiled again.

“Not yet,” she said. “You’re still under observation.”

Of course I was.

“Observation for what?” I pressed.

She met my gaze, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind her eyes.

Uncertainty.

“Just routine follow-ups,” she said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

I’d learned by now that “nothing to worry about” in Academy City usually meant the exact opposite.

She adjusted the IV line connected to my arm—another thing I hadn’t noticed—and made a few notes on her tablet.

“Try to rest,” she said as she turned to leave. “Someone will come by later to speak with you.”

“Who?” I asked quickly.

She hesitated.

“A doctor,” she said finally.

The door slid shut behind her.

The silence returned.

I stared at the closed door, my chest tight.

A doctor.

That could mean anything.

I flexed my fingers slowly, watching them move. They looked normal. Felt normal. No tremors. No numbness.

I slid my hand across my forearm.

Smooth skin.

No scars.

That part wasn’t surprising anymore.

What was surprising was how distant it felt.

Like I was observing someone else’s body rather than my own.

I frowned.

That hadn’t happened before.

At least… I didn’t think it had.

Time passed.

Or maybe it didn’t.

Without a clock, it was impossible to tell.

Eventually, I noticed something else.

A sensation.

Subtle at first. Easy to ignore.

The room felt… crowded.

Not physically. There was no one else here. I knew that.

But the air felt thicker, heavier, like it was humming just beyond my ability to hear.

It reminded me of that moment in the testing room.

When the other child had activated his ability.

When something had brushed against my thoughts.

My stomach tightened.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.

In.

Out.

Slow.

The sensation didn’t go away.

If anything, it became clearer.

Like static on a radio.

Not loud.

Just there.

I frowned and concentrated, not really sure what I was doing. I didn’t reach out with my hands. I didn’t try to do anything.

I just… listened.

For a split second, the pressure shifted.

The air felt lighter.

Then my head exploded with pain.

I gasped, clutching my temples as the static vanished abruptly, replaced by a sharp ringing in my ears.

“…Don’t do that,” I muttered weakly.

I didn’t know who I was talking to.

Myself, maybe.

The door opened again.

This time, it wasn’t a nurse.

It was Kihara Atsuko.

She entered the room with the same calm authority as before, her dark coat immaculate, glasses catching the overhead light. Two researchers followed behind her, both silent, both keeping a careful distance.

She looked at me like one might look at an unfinished equation.

“Good morning, Mirai,” she said. “How do you feel?”

I considered lying.

“I’ve felt better,” I said instead.

A corner of her mouth twitched.

“Understandable,” she replied. “You’ve been through quite a bit.”

I waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

She pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, crossing her legs neatly.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked.

The question sent a chill down my spine.

“…Some of it,” I said carefully.

“How much is ‘some’?” she asked.

I hesitated.

Faces blurred when I tried to recall them. Voices overlapped. Pain came through clearly—but not its context.

“I remember tests,” I said. “And… another kid.”

Her eyes sharpened slightly.

“What about him?”

“He used his ability,” I said slowly. “And then… something happened.”

“What happened?” she pressed.

I shook my head.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I didn’t do anything. I just… felt it.”

She studied me for a long moment, completely silent.

Then she nodded, as if confirming something only she could see.

“Good, that means she did her job. ” she said.

"Who did what job?" I questioned

“‘Nothing important,’ she said, her expression calm but intense.”

That look made me uneasy.

“You’re not in trouble,” she added casually, as if reading my thoughts. “On the contrary. You’re proving to be very valuable.”

My chest tightened.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I said.

She smiled faintly.

“It should,” she replied. “In Academy City, value is protection.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that.

She stood.

“For now, you’ll remain here,” she said. “We’ll reduce the intensity of your sessions until you’ve fully recovered.”

“Sessions,” I repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “You didn’t think this was over, did you?”

I said nothing.

Before leaving, she paused at the door.

“One more thing,” she added. “You may notice some… inconsistencies. Fatigue. Gaps. That’s normal.”

Normal.

“If you experience anything unusual,” she continued, “report it immediately.”

The door closed.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling again, my heart pounding.

Inconsistencies.

Gaps.

I tried to remember how long I’d been here.

I couldn’t.

And that scared me more than anything else.

Because deep down, I had the creeping suspicion that this—

This quiet.

This room.

This version of me—

Was already missing something.

---

I slept.

At least, I thought I did.

I closed my eyes, exhausted, head still aching faintly like before—and then I opened them again.

White ceiling.

Same as before.

For a moment, relief washed over me.

Nothing had changed. No restraints. No alarms. No people standing over me with clipboards.

Then I noticed my throat.

It didn’t feel dry anymore.

In fact, it felt… normal.

I frowned.

I distinctly remembered being thirsty.

Painfully so.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows this time, wincing but managing it, and looked around.

The IV was gone.

The monitor beside the bed was off.

Someone had been here.

I scanned the room, my heartbeat picking up.

The door was still closed. No sign of anyone nearby. No indication of when they’d come in—or how long ago.

“…Hello?” I called.

My voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the sterile walls.

No answer.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

I looked down at myself; my hospital gown looked slightly different, but I couldn't tell how.

I stood.

The room didn’t spin. My legs didn’t wobble.

If anything, I felt… fine.

Too fine.

I walked to the door and pressed my palm against it experimentally.

It slid open immediately.

No resistance.

No warning.

The corridor outside looked identical to that room—long, perfectly white, softly lit, but stretching endlessly in both directions.

No signs.

No windows.

I stepped out.

The door closed behind me with a quiet hiss.

I decided to go right and follow the path.

I took a few cautious steps forward.

Nothing happened.

No alarms.

No guards.

That alone felt wrong.

Step by step, I walked down the endless white corridor.

Until I find another door that looked exactly like the one I had just left.

I try touching it the same way I did with mine but nothing happens

So instead I decide to continue walking the endless corridor.

After a few steps again, another door, this time however, when I tried to open it, it does.

I looked inside.

The room was different from mine.

Not cleaner. Not brighter.

Just… lived in.

Toys were scattered across the floor in loose clusters — not chaotic, but not neatly arranged either. Like someone had started organizing them and then lost the energy halfway through. Plastic blocks, a few stuffed animals, a toy car lying on its side as if it had been abandoned mid-journey.

A girl sat on the floor among them.

She had short brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders, cut evenly, framing a small face with wide, observant eyes. The moment I stepped inside, those eyes lifted to meet mine.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t smile.

She just looked at me, like she was trying to decide what I was.

“…?” she said softly, tilting her head.

The sound wasn’t confusion.

It was curiosity.

“I—sorry,” I said automatically. “I think I got lost.”

She blinked once.

Then nodded.

“That happens,” she said.

She seemed sad — deeply so — though I couldn’t tell why.

"Uhm, what are you doing here?" I asked trying to maybe lift her mood a little

"Oh, I live here."

I looked around, the room which resembled mine, I understood immediatly. She was a test subject.

I crouched down beside her, hesitating for a moment before picking up one of the plastic blocks.

“This one’s upside down,” I said, turning it carefully and placing it on top of the small tower she’d been building.

She watched my hands closely.

Then she nodded.

“Thank you.”

She handed me another block without looking at me, as if the decision had already been made.

We didn’t talk much after that.

We stacked blocks. Knocked them over. Rebuilt them again, a little taller each time. She lined the plush animals along the wall, adjusting them until they were all facing the same direction.

Every movement was careful.

Measured.

Like she was afraid that if she did something wrong, the room might take it away.

For a while, the silence felt… softer.

Then, suddenly, the door swung open, and a scientist stepped in. She wore a strange, oval-shaped helmet that obscured part of her face. Behind her stood a blonde-haired girl who carried herself as if she owned the place.

At first, the scientist looked surprised to see me. Then, almost immediately, she glanced at her tablet, nodded to herself, and muttered something under her breath—I didn’t catch the words.

She turned to the blonde girl and said, “Well, let’s introduce you two.”

Pointing at a brown-haired girl, she continued, “This is the prototype. We call her Dolly.”

Then her finger shifted to me.

The blonde-haired girl’s attention moved from Dolly to me. Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face—only to be interrupted by the scientist’s voice:

“And this… is Aihara Mirai. She’s a very special girl.”

At that, the blonde girl’s expression softened instantly. I didn’t understand why, but it was clear she had grasped something the moment she heard my name.

For a brief, fleeting second, she seemed familiar, like a half-remembered memory I couldn’t place.

While I was lost in thought looking at the blonde girl, the scientist got close to Dolly and said:

"Come on now, you need to greet her properly"

While I was lost in thought, watching the blonde girl, the scientist stepped closer to Dolly and said:

“Come on now, you need to greet her properly.”

She lifted Dolly by the arm—but in doing so, Dolly’s belly was exposed.

A network of wires and devices was embedded in her skin. Both the blonde girl and I froze, a mix of shock and fear knotting in our stomachs.

Dolly protested, struggling against the scientist as if she didn’t want us to see.

“Oh dear, I can explain…” the scientist hurried, pausing before continuing softly, “She was born with a certain disease… and she can’t survive without these devices embedded in her body.”

Dolly started crying while the scientist quietly left, the blonde haired girl approuched dolly and leaned her back against the wall next to where Dolly was sitting, hands grabbing her knees, I was at the other side opposite to the blonde girl

Dolly’s tears spilled over, and the scientist quietly stepped back. The blonde-haired girl approached Dolly and gently leaned her against the wall, hands clutching her knees. I stayed on the other side, opposite them.

After what felt like a long, heavy minute, Dolly’s sobs began to quiet.

“I-I’m s-sorry… I know I’m gross,” Dolly murmured.

“Not really,” the blonde girl said immediately.

Dolly shook her head, refusing to accept it. “I am. I know it.” She paused, as if gathering the courage to speak again. “I… used to have a friend. Since I couldn’t go outside, she came to see me every day.”

“She told me all kinds of stories… and we played a lot.”

Everything she said felt strangely familiar, like I had seen it before—but I couldn’t place it.

Then Dolly’s voice cracked as she continued: “But one day, she saw my body. And after that… she stopped coming to see me.”

Tears threatened again as she whispered, “Why do I have to have a body like this? It disgusted my one and only friend!”

Her voice broke into a trembling whisper. “I-I wish I could see her again…”

When she finished, this all clicked , I knew this scene, I've seen it before, a long time ago

This scene is a flashback in the Railgun daihasei arc and tells the story of how Misaki Shokuhou meet Dolly.

OMG, so the blonde haired girl is actually Misaki?!?

The realization hit me all at once.

But before I could think anything else

Misaki raised her controller.

For just a moment, her eyes met mine.

There was no apology in them.

Only resolve.

Then the world dissolved.