The conference room door was heavy.
Its surface carried a cold metallic texture.
There was no warmth when a hand pressed against it.
When it closed, there was no echo.
Just a sharp click.
Short and decisive.
Like a mechanism locking completely.
The last trace of air between the seams was cut off.
Then silence settled.
The lighting in the room was bright.
Ceiling lights were arranged evenly.
The light source was stable.
No flickering.
White light fell from above.
Covering the entire space.
The tabletop was clearly illuminated.
No shadows gathered along the edges.
The shadows beneath the chairs were faint, pressed thin.
The walls were clean.
No unnecessary decorations.
A long table stretched across the center.
The surface was flat.
The reflection was weak.
As if it had been wiped repeatedly.
No water stains.
No fingerprints.
Documents were placed on the table.
Stack after stack.
Corners aligned.
Papers layered neatly.
As if deliberately arranged.
Not a single tilt.
Chairs lined both sides.
All occupied.
Their postures differed.
Some leaned forward.
Both hands pressed on the table.
Fingers spread.
Pads touching the surface.
Applying slight force.
Some leaned back.
Shoulders resting against the chair.
A faint friction sound came from the backrest.
Fingers tapped on armrests.
Irregular rhythm.
Soft.
But repeated.
Others lowered their heads.
Eyes on the documents.
Pages turned with faint friction.
Corners lifted by fingertips.
Then fell.
Fragmented sounds.
"Ability Users Academy."
The term was mentioned repeatedly.
No one raised their voice.
But every tone was direct.
"The Ability Users Academy is not unfamiliar to the upper levels of the state."
Someone spoke.
Not loud.
But clear.
As he spoke,
his fingers pressed on the edge of a document.
Knuckles slightly pale.
Unmoving.
"However, the results are far too slow."
He paused.
His breathing deepened slightly.
His gaze swept across the room.
From one face to another.
Without lingering.
The radicals stirred.
The air sank slightly.
Someone exhaled softly.
Barely audible.
Another leaned forward.
Chair legs slid faintly on the floor.
A thin scraping sound.
Elbows pressed onto the table.
Fabric creased under pressure.
"The Ability Users Academy isn't a charity."
His voice was more direct.
Flat.
Like a statement.
"What's the point of raising so many people?"
After speaking,
the corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Not a smile.
Just a minimal motion.
The person beside him nodded lightly.
Neck muscles shifting.
Chin moving up and down.
"Exactly."
The voice followed immediately.
No pause.
"Do you know how much it costs to maintain the Academy?"
As he spoke,
his finger tapped the table once.
Knuckle against wood.
A crisp, short sound.
"Right!"
Someone on the other side picked up.
Voice slightly raised,
then quickly suppressed.
"Compared to the investment, the returns are negligible."
After speaking, he leaned back.
Chair and clothing rubbed together.
A low sound.
The room did not fall silent.
Instead, low murmurs grew.
Voices mixed.
Indistinct.
Documents flipped.
Page after page lifted.
Some moved quickly.
Some paused.
Fingers pressed corners
to prevent slipping.
Someone looked up.
Gaze left the document.
Fell onto the person opposite.
Paused briefly.
"In the end, it should be handed to someone with real practical experience."
When this sentence fell,
the tone sharpened.
No extra buildup.
Fingers on the table stopped.
The tapping ceased.
Someone turned their head.
"What do you mean?"
The voice lowered.
But clearer.
He did not answer immediately.
He reached out.
His hand slid along the edge of the document stack.
Fingertips slipped between pages.
He pulled one out slowly.
Paper edges rubbed.
A long, thin sound.
He raised the document.
His wrist steady.
The corner trembled slightly.
Under the light,
it reflected a faint sheen.
His fingertip pressed onto a name.
"The person in charge of the Ability Users Military Program."
He paused briefly.
Breathing unchanged.
"Doctor Silas."
The name landed.
The air froze for a moment.
No one spoke immediately.
Someone reached out and took the document.
It passed from one hand to another.
Fingertips brushed.
A brief exchange of warmth.
Copies spread.
One after another.
Some handed directly.
Some pushed across the table.
Heads lowered.
Eyes scanned rapidly.
Faster and faster.
Eyes flickered slightly.
Breathing became shallow.
Chest movement reduced.
Page-turning grew quicker.
Corners pressed down
to prevent curling.
They looked at Doctor Silas's results.
Those neatly arranged records.
Data.
Outcomes.
Every page contained nothing extra.
Their eyes began to change.
At first—focus.
Pupils constricted.
Gaze fixed.
Then—brightness.
Like light reflecting within.
No one spoke.
But the atmosphere had already shifted.
——
The light in the room was soft.
The curtain was half drawn.
Fabric hung gently.
Light slipped through the gap.
Forming a thin strip on the floor.
The air was quiet.
No outside noise.
Only faint breathing.
Elena sat on a chair.
Back facing the light.
Her shadow fell on the floor.
Clear outline.
Her coat rested beside her.
Neatly folded.
Corners aligned.
White wings fully spread.
Feathers layered one by one.
Some areas neat.
Some slightly disordered.
At the edges,
small irregularities were visible.
Between the feathers,
tiny gaps.
Beneath them,
old scars faintly revealed.
Uneven skin tone.
Some darker.
Some pale.
Iosef stood behind her.
Silent.
His hand lifted.
Paused briefly in the air.
Fingers slightly spread.
Then lowered.
His fingertips touched the feathers.
Very gently.
He arranged them one by one.
Following their direction.
No pulling.
Only smoothing.
Feathers brushed softly.
A fine, granular sound.
Like faint sand.
Elena did not move.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Breathing became shallow.
"Is my back… ugly?"
She spoke.
Soft voice.
Breath weakened at the end.
Iosef's hand did not stop.
"No."
He said.
"It's beautiful."
His fingers continued.
"This is proof that you are alive."
The feathers were gradually straightened.
Bends smoothed out.
Elena's fingers tightened slightly.
Fingertips touched fabric.
Then loosened.
The room fell silent again.
——
"Recently, father has been in a very good mood."
Elena spoke.
"More and more people are supporting him."
"They've been classified as the radicals."
Iosef's hand paused briefly.
"The balance at the top has shifted toward them."
"No choice."
"Because of the Ability Users Military."
"The border crisis has been broken."
Elena let out a soft sigh.
"I hope father won't lose himself."
Iosef withdrew his hand.
"No major issue."
"I'll take control of the overall situation."
——
Time moved forward.
Documents appeared on different desks.
The name was mentioned repeatedly.
The management of the Ability Users Academy changed.
Not long after,
the Academy was taken over by Doctor Silas.
Another line was written.
Iosef.
Concurrent Chief Supervisor.
Light fell onto the paper.
The handwriting was clear.