Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heroes. People love them, admire them, look up to them. They're the shining beacons of hope, the protectors of our world, the ones who step forward when the world turns dark. For decades, they’ve stood as symbols of everything good in humanity: courage, selflessness, and strength.

It's not clear when they started to appear or from where their powers come, but no one questions them. They are heroes, after all, right? Saviors of the world! Defenders against evildoers!

But are they really? Or is it just a facade they wear to accomplish something else? Are they truly as selfless as we take them for? How do we know they are not after something?

How does one even become a hero? What is a hero? What does it mean to be a hero...?

Chapter Text

It was a day just like any other. Kei, along with his classmates, was in his classroom, but he was looking away through the window, bored out of his mind. It was the last day of his first week in his third year at Jouin Academy, an institution for prodigies and gifted students—but also for the wealthy ones. Kei's pale gray-green eyes gazed through the window pensively while the teacher’s voice faded into the background of his thoughts. He didn’t turn his head toward the teacher until their voice cut through his daydreams:

“And don’t forget, the temporary accounts for the tablets issued by the school will expire today. Make sure you create your own accounts,” the teacher reminded them.

Hearing this, Kei finally turned his attention to his tablet and began creating his account. Once he finished, the teacher continued:

“Also, due to a sudden rise in criminal activity around the area, the school is enforcing the buddy system. Please return to the dormitories in groups. That’s it for homeroom.”

This announcement wasn’t ideal for Kei. He was very much a loner. Over his three years of high school, he had never interacted with his classmates more than was strictly necessary. He sighed quietly, already dreading the awkwardness of finding a group to walk back with. But as much as he disliked the idea, breaking the rules wasn’t an option—even he knew better than to wander alone with the current dangers looming outside.

He had never really cared about heroes or villains, good or evil; he just wanted to live his life, get through his lectures, enter a good college, and be able to sustain himself. More than anything, he wanted to escape the grip of his parents and those stupid piano recitals he had to attend. He hated them. He always felt as if he were being exposed as a circus animal—the stares, the expectations, the pressure. He didn’t understand why people considered him a piano prodigy. He was just a normal 17-year-old kid, and all his efforts to deter attention from himself seemed to fail.

Still, despite his best attempts to remain unnoticed, Kei couldn’t help but stand out. His sharp, angular features made sure of that. His light grayish-green eyes, adorned with long, thick dark lashes that accentuated the intensity of their gaze and gave him a somewhat feminine allure, always drew stares, though they rarely lingered long enough to notice the disinterest behind them. Pale and refined, his face held a striking elegance that seemed to command attention whether he wanted it or not.

And then there was his hair. Jet black and always impeccably styled, it added to his effortlessly striking appearance. The asymmetry of his bangs, however, was the most distinct feature about him. Falling in sharp, uneven angles, they framed his face in a way that was both daring and meticulously deliberate. One side was shorter, skimming just above his brow, while the other side extended lower, brushing the edge of his cheekbone. It wasn’t a hairstyle someone could pull off by accident; it was too bold, too unique. Yet for Kei, it seemed almost natural, a reflection of his quiet rebellion against the expectations forced upon him.

If his appearance gave off the impression of someone confident and composed, it couldn’t be further from how Kei felt inside. All he wanted was to blend in, to disappear into the background. But with every recital, every passing glance in the hallway, and every teacher praising his “potential,” that goal felt increasingly out of reach.

Kei resigned himself to his fate with a quiet sigh, gathering his things and slinging his bag over his shoulder. The classroom buzzed with chatter as students formed groups, laughing and debating their plans for the evening. Kei’s gaze flitted from one cluster to another, silently evaluating his options. Each time he approached, it seemed the groups were either already formed or planning to linger for activities he had no interest in.

Figures, he thought, bitterness gnawing at the edges of his calm facade. Why would today be any different?

With no viable options left, he made the reluctant decision to follow the careless suggestion of one of his more free-spirited classmates: just head back alone. The warning about safety nagged at the back of his mind, but the prospect of an awkward, forced interaction felt worse than any imagined danger outside.

As he stepped through the front doors of the school, the crisp afternoon air hit his face, momentarily clearing his head. The quiet was a welcome relief from the chaotic energy inside. He adjusted his bag and made his way toward the gates, his thoughts already drifting to the solace of his dorm room.

“Hey, Amemura-kun!”

The unexpected call sliced through the quiet, halting Kei mid-step. He turned, and his heart sank a little as he recognized the source: Yuzuru Atsuta, the golden boy of Jouin Academy. Yuzuru strode toward him with the kind of easy confidence that seemed second nature to him, his polished demeanor almost blinding. Everything about the guy—his impeccable uniform, his perfect posture, his calm yet authoritative tone—exuded an effortless charisma that Kei found utterly exhausting.

Yuzuru stopped in front of him, his expression warm but firm. “Are you heading back alone? You heard the teacher—it’s safer to walk in groups. Come with us.”

Kei hesitated, his gaze shifting to the gate, where two familiar figures stood waiting. Miyazu Atsuta, Yuzuru’s shy and soft-spoken younger sister, clutched the strap of her bag, looking as if she’d rather disappear. Beside her was Tao Isonokami, the school’s undeniable queen bee, radiating confidence with an effortless charm that Kei had made a conscious effort to avoid ever since enrolling. This was not ideal. Drawing attention was the last thing he wanted, and walking with the most noticeable students in school practically guaranteed it.

But going back alone wasn’t a smart option either, not with the teacher’s warning still fresh in his mind. Gritting his teeth, Kei gave a small nod. “Alright.”

As they approached the gate, Tao waved enthusiastically, her signature bright smile on full display. “Oh—hey, you two! Over here!”

Kei’s discomfort grew with each step, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, letting the others take the lead.

Miyazu shifted nervously when she noticed Kei. “Oh, um… hi there,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tao tilted her head curiously. “I didn’t know you knew Amemura-kun, Miyazu-chan.”

Miyazu fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “I mean… not really…” she mumbled, her cheeks tinged pink.

Yuzuru stepped in smoothly, as if to defuse the awkwardness. “They’ve met in passing. I think Miyazu and I ran into him a couple of times.”

“Yeah, Tao… Something like that,” Miyazu echoed quickly, her eyes darting to her brother.

Tao’s laugh was light and teasing. “Aw! You’re lucky your big brother looks out for you so much, huh?”

Miyazu’s fidgeting grew more pronounced. “Um, I guess…”

“It’s not strange to look out for my little sister,” Yuzuru said evenly, casting Tao a sideways glance. “We’re the only family we’ve got.”

“Sure, sure,” Tao replied with a grin. Then, as if to lighten the mood, she clapped her hands together. “So, how about we all walk home together? It’ll be fun!”

Kei fought the urge to sigh. Fun? Yeah, right. But with no graceful way to back out, he simply adjusted his bag and followed as the group began their journey home.

They started to head to Shinagawa Station, and along the way, Kei couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation from other students. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—just the usual over-the-mile gossip, mostly about heroes and their latest victories or, just as often, the villains causing chaos.

“Did you see the footage of Tsukuyomi taking down that gang in the Yokohama docks? He didn’t even break a sweat!” one boy said, his voice practically dripping with admiration.

“Of course! He’s so cool, and that katana of his? Totally iconic,” a girl replied, swooning. “I heard they’re calling him the Moonlight Avenger now.”

“Oh, please,” another chimed in. “Abdiel is way more impressive. She took on that rogue A.I. in Chiyoda and shut it down before it caused a blackout across the city.”

“Yeah, but Abdiel’s kind of intense. She’s all about rules and judgment, like… lighten up, you know?”

“Intense or not, she’s the only reason we’re still standing after the skyscraper incident last month,” someone else shot back.

“I’ll take Tsukuyomi’s grace over Abdiel’s sermons any day,” the first boy muttered, earning a few chuckles from the group.

“Nuwa and Yakumo, though… they’re on a whole different level,” someone whispered, their voice lower now, as if speaking the names would summon trouble. “Did you hear about them taking over that building in Meguro last week? I heard Nuwa’s the one who lured the heroes into the trap, and Yakumo fought off the entire team himself.”

“They’re working with that group of criminals again, right? Loki, Ishtar… I heard Ishtar was part of it, too,” another student added with a shudder.

“They trashed half of Minato last month! Nuwa’s the scariest, though,” someone else said. “It’s like she doesn’t even care about the collateral damage. You see her, and you’re done. No second chances.”

Kei’s brows furrowed slightly as he tried to block out their chatter. Heroes, villains—it’s just different flavors of the same mess. People get hurt, cities crumble, and nothing really changes. Why do they even bother? He clenched his fists around the straps of his bag. Still, despite his cynicism, those names—Tsukuyomi, Abdiel, Nuwa, Yakumo—felt heavy, like distant thunder in a storm he didn’t want to be caught in.

“You really are the quiet type, aren’t you, Amemura-kun?” Tao asked cheerfully.

Kei hadn’t been paying much attention to what the others in his group were discussing, nor had he realized they were nearly at the subway station.

“I was just listening to the people around us,” he replied coolly. “They really love gossiping about heroes and villains.”

“Don’t you like heroes, Amemura-senpai?” Miyazu asked.

Kei fell silent for a moment, looking thoughtful before finally answering. “It’s not that I dislike them—I just don’t care. In the end, they’re just humans like us, right? Yeah, they can do things others can’t, but they could’ve kept that to themselves. They were the ones who chose to go public and play hero. I get why people admire them, but unless I’m directly affected, I don’t see why I should care.”

The three of them stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head. Kei shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked, a bit flustered.

“No… Sorry, it’s just…” Yuzuru trailed off before smirking slightly. “I think this is the first time we’ve ever heard you talk this much. It kinda clashes with the image we had of you.”

Kei’s face turned even redder. “W-wait, what kind of image did you have of me?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying his nervousness. He wasn’t the most social person—sure—but he didn’t think he gave off a specific impression. That said, he knew how brutal high school gossip could be.

Tao hummed. “Well… you’ve always seemed so detached from everyone. Some people think you look down on others because of your talent as a pianist and your acclaimed performances. Actually, there’s even a nickname floating around for you.”

Kei braced himself. “…What nickname?”

She grinned. “The ‘Ice Prince of Jouin.’”

Kei groaned, dragging a hand down his face. How the hell had he gotten so much attention? He was actively trying to fade into the background, not stand out, and yet here he was, stuck with some ridiculous title. His suffering seemed to amuse the trio.

Taking pity on him, Tao changed the subject. “So, you’ve never seen a hero up close?”

“No, not really. And it’s not like I go out of my way to chase after them,” Kei replied. Then, after a short pause, he added, “Why? Have you?”

For some reason, that question seemed to weigh heavily on them. The three went quiet before Miyazu finally spoke.

“Well… Onii-san and I were saved by Tsukuyomi when we were younger,” she admitted. “As you heard earlier, he’s the only family I have left…”

Kei wasn’t sure how to respond. “…Sorry for bringing that up,” he settled on.

“It’s alright,” she said softly. “It’s been years now, and Onii-san takes good care of me.” She smiled, a warm, gentle expression that Kei swore made her normally stoic brother blush. Atsuta-kun’s a siscon. Got it.

“I…” Tao hesitated before speaking, drawing their attention. “I’m an orphan. I was rescued by Abdiel when I was just a kid… I was the only survivor in my family.”

Once again, Kei found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t good at dealing with emotional topics, especially ones this heavy.

Tao must have noticed because she grinned. “But it’s okay now! See? I’m happy and healthy!”

“No wonder you all admire heroes,” Kei muttered. “They saved you, so of course you feel grateful to th—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a deafening crash erupted nearby. The ground trembled as dust and debris rained down, sending the crowd into a panic. Through the thick haze, Kei could barely make out two figures clashing—a tall, golden one and a dark figure with fiery red hair. Abdiel and Daemon.

Cops quickly moved in, urging civilians out of the subway station. Once they were safely outside, Kei turned to check on his companions—only to realize Yuzuru Atsuta was missing.

Panic began to creep in until a voice snapped him back to reality.

“Amemura-senpai,” Miyazu called, her expression tense. “Onii-san got a call and had to leave. He should be okay, but I don’t want him to be alone… This might be selfish, but—could you please go find him?”

Kei was asocial, but he wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t refuse a request like that, especially after what he’d just learned. Still, the idea of leaving two girls to walk back to their dorms in the middle of all this didn’t sit right with him.

Sensing his hesitation, Tao reassured him. “Don’t worry about us. It’s a short walk to the dorms, and look around—most of our classmates are in the same situation. We’ll be fine.”

That was enough to put him slightly at ease.

“…Alright. I’ll do it. Any idea where he went?” Kei asked. 

Before Miyazu could answer, a passing police officer, who had been overhearing their conversation, spoke up.

“Oh, I saw a high school kid with glasses heading toward the Tanekawa Tunnel,” he said. “If you’re going to catch him, you’d better start running—I’m afraid Abdiel’s battle is heading in that direction.”

Kei’s stomach twisted. Of course it is.

“…Got it. Thanks,” he muttered before turning on his heel.

He had never been the most athletic—far from it. He hadn’t even attended a proper PE class in years, though not because he skipped them outright. Instead, he had opted for extra music lectures, using the time to practice for his dreaded recitals.

Still, despite his lack of conditioning, he didn’t slow down until he reached the dimly lit entrance of the Tanekawa Tunnel. Catching his breath, he was surprised to see someone standing there, phone raised, recording the scene ahead.

Ichiro Dazai.

One of Yuzuru’s classmates from 3-B.

Unlike Yuzuru or Tao, Ichiro was known around the school for… different reasons. To put it simply, he was a hero fanatic. It was all he ever talked about. Recently, he had even started a YouTube channel dedicated to filming hero battles, hoping to meet and interview one—maybe even get famous in the process.

Unfortunately for him, most people found him more annoying than inspiring. He tried too hard—too hard to be liked, too hard to be popular. Ironically, the harder he pushed, the more he ended up pushing people away.

And now, here he was, right in the middle of things, filming as if he had front-row seats to a live show.

Kei exhaled sharply. Of course he’d be here.

As if Kei’s luck wasn’t bad enough, Ichiro noticed him.

“Heeeeeey!” Ichiro greeted, far too enthusiastically. “You’re Amemura from Class 3-A, right? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me—our local Ice Prince is secretly a hero aficionado too?” He grinned, practically buzzing with excitement.

Kei resisted the urge to groan. His social battery was already running dangerously low. Instead of engaging, he simply shook his head and replied, “I’m just looking for Atsuta-kun. His sister’s worried about him. Someone said they saw him heading this way.”

As if on cue, Yuzuru’s silhouette emerged from deeper in the tunnel. “Hey! What are you two doing here? It’s dangerous!” he called out.

Ichiro immediately started moving forward, clearly hoping to capture something interesting on camera. Kei followed as well—less out of curiosity and more because he didn’t want to shout his response.

“Your sister asked me to come get you,” Kei said, his voice level. “She didn’t like the idea of you roaming around alone in a situation like this.”

Yuzuru looked like he wanted to argue, but before he could say anything, Ichiro’s wish for something exciting seemed to come true.

The tunnel trembled violently. Dust and debris rained down, filling the air with choking grit. But what caught them all off guard wasn’t the ceiling—it was the floor beneath them.

Cracks split through the pavement like jagged lightning. Before any of them could react, the ground gave way beneath their feet.

And they were falling.

——————————————————————————————

Kei woke up among the rubble, every muscle aching, his head pounding from the impact. Dust clung to his clothes and filled his lungs as he took a slow, shuddering breath. His mind struggled to piece together what had happened, but the lingering adrenaline made it difficult to focus.

Right—he had fallen. The tunnel had collapsed.

His pulse quickened as he forced himself upright, his hands brushing against cold concrete and twisted metal. The tunnel’s dim lighting was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness, his gaze flickering around in search of Yuzuru and Ichiro.

Nothing. No voices, no movement.

Instead, what surrounded him was not the expected wreckage of a subway tunnel, but something far stranger—an underground facility, long abandoned.

The walls were lined with rusted pipes and exposed wiring, the ceiling webbed with cracks from age and disrepair. Flickering emergency lights cast a sickly yellow glow, revealing broken computer terminals covered in dust, shattered glass, and overturned desks with scattered documents—most of them too faded or torn to read. A thick scent of mildew and old chemicals clung to the air.

But what truly caught Kei’s attention was a massive containment capsule positioned at the far end of the room. Unlike the rest of the lab, it was pristine—intact, undisturbed. Its reinforced glass was too fogged over to reveal what lay inside, but the sheer size of it made his stomach tighten.

Something was in there.

A deep unease settled over Kei as he instinctively took a slow step forward. But before he could fully process the feeling, a deafening crash shattered the tension.

From the already broken ceiling, Daemon came plummeting down, slamming into the abandoned lab with a force that sent tremors through the ground. Abdiel must have launched him.

It took only seconds for Daemon to recover. With no hesitation, he shot forward, closing the distance between them in a blur.

Kei stumbled back in panic, his footing unsteady as he tripped over his own feet. He fell against a capsule, the impact triggering a sudden illumination. The glass slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a humanoid figure within—a sleek, metallic body, framed by striking blue hair.

Then, the figure’s eyes snapped open.

Golden. Inhuman.

In a single swift motion, the being grasped Kei’s arm.

The world tilted.

Kei barely had time to think before everything changed. One moment, he was stumbling through the chaos, struggling to keep up. The next, his body was no longer his own.

Power surged through him—foreign, yet eerily familiar. Strength unlike anything he had ever known flooded his limbs, his senses sharpening to an almost painful degree. His hair, impossibly long and weightless, flowed behind him. His body, encased in what felt like an exoskeleton, moved with an unnatural precision.

And then, a voice echoed in his mind.

Young man, can you hear me?

Kei flinched. The words weren’t spoken aloud. They resonated within him, distant yet clear, as if coming from the depths of his own consciousness.

I apologize if I startled you. That was not my intention. I am uncertain of our current state, but it seems we are in a dire situation. We can analyze this later—first, we must deal with the threat before us.

As if on cue, Kei’s fingers tingled, his hands shifting as they elongated and fused together in a brilliant glow. A blade materialized in his grasp—not conjured, but called forth, as if it had always been a part of him.

Daemon lunged again.

And this time, Kei moved faster.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up. With effortless speed, he pivoted on his heel, bringing the radiant blade down in a sweeping arc. Steel met stone as Daemon barely evaded the strike, but the sheer force of impact sent a fractured pillar crashing down on him, pinning him beneath the rubble.

Kei staggered back, his breath sharp and uneven. His heart thundered in his chest—except… was it even his heart anymore? What was he now?

He stood there, frozen, the overwhelming sensation of power and unfamiliarity gripping him. His hands trembled. His mind reeled.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t human.

Young man.

The voice returned, steady and composed.

You are not alone. I am here with you.

Kei swallowed hard, his golden eyes darting around in confusion. “Who… what—?”

His voice startled him—it was his, yet not. There was a depth to it, something layered, something inhuman.

I am Proto-Fiend Aogami. I was created to protect the city. I was meant to be mass-produced to aid the heroes, but from my data, it seems the project was canceled. How we came to this form, and why I responded to you specifically, remain unknown variables.

More questions than answers.

Kei barely had time to process before his heightened senses caught something—movement, footsteps. Without thinking, he snapped toward the source.

Yuzuru.

He was unharmed, standing alert.

“A-Amemura-kun… is that you?” Yuzuru’s voice wavered with uncertainty, his gaze locked onto Kei with cautious recognition.

Kei hesitated, then gave a nod. “Yes. I’m not sure what happened, but it’s me. Are you alright?”

Yuzuru exhaled, visibly relaxing—though not completely.

“I actually came here looking for you,” he admitted, stepping closer. That’s when Kei noticed it—an armband strapped to his wrist, pulsing faintly.

“The truth is… I’m a hero-in-training. This armband—” he motioned to it “—allows me to temporarily wield a fraction of a hero’s power, but I can’t overuse it.”

Kei’s gaze flickered to the device, then back to Yuzuru.

“I was called in as backup when the tunnel incident happened,” Yuzuru continued, his tone heavy. “I never expected to find you here. Or Dazai-kun. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his expression clouded.

“…And I have to apologize for something else.” His voice dropped slightly, guilt threading through his words. “After the tunnel collapsed, I acted on instinct. I managed to get Dazai out of the way, but I was too slow to reach you. I’m sorry.”

Kei’s breath hitched.

“Right now, he’s at HQ, receiving medical attention. He should be alright.”

A weight lifted from Kei’s chest, but his mind still swirled with too many unanswered questions. What had happened to him? To Aogami? To everything?

As if reading his concerns Yuzuru talked once again “We should go to the HQ ourselves, maybe they can answer some of your questions and what’s going on”

And like that both high schools started to head out of the subterranean lab, and much to Kei’s surprise, it only took a single jump to take them out of through the damages tunnel, even though it was probably several meters high. 

But before they could take off wherever the HQ is, Aogami talked to Kei once more.

Young Man, I think that neither you or your friend would like to be spotted like this by the general public, I’d like to propose an alternative route to go to Bethel’s HQ.

“Bethel HQ?” Kei repeated at loud gaining the attention of Yuzuru.

“That’s the name of the institution in charge of destining the heroes, how did you know?” He asked.

“Aogami just mentioned it to me, he also is proposing an alternative route to arrive to the HQ without being spotted by  others”

Yuzuru decided not to ask who was Aogami for the moment and followed Kei who ended up heading to the river Sumida much for both confusion.

“Is this Aogami really to trustworthy?” Yuzuru asked.

“He seems to be” answered Kei “But I don’t understand his instructions, he says to hop into the water”

And before waiting any answer from Yuzuru, Kei tentatively put a foot in the river and instead of sinking it stayed as if it was  standing on solid ground.

Kei’s golden eyes widened in shock. The water rippled beneath his feet, but he didn’t sink—he was walking on it as if it were firm earth.

“…Alright. That’s new,” he muttered.

Yuzuru, still on the riverbank, stared with disbelief. “You’re seriously walking on water right now.”

This route ensures discretion. The public will not witness your current state.  Aogami’s voice echoed in Kei’s mind, calm and certain. 

Kei turned back to Yuzuru. “It’s safe. I think.”

Yuzuru exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping forward. He hesitated, then took a leap of faith—literally.

To his shock, he too remained above the surface, albeit not as effortlessly as Kei. The water seemed to push back against him, keeping him afloat.

“This is insane,” Yuzuru murmured, trying to steady himself.

Kei sighed. “Welcome to my day so far.”

With that, the two took off, running across the Sumida River, heading toward Bethel HQ.

In no time they arrived to Bethel undetected, but Kei’s uncommon appearance and presence alerted those around, but once they saw Yuzuru they stood down.

“I guess this is the other friend you went back to” a voice said.

“Yes sir, but as you can see, we might have encountered a bit of a situation” Yuzuru answered. 

In front of them was a tall man with a serious expression and Kei couldn’t help but to think that he has seen him before. The man was tall and with a serious expression, and was examining him head to toes with an excruciating gaze.

“It seems you have encountered help from Aogami” The man finally said surprising the boys. “Sorry, I haven’t presented myself, my name is Koshimizu Hayao, but you might have already know that seeing I’m the prime minister”.

Kei did not know that, but was not going to make it know. Instead, he kept his expression neutral, though inwardly, he was trying to process the fact that the Prime Minister of Japan was standing right in front of him.

Yuzuru, on the other hand, gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment. “Sir, given the circumstances, I thought it best to bring him here directly. We need answers—about Aogami, about what’s happened to Amemura-kun.”

Koshimizu crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering as he studied Kei once more. “You’ve merged with Aogami, haven’t you?”

Kei tensed. “Merged?”

That would be the most accurate description, Aogami’s voice echoed in his mind. I do not fully understand how it occurred, but our existence is now intertwined.

Koshimizu nodded, as if the response had confirmed something. “We’ll discuss the details inside. For now, you should remain out of sight—your appearance is bound to draw attention.”

Kei glanced down at himself, at his inhumanly sleek form, the golden glow of his eyes faintly reflecting in the dim lighting. Yeah, that made sense.

Yuzuru stepped forward. “Understood, sir.”

Without further discussion, Koshimizu turned on his heel and gestured for them to follow. Kei exchanged a glance with Yuzuru before stepping forward.

Once inside they meet with Ichiro, who was happily chatting with people around and who stared at Kei with stars in his eyes and hurriedly approached him. 

“Amemura is that you? You look like a super hero!” 

“Well Dazai-kun, that is because you would be correct” Koshimizu said just like that.

“Wh-“ Kei started in shock, but before he could even finish his sentence Koshimizu turned himself facing the three high schoolers.

“Tell me boys, do you know how much of our brains do we actually use?” He asked.

Kei barely had time to process Koshimizu’s question when a sudden pull surged through his entire body. His vision blurred, a wave of light washing over him, and in the next moment—

He collapsed to his knees.

A sharp, all-consuming pain flooded his senses, like every nerve in his body was being torn apart and reassembled all at once. His breath hitched as he curled in on himself, fingers digging into his arms. His limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if gravity itself had tripled, dragging him down.

The sensation lingered for several agonizing seconds before slowly dulling, leaving only a deep, throbbing ache in his muscles. His body felt wrong—or maybe it just felt human again.

Panting, he forced himself to look at his hands. No longer metallic or clawed, but flesh and bone once more. The faint glow that had surrounded him moments ago faded, and his long blue hair shortened, returning to its usual state.

And beside him, kneeling on one knee, was Aogami.

The humanoid figure straightened with ease, his golden eyes calm and unreadable as he observed their surroundings. Unlike before, when he had been bound within the capsule, Aogami now stood freely, his metallic form imposing yet composed.

Kei inhaled sharply, his arms trembling from the aftershocks of the transformation. “What just…?”

We have separated. Aogami’s voice was no longer an echo in his mind but a distinct sound coming from his physical form. It appears that the fusion is not permanent. You are able to revert to your original state at will.

Kei’s heart pounded. That meant he could shift back? Just like that? But why did it feel like he had been ripped apart in the process?

Ichiro, meanwhile, looked between them with an expression of pure excitement. “That was so cool! Amemura-kun, you were like—” He made a dramatic pose. “Bam! And then—whoosh! But now you’re back to normal! Man, I wish I could do that!”

Kei groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Trust me, you don’t.” His whole body hurt.

Yuzuru let out a deep breath, though Kei wasn’t sure if it was out of relief or sheer exasperation.

Koshimizu, however, barely reacted. Instead, he simply nodded, as if this had been expected. “It seems your transformation can be controlled. That will be useful.”

Kei swallowed hard. Useful? He wasn’t even sure how to trigger it again—let alone handle the pain that came with it.

But before he could voice any of the million questions swarming his mind, Koshimizu turned to the three of them, expression unreadable.

“Tell me, boys,” he said evenly once again, “do you know how much of our brains we actually use?”

Ichiro tilted his head. “Uh, ten percent?”

Koshimizu smiled faintly. “Correct. Most humans operate using roughly ten percent of their brain’s full capacity. However, there are exceptions.”

Kei frowned, still catching his breath. “Exceptions?”

Koshimizu’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me, where do you think the heroes’ powers come from?”

That made both Yuzuru and Ichiro pause.

Ichiro opened his mouth, then closed it. Yuzuru crossed his arms, looking thoughtful.

“That’s… one of the biggest mysteries,” Yuzuru finally admitted. “No one really knows.”

Koshimizu nodded. “That is because their abilities come from unlocking the full hundred percent of their brain’s potential. And their bodies, in response, adapt to compensate.”

Before Kei could fully register the words, a soft drip echoed through the room.

His eyes darted toward the source—

A small, disposable goblet filled with water, sitting on a nearby table.

Only, the water inside was rising.

Droplets lifted into the air as if defying gravity, swirling faintly above the surface. The entire goblet wasn’t moving—just the liquid itself. It floated, trembling slightly, as if mirroring his unsteady heartbeat. Kei’s breath caught.

He turned to Aogami, recalling how they had walked across the river earlier. “That’s you, right? Like with the river before?”

But Aogami shook his head. No. This, and also back then is your doing.

Kei’s stomach twisted. “What?”

Tentatively, he reached out toward the floating water. The moment his fingers brushed against it, the droplets froze. A thin layer of ice crackled over the surface before shattering and falling back into the goblet with a soft plink, startling him.

Ichiro let out a low whistle. Then, grinning wide, he nudged Kei with his elbow. “An Ice Prince indeed,” he teased with a laugh.

Kei shot him a glare, heat rising to his face despite the chill lingering on his fingertips. “Shut up.”

Koshimizu observed the scene calmly before continuing. “Normally, when a person awakens to the full capacity of their brain, they must undergo a test to be deemed worthy of the power. If they pass, they are given a specialized pill—Lucidus—to unlock their potential.”

Kei furrowed his brows. “But… I never took a pill.”

“No.” Koshimizu’s gaze flicked to Aogami before settling on Kei once more. “It seems that merging with Aogami had the same effect on you.”

He kept quite for some seconds as if letting Kei absorb the information and then said “What brings us to our actual situation, legally speaking, unless you become a hero under our command you would automatically be considered a villain”

Kei felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Again.

His hands clenched into fists as he struggled to process what Koshimizu had just said. Legally speaking, unless you become a hero under our command, you would automatically be considered a villain.

His stomach twisted. A villain? He hadn’t asked for any of this! He never wanted powers, never wanted to stand out, never wanted to be dragged into something this big.

“B-But! I’ve never wanted anything like this,” Kei burst out, voice raw with emotion. “I just wanted to have a normal life—finish high school, get into a good college, figure things out gradually—but not this!”

Koshimizu met his gaze, unyielding. “I understand. However, right now, you are too much of a variable.” His tone softened slightly, but his words remained firm. “I was going to request that you stay here for the weekend so we can study your situation and help you adapt to it. If you accept our offer, Bethel will provide you with full support—in battle, in training, and in daily life.”

Kei swallowed hard. His entire body was still aching from earlier, his nerves frayed. He barely understood what was happening to him, and now he was being told he had no real choice in the matter?

Before he could say anything else, Koshimizu turned to Yuzuru and Ichiro.

“The same goes for you,” he continued. “Atsuta-kun is already a hero-in-training. The armband given to him is used to replicate, to a certain extent, Lucidus’ effect for a limited time.”

Kei’s gaze flicked to Yuzuru’s armband—he hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it made sense why Yuzuru had been able to keep up earlier. He did say it gave him a fraction of a hero’s power when he was explaining the situation back then.

Koshimizu then turned to Ichiro. “Dazai-kun, I would like you to enter the program as well.”

Ichiro, who had been listening with a mix of awe and anticipation, suddenly lit up. His entire face brightened like a kid being told he could eat dessert before dinner.

“Are you saying I can be a hero too?!” he practically shouted, bouncing on his heels.

Koshimizu nodded, though his voice turned serious. “Yes. You have the potential to be one. But it is worth mentioning that this information is strictly confidential.”

Ichiro’s enthusiasm didn’t waver for a second. “Oh, man, this is awesome! I’m totally in!”

Kei groaned, rubbing his temples. This was too much. He was still sore, still confused, and now he had to make a decision that could change the course of his life.

Could he even refuse? To put it shortly, the answer was no.

Kei sighed, rubbing his arms. His body still ached, his mind still spun, but deep down, he knew there was no way out of this.

“I guess I have no choice,” he said quietly.

Koshimizu nodded, his expression unreadable. “Sadly, it seems to be the case this time. I’m truly sorry you ended up in this situation.”

His voice was calm, almost sympathetic, but that didn’t change the reality of it—Kei was trapped.

“Don’t worry about your curfew,” Koshimizu continued. “We’ll take care of it. For now, you three will stay in our dormitories.” He turned toward Ichiro and Yuzuru. “Dazai-kun and Atsuta-kun will share a room.”

Ichiro grinned. “Sweet! Roomies!”

Yuzuru sighed, clearly already regretting his fate.

Then Koshimizu turned to Kei, his expression more serious. “You, however, will have a room to yourself—for security reasons.”

Kei stiffened. “Security reasons?”

“Until we fully understand the extent of your abilities, it’s safer this way.”

Kei wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or concerning. Either way, he was too drained to argue.

“…Fine.”

Kei barely registered the walk to the dormitories. His body still ached, his mind still swam with everything that had happened, and now he had to process the fact that his life as he knew it was over.

A staff member handed each of them a neatly folded set of pajamas before leading them to their respective rooms.

“Try to rest,” Koshimizu instructed before leaving them for the night.

Ichiro waved energetically before disappearing into his room with Yuzuru, leaving Kei alone in his assigned quarters. The room was simple but well-furnished, with a neatly made bed, a desk, and an attached bathroom.

He set the pajamas down and sighed. A shower. That’s what he needed. Maybe the warm water would help with the soreness.

Stripping down, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him. For a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation.

Then, as he ran his hands over his arms, he froze.

Something felt… wrong.

His skin was smoother, firmer. His muscles, once lean and unremarkable, were now defined—his arms, his chest, even his legs had gained a refined, athletic build. He looked down at himself, his breath catching. His body had changed. No—transformed.

“What the hell—?!” Kei staggered back against the wall, his breathing quickening.

His once feeble frame had been replaced with the build of a professional swimmer—sleek, powerful, completely foreign to him.

Young Man, what is troubling you?

Kei’s head snapped up, eyes widening. That voice—Aogami?!

They had separated. Aogami had been taken to the labs for analysis. And yet, Kei could still hear him, clear as ever in his mind.

“Aogami?!” Kei whispered, gripping the side of the shower to steady himself. “How are you—? We—We’re not merged anymore!”

That is correct. However, our connection remains intact. I could sense your distress.

Kei swallowed, his pulse still racing.

“…My body changed.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “This isn’t mine. It’s not—” He clenched his hands into fists. “What the hell happened to me?”

I believe this is the cause of your pain earlier, Aogami explained. As Koshimizu stated, your brain is now functioning at 100%. Your body likely adapted in response.

Kei stared at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, his green-grayish eyes piercing through the haze.

“…This is really happening,” he murmured.

Kei sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair before shutting off the water. His body still felt strange—stronger, unfamiliar—but he was too exhausted to dwell on it any longer.

He dried himself off, threw on the provided pajamas, and all but collapsed onto the bed.

His mind was still spinning, but he forced himself to push everything aside. The pain, the confusion, the uncertainty of what his life would become—it could all wait.

Already exhausted from the day’s events, Kei decided to just go to sleep and leave everything for his future self to deal with. Right now, escaping reality was the only choice that made sense. He felt like the very thing he despised most—trapped, exposed, just like before a recital, when he was about to be paraded like an exhibit for others to judge. And with the way things were going, that feeling was only getting worse.

Chapter Text

A sharp knock on the door jolted Kei awake. He groaned, still groggy, as the events of the previous day slowly settled in his mind. For a brief, blissful moment, he had forgotten everything—Aogami, Bethel, his sudden transformation. But reality quickly caught up.

"Amemura-kun, wake up!" a voice called from the other side of the door. "I have clothes for you. Get changed and come out."

Kei sighed, forcing himself to sit up. His body still ached, though it was a duller sensation now. He dragged himself out of bed and opened the door, where a Bethel staff member stood holding a neatly folded set of clothes.

“Put these on. You have tests to undergo this morning,” the staff member said, handing him the bundle.

Kei took the clothes and closed the door behind him, glancing at the outfit—a sporty set consisting of a fitted black shirt and track pants. It was a far cry from his usual attire, but he figured it wasn’t meant to be stylish. Sighing, he changed quickly and ran a hand through his still slightly damp hair before stepping out of the room.

The staff member motioned for him to follow. Kei trailed behind, still adjusting to the strange weight of his own body. His steps felt lighter, his movements sharper, yet at the same time, there was an undeniable disconnect—like his body had changed so much that it felt unfamiliar to him.

They walked through a series of hallways before arriving at a sleek, sterile-looking lab. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, and Kei instinctively tensed. Inside, several scientists were preparing equipment, and among them stood Koshimizu, who greeted him with a nod.

“Good morning, Amemura. We need to run some tests, starting with a blood sample.”

Kei barely had time to react before he was ushered toward a chair. He sat down, eyeing the needle one of the scientists was preparing. The idea of being poked and prodded wasn’t exactly appealing, but after everything that had happened, a simple blood test seemed almost trivial.

As the needle pierced his skin, Kei clenched his jaw, watching as the vial slowly filled with his blood. Yet, instead of the usual deep red, the liquid shimmered faintly under the lab’s fluorescent lights. His stomach twisted uneasily.

What the hell had he become?

“It’s Magatsuhi” One of the scientists said seeing Kei’s reaction to his own blood “Your brain probably started producing it in your body once it was woken up at its 100%. It is the energy that allows heroes to interact and sometimes even control and create some elements.”

Kei’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he stared at the unnatural glow of his own blood. It was wrong—wrong in a way that made his skin crawl. His mind raced, trying to process what the scientist had just said. Magatsuhi? An energy that heroes used? That he was now producing?

His fingers twitched, an unsettling warmth coursing through his veins. Was this the reason his body felt so alien? The reason he no longer recognized himself?

He clenched his hands into fists, willing himself to stay calm. This was just another piece of his new reality—one he hadn’t asked for but now had to deal with. Even so, the knowledge that his own blood wasn’t normal anymore made him nauseous.

“Take it easy,” one of the scientists said, jotting something down on a clipboard. “It’s a natural reaction. Your body is just adjusting. You’ll get used to it.”

Get used to it? Kei wasn’t so sure about that.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, one of the staff members—someone dressed more casually than the lab coats around him—stepped forward. “That’s enough for now. You need food in your system for all the tests to come. Come on, I’ll take you to the canteen.”

Kei numbly followed, still lost in thought. The hallways blurred together as they walked, his mind too occupied to register his surroundings properly.

When they arrived at the canteen, the person guiding him handed him a metallic tray before gesturing toward the food stations. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” And with that, they turned and left, leaving Kei alone in the unfamiliar space.

The canteen was filled with options—Western, Asian, sweet, savory. It was almost overwhelming. Kei stood there for a moment, gripping his tray, trying to decide. Pancakes looked soft and fluffy, and he wouldn’t deny his sweet tooth. But considering the sheer insanity of yesterday, maybe he should eat something healthier, something that would actually fuel him for whatever came next.

In the end, he settled on a traditional Japanese breakfast. Rice, grilled fish, some vegetables—it seemed like the safest bet. When he reached for a bowl of miso soup, though, something caught his attention. There were two types: ceramic and metal. Instinctively, he reached for a ceramic one, but a voice beside him stopped him mid-motion.

“I’d go with the metal one if I were you. Keeps the heat in better.”

Kei flinched at the sudden voice and turned to see the source. Two guys stood next to him, identical down to their sharp grins. Twins. One wore a white and blue tracksuit, the other a blue and orange one. They looked familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he had seen them before.

After a brief hesitation, he switched to the metallic bowl. “Uh, thanks.”

For some reason, that made both of them stare at him like he’d grown a second head. Kei furrowed his brows. Did he have something on his face? Was it weird that he listened to their advice? Before he could ask, an angry voice cut through the chatter of the canteen.

“Pyro! Frost!”

Kei looked up to see a furious woman standing at the entrance, her entire front covered in some kind of slimy, greenish substance. The moment he saw the twins stiffen, their expressions twitching with poorly contained laughter, he knew exactly who the culprits were.

The woman glared daggers at them, but before she could advance, another figure stepped into the room—Koshimizu.

He scanned the scene with a tired look, his gaze flicking from the slime-covered woman to the twins. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he said, “Pyro. Frost. My office. Now.”

The twins’ grins instantly faded. They paled slightly but nodded, moving past Kei with reluctant obedience.

Kei blinked. That entire exchange had felt bizarrely normal, considering everything he’d been through. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head.

What is this, a high school drama? Kei thought dryly before turning back to his breakfast. He grabbed the rest of his meal—grilled fish, vegetables, and rice—all served on metallic plates, even the chopsticks. Might as well follow the twins’ advice.

With his tray in hand, he made his way toward the sitting area, scanning the room for an empty spot. Before he could find one, a voice called out to him.

“Hey! Amemura-kun! Over here!”

Kei’s shoulders tensed. He turned to see Ichiro waving enthusiastically, sitting at a table with Yuzuru. Great.

Now I have to sit with them.

Kei had always been a loner. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention—people calling out to him, expecting him to join them. At the same time, ignoring them would feel even more awkward. With a resigned sigh, he made his way over, carefully balancing his tray.

Ichiro beamed as he approached, practically bouncing in his seat. “Man, I was starting to think you got lost trying to decide! Did you see all the options? It’s amazing!”

Kei only nodded, setting his tray down before sliding into the seat across from them.

“So, where were you?” Yuzuru asked, eating his own breakfast. Like Kei, he had gone for a traditional meal, though he’d chosen the ceramic plates instead. “We thought we weren’t going to see you at all when they brought us here without you.”

Kei hesitated for a moment, poking at his food with his chopsticks. “Had some tests done,” he muttered, not really in the mood to explain further.

Yuzuru gave a small nod of understanding, while Ichiro, oblivious to the tension, continued digging into his meal with enthusiasm.

Kei was about to take his first bite when he noticed something—Yuzuru was watching him. Closely. Too closely. Every move he made, from picking up his chopsticks to adjusting his tray, was met with an almost analytical gaze.

Kei tried to ignore it at first, but after a few more minutes of being scrutinized, irritation prickled at him. “What?” he finally snapped, setting down his chopsticks with a little more force than necessary.

Yuzuru hummed thoughtfully before speaking. “You really have changed, Amemura-kun, haven’t you?”

Kei frowned, not following. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering directly, Yuzuru gestured toward his tray, his chopsticks, and the metal bowls and plates. Kei blinked.

“Oh. These?” He glanced down at his utensils, confusion evident in his expression. “I was about to grab the ceramic ones, but then a pair of twins came over and told me to take the metallic ones instead. Said they keep the heat better.” He paused, thinking back. “When I did, they seemed… weirdly surprised for some reason. But before I could ask, some woman covered in slime stormed in, and they got sent to Koshimizu’s office like kicked puppies.”

Yuzuru watched him for a moment longer before sighing. “Those were Pyro Jack and Jack Frost. The Trickster Twins.”

Ichiro, who had been happily eating his cereal, froze mid-bite. Then, in pure shock, he let out a spray of milk from his nose.

“You met Pyro Jack and Jack Frost?!” he practically shouted, eyes wide with excitement. “The superhero duo known for playing tricks on villains and their own fans?!”

Kei wiped a few stray drops of milk off his sleeve, unimpressed. “Oh, so they’re heroes? No wonder they looked familiar.”

“YES, THEY ARE! You’re way too chill about this!” Ichiro exclaimed, his excitement completely unaffected by Kei’s lack of enthusiasm.

Yuzuru, however, wasn’t done. He tapped a finger against the metal plate in front of Kei. “Amemura-kun… do you know what you’re holding?”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “A tray?”

Yuzuru sighed again, this time rubbing his temples like he was dealing with a particularly dense child. “Those aren’t just any trays or utensils. They’re specially designed for heroes so they don’t accidentally break normal tableware.”

Kei blinked. “Okay…?”

“The metal plates weigh fifty kilograms each.” Yuzuru continued, his tone heavy with meaning. “The chopsticks? Five kilograms. Your tray? Twenty.”

Kei just stared at him, his mind lagging behind.

“Wait… what?”

Ichiro gawked at him. “Dude. You’re carrying around 220 kilograms like it’s nothing.”

Kei’s brain flatlined for a second. He instinctively looked down at his tray, as if expecting it to suddenly feel heavier now that he knew the truth. But… it didn’t. He had picked it up, carried it, and set it down without even noticing the weight.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he muttered, still trying to process the revelation.

Yuzuru gave him a pointed look. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Kei slowly turned his gaze back to the tray. His hands tightened around the chopsticks. He lifted them slightly, still feeling nothing out of the ordinary.

This was insane. His body really had changed. Kei’s brain made a short-circuit before Kei took both his hands onto his face and dramatically groaned.

Yuzuru watched him with mild amusement as Kei continued to dramatically wallow in his existential crisis.

“I didn’t take you for the type to be this theatrical, Amemura-kun,” Ichiro chuckled, poking at his now slightly soggy cereal.

In response, Kei groaned even louder and let his forehead drop onto the table with a dull thunk.

“First the water and ice, then my body, then the shiny blood—and now this?” Kei muttered, his voice slightly muffled against the table. “Every time I recognize myself less and less…”

At the mention of his body, both Yuzuru and Ichiro perked up, their gazes subtly shifting to Kei’s frame. Their eyes traced the way his fitted black shirt hugged his torso, clearly showing the toned definition beneath. Yuzuru’s expression was unreadable, but Ichiro looked genuinely surprised.

“Wait a sec,” Ichiro muttered, leaning in slightly. “I never thought you were this… built.”

“I have to agree,” Yuzuru added, crossing his arms as he examined Kei more closely. “You were always on the lean side, weren’t you?”

Kei let out a heavy sigh, already sensing where this was going. “Until yesterday, I was.”

That earned him a double take from both of them.

“Seriously?” Ichiro blinked in disbelief. “You’re telling me you woke up like this overnight?”

Kei ran a hand through his hair, feeling exhaustion settle deeper in his bones. “Not overnight. I noticed it last night in the shower. And trust me, it freaked me out a lot more than it’s freaking you out.”

Ichiro and Yuzuru exchanged glances, clearly processing that information.

“You’re telling me you just looked down and—bam—new body?” Ichiro asked, still incredulous.

Kei exhaled sharply. “More like I ran my hands over my arms and realized they weren’t mine anymore.” His fingers unconsciously flexed against the table. “I think it started after I de-fused with Aogami—that’s probably why my body was hurting so much. But I didn’t really notice until I was in the shower. That’s when it finally hit me—I wasn’t looking at my old body anymore...”

Yuzuru hummed thoughtfully. “That lines up with what Koshimizu said about your brain now functioning at full capacity. Your body must have undergone rapid adaptation to match.”

Kei sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, well, knowing that doesn’t make it any less weird.”

Yuzuru hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as if considering something, but Ichiro was still fixated on Kei’s sudden transformation.

Kei glanced at the two of them, finally noticing how their own black athletic gear fit them. Yuzuru was expected—he’d been a hero-in-training for a while now, so of course he was in great shape. But Ichiro? Kei had never really thought about it, but seeing him now, it was clear he wasn’t just some scrawny guy. He was fit—not as defined as Kei or Yuzuru, but still toned enough that it was obvious he worked out.

That realization made Kei frown slightly. “Wait… Dazai-kun, since when are you this built?”

Ichiro grinned, flexing his arm playfully. “Surprised? I may not look like it, but I’ve been training too, you know! You can’t expect me to go after heroes and not put in the work, keeping up with them and their fights takes a lot of stamina.”

Kei just stared at him for a moment before sighing. “Great. So I’m the odd one out in every way possible.”

Ichiro laughed. “Hey, welcome to the club, man. You know, I never though I would be eating breakfast and chatting casually with Jouin’s Ice Prince and the Golden Student”

Yuzuru sighed, giving Ichiro an unimpressed look. “Must you call me that?”

Ichiro grinned. “What? It’s a compliment! You’re practically a legend at Jouin.”

Kei, still trying to process everything, muttered, “I feel like I’ve stepped into some weird alternate reality…” He picked at his food, his appetite dulled by the sheer absurdity of the past 24 hours.

Yuzuru, however, was still eyeing him with that same scrutinizing gaze. “You still don’t feel any different, do you?”

Kei hesitated before shaking his head. “I mean… I know my body changed, but it doesn’t feel wrong, just… off? Like I should still be my scrawny self, but somehow I’m carrying all this muscle around without even noticing.”

“That’s because you’ve adapted to it already,” Yuzuru noted, resting his chin on his hand. “Your brain and body must have synchronized overnight. Otherwise, you would feel the difference in weight and strength.”

Kei frowned. “That doesn’t make this any less freaky. I carried 220kg as if it was nothing—that’s way more than what people lift in the Olympics. In the snatch, they usually lift around 41 to 68 kg over their body weight, and in the clean and jerk, it’s between 82 and 100 kg. The world record for the clean and jerk is 224 kg, and that was set by a Bulgarian lifter. That lift also secured the world record for the total Olympic lift at 404 kg.”

Yuzuru raised an eyebrow. “You sure know a lot about this, Amemura.”

Kei shrugged. “I played at the opening ceremony of the Tokyo 2020 Olympics.”

Ichiro nearly choked on his food. “Oh, right! Damn, I almost forgot you’re a renowned pianist. Here I am acting surprised you know stuff.”

Kei just rolled his eyes. “Knowing about it and lifting it myself are two completely different things.”

Ichiro took a big bite of his food, talking between chews. “You’re overthinking it, man. Maybe it’s a blessing! You got a free power-up just by existing.”

Kei shot him a deadpan look. “Oh, yeah. Lucky me.”

Ichiro just laughed, but before Kei could say anything else, a new presence approached their table.

“Amemura-kun.”

Kei turned, finding himself face to face with a woman in a lab coat. She had a tablet in hand and an unreadable expression. “When you’re finished, I need you to report back to the lab for further testing.”

Kei groaned internally. Of course, there was more. He glanced at Yuzuru and Ichiro, who both gave him sympathetic looks.

“Fine,” he muttered, stabbing at his food with his chopsticks. “At least let me finish breakfast first.”

The scientist nodded. “Of course. But don’t take too long.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Kei to drop his head against the table again. “I hate this.”

Ichiro patted his shoulder with a grin. “You’ll be fine, dude. Think of it as leveling up.”

Kei groaned louder.

Yuzuru, watching him, smirked slightly. “You’re surprisingly expressive.”

“Shut up.”

He wasn’t sure what else the day had in store for him, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t catching a break anytime soon.

As Kei grumbled into his food, Ichiro suddenly clapped his hands together, drawing both Kei and Yuzuru’s attention.

“Alright! I’ve been thinking—since we’re all classmates and colleagues now, don’t you think we should drop the formalities?” He grinned. “You guys can just call me Ichiro! No need for honorifics.”

Kei immediately deadpanned. “Not happening.”

Yuzuru, more polite but just as firm, shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d rather not.”

Ichiro pouted. “Aw, come on! We’re friends now, right?”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “When did that happen?”

Ichiro dramatically clutched his chest. “Ouch. Right here, man.”

Yuzuru sighed, giving Kei a look before turning back to Ichiro. “It’s not that we reject the idea of camaraderie, but dropping formalities entirely feels… too sudden.”

Ichiro huffed but then grinned again. “Alright, fine. How about a compromise? We keep the family names, but drop the honorifics.”

Yuzuru considered it for a moment before nodding. “That’s acceptable.”

Kei shrugged. “Whatever.”

Ichiro beamed. “Great! Look at us, bonding!”

Kei just stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re way too enthusiastic about this.”

Ichiro laughed, patting Kei on the shoulder again. “Gotta balance out your grumpiness somehow.”

Kei shot him a flat look but didn’t bother to retort.

Yuzuru watched the exchange with mild amusement before shaking his head. “This is going to be an interesting group dynamic…”

They continued eating, with Ichiro attempting to start conversations now and then, only to be met with short, disinterested replies from both Kei and Yuzuru. That didn’t seem to deter him much, though, as he kept trying anyway.

Eventually, Kei let out a small sigh and turned to Yuzuru. “Atsuta, you know your way around, right? Can you take me to the labs?”

Yuzuru blinked, then nodded. “Of course.”

Ichiro pointed at him with his chopsticks. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Actual words, not just grumbling.”

Kei rolled his eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

After that the trio stand up, and after leaving their trays into the designated area, started to head to the labs.

“What kind of test do you think they’ll make you go through?” Ichiro asked pensively.

“No idea” answered Kei “I just want to get over with them, I can guarantee you this is not how I was planning to pass my Saturday.”

“They probably make some basic tests to see how your body react” said Yuzuru “I mean, the tray you had was a metallic one, did you take it by yourself or did someone hand it to you?”

This made Kei think, it was the staff member that brough him to the canteen who gave him the metallic tray, what if it was some kind of test? “It was given to me by the one who brought me to the canteen. Now that I know how much it does weight I think it was probably a test to gauge how much can I carry, I wish they could have been more straight forwards with it…”

“They will probably also make some brain scans to see its actual state” Yuzuru added.

And like that they arrived to the labs.

“Ah! You finally arrived” the woman in the lab coat from earlier said before turning to Yuzuru “Thanks for bringing him here, now you and Dazai-kun are expected in the training room 3”

“W-wait can’t we stay with Amemura?” Ichiro asked.

The scientist shook her head. “Not this time. The tests we’ll be running require minimal external interference.”

Ichiro groaned, crossing his arms. “Man, that sucks. What if he needs moral support?”

Kei sighed, rubbing his temple. “I think I’ll survive, Dazai.”

Ichiro pouted but relented. “Fine, fine. But if they start poking at your brain with weird machines, let me know.”

Yuzuru, on the other hand, simply nodded. “We’ll see you later, Amemura.”

Kei watched as the two of them turned to leave, Ichiro still grumbling under his breath. Then, taking a deep breath, he faced the scientist. “Alright, let’s just get this over with.”

The woman nodded, motioning for him to follow. “Right this way.”

“So… what kind of tests am I looking at this time?” Kei asked, curiosity creeping into his voice. It was his body they were examining, after all.

The scientist glanced at her tablet before answering. “Nothing to worry about. We’re running the standard tests for cases where someone awakens their full cerebral capacity—brain scans, mostly. A CT scan, MRI, PET, and SPECT.”

Kei frowned. “That’s a lot of acronyms.”

“They each serve different purposes,” she explained, barely missing a beat. “CT and MRI scans will give us a detailed look at your brain’s structure, while PET and SPECT will show us how it’s functioning in real time. Given the nature of your changes, we need as much data as possible.”

Kei sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figures. Nothing about this is simple.”

She didn’t respond, simply motioning for him to follow as they entered the lab. The room was pristine, filled with medical equipment and monitors displaying streams of data. Several researchers in lab coats moved about, adjusting settings on machines or reviewing notes.

Kei took a seat where instructed, eyeing the machinery warily. “This isn’t gonna fry my brain, is it?”

The scientist gave him an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Now, stay still.”

With that, the tests began.

As the tests went on, Kei felt like nothing was particularly out of the ordinary—at least, for someone in his situation.

The CT scan passed quickly, the machine humming as it created cross-sectional images of his brain. The MRI was more of a chore, its rhythmic thumping and buzzing making him wish he could doze off. The PET and SPECT scans involved an injection of a tracer substance, which he tolerated with a grimace.

Once all the scans were done, he sat up, rolling his shoulders. “So? Am I dying or something?” he asked dryly.

The scientist reviewed the preliminary data on her tablet. “Everything seems stable so far,” she said evenly.

Kei was about to sigh in relief when he caught something—an exchange of glances between the researchers. It was subtle, but it was there.

His eyes narrowed. “Stable, huh?”

The scientist remained unfazed. “Yes. Nothing concerning.”

Then why do you all look like you just found something weird? Kei thought. He wasn’t dumb—if they were being completely transparent, they wouldn’t have exchanged looks before answering.

Still, he let it go for now. Pushing would get him nowhere.

“Great. So am I free to go?”

“Not just yet.” She tapped something on her tablet. “There’re more sets of tests we need to run—this time on your physical capabilities.”

Kei frowned. “Meaning?”

“Strength, endurance, reflexes—basic metrics to measure the extent of your physical changes.” She glanced at him. “Given that you lifted over 200 kilograms without effort this morning, we need to see the limits of what you can do.”

Kei sighed. “And I assume I don’t get a choice in this?”

She smiled faintly. “Consider it an opportunity to understand your own body better.”

Before Kei could protest, the door to the lab opened, and a familiar voice called out—

“Yo, are you done getting your brain poked at yet?”

Kei turned to see Ichiro leaning against the doorway, Yuzuru standing beside him with his usual composed expression.

The scientist raised an eyebrow. “You two should be in the training room.”

“We finished our lectures and exercises early and had a pause,” Yuzuru replied smoothly. “Figured we’d check in.”

Ichiro grinned. “And maybe watch whatever superhuman tests you’re about to put him through.”

Kei groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Ichiro just laughed. “Hey, if you’re gonna be the next super soldier or whatever, we gotta see it firsthand.”

The scientist didn’t seem fazed by their presence. “Fine. You can observe. But stay out of the way.” She gestured for Kei to follow her. “Come along. Let’s see what you’re really capable of.”

Kei sighed and stood up, shooting a glare at Ichiro as he passed. “If I have to suffer, I’m dragging you down with me.”

Ichiro just threw an arm around his shoulders, unfazed. “That’s the spirit, buddy.”

Yuzuru sighed. “This is going to be a long day.”

With that, the three of them followed the scientist toward the next set of tests.

And though Kei didn’t show it, his mind was still lingering on that exchanged glance between the doctors.

Something was definitely up.

As they walked, Kei kept his expression neutral, but he wasn’t the only one who noticed the subtle tension in the air.

Yuzuru and Ichiro hadn’t outright said it, but Kei could tell they were at least somewhat concerned about him. The way they had checked in instead of just waiting for him to finish, the way they had watched him closely during breakfast—it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. They knew he was frustrated, and even if they weren’t about to voice it, this was their way of making sure he was doing okay.

Not that Kei really knew how to feel about that.

The scientist led them into a spacious training facility filled with barbells, running tracks, high jump stations, reaction tests, and several machines Kei couldn’t immediately recognize.

Ichiro let out a low whistle. “Okay, this place is serious. What’s next? You gonna make him fight a bear?”

The scientist didn’t react to his joke. “We’ll be testing his strength, speed, endurance, and reflexes. We need to determine how much his body has changed.”

Kei sighed, already feeling exhausted at the thought. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Yuzuru crossed his arms, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. “What kind of benchmarks are you expecting?”

The scientist gave him a slight, unreadable smile. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Kei rolled his shoulders. “Fine. Where do I start?”

She tapped her tablet. “Let’s begin with a baseline strength test.”

Ichiro grinned, clapping Kei on the back. “Can’t wait to see you lift a car or something.”

Kei shot him a look. “If I do, I’m throwing it at you first.”

Ichiro just laughed.

Yuzuru, watching their banter, merely shook his head.

“So, after breakfast, we know that you can carry around 200kg with no problem,” the scientist started.

Kei gave her a sharp look. “Right. That was a test, wasn’t it? The staff that led me to the canteen gave me a metallic tray instead of a plastic one on purpose.”

The scientist didn’t react immediately, but Kei caught the briefest flicker of surprise in her expression before she schooled her features back into neutrality.

“That’s correct,” she admitted. “It was a preliminary test to assess your physical baseline in a non-invasive way.”

Kei exhaled through his nose. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Ichiro snickered. “Dude, you’re over here casually lifting more than Olympic champions, and you’re mad they didn’t warn you?”

Kei shot him a flat look. “Yes.”

Yuzuru, ever composed, nodded slightly. “It makes sense to test in a natural setting, but transparency would have been preferable.”

The scientist didn’t deny it, simply tapping something on her tablet. “Regardless, now that we have a rough estimate, we need a more precise measurement. Step over to the bench press.”

Kei sighed but complied, rolling his shoulders as he approached the equipment. A loaded barbell was already set up, though he noted that the weight plates seemed heavier than standard.

“Start at 150 kilograms,” the scientist instructed. “If that’s manageable, we’ll gradually increase the load.”

Kei lay down, gripping the bar. The moment he pushed up, the weight moved effortlessly. He barely felt any resistance.

“Yeah, that’s nothing,” he muttered.

The scientist barely reacted, already typing into her tablet. “Increasing to 200 kilograms.”

Kei repeated the motion—still easy.

“250.”

No struggle.

They kept adding more weight, moving past human limits. Kei only started to feel the strain once they approached numbers that no human should reasonably be lifting. Even then, it wasn’t unbearable.

Ichiro let out an impressed whistle. “Alright, this is straight-up superhuman. You sure you’re not a robot?”

Kei didn’t answer, still focused on the bar in his hands. He had no frame of reference for what his body could handle anymore. How much of this was him, and how much was just leftover from what Aogami had given him?

Yuzuru, watching closely, finally spoke. “How does it feel?”

Kei hesitated before answering. “Weird. Like… my body recognizes what it can do, but my brain is still catching up.”

The scientist noted that down, then glanced at her colleagues. Again, Kei caught the briefest exchange of unreadable looks between them—just like before.

He narrowed his eyes.

They knew something they weren’t saying.

Kei’s grip tightened on the bar as he lifted it again, this time with 370 kilograms loaded onto it. For the first time, he could actually feel the weight—not overwhelming, but present. His muscles tensed in response, adjusting automatically. The bar lowered. He exhaled and pushed, forcing it back up with steady control.

The scientist nodded, making another note on her tablet. “Still within your capability. Let’s push further.”

More weight was added.

At 500kg, Kei felt the strain increase. It wasn’t impossible, but the resistance was undeniable now. His arms flexed, veins subtly standing out, his breathing measured.

Then 600kg. His heart pounded harder. He adjusted his stance, keeping control. The weight felt like it was pushing back, testing him.

At 700kg, the bar was almost unmovable. Kei clenched his jaw, steadying himself before pushing. His muscles burned, his bones groaned, and for the first time, he had to exert real effort.

He held it.

Then, slowly, he lowered it back into place.

The room was silent.

Ichiro stared. “Dude. That’s—that’s car-lifting strength.”

Yuzuru, arms crossed, watched Kei carefully. “That’s well beyond human limits.”

Kei rolled his shoulders, feeling the lingering strain. “Yeah, no kidding.”

The scientists were exchanging glances again.

The scientist tapped her tablet again. “For reference, individuals who are recorded as utilizing 100% of their brain’s potential—those with the highest level of cognitive enhancement—typically cap out at around 500 kilograms. You just exceeded that by 200.”

Kei frowned. That wasn’t normal. Even among those with heightened abilities, this was abnormal.

Then, the scientist hesitated. For the first time, Kei noticed her glancing toward the others in an almost uncertain way.

Kei’s patience was wearing thin. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “I’m not blind. You’ve been giving each other looks since the brain scan. What’s going on?”

The scientist in charge remained neutral, but Kei wasn’t buying it.

“As I said before, your results appear stable,” she repeated.

“But,” Yuzuru cut in, tone unreadable, “there’s something unusual, isn’t there?”

The scientists hesitated.

Kei narrowed his eyes. He knew it.

Finally, the lead scientist exhaled. “Your brain activity is… higher than expected.”

Kei crossed his arms. “How much higher?”

She swiped on her tablet, showing him a comparison chart—one scan from an average person, and another lit up with activity across multiple regions, including parts not typically engaged in normal cognition.

Kei’s stomach twisted.

Ichiro leaned in, blinking. “Uh… I don’t know much about brains, but that looks crazy.”

The scientist nodded. “Your cognitive functions are heightened across multiple areas, but what stands out is your neurological response to external energy sources.”

Kei frowned. “Meaning?”

She tapped another data set. “Your brain is actively regulating multiple elemental energies—wind, water, and electricity.”

Kei froze.

That wasn’t normal.

His fists clenched. “Heroes can usually only control one, maybe two, right?”

The scientist didn’t meet his gaze. “That is… the standard.”

Kei exhaled slowly. So, I’m already an outlier.

The control he’d instinctively shown in the river and yesterday when he arrived at Bethel—it made sense now. But hearing it laid out in cold, scientific terms? It felt different.

Yuzuru’s sharp eyes flicked toward the scientist. “And you weren’t going to mention this?”

“We needed to confirm the data first,” she answered smoothly.

Kei exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. Of course.

Ichiro, trying to lighten the mood, nudged him. “Well, congrats, man. You’re officially built different.”

Kei, for what seemed like the tenth time today, shot him a look. “Shut up.”

Ichiro just grinned.

Yuzuru, however, still looked deep in thought. He turned to the scientist. “And his physical capabilities? Are they linked to the same phenomenon?”

The scientist hesitated before nodding. “We believe so. His muscles and nervous system have adapted to handle higher energy output, allowing enhanced strength, endurance, and reflexes.”

 Kei sighed. “So I’m basically a science experiment at this point.”

 “Not a science experiment,” she corrected. “But a unique case that we need to monitor carefully.”

Kei hated the sound of that. It meant he was going to get a lot more attention than he was comfortable with.

 Before he could voice his frustration, the door opened.

 Yuzuru and Ichiro turned to see an assistant stepping in.

“The training session is resuming,” the assistant informed them.

“Already?” Ichiro asked, surprised by how fast the pause had passed.

Yuzuru crossed his arms and turned back to Kei. “Come with us. Even if you’re beyond normal human limits, you should still keep track of how your body moves in combat situations.”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “You want me to spar?”

Ichiro grinned. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Kei sighed. This day just kept getting longer.

“We’ll get to sparring at some point, but we still have a number of tests to run—speed, reflexes, even sensory perception,” one of the scientists added.

Kei’s stomach sank.

The tests weren’t over. And with every passing one, he felt less and less comfortable in his own skin.

As Ichiro and Yuzuru left for their own training, he remained behind with the scientists, who wasted no time setting up the next trial.

“Speed and reflexes next,” one of them announced, adjusting their clipboard. “We need to measure how fast you can react under controlled conditions.”

Kei sighed. “Fantastic.”

They led him to a reinforced testing area lined with motion sensors and cameras. At the far end, a row of automated drones hovered silently, waiting. A monitor on the wall displayed various metrics—heart rate, muscle tension, energy output—all things Kei wasn’t sure he wanted to see quantified.

“Step onto the marked position,” the lead scientist instructed. Kei moved onto a glowing platform. “The test consists of multiple phases. First, we’ll measure your raw speed—how fast you can reach a target point. Then, we’ll assess your reaction time against moving obstacles.”

“Translation,” Kei muttered, cracking his neck, “you’re gonna throw things at me and see if I get hit.”

The scientist gave a small smile. “Something like that.”

The first phase was simple. At the signal, Kei had to sprint from one end of the room to the other.

“Ready?”

Kei tensed.

A sharp beep echoed.

Before he even thought about moving, his body reacted. He launched forward, the world around him blurring. The end of the room rushed toward him at a dizzying speed—too fast. He barely managed to stop, his feet digging into the floor as he skidded several meters past the target.

He turned back. The scientists stared at their monitors, murmuring.

“Well,” one finally said, “that’s… significantly beyond expectations.”

“By how much?” Kei asked, catching his breath.

One of them adjusted their glasses, staring at the screen. “Amemura-kun, your speed was clocked at approximately 47 meters per second.”

Kei blinked.

Another scientist stepped in. “For reference, the average human sprints at 6–8 meters per second. Elite Olympic sprinters, like Usain Bolt at his peak, reach around 12 meters per second.”

Kei frowned. “So I’m—what, nine times faster than a world-class athlete?”

“More than that,” the scientist corrected. “Even among enhanced individuals, the highest recorded speed we’ve ever seen is 32 meters per second.”

“And I just blew past that,” Kei muttered.

The scientist nodded. “By a significant margin. Frankly, with your mass, this level of acceleration shouldn’t even be possible. Your body should be experiencing severe stress—bone fractures, muscle tears—just from the forces involved.”

Kei let out a slow breath. Great.

“Let’s move to reflexes,” the scientist continued, eager to press on.

The drones activated, humming as they adjusted positions. A red light blinked on.

“Your objective is to avoid getting hit,” the scientist explained. “The drones will start at low velocity, then gradually increase speed and unpredictability. If you fail to dodge five in a row, the test ends.”

Kei rolled his shoulders. “And if I don’t fail?”

The scientist hesitated. “…Then we’ll keep increasing difficulty until you do.”

Kei sighed. Of course.

The first drone shot forward. He sidestepped easily. The second, third, and fourth followed, weaving unpredictably—but they were too slow.

The scientists increased the speed.

Then again.

And again.

The drones became a blur, striking from all angles. But Kei felt them coming. His body moved before his mind even registered the threat—twisting, ducking, stepping just out of reach. Time stretched. Every movement was sharp, effortless.

Another adjustment. The drones now moved faster than bullets.

Kei exhaled sharply. This… shouldn’t be possible.

But he was still dodging.

The murmurs from the scientists grew. He barely heard them over the hum of the machines, but he caught fragments:

“—reaction time is beyond projected limits—”

“—processing speed shouldn’t be this high—”

“—this isn’t just enhanced senses, it’s something else—”

Kei gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the way they were talking about him.

Like he wasn’t human.

Then, finally—he misstepped.

A drone clipped his shoulder.

The test shut down instantly.

Kei exhaled, rolling his shoulder. It barely hurt. But at that speed, it should have hurt a hell of a lot more.

The scientists, however, were already deep in discussion.

And Kei had the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“Amemura-kun, let’s take a pause. You should be tired after all this. Plus, it’s lunch time,” the scientist said through the speaker.

Kei glanced up, only now realizing that the scientists had been monitoring him from behind what looked like reinforced glass the entire time. It was strange—he’d been running, dodging, lifting absurd weights for hours now. By all logic, he should be exhausted. His muscles should be screaming, his breath should be ragged.

But he wasn’t even winded.

As if on cue, the doors to the testing area slid open, revealing Yuzuru and Ichiro. They had been in another training room, where Yuzuru—along with an instructor—had been teaching Ichiro the basics of being a Hero-in-training. Now that it was lunchtime, they had come looking for Kei, both to eat together and to check on how he was doing.

“Yo, Amemura, ready to eat?” Ichiro asked as he stepped inside. “I’m starving, and my body’s probably gonna be aching all afternoon. They don’t mess around with training.”

“Well, of course,” Yuzuru said matter-of-factly. “Even if we aren’t fully-fledged heroes yet, we have to be prepared for any kind of situation and capable of providing support in different scenarios.” Then, turning his attention to Kei, he asked, “That aside, how are you holding up, Amemura?”

Kei hesitated. He flexed his fingers, shifted his stance—no aches, no burn in his muscles, not even the slight stiffness that should come after intense exertion. It didn’t make sense.

“…I’m fine,” he finally said, though even he wasn’t sure how true that was.

He stepped out of the training zone and made his way toward the exit, where Yuzuru and Ichiro were waiting. But before crossing the threshold, he cast a glance back at the scientists. They were trying to appear composed, but Kei could see the tension in their postures, the stiffness in their movements.

Just before they could leave entirely, the female researcher spoke up. “Atsuta-kun, please bring him back around 2 p.m.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Yuzuru replied evenly. But Kei caught the brief flicker of something in his expression—thoughtfulness, maybe even suspicion.

Yuzuru wasn’t an idiot. He knew that typically, Kei would’ve been expected back around 1 p.m., not 2. Whatever data they had gathered must have been troubling them enough to make adjustments.

Once they were out of earshot of the scientists, Yuzuru spoke quietly. “You really should’ve put on a show for leaving them like that, Amemura.”

Kei exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Even I don’t fully understand how my body is reacting anymore.”

Yuzuru glanced back toward the testing room, his expression unreadable. “I’ve never seen them look that shaken before.”

Ichiro snorted. “What, did you break their fancy machines or something?”

Kei shook his head. “No, but whatever numbers they got must’ve been way beyond what they expected. Did you see their faces? They were trying to act normal, but they were tense. Way too tense.”

Yuzuru nodded. “Usually, they should have asked me to bring you back at the end of the lunch time, at one, not at two. They need extra time to process whatever data they got.”

“In other words, you broke them, Amemura. Nice job.” Ichiro grinned, giving Kei a pair of thumbs up.

“This is serious, Dazai!” Kei snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

Ichiro blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. Even Yuzuru raised an eyebrow. Kei wasn’t the type to lose his cool. Jouin’s so-called Ice Prince was always distant, always collected. Yet here he was, visibly agitated. For much they had learned he had a dramatic side, this was too much of a reaction from his part.

At that moment, the lights in the hallway flickered. Just for a second—barely more than a pulse—but enough to make Ichiro and Yuzuru exchange glances.

“Amemura…” they both started, but Kei cut them off with a sigh.

“Forget it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not great at dealing with people. Or feelings.” His voice was flat, indifferent. “Not used to anyone caring either, so… whatever.”

Ichiro tilted his head. “That’s kinda depressing, man.”

Kei shrugged. “It’s just how it is.”

Yuzuru studied him for a moment before speaking. “You don’t have to deal with things alone, you know.”

Kei didn’t respond. He just turned toward the hallway, where the lights had flickered moments ago. Something about it gnawed at him, but he shoved the thought aside.

“Let’s just eat,” he said, already walking ahead.

Chapter Text

Kei had always been terrible with directions. Unless it was a route he had memorized through sheer repetition or had a GPS guiding him, there was an 80% chance he’d get lost. And, as expected, that was exactly what happened.

Without realizing it, he had walked too fast, unintentionally separating from Yuzuru and Ichiro. By the time he noticed, he had somehow wandered into what looked like a common room.

What caught his attention wasn’t the furniture or the quiet atmosphere—it was the magnificent grand piano sitting in the center of the room.

Kei was a pianist, after all. As much as he hated the stiff, performative nature of recitals, playing itself was something else entirely. It was freeing. He loved how music could translate emotions into sound—how, even if he wasn’t good at expressing feelings in words, he could pour them into the keys instead.

And right now, standing in front of the piano, with no audience, no expectations, and no pressure… Kei felt something rare. A quiet pull.

Almost without thinking, he stepped forward and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. The smooth surface was cool beneath his touch. He pressed down on a note—soft, clear, resonant.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving, coaxing out a melody from the depths of his mind. Something quiet. Something melancholic. Something unspoken.

The quite storm that has been slowly brewing inside of him since yesterday was taking form, slowly transforming itself into a tempest. Frustration, anger, uncertainty—all of it surged through his fingertips, bleeding into the notes. The melody started soft, restrained, but with each passing second, it grew heavier, more intense. The quiet storm inside him was no longer quiet. A Tempest, indeed.

Kei wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes, but he didn’t need to see. His hands knew the keys better than he knew himself. The music swelled, echoing through the empty room, filling the space with something raw and untamed. Each note struck like a pulse of emotion—things he couldn’t say, things he couldn’t fully understand.

Frustration at the scientists’ reactions. The unshakable feeling that something was wrong. The changes in his body, his endurance, his strength—things that should have exhausted him, but didn’t. The flickering lights from earlier.

He couldn’t explain it, and that unsettled him more than anything.

But still, playing helped. It grounded him, allowed him to vent without words, to channel the disarray inside him into something tangible. The tempest within him didn’t fully disappear, but as the melody softened, it began to recede, leaving behind a strange clarity.

The last note lingered in the air, fading into silence.

And then—applause.

Kei stiffened, his fingers freezing over the keys. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed an audience forming. Out of habit, he stood up and gave a slight bow, his usual mask slipping back into place.

“Well, that was quite the performance,” a smooth, familiar voice remarked.

Kei turned to see none other than Koshimizu among the crowd, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I must say, I hadn’t expected such a wonderful display, Amemura-kun. That was truly something. What was the name of that piece?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Tempest.”

Koshimizu’s eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued. “Fitting. Though, I don’t recall ever hearing it before.”

“That’s because it didn’t exist until now,” Kei replied plainly. “I improvised it on the spot.”

A quiet murmur passed through the small audience. Even Koshimizu seemed momentarily taken aback before a small chuckle escaped him. “Impressive.”

Kei ignored the murmurs, his focus elsewhere. Now that the moment had passed, a new concern settled in—he didn’t want to forget it. Without missing a beat, he turned to Koshimizu and asked, “Do you have a pencil and some paper?”

Koshimizu tilted his head. “For?”

“To write it down,” Kei said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Just to be sure I won’t forget it.”

Koshimizu let out another amused chuckle, shaking his head. “You truly are full of surprises, Amemura-kun.” He motioned for someone to hand Kei what he asked for, and within moments, he had a notepad and pencil in hand, already scribbling down the notes with practiced ease.

As Kei worked, Koshimizu observed him with renewed interest. “You know, I read through your file. It mentioned that you’re quite the well-known pianist. Recurrent recitals, organized by your parents… It seems you’ve had quite the presence in the classical music scene.”

Kei’s pencil paused mid-stroke. His entire body tensed for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax, resuming his writing as if nothing had happened.

“I guess you gathered all you could about me since the accident,” he said flatly.

“Of course,” Koshimizu replied smoothly, but there was a certain weight to his tone. “You’ll be working under Bethel’s watch, and in your situation, you are an anomaly.”

Kei didn’t like the sound of that word.

“As we established yesterday, your case is unique,” Koshimizu continued. “Not only did you awaken the full capacity of your brain, but you also merged with Aogami—who has been inoperative for years now.”

Kei frowned, his grip tightening slightly around the pencil. Now that Koshimizu mentioned it, he hadn’t heard Aogami at all today. Yesterday Aogami talked to him through his mind even when separated. But today, nothing.

“What about Aogami?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Koshimizu’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief pause before he answered. “As I said, Aogami has been inoperative for a long time. More precisely, twenty years. His systems and operatives are outdated—obsolete, even—so he’s undergoing maintenance and updates.”

Kei stayed quiet at that. Something about the way Koshimizu phrased it unsettled him, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know what state Aogami had been in before their merge, but hearing words like ‘obsolete’ made his stomach twist slightly.

Still, he said nothing, merely lowering his gaze back to the notepad and continuing to write.

He didn’t play for his parents. He didn’t play for their stupid recitals or for recognition. He hated those. He hated the attention that came with them.

He played because he wanted to. Because it helped.

And right now, he needed that more than ever.

Kei folded the piece of paper and handed the pencil back to Koshimizu before scanning the area. His gaze quickly landed on Yuzuru and Ichiro, and he started toward them.

Before he could take more than a few steps, however, two familiar figures stepped into his path.

“Oh! It’s strong boi!” one of them exclaimed.

“Strong boi!” the other echoed, just as enthusiastically.

Kei sighed, already regretting stopping. “…Strong boy?” he repeated flatly.

“Yeah! Strong boi lifted the tray like it was nothing this morning!” Pyro—he was pretty sure it was Pyro—grinned.

Frost nodded eagerly. “We thought you’d at least flinch when you grabbed the metal bowl! Maybe struggle a little! But nope! You just took it like it was normal!”

Kei folded his arms, unimpressed. “You told me to take it.”

“As a prank!” Pyro declared, throwing up his hands. “But you flipped it on us! It was beautiful. A masterpiece of unintentional reversal.”

Frost smirked. “And then, on top of that, you go and play that melody? With a technique like that? You’re a box full of surprises. Maybe we should call you Jack in the Box!”

Kei tensed slightly, his eyes narrowing.

Pyro tilted his head. “So… who are you, strong boi? ‘Cause we know you’re a rookie, and you lifted that metal bowl like it was nothing. Yet you’re too young to have ingested Lucidus, and we’ve never seen you around before this morning.”

Frost tapped his chin thoughtfully. “That means you’re either a prodigy or really good at pretending to be clueless.”

Kei’s patience was running thin. “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say.”

Before the twins could push further, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Pyro. Frost.”

Kei had a feeling of déjà vu—just like in the morning, the shift was instant. The two heroes immediately straightened, their grins faltering as they turned to see Koshimizu standing there, arms crossed and gaze sharp.

If you can’t handle them, throw them to their boss, Kei thought, watching how quickly their demeanor shifted just from hearing Koshimizu’s voice.

“Don’t you two have something better to do than harassing new recruits?” Koshimizu asked, his tone even but firm.

The twins exchanged a glance before flashing sheepish grins.

“Oh! So he is a new recruit!” Pyro said.

“Quite young, isn’t he?” Frost added, earning a glare from Koshimizu.

“Just being welcoming!” Pyro said quickly.

“Encouraging camaraderie!” Frost added.

Koshimizu exhaled slowly. “I see. In that case, encourage camaraderie somewhere else.”

“…Right, right. Gotcha, boss,” Pyro muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

Frost gave Kei one last curious glance before nudging his twin. “Come on, Pyro. We’ll figure out the mystery of strong boi later.”

With that, the twins disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kei only slightly less annoyed.

Koshimizu studied him for a moment. “Don’t let them get to you.”

Kei exhaled. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.” Koshimizu nodded before walking off, finally leaving Kei free to head toward Yuzuru and Ichiro.

As he approached, Yuzuru barely spared him a glance before speaking. “You got lost, didn’t you?” Yuzuru stated, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

Kei averted his gaze. “I just took a detour.”

“Detour aside, that song you played was magnificent. No wonder you’re considered a prodigy Amemura” Yuzuru added.

“I’m not”

Yuzuru raised an eyebrow at Kei’s curt response.

Ichiro chuckled. “Could’ve fooled me. You had half the room mesmerized.”

Kei didn’t reply. He simply leaned back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Yuzuru didn’t push further, but his gaze lingered on Kei for a moment before he finally said, “Either way, it was impressive.”

Kei exhaled, looking away. “It was just a song.”

"Just a song or not, not just anyone could have played it like you did—let alone created such a masterpiece on the spot," Yuzuru said.

"Yeah, Amemura, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to play a piece even if I spent months learning it through lectures and online tutorials" Ichiro said.

Kei clicked his tongue, clearly uninterested in the praise. “It’s just muscle memory,” he muttered. “Anyone could do it with enough practice.”

Yuzuru gave him a knowing look. “That wasn’t just practice. That was emotion.”

Ichiro nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, even I could tell! It wasn’t just some random notes—you put something into it. Felt kinda… heavy, y’know?”

Kei’s fingers twitched slightly. He hadn’t even realized he’d been playing with that much intent. He looked away, brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re both overthinking it. Let’s go eat, for real this time.”

Yuzuru didn’t argue, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t convinced with Kei’s words.

And with that the trio started to head to the canteen once more.

They arrived in no time, with no lostlings or detours this time.

Just like in the morning, the canteen was full of life. Conversations overlapped in a constant hum, cutlery clinked against plates, and the rich aroma of food filled the air.

Kei found that last part… strange. He could have sworn that the scent of food hadn’t been this strong earlier. More defined. More intense. But he brushed it off, chalking it up to hunger after the rigorous testing.

Determined to cling to some sense of normalcy, he reached for a standard plastic tray instead of a metal one. A small, insignificant choice—one meant to preserve what little of his old life still remained.

It backfired spectacularly.

The moment he gripped the tray, it started to crack—fractures splintering outward from the points where his fingers pressed against the plastic. Before he could react, it shattered completely.

Kei froze.

Without realizing it, he had been using too much force. What once would have been a normal grip now crushed the flimsy material with ease.

Silence fell around him for a brief moment before he quickly knelt down, scrambling to gather the pieces. His face burned with embarrassment, the faintest traces of red creeping up his neck.

Yuzuru and Ichiro were momentarily stunned by what they had just witnessed, but they quickly snapped out of it and knelt down to help their comrade.

In no time, they had gathered all the broken pieces, which Kei now held awkwardly in his hands, unsure of what to do with them. He was still a bit stunned by what had just happened, his brain struggling to process the absurdity of it.

More importantly, he was now faced with a new challenge—trying not to crush the pieces further. What should have been a simple task suddenly felt like an intense exercise in self-control. He focused hard, carefully adjusting his grip as if he were handling something as delicate as glass.

Ichiro, barely holding back laughter, nudged Yuzuru. “So, uh… should we get him a metal tray before he snaps this one into dust?”

“More likely, we should figure out what to do with these pieces first,” Yuzuru replied.

Kei, however, wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, still reeling from what had just happened. The sheer absurdity of it made him consider the simplest solution—just tossing the broken pieces into the nearest trash can and pretending none of this ever happened.

But before he could put that plan into action, a cleaning lady approached with an amused smile.

“Don’t worry, this kind of thing happens more often than you’d think,” she said, casually taking the shattered tray pieces from his hands. “A lot of new heroes accidentally break plastic trays before they get used to their… new limits.”

Kei blinked. “Seriously?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She chuckled. “You’re far from the first, and trust me, you won’t be the last.”

Kei wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“We usually just have someone with fire abilities melt the pieces down and reshape them in a mold,” she continued. “No harm done. But for now, try to stick to the metal trays, alright?”

Kei exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah. Got it.”

Ichiro grinned, nudging him. “See? You’re officially part of the club now. Welcome to the ‘Oops, I Broke Something by Accident’ squad.”

Yuzuru smirked. “A rite of passage, apparently.”

Kei shot them both a glare before sighing in defeat. “…I’m getting my food.”

This time, he grabbed a metal tray—carefully—and made his way through the line, doing his best to ignore the way Ichiro kept snickering behind him.

Kei exhaled as he stepped into the food line, gripping his metal tray with exaggerated care, just in case. If he managed to break this one too, he might just walk out of the canteen and accept his fate as someone who wasn’t meant to eat today.

But then, as he moved through the serving stations, something distracted him—no, overwhelmed him.

The smell.

It was intense. Too intense.

This morning, the food had smelled normal—present, but nothing remarkable. But now? It was like stepping into a whirlwind of scents, each more distinct than the last. The rich, savory aroma of simmering broth, the buttery scent of freshly baked bread, the sharp tang of pickled vegetables, the subtle sweetness of rice steaming in bamboo containers. It was as if every ingredient had been dialed up to an extreme his nose wasn’t prepared for.

Kei blinked, trying to keep his expression neutral as he forced himself to move forward.

The first station was Japanese cuisine. Large bowls of steaming miso soup sat ready to be ladled out, their deep umami scent mingling with the saltiness of seaweed and the faint, nutty aroma of tofu. Next to them, plates of glistening grilled fish—salmon, mackerel, and even a few fillets of eel—lay neatly arranged, their lightly charred skins crackling under the heat lamps.

Further down, he passed trays of tempura, the golden batter crisp and almost shimmering with oil. The smell was unmistakable—deep-fried perfection, light yet indulgent. He caught a hint of daikon radish, likely meant for grating into dipping sauce, its sharpness cutting through the richness.

A pot of curry sat bubbling beside a massive tray of katsu—pork and chicken cutlets sliced into even strips, their crispy coatings still glistening from the fryer. The scent of warm spices—cumin, coriander, garam masala—hit him like a punch, stronger than he ever remembered.

Then came the rice station. White, brown, mixed grain, even fried rice dotted with peas and carrots. The fragrance of freshly cooked rice was something he’d always found comforting, but now it was overwhelming, like he could pick apart every individual grain’s scent.

Kei clenched his jaw. What the hell is going on?

Moving along, he reached the Western dishes. Plates of roast chicken and beef sat under warming lights, their juices pooling beneath them, sending out an unmistakable aroma of herbs and slow-cooked fat. There was pasta, too—creamy carbonara, rich and thick, alongside a vibrant tomato-based marinara that smelled almost too fresh, like the tomatoes had been crushed seconds ago.

Further down, he spotted a row of freshly baked bread—soft dinner rolls, crusty baguettes, slices of garlic bread glistening with butter and parsley. The scent of yeast and toasted wheat mixed with the richness of melted butter made his stomach tighten.

And then, the final temptation—the dessert station.

Cakes, pastries, puddings, and fruit parfaits lined the counter. The sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate was nearly dizzying. Cheesecakes with glossy fruit toppings, matcha tiramisu dusted with fine green powder, cream puffs filled to the brim with custard, delicate mochi with a faint rice flour aroma.

A tray of freshly baked apple pie sat to the side, the cinnamon-laced scent hitting him like a memory. Even the soft bitterness of black coffee brewing in the corner was sharper than he was used to.

Kei hesitated, gripping his tray a little tighter. This isn’t normal.

“Uh… Amemura?”

Kei snapped out of it, realizing that Yuzuru and Ichiro had already grabbed their food and were looking at him expectantly. Ichiro had his plate stacked absurdly high, while Yuzuru, as always, had a balanced meal.

“Are you okay?” Yuzuru asked, brow slightly furrowed.

“…Yeah.” Kei forced himself to move, grabbing a portion of katsu curry and rice in a metallic plate, after the incident with the plastic tray he wasn’t going to risk it trying to take a ceramic one. “Just… deciding.”

Ichiro snorted. “Dude, it looked like you were having an existential crisis over food.”

Kei didn’t respond. He just kept moving, trying to ignore the fact that every single scent was still hitting him at full force—completely missing the exchanged glances between his companions.

Something was definitely wrong.

As he reached the desserts section, he slowed down, taking in the sheer variety before him. It was honestly a little overwhelming. With so many options, choosing just one felt impossible.

Cakes, pastries, puddings—each one looked more tempting than the last. The matcha tiramisu had a rich, earthy aroma, the cheesecakes were smooth and inviting with their glossy fruit toppings, and the cream puffs looked like they would melt the moment he bit into them. The scent of warm cinnamon from the apple pie was particularly distracting, and even the fruit parfaits, layered with vibrant berries, seemed like a solid choice.

Lost in indecision, Kei barely noticed when Yuzuru stepped up beside him.

“You know,” Yuzuru said casually, “you don’t have to hold back and pick just one. The canteen is an open buffet for Bethel employees—you can eat as much as you want for free.”

Kei blinked, glancing at him before looking back at the desserts.

That… did not make his decision any easier. But gave him free reign to choose more than just one dessert. Usually he wasn’t the greedy type, but when it came to sweets…

He would never admit it out loud, but he could easily be bribed with sweets. Not that anyone knew him well enough to use that against him—not even his own parents.

In the end, he decided to just close his eyes and pick at random, grabbing two desserts from the display.

Why two? Kei wasn’t sure. Maybe because after everything that had happened, he figured he deserved some comfort food. And what better way to indulge than by satisfying his hidden sweet tooth?

When he opened his eyes, he found a small matcha tiramisu in one hand and a slice of cheesecake drizzled with passion fruit sauce in the other. Not a bad outcome, all things considered.

Yuzuru noticed but chose not to comment, though he did raise an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Kei’s selection. Without a word, they moved on to grab their drinks, making their way toward Ichiro, who had already secured a table for them.

As they sat down, Ichiro smirked, eyeing Kei’s tray. “Didn’t peg you for a sweets guy, Amemura.”

Kei didn’t even bother looking up as he unwrapped his utensils. “I’m not.”

Ichiro snorted. “Right. And I suppose those desserts just magically appeared on your tray?”

Kei ignored him, focusing instead on the bowl in front of him. But the moment the steam rose, carrying the rich, savory scent of fried pork, sweet onions, and dashi-seasoned egg, his breath hitched.

It was overwhelming. Too much. The smell wasn’t just strong—it was vivid, layered, like he could break it apart and name every single ingredient. The crispiness of the breaded pork, the subtle sweetness of mirin, even the freshly steamed rice beneath it.

His stomach twisted in both hunger and unease. Why was everything hitting him so hard? First the plastic tray, now this? Even taste felt sharper, more intense.

Still, he forced himself to take a bite.

Big mistake.

The moment the flavors hit his tongue, it was like a switch had flipped. He could taste everything—the umami of the broth, the slight char from the fried pork, the creamy texture of the egg blending into the rice. It was… almost too much. Like someone had cranked up his senses to the max.

For a second, he just sat there, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth.

Yuzuru and Ichiro exchanged glances once again.

“…You good?” Ichiro asked, raising an eyebrow. Kei blinked, forcing himself to swallow. “Fine,” he muttered, reaching for his drink in an attempt to drown out the lingering intensity.

Yeah. Something was definitely wrong.

“You don’t look fine. If anything, you look overwhelmed,” Yuzuru observed, his sharp gaze studying Kei carefully.

“You don’t have to deal with all this alone, you know,” Ichiro chimed in, his usual carefree tone laced with uncharacteristic sincerity. “We’ve got your back. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Kei hesitated, his grip tightening slightly around his chopsticks. His voice came out quieter than he intended. “…We barely know each other.”

Ichiro scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “So what? Friends have to start somewhere.”

Yuzuru nodded. “And considering everything we’ve been through in just a short time, I’d say we’re off to a pretty strong start.”

Kei didn’t respond immediately. The scents of the cafeteria still clung to him, sharper than before, like they were pressing into his skin, overwhelming his senses. Even the simple act of eating felt strange—every texture, every taste amplified beyond what he was used to. It was too much. And yet, somehow, the quiet concern from the two in front of him managed to cut through all of it.

He took a slow breath, trying to ground himself. “…I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

Ichiro grinned. “That’s good enough for me.”

Yuzuru pushed his glasses up, satisfied with the response. “Just don’t forget that we’re here, Amemura. You don’t have to figure everything out on your own.”

Kei nodded absently, staring down at his food. It was strange. He hadn’t asked for support—hadn’t even considered the idea of it. But here they were, offering it anyway.

For the first time since everything started, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little lighter. Maybe relying on others wasn’t such a bad thing.

But now the question was, was Kei ready for it?

He had spent all three years of high school avoiding relationships, keeping to himself, and shunning any kind of attention. Yet, no matter how much he tried, he could never escape the spotlight of his recitals or the admiration they brought. Maybe, all this time, he had only been fooling himself into believing he preferred solitude.

Maybe it was just easier that way—easier to stay unnoticed, easier to avoid expectations, easier to not get hurt.

But now, with Yuzuru and Ichiro casually sitting across from him, treating him like he belonged without demanding anything in return, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Could he really let himself have that? Did he even know how?

Kei sighed, stabbing a piece of katsudon with his chopsticks before taking a bite.

Big mistake.

The flavors hit him all at once—savory, rich, just the right amount of crunch from the breading, the egg slightly runny, the sauce perfectly balanced. It was good. Too good. Almost offensively good.

His expression remained neutral, but internally, he was panicking. His sense of smell had already been overwhelming, but now taste was just as intense. How was he supposed to eat normally like this?!

Ichiro, completely unaware of Kei’s existential crisis, grinned. “Man, nothing beats a hot meal after all that testing, huh?”

Kei swallowed carefully, forcing himself to act normal. “…Yeah.”

Yuzuru took a sip of his tea, studying Kei again. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Kei nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

Lying. Again.

But what else was he supposed to say? “Food tastes too good now” wasn’t exactly a normal complaint.

And so, he kept eating, pretending everything was fine—all while wondering if this was just the beginning of even more changes to come.

“So here you are,” a cheerful voice chimed, nearly making the three boys choke on their food in surprise.

Standing before them, holding a plastic tray, was none other than Tao Isonokami—one of the last people they expected to see at Bethel.

Without hesitation, she casually took a seat beside Kei, acting as if nothing about this situation was out of the ordinary.

“I got worried when none of you came back to the dormitories,” she said, taking a bite of her food, completely ignoring the trio’s stunned expressions.

“So, I asked Miyazu-chan if she knew anything about your whereabouts,” she continued, pausing for another bite. “Turns out, she got a call from her beloved onii-san—who told her that he, along with Amemura-kun and, surprisingly enough, Dazai-kun, would be staying the weekend at Bethel… the place where he’s been doing his internship.”

“I have to admit, I was pretty shocked when I found out you were doing an internship here, Atsuta-kun,” Tao said, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Isonokami-san,” Yuzuru started, his voice polite but firm. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but… what are you doing here?” He voiced the question lingering in all their minds, and the other two boys nodded in silent agreement.

Tao grinned. “Oh, that’s easy! I’m doing an internship here too, silly.”

That caught them off guard.

“And since I hadn’t heard anything from you, I figured I’d check in. Lunch hour seemed like my best shot at catching you.” She took another bite of her food before adding, “Security here is really strict—they confiscate any communication devices at the entrance.”

She wasn’t wrong. Before being shown to their rooms, all three of them had to hand over their phones. Yuzuru had barely managed to squeeze in a quick call to Miyazu, letting her know that he, Kei, and Ichiro wouldn’t be returning to the dorms that night.

“Oh! Oh! I’ve got a question I’ve been meaning to ask Atsuta for a while now!” Ichiro suddenly spoke up, his energy effortlessly matching Tao’s.

Tao’s eyes lit up. “Omg, wait! He actually lets you call him ‘Atsuta’ without an honorific?! I’ve been trying to call him that—or even by his first name—for forever! How did you pull it off?”

Ichiro smirked, leaning back as if he had just won some grand prize. “What can I say? I’ve got charm.”

Kei, unimpressed, took another bite of his food. “You pestered us into submission.”

Ichiro gasped dramatically. “How dare you reduce my achievement to mere persistence?” He turned to Yuzuru. “Come on, back me up here.”

Yuzuru, who had been sipping his drink, merely set it down with a small sigh. “It was persistence.”

Ichiro groaned. “You guys have no appreciation for the art of friendship.”

Tao giggled, watching the exchange with amusement. “Still, I’m jealous! Maybe I should start trying even harder!”

Kei glanced at her, deadpan. “Please don’t.”

Tao only grinned wider. “Oh, that just makes me want to more.”

Ichiro fist-bumped her. “I like your spirit.”

Kei sighed, already regretting everything.

“Could we please go back to Dazai’s question?” Kei asked trying to change the topic, these two energy was too much for him.

Tao’s eyes started to spark even more “Oh my God! You even got Amemura-kun—Jouins Ice Prince to call you without your honorific?!”

Kei groaned at the nickname, earning a round of chuckles from the two energetic troublemakers. At this rate, his social battery would be completely drained before the afternoon even started.

Like a knight in shining armor, Yuzuru cut in. “So, what’s your question, Dazai?” he asked, steering the conversation away from Kei’s misery.

Ichiro perked up. “Oh, right! I was wondering—how exactly did you end up as a hero-in-training here in Bethel? I mean, it’s an ultra-secret government organization, right?”

Yuzuru sighed, taking a long sip of his tea before setting the cup down. “I’ve been in the program for quite a while now,” he began.

“It happened after my parents died. I don’t remember much about that night—we were in the car, heading to the circus, and then… flames. Destruction. The only thing I remember clearly is Tsukuyomi coming for Miyazu and me once the chaos was over.”

His voice grew quieter for a moment, as if replaying the memory in his mind. The table fell into silence, letting him gather his thoughts before he continued.

“I was twelve. I knew that with our parents gone, Miyazu and I would be put into foster care… probably even separated. I couldn’t let that happen. Not with Miyazu’s condition.” His fingers curled slightly against the table. “She’s always had a weak constitution. If she doesn’t get the right treatment, she could die at any moment. More than anything, I hated the thought of losing her, the last member of my family.”

The weight of his words settled over the group. Even Ichiro, who was usually full of jokes, stayed silent.

“So, once everything calmed down, before Tsukuyomi could leave, I ran up to him and asked—how do I become strong like you? Strong enough to protect my sister, to provide for her.” Yuzuru exhaled, his expression unreadable. “He asked me how determined I was.”

He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. Then, with a small, wry smile, he added, “I think my answer must have impressed him. Because instead of turning me away, he gave me a choice.”

Ichiro leaned forward, his curiosity rekindled. “A choice?”

Yuzuru nodded. “To train under Bethel’s wing. To become something more than just a scared kid. And I took it.”

Tao watched him, her usual playfulness dimmed by the weight of his story. “…And Miyazu-chan?”

“She never knew the full story. As far as she’s concerned, I was scouted into an elite program that provides for both of us, and that’s how I can afford to take care of her.” Yuzuru exhaled, his expression unreadable. “And honestly? It’s better that way.”

He set his cup down, fingers tightening slightly around it. “Bethel is a government institution, and we were still minors when we were taken in. They handled everything—our living arrangements, our schooling, and, most importantly, Miyazu’s medical care. That’s the only reason we were able to stay together. With the money I earn from my internship, I can make sure she has everything she needs, but truthfully… none of this would have been possible without Bethel pulling strings behind the scenes.”

He glanced at Tao. “I assume it was similar for you?”

The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing down on the table like an unspoken truth none of them wanted to acknowledge.

Kei exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. His head had started throbbing at some point—dull at first, but now pounding in sync with his heartbeat. The overhead lights felt sharper, like needles pricking the edges of his vision, and the voices around him—Yuzuru’s calm explanation, Tao’s occasional interjection, Ichiro’s shifting in his seat—blurred together, as if his senses couldn’t decide which to prioritize.

Too much. It was all too much.

Maybe it was just the lingering exhaustion from everything that had happened, or maybe it was another side effect of his body changing, but either way, it made focusing on the conversation feel like wading through fog.

He barely registered Tao nodding before she spoke. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said with a small shrug. “But I’m not a hero-in-training like you… or like Dazai-kun and Amemura-kun now, I suppose.”

Ichiro perked up. “Wait, so you were recruited too?”

“More like… taken in,” Tao admitted. “After my parents died, I was rescued by Abdiel and one of her usual companions, Angel. But instead of just sending me somewhere safe, they decided I was their ‘Saint’ and made themselves my legal guardians.” She played with the edge of her sleeve. “I never really got a choice in the matter.”

Kei’s fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.

A pattern.

A grieving child, a desperate sibling, a survivor of tragedy—Bethel didn’t just recruit; they found people who had nowhere else to go.

And now, with whatever had happened to him yesterday, he had unknowingly walked into their net. He didn't follow that pattern, using Koshimizu's words, he was an anomaly. And Ichiro... Well he was just a fanatic a step closer to their dream. 

“I guess it’s easier to get loyal soldiers if you train them from a young age,” Kei muttered.

The table fell into silence.

Tao glanced at him, eyes sharp, but didn’t refute the statement. Ichiro, usually quick with a joke, only let out a low whistle. Even Yuzuru remained quiet, his gaze thoughtful.

Kei exhaled again, but it did little to ease the throbbing behind his eyes.

Tao’s gaze flickered downward. “By the way, what’s with your tray?”

Kei blinked. “Huh?”

She tapped a finger against the metal plate in front of him. “I noticed when I arrived that you’re using the heavy-duty set meant for heroes. Care to explain?”

Ichiro grinned. “Oh, you missed a great moment. Our boy here has been carrying around 220 kilograms like it’s nothing.”

Tao raised an eyebrow, her gaze settling on Kei with expectation. He sighed but remained silent.

Noticing this, Yuzuru stepped in. “Some things happened yesterday… and let’s just say Amemura was the one who went through the most.”

“That so?” Tao murmured, leaning back in her seat. “Interesting.”

Her eyes flicked back to Kei, sharp with curiosity. “And speaking of interesting,” she continued, “what exactly happened yesterday that led you two to Bethel?” She focused on him in particular, as if he was the missing piece of the puzzle.

“Well, you see…” Ichiro began, but before he could say more, Kei suddenly let out a strangled gasp, clutching his head.

In an instant, his world spun out of control. His senses sharpened—too much, too fast. The overhead lights became searing flares, every sound crashed into him like a tidal wave, and the very air around him felt like it was pressing down on his skin.

Pain exploded behind his eyes.

Then, just as quickly as it started, everything went black.

Kei collapsed, his body going limp, and the others shot to their feet in alarm.

“Amemura!”

“Amemura-kun!”

Their voices overlapped, laced with panic and concern. For a moment, none of them knew what to do—Ichiro hovered uncertainly, Tao reached out as if to shake Kei awake, and Yuzuru’s hands clenched into fists, his mind racing for a solution.

The first to snap out of the panic was Yuzuru.“We need to inform Koshimizu-san and get him to the medical bay. Now.” His voice was firm, but the worry beneath it was unmistakable.

Their commotion had drawn attention. A few nearby diners—some heroes off duty—had started approaching. Among them, one man stepped forward, his sharp gaze flickering between the unconscious Kei and the table in front of him. His eyes lingered on the trays—three plastic ones, and a single metallic one.

He let out a sigh. “He’s the one using the metal tray, isn’t he?”

The trio could only nod.

The man, dressed casually and unrecognizable without a hero costume, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like “He’s too damn young to have ingested Lucidus.” Then, with another sigh, he turned back to them.

“Relax, kiddos. He’s just experiencing sensory overload. Happens pretty often when someone awakens the full capacity of their brain—his body and mind are adjusting.”

Tao frowned, arms crossing. “That’s… a thing?”

“More than you’d think,” the man replied. “Especially when the enhancement kicks in fast.”

Yuzuru’s expression darkened slightly, his thoughts flashing back to how Kei had changed almost overnight.

“That explains it,” he murmured. “Amemura looked overwhelmed the moment we walked into the cafeteria… He must have already been feeling the effects.”

Ichiro glanced between them, then down at Kei, still unconscious. “So, uh… what do we do now?”

The hero hummed in thought before shrugging. “Nothing much you can do. Best thing is to let him ride it out. It’s like a system reboot—unpleasant, but necessary.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” Tao deadpanned.

“Yeah, well, welcome to the world of heroes, kid.” The man gave her a lopsided smirk before crouching down beside Kei. He placed two fingers against the side of his neck, checking his pulse. Whatever he found must have satisfied him, because he leaned back and stood up.

“He’ll be fine. The worst should pass in a few minutes, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll help you get him to the medical wing.”

Yuzuru nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing—just slightly. “Thank you.”

Tao, meanwhile, tilted her head, eyeing the hero curiously. “You sound like you’ve seen this a lot.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, kid. You have no idea.”

He then crouched down once again and carefully lifted Kei into his arms as if he weighed nothing. The trio hurried after him as he carried Kei toward the medical wing.

Upon arrival, the hero exchanged a few quick words with a member of the medical team before leading them into a specialized room—one designed for individuals experiencing sensory overload. The space was dimly lit, with soft, neutral colors and minimal distractions. The walls were padded to muffle outside noise, and the air carried a faint, calming scent. A weighted blanket lay folded on a nearby cot, and noise-canceling headphones rested on a small table.

Carefully, the hero placed Kei down on the cot. “This room’s built to help with sensory regulation,” he explained. “Low light, soundproofing, stuff to ground him—should make it easier for his brain to process everything without freaking out.”

Yuzuru gave a slow nod, his concern still evident but slightly tempered by understanding. “How long will he be like this?”

The hero exhaled. “Depends on the person. Could be minutes, could be hours. But once his brain adjusts, he’ll wake up on his own.”

Ichiro crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “So we just wait?”

“Pretty much.” The hero gave a small shrug. “Not much else to do until he comes to.”

They all exited the room in silence.

“Thank you for the help, Hayataro,” Yuzuru said, inclining his head slightly in gratitude.

“It was nothing, kiddo,” the hero replied with a casual wave. Then, his expression turned more serious. “But what exactly happened to him? I can’t imagine Koshimizu letting someone your age ingest Lucidus, but that kid…” He glanced toward the sensory room with a furrowed brow. “He’s showing all the signs.”

Yuzuru parted his lips to respond, but before he could say anything, Ichiro suddenly burst out—

“Wait! Did you just say Hayataro?! Like the fast and brave Hayataro?! The electric canine hero?!” His voice shot up in pitch, eyes practically sparkling as he stepped forward.

Before the situation could escalate, Yuzuru stepped in. “Dazai, not the time,” he said firmly, shooting Ichiro a serious look. That was enough to shut him up immediately.

Turning to Hayataro, Yuzuru continued, “I don’t know how much I can say, but to put it simply—Amemura, the one you just placed in the sensory room, and Dazai here,” he gestured toward Ichiro, “were with me yesterday when the Takenawa Tunnel started to collapse.”

Tao perked up at this. The guys had been about to explain what had happened before Kei passed out, and now she was finally getting her answer.

“I managed to grab Dazai before we both fell,” Yuzuru explained, “but I didn’t have enough time to reach Amemura. He… fell into what seemed to be an abandoned lab. I don’t know exactly what happened, since he was alone down there, but from what he told us, Abdiel must have launched Daemon, and somehow, he crashed into the same place where Amemura had landed.”

“An abandoned lab… under the Takenawa Tunnel…” Hayataro repeated, his face paling.

“Yes, Hayataro, it’s the one you’re thinking of,” came a voice from behind them.

Everyone except Hayataro jumped in surprise—Koshimizu had appeared as if out of thin air.

“The lab in charge of Project Proto-Fiend,” he confirmed.

Tao sucked in a sharp breath. She didn’t know all the details about the project, but she had been with Bethel long enough to have the general knowledge about it.

“Somehow, Amemura stumbled upon a capsule containing a Model Aogami,” Koshimizu continued, his tone heavy. “And he ended up merging with it.”

Tao’s eyes widened. He merged with a pseudo-robotic hero?

“As a result, when they separated after Atsuta retrieved them and brought them back to Bethel, Amemura began showing signs of having awakened the full potential of his brain,” Koshimizu finished. “Right now, we’re keeping him under observation for further testing. I came here the fastest I could once I learned he passed out.” He said while looking through the one-way mirror that led to the room where Kei was resting.

His expression darkened slightly. “It seems the Magatsuhi has now reached his brain.”

Yuzuru’s brows furrowed. “So it’s progressing.”

Koshimizu gave a slow nod. “His body was the first to react—enhanced reflexes, strength, stamina. But now, his cognitive and sensory functions are being affected.”

Tao’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—his body reacted first?” She looked between Yuzuru and Ichiro. “I just learned that he merged with Aogami, but I didn’t realize his changes were immediate, Lucidus usually take some days to take effect.”

Ichiro rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s been… a lot. He’s been able to lift ridiculous amounts of weight ever since, you saw it yourself earlier at lunch, and yesterday even unconsciously controlled a bit of water. And now, well…” He gestured toward the sensory room.

Tao frowned, taking a moment to process this new information. “So his brain is just now catching up to his body?”

Hayataro crossed his arms. “More like his brain hit the next stage of adaptation. If I had to guess, he’s experiencing a full-scale sensory overload. His body isn’t used to processing this much information at once.”

Ichiro shifted uncomfortably. “But he’ll be okay, right?”

Koshimizu’s gaze remained fixed on the unconscious boy. “That depends.”

Ichiro tensed. “On what?”

“On whether or not his body can keep up with his mind.”

A heavy silence settled over the group. The weight of those words sank in.

Tao exhaled sharply. “So what do we do? Just wait?”

“For now, yes,” Koshimizu admitted. “But if his condition worsens, we may need to intervene.”

As if responding to his words, a faint pulse of energy rippled through the room. The lights flickered momentarily.

Kei stirred. His fingers twitched slightly before curling into weak fists. A sharp inhale followed as his body stiffened, reacting to the overwhelming flood of sensations creeping back in.

“And that’s the signal we were waiting for,” Hayataro said, checking the clock. “He was out for about 50 minutes. The sensory overload should have dulled a little, but it won’t be completely gone.”

Inside the room, Kei’s breathing hitched. Even in the controlled environment, every sensation was overwhelming—the faint hum of the lights drilling into his skull, the weight of the blanket pressing down on him like a lead sheet, the distant murmur of voices beyond the door reverberating like a deafening chorus. He clenched his eyes shut, willing it all to fade.

Outside, the others waited in tense silence, watching for his next move.

Slowly, Kei clawed his way back to consciousness, his head pounding like a war drum. The flood of sensory information still swirled around him, but the crushing intensity had dulled—just enough for him to grasp reality. Disoriented, teetering on the edge of panic, he struggled to piece together what had happened.

The last thing he remembered was sitting in Bethel’s canteen, eating lunch with the others. Then, out of nowhere, a searing pain in his skull—blinding, inescapable. And then… nothing.

He forced his eyes open. A ceiling he didn’t recognize greeted him. The sterile, featureless room around him gave the impression of an isolation chamber. The walls were smooth, unmarked, offering no sense of time or place. A faint vibration in the floor hinted at some hidden mechanism beneath, and the air carried a strange, almost artificial stillness, as if engineered to be devoid of anything unnecessary.

Then, his gaze landed on the mirror.

It stretched across one wall, beside what he assumed was the door—though it blended seamlessly into the surroundings, the slightest inconsistencies giving it away. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what that mirror was. A one-way glass. And just as he feared, he wasn’t alone.

A chill crawled up his spine. He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel them—seven people, standing just beyond the glass, watching. Observing.

Like a test subject in a cage.

The thought sent a bitter chill down his spine.

This was worse than his recitals. At least during those, he had an outlet—he could pour himself into the performance, let the music consume him, drown out the weight of all those eyes watching him expectantly. But here? There was no escape. No piano to play. No stage to stand on. Just the suffocating awareness of unseen figures scrutinizing his every move.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be able to feel them like this—to know exactly where they stood, how many there were, the weight of their gazes pressing through the glass.

It wasn’t normal.

Kei’s breath quickened. His fingers dug into his scalp as panic clawed its way up his throat.

“Amemura-kun, can you hear me?”

The sudden voice—Koshimizu’s, projected through a speaker—hit him like a shockwave. He recoiled, his nerves snapping under the pressure. A sharp pain pulsed behind his eyes as he clutched his head tighter, as if he could physically shut out the sound.

“Too loud, I guess,” Koshimizu murmured to himself on the other side.

“Yes. Too loud.” Kei’s voice was strained, his hands still gripping his head. “This volume is better.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

The observers—three high schoolers, a hero, the prime minister, and two scientists diligently taking notes—froze in place, their gazes darting toward Koshimizu.

Because he hadn’t used the microphone.

Even for someone with heightened senses, hearing through the insulated walls of the sensory room should have been impossible—unless the microphone was on or the door was open.

But neither was the case.

And yet, Kei had heard him.

Since this morning, Kei’s results have been out of the chart. Nothing that they had ever seen before. But this, this was unheard off, impossible even.

A low whistle cut through the tense silence, making Kei flinch. Hayataro was the first to shake off the shock.

“Look, kid,” he said gently, his voice steady and reassuring. “What you’re experiencing right now is called sensory overload. I was explaining it to your friends while you were unconscious.”

Kei swallowed hard, his fingers still curled near his temples.

“It’s not uncommon for those who awaken the full potential of their brain—at least in the beginning. For the first few weeks, while your body adjusts, you’ll struggle to regulate and process the massive influx of sensory information. That’s why, after you passed out, I brought you here.”

Kei’s eyes widened as he processed the explanation. His throat felt tight.

“Wait—so it’s going to be this loud all the time?” he asked, dreading the answer. He still had his recitals to perform—if this continued, how could he even play?

“Not all the time,” Hayataro reassured him. “Yes, you’ll hear things more sharply than before, and you’ll be able to selectively tune out certain sounds, visual details, and sensations—but right now, your brain is still adjusting to the Magatsuhi flowing through you.”

Magatsuhi. That word again. Kei clenched his jaw.

“Why now?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration. “I thought my body had been producing it since yesterday.”

He had unconsciously manipulated water yesterday, and according to the scientists this morning, that was all thanks to Magatsuhi.

Hayataro nodded. “Because, until now, the Magatsuhi level in your blood wasn’t high enough to affect your brain to thisextent. But that’s changed.”

Kei stared at the mirror, his expression clouded with confusion. His mind was still reeling from everything he’d just learned, but the older man’s calm demeanor was oddly reassuring.

“Get some more rest, kid,” Hayataro said, nodding toward the table. “There are noise-canceling headphones over there. Put them on and try to sleep a bit more. It’ll help.”

Kei hesitated for a moment before murmuring, “Thanks…” His voice was quiet, almost uncertain. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And… for bringing me here after I passed out.”

Hayataro shrugged as if it were no big deal. “It’s nothing. I’m usually the one put in charge of newbies and heroes-in-training, so I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

Kei took the headphones and carefully placed them over his ears. The effect was immediate. The constant, overwhelming flood of sound dulled to a manageable hum, giving him his first taste of relief since waking up. His body, still exhausted, finally relaxed, and within moments, sleep pulled him under.

Koshimizu glanced at the monitor displaying Kei’s vitals one last time before turning away. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his tone firm yet composed. “You kids should head back to the canteen and finish your lunch. From what I understand, you were in the middle of it before all this happened.”

“But—!” Ichiro started, his concern evident.

“No buts,” Koshimizu interrupted. “I’ll keep you posted.” His tone left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Ichiro and the others exchanged glances before giving in. They knew pushing back wouldn’t change anything. With one last look toward the room where Kei was sleeping, they turned and left.

As soon as they exited, Koshimizu motioned for Hayataro to follow him into another room. Once inside, he handed the man a tablet. “Here,” he said.

Hayataro, one of Koshimizu’s most trusted subordinates, took the tablet carefully, his sharp eyes scanning the data displayed on the screen. His expression tensed.

“This is…” he muttered, barely believing what he was seeing.

“These are the results from the tests we ran on Amemura-kun—the kid you brought to the sensory room,” Koshimizu explained.

Hayataro’s brow furrowed. “I figured he was one of the kids you mentioned yesterday—the ones you wanted me to train alongside Atsuta. But I wasn’t expecting this. You did say he was a special case, but…  these results, the fact that he could hear us from the sensory room, hell here it says that he can manipulate three elements? I thought he was an electric type like me after I felt the Magatsuhi surge when he woke up and made the lights flicker.”

He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking again. “Any idea why his results are so…?”

“So far beyond the average?” Koshimizu finished for him. He exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. “I have a few theories. His abrupt awakening, for one—he fused with Aogami, an inorganic being. It’s possible that fusion came with side effects we haven’t accounted for.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the tablet as if weighing his words.

Hayataro caught the shift immediately. “You’ve got something in mind, sir?”

Koshimizu’s jaw tightened slightly. “You could say that. But it’s just speculation… a possibility that might also explain why he was even capable of merging with Aogami in the first place.”

Chapter Text

Kei woke up groggily but undeniably feeling better. The overwhelming flood of sensations that had crippled him before had dulled to a manageable level. His senses were still sharper than they had been before all this, but now, he felt like he had at least some control over them.

Slowly, he removed the noise-canceling headphones and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing in particular. Just when he thought he couldn’t change any further, this happened. The man who had spoken to him earlier had told him he would continue to perceive the world more intensely. He could only hope it wouldn’t interfere with his ability to play the piano. Not just the recitals… playing in general. Letting myself go.

“Amemura-kun, can you hear me now?”

The sudden voice startled Kei. He flinched slightly before nodding.

“Good. It seems you’ve stabilized. How are you feeling? Any pain? Headache? Vertigo?”

Kei shook his head.

“Excellent. You’re free to leave the sensory room. If you ever experience sensory overload again, you’re welcome to use any of the available rooms in the facility.”

A soft mechanical hiss followed as the door unlocked and opened.

The light from outside was briefly overwhelming, making Kei squint, but his eyes adjusted—too quickly. The way his body adapted so seamlessly should have worried him, but he was too drained to dwell on it.

Outside, he found Koshimizu waiting alongside a pair of scientists and another man—one Kei instinctively knew was the person who had spoken to him earlier. There was no logical explanation for it, but the certainty settled deep in his gut.

Turning to the man, Kei bowed slightly. “Once again, thank you for bringing me here after I passed out,” he said, his tone polite—the kind he usually reserved for adults, his parents, or others at a recital. Unless, of course, he was really annoyed.

The man raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment. For a second, Kei wondered if he had been mistaken.

Then, the man smiled. “It seems you’ve got a sharp instinct.”

Kei wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he simply straightened and nodded.

Koshimizu stepped forward, his sharp gaze assessing him. “How’s your perception now? Still too intense, or have you gained some control over it?”

Kei took a moment to consider before answering. “It’s… manageable. Still sharper than before, but not overwhelming.”

One of the scientists, the same woman who went to fetch him during breakfast, tapped something into her tablet. “That’s expected. Your neural activity has stabilized, but your sensory processing is still heightened. It will take time for your brain to fully adapt to the influx of Magatsuhi.”

Kei took a slow breath, already dreading where this was going.

“But for now…” the scientist continued, her tone calm but firm. “It would be best for all of us—especially you—if we conducted some tests on your current condition.”

There it was. Kei’s shoulders tensed. He knew this was coming. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but that didn’t make him any more enthusiastic about it.

“…Right now?” he asked, voice still groggy.

“Not immediately,” she assured him, tapping at her tablet again. “You just woke up, and it’s important that we don’t overwork you. But once you’ve fully stabilized, we need to assess your sensory processing—how much your perception has changed, whether you can regulate it, and what range of stimuli you can handle.”

Kei frowned. “Didn’t you already test me this morning?”

“We ran physical and did some brain scans,” she reminded him. “At the time, your senses weren’t reacting the way they are now. Since your neural activity has spiked, we need to reassess your sensory thresholds.”

Kei sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew arguing would be pointless. If they were worried enough to put him in an isolation room, they weren’t going to let him off without thoroughly checking his condition.

Koshimizu, who had been silent so far, finally stepped in. “For now, don’t push yourself. Get some food, clear your head. Once you’re feeling up to it, we’ll begin the evaluations.”

Kei glanced at the others. The scientist still had her tablet ready, already logging data. Hayataro was watching him closely, his expression unreadable.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Just… give me a bit.”

Koshimizu nodded. “Take your time.”

Kei pushed himself up from the bed, stretching slightly. His body still felt strange—not weak, but different, like something inside him had shifted without him noticing. As he walked toward the exit, he hesitated briefly.

“…Wait. What about the others? Dazai, Atsutsa and Isonokami-san?”

“They’re back at the canteen,” Koshimizu said. “I told them to finish their lunch. They’ll be updated on your condition soon.”

Kei hummed in response, then stepped out of the room.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt the difference. The air outside wasn’t any different from before, but his body perceived it differently—like he could sense the faintest shifts in air currents, hear distant footsteps echoing down the hallway even though they were barely audible.

It was subtle, but noticeable.

And it wasn’t normal.

Kei exhaled slowly, steeling himself.

But some steps out in the hallway he remembered something. He had no idea where the canteen was… For starters he put a feed in Bethel’s HQ for the first time ever yesterday and ever since he had been guided to the places to which he had to go. Not to mention, when he was brought to the sensory room, he wasn’t conscious, so there’s no way for him to at least try to search for any reference point to guide himself.

Shyly he returned to the room where Koshimizu and the others where and with a bit red because of shame he said “Sorry, but could someone guide me to the canteen? I’m honestly have no idea how to arrive there” 

They were all looking Kei expectantly, which made Kei even more self-conscious of the stares, which he hated.

Finally Hayataro spoke “Just follow the smell of food and you’ll find it in no time” he said as a matter of fact.

“As if I were a bloodhound?” Kei asked not really knowing how to feel about that and then something passed through his mind “Are you testing me already? Didn’t you just said it was important not to overwork me?”

The scientist at the very least had the decency of looking ashamed for being cached in the act, they still remember how angry Kei looked in the morning when he learned that he was tested without his knowledge. 

Still it didn’t change the outcome. He didn’t receive any aid to retrieve his route back to the canteen and was left to his own devices—his nose, apparently.

Kei sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course, they weren’t going to make this easy for him. He could already tell this was part of the so-called sensory evaluation they had just discussed.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I get lost, I’m blaming all of you.”

Hayataro just grinned. “You’ll be fine, kid. Trust your instincts.”

Kei wasn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring or just another test in itself, but either way, he had no choice. With a reluctant sigh, he turned on his heel and stepped back into the hallway.

At first, he had no idea where to even begin. The halls of Bethel’s HQ were uniform and sterile—clean white walls, bright overhead lighting, and little to no signage. For a moment, he debated just picking a random direction and hoping for the best, but then he took a breath.

Immediately, his senses flared to life.

A lot of scents filled the air, but he tried to filter out the irrelevant ones—disinfectant, ink from printed reports, the faint metallic tang of Magatsuhi residue lingering in the facility. Then, finally, something stood out.

Food.

It was subtle at first, but as he focused, it became clearer—the rich aroma of simmering broth, the faint spice of curry, the unmistakable scent of fresh rice.

Kei hesitated. It felt almost too easy to pinpoint now that he was paying attention.

It was weird. Unnatural. But right now, he didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it.

Following the scent, he moved through the halls, his footsteps light. Every few turns, he paused to take another breath, making sure he was still on track. It was strange how much more aware he was—like his body just knew where to go.

And sure enough, after a few minutes, he found himself in front of a large double-door entrance. Even without a sign, he knew this had to be the canteen. The scent of food was strongest here, and inside, he could hear the faint murmur of voices.

Kei took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, pushing the doors open, he stepped inside.

The canteen was about half-full, agents and staff members seated at long tables, chatting between bites of food. It didn’t take long to spot the familiar faces of Ichiro, Tao, and Yuzuru sitting together.

Ichiro was the first to notice him. His eyes lit up. “Amemura!”

At that, both Tao and Yuzuru turned as well, relief evident on their faces.

“You’re finally up,” Tao said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

Kei shrugged. “Better. Still getting used to… things.”

Yuzuru studied him for a moment before nodding. “It’s good to see you on your feet.” Then, with a hint of amusement, he added, “Did you find your way here on your own?”

Kei sighed, dropping into the seat across from them. “Not exactly by choice.”

Ichiro blinked. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“They made me track the canteen by smell .”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ichiro burst out laughing. “ What?! ”

Even Tao stifled a chuckle, while Yuzuru gave an exasperated sigh.

“To be fair,” Yuzuru said, “it sounds like they were already testing your heightened senses.”

Kei shot him a flat look. “I know that. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Ichiro was still laughing, wiping a tear from his eye. “Man, that’s ridiculous. What’s next, are they gonna make you track people by scent too?”

“Don’t give them ideas,” Kei grumbled.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but relax a little. Even with everything happening, being around them felt normal —or at least as normal as things could get.

Tao smiled, nudging a tray of food toward him. “Well, now that you’re here, you should eat. You probably need it.”

Kei glanced at the tray—rice, curry katsudon and the two desserts he chose earlier a oassion fruit cheesecake and a matcha tiramitsu. His stomach growled in response.

Right. He didn’t get to eat a lot before passing out.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, picking up his chopsticks. “Guess I should.”

As he took his first bite, he couldn’t help but think—if his senses were going to be this sharp from now on, at least food still tasted good.

“Wait, wasn’t this the same tray I had a midday?” Kei asked after taking some bites of his curry covered Katsudon. 

“Yeah” answered Ichiro “apparently after we left them behind when you fainted, some lunch ladies came and put them aside waiting for our return, they even heated them up”

“Mmmm…” Kei said seeing his tray “Wait, but how were you able to bring my tray to the table?” he asked remembering how heavy it is.

“We didn’t, someone brought it here a bit before you arrived” Tao said

Kei paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering over his tray. Someone brought it here before I even arrived?

His eyes flickered toward the counter where the lunch staff were working. He could see a few of them bustling around, but none seemed to be paying him any particular attention.

That… was oddly thoughtful. And efficient.

“…Did they say anything?” Kei asked, glancing at Tao.

She shook her head. “No, just that it was yours and that you’d be here soon.”

Kei frowned slightly, but he let it go. At the very least, it was nice to know that the staff here weren’t completely heartless.

“Well, whoever did it, I appreciate it,” he muttered before taking another bite.

The familiar taste of curry and crispy pork cutlet filled his mouth, and for the first time since waking up in the sensory room, he actually felt grounded again. The food was warm, the flavors sharp— sharper than he remembered, actually.

His senses were still heightened, after all. He could pick up on the faint spices in the curry, the umami richness of the miso soup, the way the rice had absorbed just the right amount of broth. It was almost overwhelming… but not in a bad way.

Maybe this was one part of his new state that he could live with.

“So,” Yuzuru said after a moment, leaning forward slightly. “What exactly did they tell you about your condition?”

Kei swallowed before answering. “That my body is still adjusting. My brain is processing sensory input differently because of the Magatsuhi. It’ll settle eventually, but I’ll still be more aware of things than before.”

Ichiro whistled. “Man, that sounds kinda cool but also kinda awful.”

“Both,” Kei admitted.

Tao tilted her head. “Does that mean you can control it? Like, can you ‘turn down’ your senses when it gets too much?”

Kei considered that. “Not exactly. At least, not yet. I think I can filter some things out if I focus, but it’s not like flipping a switch.”

Yuzuru nodded. “That makes sense. It’s a natural adaptation, not something artificial.”

Kei hummed in agreement, then sighed. “Still, it’s a pain. Just getting here was a test, apparently.”

Ichiro grinned. “Bet you’ll ace all their exams at this rate.”

Kei groaned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

The group chuckled, and for a brief moment, it felt like things were normal again. Kei focused on eating, appreciating the moment of peace—however short it might be.

Kei let out a small sigh, poking at his rice with his chopsticks. It was strange how things had changed in such a short amount of time.

For three years, he had kept to himself, maintaining a careful distance from everyone at school. It was easier that way. No unnecessary conversations, no expectations, no one prying into his business. And yet, now he found himself sitting here, eating lunch with the very people he had once gone out of his way to avoid.

And worse?

He didn’t hate it.

The warmth of their presence, the casual way they talked to him—not like he was something fragile or some experiment under observation, but just him —felt… comforting. Cozy, even.

When did I start letting my guard down around them?

Ichiro, with his endless energy and goofy optimism. Yuzuru, always calm and reliable. And now Tao, who had an ease about her that made it hard to stay distant.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, the walls he had built so carefully had started to crack.

Kei pushed his thoughts aside and focused on finishing his meal. Overthinking wasn’t going to do him any favors, and he still had no idea what else Bethel had planned for him.

But one thing was certain—normal was fleeting. It shifted and redefined itself, and the life he had known for the past 17 years was evolving into something else entirely.

They continued eating, chatting amongst themselves, and at some point, Kei noticed Tao staring at him intently.

What now…?

“What?” he asked flatly, not even bothering to look up as he scooped a bite of his tiramisu.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Just thinking that the image I had of you is way different from who you actually are. You should try acting like this at school.”

Kei groaned at that, which earned a few chuckles from the others.

“And Atsuta-kun was right,” Tao added, her tone entirely too cheerful. “You’re surprisingly expressive. And dramatic.”

Another groan.

The chuckles turned into full laughter, and Kei slumped forward slightly, muttering under his breath. He should’ve just stayed in the sensory room.

Suddenly, Kei felt a presence approaching from behind. It was an odd sensation—like a shift in the air, a quiet disturbance in the space around him. His body tensed instinctively before his mind even registered it.

He wasn’t seeing it. He wasn’t hearing it. But he knew it was there. Just like back in the sensory room with the one-way mirror.

His grip on his spoon tightened slightly.

A second later, footsteps became audible, confirming what his instincts had already told him. A scientist had entered the canteen, heading straight toward him.

Kei exhaled through his nose. Guess break time is over.

The scientist stopped beside him, clearing her throat to get his attention—not that she needed to. Kei had already been aware of her approach long before she spoke.

“Amemura-kun, I hope you’re feeling better,” she began, her tone polite but professional. “If you’re ready, we’d like to proceed with the sensory evaluations.”

Kei sighed, setting down his spoon. He had barely started his dessert. Figures.

Yuzuru gave him a sympathetic look. “Want me to save the tiramisu for you?”

Kei hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… thanks.”

He stood up reluctantly, stretching his arms before turning to the scientist. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ichiro grinned. “Good luck, dude. Hope they don’t poke your brain too hard. Again.”

Kei shot him a flat look but didn’t respond, following the scientist out of the canteen.

As they walked, he noticed something strange—he could hear her breathing, steady and measured. The rustle of her lab coat was oddly crisp in his ears, like someone turning a page right beside him. Even the faintest scuff of her shoes against the floor stood out.

It wasn’t just his hearing. He could feel the way the air shifted slightly every time she moved, like a presence brushing against his awareness.

It was unsettling.

And worse—he was getting used to it.

As Kei walked away, Tao called out casually, “Try not to be too dramatic about it, Amemura-kun.”

He turned his head just enough to glare at her, but she only grinned in response. “No promises,” he muttered before continuing on his way.

Behind him, he could hear Ichiro chuckling. “Man, he really is dramatic.”

Tao just smiled, watching as Kei left. Despite everything, he was adjusting. Maybe not happily, but he was pushing through. And for someone who spent years keeping his distance, that was progress.

Once again, Kei was led to the labs, where he underwent the same brain scans as in the morning. This time, however, the purpose was to compare the results—to see just how much his brain activity had shifted since his abrupt sensory awakening.

As he lay still, the hum of the machines filled the room. He could feel the subtle vibrations in the air, the faintest electrical currents running through the equipment. It was strange how aware he was of everything now, how nothing seemed to slip past his senses. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell exactly where everyone in the room was positioned, hear the way their pens scratched against clipboards as they took notes, even pick up the sound of their breathing patterns.

“You’re much calmer than this morning,” one of the scientists noted, her voice neutral as she observed him through the monitor.

Kei opened his eyes slightly. “I guess I’m getting used to it,” he said, though the words felt strange. Could you really get used to something like this?

The scientist tapped a few keys, pulling up his latest scan results. “Your brain activity has stabilized significantly compared to before. The initial shock to your system must have passed, but you’re still processing information at a much higher rate than an average human and even heroes.”

Kei didn’t know how to feel about that. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Did it even matter? He had no choice but to deal with it either way.

“Now, let’s move on to the sensory tests,” the scientist continued, motioning for him to follow.

Kei sighed internally. He had a feeling this was going to take a while.

Kei was led into another room, one that was quieter, dimly lit, and far less sterile-looking than the scanning chamber. It seemed designed for focus, not just examination. A long table stood in the center, lined with various objects and equipment, and a few of the scientists from before had already taken their positions around it, watching him with clinical interest.

“First, we’ll begin with auditory perception,” the lead scientist announced, motioning for Kei to take a seat.

Kei had a feeling he already knew where this was going.

A series of headphones was placed in front of him, each connected to a different device. He put them on as instructed, and soon, the test began. They started with simple tones, beeps at varying frequencies. Kei frowned—some were so high-pitched he was sure they were meant to be outside human hearing range, and yet, he could pick up every single one. He could even tell which direction they were coming from, which speaker was emitting them, even before they were directly played in his ears.

The scientists exchanged a few murmured comments, adjusting their instruments.

Then came layered sounds—multiple voices speaking at once, overlapping conversations, the kind of background noise meant to simulate a crowded room. Kei instinctively started separating them in his head, picking out each voice one by one. He could understand them all, but it was overwhelming, like trying to listen to five different lectures at once. He clenched his jaw.

“Amemura-kun?”

He blinked, realizing the scientist had called his name. “I can hear all of them. I can… separate them, but it’s a lot.”

Another exchange of glances. “Understood. Moving on.”

The next set of tests involved his sight. They dimmed the lights almost to nothing, and Kei immediately tensed. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but something in his body responded to it in a way he wasn’t used to. Then, tiny flashes appeared on a screen in front of him—barely visible, almost imperceptible blinks of light. They were supposed to test how quickly he could recognize them, but Kei found himself tracking each one effortlessly, as if his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness before the test even began.

“This one was supposed to be difficult,” one of the scientists muttered under their breath.

“Try increasing the speed,” another suggested.

They did. The flashes became faster, moving erratically across the screen, but Kei still caught them all. His pupils dilated slightly, his brain registering each one in real time. At some point, he realized he was anticipating where the next one would appear.

“Still keeping up?”

“Yeah,” Kei answered automatically. He wanted to ask if that was normal, but from the way they were acting, he already knew the answer.

Then came touch.

They placed a set of textured surfaces in front of him—smooth, rough, bumpy, grainy, things meant to test how finely he could distinguish between different sensations. But that wasn’t what caught him off guard. No, what really startled him was when they brought out a feather and lightly ran it over his arm.

Kei twitched violently, a sharp shudder running through him.

He wasn’t particularly ticklish, but this was different. It wasn’t just a light sensation—he felt everything. The way the individual strands of the feather brushed against his skin, the minuscule shift in air pressure as it moved, even the static from the scientist’s hand as they held it.

“Too much?” they asked.

Kei exhaled through his nose, grounding himself. “Just… unexpected.”

They continued, testing temperature next. First warm, then cold. Even though they only applied mild changes—nothing extreme—Kei reacted faster than anticipated, feeling every shift the moment it happened. He could tell exactly where the warmth spread and how quickly it faded, as if his nerves were hyperaware of even the most subtle differences.

The scientists didn’t say much, but Kei noticed the way their pens paused on their clipboards before they resumed writing.

Smell was next.

A set of vials was placed in front of him, each containing different scents. Some were strong, meant to be obvious—citrus, mint, coffee. But others were faint, barely there, the kind of smells that should have required deep focus to detect. Kei didn’t need any effort.

He identified them all immediately.

At one point, they switched to a scent that had no obvious source, a mix of something faintly metallic and floral. Kei frowned. “This one… is weird.”

“It’s a diluted compound we use in controlled environments,” the scientist explained. “It’s not something a person should be able to pick up at this concentration.”

Well. That explained the awkward shift in their expressions.

Finally, taste.

Kei was given a blind taste test—small samples of different flavors, each meant to measure sensitivity. He could distinguish them all down to the smallest detail, even picking up elements that weren’t supposed to be noticeable. The faintest hint of spice, the underlying bitterness in something otherwise sweet, the exact type of citrus used in a blend.

At some point, one of the scientists leaned toward another and muttered something. Kei caught it anyway.

“This is beyond the usual threshold.”

It wasn’t a test anymore. It was confirmation.

By the time it ended, Kei sat back, rubbing his temples. His head didn’t hurt, but it was a lot. The realization that his senses weren’t just enhanced—they were on an entirely different level now—was setting in more than ever.

He didn’t need them to tell him what the results were. Their reactions spoke for themselves.

“We’ll stop for now,” one of them finally said. “We’ll continue observing your progress, but for now, go to the training room where your friends are.”

Kei stood, stretching slightly. He should have felt exhausted, but instead, there was an odd alertness running through him. He didn’t know how long it would last, or if this would just be his new normal.

But as he stepped toward the door, he caught one last glance between the scientists. A quiet exchange, uncertain but serious.

Something told him he wasn’t the only one struggling to grasp what was happening.

Just before crossing the threshold, he turned around to face them. “Where’s the training room?” he asked, dreading that they might just tell him to sniff it out like they had with the canteen.

They exchanged another look before one of them finally responded. “At this point, you should be able to find it by yourself.”

How am I supposed to find a place I’ve never been to before? Kei thought, suppressing the urge to sigh.

“This isn’t like the canteen. I can’t just sniff it out like a dog,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone polite rather than deadpan.

“Well, technically, you could track down your friends by scent,” the scientist admitted. “But what we meant is that, by now, you should be able to…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Feel them? Sense them? Honestly, I don’t know how to explain it—especially since none of us have ever experienced something like this before.”

Kei wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. And even if he wanted to deny it, deep down, he understood what they meant.

Back when he woke up in the sensory room—despite it being completely sealed, with the only ‘window’ to the outside being the one-way mirror—he knew there were seven people on the other side. He didn’t see them. He didn’t hear them. He just knew .

Just like he knew that three of them were Tao, Yuzuru, and Ichiro.

But that was in a relatively enclosed space.

A whole building, though?

That was an entirely different challenge.

…Right?

Kei hesitated for a moment, glancing down the hallway as if expecting a sign, something that would point him in the right direction. But there was nothing—just the steady hum of the building, the faint, sterilized scent of the labs, and the expectant gazes of the scientists still watching him.

He exhaled slowly. Fine. If they weren’t going to give him directions, he might as well try.

Closing his eyes, he let his other senses take over.

At first, it was just noise. The distant echo of footsteps, the murmur of voices in rooms beyond his line of sight, the subtle hum of machinery running somewhere deep within the facility. A constant flood of information that, only a few hours ago, would have left him dizzy and overwhelmed. But now… now, he could filter through it.

He focused.

There—somewhere further ahead, a familiar presence. No, two of them.

It wasn’t something he could see or even fully explain. It was just… a pull, like a string stretched between him and the people he knew. The same way he knew Tao, Yuzuru, and Ichiro were in the observation room earlier.

His eyes snapped open, and without another word, he started walking.

The scientists exchanged glances, but no one stopped him.

Step by step, Kei followed the invisible thread that tied him to the others. He turned corners without hesitation, took hallways he had never walked before, but somehow knew would lead him where he needed to go. He wasn’t guessing. His body moved with certainty, guided by something deeper, something instinctive.

And then, just as naturally as breathing, he found himself standing in front of a set of double doors.

The training room.

Kei stared at the double doors, perplexed. His sense of direction had always been awful—he could lose his way even with a GPS—yet here he was, standing in front of what he hoped was the training room.

Or at least, where his friends were supposed to be. Friends… It was still weird for Kei to think of them that way. Friends. The word felt unfamiliar, like a borrowed coat that didn’t quite fit yet. For years, he had avoided drawing attention to himself, keeping others at arm’s length. But now, despite everything—despite himself —he had somehow ended up with people who cared about him…

He frowned, glancing around as if the walls themselves might confirm it. The whole thing was ridiculous. He had followed a feeling, a pull toward something familiar, and somehow, it had led him here. He should have been irritated—one more strange ability stacked onto the ever-growing list of things he didn’t understand—but, begrudgingly, he had to admit… this one might actually be useful.

Kei hesitated for just a second longer, then sighed and rolled his shoulders. No point in standing around second-guessing himself.

With a firm push, he opened the doors.

Inside, Kei found himself in what looked like a mix between a school gym and a high-tech training facility. The spacious room had reinforced walls and a high ceiling lined with bright overhead lights. The floor was marked with subtle lines, likely for different types of drills or sparring exercises.

At the far end, a large screen was mounted on the wall, with a console beneath it—probably for reviewing training data, displaying lesson plans, or running simulations. Scattered around the room were various adjustable platforms, weighted obstacles, and target dummies, suggesting a space designed for both physical conditioning and combat practice.

Near the center of the room, his friends were already training—or, more accurately, Ichiro was struggling to copy what Yuzuru was doing. Not far from them stood the man who had brought Kei to the sensory room after he passed out, observing their progress with a sharp gaze.

Both Ichiro and Yuzuru wore the hero-in-training armband. As Koshimizu had explained yesterday, these armbands temporarily granted their wearers a fraction of a hero’s abilities—everything except Magatsuhi manipulation. They weren’t strong enough for direct combat, but they provided enough of a boost to be useful in supporting roles—rescuing civilians, relaying information, and assisting in defensive maneuvers. It was a way to prepare trainees for real situations without throwing them into danger unprepared.

Not that Ichiro seemed particularly focused on strategy at the moment. He was attempting—rather poorly—to mimic Yuzuru’s movements, his stance unsteady and his execution clumsy. Every few seconds, he’d steal a glance at Yuzuru before awkwardly adjusting his form.

Yuzuru, by contrast, moved with effortless precision. Every step, every shift in weight, every strike was controlled and deliberate, a clear testament to his training.

Kei’s gaze drifted to the man overseeing them. Arms crossed, he watched their movements with an unreadable expression, as if analyzing every flaw, every hesitation.

“Are you going to stand there gawking, or are you actually coming in?” the man asked, still not bothering to turn around.

His words shattered the focus of the two high schoolers, who immediately turned toward the entrance to see the new arrival.

Kei, now the unintentional center of attention, let out a quiet sigh before stepping further inside. He had no idea how he always managed to draw everyone’s eyes, but at this point, he was resigned to it.

“And you two,” the man continued, his voice firm as he turned his attention back to Ichiro and Yuzuru. “From the start. If this had been a real battle, that kind of distraction could have put you in a dangerous situation. Worst case scenario? You’d be dead. You cannot afford to lose focus.”

Ichiro groaned but obediently reset his stance, muttering something under his breath.

“Remember,” the man went on, “the armband’s effect isn’t limitless. You need to know when to activate it and for how long. Even a second can make a difference. Overuse it, and you’ll do more than just exhaust yourself—you could cause severe damage to your body and even your mind.”

Slowly, Kei stepped forward and positioned himself beside the man, his gaze settling on the scene before him.

Rather than a full-on spar, it looked more like an exercise meant to familiarize Ichiro with the armband’s functionality, using Yuzuru’s movements as a reference. Kei could see the difference immediately—while Yuzuru’s motions were sharp and controlled, Ichiro’s were clumsy, his timing just a little off, his footwork unsteady.

Even from where he stood, Kei could tell Ichiro was still adjusting to the temporary boost the armband provided. It wasn’t just about strength or speed—it was about control. Without it, the extra power would be more of a hindrance than a help.

Kei huffed quietly. He had already learned that lesson the hard way after yesterday’s incident. And he was certain that if not for his naturally calm and collected demeanor, he—

His thoughts stalled.

Would what? Have panicked? Lashed out? Lost himself completely?

Kei didn’t know. That uncertainty gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside for now.

Instead, he focused on the training in front of him. Ichiro was still struggling with the armband’s effects, overcompensating for the sudden bursts of speed and strength it granted him. He lunged too forcefully, nearly tripping over his own feet before catching himself at the last second. Yuzuru remained composed, adjusting his stance with practiced ease, as if guiding Ichiro just through his own movements.

The man beside Kei watched with sharp eyes, arms crossed. “He’s relying too much on the enhancement,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. Then, without looking, he addressed Kei. “What do you think?”

Kei blinked. “Huh?”

The man finally turned his head slightly toward him. “You’re observing, aren’t you? What do you see?”

Kei furrowed his brows, turning his gaze fully toward the sparring pair. He hadn’t expected to be questioned—he had just been watching absentmindedly. But now that he focused, he could see what the man meant.

Ichiro wasn’t adjusting to the armband’s effects; he was letting it carry him. Each movement was exaggerated, his reactions a fraction of a second too delayed as his body tried to catch up with itself. The bursts of speed threw off his balance, and the extra strength made his attacks wilder than necessary.

Kei sighed. “He’s not controlling it,” he said finally. “He’s letting it control him.”

The man hummed in approval. “And?”

Kei clicked his tongue. Was he being tested? He glanced at Yuzuru again, watching how his movements remained smooth and intentional. Even with Ichiro flailing in front of him, Yuzuru barely reacted, only making the necessary adjustments. It wasn’t about speed or power—it was about control.

“…He should stop trying to match Yuzuru’s movements exactly. He’s mimicking instead of adapting,” Kei muttered. “It’s like he’s expecting his body to just… follow through because of the armband, but that’s not how it works.”

The man gave him an amused glance. “Not bad.”

Kei rolled his eyes. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No, you’re not. He’s treating the enhancement as a crutch instead of a tool. If this were a real battle, he’d be the first to fall.”

As if on cue, Ichiro stumbled again, barely managing to stay upright. Yuzuru sighed, stepping back. “You’re too stiff, Dazai. You need to let the armband support you, not take over.”

Ichiro groaned. “Easy for you to say! You’re built for this stuff!”

Kei smirked slightly. “And you’re built to run headfirst into things without thinking,” he added dryly.

Ichiro shot him a betrayed look. “Not cool, man.”

The man beside Kei chuckled. “Well, if you have so much to say, why don’t you try?”

Kei stiffened. “…What?”

The man gestured toward the training area. “You’ve been watching. Let’s see if you can put that insight to use.”

Kei hesitated, glancing at the others. Yuzuru gave him a curious look, while Ichiro perked up immediately. “Oh, now this I gotta see.”

Kei sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had only meant to observe, not get dragged into anything. But the expectant looks from both his friends and the man beside him made it clear—he wasn’t getting out of this.

“…Fine,” he muttered, stepping forward.

“Remember, kid,” Hayataro said, arms crossed as he observed the scene, “unlike Yuzuru and Ichiro, your power-up isn’t temporary—it’s constant, permanent. In other words, this is more than just training. For you, it’s a lesson in self-control.”

Kei frowned slightly, but it wasn’t the words that threw him off—it was the way Hayataro spoke so casually, using Yuzuru and Ichiro’s first names as if they were old acquaintances. But that thought quickly faded as the weight of his statement settled in.

Self-control…

His grip tightened at his sides, a memory flashing through his mind—the way his fingers had crushed his tray at lunch without him even noticing. That had been a careless mistake, an absentminded moment. A plastic tray was one thing. But this? This was different.

This was a fight. Against another person.

Against Ichiro.

Someone he had started to appreciate, though he’d never admit it out loud.

Kei swallowed hard. If he didn’t hold back enough—if he miscalculated just once—

His breath hitched, a cold shiver running down his spine.

No. Don’t think about it.

But despite his best efforts, the thought lingered.

Kei exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax. He couldn’t afford to let his nerves take over—not here, not now.

Self-control. That was the key.

His fingers twitched slightly as he thought back to lunch. The way the tray had crumpled under his grip, how easily it had given way without him even realizing… That had been just a moment of absentmindedness. What if the same thing happened now?

He clenched his fists, then loosened them again. No. Think. Don’t act on instinct alone.

Across from him, Ichiro stretched his arms. “Alright, let’s do this! Don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I’m still getting used to the armband!”

Kei frowned, shifting his weight onto his back foot. “I’m not worried about you,” he muttered.

Ichiro grinned. “Good! Then let’s—”

Before he could finish, Yuzuru stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ichiro’s shoulder. “Don’t rush in,” he warned. “Amemura’s right to be cautious. This isn’t just a simple sparring match for him.”

Ichiro blinked. “…Oh.” His eyes flickered toward Kei, and for once, his usual energy dimmed just a bit. “Right. Uh. You sure you wanna do this?”

Kei exhaled through his nose. “It’s better to figure this out now rather than later, right?”

Ichiro studied him for a moment, then grinned again—though this time, it was a little less reckless. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

Kei shifted into position, feeling the tension in his muscles. Even now, his body felt light, stronger, different. He could feel the power humming under his skin, like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap if he wasn’t careful.

The moment Ichiro moved, Kei reacted.

Too fast.

His body responded before his mind could fully register it. He barely twisted to the side when he realized—he had miscalculated. Ichiro wasn’t moving fast. He was.

Kei’s breath hitched as he overstepped, momentum carrying him forward too quickly. In an instant, he saw Ichiro’s eyes widen as he moved to adjust, but—

I can’t stop—

A sharp gust of wind tore through the training room.

Kei twisted desperately, barely managing to shift his weight in time to stop himself from crashing into Ichiro. His foot skidded against the ground, a shock of force running up his leg, and the sheer strength of the sudden movement sent an intense burst of displaced air outward.

The training room lights flickered.

Ichiro staggered back, shielding his face as a sharp whoosh of wind kicked up dust. Yuzuru had already braced himself, though Kei could see the way his brow furrowed in concern.

Kei stood frozen. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at them. That wasn’t normal. He hadn’t meant to do that.

Silence settled for a few beats before Ichiro let out a breathless laugh. “Okay, wow. Uh. That was something.”

Kei swallowed, flexing his fingers. He could still feel it—the way the energy had surged forward, unrestrained, without warning. It wasn’t just physical enhancement. There was something else.

The man who had been watching finally spoke. “Like I said, this is a training of self-control,” Hayataro mused, his tone neutral but sharp. “You’ll have to learn to feel the limits of your own strength before you can wield it properly.”

Kei exhaled, his pulse still quickened from the shock. Easier said than done…

“At least you already have some baseline thanks to this morning’s tests,” Yuzuru said, his sharp gaze fixed on Kei.

Kei grimaced but couldn’t deny it. The scientists had made him lift dumbbells to gauge his strength, sprint through obstacle courses to measure his speed, and react to sudden stimuli to test his reflexes.

And frankly, the results had been terrifying.

On paper, he had a rough idea of his new limits—what his body could do when pushed. But performing under controlled conditions in a lab was one thing. Applying those abilities in a real training scenario—or worse, in everyday life—was something else entirely.

Out here, there were no carefully calibrated machines or clipped instructions. Out here, he had to navigate instinct, unpredictability… and the constant fear that he might hurt someone if he lost control.

His fingers flexed unconsciously, a lingering reminder of how easily he had crushed the plastic tray at lunch.

“I know my limits,” Kei muttered, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Yuzuru’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Knowing them isn’t the same as understanding them.”

Kei’s breath caught for a second, but he didn’t argue. Because deep down… he knew Yuzuru was right.

Ever since he had been forcefully admitted to Bethel, Kei had been impatiently counting down the days until Monday. It was his one hope of returning to his normal routine—or at least, whatever version of normal still existed for him now.

But as that moment crept closer, an unsettling weight settled in his chest.

A strong feeling of dread crawled through him, tightening its grip with every passing second.

He had spent years trying to perfect—and somewhat failing to—the art of blending into the background, of being just another face in the crowd. But after everything that had happened in the last two days, he knew—deep down—that walking back into his school as if nothing had changed was impossible.

His senses were sharper, his body stronger, his awareness heightened to levels that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Every slight movement, every shift in breath, every flicker of light—he noticed it all. It was exhausting. If he couldn’t even eat lunch without breaking a plastic tray by accident or getting overwhelmed by the smells, how was he supposed to go through an entire school day without slipping up?

And that wasn’t even considering the worst part.

People.

He had worked so hard to keep others at arm’s length, to avoid any unnecessary attention, and yet… here he was. Stuck in a place where he was suddenly surrounded by people who were constantly watching him and studying him. And somehow gained two or maybe even three friends.

But what worried about was, if others would be able to remark that he was different in school. Even if he was always on the quieted and reclusive side, for much that he tried to be invisible in the eyes of others, he somehow managed to attract some attention. The nickname that the students created to refer to him proves it—the Ice Price of Jouin.

Kei exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away.

None of that mattered right now. What mattered was making it through this training without completely embarrassing himself or accidentally injuring someone. Or destroying the facilities.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to force himself into a focused state of mind. “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s try again.”

“No.” Hayataro said.

“B-but!” Kei started taken aback by Hayataro’s blunt opposition.

“I already saw what I needed. You are too self-aware of your actual condition, which in part is good. But the thing is that you are too focus on it. This is one of the situations in which being too aware makes it harder for you to act naturally,” Hayataro finished, his tone unwavering.

Kei frowned, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a criticism. “So… what? I just stop thinking?”

“In a way,” Hayataro said. “You’re overcompensating. Your instincts are sharper now—sharper than you even realize—but you’re so focused on holding yourself back that you’re hesitating when you shouldn’t. You need to let yourself act, not overanalyze every little movement.”

Kei huffed, crossing his arms. “Easier said than done.”

“Since your awakening, you haven’t really caused any real damage, have you?” Hayataro continued, watching Kei carefully. “Think about it—you could’ve easily cracked the floor just by putting too much force into your steps. Or shattered a door handle just by gripping it wrong. But you haven’t. Not once.”

Kei blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. He had been worried about his strength all day, terrified of accidentally crushing something—or worse, someone. But now that Hayataro pointed it out… he hadn’t actually lost control, had he?

Sure, he broke that tray earlier, but that was more out of absentmindedness than raw strength. And everything else—the doors he opened, the chair he sat on, even the utensils he used—was still intact.

“So what does that tell you?” Hayataro pressed.

Kei hesitated, then reluctantly answered, “…That I’ve been holding back without realizing it?”

“Exactly,” Hayataro said. “Your body already knows how much force to use. You’re just second-guessing it. And that hesitation is what’s throwing you off.”

Kei exhaled, running a hand through his hair. This was so against his instincts, but at the same time, it made sense. He had been focusing so hard on not messing up that he hadn’t noticed his own restraint kicking in naturally.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as impossible as he thought.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his shoulders again. This time, he didn’t mutter anything under his breath. No mental preparation, no overthinking. Just movement.

“Good,” Hayataro said, satisfied. “Then let’s get to work.”

Kei exhaled, pushing aside the tension that had been building in his shoulders. Overthinking had always been his biggest enemy—whether it was academics, avoiding attention at school, his recitals or now, dealing with his new reality. If what Hayataro said was true, then maybe he needed to stop thinking so much and just move.

“Alright,” Hayataro said, stepping back. “Let’s start simple. Attack me.”

Kei’s mind screeched to a halt. “Excuse me?”

“Attack me,” Hayataro repeated, crossing his arms. “No holding back.”

Kei looked at him like he had just suggested jumping off a building. “You do realize I could seriously hurt you, right?”

Hayataro’s expression didn’t waver. “If you can land a hit, I’ll be impressed.”

That only made Kei more wary. His grip tightened at his sides, jaw clenching. He didn’t like this. Not because he was afraid of losing—he had no illusions about being some kind of fighter—but because he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even if Hayataro was confident, Kei wasn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Hayataro asked, his tail, which Kei hadn’t really remarked before, flicking lazily behind him. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Kei inhaled sharply through his nose, feeling the irritation spike. “Of course not,” he muttered.

“Then move.”

Kei didn’t overthink it this time. He lunged forward, aiming a quick, restrained punch toward Hayataro’s midsection—

—Only for the man to sidestep effortlessly, like he had already seen it coming.

Kei barely registered the dodge before his wrist was caught in an iron grip.

“Too slow,” Hayataro said. And then, without effort, he flipped Kei onto the floor.

Kei hit the mat hard, the impact jarring but not painful. His breath left him in a sharp exhale. He barely had time to register what happened before he heard snickering from the sidelines.

“That was kinda sad, Amemura” Ichiro called out, failing miserably to suppress his laughter.

“Shut up, ” Kei groaned, lifting himself up.

Hayataro was already standing in his usual, relaxed stance, as if he hadn’t just thrown Kei like a ragdoll. “Try again,” he said simply.

Kei scowled, shaking off the dizziness. Fine. If Hayataro wanted him to fight, he would fight.

He moved again—this time faster, aiming a strike toward his shoulder. Another sidestep. A pivot. Kei spun, shifting into a low kick to sweep Hayataro’s legs.

Nothing. Hayataro moved with such absurd ease, avoiding each attack like he wasn’t even trying. It was infuriating.

“You’re relying too much on strength, just like your friend over there” Hayataro said motioning to Ichiro, while deflecting another strike. “Think about what you’re doing .”

Kei bit back a frustrated retort, refocusing. He adjusted his stance, trying to remember what little self-defense he had learned over the years. He had never been in an actual fight before, but if brute force wasn’t working, then maybe—

There!

Kei caught the briefest shift in Hayataro’s weight—a split-second moment where he could strike. He moved on instinct, throwing a punch with everything he had—

—And suddenly, he was on the floor again.

“Better,” Hayataro said, watching him with amusement. “But not good enough.”

Kei groaned, staring at the ceiling. “I hate this.”

From the sidelines, Ichiro and Yuzuru were both watching with varying degrees of sympathy and amusement. 

“You’re learning,” Hayataro said, offering a hand. Kei grudgingly took it, letting himself be pulled up.

“ Am I?” Kei muttered, dusting himself off.

“Slowly,” Hayataro admitted. “But it’s progress.”

Kei exhaled, shaking out his limbs. His muscles were somewhat aching, but a part of him—deep down—felt something strange.

Not frustration. Not irritation.

Excitement.

Maybe, just maybe, this was something he could get used to. 

Kei frowned slightly. “Where is Isonokami-san?” He glanced around, realizing for the first time that she was no longer with them.

“She went back to the dormitories,” Yuzuru answered. “She came here after Miyazu told her where we were. Apparently, Miyazu was worried since she hadn’t heard from us since I called last night to say we were staying over at my workplace.”

Kei hummed in thought. “And she left just like that?”

“She saw we were fine,” Ichiro chimed in, stretching his arms behind his head. “Then we got dragged into training, and she figured she wasn’t needed. Said she had schoolwork to catch up on.”

Kei exhaled through his nose. He hadn’t spent much time around Isonokami-san before all this, but even now, she was proving to be unexpectedly considerate. He hadn’t expected her to check on them in the first place.

“I guess we should check in with her later,” Kei muttered.

Yuzuru nodded. “Agreed. Miyazu, too. She’s probably still worried. I’ll ask Koshimizu-san to let us use our phones for a moment before bed so we can update our families.”

Kei groaned internally. Right… his parents.

Would they even notice his absence from the dormitories? He doubted it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken to them. Usually, the only time they reached out was to inform him about another recital they had arranged for him—never to ask how he was doing. Never just to talk.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like he had anything to say to them anyway. He met all their expectations—excelled as a model student, maintained good grades, and never caused trouble. That was all they cared about.

But, if he was being honest… a small part of him was curious about how they would react to his current situation. Would they even acknowledge it? Or would they treat it like another minor inconvenience to be managed?

The thought amused him more than it should have. Before he even realized it, a small, almost mischievous smile curled at his lips, and a quiet chuckle escaped him.

Yuzuru and Ichiro froze.

Kei blinked, only now noticing the way both his friends were staring at him like he had just sprouted a second head.

“The hell are you two looking at?” he asked flatly, his amusement quickly vanishing.

Ichiro shook his head, still looking baffled. “Dude. You laughed. ”

Kei frowned. “So?”

“So?! The Ice Prince of Jouin just smiled and laughed out of nowhere! Do you have any idea how surreal that is?”

Yuzuru, though quieter in his reaction, nodded in agreement. “It is… unexpected.”

Kei sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known they wouldn’t let this go.

Hayataro cleared his throat, a deliberate cough cutting through their conversation. “If you’re all done gossiping,” he said dryly, arms crossed, “I hope you’re ready to actually focus on your training.”Without waiting for a response, he continued. “Here’s the plan.” His sharp gaze landed on Ichiro first. “Ichiro, your priority will be developing a fighting style of your own. Forget the armband for now—you’ll learn how to integrate it later. Just mimicking Yuzuru’s movements and relying on the boost it gives you won’t do you any favors in the long run.”

Ichiro visibly deflated, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Aw, man… Kei was pretty sure Hayataro heard it loud and clear but chose to ignore it.

Then, Hayataro shifted his attention to Yuzuru. “Yuzuru,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind, “you’ve been under my training for years now and while your technique is solid, you’ve hit a plateau.” Hayataro’s expression remained unreadable as he assessed Yuzuru. “You rely too much on form and precision, but real combat isn’t always clean. You need to learn how to adapt—how to break out of your own patterns when the situation demands it.”

Yuzuru nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. He took the feedback seriously, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Then, Hayataro’s gaze settled on Kei.

“And you.”

Kei straightened instinctively, already dreading what was coming next.

“You’re the biggest wild card here,” Hayataro continued, his sharp gaze locking onto Kei. “Unlike them, you don’t have the safety net of an armband regulating how much power you use. And we’ve already established that you have somewhat instinctual control over your strength— somewhat. ”

He paused, then jerked a thumb toward Ichiro. “If blondie here—”

“Hey!” Ichiro protested, clearly offended.

“—is a complete newbie, then you are a ticking time bomb.” Hayataro ignored Ichiro’s interruption and focused back on Kei. “During the last few exercises, I was assessing more than just your physical capabilities—I was watching your personality. And, honestly? That’s probably the only thing keeping you from completely freaking out and lashing out.”

Kei stiffened at that, but Hayataro wasn’t done. “And I don’t just mean in terms of strength,” he continued. “So far, the lights have flickered two times—once when you woke up after passing out, once earlier when you tried sparring against Ichiro—”

“Thrice, actually,” Yuzuru interjected. “They flickered this morning too, when we were in the hallway.”

Kei blinked, caught off guard. “…I’m sorry, but I don’t see why this is relevant.”

At this, the three men exchanged glances. There was an unspoken weight behind their looks, something Kei didn’t like.

“Kei, kid,” Hayataro started, his tone a little less teasing than before. “I read the file with the results of your tests—both physical and medical. The sensorial ones weren’t out yet, but I’ll go over them tonight.”

Kei tensed slightly at the mention of his test results. He was well aware— painfully aware—that his results were far from normal. Much to his annoyance, the reactions from the scientists had already made that abundantly clear, even if they tried to be subtle about it. The hushed exchanges, the nervous glances, the way they carefully worded their explanations—it all pointed to the same conclusion.

Whatever was happening to him, it wasn’t something they had seen before.

“W-wait” Kei said half scared of the though forming in his mind “Are you saying I’m responsible of the light flicking? I-It can’t be, right?”

Hayataro sighed, rubbing his temple as if this conversation was giving him a headache. “Kid… what do you think?”

Kei’s stomach twisted. His mind raced back to what the scientist had said earlier— Your brain is actively regulating multiple elemental energies. Wind, water, and electricity.

He had dismissed it at the time, including the water events from yesterday, too overwhelmed by everything else to really process the implications. But now… now it made too much sense. The lights flickering whenever his emotions spiked. The strange static hum he sometimes felt under his skin. 

No one was answering him. They were just watching .

“R-right?” he repeated, his voice a little unsteady. He didn’t want to believe it. This was already too much—his senses were sharper, his strength unnatural, and now this?

Hayataro finally broke the silence. “You tell me,” he said simply. “Have you noticed anything?”

Kei opened his mouth, ready to deny it again—but he hesitated. Because deep down, he had noticed.

The tiny crackle of static when he clenched his fists. The way the air around him sometimes felt heavier, charged. The flicker of the lights every single time he felt overwhelmed.

“…Shit,” he muttered.

Kei’s breaths came fast and shallow. His hands pressed against his head as if trying to physically hold himself together. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—” The words tumbled from his lips in a frantic loop, his knees hitting the floor as the weight of realization crushed down on him.

This was too much. Way too much. He had been waiting —waiting for the moment this would all stop being some surreal nightmare, waiting for Monday so he could return to some semblance of normal. But this? This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t something he could just ignore .

Electricity. Wind. Water.

It wasn’t just his body that had changed. His brain was regulating elements . The lights flickering weren’t some coincidence. He was doing it.

His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath shaky as panic clawed at his chest.

“Amemura,” Yuzuru’s voice cut through the haze, firm but calm. “Breathe.”

Ichiro crouched next to him, hands hovering awkwardly as if unsure whether to touch him or give him space. “Hey, man, it’s okay—uh, well, it’s not okay, but freaking out isn’t gonna help. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long to freak out.”

Kei barely heard them. His fingers curled into his hair. If he could mess with electricity , what else could he screw up? What if next time he didn’t just flicker the lights? What if he caused a full blackout—or worse?

And what about water ? His mind raced with possibilities, each worse than the last. What if he lost control near a sink, or a river, or—?

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him. “Kei.” Hayataro’s voice was steady, unwavering. “Calm. Down.”

Kei exhaled shakily. His hands trembled as he forced himself to release his grip on his hair. His heart was still hammering, but he focused on slowing his breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Hayataro didn’t move his hand. “Listen to me. Freaking out isn’t gonna change the facts. And you losing it right now? You’re just proving my point.”

Kei swallowed. “What… point?” His voice was hoarse.

“That you’re too focused on holding back.” Hayataro squeezed his shoulder lightly before letting go. “You keep thinking about how much damage you could do instead of learning how to control it.”

Kei squeezed his eyes shut. “And if I can’t ?”

“Then we train until you can,” Hayataro said simply. “That’s why you’re here.”

Chapter Text

Kei let the water roll down his body, steam curling around him as he stood motionless beneath the steady stream. His body—familiar, yet foreign. More defined than it should be. The muscle tone he hadn’t worked for, the strength he hadn’t earned, the heightened senses he couldn’t turn off. It didn’t feel wrong, exactly, but it didn’t feel like his either.

His mind drifted, replaying the day’s events over and over. The tests. The training. The revelation.

Electricity. Wind. Water.

He raised a hand, watching droplets slide down his fingers before disappearing into the drain. Water. One of the elements his brain was supposedly regulating without him even realizing it. Was it happening right now? Was the heat of the water affecting him in ways he couldn’t perceive? Could he control it? He clenched his fist. No reaction. No shift. No sudden, terrifying burst of power.

That should have reassured him. It didn’t.

The lights had flickered because of him. That was a fact. And if his body was regulating these elements instinctively, what would happen if his instincts failed?

A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Tch. The ticking bomb, huh?”

Hayataro’s words echoed in his mind.

“You’re too focused on holding back. You keep thinking about how much damage you could do instead of learning how to control it.”

He pressed a palm against the tiled wall, lowering his head.

What if he did let go? Just once? Would he even recognize himself afterward?

Kei was tired. Exhausted, really—both physically and emotionally. Every muscle in his body felt taut, like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap at the slightest strain. His mind was no better, weighed down by everything that had happened.

But the water… the water felt good. Comforting. Maybe even a little too much. The warmth seeped into his skin, his muscles loosening under its steady pressure, the rhythmic sound drowning out the whirlwind in his head.

He exhaled slowly, letting his eyes drift shut.

It was probably nothing. Just exhaustion catching up to him. That was all.

And yet, a small part of him—one he wasn’t ready to acknowledge—wondered if there was something more to it.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, watching as the water swirled down the drain, feeling the steady stream cascade down his body. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there—he didn’t care.

This was the closest he’d gotten to escaping from reality, to pressing pause on the chaos that had taken over his life. For a few moments, he could pretend that everything was normal. That he was just another high school student taking a shower at the end of a long day. That nothing had changed.

It was something simple, something mundane—something he had done every day without a second thought. But now, even this felt like a fleeting illusion. A fragile moment of peace before everything inevitably caught up to him again.

And if tears mixed with the falling water, no one besides Kei would ever know.

No one would see the way his shoulders trembled ever so slightly. No one would hear the shaky breaths he took, muffled by the sound of the shower. No one would ask him what was wrong, what was weighing so heavily on his mind.

Here, in this fleeting moment, he was alone. And maybe, just maybe, that was a small mercy.

Kei finally forced himself to step out of the shower, pulling himself back into reality. He dried off, slipping into the plain pajamas Bethel had provided the day before. The fabric was unfamiliar, but right now, everything about his life felt unfamiliar.

As he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on his bed. Resting atop the sheets was his freshly washed and neatly folded school uniform.

I guess they took it this morning when they came to get me for the tests, he thought, making a mental note to thank whoever had done it tomorrow morning.

His eyes then drifted to his desk, where his school bag sat undisturbed. Without thinking, he walked over, unzipped it, and pulled out the book he had been reading—the fifth volume of the Man’yōshū. A small comfort, something constant. Something untouched by everything that had changed in the past twenty-four hours.

The Man’yōshū, the Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves. Most people would say it was too complex for someone his age, but Kei had never cared for such opinions. Now, more than ever, its poems resonated with him.

Centuries-old words of longing, sorrow, and fleeting beauty—of things lost and things yet to come. As he traced the characters on the page, he felt a quiet connection to those who had written them so long ago. Did they, too, feel like they were caught between worlds? Like they were changing into something unfamiliar, something they had never asked to become?

Kei’s eyes lingered on a poem, his fingers lightly tracing the old characters on the page. He read it softly, the words carrying a quiet weight:

忘らるる 身を思ふと　よしなしの

(Wasuraruru       mi o omou to   yoshinashi no

秋の夜長に　   涙を流す

aki no yonaga ni  namida o nagasu)

For a moment, he simply stared at the lines, feeling the rawness in them settle deep within his chest.

“When I think of my forgotten self, there is no solace—

On this long autumn night, I shed tears.”

A forgotten self…

Wasn’t that what he was afraid of? That the person he used to be—the life he was trying so hard to return to—was already slipping away?

Since Friday, he hadn’t even had the time to process everything. His body had changed. His senses were sharper than they should be. He was walking through halls where people studied him, where he was expected to learn control over something he never asked for. It was too much, too fast. And yet, not once had he stopped to think about what it meant for him. What it would mean in the long run.

Would the Kei Amemura from before all this still exist by the time he walked out of here? Or was he already becoming someone else—something else?

A quiet sigh escaped him. He didn’t have an answer.

But the words of the poem rang true.

And if his tears were lost to the night, hidden by the weight of exhaustion, then so be it.

Just like that Kei fell asleep…

…yo…ng man… y-young… man… c-can… y-you… hear… me…?

A voice. Distant. Fragmented. Cutting in and out like a weak radio signal. But Kei was too deeply asleep to think much of it, dismissing it as nothing more than a dream.

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side, trying to slip back into the comforting embrace of sleep—

Young man, can you hear me? It is time for you to wake up.

The words were clearer this time, steady, precise.

Kei shot upright with a sharp gasp, heart pounding in his chest. His mind was still sluggish from sleep, but recognition hit him instantly.

“Aogami!”

He hadn’t meant to say it so quickly, so naturally. And what surprised him even more was the lack of irritation in his voice. He wasn’t annoyed about being woken up. If anything… there was a flicker of relief. Maybe even—though he hated to admit it—comfort.

And then, just as quickly, that comfort twisted into dread.

Because this wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

A normal person shouldn’t be able to hear a voice like this, telepathically connecting to something that wasn’t even human.

Are you alright young man?

Kei swallowed, rubbing a hand over his face as if that would clear away the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if that was directed at Aogami or himself.

Your emotions seemed to have undergone a drastic shift in a matter of seconds.

Kei exhaled sharply through his nose. Of course, Aogami would notice. He seemed to perceive things in a way that was almost inhumanly precise—probably because he wasn’t human in the first place.

“It’s nothing,” Kei said after a pause, shaking his head. “Just… processing things.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

I see, Aogami replied, his tone as measured as always. If there is something troubling you, I encourage you to address it rather than suppress it. Avoiding one’s concerns rarely leads to a desirable outcome.

Kei let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah, well. I don’t think my ‘concerns’ are things that can be fixed with a pep talk.”

He leaned back slightly, staring up at the ceiling, his mind still racing. He didn’t want to acknowledge how much hearing Aogami’s voice again had actually settled something in him. Like a tether anchoring him to reality.

That was probably the most concerning part of all. To feel at ease with the voice who someone, well, something completely foreign.

Before Kei could spiral even further into his thoughts, a knock at the door pulled him back to the present.

“Amemura-kun, are you awake? I’ve brought you some fresh clothes.”

Kei exhaled, running a hand through his still somewhat damp hair before getting up to answer the door. If nothing else, he appreciated that Bethel seemed to respect privacy—at least to some extent. They always knocked and waited for a response instead of barging in unannounced. It was a small mercy, but one he didn’t take for granted.

He opened the door to find a staff member holding out a neatly folded set of clothes. The same sporty outfit from yesterday. Kei took it without complaint.

“Thanks,” he said, before hesitating for a beat. “And… thanks for washing my school uniform, too.”

The man blinked, as if caught off guard by the gratitude, before a small smile tugged at his lips.

“It was nothing,” he replied. “Also, you’re expected in the labs by 8 a.m. For now, I’d recommend heading to the canteen to get something to eat.”

Kei nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. He still had some time.

“Got it. Thanks.”

As the staff member gave a polite nod and walked away, Kei closed the door, staring down at the clothes in his hands. Another round of tests, then. He let out a quiet sigh. He was already exhausted just thinking about it.

He quickly changed into the fresh set of clothes and, just like yesterday, followed the scent of food to the canteen. He did his best not to think about how quickly he was getting used to all of this.

He arrived in no time, and this time, he didn’t hesitate before picking up a metallic tray and stacking his plates. Indulging his sweet tooth, he skipped a balanced Japanese breakfast in favor of fluffy pancakes, drowning them in a generous amount of syrup.

He added a side of fresh fruit, telling himself it balanced things out—though, really, he just wanted something sweet.

Kei made his way to an empty table, sitting down with a quiet exhale. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until now. As he took his first bite, he let the warmth and softness of the pancakes momentarily soothe his nerves.

He didn’t want to think about how easily he had slipped into this routine, how natural it felt to be here despite everything. It should have felt stranger, more alien. Instead, it was just… life now. Even though it has only been a day, it felt as an eternity to him.

Kei’s fork hovered over his plate for a moment before he shook off the thought and took another bite. That was when someone sat down in front of him.

“Great, there goes my peace and quiet” he muttered—though not as deadpan as he once might have. He already knew who it was before even looking. He would have known even without his newly heightened awareness.

Sure enough, across from him sat Ichiro, grinning as usual. A moment later, Yuzuru arrived, balancing a tray in his hands.

“Good morning to you too, Amemura,” Ichiro greeted with his usual energy, which only made Kei groan.

“Not a morning person, I see,” Yuzuru noted as he took his seat.

“Well, can’t say waking up before 10 a.m. on a Sunday is really my thing,” Kei admitted, stabbing another piece of pancake.

Both new arrivals raised their eyebrows, clearly not expecting that answer. Before Friday’s incident, they had pictured Kei as Jouin’s Ice Prince—stoic, composed, and indifferent to things as trivial as weekend sleep schedules.

They ate in silence for a moment before Ichiro and Yuzuru exchanged a glance, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Kei.

“What now?” Kei sighed, already bracing himself.

“Well…” Ichiro started, scratching the back of his head. “We were wondering if you were alright?”

Kei didn’t answer immediately. Because, honestly? He wasn’t. And they knew it.

Seeing this, they didn’t press him for an answer, which Kei silently appreciated. After all, they had witnessed his breakdown yesterday—having to talk about it on top of that would have been too much.

Instead, they let the conversation drift, filling the silence with idle chatter about breakfast, training, and whatever nonsense Ichiro came up with to lighten the mood. And for that, Kei was grateful.

Time slipped away faster than Kei realized, and before he knew it, it was time to head to the labs. He had no idea where they were—no scent to track, no instinct to guide him—yet somehow, he just knew. It was as if something was calling to him, pulling him forward.

And when he arrived, the reason became clear.

Standing there, waiting for him, was Aogami, alongside the scientists.

“Oh! Amemura-kun, you’re here!” one of the scientists exclaimed.

Kei simply nodded.

“Good. We’ll begin right away,” the scientist continued, motioning for him to step inside.

Kei’s gaze, however, was locked onto Aogami. Despite the artificial nature of his existence, there was something undeniably present about him—something that made Kei’s newly heightened awareness buzz at the edges of his mind.

“You called me here, didn’t you?” Kei asked, more a statement than a question.

Aogami inclined his head slightly. “Not directly. But it seems that we share a special connection.”

Kei exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Well, now that both of our main characters are here,” one of the scientists joked, clapping his hands together, “I guess it’s time to start the test. So, could you… you know…” He trailed off, looking between Kei and Aogami expectantly.

Kei raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what was being asked of him.

“Young man,” Aogami interjected, “I believe he is requesting that we fuse, as we did the first time we met.”

“Yes! That’s exactly it!” The scientist nodded enthusiastically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get to witness it before. But the whole concept is so surreal and theoretically impossible that I can hardly wrap my head around it.”

If you can’t understand how it works, how do you think I feel? Kei thought dryly, biting his tongue to keep his sarcasm in check. Even so, he could’ve sworn he saw the corners of Aogami’s mouth twitch—just the slightest, most imperceptible movement. Almost as if he was… amused? No, that wasn’t possible. Was it?

“Ah… that,” Kei said instead, shifting awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about merging with Aogami again. He wasn’t even sure how or why it had happened in the first place.

“Yeah, we’d like to examine you in that form,” the scientist continued eagerly.

Kei resisted the urge to sigh. Of course they did. He should’ve seen this coming.

He glanced at Aogami, who remained as composed as ever, then back at the scientist. “And what exactly do you plan to examine?” Kei asked, crossing his arms. “Because if this is just another round of ‘let’s see how freakishly strong he is now,’ I’d rather pass.”

The scientist chuckled nervously. “W-well, not exactly. We want to analyze the fusion process itself—how it affects your body, how your vitals change, if there are any additional anomalies…” He gestured vaguely. “You have to admit, it’s not every day we see something like this.”

Kei clicked his tongue but said nothing. He hated how they talked about him like he was some lab specimen. But at this point, he knew arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Aogami, meanwhile, simply observed him. “The decision is yours, young man,” he said calmly. “If you are uncomfortable, we can refuse.”

Kei let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Refuse, huh? He wasn’t sure he actually had that option. Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to go through with it—at least this time.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kei approached Aogami slowly, hesitation weighing down each step. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do—nor if they could even merge again. But then, it just happened.

It was instinctual, like something guiding him beyond conscious thought. His hand reached out, almost on its own, grasping Aogami’s.

And that was it.

In the span of a heartbeat, the world around him blurred, everything melting into a rush of sensation too fast to process. It probably lasted only a second or two, but for Kei, it stretched into something longer—something vast and consuming.

A pulse of energy surged through him, and then—silence.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw his reflection. The first thing that caught his attention was his eyes—they weren’t his usual green-grayish color, but an unnatural gold that seemed to shine—just like Aogami’s. The face was still his, but everything else was wrong. Last time, he had been in too much of a hurry to examine himself thoroughly. But now, he couldn’t look away. 

It felt weird—but strangely enough, also right.

Kei lifted a hand, watching the blue lines flicker with latent energy. His movements were impossibly smooth, too precise—almost mechanical, as if his body no longer obeyed the same physical laws. He could feel the power coursing through him, humming beneath his skin like an untapped current, waiting to be unleashed.

His once-ordinary hair now cascaded in endless waves of deep, electric blue, shifting as though charged with energy. Luminous patterns traced his skin, glowing softly like circuits, pulsing in time with his breath. The sleek, form-fitting suit clung to his frame like a second skin—not fabric, not metal, but something else entirely, something built for speed, for power.

He exhaled, and only then did he realize—he was taller. The room felt smaller, his perspective subtly altered, his center of gravity shifted. His golden eyes burned with an eerie, inhuman light—sharp, calculating, filled with a potential he couldn’t yet comprehend.

This was him. But at the same time, it wasn’t.

“W-wow,” the scientist stammered, clearly at a loss for words, bringing Kei crashing back to reality.

Kei blinked, his glowing golden eyes flickering as he turned his attention to the stunned researchers. Right. He wasn’t alone. He had gotten so caught up in the strange rightness of this form that, for a moment, he had forgotten where he was.

He shifted his stance, and the movement felt unnatural—not because it was awkward, but because it was too smooth, too effortless, as if his body operated on an entirely different level now. Even his breathing felt regulated, controlled, like something beyond his own will was optimizing his every action.

The scientist, still in awe, took a cautious step forward. “This is… incredible,” he murmured, eyes flicking over Kei’s transformed state. “It’s one thing to read the reports, but seeing it firsthand is—well, it defies all reason.”

Kei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Tell me about it.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Kei said tiredly, his resonant voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience.

“Oh! Right, the tests!” the scientist stammered, snapping out of his daze. He shifted awkwardly, clearly unsettled by Kei’s newfound height and the way his golden eyes burned with an almost unnatural intensity. The glow only sharpened his gaze, making it feel even more piercing than usual.

Quickly, the scientist fumbled with his tablet, scrolling through the list of tests they were supposed to conduct. His hands moved a little too fast, betraying his nervousness.

“Alright,” the scientist began, clearing his throat as he tried to regain his composure. “First of all, we need to understand this body of yours—how much of it is you, how much is Aogami’s, how it’s composed, and how it affects your body and organs.”

He glanced up from his tablet, eyes flickering over Kei’s form as if trying to decipher the answers just by looking. “We’ll start with some basic scans and work our way up from there.”

Kei resisted the urge to sigh. He had already felt out of place in his own body since Friday’s events, but like this—merged with Aogami, taller, stronger, sharper—he felt even more alien. Something between human and machine. And now, just like yesterday, he was about to be poked and prodded like a specimen. Not exactly something he was looking forward to.

The scientist scrolled through his tablet, nodding to himself before looking back up at Kei. “Alright, we’ll begin with a full-body scan—X-ray, MRI, and thermal imaging. We need to determine the composition of your body in this state, check for any internal changes, and see how your organs are functioning.”

Kei folded his arms. “So, basically, you’re checking if I’m still human inside.”

The scientist hesitated for a moment before giving a sheepish nod. “More or less, yes.”

Kei exhaled sharply. Figured.

“After that, we’ll perform an energy output analysis. We need to measure how much power you’re generating passively and how much you can exert under controlled conditions.” The scientist tapped his tablet before glancing at Kei again. “And lastly, we’ll conduct some neurological tests. Your brain activity is of particular interest, given the fusion process. We want to see if there are any structural or cognitive changes.”

Kei tensed slightly at that. “You mean if my mind is still my own.”

“Not exactly,” the scientist corrected. “We want to see if your thought processes or sensory perceptions have altered in any way. Enhanced reflexes, heightened awareness, changes in emotional regulation—things like that.”

Kei’s lips pressed into a thin line. So they were repeating yesterday’s test too. In this form his senses and movements even sharper than in what was now his ‘normal body’, and his emotions… harder to pin down, even more than usual. But hearing it put into words made it feel more real.

“Before we begin,” the scientist continued, “I need to ask you a few things. How do you feel in this form? Any discomfort? Strange sensations? Do you feel like yourself?”

Kei looked down at his hands—at the glowing blue patterns pulsing beneath his skin, at the fingers that moved with mechanical precision. He flexed them experimentally before looking back at the scientist.

“…I feel weird,” he admitted. “Like I’m me but also… not.”

The scientist nodded as if he had expected that answer. “And physically?”

Kei rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of his own body. “Stronger. Lighter. Faster.” He frowned. “Taller.”

The scientist chuckled. “Yes, we noticed that.”

Kei sighed. “I don’t feel bad, if that’s what you’re asking. Just… different.”

The scientist tapped a few more notes on his tablet before looking back up at Kei. “I also have some questions about the proto-fiend Aogami.”

Kei glanced at Aogami—or rather, felt him. It was strange. He wasn’t just standing beside him, but within him, woven into his very being. He wasn’t sure where Aogami ended and he began in this form.

“…What do you want to know?” Kei asked warily.

“For starters, how aware are you of Aogami right now? Can you hear him? Sense his thoughts? Does he influence your actions in any way?”

Kei hesitated. “It’s… hard to explain.” He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the presence within him. “He’s there, but he’s not talking unless I reach out to him. Or if he has a question or worry. It’s more like…” He frowned, searching for the right words. “Like an instinct. If I need guidance, I feel it before I even realize I’m looking for it.”

The scientist nodded, intrigued. “And does he ever override you? Take control in any way?”

Kei’s brows furrowed. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. When we first merged, it was overwhelming, like I was moving on autopilot, but I was still me—just… sharper. Now, I can tell that I’m the one making the decisions. But Aogami is always there—watching, processing, ready to assist if I let him.”

“Interesting…” The scientist muttered, jotting down notes. “And if you wanted him to take control, do you think he could?”

Kei stiffened at that, his fingers twitching at his sides. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. “I… don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter.

Aogami’s voice echoed in his mind then, steady and reassuring. Young man, I would not act against your will. My purpose is to assist you, not to control you.

Kei exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He looked back at the scientist. “He says he wouldn’t. That he’s here to assist, not to take over.”

The scientist raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Good to know. Last question for now—how much of him do you feel in yourself? You said you feel stronger, faster, taller. But do you feel… different in ways that aren’t just physical?”

Kei hesitated again. This was the question he had been avoiding even asking himself.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. “My thoughts feel… clearer. More calculated. I don’t hesitate as much. It’s like my mind is moving faster than it used to.” He swallowed. “And my emotions feel… muted. I still have them, but they don’t control me the way they should. I should be panicking about all this, but I’m not. And I don’t know if that’s because I’m coping or because…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

The scientist didn’t push him. He simply nodded and scribbled something down before looking up with a more clinical expression. “Alright. We’ll run the scans now. Please step this way.”

Kei exhaled and followed, trying not to think too hard about the fact that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t entirely sure where he ended and something else began.

No, scratch that—it had always been like this. He had never truly known where he ended and where the version of himself that his parents wanted began.

How much of his life had he actually been himself? And how much had been an act—a careful performance to fit the role of the perfect son, the model student, the polite and respectable Amemura heir? How much of his existence had been spent trying to please others, to avoid conflict, to meet expectations that weren’t even his own?

The only times he ever felt like himself were in the solitude of a quiet room, buried in the pages of a book, lost in worlds that weren’t his own. Or at the piano, where he could finally breathe, where every note he played carried the emotions he couldn’t voice aloud. It was ironic—people called him a genius, praised his skill, but all he had ever done was let his bottled-up feelings spill out in melodies and harmonies.

Maybe that was why this new form unsettled him so much. Because it forced him to confront something he had spent his whole life ignoring.

Kei clenched his jaw and forced the thoughts away. He had more immediate problems to deal with.

Are you alright young man? Aogami asked him probably feeling his inner turmoil.

“Yeah it’s nothing” he answered at loud gaining the attention of the scientist making, but he quickly shook his head. “Just talking to Aogami,” he added, hoping to brush it off.

The scientist blinked, adjusting his glasses as he studied Kei with renewed curiosity. “Fascinating… so you cancommunicate while fused. Is it telepathic? Do you hear his voice inside your head, or is it more like an instinctual understanding?”

Kei hesitated for a moment before sighing. “It’s… both, I guess? I hear him as clearly as if he were standing next to me, but at the same time, it’s like his thoughts just exist in my head, like an extra layer of awareness.” He furrowed his brows, realizing something. “Actually, now that I think about it… it feels less separate than before.”

The scientist immediately typed something on his tablet, nodding eagerly. “Interesting. This could indicate deeper synchronization between you two. We’ll need to run some cognitive scans to understand the extent of it.”

“Great,” Kei muttered, dragging a hand down his face. More tests. Just what he needed.

And so the scans began, with the scientist meticulously going through each test. Kei was subjected to a full-body scan, sensors mapping out his structure in fine detail. The machine hummed softly as data streamed onto the monitor, showing intricate layers of muscle, energy pathways, and internal composition.

The scientist’s eyes widened slightly as he examined the results. “Incredible…” he muttered. “Your body has undergone significant alterations. Muscle density, bone structure, even neural activity—everything is enhanced beyond human limits. But…” He paused, frowning at the screen. “It’s not a full fusion. Some aspects remain distinctly yours, separate from Aogami’s influence. There’s an integration, but not a complete overwrite.”

Kei shifted uncomfortably. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means you’re still you, but… changed,” the scientist replied, fingers flying across his tablet as he took notes. “We’ll need more tests to understand the full extent.”

“Of course we do,” Kei deadpanned, already tired of the process.

Scan after scan, the scientists’ awe only grew, their murmurs of disbelief filling the sterile lab. But all of that was just buildup—leading to the test they were truly anticipating.

The brain scans.

Kei lay back as the machine whirred to life, cool electrodes pressed against his temples. He tried not to think too hard about it, but the sterile scent of the lab and the weight of expectant eyes on him made that nearly impossible. He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling as the scan began.

The scientists watched the monitor intensely as data flooded in. Their expressions shifted—from curiosity to confusion, then to something almost resembling concern.

“…This can’t be right,” one of them murmured, adjusting the screen.

“What is it?” Kei asked, voice sharper than intended.

Another scientist hummed, eyes flicking between multiple readings. “Your brain activity is… unusual. Extremely so.”

“That’s not exactly surprising, considering the circumstances,” Kei muttered. “Unusual how?”

The lead scientist turned to him, brows furrowed. “For one, your neural pathways are hyperactive—far beyond normal human capacity. But more importantly… you have two distinct yet synchronized brainwave patterns.”

Kei’s breath hitched slightly. “…What?”

The scientist nodded. “One pattern is undoubtedly yours—consistent with your previous scans, though even more enhanced—which honestly speaking it’s quite terrifying taking in account yesterday’s results of this same test. The other…” He was silent for a moment. “It doesn’t resemble anything human. It’s structured, orderly, almost… mechanical.”

Kei clenched his fists. “So that means…”

“It means Aogami isn’t just a presence in your mind,” the scientist continued. “He’s fully integrated into your brain activity. Not as an intruder, but as something—someone—coexisting within you. Your thoughts, your instincts, your very perception of reality… are being processed alongside his.”

Silence filled the room. Kei swallowed, his throat dry.

…Young man, Aogami’s voice resonated within his mind, calm but undeniably serious. Are you alright?

Kei exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I—yeah. I just… need a second.”

This was so much more than he’d prepared for. Why can’t he just go back to his normal life?

And when he though that the news were over, the scientist spoke again “There is also something else…” he said shyly.

“Of course there is…” Kei muttered under his breath.

“Do you remember how yesterday we said that you were an anomaly being able to control three different types of elements…?” He started, while Kei just nodded.

“Well, it seems that like this, we might be able to tweak your brain… eh… well, Aogami’s part of your brain and add the capability of control any other element if necessary…”

Kei’s head snapped up, golden eyes narrowing.

“…What?”

The scientist shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but pressed on. “It’s theoretical, of course. But based on these scans, Aogami’s neural integration is adaptable. Meaning that, if given the right stimuli, we could—well, for lack of a better term—‘install’ the ability to manipulate additional elements into your mind.”

Kei stared at him, barely able to process what he was hearing. “Install an element into my brain? Like it’s some kind of… software update?”

The scientist winced. “That’s… not an entirely inaccurate analogy.”

Kei dragged a hand down his face. “Great. Fantastic. Because this situation wasn’t already complicated enough.”

Young man, Aogami’s voice resonated within him again, steady as ever. You appear distressed.

“No shit, Aogami,” Kei muttered.

This was spiraling further and further away from anything resembling normal. He could barely wrap his head around the fact that his brain wasn’t just his anymore, and now they were talking about modifying it? Just… adding elements like they were DLC?

“And,” the scientist continued hesitantly, “this isn’t something we can do without your consent. But the potential applications—”

Kei held up a hand, cutting him off. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

The scientist blinked. “But—”

“No.” Kei’s voice was sharp, final. “I didn’t sign up for any of this. I’m already dealing with way more than I can handle. You’re not messing with my brain any more than it’s already been messed with.”

The room fell silent. Honestly speaking, Kei was surprised with his own reaction, usually he would have never been to stand his ground like that.

Finally, the scientist sighed. “Alright. We won’t push it.”

Kei exhaled slowly, running a hand through his too-long, too-blue hair. “Good.”

Aogami’s voice rumbled softly in his mind. You made your stance clear, young man. I respect your decision.

Kei scoffed. “Glad someone does.”

The air in the room felt thick, charged—like a storm on the verge of breaking. If he hadn’t been merged with Aogami, the lights might have been flickering, or worse, shattering outright.

Sensing that pushing any further would be pointless, one of the scientists finally broke the silence. “Well… we’ve been at this for a while now. Why don’t you take a break? Go find your friends, get something to eat.”

Kei hesitated. Was he even hungry? Physically, maybe not. Mentally, he should have been exhausted, but he wasn’t. Probably because of his current state.

Correct, Aogami confirmed within him.

Kei exhaled deeply, then let go—if that’s what it could be called. In an instant, the fusion unraveled, and in the scientists’ eyes, it was as if he and Aogami separated in a flash of light.

“Alright,” Kei muttered, still in a foul mood after the whole brain modification discussion. If his scowl and tense posture weren’t enough to make that clear, the brief flicker in the overhead lights certainly was.

“Young man,” Aogami’s voice rumbled gently, “go and eat with your friends. If you are needed, I will inform you.”

Kei simply nodded, turning to leave—only to be interrupted again.

“Wait!” one of the scientists blurted out, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Does that mean he can still communicate with you telepathically, even when you’re separated?”

Kei groaned. “Yeah. Scared the hell out of me Friday night when I was taking a shower and suddenly heard his voice.”

“My apologies, young man,” Aogami said, and though his face remained as unreadable as ever, there was something about his tone—something almost sheepish. If that was even possible.

The scientist looked like he wanted to dig deeper, to bombard him with more questions, but a single sharp glare from Kei shut that down before he could even try.

He wasn’t in the mood for more tests. Or more theories about how his body and mind weren’t even fully his anymore.

Without another word, Kei turned on his heel and walked out.

He didn’t know where he was going—only that he needed to get as far away from that lab as possible. As far away from his thoughts.

At some point, once he decided he was far enough, he lowered himself into a squat, resting his arms on his knees. His mind drifted to the piano he’d stumbled upon yesterday. Would he be able to find it again? Letting his thoughts, frustrations, and emotions spill into the keys would definitely make him feel better.

At least Aogami had the decency to stay silent, to not pry into the mess that was his current state of mind. That alone was a win in Kei’s book. For an inorganic being, Aogami respected boundaries far more than the Bethel staff ever did

But what now? He’d been told to find Yuzuru and Ichiro and grab something to eat—but did he even want to?

It was true that, much to his surprise, he’d grown closer to them over the past few days. But it was still unfamiliar territory.

Friendship.

What was the right thing to do? What wasn’t? Where were the boundaries drawn?

Just how much could he confide in them before it became too much?

The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to anybody—to be too clingy, too needy.

Somehow, everything felt off—not just his body, but his very sense of self.

Kei covered his face with his hands. This was, without a doubt, the last way he had expected to spend his Sunday. Everything was just too much—too strange, too unfamiliar. And he wasn’t just talking about the changes in his body, but also his thoughts, his emotions, and the new relationships forming around him.

For so long, he had kept people at arm’s length, navigating social interactions with careful precision, saying what was expected, doing what was necessary, and keeping the rest locked away. But now, the lines were blurring. He was blurring.

And he didn’t know how to deal with it.

He felt as if, at any moment, he would mess it all up—say something wrong, do something he shouldn’t.

He had already let cracks form in the carefully constructed mask he wore around others. In front of those two, he had slipped—shown reactions more dramatic than he would have ever allowed himself before. He had spoken in a rasping, sarcastic tone, the kind he usually swallowed down, locking it away in the deepest, most private corners of his mind.

It was unfamiliar. Uncomfortable. And yet, what unsettled him the most was that neither Yuzuru nor Ichiro had recoiled from it. They hadn’t pulled away.

They had stayed.

So what should he do?

Stay here until someone inevitably came looking for him, asking if he was alright? Try to find the grand piano and let his frustrations spill into the keys? Go search for Yuzuru and Ichiro, as he had been told to? Or maybe fetch his book and get lost in its poems?

He wasn’t used to having so many options. It had always been simple before—just him, his books, and the piano. A world he could control, where nothing unexpected could reach him.

Now, everything was different.

Kei let out a groan—something that was becoming a recurring habit.

“Ah! There he is!”

He looked up just in time to see Ichiro heading toward him, Yuzuru walking beside him.

“We were looking for you, Amemura” Yuzuru said.

Kei blinked, caught off guard. “You were?”

“Yup! It’s lunchtime. We went to the lab to get you, but the scientists said you were actually let out an hour ago and told to come find us. We were all confused and worried about where you’d gone,” Ichiro explained, his usual energy not quite masking the concern in his voice.

“Ah… Sorry about that,” Kei said awkwardly, his voice lacking its usual dry sarcasm. Normally, he and Ichiro had settled into a rhythm—Ichiro’s cheerful enthusiasm met with Kei’s deadpan retorts. But this time, he didn’t have the energy to play along.

An hour had passed since he left the lab? He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been lost in his thoughts. Worse, he had made them worry.

Kei lowered his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to people worrying about him—at least, not in a way that felt genuine.

“Well, you do look like you’ve been sulking,” Ichiro said, leaning forward slightly. “What, did the scientists poke and prod you too much?”

Kei huffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Something like that.”

Ichiro crossed his arms. “Man, I knew it. They did some freaky experiments on you, didn’t they? Don’t tell me they tried plugging you into a supercomputer or something—”

“Dazai” Yuzuru interjected with a sigh.

Kei exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “No, they didn’t plug me into anything.”

“Well, whatever they did, you’re still in one piece, so that’s good,” Ichiro said with a grin, as if trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, let’s get some food before the canteen runs out of the good stuff.”

Kei hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to eat, but staying here, stewing in his thoughts, clearly wasn’t doing him any good. And besides…

He glanced at Yuzuru and Ichiro. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but being around them—having them look for him, even worry about him—it wasn’t as suffocating as he once would’ve thought.

“…Yeah, alright,” he muttered, standing up and dusting himself off.

Ichiro clapped a hand on his back. “That’s the spirit! Let’s go before I actually start starving.”

Kei let out a quiet sigh but followed after them. Being around them wasn't that bad.

Chapter Text

“So, do you want to speak about what happened?” Yuzuru asked while eating from his rice “You don’t have to if you don’t want to” he added quickly.

“Or if you want us to distract you we can also do it” Ichiro added, they both looked a bit worried because of Kei’s earliest reaction, he hadn’t really been quiet his usual, or at least what they supposed was his usual.

Kei barely looked at them in the eyes “Thanks” he mumbled.

“To be honest, I’m not really good with” he motioned them all “all this, interacting with others this openly, I didn’t even realize when did I start to get used to it,” Kei finished, his voice quieter than usual.

Ichiro and Yuzuru exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything right away, giving him the space to continue if he wanted to.

Kei let out a breath, pushing his food around his plate with his chopsticks. “I don’t know. It’s just… new. Different.” He sighed. “It’s easier to keep people at a distance. Less complicated that way.”

Ichiro tilted his head. “Complicated how?”

Kei hesitated. How was he supposed to explain this? That he wasn’t used to people sticking around? That he wasn’t sure how much of himself he was even allowed to show? That he’d spent so long keeping everything behind a mask that now, when it started slipping, he wasn’t sure who he really was underneath?

He shook his head. “Forget it. It’s not important.”

“Hey, if it’s on your mind, then it is important,” Ichiro said, jabbing a finger at him. “But no pressure. If you wanna keep it to yourself, that’s cool too.”

Yuzuru nodded in agreement. “It’s alright to take your time with this, Amemura. No one expects you to figure it all out overnight.”

Kei stared at them for a moment before looking back down at his tray. He wasn’t sure what he had expected them to say, but… this wasn’t bad.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

Ichiro grinned. “Anytime! Now hurry up and eat before your food gets cold. Trust me, cold rice is not it.”

Kei rolled his eyes but found himself picking up his chopsticks again.

It wasn’t going to be easy—Kei knew that much. Changing habits built over seventeen years wasn’t as simple as flipping a switch or turning a page. But this was a start.

“So, what do you guys like?” Ichiro asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Kei and Yuzuru responded at the same time.

“I mean, I did kind of nag you two into dropping honorifics,” Ichiro went on, grinning. “Though, honestly, I’d rather we just go straight to first names—”

“Get to the point, Dazai,” Kei cut in, unimpressed.

Ichiro huffed dramatically. “Alright, alright! What I’m saying is—we’re getting to know each other, right? So, what do you guys like? Hobbies, favorite foods, music… y’know, normal stuff. I mean, we do know that you play piano, Amemura, but besides that, you two are pretty hard to read.”

“Wait, me too?” Yuzuru blinked.

“Dude, Amemura’s nickname might be Jouin’s Ice Prince, but yours is Jouin’s Robot. You’re not exactly an open book either,” Ichiro pointed out. “Though, I guess you do seem more approachable than Amemura.”

“…Robot?” Yuzuru echoed under his breath.

Kei barely paid attention. Instead, he muttered, “I’m not sure if I can say I like playing piano.”

That earned him two equally baffled stares.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It sure didn’t look like that yesterday when you were playing,” Yuzuru said. “Your face… well, you looked happy.”

Happy? Kei had never really thought about what kind of expression he made when playing. He never thought about it at all—he just played. A way to vent. A way to breathe. Did it count as being happy? Kei wasn’t sure but it seemed to, well whatever, he would just go with it.

“Okay, let’s go with that then,” Kei said. “I also like reading. That’s it.” He punctuated his statement by taking a bite of his Yakitori.

“Nice. No wonder you’re in the top three of our year,” Ichiro said, nodding. “Most of the time when I see you around, you’ve got your nose stuck in a book.”

“Liking to read doesn’t automatically make someone intelligent, Dazai,” Kei replied flatly. “I put a lot of effort into my studies.”

It’s what’s expected of me, after all…

He didn’t say that part out loud, but the thought sat heavy in his mind, an unspoken truth woven into his every action.

“So Atsuta, what about you?” Ichiro said turning himself to Yuzuru.

“His sister, I bet” Kei said in a low voice while flashing the duo in front of him a rare mischievous look.

What happened next, well, Kei wasn’t really sure if it was a reaction to his words or the little bit of himself that he let out, but he was doing his best not to let shown how much he wanted to laugh at their expressions.

His answer took them so out of guard that Ichiro spilled by his nose the beverage he was drinking, while Yuzuru frozemid-bite, chopsticks still held halfway to his mouth. His usually composed face had gone stiff, a slight pink tint blooming on his cheeks.

Ichiro coughed and wiped his nose, wide-eyed. “Wha—!? Where the hell did that come from?!

Kei just shrugged, lips twitching at the corners as he took another bite of his yakitori, feigning nonchalance. “Just a guess.”

“I—That’s—” Yuzuru stammered, setting down his chopsticks, clearly trying to compose himself but struggling to find the right words.

“Oh man,” Ichiro wheezed, still recovering. “Did not expect that from you.”

Kei said nothing, but the rare, subtle smirk playing on his face spoke volumes. It wasn’t often he let himself poke fun like that—but seeing their reactions made it feel… worth it.

Yuzuru cleared his throat and straightened his posture, though the tips of his ears were still red. “For the record, I do care about things other than my sister.”

Ichiro leaned in with a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Don’t tell me you collect stamps or something.”

Yuzuru gave him a flat look. “I like kendo. I practice every morning. And I enjoy reading too—history, mostly.”

Kei arched an eyebrow. “Of course you’d like history.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Yuzuru replied dryly.

Ichiro chuckled. “Alright, alright, I guess I’m the only one here with fun interests.”

Kei blinked. “Your definition of ‘fun’ worries me.”

“Excuse you,” Ichiro said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “I happen to have a wide array of very refined hobbies. Like… action movies. Arcades. Eating spicy food until I cry. I’m a man of culture.”

“Culture,” Kei repeated, deadpan. “Right.”

Yuzuru shook his head with a small smile. “I’ll give you points for enthusiasm, at least.”

Kei glanced between them, a strange warmth blooming quietly in his chest. The rhythm of conversation, the teasing, the laughter—it was unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant. It reminded him of music, of improvisation. Unscripted, messy… but alive.

He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or how long it would last, but in that moment, it felt okay to just sit with them. Just be.

A kind of normalcy Kei had never known before—but one that, surprisingly, grounded him. The conversations were often ridiculous, veering into nonsense, but maybe that’s exactly what made it easier for him to loosen his grip. To let the mask slip, even just for a few seconds. In those moments, he could forget everything else—the labs, the expectations, the changes coursing through his body.

It was like reading a book, the way reality blurred at the edges and gave way to something else. Only this time, he wasn’t a silent observer tucked between the pages. This time, he was part of the story.

But every story must end… and the end of this one came with a short message only he could hear.

Young man, you are expected back in the labs in around 30 minutes.

Aogami’s voice resounded on his head, ruining his mood once again. Kei didn’t have anything against the proto-fiend, if anything his feelings towards him? It? Were complicated. He doesn’t even know how to feel around him, Aogami did save his life and Kei is grateful for that, even if that ended up turning his life upside down.

“Amemura,” Ichiro’s voice cut in, followed by a hand waving obnoxiously close to his face. “Amemuraaaaaa, you still with us? Did all that brain-poking actually mess something up?”

Kei blinked and turned to him with a dry look. “No, but keep talking and I will need to get checked for auditory damage.”

“Ah! You’re back,” Ichiro grinned, clearly relieved. “We got worried—thought you glitched out or something with how quiet you got all of a sudden.”

“Sorry about that,” Kei muttered, leaning forward on the table, resting his arms on its surface. “I was just informed I need to head back to the labs in about thirty minutes.”

Ichiro and Yuzuru exchanged a look, brows raised in silent conversation before Ichiro turned back to him with a curious tilt of his head.

“You were informed…?”

Kei didn’t answer right away. He looked off to the side as if weighing how much he wanted to say, then sighed. “Aogami. He can still talk to me even when we’re not… y’know, merged.”

“Telepathy?” Yuzuru asked, both intrigued and mildly alarmed.

“Apparently,” Kei said, voice flat. “He scared the hell out of me the first time it happened last Friday when we got here. I was taking a bath, panicking about my newfound muscles, and out of nowhere, boom—voice in my head asking me if everything was alright.”

Ichiro let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s gotta be rough. I’d be paranoid 24/7.”

“Oh, you think?” Kei deadpanned, the exhaustion in his voice plain. “As if all these changes weren’t enough, now I’ve got a voice in my head too.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through each word.

Yuzuru leaned in a bit, curiosity written all over his face. “Does it work both ways?”

Kei shrugged, poking at what was left of his lunch. “I mean… probably? Aogami does respond when I talk to him, but I’ve always done it out loud. I haven’t really tried it silently. I don’t even know how much he can actually read from me. The most I know is that he can sense my mood swings.”

He paused and gave a tired exhale. “Which is just great, y’know? Being emotionally monitored 24/7 like I’m hooked up to some spiritual mood ring.”

Ichiro blinked. “That’s… kinda creepy, not gonna lie.”

Kei glanced at him. “Kinda?”

“Okay, really creepy,” Ichiro corrected quickly, raising both hands. “Still! If it makes you feel better, you’re handling it way better than I would.”

Kei scoffed. “If this is me handling it well, I’d hate to see your version.”

“That’s actually true,” Ichiro said, chuckling softly. “I never thought I’d see you this… emotional? I dunno if that’s the right word. It’s just… different. If all this hadn’t happened, I don’t think we’d have ever gotten to see this side of you—or even break through your glacier-thick walls.”

Yuzuru nodded in quiet agreement. “You’re still you, Amemura. Just… a bit more honest now, maybe.”

Kei stared at his half-finished meal, eyes distant. Honest. That word hit a little too close to home. He had never let out his thoughts like this before, only through the piano, so it was a change, an involuntary change that came along with all this mayhem.

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, more out of habit than anything. But the edge in his voice was duller than usual—less armor, more tired deflection.

“Too late,” Ichiro grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “We’re already emotionally invested, buddy. No backing out now.”

Kei rolled his eyes again, but this time… there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Kei sighed and began stacking the empty dishes on his tray. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get going,” he muttered, weariness creeping into his voice. “Even with this new weird kind of integrated GPS on me, this building’s still a maze.”

“Good luck, Amemura,” Yuzuru said with a small nod. “We might see each other later in the training room, depending on how your schedule ends up being organized.”

“Yeah, assuming I don’t get dissected first,” Kei mumbled dryly, adjusting the tray in his hands.

Ichiro gave a mock salute. “If you don’t come back in one piece, I’ll riot.”

“Please don’t. I already have enough headaches.”

The trio shared a short silence—comfortable, but charged with the knowledge that this brief peace might not last. Kei turned on his heel, starting toward the exit.

“Hey, Amemura” Ichiro called after him, his voice a little softer this time.

Kei stopped, half-turning. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing better than you think.”

Kei blinked, eyes flicking away for a second before nodding once. “Thanks,” he said quietly, and then left.

The cafeteria noise returned around Yuzuru and Ichiro, but a sense of quite lingered between them for a beat longer.

Kei stepped through the lab doors just as the clock struck the designated time. His connection with Aogami was something strange, he could feel him as if there was an ever-present presence in his head. A presence that guided him like a compass. It was weird, abnormal. Yet, it was there.

With a deep breath, he steeled himself and pushed the doors open.

Inside, everything was as sterile and mechanical as ever: machines beeping in rhythm, scientists hunched over their tablets, and Aogami standing silently, as unmoving and unreadable as he had been that morning.

“Oh! Amemura-kun, right on time,” one of the scientists said, glancing up from his screen. His smile was a little sheepish, a little too eager. “I hope you’re feeling more relaxed now. Sorry about how things ended earlier. I get the feeling we left a bit of a sour taste in your mouth.” He gave an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

Kei didn’t answer right away. He just stared blankly for a beat, then gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Other than that,” the scientist continued, trying to recover, “are you alright? We were all a little confused when Atsuta-kun and Dazai-kun showed up here looking for you. We thought you’d gone straight to meet them like we suggested.”

“I needed air,” Kei replied flatly, his voice giving nothing away. “And space.”

The words hung heavy in the air, but the scientist only nodded with a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to push further.

“Well… that’s perfectly understandable,” he said, flipping through his tablet quickly. “Shall we get started again?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Kei muttered, not bothering to hide his irritation. Normally, he’d have forced himself to stay polite in front of adults, but after everything that happened in the morning, his patience was worn thin.

“You always have a choice,” the scientist replied, his tone turning serious. “You could refuse all of this—but you know what that would mean, don’t you?”

Kei wasn’t sure if the man was referring to the consequences of halting the research on his new condition, or the fact that walking away from Bethel would likely paint him as a threat or a rogue element—labeled a villain, whether he deserved it or not. Either way, Kei knew better than to test fate.

“Whatever,” he said, scoffing. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The scientist hesitated, momentarily thrown by the abrupt shift in demeanor. The composed, polite boy from earlier had vanished—replaced by someone visibly drained and annoyed.

“Maybe we should run another brain scan,” the man mumbled to himself, wondering if this irritability could be a neurological side effect.

“No need,” Kei said flatly, startling the scientist, who’d clearly forgotten just how sharp his hearing was. “This is just me being annoyed. Congrats, you’re one of the few people who’s ever seen it. Normally I’m better at hiding it, but after everything that’s happened these past few days… I’m at my limit.”

The scientist blinked, clearly taken aback. Kei’s tone wasn’t aggressive, but it carried the weight of someone teetering on the edge of exhaustion. It wasn’t just frustration—it was the culmination of everything: the tests, the revelations, the mental strain, and the gnawing uncertainty about what came next.

“I… see,” the man replied, cautiously adjusting his glasses. “We’ll try to keep things smooth, then. No more surprises today.”

Kei let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “That’d be a first.”

The scientist gave a tight, uncomfortable smile, then motioned toward the chair in the center of the lab. “Let’s start with some non-invasive scans. No merging required this time. Just… sit back and relax.”

“Relax,” Kei repeated under his breath, almost like it was a foreign word. He dragged himself toward the seat anyway, flopping down with a practiced kind of reluctance.

From the side, Aogami observed silently, but Kei could feel the slight shift in presence—the awareness that his companion had tuned in more closely now. There was no voice in his head this time, just that hum again. Watching. Waiting.

As the machines whirred to life around him, Kei stared up at the ceiling, his expression flat. “You’d think with all this tech, you’d have more comfortable chairs,” he muttered.

The scientist chuckled nervously. “Noted. I’ll bring it up with the procurement team.”

Kei didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes and tried not to think.

But that was the thing—when everything else went quiet, the thoughts came louder.

“This time,” the scientist began cautiously, “we want to observe how your connection with Aogami functions, especially now that we’ve learned that, well…”

“That he can still talk to me even when we’re separated,” Kei finished, already knowing where this was going. Truth be told, even he was a little curious about how it worked.

The scientist nodded. “Exactly. That’s actually why we’re not asking you to merge with him this time.”

Another scientist chimed in, tapping on their tablet. “We’d also ask you to exchange a telepathic conversation while unmerged. That way, we can monitor your brain activity in real time alongside Aogami’s processing system.”

“We’ll compare that data with everything we’ve gathered so far,” the first scientist continued, “including your solo tests from yesterday, Aogami’s maintenance readings, and this morning’s merged session.”

Kei let out a quiet sigh and leaned back slightly in the chair they’d brought in for him. “Fine,” he said, eyes drifting toward Aogami, who stood motionless across the room. “So, what—do I just think at him really hard?”

“That would be a start,” the second scientist replied with a small, nervous laugh. “Try initiating a conversation as naturally as possible. Just… don’t speak out loud this time.”

Kei gave them a dry look. “Sure, let’s add talking to myself silently to the list of weird things I can do now.”

He took a breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and focused.

Aogami?

I hear you, young man.

The response was immediate, calm, and steady in his mind—like a thought that wasn’t quite his own.

Alright. So that actually works. Good to know.

Indeed. You seem to be adjusting to the process faster than expected.

Doesn’t mean I like it.

Acknowledged.

Kei opened his eyes again and glanced toward the scientists. “It’s working. We’re talking.”

The room buzzed softly with excitement as a few of them immediately turned to their tablets and began cross-referencing readings. One even muttered a quick, “Fascinating…” under their breath.

“We’re seeing significant neural activity in the frontal lobe and limbic system,” one of them said, eyes wide as they watched the data stream in. “It’s like his brain is syncing to a secondary operating system without physical contact.”

“Are you experiencing any discomfort?” another asked Kei quickly, concerned.

Kei shook his head. “No. Just… feels like I’m having a conversation with myself. But not.”

That is an apt description, Aogami said in his head.

It is still unsettling though...

He could’ve sworn he felt Aogami almost grimace at that.

The lead scientist looked up from the display, his eyes glinting with interest behind his glasses. “If you’re comfortable, we’d like to test something more specific—ask a few targeted questions through Aogami and observe your brain’s responses. This connection might be deeper than we initially theorized.”

Kei leaned back slightly in his seat, arms crossing with a resigned sigh. “Go ahead. I’m already the guinea pig—might as well commit to being a full lab rat.”

The scientist chuckled awkwardly at his dry tone but nodded. “Alright then—Aogami, could you relay this question to Kei, please?”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “Wait, we’re still doing the whole telepathic thing—?”

Before he could finish the thought, the question landed in his mind like a notification, unnaturally clear and worded with sterile precision:

When you were first merged, did you experience any form of sensory overlap—taste, smell, or temperature—that didn’t originate from your own body?

Kei blinked. “…Okay, that’s seriously weird. It feels like a question a computer just uploaded into my brain.”

He shook his head slightly, trying to ground himself before answering. “To answer it, yeah. When we first merged, all my senses spiked—everything dialed up to eleven. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was intense and way too sudden. Kind of like the overload I had yesterday, but I could still manage it… just barely.”

That would be correct, Aogami’s voice chimed in, calm and even. Our shared sensory input is primarily based on the young man’s natural capabilities, with my support enhancing interpretation and response. The overwhelming reaction was likely due to the abrupt nature of the initial merge.

Kei exhaled and added offhandedly, “Well… thanks for helping me out back then.”

It was nothing, young man. That said, based on the results of the sensory tests you completed yesterday, I anticipate my assistance will be less critical moving forward. You exhibited much greater control during our merge this morning.

Kei gave a half-hearted shrug, not even surprised that Aogami had already reviewed the data. Of course he had access to it.

One of the scientists leaned forward, tapping his stylus against the tablet thoughtfully. “That’s remarkable. Normally, it would take weeks of training to achieve even partial synchronization. But your results were off the charts.”

“I’ve actually got a theory,” one of the scientists chimed in, his tone a little too excited for Kei’s liking. “What if, after the first merge, Amemura-kun’s brain unconsciously adapted—or even partially copied—Aogami’s processing patterns?”

Kei blinked. “…You mean like some kind of bootleg AI download?”

The scientist gave an enthusiastic nod, completely missing Kei’s sarcasm. “Exactly! Not a full copy, of course—but the neural exposure could’ve triggered a form of cognitive mimicry. The brain’s plasticity is astounding at your age. If your mind was flooded with foreign data processing for even a short time, it’s possible it began restructuring itself to accommodate it, even without you realizing.”

“So you’re saying I’m turning into a computer?” Kei asked flatly.

“Well… not quite,” the scientist said, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “More like your brain is learning to think a bit like one. It could explain the rapid adaptation to the merge and your unusually high control under stress.”

Kei glanced over at Aogami. “Is that even possible? I thought the reason I haven’t had a meltdown yet was because of my personality. Even Hayataro said something like that yesterday.”

“It is not an illogical hypothesis,” Aogami replied calmly. “However, I do not believe your consciousness is becoming artificial. Rather, it is refining itself to better interface with mine. A symbiosis—not replacement.”

Kei exhaled, leaning back in his chair again. “Great. So my brain’s just doing software updates without asking me now.”

The lead scientist chuckled nervously. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but… yes, in a way.”

“Fantastic,” Kei muttered. “Can’t wait to see what patch notes come with that.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” one of the younger scientists added with a grin. “You’ll probably start acing your classes without even trying.”

Kei shot him a glare that could’ve frozen lava. The scientist instinctively took a step back, startled by the sudden intensity.

“Geeeez, Amemura—if looks could kill, you’d have just turned that guy to ash,” came a familiar, teasing voice.

Ichiro’s signature energy filled the room as he walked in, Yuzuru not far behind him. “What’d the poor guy say to end up on your shit list?”

“Ah! Dazai-kun, Atsuta-kun—perfect timing,” the lead scientist said with clear relief, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe you two can help us smooth things over here…”

“Smooth what over?” Yuzuru asked, one brow raised in quiet suspicion.

“Well, let’s just say… Amemura-kun isn’t exactly in the best of moods right now,” the lead scientist admitted with an uneasy chuckle.

Ichiro let out an exaggerated gasp. “No way. Amemura? Moody? Say it ain’t so.”

A few days ago, those words would’ve sounded ridiculous—even to him. Back then, Kei had seemed like the embodiment of cold, distant composure.

Kei shot him a warning look, but Ichiro only grinned wider and slung an arm around his shoulders like they were the best of buddies, completely ignoring the irritation still radiating off him.

“You wouldn’t be in your best mood either if they were poking and prodding you like a science experiment,” Kei muttered, voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah, fair,” Ichiro said, raising his free hand in mock surrender. “Still, I think the point was that maybe there’s a silver lining. Like… you know, suddenly getting even better at school?”

The same scientist from earlier nodded. “Exactly! Even if all this feels overwhelming now, there may be long-term advantages.”

Ichiro let out a low whistle. “Just for the record, Amemura’s already killing it in class. He’s usually second or third in our year.”

Then, with a smirk, he jabbed a thumb toward Yuzuru. “The only reason he’s not first is ‘cause we’ve got Mr. Top ScoreYuzuru Atsuta over here making everyone else look like slackers.”

Yuzuru offered a modest shrug. “That’s… not my intention.”

“And I didn’t ask for this,” Kei cut in, his voice low and calm—but edged with a frustration that silenced the room.

The lightness from just moments ago flickered out. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air, pulling the mood taut like a drawn wire.

“I didn’t ask to be turned into some… thing people study,” he said, still not looking at anyone in particular. “I didn’t ask to become a hero, or have my body and mind rewritten like some damn experiment. So forgive me if I’m not exactly thrilled about better grades.”

Silence followed. Even Ichiro—usually quick with a jab or a joke—said nothing.

“…You’re right,” Yuzuru said at last, his voice quiet but firm. “Becoming a hero was never your choice. It was forced on you the moment that accident happened. I already apologized for it on Friday, but I still feel responsible. I’m sorry, Amemura.”

I’d also like to apologize, young man, Aogami spoke Our initial fusion occurred without your consent. That was not how things should have been handled, but we were on life or dead situation. A single second later could have end up in your dead.

Kei exhaled slowly. Some of the tension in his shoulders unwound—not gone, but eased. He hadn’t meant to kill the mood. But the words had been building up inside him, and now that they were out, it felt… lighter. Not better. But lighter.

“So,” Kei said finally, glancing toward the scientists. “What now? More tests? More scans?”

“Well, honestly speaking, we’d love to keep studying your… unique condition,” began one of the scientists, adjusting his glasses nervously. “But I’m afraid the next step involves something a little more physical—determining your limits while merged.”

If that is the case, I am able to provide a rough estimation, Aogami interjected calmly. While our sensory input remains primarily his, in terms of strength and agility, our capabilities while merged are approximately twice what he demonstrated during yesterday’s assessments.

The room went still for a beat—and then erupted into murmurs and a flurry of motion as the scientists scrambled to reconfigure their notes and devices. Kei watched them with a sigh.

Saturday’s results had already been off the charts. But if Aogami’s estimation was accurate—and knowing him, it likely was—then the merged state didn’t just push Kei to the top tier of candidates.

It made him the strongest known hero in the country at the very least.

Fantastic.

One of the scientists opened their mouth, clearly eager to say something, but Yuzuru beat them to it.

“Actually, we’re here to fetch Amemura,” he said. “Kochimizu-san asked us to bring him to the conference room. I think he’s finally going to let us return to the dorms.”

Kei blinked. “Finally! Freedom.”

But even as the word left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t true. Not really.

After what happened on Friday, there was no going back—not to the version of “normal” he used to know. Kochimizu had said it himself: Kei was too much of a variable to be left unsupervised. Too dangerous. Too unknown.

The return he’d been counting the seconds toward had quietly turned into something else entirely—a countdown he now dreaded. Because going back didn’t mean going back. It meant stepping into a new phase of his life where the variables were just as uncertain, only now without the relative safety of this sterile, controlled lab.

The freedom he had longed for was suddenly starting to feel more like exposure.

He stood there, waiting for the scientist to release him officially, though the urge to just walk out and leave it all behind was almost overpowering. His fingers twitched slightly at his side.

One of the researchers finally gave a short nod. “Alright, Amemura-kun. You’re cleared for now. We’ll pick up where we left off later.”

Kei didn’t reply. He just turned and followed Yuzuru and Ichiro, every step forward feeling heavier than it should.

Chapter Text

They arrived at the designated conference room quicker than Kei expected. Maybe it was because his thoughts had been swirling too loudly to register the walk, or maybe the corridors just blurred together in his mind now—another extension of the sterile maze he’d spent the past days navigating.

Once they were in front of the door, Yuzuru stepped forward and knocked twice, firm and composed as always.

A pause.

Then a voice answered from inside, calm but carrying authority.

“Come in.”

Yuzuru opened the door and held it for Kei and Ichiro to enter. The room was bright, lit mostly by overhead panels and the faint glow of several screens lined up along one wall. Kochimizu stood at the head of the long table, arms crossed behind his back, flanked by a few other staff members—faces Kei vaguely recognized from going around the facility.

Kochimizu turned to face them fully. His expression was unreadable.

“Amemura. Atsuta. Dazai. Good. Please, take a seat. We have a few things to go over before your release.”

Release. Kei felt the word roll over his skin like a breeze that didn’t quite reach his bones.

Still, he followed the instruction silently, settling into a seat with a quiet exhale, bracing himself for whatever came next.

Across the table, Kei’s eyes scanned over a clutter of documents—neatly stacked, but heavy with meaning. Piles of papers, all labeled with official-looking seals and clipped together with color-coded tabs. NDAs. Government forms. Contracts.

There were two distinct piles for Ichiro: one marked for his official role as a hero-in-training, the other an academic document tied to the school—a formal apprenticeship agreement between the Academy, the government, and his parents. A neat cover story, dressed up to look like a prestigious opportunity for a student trying to bolster his college applications. Everything about it was airtight. Clean. Standard.

Yuzuru, of course, didn’t have any new paperwork at all. His file had been finalized long ago, tucked away in some classified archive. He’d been part of this system since childhood. His place here wasn’t just earned—it was expected.

But Kei…

Kei’s pile was different.

Thicker. More chaotic. A strange blend of legalese, scientific annotations, and unsigned approval lines. Some pages had scribbled margin notes—corrections, hesitations, reminders to follow up. It didn’t read like a contract. It read like an open question. Like they weren’t sure what to label him. A student? A hero? A test subject? A liability?

And worse—tucked among the rest was some papers requiring not only the School’s signature, but also parental consent.

His chest tightened. That was going to be a problem.

Kei kept his expression neutral, but his gaze lingered on that line a little too long. His parents would never sign anything without a full, concrete explanation. And this? This wasn’t the kind of thing you could dress up as an exciting opportunity. Not even the apprenticeship cover would hold up under their scrutiny. They’d ask questions. Press for details. And he… he didn’t even know what answers he could give them. Or if he would be able to endure and hold it together under their stares…

He didn’t even know how to explain it to himself.

“As you can see, there is still a bit of administrative work to do” Koshimizu started “Specially you Amemura-kun, seeing that we don’t know quiet were to put you, but for starters you must sing the NDAs”

“psss” Ichiro said trying—and failing, to discretely get Kei’s attention “What’s an NDA?”

Kei didn’t even turn his head. “Non-disclosure agreement. Basically, you’re promising not to spill the government’s dirty secrets.”

“Oh,” Ichiro said, eyes wide. “So like, actual spy stuff. Neat.”

“Not really,” Kei muttered, eyeing the document in front of him. “More like signing your life away to the confidentiality clause.”

Koshimizu cleared his throat, tone remaining level despite Ichiro’s commentary. “It’s standard protocol. What we’re dealing with here—particularly with Amemura-kun’s case—falls well outside the public-facing version of hero training. These documents are to protect national security, and, frankly, to protect you.”

Yuzuru gave Kei a glance—not sharp, not pitying, just watchful. He’d probably signed something like this years ago, long before he fully understood what it meant.

Kei, still staring at the NDA, picked up the pen and twirled it once between his fingers. “So… if I sign this, I’m officially part of this whole thing?”

“You’d be part of it whether you signed or not,” Koshimizu replied, not unkindly. “But this makes it official. Legal. And from there, we can begin formalizing the rest. Including your status within Bethel.”

Kei didn’t respond right away. His thumb hovered near the pen’s clip, thoughts swirling.

It wasn’t like he had a real choice.

With a quiet breath, he lowered the pen and signed the line next to his name. The ink was cold and final.

“There,” he said. “Happy now?”

“Relieved, more like,” Koshimizu said, setting Kei’s signed NDA aside and sliding the rest of the papers toward Ichiro. “Now, Dazai-kun, you’re next.”

Ichiro leaned in, exaggeratedly squinting at the form. “So if I sign this and then blurt out something I shouldn’t, like, accidentally, do I go to jail?”

Kei side-eyed him. “Worse. You go to a ‘special facility.’”

Ichiro paled slightly. “…Noted.”

Yuzuru looked toward Koshimizu. “And what about the school forms? Especially for Kei?”

Koshimizu’s expression sobered again. “That’s… a more delicate matter. The Academy will cooperate—they has no reason to refuse their students such coveted apprenticeship, plus it increase their notoriety. But we need parental authorization for the official paperwork seeing that you are still minors. It may require some creative explanations about how you got this apprenticeship.”

Kei’s shoulders tensed.

Ichiro frowned. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be easy for you, huh?”

“But I guess your parents would be happy,” Kei muttered. “I mean—your grades aren’t the best, so getting such a prestigious apprenticeship must look like a miracle on paper.”

Ichiro gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, rude. But yeah… they’ll probably throw a party or something. Tell all the neighbors. Frame the contract on the wall.”

Yuzuru glanced at Kei again, noting the tension that hadn’t left his shoulders. “What about your parents?” he asked carefully.

Kei didn’t answer right away. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the edge of the table. “They’re… difficult,” he finally said. “They like things to make sense. A straight path. Predictable success. This?” He gestured loosely at the stack of papers, at the sterile government room around them. “None of this fits. I’m pretty sure they want me to center myself on my recitals and to go to whichever college they choose for me.”

Ichiro tilted his head. “You can’t just say it’s, like, a government internship or something?”

“I could,” Kei said. “But they’ll ask questions. Want documents. Proof. Probably want to meet someone in charge. Maybe even try to get involved. And the more they dig, the worse it gets.”

Koshimizu hummed, folding his hands. “We could arrange a briefing tailored for your parents. Something vague but impressive enough to satisfy them. You wouldn’t be the first case where we had to dress the truth in more digestible terms.”

“You’d do that?” Kei asked, skeptical.

“We’re already doing it,” Koshimizu replied. “The apprenticeship documents are the cover story. We just need to sell it right.”

Ichiro leaned in with a grin. “You want me to pretend to be a government scout? I can wear a suit. I’ve got sunglasses.”

“No,” Kei said immediately. “But if Atsuta is present and introduces himself as an honor student—if he presents the apprenticeship properly, along with a teacher and a representative from Bethel—it might actually work. Just keep in mind, everything needs to be thoroughly prepared. No loose ends, nothing that can be exploited to unravel the whole cover.”

Koshimizu’s gaze sharpened, his fingers steepling as he leaned slightly forward. “Agreed. If we’re doing this, it needs to be airtight. No loose threads, no inconsistencies. Everything down to the last detail must be synchronized—your school records, the cover story, the signatures, even the dates.”

Yuzuru nodded beside Kei, already slipping into his composed, diplomatic mode. “I’ll handle the front. If we’re saying this is part of a special government-sponsored initiative, I can cite examples of past elite students being chosen. I’ll coordinate with a teacher who’s comfortable delivering rehearsed material.”

“We’ll select one of our less conspicuous agents to act as the Bethel liaison,” Koshimizu added. “Someone who can pass as a public-sector official. They’ll play the role of the program coordinator. Their script will be practiced down to the letter.”

Ichiro tilted his head. “Wait, are we… faking a whole apprenticeship?”

“We’re presenting an alternate truth,” Kei corrected, voice low. “It’s not a lie—it’s a version of reality that doesn’t get us all thrown into a legal nightmare.”

“I like that,” Ichiro said. “Makes me feel like I’m in a spy movie.”

“No pressure, but if we mess this up, I’ll probably get pulled out of Jouin and end up under house surveillance—or worse,” Kei added flatly.

Ichiro raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No jokes. Serious time.”

Koshimizu gave a tight nod. “We’ll begin preparing immediately. Atsuta-kun, I’ll need you to review the academic angle and confirm the school’s involvement by the end of tomorrow. Amemura-kun, I suggest you mentally prepare for this visit. Your parents will ask questions only you can answer—convincingly.”

Kei gave a slow nod, already feeling the tension coil in his stomach again. He wasn’t scared of confrontation—he’d faced worse. But lying to his parents, even to protect himself and his friends, felt like walking a tightrope with no net below.

Still, he’d do it.

“Let’s do it right,” he said. “If I’m stuck in this… I might as well make sure it doesn’t fall apart.”

And like that both Ichiro and Kei signed all the needed documents—which were a lot.

“Aw man,” Ichiro groaned as he stretched his arms above his head. “I never thought paperwork would be this tiring. Boring, yeah, but not like this. Still, if this is what it takes to become a hero, I’ll take it with a smile!”

“I wish I had your same enthusiasm, Dazai,” Kei deadpanned, barely looking up from his still-thick stack of forms.

“Everything seems in order on your side,” one of the advocates said as they reviewed Ichiro’s completed paperwork. “Now we just need the signatures from the school and your parents. We’ll take care of organizing all that.”

Koshimizu cleared his throat, shifting the focus. “Now, onto the next matter,” he said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out two hero-in-training armbands. He handed one to each of them. “These are only to be worn during missions or emergencies. Amemura-kun, yours is primarily for identification. Unlike the standard armband, yours won’t provide a temporary strength boost—you don’t need it. Also thanks to the fact that you are already excused from the sport class we don’t have to think about an excuse to let you skip it.”

Kei turned the band over in his hands with a dry look. “Lucky me.”

Then, Koshimizu brought out what looked like a compact, specialized cellphone and handed it to Ichiro. “We’ll use this to contact you in case of an emergency, a mission, or any changes to your schedule.”

He turned to Kei next, though didn’t offer a matching device. “As for you, Amemura-kun… we initially prepared one of these for you as well, but after reviewing the research team’s findings, we concluded it would be more efficient to relay information to you directly through Aogami.”

Kei blinked, then sighed. Of course.

What a joy. A direct hotline into his brain.

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to get a mission briefing during lunch.”

Ichiro gave him a sympathetic grin and nudged his shoulder. “Hey, look on the bright side. You don’t have to worry about losing your phone. That’s a superpower in itself.”

“Or privacy,” Kei mumbled under his breath, but there was a hint of dry humor in it this time.

“And as for your schedules,” Koshimizu continued, his tone turning flat and authoritative, “I hope you enjoyed whatever free time you had up until now—because it’s over.”

Kei and Ichiro both sat up a little straighter at that.

“From now on,” he said, folding his arms behind his back, “you’ll report here directly after your classes end. On Sundays, training begins at 8 a.m. sharp. No delays. Exceptions can be made, but only with proper justification, and they will be reviewed on a case-by-case basis.”

Kei let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “And here I was hoping to sleep in at least one day this week.”

Ichiro slumped against the back of his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Man, you really weren’t kidding. Hero work doesn’t wait for the weekend, huh…”

“You are both now officially in training,” Koshimizu said, nodding once. “Which means discipline, punctuality, and accountability—starting immediately.”

Kei muttered, “Guess we’re trading school clubs for military boot camp.”

Koshimizu gave him a look. “Not quite. The stakes here are higher.”

That quieted the room for a moment.

Then Ichiro glanced at Kei. “Think they’ll let us nap during lunch break at least?”

“Highly unlikely,” Kei answered.

“Thought so.”

“Wait” Kei said “what about Pyro Jack and Jack Frost? I saw how you sent them to your office yesterday morning after having pulled a prank over someone else, where is the discipline there?”

Koshimizu let out a long, heavy sigh. “Jack Frost and Pyro Jack may have… childish behavior more often than not, but they’re still highly praised and efficient heroes.”

Kei narrowed his eyes. “So, they get to cause chaos and skate by on reputation?”

“They earn that reputation through results,” Koshimizu replied, with a sharp look. “Despite their antics, they’ve never once failed a mission and for some reason have a very wide fanbase. Their pranks are inconvenient, yes, but harmless—and believe me, disciplinary action has been attempted.”

“Attempted…” Kei repeated “So in other words they weren’t effective”

“At this point, as long as they don’t accidentally hurt someone who isn’t a villain in their pranks, I’m letting it pass with just a trip to my office,” Koshimizu said, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a man haunted by glitter bombs and frozen doorknobs.

“And I’m the wildcard…” Kei muttered under his breath.

Koshimizu straightened, shifting gears. “Back to the matter at hand.” His gaze turned to Kei. “We took the liberty of replacing some items in your dorm with more durable replicas.”

“Wait—how did you even get into my dorm—” Kei started, his voice rising in shock. The blatant breach of privacy hit harder than expected, and for a second he wondered if the school even had any security.

But Koshimizu cut him off with a flat look. “We did it with your well-being in mind. I assume you’d like to avoid another incident like the plastic tray?” he said pointedly, clearly referencing Kei’s accidental strength burst. “Also, this way, you’ll have a space outside the headquarters where you won’t have to constantly worry about how much force you’re using.”

That quieted Kei. His cheeks tinged slightly red with flustered embarrassment, and he muttered a subdued, “…Thanks.”

Koshimizu nodded curtly. “Those were all the points to cover. So unless you have any questions… you three are dismissed.”

Kei stood up almost immediately, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape. “Nope. No questions. Just an urgent appointment with the concept of not being here anymore.”

Ichiro snorted. “Amen to that. I think my brain short-circuited somewhere around the third form.”

Yuzuru, ever composed, simply offered Koshimizu a polite nod. “Thank you for your time.”

As they stepped out of the conference room together, the weight of the meeting seemed to lift slightly—at least enough for Kei to exhale a bit more freely. But the unease lingered, tucked beneath the surface like a bruise. Paperwork signed, armband issued, and powers evaluated or not… none of it changed the fact that his life had been rerouted down a path he never asked for. Well, it wasn’t as if his life wasn’t already down a path he never asked for, but this was different.

And now… it was time to go back to the dorms.

The trio of high schoolers headed back to the rooms where they had been staying the last few days to change back into their school uniforms and gather their belongings. Once ready, they made their way to the entrance to reclaim their phones—finally reconnecting with the rest of the world—before stepping out into the fading daylight, the cool air a strange contrast to the fluorescent intensity they’d just left behind.

“So…” Ichiro started as they walked. “Would either of you want to hit up a combini before we head back? I’m pretty sure the dorm’s canteen is closed by now, and let’s be honest—none of us has the energy to cook anything in the shared kitchen.”

He wasn’t wrong. Kei could already feel the drag in his limbs, a fatigue that went deeper than muscle. Even Yuzuru, steady as always, looked like he’d appreciate a moment of stillness that didn’t involve training or debriefings.

“Sounds good to me,” Kei said, hands in his pockets. “Anything that doesn’t require effort or to think sounds good right now. I just want to eat, go back to the dorm and make as if this weekend was just a nightmare.”

Ichiro and Yuzuru just exchanged a gaze that didn’t go unnoticed by Kei. It seemed like nothing could escape from him right now, he was hyperaware of everything around him and he hated it.  He hated how his already highly controlled life somehow became even more thigh. How the only thing that seemed to be normal, familiar for him now, was something completely foreign that he always avoided.

He really couldn’t understand how did he always end up attracting attention to himself, getting himself in the spotlight for whatever reason when he just wanted to blend in with the landscape, be a background character. And yet here he was, acclaimed by everyone as a prodigy pianist and now apparently also as a governmental lab rat.

Kei let out a sigh looking at his two companions still not used to this company and already wanting to escape to the stillness and familiarity of his room. They could call him an introvert. A hermit. Cold, antisocial, distant—whatever. He didn’t care, he had never cared. The simple truth was, he just wanted off. Off the radar, off the stage, off everyone’s list of expectations.

His social battery wasn’t just low—it was completely fried. Burnt out after days of being studied, poked at, tested, explained to, and now expected to act like he was just another “hero-in-training” like Ichiro and Yuzuru.

Ichiro opened the door to the combini, the bell chiming above them. Kei let himself get pulled in by the artificial warmth and the too-bright lights, his gaze skimming the shelves more out of routine than hunger. Yuzuru moved with quiet efficiency toward the packed lunch goods while Ichiro beelined to the instant noodles like a man with a mission.

Kei wandered to the refrigerated section, standing in front of the rows of neatly aligned drinks as if any of them held answers. Maybe some cold milk tea would help dull the edge of this brain-ache. Or maybe not.

“So…” Ichiro’s voice cut through the background music, muffled slightly by the rows between them. “What do we call this group, huh? Team Burnt Out? Team You know What In Training? Team The Power Of Friendship?”

“Team I-Want-to-Go-Home,” Kei muttered under his breath, grabbing an egg sandwich with far more force than necessary.

Yuzuru, appearing at his side two onigiris, some fruit and a bottle of barley tea, looked over calmly. “You know,” he said, tone neutral but not unkind, “You are allowed to take your time adjusting. No one expects you to be fine overnight.”

“Tell that to the pile of contracts, the mandatory training, and the plastic tray that exploded in my hands,” Kei shot back, eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like everyone’s already decided who I’m supposed to be. Just as always. I just wanted to finish high school and get to college to escape from my parents grip, but now, I seem to be trapped in something way worse.”

There was a pause, and then—quietly—Ichiro from behind the shelves:

“…Well, that’s dumb.”

Kei blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s dumb,” Ichiro repeated, popping out with an armful of snacks. “Yeah, they want you to be some kind of super-cyborg-perfect-hero-thing, and your parents might have ridiculous high standards and expectations for you, but screw that. You’re Kei Amemura. You get to decide who that means from now on.”

Kei stared at him, unsure whether to scoff or… thank him.

“Also,” Ichiro added, completely breaking the moment, “if you don’t eat something sweet soon, I think your blood sugar might be directly linked to your attitude.”

Yuzuru exhaled what might’ve been the softest ghost of a laugh.

Kei gave a grudging snort and turned back to the drinks and desserts. “…Fine. I’m getting the milk tea. And a cream puff. And maybe also an Ichigo Sando.”

“Attaboy,” Ichiro grinned.

 “Isn’t that a lot of sugar?” Yuzuru asked worried for his friend health “you did had double dessert the Saturday too.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, let’s say this is my way to cope.” Kei said “I rarely indulge myself like these past few days.”

This earned a nod from the Yuzuru and with that, the trio paid for their stuff and headed to the dormitories before it was time for their curfew. They had no idea what kind of excuse Bethel has given them for their absence this weekend, but after all the legally bonding and NDAs that Ichiro and Kei had to sign, they didn’t want to risk anything.

Each went to their respective rooms—minus Yuzuru who passed first to check on his sister—and passed out right after their heads touched the pillows.

Kei woke up with a sharp inhale, his heart pounding as if it had been slammed awake by a thunderclap.

The alarm from his phone wasn’t even on full volume—but to him, it may as well have been a fire drill going off directly inside his skull. The device buzzed insistently against the surface of the nightstand, just inches from his head, and the combination of vibration, noise, and proximity sent his hyper-attuned senses into a short, chaotic overload.

He flinched and winced, curling in on himself as he fumbled for the phone with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. The moment his fingers closed around it, he mashed the screen to kill the sound, the lingering reverberation still making his ears ring and his temples throb.

“Ugh… god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Why did I put it there? he thought, scowling at the phone. Of course, it was muscle memory. He’d done it a thousand times before—set it right there beside him, just within reach. But now… things were different. Now, even that was too close.

It took him several seconds just to sit up. The pulse of adrenaline from the alarm had left him a little dizzy, a little disoriented, like the world was slightly out of focus. His thoughts felt delayed by a second, as if he had to catch up with them.

He wanted to flop back down. Pull the blanket over his head. Ignore the world, ignore the new reality. But skipping class wasn’t an option—especially not now. Not when eyes were already going to be on him. If he didn’t show up, they’d assume the worst. He didn’t want more attention, didn’t want a visit from Koshimizu or worse—his parents themselves.

Kei groaned into his hands, then forced himself out of bed, every movement heavy with resistance. This is going to be a long day.

As Kei pushed himself off the bed, still a bit groggy from the sudden, jarring wake-up, his eyes swept across the room. At first glance, everything looked the same—his desk, his bookshelf, the small dresser tucked neatly against the wall—but there were subtle differences now. The sleek desk chair had been swapped for something reinforced, discreetly sturdier. His bookshelf had metal framing instead of the cheap particleboard he’d originally picked out on sale. Even the lamp on his nightstand had a heavier base.

He didn’t want to admit it—not out loud, and definitely not to them—but… he was glad they’d made the changes.

He still hated that they’d gone into his dorm without asking. That violation of privacy sat wrong with him. But in the cold morning light, standing barefoot on the polished wood floor, he also knew that if his old furniture had still been here, he could’ve snapped a chair leg or splintered his desk without meaning to. He’d already crushed a plastic tray just by gripping it.

And that scared him.

If I lose focus, even a little… I could break something. Or someone. Hayataro did said that I have some unconscious self-control, but where is the limit?

Kei lingered by the desk, running a hand along its edge. It didn’t creak under pressure. Didn’t flinch at his touch.

It was a small comfort—quiet, durable, safe. Something he didn’t have to think about. Something he didn’t have to control himself around.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. It’s pathetic that this is what counts as comfort now.

Still, it was enough to steady him a little as he moved to get ready for the day ahead.

He entered to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, his pale eyes looking back at himself—a he he could barely recognize anymore. His face and features were still the same, but his skin still felt too foreign for himself

Kei stood in front of the bathroom sink, water dripping from his face and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He gripped the sides of the basin, staring hard at his reflection in the mirror.

Same eyes. Same bone structure. Same hair—if a little more unruly from restless sleep.

But it didn’t feel like him.

His skin didn’t feel right anymore. Not the texture, not the subtle tightness along his limbs, like his body had been stretched and re-stitched overnight. Even now, barely a few days in, it felt like something was constantly buzzing just beneath the surface. Strength he hadn’t asked for. Control he wasn’t sure he had.

And the changes were more than just feeling.

He stepped back a little, eyeing the way his school shirt clung tighter to his frame than it used to. The fabric was snug around his upper arms and shoulders, pulling ever so slightly when he moved. It wasn’t dramatic—not superhero bodybuilder obvious—but to anyone who looked closely, it was clear something was different. He’d gone up a full size in muscle without ever stepping into a gym.

Somehow, he managed to make the uniform work. The deep navy-blue gakuran was no ordinary school attire. It was a stylized, almost aristocratic take on tradition. White lilies bloomed across the fabric, winding elegantly from his chest to his sleeves, and flowing down to his slim-fitting pants. The high collar, gold buttons, and crisp structure gave him an air of refinement he didn’t feel he deserved. The brown leather dress shoes polished the look off like punctuation at the end of a sentence.

Still, he couldn’t stop staring.

Elegant. Pristine. Perfectly composed.

Everything he was not right now. Everything he was expected to be.

He looked down at himself—how well the uniform concealed the tension in his body, the changes he was still trying to come to terms with. It almost made him look normal. Almost.

But beneath that polished surface, Kei felt like a stranger in his own skin.

Who the hell am I even looking at?

He splashed his face again, colder this time, then dried off briskly with the towel. No more stalling.

Time to face the day, even if every cell in his body begged to stay hidden.

But the confrontation came sooner than Kei would have liked.

He felt them approaching—two familiar presences, their footsteps light but distinct. It wasn’t sound that tipped him off, not exactly. It was something else. That strange sixth sense again, like a soft hum in his bones warning him of proximity. Yuzuru’s steady composure and Ichiro’s chaotic energy were unmistakable even without seeing them.

Just as Yuzuru raised his hand to knock, Kei swung the door open with a sharp, abrupt motion.

“What?” he asked flatly, his voice dry and tight with fatigue.

Ichiro blinked at the door suddenly opening in his face, then laughed. “Oh! Right, not a morning person.”

Kei stared at him with narrowed eyes, unimpressed.

“And how did you even know we were—?”

Kei just arched an eyebrow.

Ichiro’s face scrunched up. “Oh. Right. Weird sixth sense thing. Got it.”

“You’re catching on,” Kei muttered, already regretting being out of bed.

“Anyway!” Ichiro chirped, undeterred, “We were gonna grab breakfast before heading out. You coming?.”

Kei groaned internally. His body screamed for solitude and silence, but the thought of skipping a meal didn’t sit right—especially with how hungry he has been these last few days.

“…Fine,” he said at last, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just get this over with. I don't understand how you can be so energetic this early in the morning.”

Yuzuru gave a small smile. Ichiro pumped a fist. And Kei shut the door behind him, steps heavy as he followed them down the hall.

Once they were repered by a group of students the stares and murmurs were made known.

“Wait, is that Amemura-kun?” someone said

“Our ice prince without his nose stuck on a book and with company? Are we still asleep?” Other commented.

“What is he doing with Dazai-kun from all the people? They aren’t even in the same class”

“This is sure a sight to behold, to think that someone would be able to drag him out of his shell. And Dazai-kun, no less?”

“Right! Atsuta-kun is understandable they both have this aura that makes it hard to approach them, but Dazai-kun? I kinda feel sorry for those two”.

The voices blended into a rising hum of disbelief and fascination, sharp as pins against Kei’s nerves. It wasn’t just one group either—whispers echoed from every direction as they passed, like a ripple disturbing the surface of a still lake. Kei’s footsteps remained steady, but his jaw tensed and his hands stayed buried in his pockets, clenched tight.

Yuzuru walked with his usual unshakable composure, only the slight arch of an eyebrow hinting at the attention they were drawing. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His very presence was enough to ground the trio slightly, as if daring anyone to do more than whisper.

Ichiro, meanwhile, was soaking in the attention with a grin, waving casually to some familiar faces and leaning toward Kei with a stage whisper. “You really are a celebrity around here Amemura.”

Kei didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence—and his expression, sharp and unreadable—spoke for itself.

As they neared the cafeteria, the buzz only grew louder. Some students even stepped aside, either out of surprise or instinct. It felt like walking through a pressure tunnel.

Kei could feel the weight of the gazes on him, pressing down on his back, brushing his skin like static. He hated this. He hated all of this.

He hadn’t asked for the attention as a pianist, and he certainly hadn’t asked for it now—not as someone being carefully monitored by the government, not as a student who just wanted to be left alone.

But now, it seemed, everyone saw him. And none of them saw him—just the myth.

The “ice prince.”

The “prodigy.”

The lab rat.

And not a single one of them knew how badly he just wanted to disappear. As always, he hid all his emotions and fears deep inside and covered himself with this stoic cold mask. But how long could he keep acting like that? Specially, with the cracks that were appearing in his mask…

Kei tried to turn down the gossips, to separate everything he was hearing and exclude them, hoping that like that he would feel at the very least a little bit less exposed.

Without remarking he along Ichiro and Yuzuru arrived to the canteen, but just when he was about to reach for a tray he hold back. The memories from Saturday were still fresh in his mind, accidentally destroying a plastic tray in Bethel was one thing, but what if I did it at the school dormitories too?

I should have grabbed something for breakfast from the combini…

Seeing his excitation Yuzuru and Ichiro exchanged knowing glances “You got this Amemura” Ichiro said.

“Just remember what Hayataro said Saturday, your brain know how much force to use, just try not to overthink it” Yuzuru said.

“I wasn’t thinking at all when I took the tray and it technically exploded into pieces in my hand” Kei deadpanned

That’s fair,” Ichiro said, scratching his cheek. “But hey—this time you’re thinking. That’s already a step forward, right?”

Kei gave him a flat look, unimpressed “So it is bad is I don’t think at all, but it isn’t good either if I overthink”

“Just try, don’t let the fear of incertitude win over you, worst case we can make something up” Yuzuru said while handing him a tray.

Kei hesitated. He stared at the tray for a moment longer than necessary, his fingers twitching slightly. His eyes flicked to Yuzuru’s—steady, confident—and then to Ichiro’s, who nodded encouragingly.

With a sharp inhale through his nose, Kei reached out.

He didn’t grip it. Not at first. He let his fingers settle around the edges gently, almost as if afraid the tray would shatter under the weight of his thoughts. Slowly, he lifted it.

No cracks. No bends. No sudden shattering.

Just a tray. Cold. Stable. Intact.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Fine. I guess this one doesn’t hate me.”

Ichiro chuckled. “There you go. Victory first thing in the morning.”

They made their way down the serving line, where one of the canteen workers—an older woman with a warm smile—gave Kei a quiet nod of acknowledgment before placing a perfectly balanced Japanese breakfast onto his tray. Rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki, a few pickled vegetables. Nutrient-dense, balanced… and comforting in its normalcy.

Kei blinked. Somehow, that small gesture of care grounded him more than anything else had all morning.

They sat down at an empty table near the back—Yuzuru’s usual spot, quiet and semi-hidden from the worst of the cafeteria buzz. But it wasn’t long before two more familiar figures joined them.

“Atsuta-chan?” Ichiro said, surprised.

“Good morning,” she greeted gently as she sat down beside her brother, Tao trailing just behind her.

Tao smiled softly. “We figured you’d all be eating together this morning. It’s been a long weekend.”

And just like that, the whispers started again—louder this time.

Four of the school’s most recognizable students sitting together? It might as well have been a press conference. Kei gritted his teeth but said nothing, forcing himself to eat one slow bite at a time.

He was starving. But his appetite was at war with his nerves.

Still, surrounded by this odd, slowly forming group… he felt just a fraction less on the edge.

After clearing their trays and exchanging a few quiet words, the group headed toward the dormitory lobby, where students began trickling out toward the school gates.

As they passed through the open space, Kei’s steps slowed. Just for a second.

The grand piano near the lobby wall—immaculate, polished, and utterly untouched—stood like a relic, regal and quiet. He stopped to look at it, something unreadable crossing his expression. His pale eyes lingered on the keys as if they carried a weight only he could feel.

“You’ve never played it,” Yuzuru observed, halting beside him. “Why not?”

Kei didn’t look away. “Because playing it here… would feel like getting naked in front of everyone.”

Ichiro blinked. “Huh?”

Kei’s voice remained quiet, yet there was a brittle edge beneath the calm. “When I play, it’s not just notes. It’s everything I feel, everything I try to keep buried. When I played at Bethel, I wasn’t expecting anyone to listen. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

“I still remember,” Yuzuru added, “how… full of emotion that piece was.”

This time, Kei didn’t deflect or deny it. He just kept looking at the piano, his reflection faint in its black gloss.

Tao tilted her head slightly, her voice gentle. “I’d love to hear you play something sometime.”

“Me too,” Miyazu echoed. “It doesn’t have to be now. Just… someday.”

Kei’s first instinct was to shut it down. Every part of him tensed with the need to say no. He wasn’t a circus animal. He wasn’t here for people’s enjoyment. The thought of being watched, studied—used—as some kind of artistic exhibit made—as always—his stomach twist.

But the girls weren’t asking for a show. They were asking to share something with him.

And so, against every instinct, he swallowed his nerves and said, “Maybe… during lunch. In the music room at school. It’s quieter there.”

Ichiro gave a low whistle. “Whoa, you’re volunteering? That’s rare. Is this the legendary soft spot of our resident ice prince? Didn’t think you had it in you, Amemura.”

Kei gave him a deadpan stare. “Do you ever shut up?”

Ichiro just grinned wider.

As they finally stepped outside and began walking toward the school, Kei shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze distant. The piano had always been his refuge—a place where he could pour out everything bottled up inside. That part wasn’t scary. What unsettled him now was the thought that, maybe, he wanted to share that part of himself—with an audience—with this little group that’s forming around him.

This was a different type of attention than the one he usually got. It wasn’t oppressive, like the suffocating praise of adults who saw him as a prodigy, or the detached admiration of strangers who only cared about his talent and beauty. It was… gentler, more grounded. Curious, but not demanding. They weren’t pushing him to perform—they were just… present. Interested.

That made it all the more terrifying.

Kei glanced sideways. Ichiro was walking ahead, talking about something trivial—probably about heroes again—while Yuzuru followed quietly, as if sensing the shift in Kei’s mood. Tao and Miyazu trailed a bit behind, chatting softly. There was no pressure. No expectations.

Still, something in his chest tightened.

He was used to keeping walls up, hiding behind silence, coldness, and perfect posture. But this group—they weren’t trying to tear down his walls. They were just sitting outside them, waiting patiently.

And part of him—just part—wondered what it might be like to open the gate. Just a little. He had shown to the boys snipped of his real self through the cracks that has formed in his mask, but it was something different than just letting go.

At some point, without him remarking Miyazu started to walk besides him.

“Amemura-sempai” She started shyly “Thanks for going after my brother on Friday under my request, I felt a lot more reassured knowing he wouldn’t be alone.”

Kei just watched her waiting for her to go on, knowing she hasn’t finished yet.

“But I feel bad that you got trapped with him in his job for the whole weekend,” Miyazu finished, her voice soft but sincere.

Kei blinked, not expecting her to say it so bluntly. For a moment he didn’t know how to react, how to answer. Yuzuru made it clear that Miyazu didn’t know what he really did in this internship of his, she had no idea about him being a hero-in-training, only that he had to expend a lot of time at work.

For much he loathed all what happened this weekend, how he was throwed into a world he’d never wanted to step in, he couldn’t blame Miyazu nor tell her about his real feelings—it would only hurt her, make her feel even more guilty than she was right now.

“It’s alright” Kei decided to settle with it “I actually got an internship out of it, so it wasn’t all bad.” He said with a small smile that took everyone off guard.

It was bad, it was hell, it was a nightmare, but he wasn’t going to let Miyazu know that. On the other hand, Ichiro’s reactions was rather funny, like a gawking fish not quiet believing what he heard. He was well aware of how hard this weekend was for Kei. Yuzuru on his part, just gave him an approval nod, knowing well and approving what he was doing, Kei knew well by now that for him, his sister will always be the priority.

“I’m glad everything worked fine for you too, then,” Miyazu answered warmly. She gave him a gentle smile before adding, “Also, I’m really happy to see you’re a bit easier to talk to than on Friday. You seemed so distant then. I hope you and my big brother can become good friends.”

Kei opened his mouth, unsure how to respond to that—not because it was a bad thing to say, but because he wasn’t used to people speaking so candidly to him. But before he could get a word out, Yuzuru cleared his throat sharply, face turning slightly red.

“W–Wait, Miyazu—” he stammered, clearly flustered.

Ichiro’s eyes sparkled instantly. “Oooh? What’s this? Our stoic knight blushing because his cute little sister wants him to make friends?” He leaned dramatically toward Yuzuru. “Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional. Is this your way of saying you care?”

“Shut it, Dazai,” Yuzuru muttered under his breath.

Much to everyone’s surprise—especially the girls—Kei chimed in with a completely flat tone “Dazai, did you forget? Atsuta is a siscon”

Ichiro let out a loud cackle, clutching his sides. “Oh my god, it’s the second time you do this to us, how do you always take us off guard with your comments?”

Miyazu blinked, then laughed too—gently, almost shyly. Even Tao cracked a small grin.

Meanwhile, Yuzuru’s ears turned a deeper shade of red. “I am not a siscon,” he muttered, voice tight with embarrassment. “I just… care. Like any decent older brother would.”

Kei simply shrugged, his expression neutral but his eyes faintly amused. “If you say so.”

Inside of him, Kei could feel a warm he has been getting familiar with since Friday accident. It wasn’t the warm of the magatsuhi now coursing his veins, no, it was something deeper, yet lighter. Was this what it meant to be at ease with someone else?

He wasn’t sure he liked it—how easily they chipped away at his barriers without even trying. It made him feel exposed in a different way than the glares and whispers did. Not like he was being judged or expected to perform, but like someone was seeing him for who he actually was… and not immediately turning away.

The thought was strange. Disorienting.

But not unwelcome.

As they continued walking down the familiar path toward the school gates, Kei kept just a step behind the others, watching their backs in silence. Listening to the easy flow of conversation, the shared laughs, the little jabs and teases. It felt… real.

And somehow, despite himself, he didn’t hate it.

Meanwhile, in Bethel HQ—more precisely, in Koshimizu’s office—the light from the desk lamp cast a warm glow over the scattered papers and data pads. Among them sat a blood test report, stark and clinical, with several key markers circled in red ink.

Koshimizu stared down at it, unmoving, his eyes tracing the genetic sequences and matched alleles. His fingers tightened around the edge of the report.

“…Brother, what did you do?” he muttered under his breath, voice low and tight with something between disbelief and grief.

Chapter Text

When they arrived at the school gate, the stares and whispers were already waiting for them like a tidal wave crashing down.

Kei felt it instantly.

Every footstep past the threshold tightened something in his chest. The idle murmur of the crowd wasn’t idle to him—it was a flood. Every comment, every whisper, every glance landed sharp and heavy. His senses, heightened from the weekend, caught them all like daggers to the skin.

“Isn’t that Amemura-kun?”

“Since when does he hang out with Atsuta and Dazai?”

“Since when does he hang out with anyone at all?”

“He looks different somehow…”

It was suffocating. Like he was on display. Like a zoo animal in a glass enclosure. The school gates had become bars, and he was back in the cage.

Kei gritted his teeth, eyes forward, fists clenched inside his pockets.

Why?

Why did it always end like this? Why couldn’t he ever just blend in? Even when he kept to himself, even when he said nothing, moved quietly, tried to exist without being seen—eyes always found him.

Is this what people called novelty? Something shiny to point at? Something to talk about? A performance they didn’t even ask for but still expected?

And now, walking with others—people known for standing out—it only amplified the effect.

He wasn’t used to this.

He didn’t want to get used to this.

Even if he kept his usual cool, stoic façade—calm eyes, composed expression, detached air—he couldn’t have felt further from that image. On the inside, everything was spiraling. And now, to make things worse, there was something that could betray him: the Magatsuhi. The same energy that now pulsed under his skin, fluctuating with his mood and in consequence affected the elements around him.

How many times had he made the lights flicker without realizing it? How many moments of stress had caused the air to thrum faintly around him, the way it did right before a storm? The teachers were starting to suspect an issue with the school’s electrical system. Only Ichiro, Yuzuru and probably also Tao knew the truth—that it wasn’t faulty wiring. It was him. Whether he was aware of it or not, his emotions had started to bleed into the world around him.

And he hated it.

It frustrated him to no end—it was like his own body had turned against him, stripping him of any sense of privacy. Every time his emotions surged, so did the lights in the classroom, or a device buzzed unexpectedly, or the faintest static clung to the air. How was he supposed to concentrate like this? How was he meant to keep up the perfect grades and top performance that everyone expected from him, when even his own heartbeat could betray him?

And yet, he did concentrate. Because that’s what was expected. That’s what Kei Amemura always did. He delivered. No matter how exhausted, cornered, frustrated, or overwhelmed he felt.

But lately, it felt like he was holding back a flood with his bare hands—and the dam was cracking.

And he wasn’t just referring to the carefully cultivated mask he wore in public. No, this ran deeper. He was exhausted. Lost. And more than ever before—which, frankly, said a lot—he felt trapped.

Like a kitten who had suddenly grown into a tiger, only to realize the cage around him hadn’t changed. Same bars. Same expectations. Just less room to breathe—and far more strength to fear.

And the worried glances Tao kept throwing at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention didn’t help. If Yuzuru and Ichiro had been in the same class, he was sure they’d be doing the same—exchanging quiet looks between them before turning those same eyes on him, full of cautious concern.

It was annoying.

Yeah, Kei had always attracted attention whether he wanted to or not. But this—this was different.

It wasn’t admiration or curiosity or even judgment.

It was worry. Quiet, careful, suffocating concern—like people were watching a ticking time bomb and waiting for the moment it would finally go off.

You are a ticking time bomb.

Hayataro’s words echoed sharply in his head, unwanted and unwelcome.

Yeah, sure—he wasn’t exactly the most stable person in the room right now, he could admit that much. But it wasn’t like he was about to snap at any second. He had more self-control than that. Probably.

Kei meant, he hadn’t exploded over the weekend. Not really. No real damage was done. He’d just been… overwhelmed. Unprepared. Dragged into something far bigger than himself with no warning. And despite everything, he had kept it together—barely, but still.

He didn’t want people to worry. Not about his powers, not about his mental state, not about him. Whether it was concern for his safety, his emotions, or his sanity—it all felt like another form of suffocation. Another layer of weight pressing down on a cage that was already too small.

And then, the lunch bell finally came. Kei redyed himself to go to the school shop to buy something to eat, with all that happened this weekend he hadn’t prepared or bought anything to bring with him for lunch.

Just as Kei was about to step out of the classroom and head to the school shop—mentally bracing himself for more stares—Tao intercepted him by the door.

“Amemura-kun, wait!” she said, slightly out of breath. “You didn’t bring anything to eat today, right?”

Kei blinked. Then just nodded.

“I thought so,” she smiled. “That’s why Miyazu-chan and I made extra. I figured you and Dazai-kun wouldn’t bring anything today. Miyazu-chan does make Atsuta-kun a bento usually, so he was already covered.”

He opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to politely decline—but Tao had already grabbed his wrist.

“Come on! We’re going to eat on the rooftop,” she said brightly.

Kei tensed instinctively at the sudden contact, his eyes flickering down to where her hand gently wrapped around his wrist. He quickly forced himself to relax, deliberately softening every muscle, terrified he might accidentally hurt her if he opposed any resistance.

“…Are you sure the rooftop won’t be crowded?” he asked as they walked.

Tao tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But even if people do show up, they’ll probably see us and decide not to stay.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Kei muttered, voice flat.

More murmurs followed them as they walked through the halls—whispers about the group, about him, about how the cold, quiet Amemura Kei was at the center of attention. How he had wrapped himself up with the most notorious—and in Ichiro’s case—most infamous people from the school.

“It was a matter of time” many said, while others were surprised it happened at all. It was Kei Amemura from who they were talking about, their famous Ice Prince. Always cold and reserved, yet a top student adored by the teachers and admired by many because of his looks and talent.

He hated how loud people could be while pretending to be subtle.

But as Tao continued pulling him along without hesitation, something in Kei’s chest softened.

When they arrived at the rooftop, Kei saw that Ichiro and Yuzuru were already there—Miyazu sitting with them, unpacking a bento box with the kind of gentle care that made it obvious she had prepared it herself.

“Amemura! You finally came,” Ichiro called out with his usual enthusiasm. “And here I was worried you’d turn down Isonokami’s offer.”

“Dazai, it’s rude to call someone that familiar without their permission,” Yuzuru scolded, folding his arms.

“It’s alright, Atsuta-kun, I don’t mind,” Tao said quickly, smiling as she placed her bento down. “If anything, I’d like you to be less formal—just like him.” She pouted playfully, then turned toward Ichiro. “You can just call me Tao, Dazai.”

“Same thing, Tao—you can call me Ichiro,” he replied with a grin. “Glad someone around here knows how to relax.”

He shot a pointed look at Kei and Yuzuru, who both remained characteristically stiff.

“Hey,” Kei muttered, deadpan as always, “you got us to drop the honorifics. Take the win and don’t push your luck.”

Ichiro just laughed. Miyazu giggled softly. Tao, meanwhile, sat down and patted the space beside her, gesturing for Kei to join.

The girls had really outdone themselves. In front of Kei was what looked like a miniature banquet, carefully packed with love and attention to detail. From fluffy tamagoyaki slices to perfectly shaped onigiri, grilled salmon, karaage, gyozas, pickled vegetables, a few slices of fruit, and even a small portion of matcha mochi—everything was neatly arranged and undeniably homemade.

Kei stared at it in silence for a moment. It looked… warm. Not just temperature-wise. There was something about the care in the bento’s presentation that made his chest tighten. He hadn’t had a homemade lunch made for him in what felt like forever.

“You okay?” Tao asked, tilting her head curiously.

“…Yeah.” He sat down beside her, lowering his voice. “This is… a lot.”

“Too much?” she asked nervously. “Miyazu-chan and I weren’t sure how much you boys usually eat…”

Kei shook his head. “No. I meant—” He paused, not sure how to finish that sentence. It’s too kind. It’s too thoughtful. It’s too unfamiliar.

“I meant thanks.”

Ichiro, already halfway through a rice ball, flashed a grin. “You’d better eat all of it, Amemura. If you waste their cooking, you’re gonna have to deal with me.”

“That’s not really a threat” Kei deadpanned, but picked up his chopsticks anyway.

Across from him, Yuzuru offered a faint smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

Kei wasn’t sure if he meant the food, the people, or everything. Either way, he was okay with trying.

Everything was delicious, almost to an unsettling degree. Each bite carried a kind of warmth Kei didn’t know how to process—seasoned just right, soft where it needed to be, crisp where it mattered. It wasn’t just well-made—it felt intentional. Personal. Like someone had actually thought about what he might like, about how to comfort someone through food.

He chewed slowly, quietly, not saying much—but he didn’t stop eating either.

“Whoa,” Ichiro said with his mouth full. “Everything taste wonderful, my mouth is crying out of happiness.”

Kei gave him a side glance. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Ichiro grinned even wider. “Aw, you do care about people.”

Miyazu covered a small laugh with her hand. Tao smiled, leaning forward slightly. “If there’s anything you really liked, I can make more next time.”

Kei blinked. Next time?

He didn’t answer immediately. But a beat later, very quietly, he said, “The gyoza. It was… good.”

It was all he could manage. But the smile Tao gave in return was so genuinely pleased that he found himself looking away—to hide the way his chest clenched, this time not from discomfort, but from something close to gratitude.

“Thanks for the food,” Kei murmured. “Also… thanks for not looking at me like I’m a freaking time bomb. Even if it’s just for a while.”

That made everyone—except for a clearly confused Miyazu—go stiff, recoiling ever so slightly like kids caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“A… ticking time bomb?” Miyazu asked, tilting her head innocently.

“It’s nothing, Atsuta-san,” Kei replied quickly, too quickly.

“…Mi…zu,” she corrected in a quiet voice.

“Mhm?” Kei blinked.

“C-call me Miyazu,” she said, her tone shy but firm. “It’s confusing when you call both me and my brother by our last name… and you don’t even use honorifics with him.” Her hands fidgeted slightly in her lap. “You’re the only one here who still calls me that.”

Kei turned to Yuzuru, clearly unsure, his eyes silently asking Is this okay?

Yuzuru gave a small nod, barely noticeable but unmistakably approving. “It’s fine. You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

“…Alright. Miyazu-san” Kei said, trying it out quietly.

She beamed—so radiant and genuine that Kei had to glance away again, taking another bite of food to cover the strange flutter in his chest.

“You could drop the honorific too, you know?” Miyazu added, hopeful but sheepish.

“Don’t sweat it, Miyazu-chan,” Ichiro cut in with a grin, clearly enjoying the moment. “The simple fact that you managed to get him to call you by your first name? That’s already legendary. This is Kei Amemura we’re talking about. Cold front in human form.”

“I’m right here,” Kei said flatly, not even looking up from his food.

Ichiro just laughed. “And yet you still don’t deny it.”

“I’m just choosing my battles,” Kei muttered.

Tao giggled softly while Miyazu stifled a smile with her hand. Even Yuzuru looked vaguely amused, which, for him, might as well have been a full-blown belly laugh.

“Well, we should get going, I guess,” Kei said suddenly, rising to his feet.

The others blinked in confusion.

“Amemura-kun?” Tao tilted her head. “There’s still some time before lunch is over.”

Kei paused, as if surprised they hadn’t caught on. He glanced at her, raising a brow. “I did say I’d play something for you. In the music room.”

Their expressions lit up—wide-eyed, almost disbelieving joy flashing across their faces like kids told they could open presents early. No one had expected him to actually follow through so soon, least of all Kei himself.

But without a word, they quickly packed up their things and followed him out of the rooftop, through the quiet corridors, until they reached the music room.

There, nestled beneath the soft light filtering in through tall windows, stood the grand piano.

Kei walked up to it in silence, brushing his fingers along the polished edge as if reacquainting himself with something both familiar and foreign. He sat, exhaled quietly, and placed his hands on the keys.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The piano keys were his words.

All his frustration, all the anger still thrumming beneath his skin from the past few days—he let it bleed through his fingertips. He had already vented some of it with the guys, and more still on Saturday, when he’d stumbled across that grand piano in Bethel. But it hadn’t been enough. It never was. The weight hadn’t lifted.

This—this was his breathing space. His rebellion. A moment to bare his fangs, however briefly, like a tiger caged too long and too tight.

Just like the melody he had played back at Bethel—the feelings he had played—the song began soft. But not like before. There was no slow build-up, no quiet tension. The storm didn’t gather on the horizon; it was already here.

The first notes were clear but strained, like calm trying to hold against a wave. Then came the rush: dissonance, force, a pulsing rhythm that rose and fell like his heartbeat on the edge of panic. His fingers struck the keys harder now—not with violence, but with conviction, urgency. The music cried out, twisted into minor chords and sharp intervals that somehow still held together in fragile beauty.

 Still, every note he played was deliberate—precise, but never mechanical. His emotions didn’t hinder his technique; they sharpened it. Frustration, helplessness, exhaustion—all of it poured through in the form of a masterfully composed improvisation, his fingers dancing fluidly, unhesitatingly across the keys.

It was beautiful. It was overwhelming. It was Kei, stripped bare in the most composed way possible.

A caged specimen, briefly let out into the light. Exposed for all to observe yet truly understood by none. A song he would never repeat—never again, and especially not in front of others. But just for today, an exception was made.

And in all honesty… it helped.

Playing eased something tight inside him. It let him breathe. Let him vent everything that had been clawing at him since the last time he’d touched the keys on Saturday. His mood had gone from bad to worse over the weekend—worsened not just by the obvious changes overtaking his body, but by the cold hands of scientists poking around in his brain, his body, his very being.

He was tired.

Tired of being handled like a fragile object—first by his parents, now by Bethel. Tired of fearing his own body, uncertain if it was even his anymore, uncertain of his own limits. Tired of being trapped, his sense of freedom stripped away, more restricted now than ever before. Tired of the constant surveillance, of wondering if his thoughts were even his own anymore.

And on top of it all, his social battery was shot. He was only just beginning to understand what friendship really meant—but it was happening too fast, too suddenly. It was unfamiliar, overwhelming, and exhausting in ways he didn’t know how to express.

Yet, he couldn’t turn them away—because he knew they were trying. Maybe not as hard as he was, but enough. Enough to be worth reciprocating. Even he understood that friendship was a two-way street. And while he had never really cared before—in all honesty, had always preferred to keep to himself—something was shifting. Slowly. Uneasily. But undeniably.

He wouldn’t be showcasing his deepest feelings in front of them otherwise. They were a first—for better or worse. The first ones he let this close, the first ones he allowed to see past the mask. Not entirely, not yet—but enough to matter. Enough to scare him.

And yet, here he was, letting them hear his soul through the piano. If that wasn’t trust, he didn’t know what was.

Like that, the song came to a halt.

Kei, out of habit, stood up and gave a small, formal bow—a pianist’s reflex, rehearsed and automatic. But when he straightened and finally looked at them, he froze.

There were tears in the girls’ eyes.

Tao was silently wiping at the corner of her eye, a hand over her chest as if trying to steady her heartbeat. Miyazu, visibly moved, sniffled and offered him a trembling smile, her hands clutching the edge of her skirt tightly.

Kei blinked, a strange weight settling in his chest—not heavy, but unfamiliar. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure what they were crying for. The music? Him?

Or maybe both.

“…I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he muttered awkwardly, averting his gaze.

“No, it’s okay,” Tao said quickly, voice thick. “It was beautiful. It just… felt like you were telling us something important.”

“It was like we could feel everything you couldn’t say,” Miyazu added quietly. “Thank you… for sharing it with us.”

Kei rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to handle any of this. But deep down, something small and scared inside him felt… seen.

“Geez, Amemura, you sure act different with girls and boys,” Ichiro said, crashing the moment with his usual grin—but Kei didn’t miss the slight redness around his eyes, nor the way he blinked a little more than usual.

Still, Kei kept up their now-familiar banter, deadpan as ever. “Well, I know when to act like a gentleman.”

Ichiro let out a bark of laughter. “Wow, and here I thought you were all thorns and brooding silence. Turns out you’ve got some class buried under all that gloom.”

Miyazu giggled softly while Tao smiled, visibly relieved by the return to lighter air. Even Yuzuru’s shoulders eased as he crossed his arms with a faint smirk. “You’re impossible, Dazai.”

“Nope,” Ichiro shot back, “I’m just the comedic relief. You all should be thanking me.”

Kei let a quiet breath slip out—something not quite a sigh, but close. He still felt exposed, like he’d left too much of himself out in the open. But for once, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

Then, he felt it—a presence nearing the entrance of the music room. Before the door even creaked open, Kei had already turned toward it, muscles tensing on instinct.

There stood the music teacher.

“Oh! So it’s you, Amemura-kun,” the teacher said with mild surprise. “I thought I heard someone playing the piano. Were you practicing for one of your recit—”

He stopped mid-sentence as he took in the scene: not just Kei at the piano, but Ichiro lounging nearby, Yuzuru standing stiffly with crossed arms, and two girls—Miyazu and Tao—wiping at their eyes.

“Well, this sure is unusual,” the teacher said, raising an eyebrow with a faint smile. “Didn’t think you were the type for group performances.”

Kei blinked slowly, unsure what to say. Ichiro, of course, jumped in without hesitation.

“Oh, we’re his emotional support audience,” he said brightly. “You should’ve seen him, sensei—full-on prodigy mode. Made half of us cry.”

The teacher chuckled, then gave Kei a thoughtful look. “I suppose even geniuses need an audience sometimes. Still, don’t forget—music rooms aren’t private lounges. If you want the place to yourself, reserve it next time.”

Kei gave a faint nod, just enough to acknowledge it. But the teacher didn’t seem to mean it harshly. He looked once more at the piano, then added, “Whatever you were playing… it was something else. I’d say don’t keep that kind of music to yourself.”

Then, with that, he stepped out, leaving the group behind in the now-quiet room.

Ichiro whistled. “You’ve even got the teachers wrapped around your pinky, huh?”

Kei didn’t answer. He just sat back down at the piano, fingers still resting lightly on the keys. A part of him almost wanted to play again.

“It really was heavy with emotions” Yuzuru said at last, breaking his silence.

Kei didn’t say anything, nor saw him directly to his eyes. He still felt too vulnerable after such an act.

“Will you deny again that you are a prodigy?” He asked looking right at him.

“Anyone with enough training could do it” Kei said quietly.

Yuzuru let out a quiet breath—not quite a sigh, but close. “No. That’s not true. Not like that.”

Kei’s fingers stilled over the keys, tension crawling up his arms. He didn’t meet Yuzuru’s gaze.

“That wasn’t just skill,” Yuzuru continued, his voice steady but low, like he didn’t want to overwhelm Kei with volume. “It was… raw. Honest. That’s not something you learn from practice. That’s something that comes from you.”

For a moment, silence fell over the room again, filled only by the lingering hum of emotion and the faint breeze from the slightly open window.

Kei’s jaw clenched, just slightly.

“It’s not something I do for others,” he said eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s for myself. To breathe.”

“Then I’m glad you let us hear it,” Tao said softly, breaking the stillness with her kind tone. “Because sometimes, hearing someone else breathe helps us breathe too.”

Kei shut his eyes briefly, unsure whether he was grateful or even more exposed because of her words.

He said nothing more, but the way his fingers lingered on the piano—almost reluctant to leave—was answer enough.

“We should get going back to class,” Kei said while getting up.

Honestly speaking, he just wanted an excuse to leave. His emotions still felt too raw, his chest too tight. That performance had opened something in him he hadn’t meant to share so openly—and even if no one had mocked him, even if their reactions were kind and quiet and filled with warmth—it was too much. Too close. Too real.

Standing up, he avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. “Lunch break’s almost over anyway,” he added, tone neutral as ever.

Yuzuru nodded, silently gathering his things. Ichiro stretched with a groan, clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere but choosing not to comment on it. Tao and Miyazu exchanged a glance, but neither said anything. Instead, they followed without protest.

As the group began walking back to class, Kei trailed slightly behind, trying to regulate his breathing.

The music may have given him relief—but the vulnerability it left behind… that was going to take longer to sort out. Well, at least he had some hours to sort it out before the end of the classes.

Chapter Text

The final bell rang, releasing a wave of chatter and rustling bags through the classroom. Kei calmly packed his things, methodical as always, but just as he was about to sling his bag over his shoulder, the teacher called out.

“Amemura-kun, Isonokami-san—could you two stay behind for a moment?”

Kei and Tao glanced at each other. She gave a small nod, and they both approached the teacher’s desk.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” the teacher said with a reassuring tone. “This is just to finish the paperwork for your apprenticeship. I thought it’d be helpful to bring Isonokami-san along since she’s been part of the program for a few years now.”

Kei gave a polite nod, though inwardly he felt a twist of anxiety.

“I’ve got to say, Amemura,” the teacher added, looking directly at him with an appraising eye, “I’m not really surprised you got the apprenticeship. You’ve always been one of our top students. But I have to admit…” he leaned forward slightly, as if hoping for a secret, “I am curious how you landed it. It’s not a position students usually get on their own.”

Kei paused, masking the brief flicker of panic. Right… I can’t exactly say I got recruited after falling into a restricted lab, fusing with a synthetic being, and unlocking the remaining ninety percent of my brain capacity and that this apprenticeship is just a cover up for this hero training that was forced onto me.

“I ended up tangled in one of Atsuta’s missions from his apprenticeship and the higher ups saw potential in me” He said “I think Atsuta also promoted me a bit or something”

The last is a complete lie, but the teacher seemed to buy it. He leaned back with a thoughtful hum, apparently satisfied. “Well, Atsuta is well-regarded, and he wouldn’t speak highly of someone without good reason. Still, for them to offer you a spot that quickly… you must’ve made quite the impression.”

Kei wanted to scoff at that, but he hold it back. This supposed apprenticeship was only going to make his life harder and even more restricted than ever.

When they arrived at the teachers’ lounge Yuzuru along Ichiro and their homeroom teacher where already there. In front them, a serious looking man in a suit, probably a Bethel agent.

“Ah, good—you’re all here,” the man in the suit said crisply as he turned toward Kei and Tao. His voice was calm but clipped, every word efficiently measured. He gave a quick nod to the teacher, then focused entirely on the students, especially Kei.

 “Isonokami-san and Atsuta-kun have been with us for some time now,” he said, eyes scanning the room rather than landing on any one person. “They’ll help guide you through how your responsibilities at Bethel will be balanced with your academic schedule.”

Then, with an almost theatrical lack of sympathy, he produced two thick stacks of documents from his briefcase. Kei and Ichiro both tensed, as if the sight had triggered a particularly nasty form of academic PTSD from their paperwork marathon on Sunday.

“As you were told then,” the man continued, directing his words toward Kei and Ichiro, “a few signatures are still needed to finalize your apprenticeship.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

“In particular, we require formal approval from your guardians—primarily Amemura-kun’s, since Dazai-kun’s guardian signed off almost instantly. We’ll also need signatures from your homeroom teachers and the school principal to officially validate your participation.”

“My parents are being difficult?” Kei asked, not at all surprised.

“That would be correct,” the agent replied with a slight nod. “Though you did inform us ahead of time that this might be the case.” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “At this moment, one of my colleagues is meeting with them in person to obtain their signatures.”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t they be at work?”

“They were supposed to be,” the agent said evenly. “But your enrollment has become a top priority. Bethel may have… pulled a few strings to ensure they were available today.”

…To pester them until they give in, Kei thought. He knew exactly that was what he meant. On Sunday, he’d already given strict instructions on how to handle his parents—how there couldn’t be any loose threads in constructing this “apprenticeship” cover story.

“Wow, you must really want Amemura-kun in,” his homeroom teacher remarked, only half-joking. “If you’re going that far just to get his parents on board—and even sent the vice-director to help with the meeting…”

So the vice-director was involved too. Kei’s fingers twitched slightly at his side. That was… excessive. But not entirely surprising. It might actually play in their favor if someone with such a high position in the school backed them up, he was probably given a script or something to follow up or actually had examples of actual students who had actually participated on the real apprenticeship.

In all honesty Kei didn’t want to be part of it, but it was either joining, or being labelled as a villain for having awakening powers he never wanted to possess. It wasn’t fair, but life rarely was.

Kei then felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was still in school, at the teachers’ lounge at that, so he didn’t know if he should take it out or not. But if it was one of his parents calling and he didn’t answer, things could end up bad for him.

With a quiet sigh, Kei reached into his pocket and checked the screen—shielded just enough to not draw attention. Sure enough, it was his mother. His jaw tightened instinctively. She wasn’t the kind of person to call unless it was absolutely necessary… or unless she was upset.

He hesitated for a second before showing the screen to the agent and murmuring, “It’s my mom.”

The man gave a curt nod. “Go ahead. You can take it. It’s probably related to all this”

Kei exhaled quietly, bracing himself. He turned the volume down to the lowest setting—he wasn’t about to repeat this morning’s auditory shock—and held the phone a few centimeters from his ear. It probably looked odd, but he didn’t care. He’d lie and say it was a pianist thing if anyone asked. The last thing he needed was to get stunned by his mother’s voice blaring through the speaker.

He answered.

“Kei.” Her voice came through, flat. Not angry, not warm—just irritated. No hello, no how are you, not even a long time no talk. Just his name, like it was already a burden.

It was the first time she’d called in months. The first time they’d spoken since his last recital.

“Why did you accept this apprenticeship without our consent?” she asked sharply.

Kei clenched his jaw. She wasn’t wrong—he had accepted without asking, even if he didn’t really have a choice—but whatever guilt he might’ve felt evaporated with what came next.

“Did you even consider how this would affect your academic record? What about your recitals? Your future?”

There it was. Not Are you okay?, not Is this what you want?, not even Why didn’t you tell us? Just a list of expectations and consequences—none of which had anything to do with him as a person.

And it seemed like his mask might be slipping—the lights flickered. The others were watching him now—expressions hovering somewhere between concern and unease. Kei hated it. Hated being observed like this, hated feeling exposed on both sides of the call.

“I—” he started, trying to find the words, to say something, but his mother cut him off immediately.

“You can’t just go around making decisions like this on your own,” she snapped. “Do you even understand how reckless this is? Do you think Bethel will care about your long-term prospects if something goes wrong? Have you thought about the impact this will have on your recital schedule, your competitions, your reputation? What is even Bethel?”

There it is, Kei thought bitterly. Not me. Never me. Just the image. The resume. The showpiece they built and polished.

He lowered his gaze, saying nothing for a moment. Just breathing. Just enduring. He was used to this—had been his whole life—but right now, in this room, with people watching and listening, it stung in a new, infuriating way.

Someone—Kei wasn’t sure who—gestured for him to put the call on speaker. Before he could decide, the Bethel agent calmly reached over and took the phone from his hand.

“Miss Amemura, if I may,” the man said with practiced diplomacy.

There was a sharp pause on the other end. “Who are you, and what did you do to my son?”

“Your son is right here,” the agent replied smoothly. “We’re currently in the teachers’ lounge at Jouin Academy, accompanied by two faculty members and several of Kei’s classmates. As for who I am—I’m the liaison between Bethel and the school. One of my colleagues should be with you right now, in person.”

“Ah,” she said dryly. “The institution that’s so eager to snatch up my Kei. Why are you people so insistent?”

“That’s our line, actually,” he said without missing a beat. “With this apprenticeship on his record—alongside his academic performance and extracurriculars—colleges will be competing to recruit him. This is a major opportunity for your son.”

“But what if it interferes with his piano rehearsals?” she snapped. “Or his grades?”

“I can assure you it won’t hinder either,” the agent replied. “In fact, if you’d like, I can pass the phone to two of our current apprentices—one of whom is the top student at this school. They can give you a clearer picture of what the program looks like from a student’s perspective.”

And just like that, reduced to a quiet observer in a conversation about his own future, Kei watched as the agent smoothly handed his phone to Yuzuru—who then put it on speaker.

“Good afternoon, Miss Amemura,” Yuzuru began, his voice calm and clear. “My name is Yuzuru Atsuta. I’ve been the top-ranking student at Jouin since my first year.”

A short pause followed, only the faint ambient hum of the teachers’ lounge filling the silence.

“I’ve also been an apprentice with Bethel for some time now. The program is rigorous, but well-structured to accommodate our academic responsibilities. My grades haven’t suffered in the slightest—in fact, the discipline and time management skills I’ve developed through the apprenticeship have only helped me improve further.”

Kei watched silently, torn between gratitude and unease. Yuzuru was saying all the right things, probably better than Kei himself ever could. Still, it felt surreal to hear someone else defend his choices—even if not really his—especially to his own mother.

“As for extracurriculars,” Yuzuru continued, anticipating the next question before it came, “I understand Kei’s involvement with music is a major part of his life. The program respects personal priorities and schedules, and if anything, Kei’s musical discipline is something Bethel values highly.”

“I’m not only vouching for him as a fellow student,” Yuzuru added, his tone softening just a little, “but also as a friend who genuinely wants the best for him. If I didn’t believe he was capable, I wouldn’t have recommended him for this program in the first place.”

It was almost a complete lie, Kei knew it, Ichiro knew it, Tao knew it, but still it was delivered with such calm conviction that for a second, even Kei almost believed it. Still, even Kei could feel that the Yuzuru’s feelings were real.

He didn’t glance up—didn’t need to. He could feel the room shift slightly, like a collective breath was being held. Yuzuru was steady, composed as ever, and Kei couldn’t help but think thank you.

On the other end of the line, there was a pause. Then, Kei’s mother exhaled sharply.

“…I see,” she said, guarded but no longer sharp. “You speak well, Atsuta-kun. Too well for a teenager. I assume this is part of your training too?”

Before Yuzuru could reply, she added, “Fine. I want everything in writing. Clear schedules. A point of contact. If anything interferes with Kei’s recitals or academic standing, I’ll withdraw him myself.”

The agent gently took the phone back before Kei could say anything.

“Understood, Miss Amemura,” he replied coolly. “You’ll receive the full agreement by the end of the day. I appreciate your cooperation. For the moment, my comrade that is right now with you may fill you in with all the specifics.”

The call ended, but the pressure in Kei’s chest didn’t.

“She’s a piece of work,” Ichiro muttered.

Kei didn’t answer. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone, then relaxed.

“…She’s just being herself, according to her it’s her way to show her love” he said flatly. “Let’s just consider this over with.”

He then turned to Yuzuru and said “You did an explendid job handling her, thank you."

Yuzuru gave a small, modest nod. “I’ve had practice” he replied, almost like it was a joke—but his tone was too dry for it to land as one.

Kei didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Still,” he said, quieter this time, “thank you.”

For a moment, that was enough. No grand gestures, no dramatic music—just that brief flicker of understanding between two people who rarely said what they meant, but somehow managed to say it anyway.

Ichiro, of course, couldn’t let the silence linger. “Man, that woman’s scarier than any villain I’ve seen.”

Kei snorted. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll find you.”

“She already scares me through the phone,” Ichiro said, throwing his hands up. “I’m good, thanks.”

The agent cleared his throat, bringing them all back to the present. “Fortunately, with Miss Amemura’s verbal approval and our on-site representative securing her signature, the parental portion is now complete.”

He tapped a few pages with a pen. “That just leaves the school’s side of things. The two of you already signed on Sunday, so now we need the official approvals from your homeroom teachers and the school principal to fully legitimize your apprenticeship status.”

The homeroom teacher—still hovering nearby—sighed, pulling out a pen. “Well, I can sign off right now. Director Kageyama has been briefed already, so it shouldn’t take long to get his part done either.”

Kei gave a small nod, but his mind was still turning. This was the closing act of the legal start of his relationship with Bethel. The unofficial one was on Friday. It was the day his fate changed forever, when his life—at least what had him of life—stopped being his. Right now more than his parents doll, he felt as governmental property, which was just an added label to the growing list of things he no longer controlled.

First it was his body—reshaped, rewired, repurposed without his permission. Then it was his time, split between training sessions and tests that pushed him past every limit he thought he had. And now, his identity, slowly being filed away under Bethel’s watchful gaze, branded not as Kei Amemura the student, or Kei Amemura the pianist, but Kei Amemura the asset.

He watched his teacher sign the document with a casual flick of the wrist, unaware of the weight that pen stroke carried. A part of him wanted to speak up—to say something, anything—but what would he even say? That he didn’t feel ready? That he hadn’t agreed to any of this in the way that really mattered? But he couldn’t, he knew his life was on the game here. It was better to have a limited freedom, than none at all.

He stood still instead, back straight, expression blank, like a good soldier waiting for his next orders. Like he was supposed to. Like he has always acted around his parents and others full of expectations.

“Once the principal adds his signature, you’ll both be officially registered apprentices,” the agent said, sliding the papers neatly into a folder. “Your Bethel IDs should be ready by this noon.”

Kei didn’t react. Just another card to add to the deck he hadn’t asked to play with.

He wondered, if this was how a weapon felt before it was loaded. Because as far as Kei knew, that’s what heroes technically are—weapons owned by the government—they might have their free will, sure, but besides the fame were they really free?

“Still,” the agent added, snapping the folder shut, “Director Koshimizu ordered to bring all four of you in once we finished handling… Amemura’s situation.”

He turned to the two teachers, his tone respectful but firm. “Would it be possible for me to take these students with me now?”

The homeroom teacher exchanged a glance with the other staff member before sighing. “So long as they get back to the dorms before curfew, I don’t see a problem. This is technically an approved off-campus activity now.”

“Thank you,” the agent replied with a brief nod, already turning toward the door. “Let’s move.”

“Wait, please,” the other teacher called, making the agent stop and glance back. “We were just wondering how Dazai-kun ended up with this opportunity.”

There was a pause.

“We understand Amemura-kun’s involvement,” the teacher continued. “That made perfect sense to us. But Dazai-kun… Let’s just say his name came as a surprise.”

The agent studied them for a moment before finally responding.

“There’s more than one way to excel,” he said calmly. “Isonokami-san, Atsuta-kun, and Amemura-kun stand out academically—and in other areas. But Dazai-kun has demonstrated exceptional interpersonal skills.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the stunned teachers in silence as the students trailed behind him like a line of ducklings.

Kei didn’t say a word as he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the others. Something about the phrase bring these students with me echoed in his mind—clinical, detached. Not escort, not accompany, not even have them come along. Just bring.

Like cargo. Like property.

The thought sat uncomfortably with Kei, but he wasn’t in a position to argue—not now. He and the others followed the suited man out of the teachers’ lounge, down the corridor, and toward the exit. Their footsteps echoed dully against the tiled floor, but Kei’s mind wasn’t on the sound. It was on everything else.

His senses remained hyperaware, stretched thin by habit and something deeper—instinct, maybe. At first, he thought the heavy sensation weighing on him was just the lingering dread of his circumstances, of the future being forced onto him. But the further they descended toward the school’s entrance, the stronger that oppressive feeling grew.

It wasn’t just anxiety.

When they reached the first floor, Kei’s gaze was pulled sharply to the side. Leaning against the wall, a girl stood slightly hunched, as if she’d been there for a while. There was a bruise darkening her arm, half-hidden by her sleeve. Her hair was long, straight, and a deep reddish-brown that caught the light like old copper. Her bangs were cut sharp, framing her pale face. But it was her eyes—piercing silvery-pink—that gave her an almost otherworldly presence. Ethereal. Haunted.

The moment Kei saw her, he knew. That gloom he’d been feeling, the one that clung like fog and crawled under his skin—it was coming from her

It was nothing like Yuzuru’s quiet steadiness, or Ichiro’s restless chaos. It wasn’t even like Tao’s radiant, grounding calm. This was something else entirely. Heavy. Isolating.

Tao’s expression shifted the instant she saw her. Her face lit up with recognition, and she raised a hand to wave.

“Sahori-chan!” she called, voice warm and friendly.

The girl looked up. Her eyes met Tao’s, and she managed a small, almost forced smile—a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey, Tao,” she said, her tone light but a little flat. “Where are you off to? Looks like you’ve got company… Don’t tell me you got yourself a boyfriend and didn’t bother telling me?”

The tease was playful on the surface, but it was clear she was trying to steer the attention away from herself. Tao only pouted in response, clearly used to this kind of deflection.

“Don’t be like that, Sahori-chan. I’m just on my way to my apprenticeship,” she replied, cheerful but gentle.

Sahori raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right. The mysterious, top-secret government apprenticeship. You’re really something, Tao. Still managing to be the ace of the lacrosse team on top of that.”

Tao’s smile faltered slightly. “Sahori…” she said softly, her voice carrying a complicated mix of concern, guilt, and a hint of helplessness—like she wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

“That aside,” Sahori cut in, her tone sharper now, as if shutting a door before anything heartfelt could slip through. “When did so many of our grade end up with apprenticeships? Even Dazai’s in the mix, and he’s barely scraping by academically.”

She scoffed, but the bitterness behind it was hard to miss. There was no real malice in her words—just fatigue, and something deeper Kei couldn’t quite name. Resentment? Resignation? Whatever it was, it resonated with that same gloomy aura that had clung to her from the moment he noticed her.

Tao opened her mouth to respond, but the agent escorting them gave a sharp, deliberate cough—just enough to pull attention back to the matter at hand.

“Duty calls, I guess,” Sahori said with a shrug, her voice lighter than her expression. “Good luck, guys.”

With that, she turned and started down the hall toward the nurse’s office, her posture casual but her steps just a little too heavy for it to be convincing.

The group was ushered out of the building without much ceremony, though Kei could still feel the lingering heaviness in the air, trailing behind them like Sahori’s presence. Outside, a sleek, black government car waited for them—its tinted windows gleaming under the afternoon sun, a quiet but undeniable symbol of authority.

They climbed in without a word. The doors shut with a soft thud, and the inside was as quiet and insulated as it looked. Kei took the window seat, absently watching the school building retreat behind them.

It was Ichiro who broke the silence. “Hey, that girl from earlier… you knew her, right?”

Tao, seated across from him, gave a small nod. “Yeah. Her name’s Sahori Itsukushima. She’s… my best friend.” Her smile was faint, nostalgic, and strained all at once. “She used to be the captain of the lacrosse team—really talented, way more driven than me.”

“What happened?” Yuzuru asked, glancing over. His voice was gentle, respectful.

“She got into an accident last year,” Tao said quietly. “Had to leave the team. She’s recovered physically, but… things haven’t been the same since. Some girls started picking on her. And no matter how much I tried to help, she just wouldn’t let me.”

“That’s awful,” Ichiro muttered. “Didn’t you report it to the teachers?”

“I did,” Tao said, her expression darkening. “More than once. But they said they couldn’t do anything unless she came forward herself. And Sahori…” she trailed off, clasping her hands in her lap. “She didn’t want to make it worse.”

There was a quiet that settled over the group—one not imposed by the car’s insulated silence, but by something heavier.

Kei turned back to the window, but his mind wasn’t on the view anymore.

Sahori’s steps. That smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He hadn’t imagined that gloom after all.

The rest of the trip passed in silence. Kei wasn’t sure if it was because of what Tao had just revealed, or if they were all simply bracing themselves for whatever came next. The calm before the storm, maybe.

Koshimizu’s words echoed in his mind—about how any semblance of freedom he and Ichiro had was now officially over.

Kei almost laughed at that. Freedom? As if he ever really had it. Maybe technically, on paper. But between parental expectations, performances, and now this secret apprenticeship…

Sure, he’d miss his alone time—even if, thanks to that little “accident” in the restricted lab, alone time wasn’t really a thing anymore. Not when your brain decided to permanently entangle itself with an artificial being.

Lost in thought, they barely registered their arrival at Bethel HQ until they were already being ushered inside.

At the entrance, Kei and Ichiro were handed sleek, black-lacquered ID cards with their names and photographs already printed on them. Both boys blinked in mild confusion.

Kei glanced down at his, then looked up at the agent. “Didn’t you say our IDs would be ready by noon?”

“That was a lie,” the agent replied flatly, not missing a beat. “We processed your profiles yesterday—right after you signed the forms. The school and parental signatures were just a formality to make the whole thing appear more… legal.”

Kei stared at the ID again, expression unreadable. So, it was already decided. The paperwork wasn’t permission—it was decoration. It didn’t really surprise him. He’d expected as much, considering how unusual his case was. Still, having a physical object in his hand—a glossy, government-issued badge with his name etched beside an emblem he never asked to serve—made it all feel heavier. Tangible. Real.

A quiet confirmation of his new status: not just involved, but owned.

His thumb brushed the edge of the card. Clean cut. Government standard.

He let out a quiet sigh. If there was no going back before, there certainly wasn’t now. The ID chain around his neck felt heavier than it should’ve—like a collar disguised as access.

Kei, along with the others, stepped into the elevator. With a soft beep, he scanned the newly issued card, the panel glowing green as they descended into the restricted area where they were expected.

What they didn’t expect—especially Kei—was the figure already waiting for them as the elevator doors slid open.

Aogami.

Tall, composed, unmistakable.

Yeah, Kei had felt him getting closer—his presence was impossible to miss, like a ripple in the air only he could sense as the elevator descended—but that didn’t make it any less jarring to actually see him.

That sharp electric awareness thrummed beneath his skin again, instinctive and immediate, a magnetic pull he still didn’t fully understand.

“Young man” Aogami said, his voice calm and even as he turned to Kei. “Are you alright? Your emotional state has fluctuated significantly throughout the day.”

He paused, as if giving Kei the chance to answer. When Kei didn’t, he continued.

“I was tempted to reach out to you through our connection” he admitted. “But I feared it might cause you further distress. So, I chose to refrain.”

Kei blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected consideration. “Thanks,” he said quietly, sincerity slipping into his voice. “I… appreciate that.”

And he meant it. Genuinely.

He never expected such a thoughtful gesture—such a human gesture—from Aogami. Even if his voice and expression remained neutral, the simple fact that he had waited for Kei at the elevator said more than words ever could.

“Proto-Fiend!” a voice called out.

A scientist was hurrying toward them, visibly flustered. “What are you doing out here? We all panicked when you just walked out of the lab like th—”

He stopped mid-sentence the moment he spotted Kei. His eyes lit up, wide and gleaming like a child who had just found their favorite toy.

Kei’s stomach dropped.

“Amemura-kun!” the scientist chirped—far too cheerfully. “You’re back! Ready to dive into more testing?”

Kei resisted the urge to take a step back. That tone was way too enthusiastic for someone talking about experiments.

Honestly, he was tempted to just step behind Tao or one of the others—not out of fear, of course. He’d never admit to something like that. It wasn’t even the tests themselves that bothered him. It was the whole being poked and prodded like a lab rat part. And really, not even actual lab rats probably liked that.

Still, the idea of being handed over to that overly eager scientist made Kei’s skin crawl.

“Not so fast, Akase-sensei,” a calm but commanding voice rang out, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

It was none other than Hayao Koshimizu—the Prime Minister himself.

“I know you and your team are quite fascinated by Amemura-kun,” Koshimizu said, his gaze briefly settling on Kei with a weight that made his shoulders tense. “But he also needs training. A lot of it.”

He paused, then added pointedly, “Didn’t Aogami submit a detailed report on their operational compatibility?”

Akase shifted, clearly trying not to look too deflated. “He did, yes. But reading a report and witnessing it in person are two very different things…”

Koshimizu sighed, long and measured, the kind of sigh that said he’d had this conversation one too many times.

Koshimizu’s sigh faded into a quiet pause, the kind that naturally made people stand straighter—whether out of respect or fear.

“I’m not denying the necessity of observation,” he said coolly. “But we can’t afford to prioritize data collection over stabilization and control. Right now, Amemura-kun is walking a very fine line. Push him too hard, too fast, and you risk compromising everything—including his cooperation.”

Kei blinked. Cooperation, huh? Interesting choice of word. As if he’d ever really had the option to not cooperate.

Akase opened his mouth as if to argue but quickly shut it when Koshimizu gave him a look. Aogami stood silently at Kei’s side, arms folded, expression unreadable but posture firm. Supportive.

“I’ll personally oversee his training schedule,” Koshimizu continued, his tone brooking no debate. “Testing will resume when I deem it appropriate—not before. Am I clear?”

“…Crystal,” Akase muttered, stepping back with a polite bow, though the disappointment on his face was hard to miss.

Koshimizu turned back to the group, his eyes scanning over each of them before settling on Kei for a beat longer than the rest.

“Welcome back to Bethel,” he said, his voice calm but edged with something unmistakably firm. “I trust you’re prepared for what lies ahead.”

Without another word, he pivoted sharply and began walking down the corridor, his entourage trailing behind him in absolute silence, like disciplined shadows.

The agent who had escorted them gave a short nod before peeling off, leaving the group of teenagers—and the ever-silent proto-fiend—to follow the prime minister’s lead.

Kei’s footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor as he walked, unease simmering just beneath his neutral expression. How important was he to them, exactly, for the prime minister himself to appear on his first official day?

“So, Amemura-kun,” Koshimizu began, his tone perfectly measured, “how was your first day back at school after the incident? Any… complications to report?”

Kei hesitated under the weight of Koshimizu’s scrutinizing gaze. There was something different about the way the Prime Minister addressed him now—something subtle, yet unmistakable. A shift in tone, maybe. Less detached professionalism, more calculated interest, as if searching for something. Kei couldn’t quite pin it down what.

“If you’re asking whether I accidentally broke anything,” Kei finally replied, voice calm but edged with dry sarcasm, “then no. I didn’t. Not even the plastic tray I used at breakfast.”

Koshimizu gave a slow, contemplative nod. “And your Magatsuhi control?”

That question made Kei falter just slightly. A subtle twitch in his posture. His shoulders tightened, and for the briefest moment, the overhead corridor lights flickered—a faint pulse, gone in an instant.

“I see,” Koshimizu said again, this time with a note of finality. “Since you appear to have at least some control over your strength for now, I believe it’s best we assign you a tutor for your… Magatsuhi situation.”

Without looking up, he pulled out a familiar device—identical to the one he had handed to Ichiro the day before—and tapped across its screen.

“Isonokami-san, accompany Amemura-kun to Training Room 12,” he instructed, still focused on the display. “Atsuta-kun, Dazai-kun—return to the same room you used over the weekend. Hayataro is already waiting for you.”

And just like that, Koshimizu turned and walked away, his entourage gliding behind him without a sound, leaving the teenagers standing in his wake, exchanging glances.

“I’m not even officially assigned to this area…” Tao muttered, half to herself, tone more resigned than upset. Then, with a shrug that said she was used to this kind of unpredictability, she smiled. “But hey, whatever—this works for me.”

Before Kei could react, she reached out and grabbed him by the arm. The sudden contact made him flinch, startled more by the gesture than the grip.

“Let’s go!” she said brightly, already pulling him along.

“See you later, guys!” she called over her shoulder as they walked away, while Kei gave a simple, silent nod in parting.

After weaving through a few sterile white corridors, they finally reached the designated room. Even before the door slid open, Kei felt it—that presence. It pulsed softly through the air like a low hum. Gentle, yes, but with a faint spark of something more—something playful, almost mischievous.

When the door parted with a quiet hiss, the presence took shape.

Standing at the center of the spacious training room was a petite woman clad in a sleek, indigo bodysuit that fit like a second skin, accentuating her lithe build. Short brown hair framed her youthful face, and her outfit was completed by matching thigh-high boots and long gloves, both adorned with elegant crisscross patterns that caught the light as she moved. She radiated a kind of whimsical confidence, like someone who didn’t just walk into a room—she bounced into it.

Even Kei, whose knowledge of heroes was limited by choice, recognized her.

Pixie.

A well-known support-type hero with a reputation for agility, wind control, and being… well, a lot.

“Hi there!!” she greeted with a wave so enthusiastic it bordered on chaotic. “You must be Kei-kun! I’m Pixie—the Pixie, obviously—aaand I’m gonna be your Magatsuhi control instructor!”

Kei blinked. That much enthusiasm this early in the session was… disarming.

“I’m so excited!” she continued, practically vibrating with energy. “I’ve never been assigned to someone’s Magatsuhi training before! This is totally new for me, too!”

Tao, standing beside him, gave a polite smile. “Good luck,” she whispered to Kei, clearly amused, before slipping away to wherever she was needed.

Pixie clapped her hands and twirled. “Soo, first things first! What’s your Magatsuhi level?”

“My… what?”

Pixie paused mid-spin and tilted her head. “Your Magatsuhi level! Y’know, how much you’ve built up, how well you can regulate it, what your baseline output is—that stuff!”

Kei gave her a blank look, then rubbed his temple, visibly annoyed, all those tests and yet either no one informed him about that or didn’t even measure it. “No one told me about that.”

“Wait—what?” Pixie blinked “But… didn’t they test you or something?? They must’ve—”

“Oh, they did,” Kei muttered. “A lot of them. Repeatedly. I’ve been poked, scanned, and monitored like a science project since Friday.”

At that, something unusual happened—two small, translucent wings suddenly burst out from her back with a soft flicker, clearly a spontaneous reaction to her emotions.

Kei’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise.

Pixie frowned, either unaware or uncaring that her wings had just sprouted. “But they didn’t even tell you the results?”

He shrugged, irritation creeping into his voice. “I guess they were so excited about their new toy they either forgot to measure it or forgot to tell me.”

She placed her hands on her hips with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s dumb. But hey! Silver lining—we’ll find out together! Think of it as a surprise team-building exercise!”

Kei sighed through his nose. This was going to be a long session.

“So… what exactly do I need to do to measure it?” he asked, already bracing himself for whatever strange method she might suggest.

“Well, there are a lot of ways to do it,” Pixie said, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “But considering the report I got about your situation, I think we’ll go with the mechanical method and go from there.”

She paused, then suddenly gasped as something on her tablet caught her eye. “Also—seriously?! You can manipulate three different elements?! That’s so cool!!”

Her wings flared out again with visible excitement as she all but bounced in place.

Kei rubbed his temple. “I… guess?”

“Guess?! You’re like… a walking elemental storm!” Pixie grinned   “The last hero who could manipulate three elements like you w—”

She cut herself off abruptly. For just a heartbeat, Kei caught a glimpse of something behind her smile—nostalgia, maybe even grief. A quiet, sad expression that didn’t match her usual exuberance.

Then she blinked, shook her head lightly, and the moment was gone.

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “Let’s get to work!”

Pixie pulled out a sleek device—similar to the one Koshimizu had used earlier—and tapped a few things on its screen.

“Aaaand… done!” she chirped. “They’ll bring it in any second now.”

Kei opened his mouth to ask what exactly they were bringing, but didn’t even get the chance. A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!” Pixie called, all energy and sunshine once again. That flash of melancholy from moments ago had vanished completely, like it had never been there at all.

The door opened with a quiet click, revealing a man in a lab coat pushing a metallic cart. On top of it sat a strange, sleek device that looked somewhere between a medical scanner and a piece of industrial equipment.

The scientist’s eyes lit up the moment he laid eyes on Kei.

“Oh! Amemura-kun!” he beamed, practically sparkling with excitement. It was the exact same over-eager expression the first scientist had worn earlier that day.

Kei instinctively took a step back.

Pixie noticed and frowned slightly but didn’t comment.

“Thanks for bringing it,” she said instead, stepping in between Kei and the man with casual ease, as if it were part of the act. The scientist lingered a moment longer than necessary before finally backing out with a slightly dazed nod, closing the door behind him.

Pixie turned to Kei. “You okay?”

Kei didn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on the door. “Do they all look at me like that?”

“…Kinda, yeah,” Pixie admitted with a small shrug. “You’re not exactly average, Kei-kun.”

“I noticed,” he muttered dryly.

Pixie wheeled the device forward. “Okay! Let’s see what we’re working with. Just place your hand here.” She pointed to a smooth panel on the machine’s surface. “It’ll scan your baseline Magatsuhi output.”

Kei gave the machine a suspicious glance before finally stepping forward and laying his hand flat on the panel.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the machine lit up.

A low hum started to build from within, and lines of data began racing across the screen faster and faster. Pixie leaned in, eyes narrowing as she tracked the numbers. Her wings—still faintly translucent—began to flutter in response to a sudden spike in energy.

“Okay, wow, that’s a lot,” she said slowly. “You’ve got a high production rate, but it’s stable so fa—”

The machine let out a loud beep, then buzzed, then crackled.

And then it popped, a sharp spark snapping from one of the exposed vents before the whole thing powered down with a pitiful whine.

Pixie’s eyes went wide. “What the—?!”

Kei recoiled instinctively. “Did I break it?”

“…Yeah,” Pixie said, stunned. “Yeah, you totally did.”

The lights in the room flickered once—twice—then returned to normal.

There was a beat of silence.

“Well,” she said finally, hands on her hips, trying to mask her surprise with a grin, “that… definitely explains the flickering lights from this weekend. You’ve got way more Magatsuhi than a normal hero.”

Kei sighed and looked away, but not before muttering, “Figures.”

Pixie’s grin softened, just a bit. “Hey, hey—don’t look so gloomy. It just means we’ve got a lot of power to work with. And that means more fun training sessions!”

Kei wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting.

But if the broken machine and his own reaction were anything to go by… this training might be more important than even he had realized.

“With enough practice,” Pixie chirped, wings fluttering behind her again, “you might even be able to condense your Magatsuhi and bring out a secondary trait!”

Kei turned to her, brow faintly furrowed. “A secondary trait?”

“What? Interested?” she grinned, clearly delighted by his curiosity. “Basically, people with a strong Magatsuhi pool—and more importantly, really good control over it—can sometimes manifest extra physical traits.

Kei blinked. “So… Hayataro’s tail? That’s one of those traits?”

“Bingo!” she said proudly, hands on her hips. “Hayataro also gets canine ears sometimes. He says they help when he wants better spatial awareness or to pick up distant sounds.”

Then, turning slightly, she made a show of her own wings, which shimmered briefly before folding in and vanishing seamlessly into her back. “These features can usually be summoned at will once the user gets the hang of it. But the form they take—that’s the real mystery. We still haven’t figured out what determines it. Could be tied to your elemental affinity, combat instincts, emotional patterns… maybe even something deeper, like your soul.”

A secondary trait…

Kei swallowed, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment.

He didn’t want that.

He really didn’t want that.

His life already felt like a mess of too many labels and too many eyes on him—prodigy pianist, honor student, now forced hero-in-training and unofficial test subject. He didn’t need something else to make him stand out. Wings, tails, horns—whatever they were. He didn’t want another thing to single him out, to turn heads, to spark whispers behind his back or gasps when he walked into a room.

No. He wanted to blend in, disappear into the crowd—maybe not vanish completely, but at least be normal.

“Hard pass,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for Pixie to hear.

But she noticed the way his shoulders stiffened. The way his eyes clouded.

She didn’t push it.

Instead, she just smiled again—lighter this time, less energetic—and gestured toward the training mats. “Alright then, let’s get back on track. No weird traits just yet, promise. First, we’ll start by working on containment. Think of your Magatsuhi like water in a balloon—we don’t want it leaking everywhere every time you feel something.”

Kei let out a slow breath and nodded.

One step at a time.

“Close your eyes,” Pixie said gently, her earlier energy softening into something more focused—still warm, but grounded now. “Feel it. Let it circulate through your body.”

Kei hesitated for half a second before obeying. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose as he tried to shift his awareness inward, forcing himself to acknowledge that new feeling he had been trying to ignore all this time.

“Magatsuhi isn’t just energy,” she continued, her voice calm and steady now. “It’s tied to your emotions, your thoughts, your instincts, your own self. It flows with your pulse, your breath… your will.”

Kei could feel it.

That strange warmth threading through him—constant and humming, like the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. He didn’t know if it traveled through his veins, seeped between his cells, or simply pulsed from somewhere deeper, more abstract. But it was there.

Restless. Relentless. Alive.

Like a storm caged inside his body, surging every time his heart stuttered or his thoughts wandered too far. And he was supposed to control that?

He frowned, his jaw tightening.

How was he expected to rein something like this in when he barely had a grip on his own life? Every day since the incident had felt like a free fall—more questions than answers, more expectations than explanations.

Now, somehow, this churning, turbulent force inside him was supposed to be his responsibility too.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. The air around him began to hum, soft but insistent, charged with a static pressure that made the hairs on Pixie’s arms stand on end. A faint metallic scent filled the room—like ozone before a lightning strike.

“Kei-kun! Kei-kun!” Pixie called out, a hint of nervousness slipping into her usually chipper tone as she stepped toward him.

Kei’s eyes opened slowly.

Golden.

Not glowing, not flickering—burning, steady and sharp like sunlight reflecting off a blade. Pixie froze for half a second, startled. It wasn’t unheard of—heroes’ eyes often flared gold under high Magatsuhi output—but this… this hadn’t been in the report.

She swallowed. “Okay… so, uh, eyes going gold! That’s—new! But not bad! Just means your Magatsuhi is surging a little! Totally normal… probably!”

Kei blinked, the glow dimming slightly as his awareness returned. He looked at her, slightly dazed.

“…I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice sounded distant. “Just… lost track of it.”

Pixie exhaled slowly, putting a hand over her chest with exaggerated relief. “Phew! Well, maybe don’t do that again without a heads-up next time, okay?”

Despite herself, she smiled—part worried, part impressed.

There was no doubt now.

Kei wasn’t just a student. He wasn’t just a trainee.

He was a walking conduit of raw, volatile power. And right now, she was the one tasked with teaching this ticking Magatsuhi bomb how to control itself.

“Okay, okay—deep breaths! Let’s start with some breathing exercises,” Pixie said, her usual cheer tinged with a thin thread of uncertainty. For all her confidence, this was new territory—even for her.

Kei could feel her nervousness. It wasn’t just in her voice—it pulsed faintly in the air between them, subtle but tangible. And honestly? He couldn’t blame her.

He’d broken a machine just by existing near it. His eyes had turned gold without meaning to, which frankly, terrified him. The air warped when his emotions slipped out of his grip.

If he were in her shoes, he’d probably be nervous too.

Still, he sat down without protest, folding his legs beneath him on the training room floor. Pixie floated a little closer, adjusting her posture to mirror him.

“Inhale through your nose… nice and slow… one, two, three,” she guided, watching him carefully. “Now exhale—don’t force it. Let it flow.”

Kei did as she said, focusing on the rhythm. This kind of reminded him when he was younger and about to go to the stage—afraid of failing and letting his parents down, afraid of being the center of attention. It’s something he came to learn how to control with the time, but now, the situation was different. It wasn’t just a performance.

It wasn’t just a mistake that would lead to a few disappointed glances or passive-aggressive silence on the car ride home.

Now, a slip could mean destruction—hurting others. Hurting himself.

He clenched his jaw subtly, trying to chase that same focus he’d learned to wield behind the piano keys. Back then, he could make sense of the chaos by turning it into music. But this? Magatsuhi didn’t follow a score.

Still, the breathing helped. Little by little, the static in the air began to settle. The faint metallic scent dulled, and the golden glow in his eyes dimmed until it faded completely.

Pixie, who’d been watching closely, let out a breath of relief—one she clearly hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“There we go…” she murmured with a small smile. “See? You’ve already got better control than you think.”

Kei looked at her, unconvinced. “It still feels… like I’m just keeping the lid on it. Not really controlling it. Just delaying the inevitable.”

Pixie tilted her head thoughtfully, then floated a bit closer, voice softening.

“Maybe. But every second you keep it contained is a second you are in control. And that counts. Control doesn’t mean suppressing it forever—it means learning when to release it… and how.”

Her tone was more serious now. Calmer. Less bubbly, more grounded. She wasn’t just trying to cheer him up—she meant it.

Kei didn’t answer right away, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

“That aside, Wow! It was like a total roller coaster!” She said coming back to her usual bubbly personality “It was like wooo and then waaaa!” Pixie exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air as if reenacting a particularly wild amusement park ride. “I mean, not gonna lie, I was lowkey freaking out a little—but also super impressed!”

Kei blinked at her, utterly nonplussed. “…That’s not very reassuring.”

She grinned, utterly unbothered. “Hey, give me some credit! I didn’t bolt, did I? That has to count for something. You’re like—seriously high-level stuff, Kei-kun. And I get to train you! Do you know how cool that is?”

Her wings flared again, popping out from her back like they were reacting on their own to her excitement, translucent and shimmering faintly with energy.

Kei sighed, a long-suffering exhale that was probably meant to sound annoyed but didn’t quite hide the ghost of amusement in his eyes. “…Are you always like this?”

Pixie tilted her head innocently. “Like what?”

“Loud.”

“Energetic,” she corrected, puffing out her chest proudly. “I bring positivity to the room. And caffeine. But mostly positivity.”

He didn’t reply, but the smallest upward tug at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Pixie, catching it, gasped. “Was that a smile?! A real one?! From you?” She dramatically wiped a fake tear from her eye. “This is the proudest moment of my career. For the…” she checked the clock in the room “For the hour that I’ve known you I never thought I’d see such a look on your face!”

Kei looked away, now definitely annoyed. “You’re insufferable. I hope that you and Dazai never meet.”

“And you’re secretly a sweetheart, I knew it!” she shot back, grinning wide. “Okay, okay—fun aside, we’re gonna do one last thing for today. Nothing explosive, promise. Just a simple control check.”

“Define simple” Kei muttered under his breath.

Pixie only winked. “Trust me~!”

“Like this!” she said, forming a ball of wind between her hands. It was steady and well-defined, swirling with precision and control. Kei stared at it, unsure if he’d ever be able to do something similar without accidentally wrecking the entire room.

“You can control wind too, right? Give it a try!” she said, nudging him forward with her usual enthusiasm.

“I have no idea how to do that,” he admitted quietly.

“Imagine the feeling of the wind,” Pixie encouraged, her hands still cradling the small orb of swirling air. “How it moves, how it wraps around your fingers… picture it dancing, light and free.”

Kei held out a hand, brow furrowed in focus. He tried to visualize it—tried to follow her instructions exactly. He imagined the Magatsuhi in his body, flowing to his fingertips, weaving together into a sphere like hers.

Nothing.

Not even a breeze.

Pixie tilted her head, peering at his outstretched hand. “…Well, it was a really good effort! You looked very intense. Super dramatic. Ten out of ten face acting.”

Kei narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not amused. “That’s not helpful.”

She grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. But hey, that’s normal. Most people don’t get it on the first try. I mean, you’re trying to command raw elemental energy with basically no prior training—that’s like trying to play a piano concerto without sheet music.”

Kei blinked slowly at her. “…That’s a terrible analogy.”

Pixie squinted at him, then pointed a finger. “Wait. That means you’ve done that before, hasn’t it?”

He sighed and looked away. “That’s not the point.”

“Totally the point, actually.” She gave a victorious little bounce. “But let’s stay on track. Try again—but this time, don’t overthink it. Let it happen. Breathe in, feel where the Magatsuhi stirs, and instead of forcing it… ask it.”

“…Ask it” he repeated flatly.

“Yeah!” she said brightly. “Like it’s your partner, not your servant. You don’t command a part of yourself, you listen to it.”

Kei exhaled through his nose again, reluctantly closing his eyes. He tried again. Slower this time. Less pressure. Less trying to shape it—and more… inviting it.

For a brief moment, there was nothing.

Then, a breeze. A small one. Barely perceptible—but enough to stir the ends of his sleeves.

Pixie gasped. “There! You did it!”

Kei opened his eyes, staring at his hand in surprise. “That was… me?”

“You bet it was!” she said, clapping once. “See? It’s not about force—it’s about flow.”

Kei stood in silence, processing her words. What he’d managed wasn’t impressive, not really. Just a faint breeze.

Yet… he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of pride.

He never asked for any of this—for the powers, the training, the scrutiny. But producing that little gust of wind, on purpose… it gave him something he hadn’t felt in days—maybe even his whole life.

A sliver of control.

“Well, it seems I’m a good teacher after all, wouldn’t you say?” Pixie said, half-joking, clearly fishing for praise.

Much to her surprise, Kei gave her a small, warm, genuine smile. “I guess you are.”

Pixie squeaked in delight. “Aaaaah! You’re just too cute!!” she cried, launching herself at him in a tight hug.

Kei flinched instinctively, trying to push her away—though not with full force, even if he knew she could probably handle it. Part of him wanted to resist, startled by the sudden contact… but another part, smaller yet stubborn, hesitated.

It had been a long time since anyone had hugged him like this. Since anyone had shown this kind of motherly warmth. His own mother hadn’t held him like this in years.

He didn’t pull away.

That was when the door opened.

Koshimizu stood at the threshold, eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sight before him. “…What exactly is going on here?”

Pixie quickly let Kei go, floating back with a sheepish grin. “Ahaha—nothing! Just celebrating a breakthrough, that’s all!”

The prime minister crossed his arms. “I assigned you to him because I believed you could remain professional.”

Pixie pouted, wings twitching out. “But he’s just too cute!”

Kei let out a quiet sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “She’s not wrong about being a good teacher, at least,” he said, his tone dry but not unfriendly.

Koshimizu looked at him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

Kei blinked. “…Do I have something on my face?”

That actually made Pixie giggle.

Koshimizu didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered just long enough to make the silence feel heavy before he turned on his heel. “I came to check on Amemura’s progress—not to walk in on a cuddle session. Amemura, once you’re done here, head to the cafeteria and get something to eat. Pixie, to my office. Now.”

The door clicked shut behind him with finality.

Pixie looked at Kei, still floating midair. “He sooo needs a hug.”

Kei just shook his head. “You go ahead. I’m not helping with that one.”

Pixie’s expression softened as she floated back down, her tone shifting to something more caring. “Koshimizu’s right—you should grab something to eat. We didn’t do anything physically exhausting, but I’m pretty sure today’s been a lot for you.”

Kei didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t exactly tired, but he’d gladly take any excuse to get out of Bethel as fast as possible. If eating got him some free time afterward, then so be it.

“Yeah, I will,” he said at last. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“It’s nothing! Besides, it was fun!” Pixie beamed. “And who knows? This might become a regular thing. I think Koshimizu’s already working on your schedule.”

That earned a groan from Kei. He really didn’t want to think about that yet. He could admit the Magatsuhi session wasn’t as bad as expected—dare he say, almost alright—but he wasn’t sure what he dreaded more: the physical training with Hayataro or the endless poking and prodding from the scientists. Probably the latter.

And just like that, Kei started toward the door. But before he could step out, Pixie called out to him one last time.

Pixie knocked on the door to Koshimizu’s office.

“Come in,” came the voice from inside.

She stepped in to find the prime minister seated behind his desk, absorbed in reading and signing a stack of important-looking documents.

“Report,” he said without even glancing up.

“Well! For starters, his Magatsuhi level is completely off the charts—surpassing even the most experienced heroes,” she began, pausing to see if he’d react. When he didn’t, she continued.

“This, of course, makes it difficult for him to control, which leads to those unintentional ‘leaks.’ You know, like when the lights flicker in response to his emotions?”

She picked up steam, arms moving animatedly. “And considering how hard he tries to suppress his feelings, this has got to be mortifying for him!”

“Get to the point,” Koshimizu said flatly.

“Right, right. The point,” she muttered. “So, we tried some basic exercises to help him sense his own Magatsuhi flow, but it… sort of backfired. He ended up getting overworked, and there was a noticeable Magatsuhi build-up in his eyes…”

That made Koshimizu finally look up, brow furrowed.

“He was so overwhelmed—though you’d barely tell by looking—that if I hadn’t calmed him down with breathing exercises, I think he would’ve accidentally zapped me with a bolt strong enough to destroy the whole training room.”

Koshimizu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

“Actually, yes!” Pixie chirped, back to her usual cheer. “He managed to use Magatsuhi intentionally—for the first time!”

Koshimizu raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t much, just a small breeze for a few seconds—but still! He’s a genius! Most people can’t do that even after months of training!”

“He… did?” Koshimizu asked, his voice quieter, laced with something hard to place.

“Yup!” Pixie said, grinning. “He didn’t show it, but I’m pretty sure he was proud of himself. Just a little. It wasn’t anything flashy, just a small breeze—but it was controlled.” She gave a short, approving nod. “He felt it out and managed to will it into shape. No explosions, no lights flickering—just him, focusing and making it happen.”

Koshimizu leaned back slightly in his chair, hands steepled. His gaze was no longer on her, but somewhere far beyond the office walls.

“He’s raw, and overwhelmed. But not broken,” Pixie continued, softer now. “Give him the right tools, and he might just surprise us.”

Koshimizu said nothing for a long moment.

“You’ve done enough for today. Go get some rest.”

Pixie gave a mock salute, floating backwards toward the door. “Got it, boss~! I’ll write the full report later.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence settled over the office like a thin mist. Koshimizu stared at the surface of his desk for a few seconds before reaching out—almost absently—and turning a small, framed photo toward himself.

Three young people smiled out from the image. A much younger Koshimizu stood in the middle, wearing a crooked grin. On one side was a man with windswept dark hair, sharp eyes and a mischievous grin; on the other, a woman with a kind smile and wind-tousled curls.

He looked at the photo for a long time, expression unreadable.

“…Control alone isn’t enough,” he murmured to no one.

Then, gently, he turned the photo back toward its original angle and picked up his pen.

Back to work.

Chapter Text

Kei groggily woke up to the sound of his alarm. After numerous failed attempts, he had finally figured out how to use it without going deaf in the process. The solution was borderline ridiculous—he had to place his phone all the way across the room, which, considering the room’s modest size, wasn’t very far. It now rested on top of a metal drawer against the wall, muffled beneath a pillow. The drawer had originally been positioned behind his bed, but during his ongoing trial-and-error attempts to find the “least annoying” way to wake up, he’d shifted it to the opposite side of the room.

His room was small and utilitarian—quiet, with dark wood flooring and cool, muted tones. The bed, where he currently lay, sat off to one side beneath a carefully hung three-piece formal outfit—reserved for his recitals. At the far end of the room stretched a long table, positioned before tall windows that framed the Tokyo skyline. It doubled as a study desk, currently home to an open laptop and a single chair. Opposite the bed stood a metal chest of drawers, where his alarm continued to buzz beneath a pillow. The drawers held a sparse selection of personal items: a few books, some notebooks, and other bare essentials. Nothing more than what was necessary.

It had been a few weeks since his forced integration into Bethel, and Kei had settled into a fairly regular routine. Each morning, Ichiro and Yuzuru would come to fetch him so they could head to breakfast together. The surprised stares and persistent rumors about Jouin’s “Ice Prince”—once known for sitting alone with his nose buried in a book—had started to fade. Of course, they didn’t disappear entirely; instead, they evolved into whispered theories about how those two had managed to break through his frosty exterior.

By now, Miyazu—and occasionally Tao—would also join them before they all headed to school together. Afterward, they made their way to Bethel (minus Miyazu), where the rest of the day was spent in training sessions, lectures, and whatever responsibilities Tao—and sometimes Yuzuru—had to take care of. Their days wouldn’t end until late at night, around 9 p.m., when they finally returned home to tackle homework and unwind.

It was taxing, and sometimes Kei could almost feel his mother breathing down his neck. Ironically, ever since the call in the teachers’ lounge, she had become more attentive than ever—clinging to him as if afraid he might slip out of her grasp at any moment. She called nearly every day, ensuring he was keeping up with his recital practice, and sometimes even demanded he call her during lunch—the time he usually reserved for practicing—to make sure he wasn’t slacking off. What she didn’t know was that, more often than not, he wasn’t alone in the music room anymore. He wondered how she would react if she ever found out about his little “private recitals” with friends.

That was another thing that had changed over the past few weeks: the word friends didn’t feel as foreign as it once did. It wasn’t anything drastic—no sudden epiphany or emotional breakthrough. He had simply started paying more attention. To the way Yuzuru always kept an eye out for Miyazu, even when she wasn’t around. To how he could now tell when Yuzuru was joking or being serious, something that would’ve gone right over his head before.

And then there was Ichiro, always ready with the most ridiculous jokes—some so outlandish that Kei could only roll his eyes. But then he’d catch himself smiling, just a little, and when he glanced over, Ichiro would already be grinning like he’d won something. As if making Kei smile was the whole point. He was also a lot more perceptive than he let on—and stronger, too. Kei had noticed it over time: Ichiro was well aware of the whispers and comments that floated around about him. Yet, he always feigned ignorance, brushing it all off with an overly bright grin and a carefree attitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear them; he just chose to rise above it, to not let it define him.

Then came Tao. She was not quite what Kei had expected. Being the most popular girl in school, he had assumed she always maintained a cheery and friendly façade. But he discovered that wasn’t the case. More often than not, he caught her gazing at the sky with a worried expression when she thought no one was watching—probably thinking about how she could help her friend Sahori. Other than that, though, her cheerfulness and kindness weren’t an act. They were genuine, rooted in a quiet strength that Kei found himself quietly respecting.

And Miyazu—well, there wasn’t a lot to say, yet somehow that simplicity made her presence all the more grounding. She was kind and thoughtful, always carrying a quiet warmth that never asked for anything in return. Even if she didn’t fully understand what he was going through, or what her brother was truly involved in, she remained supportive in her own gentle way. It wasn’t grand gestures or eloquent words—it was in how she listened, how she remembered small things, how she smiled like it was enough just to have everyone safe and together.

These were small details that Kei came to appreciate—a new normal in all aspects.

And when it came to Kei himself, these few weeks had been enough for him to regain a measure of self-control. No more accidental damage from misjudged strength. No more flickering lights every time he had an emotional spike.

Sure, he wasn’t fully in control yet—there were still occasional slip-ups—but they were nothing compared to how things had been at the beginning. He was even starting to get used to his body. The sudden muscle growth, which had once felt foreign and out of place, was slowly becoming part of his reality. He didn’t flinch as much anymore when feeling the difference during a shower or catching his reflection in the mirror.

It was still strange. But it was his strange now. His new normal.

Ever since his first official day in Bethel, he hadn’t had the chance to exchange words with Aogami. Technically speaking, he could contact him anytime he wanted but the truth was, Kei didn’t really know what to say.

After everything they’d gone through during the early testing phases—being observed, separated, reconnected—he’d thought they would have more time together. Maybe even develop some kind of… partnership. But that hadn’t been the case.

Still, according to Koshimizu, their “joint training”—if it could even be called that—would begin once Kei had mastered the basics.

Yeah, fusing would allow them to progress faster, more efficiently.

As the scientists put it, Kei’s brain had absorbed Aogami’s information processors and adapted itself to accommodate and sync with them, allowing it to process data in a more streamlined, almost computer-like fashion. But even if this connection made everything easier and faster, Koshimizu insisted that Kei learn the foundations on his own instead of relying on some unknown, artificially enhanced link.

Kei could understand the reasoning. It would be like letting a machine compose and perform piano pieces in his place—technically perfect, but devoid of growth, of personal meaning. Still, he would appreciate it if the tactical data and encyclopedic knowledge about heroes and villains was just uploaded directly to his brain through Aogami.

He didn’t particularly like the idea of waking up with information just appearing in his mind like some update patch—but given how far behind he was in lectures compared to the others, he wouldn’t mind the help either.

Yuzuru had been trained for this from a young age. Ichiro—being the hero-obsessed fanboy that he was—had studied this stuff religiously. Kei… Kei was the outsider. The prodigy in one world, dropped suddenly into another where none of his previous knowledge had weight.

And that frustrated him more than he liked to admit.

Putting his thoughts aside, Kei finally began getting ready to head out. It was Sunday—which meant reporting to Bethel instead of sleeping in like he used to. How he missed those lazy mornings, waking up at noon with sunlight streaming in through the curtains, the quiet comfort of not having anywhere urgent to be.

But there was no time for that anymore.

Any moment now, Ichiro and Yuzuru would show up to go with him to Bethel and take part in whatever training, lessons, or evaluations were scheduled for the day. It wasn’t always clear, and he sometimes got the feeling they made it up as they went—but it didn’t matter. He had to show up, be present, and do his best to keep up.

Just another part of his new reality.

He slipped into a beige oversized sweater layered over a slate-gray turtleneck, pairing it with dark jeans and simple sneakers. It was comfortable—muted in color and easy to move in, just the way he liked it. At first, clothes like this felt like a luxury, a small rebellion against the rigid image his mother insisted on. Now, it was just part of him—his way of feeling a little more grounded in a life that no longer belonged to someone else’s script.

He grabbed his bag, checking twice for his ID, his notes, and the standard-issue Bethel armband tucked inside. He hadn’t wear it yet in any official occasion, but had to bring it along in case of any emergency that required his presence and assistance as hero in training.

Just as he was slipping on his sneakers, a knock echoed from the door.

“Amemura! You ready?” came Ichiro’s familiar voice, bright and easy.

“Coming,” Kei called back, voice flat but not unkind.

He opened the door to find both Ichiro and Yuzuru waiting. Ichiro had on a windbreaker and joggers, his usual casual hero-fanboy weekend look, already grinning like the day was going to be fun somehow. Yuzuru, in contrast, wore a fitted hoodie and jeans, standing calm and composed, his expression mild but nodding in quiet acknowledgment as their eyes met.

“Morning,” Yuzuru said simply.

“Morning,” Kei replied, locking the door behind him.

The three of them fell into step together as they made their way to Bethel HQ. The city was quieter on Sundays, but the hum of traffic and life never fully stopped in Tokyo. Kei listened to the rhythm of their footsteps, the low murmur of Ichiro talking about a recent battle he’d seen on the news, and Yuzuru occasionally chiming in to correct or clarify some detail.

Kei didn’t always join in—but lately, he found himself listening more, catching the little quirks in their speech, the way their personalities filled the spaces between words.

He was still learning. About them, about himself, and about the strange new world he’d been pulled into.

And though he wouldn’t say it aloud—not yet—he didn’t hate this part of the routine.

He didn’t hate the company.

“What do you say we check out the Cadaver’s Hollow?” Ichiro asked with sudden enthusiasm, practically bouncing on his heels.

Kei and Yuzuru exchanged equally puzzled glances.

“The Cadaver’s… what now?” Kei asked, eyebrows knitting.

“You know!” Ichiro gestured with both hands as if that would help. “The creepy old man with the gold teeth and way too many accessories? He sells all that enhancement gear and stuff—he’s like a weird mix between a blacksmith and an antique dealer!”

“…You mean Gustave’s shop,” Yuzuru said flatly, his tone caught between clarification and a sigh.

“That’s the one!” Ichiro snapped his fingers, completely unbothered by the correction. “C’mon, I heard he just got a new shipment in—stuff only Bethel affiliates get to see! Maybe some custom-fit equipment too.”

Kei blinked, still not quite over the fact someone with a name like “Gustave” was working behind the scenes at Bethel, let alone crafting specialized tools for heroes. He vaguely remembered pixie mentioning him during one of their trainings, but he hadn’t visited the place yet.

“Isn’t he the one who is obsessed with money and wastes and keeps jars of who-knows-what behind the counter?” Kei asked.

“That’s the one!” Ichiro repeated, grinning. “Creepy as hell, but he really knows his stuff. You can get your armband upgraded there and buy gear like elemental dampeners, smoke bombs—superhero support stuff!”

“Those sound like things we have no use for,” Kei said, shaking his head. “And even if we did, would you even have the money to afford them? I’ve got savings from my recitals and a monthly deposit from my parents. Atsuta’s been at this longer and probably has something stashed away too. And we’re not getting our Bethel salaries for a while.”

“We get salaries?!” Ichiro asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Well, of course we do,” Yuzuru replied, giving him a pointed look. “Did you even read the contracts you signed?”

Ichiro blinked. “I mean… I skimmed them.”

Kei gave him a flat, unamused stare. “You skimmed a government contract?”

Ichiro scratched the back of his head with a sheepish laugh. “It was, like, forty pages each! With microscopic font! I just signed where they told me to.”

Kei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable…”

He had taken the time to read through every document thoroughly—both his own and the version his parents were given. After everything that had happened, he wasn’t about to leave any clause unexamined. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off-guard by some fine-print nightmare. So seeing Ichiro treat it like a school field trip permission slip made his eye twitch.

Yuzuru, arms crossed, gave a small shake of his head. “You really need to take this more seriously. Your benefits, insurance, emergency coverage, monthly stipend—it’s all in there.”

Ichiro looked genuinely betrayed by himself. “Wait, wait, hold on. You’re telling me we actually get paid? Like, real money? Not just meal vouchers and training room access?”

Kei raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally going to be risking your life on Bethel missions. What did you think they were paying you in? Stickers?”

“I thought the prestige and glory of being a hero-in-training was the reward,” Ichiro muttered. “Man… I could’ve bought snacks. And maybe an armband upgrade or accessories…”

Both Kei and Yuzuru sighed in unison, shaking their heads while entering Bethel.

“Did you already forget?” Yuzuru said sternly. “While we’re in training, everything we do is supposed to remain classified. No fame. No public glory. We’re here to assist, not headline.”

Ichiro pouted slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But still, a guy can dream, right?”

“Just make sure your dreams include reading your paperwork next time,” Kei said dryly.

They continued walking through the underground corridor of Bethel, the walls gradually changing from sleek white stone to something darker, rougher—lined with softly glowing blue conduits. The entrance to the Cadaver’s Hollow—how Ichiro had named it—wasn’t far now. Kei could already feel the temperature drop slightly as the air grew heavier and more metallic.

“Still…” Ichiro said, leaning closer like he was sharing a secret, “if Gustave does have anything affordable, I’m calling dibs on the smoke bombs. I’ve always wanted to throw one and disappear.”

“Even if that means tripping over your own feet and coughing through the smoke?” Kei asked without missing a beat.

Ichiro grinned. “Exactly.”

Yuzuru rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as they approached the heavy rusted door with a peculiar skeletal emblem carved into it—the entrance to Gustave’s shop.

Kei glanced at it, trying to keep his expectations tempered. He wasn’t sure if Gustave would have anything useful for him, but he figured it was worth checking out. If nothing else, it would be one more step in adjusting to this strange new world he’d been forced into.

And who knows—maybe he’d leave with more than just some goosebumps.

Just like that, they stepped into the shop.

It was darker than expected, with a humid, earthy atmosphere that clung to the air. The faint hum of strange machinery echoed in the distance, mingling with the occasional rattle of chains or the bubbling of some unknown fluid. The scent was a potent mix of old parchment, incense, and something metallic—like rusted iron soaked in rainwater. It wasn’tunbearable, but it definitely wasn’t pleasant either.

The cluttered interior was lit by a mixture of glowing lanterns and flickering blue glyphs etched into the walls, casting eerie shadows over piles of artifacts, gear parts, relics, and what Kei swore looked like a pile of demon bones in the corner.

But what caught their eyes first was the man—or rather, the figure—standing behind a large counter cobbled together from salvaged stone and warped metal. Beneath the shop’s odd lighting, his skin looked a sickly greenish-gray, almost translucent in places, and his eyes gleamed like twin coals behind a monocle fashioned from some old gold coin.

He was dressed in an outrageous amount of gold: rings stacked to his knuckles, bracelets that jingled with every twitch, layered necklaces, and even a small, crooked golden crown that perched precariously on his bald head. He wore a tattered, high-collared cloak that had once been fine but now looked like it had seen the end of the world—and possibly liked it.

Even though this was Kei’s first time meeting him, he knew immediately that this had to be Gustave—the eccentric black-market armorer Pixie had mentioned, and the same man Ichiro had been raving about just moments ago.

“Ah… new blood,” croaked the old man from behind the counter, his voice rough like gravel but with an oddly lyrical undertone-. His gold-toothed grin caught the dim glow of the lanterns overhead as he leaned forward, fingers laced together like a scheming merchant out of an old fairytale. “And one familiar face. Yuzuru Atsuta—still alive and kicking, I see. What brings you down here today? Running errands for the real heroes? Or just restocking your bag of tricks?”

“Wait—you’ve been here before?” Ichiro turned to Yuzuru, visibly offended that this detail had been kept from him.

“Of course,” Yuzuru replied coolly. “As support operatives, it’s our job to not only assist active heroes on occasion, but to also be prepared for any emergency. That means having basic gear ready—escape tools, shielding devices, recovery items. We’re not always on the front lines, but if something goes wrong, we can’t afford to be useless.”

He paused before adding, “That’s actually why I didn’t object when you brought up visiting this place, Dazai. Gear like this can mean the difference between success and disaster.”

Kei nodded quietly, listening. It made sense.

Suddenly, Gustave leaned forward with a speed that startled them all, his sharp eyes locking onto Kei. “Aren’t you a little young to have ingested Lucidus?”

Kei stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “How do you even know about that?”

The old shopkeeper chuckled, unbothered. “I have my ways”

Kei let out a dry breath. “I didn’t ingest Lucidus… stuff happened, and I ended up unlocking the full capacity of my brain.” He said it half resigned, even if it has been weeks since the incident, it was still kind of a sore spot for him.

Then Yuzuru turned toward him. “Have you figured out your elemental weakness yet?”

Kei blinked. “My what?”

“Everyone has at least one,” Yuzuru explained. “For what I know Magatsuhi enhances natural affinities, but it also makes our weaknesses more… exposed. If you know what you’re weak against, you can prepare accordingly—especially in combat.”

Kei let out a soft exhale, recalling his last testing session. “Yeah… Pixie ran some scans during our last training. Apparently, I’m weak to—” he hesitated, still not fully believing it himself, “—darkness. I didn’t even know it counted as an element. ”

Ichiro raised an eyebrow. “Wait, darkness? Like the kind of moves Dormarth uses?”

“Dormarth?” Kei echoed.

“She’s an Irish hero,” Ichiro explained. “Kind of like their version of Hayataro—only female, and instead of electric powers, she uses dark-type abilities. People call her the ‘dog guardian of death’s door.’”

Kei blinked. “Sure, because that nickname’s not eerie at all.”

Ichiro grinned. “Hey, at least it sounds cool.”

“Yeah, in a haunted-forest-at-midnight kind of way,” Kei muttered.

Gustave gave a deep chuckle. “Ahh, a darkness weakness. A rare one for sure, but not unheard of.” He stood up with surprising energy for someone his age, the bells on his many necklaces jingling as he did. “Then you’ll be wanting a Darkness Dampener, boy. Trust me—you don’t want to learn the hard way what that vulnerability feels like in the field.”

He reached beneath the counter and produced a thin black wristband with a single, dim violet light pulsing at its core. “Limited stock, mind you. Can’t mass-produce these like the energy and stamina drinks and pills.”

Kei stared at the wristband for a moment. It looked ordinary—simple, even—but something in the way Gustave handled it gave it a weight that felt very real. He hadn’t even considered what it meant to have a weakness until now. He’d been so focused on keeping his strength in check that the idea of defense, of being vulnerable, had slipped right past him.

“…I’ll take it,” he said quietly.

Gustave’s grin widened. “Smart lad.”

Yuzuru gave him a small approving nod, and Ichiro whispered a drawn-out “cooool” as he leaned in to get a closer look at the object in question.

“Next up,” Gustave said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see what your wallets can actually afford, shall we?”

And just like that, Kei found himself, against all odds, doing a bit of shopping at the creepiest gear shop he’d ever seen—right in the heart of Bethel’s underbelly.

Their little shopping spree didn’t last long, but it was productive. Between the three of them, they picked up a handful of smoke bombs—much to Ichiro’s uncontainable delight—some basic healing medicine, a few Amrita sodas (which, according to Gustave, helped recover from dizziness, confusion, and similar status issues), and even a couple of minor elemental shards, meant to be used in emergencies. Nothing flashy. Just the bare minimum to be somewhat prepared in case they found themselves stuck in a situation where calling for backup wasn’t an option.

The shop was undeniably expensive, but they’d planned ahead. Kei and Yuzuru split the costs, with Ichiro enthusiastically choosing most of the items… and promptly realizing he couldn’t pay for any of them.

“It’s fine,” Yuzuru had said, cool and composed. “Just pay us back once your first stipend comes in.”

Ichiro gave them a thumbs-up and an awkward grin, visibly grateful. “Deal. Thanks, guys. First paycheck’s going straight to the two of you. Well—after I buy a few hero figurines. But you’ll be right after that.”

Kei sighed but didn’t argue. He was used to Ichiro’s antics by now.

Though the blond was clearly thrilled with his new “toys,” his enthusiasm dimmed a bit once they asked about armband upgrades.

“Oh, that?” Gustave had waved his hand dismissively, as if the matter was beneath him. “I don’t handle those. You’ll need to find the scientist responsible—Dr. Safia or whatever her name is. Foreign lass. Likes to tinker.”

Ichiro deflated like a balloon. “Wait… seriously? It’s not you?”

“Nope,” Gustave replied, grinning through his golden teeth. “I sell tools. She modifies tech. Big difference. You’ll find she lost in her dreams around the labs upstairs—she’s usually muttering to herself about Gods, heroes or something.”

Ichiro let out a disappointed groan. “And here I thought I was gonna get some cool Gustave-exclusive armband mods…”

“Stick to the bombs and energetic drinks, rookie,” Gustave chuckled. “You’re not ready for enhancements just yet.”

Kei shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as Ichiro muttered something about “missed potential.” Yuzuru patted him once on the back in quiet sympathy.

All in all, it had been a weirdly productive stop. Strange shopkeeper, eerie atmosphere, and a sudden reminder that, despite the supernatural chaos surrounding them, they were still just students trying to catch up in a world they barely understood.

And, well… now they had smoke bombs. That counted for something.

Back in the central corridor of Bethel’s underground HQ, the trio wandered at a slower pace, still chatting as they processed their visit to Gustave’s Hollow.

“So…” Ichiro started, glancing over at Yuzuru with curiosity, “did you already know about this Safia person, Atsuta?”

Yuzuru didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked briefly to the side, thoughtful.

“Firstly, we are not even sure if that’s her name, but I’ve heard of her in passing,” he said finally. “I’ve never actually met her thought.”

“Really?” Kei asked, genuinely intrigued. “You’re the kind of guy who likes to be ready for anything. Wouldn’t it make sense to get your armband upgraded if it could give you an edge in a crisis?”

Yuzuru hesitated again, then nodded slightly. “In theory, yes. But there are a few reasons I haven’t done it.”

He paused before continuing. “For one, the upgrades are expensive. With what I’ve saved so far, I could maybe afford a basic one—something that improves the activation rate or extends the duration of the armband’s effects.”

“Then why not go for it?” Ichiro asked, clearly not following the logic. “It sounds useful.”

Yuzuru offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because most of my savings are for the future. Mine and Miyazu’s. And if something unexpected happens… I’d rather have the funds to handle that than spend it on a marginal boost.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Kei and Ichiro had come to understand that Miyazu’s health wasn’t as stable as she tried to make it seem. One moment she could be lively and talkative, the next pale and nearly fainting. And no matter how calm and prepared Yuzuru usually was, he always dropped everything the moment something went wrong with her.

After a beat, Yuzuru added, “The other reason… is that I don’t want to rely too much on the armband’s enhancements. Not until I’ve earned it.”

Kei glanced at him, brows raised slightly.

“I mean it,” Yuzuru said, more firmly now. “It’s a powerful tool, but I don’t want to use it as a crutch. I need to know that I can stand on my own. That when the time comes, I’ll be enough—even without the tech.”

For a moment, neither Kei nor Ichiro responded. They just walked in silence, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the corridor.

“…Damn,” Ichiro finally said, half-grinning, half-serious. “You make me feel like I just bought smoke bombs with lunch money.”

 “You did buy smoke bombs with lunch money, our lunch Money.” Kei deadpanned.

“I regret nothing,” Ichiro declared, raising a hand dramatically. “But I do respect it, Atsuta. That’s some serious resolve.”

Yuzuru gave a small, appreciative nod, and the conversation naturally shifted as they neared the next corridor—Bethel’s fluorescent lights humming faintly above, casting soft shadows on the polished floor, guiding them back toward what they assumed would be another routine training block.

Or so they thought.

As they returned to the central reception area, they found someone already waiting for them. Tall, composed, and unmistakable in presence—Hayao Koshimizu, the Prime Minister himself.

It wasn’t exactly unusual anymore. In fact, at this point, the trio had probably crossed paths with him more times in a month than most civilians would in their entire lives. Still, seeing him always brought a strange mix of respect and tension, especially when he was clearly waiting for them.

“Ah, there you are,” Koshimizu said the moment he spotted them. His voice, as always, was calm but carried the weight of command. The three immediately straightened and offered polite bows in unison.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he added, turning smoothly on his heel and motioning for them to follow.

Kei exchanged a quick glance with Yuzuru and Ichiro, all three falling into step behind him without a word. Whatever this was, it wasn’t part of the day’s schedule.

And when Hayao Koshimizu went off-script… it usually meant something important.

The trio followed him without protest, winding through the labyrinthine halls of Bethel’s underground facility. Left, right, down narrow corridors and back up polished stairwells—until they finally stopped in front of an unmarked room. Kei’s senses prickled the moment they approached. There was a presence inside—composed and confident, but tinged with an eccentric edge he couldn’t quite place.

Koshimizu knocked once, more out of courtesy than necessity, and entered without waiting for a reply.

Inside, the room was surprisingly well-kept—neatly organized, sterile, but with traces of personality. And at its center stood a woman who immediately commanded attention.

She was striking. Tall, graceful, and unmistakably foreign, with sharp, sculpted features and golden-toned skin that shimmered under the artificial lights. Her hair was hidden beneath a sleek, white hood that matched her fitted knee-length coat—something between a scientist’s uniform and a nun’s ceremonial garb, pristine and commanding. Her presence was magnetic in a way Kei couldn’t quite define, but judging by Ichiro’s immediate, slack-jawed reaction, it was very much definable to him.

“Whoa,” Ichiro breathed, low and awestruck.

Kei and Yuzuru didn’t even look at each other before simultaneously elbowing him—one from each side.

“Let me introduce you,” Koshimizu said, only slightly amused. “This is Sophia Shadows, head of Bethel’s tech development division.”

Sophia… The name clicked in Kei’s head, Gustave’s voice resurfacing in his memory from earlier that day: You’ll need to find the scientist responsible—Dr. Safia or whatever her name is. Foreign lass. Likes to tinker.

Guess we found her, he thought.Sophia inclined her head slightly, her gaze sharp and assessing as she looked each of them over, the weight of her scrutiny lingering longest on Kei.

“So these are the kids involved in the Nahobino incident,” she said at last, her voice smooth and faintly accented—precise, like everything she said was part of an equation already worked out in her head.

Kei blinked. “The… Nahobino incident?”

Koshimizu sighed quietly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s what we’ve been calling your situation internally.”

Kei frowned. “But I thought Aogami was part of the Proto-fiend project?” he asked, still not sure where “Nahobino” came from. “I’ve never heard of a ‘Nahobino’ before.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sophia replied, stepping closer. “Aogami is a Proto-fiend. That much remains true.”

Koshimizu stepped in with a nod. “Doctor Sophia was the lead developer on the Proto-fiend initiative during its active phase. There were two primary prototype models: one like Aogami, designed as autonomous support units—deployable androids to maintain peace and stability in areas where heroes couldn’t immediately respond.”

“The other line,” Sophia continued smoothly, “was purely experimental—an external augmentation system meant to push a human’s physical and cognitive limits in moments of extreme crisis. Think of it as a kind of advanced exosuit, or neural-linked armor. In some ways, your current state, Kei Amemura, reflects that concept… though it evolved in a way no one anticipated. Both systems—Aogami’s model and the augmentation tech—were part of a broader initiative we codenamed the Nahobino Project. The term ‘Nahobino’ was adapted from Naobi-no-Kami, a concept in Shintoism referring to deities of purification. In our context, it symbolized heroes whose role centered on protecting and cleansing, rather than destruction.”

Kei stood silent for a moment, processing the implications. It was one thing to know he’d fused with Aogami. Another thing entirely to learn he was an accident of two incomplete systems.

“Wait,” he said slowly, “so Aogami wasn’t meant to fuse with anyone at all?”

Sophia’s expression didn’t change. “Correct. He was never designed for integration. That’s why your current condition is… fascinating.” She tilted her head slightly, as though observing a rare organism under glass. “Whatever happened between you two—whether accidental or the result of long-dormant programming—wasn’t supposed to be possible.”

“And yet, here I am,” Kei muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Sophia offered the faintest hint of a smile. “Precisely. You’re a convergence of two abandoned technologies—one built for external support, the other for internal support. That makes you unique. Dangerous, yes… but very, very valuable.”

Ichiro shifted beside him, visibly bristling. “Hey, don’t talk like that about my man. He might be socially awkward, sure—but he’s not dangerous.”

Koshimizu—ignoring Ichiro—folded his arms with a faint sigh. “This is precisely why your training has been gradual and heavily supervised. And why I brought you to Dr. Shadows today.”

Sophia stepped forward, her tone now clinical. “Your test data shows a curious pattern. By adjusting Aogami’s elemental processing pathways—what you might call his ‘affinities’—we could potentially also alter what elements you’re weak or strong against. In theory, with the right neural and Magatsuhi calibrations, we could even install entirely new elemental modules.”

Kei’s expression darkened. “No.”

Sophia blinked. “Pardon?”

“I said no.” His voice was calm but firm. “I told the same to the scientist during that test—I don’t want anyone tampering with my brain.”

There was a tense silence. Yuzuru glanced at Koshimizu, who didn’t intervene—at least not yet.

“I don’t want this to become another experiment,” Kei continued. “This already too much. I’m playing to be your nice little doll just like I do with my parents and the teachers, I’m playing your game. But I’m not letting anyone turn this into a customizable project.”

To this, Ichiro let out a low whistle.  

Sophia looked at Kei long and hard, not offended but thoughtful, as if recalculating.

“You’re turning down a chance to eliminate your weaknesses,” she said slowly.

“I’ll learn to live with them,” Kei replied. “Like the rest of the heroes.”

Koshimizu gave a slight nod of approval, then turned to Sophia. “We’ll hold off on augmentations for now.”

Kei glanced at him—subtle, unreadable—but chose to stay silent.

Koshimizu then shifted his attention to the others. “And what about you two? Would either of you like to upgrade your armbands? Bethel will cover the first enhancement.”

Ichiro and Yuzuru exchanged a look. The timing couldn’t have been more ironic—they’d just been discussing this on their way over.

“Well,” Koshimizu added, glancing pointedly at Ichiro, “the offer applies to Atsuta-kun. Dazai-kun, I think we’ll revisit the idea once you’ve gained a bit more field experience.”

“Aw, man…” Ichiro groaned, slouching dramatically.

Yuzuru, however, hesitated.

A moment earlier, he had spoken with quiet certainty:

“It’s a powerful tool, but I don’t want to use it as a crutch. I need to know that I can stand on my own. That when the time comes, I’ll be enough—even without the tech.”

Now, faced with the offer in real time, he closed his eyes briefly, weighing his words again.

“…I’ll pass,” he finally said. “At least for now. I need to earn it first.”

Koshimizu studied him for a second, then gave an approving hum.

Sophia simply arched a brow but didn’t challenge either of them. Instead, she turned back to her console, seemingly logging the results of the conversation.

“Well,” she said, brisk again, “if either of you changes your mind, the lab’s open. For those ready to evolve.”

Ichiro opened his mouth as if to say something witty, then thought better of it and just sighed.

Kei remained quiet, the earlier tension still lingering in his chest—but somewhere, beneath it, was the faintest sense of satisfaction. For the second time, he had drawn a line—and held it. He wasn’t about let them to play with his brain.

Koshimizu cleared his throat, stepping forward to break the silence. “Atsuta, Dazai—head to your usual training room. Hayataro will be waiting to continue your regimen.”

Yuzuru gave a firm nod, while Ichiro—still pouting a little from the armband rejection—just gave a half-hearted salute. “Yes, sir…”

Then Koshimizu turned to Kei. “Amemura-kun, your orders are different. Go find Pixie. Tell her to bring Apsaras and Cait Sith and begin your elemental training. You’re to start working with basic combat techniques for water, electricity, and wind.”

“Bu—” Kei started, caught off guard.

“No buts,” Koshimizu cut in sharply. “According to Pixie’s last report, you’re ready. You have shown quite a mastership over the elements—even if superficial—to the point in which you can generate them without the need of an external source.”

At that, Sophia’s eyes lit up, clearly impressed. “Already? That’s quicker than I anticipated. The fusion’s enhancing him more efficiently than our data models suggested.”

Even Yuzuru turned toward Kei with subtle surprise in his expression.

Ichiro grinned, nudging Kei’s arm. “Well done, Amemura. Look at you, getting assigned actual hero training.”

Kei exhaled slowly and nodded. He didn’t feel ready, not really—but maybe that didn’t matter.

“All right,” Kei said, turning on his heel. “I’ll go find her.”

“One more thing,” Koshimizu added, his voice calm but firm—he didn’t even turn around.

Kei stopped mid-step, shoulders tensing. “What now?”

“Once you’ve mastered the basics,” Koshimizu said, folding his hands behind his back, “your training as Nahobino will begin.”

Kei turned slowly, his expression uncertain. “As Nahobino, sir?” he asked, the name still unfamiliar on his tongue. He’d only just learned it referred to a project—one that according to Aogami’s words when they met—was cancelled.

“Merged with Aogami,” Koshimizu clarified. “That’s the name the executive board has decided will be your hero identity.”

Kei didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what to feel. Was it anxiety at the idea of merging again with Aogami—fully aware of how it might alter how his brain worked? Was it dread at losing more of himself, or simply frustration at having a title, a role, an identity chosen for him—again?

He didn’t want to be a hero. That was never the dream. It was a path pushed onto him, like so many others in his life. From the moment of the incident—maybe even before—it felt like control had been slipping from his hands, one decision at a time.

But he simply nodded, silently, and turned away.

Chapter Text

Kei went to search for Pixie, doing his best not to dwell on the conversation he’d just had. What was it with scientists and their obsession with tweaking his brain just because they could? Like he was a machine waiting to be optimized.

He let out a short, frustrated breath through his nose.

The lights overhead flickered sharply, snapping him back to the present. Kei blinked, then cursed under his breath—he had let his Magatsuhi stir again. It didn’t happen as often as it used to in the early days, but every now and then, if his emotions spiked—fear, anger, even unease—it still bled through. A static hum in the air, a pulse in his veins, lights shorting ever so slightly.

He clenched his fists and exhaled slowly. Get a grip.

This was no time to spiral. He had a task—Pixie, Apsaras, Cait Sith. Training. Focus.

Kei picked up his pace through the narrow hallway, shoes echoing against the polished floor. As much as he wasn’t thrilled by the idea of elemental combat, he had to admit—it made more sense than the creepy augmentations Sophia had in mind. At least this part still felt… human. Sort of.

He felt the familiar presence before he even turned the corner—a subtle stir of energy, light as static, always heralding her arrival. A flash of wings, the chime of laughter, and then there she was: Pixie, hovering mid-air, gesturing animatedly as she chatted with two unfamiliar figures. One was an elegant woman with a flowing, aqueous grace—Apsaras, he guessed—her very movement like a ripple in still water.

The other leaned back atop a crate, exuding the effortless charm of someone who lived on mischief and moonlight. His sharp green eyes glinted beneath the brim of a wide-brimmed hat, and his straight, stylishly cut black hair framed a sly, youthful face. He wore polished boots, a sweeping cape, and an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place in a storybook—something between a nobleman and a French musketeer. Kei supposed this was Cait sith.

The three of them looked oddly at ease in the otherwise sterile halls of Bethel’s HQ—like they belonged to a different world entirely, which, in a way, they did.

“There you are!” Pixie beamed, darting forward with that familiar boundless energy. “We were wondering when you’d show up after we got our directives. Let me guess—someone dumped a whole load of nonsense on you again?”

Kei gave her a flat, tired look. “You have no idea.”

“So this is the little kitten you were talking about?” came a smooth, teasing voice from behind her.

Kei blinked and turned toward the speaker—a lounging man with sleek black hair, sharp green eyes, and a grin that immediately set off his internal alarms. He looked far too amused for someone he hadn’t even met yet.

“Yup!” Pixie chirped proudly. In a blur of wings, she zipped behind Kei and gave him a light push forward, wrapping an arm over his shoulders in a half-embrace that felt more like she was presenting a prized pet than a person. “This is Kei-kun! Told you he was cute, right? Right? Plus! He’s a prodigy!”

“Oh?” Cait Sith said, the grin growing as his eyes studied Kei with new interest. “Now that’s a heavy word to toss around. What kind of prodigy are we talking about, exactly?”

Kei stiffed.

There was that word again—prodigy. Why did that cursed word always came back to him no matter how hard he tried to detach himself from it? How did he even here—between veteran super heroes—stand out?

“That’s… that’s not true” He managed to say keeping his face impassive.

“Geeeez, don’t be modest Kei-kun!”   Pixie said with a big smile while pathing Kei on the back. She then turned to Cait Sith and said “The kind who barely had any elemental control a few weeks ago and is already pulling off high-level water generation. First week? Just ripples and breezes. Second? Suspended droplets, some light wind control. But by week three…” She gave an exaggerated whistle. “Kei-kun made water from nothing. And it wasn’t a fluke either.”

Kei glanced away, clearly uncomfortable now. “It’s not that impressive…”

“Creating an element from your own Magatsuhi isn’t just ‘not that impressive,’” Apsaras chimed in, her voice as serene as a calm stream. She headed to them, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Especially not for someone whose nervous system only recently stabilized after awakening the full capacity of their brain.”

She smiled softly, encouraging. “Could you show us?”

All three heroes turned to look at him, and Kei instantly felt his skin crawl with self-conscious heat. The weight of their stares made his breath hitch for a second—but after a moment of hesitation, he let out a slow sigh and nodded.

Fine. If it’ll shut them up…

He brought his hands together and closed his eyes, drawing in a quiet breath as he focused inward. The Magatsuhi pulsed beneath his skin—wild, restless, but not unfamiliar. He shaped it with intention, guiding it through his arms with careful mental focus, thinking not of raw power, but of motion, fluidity, rhythm.

Waves. Flow. Cool, quiet water.

Within seconds, a shimmer began to form between his cupped palms. A thin layer of moisture condensed from the air—then more, coalescing with uncanny precision. In moments, his hands were filled with gently rippling water, glimmering faintly under Bethel’s artificial lighting.

The air around them stilled, just for a moment.

“…Whoa,” Cait Sith murmured with visible intrigue.

Pixie’s wings fluttered excitedly. “See? He’s a prodigy!” she sang, practically spinning midair.

Apsaras leaned forward with serene grace, her eyes reflecting the faint shimmer of water in Kei’s hands. “Not bad indeed,” she said softly. “He still needs to concentrate to produce it, but to reach this level in just three weeks…”

Then, as if to illustrate her point, she raised one hand. With a fluid motion, several orbs of water began forming around her, suspended in the air like droplets caught in a moment of slowed time. Kei had the sneaky suspicion that Apsaras didn’t really need to do any hand movement at all, but still did it for the sake of it, not to take them off guard with the sudden apparition of water.

“Water is versatile—good for control, for reshaping the battlefield. But for offense…” Her voice softened, as some of the water balls shifted, elongating into sharper shapes before freezing into jagged shards of ice. “We use ice more often. In combat, precision trumps flow.”

She gestured lightly, and the frozen orbs hovered with an eerie stillness. “Among the hero community, we call this basic move Bufu. With enough training, you should be able to perform it too.”

Bufu? Kei blinked, the word strange on his tongue. He had no idea where it came from—but the idea of using ice instead of water for attacks made sense. Ice was sharper. More dangerous. More controlled. Water could overwhelm, yes, but ice? Ice could cut and restrain.

The display stirred something in him.

It reminded him of that moment. That first day at Bethel—shaky, overwhelmed, and barely holding himself together. He remembered the way the droplets from a near water cup lifted from the surface as if tugged by invisible strings, defying gravity, shimmering faintly in the artificial light.

He had reached toward it, tentatively, hesitantly. His fingers brushed the floating droplets—and they had frozen. A paper-thin layer of frost had webbed out across the surface before shattering with a crystalline plink, startling him. The cold had clung to his fingertips, long after the water had returned to its cup.

That same feeling… it’s here again.

Drawn by instinct, Kei slowly reached out toward one of the unfrozen orbs still floating beside Apsaras. The air felt cooler now, thinner somehow.

“Kei-kun?” Pixie asked, blinking in surprise.

But he didn’t stop.

His fingers brushed the surface of the water ball—deliberately this time—and just like before, the moisture stiffened beneath his touch. It cracked. Ice blossomed across its form like frost over glass. A moment later, the orb froze entirely with a soft click and hovered there, suspended and shimmering in the sterile light.

A small collective gasp rose from the group.

“Impressive,” Apsaras murmured, her expression unreadable but clearly intrigued.

Pixie’s mouth fell open slightly. “You’ve already got a feel for it? That wasn’t just instinct, that was control!”

Cait Sith let out a low whistle. “He’s not just a kitten. He’s got claws.”

Kei looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. The chill from the water still clung faintly to his skin, but this time… it didn’t feel foreign. It felt like a part of him.

He hated it. He hated how normal it felt now, how he wasn’t startled for what had just occurred, but at this point he has no option but to resight himself to his fate.

He exhaled slowly. “It’s not perfect,” he said under his breath.

“No,” Apsaras agreed, her voice soft, almost reverent. “But it will be. Under my guidance, you’ll master it in no time.”

“W-What?!” Pixie squawked, zipping over and wrapping Kei in a tight, defensive hug, clinging to him as if he might be snatched away at any moment. “Kei-kun is my apprentice!” she declared fiercely.

Apsaras arched a brow, unphased. “He might have been your apprentice originally,” she said smoothly, “but considering the three of us were officially assigned to him, I’d say that’s no longer the case.” Her voice carried just enough smugness to make Pixie puff up indignantly.

“Then why am I here, exactly?” Cait Sith cut in, in clear annoyance as the women argued.

“Well, someone’s gotta teach him how to launch a Zio,” Pixie said nonchalantly, still clinging to Kei like a plush toy.

“Wa—He, what?!” Cait Sith blinked, utterly thrown.

“I mean obviously I can’t teach him that!” Pixie went on, waving a hand as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “He might accidentally zap me into next week. You know, me being, let’s say… allergic to electricity and all that.” She tossed the phrase casually, as if elemental weakness was a mere dietary restriction.

Cait Sith looked between the three of them, his face slowly morphing from confusion to disbelief.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Let me get this straight.”

He pointed a dramatic finger at Kei.

“You’re telling me that this kitten—” he earned an immediate glare from Kei, which he blatantly ignored, either out of sheer commitment or total obliviousness— “can control three elements. And not just that, but electricity and wind, which usually oppose each other?”

“Yup!” Pixie beamed. “Glad you caught up!”

Cait Sith groaned and ran both hands through his hair, cat ears—which Kei supposed where his secondary trait—twitching wildly. The cool, smug composure he’d worn earlier was completely gone now, replaced by open, theatrical exasperation.

“I thought I was called in to zap the kid a couple of times—to show him what a weakness feels like, maybe throw in a few basic drills. But this? What is this?”

“You’re part of Team Kei now,” Pixie said sweetly, grinning at Cait Sith like she was doing him a favor.

“No refund,” Apsaras added dryly.

Kei blinked, caught off guard by the quip. That was… unexpected. It was something he would’ve expected from Pixie, sure—but from Apsaras? He’d barely known her ten minutes, and yet… it already felt like she’d taken some kind of quiet liking to him. That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Cait Sith turned to Kei, still visibly trying to piece things together. “How’d you domesticate these two?” he asked, incredulous, motioning vaguely at the two women.

Kei, still half-wrapped in Pixie’s relentless embrace, let out a long-suffering sigh.

“This is going to be a very long training session.”

“We shall start heading to the training room,” Apsaras said, turning gracefully on her heel. Her calm, composed presence had a way of instantly shifting the energy in the hallway—like a teacher entering a room.

Pixie finally let go of Kei, with a huff.  “I call dibs in being the first to teach him!”

And just like that, with Pixie leading the charge, Apsaras guiding with poised authority, and Cait Sith trailing behind still half in disbelief, the strange little unit headed toward the training room Koshimizu had arranged.

The room was big and spacious, with targets already arranged. It was obvious how did Koshimizu want this training season to end up.

“oh nice!” Pixie cheered “The room is already prepared”

“Yeah” Apsaras said “it does save us a lot of time”

Kei repressed a groan and sent a look at Cait Sith.

Cait Sith caught the look and gave him a dry, commiserating smile. “Come on kitten. We have stuff to cover.” He said while putting a hand on Kei’s shoulder.

“Can you please stop calling me like that?” Kei asked.

“Nope” Was all what he got from the feline hero.

Kei exhaled through his nose, already regretting the life choices that had landed him in the middle of this whirlwind of chaotic mentors.

“Before starting” Asparas said “You are probably aware by now, but there are chances you won’t be affected by some of the elements you can control”

Kei nodded, he learned about that in the compulsory lectures he had to attend with Ichiro, but it wasn’t as if he had ever put it in practice. It didn’t meant he would be immune to all the elements he could control.

“For the moment, we can confirm that you are immune to electricity” Cait Sith said while taking off his hand from Kei’s shoulder.

Kei inclined his head clearly confused.

“Why are you so sure?” Kei asked

“Well, you didn’t react to me putting my electrified hand on you” Cait Sith answered with a smug smile earning an unamused look from Kei’s part.

“Geez, ease up on the murderous glare,” Cait Sith said, finally acknowledging Kei’s icy stare.

Apsaras, ever composed, cast Cait Sith a mildly disapproving glance. “You could’ve simply asked him to test it voluntarily.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Cait Sith replied, lacing his fingers behind his head with a casual shrug. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it? He’s not fried. That’s a win in my book.”

Pixie giggled at that, though she shot him a playful scowl. Apsaras, however, just sighed, clearly unimpressed.

“So…” Kei began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where do we start?”

He wasn’t eager so much as ready to get this over with. Hopefully, once this whole “first elemental combat training session was done he’d finally be allowed to head home.

Apsaras was the first to answer. “I believe it would be best for Cait Sith to begin.”

That immediately earned a loud, offended “Hey!” from Pixie.

“I called dibs on being the first one to teach him how to do a basic attack!” she pouted, wings flaring dramatically.

“You did,” Apsaras acknowledged. “But since Kei has no real experience with the lightning element—which appears to be his dominant affinity—it would be prudent to start there.”

“…That makes sense,” Pixie muttered reluctantly, crossing her arms.

“Wait,” Kei said, frowning. “What do you mean by ‘dominant element’? I thought I had equal control over all three.”

“That might technically be true, kitten,” Cait Sith began, “but seeing as you seem to nullify lightning—”

“—and that most of the time when you get agitated or close to losing control,” Pixie added, “the lights around you flicker, and during our first session, you got so worked up you nearly zapped me!”

Kei winced at the reminder. “That… really wasn’t on purpose.”

“We know,” Apsaras said gently. “Which is why we’re going to help you gain proper control. Elemental affinity can reveal itself through more than just technique—it can show in instinctual reactions, resistances… even emotions.”

Cait Sith grinned, cracking his knuckles. “That’s the spirit. Let’s see what kind of storm you’ve got in you, kitten.”

Kei gave him a look. “Are you seriously going to keep calling me that?”

“Yes, I am,” Cait Sith replied, utterly unfazed. And before Kei could protest, he smoothly changed the subject.

“As you’ve probably figured out by now, producing an element requires a lot of visualization.”

Kei nodded. “For water, I usually picture Tokyo Bay—the sea waves—and then I try to recreate that feeling using my Magatsuhi, guiding it to my hands like it’s crashing into them. That’s when the water starts to form.”

Apsaras raised an eyebrow, and the three heroes exchanged a look. Kei didn’t like that.

“And for wind?” Pixie asked.

“Well, pretty much the same,” Kei said. “I just think about the sea breeze.”

“You must really love the ocean,” Apsaras observed.

“Not really,” Kei replied simply.

It wasn’t that he loved the sea. It was just… relatable. On the surface, it looked calm, but underneath it churned with chaos and currents no one could see. It was too much like him—even if he’d loosened up a bit lately.

“More impressive,” Cait Sith added, clearly surprised, “is the fact that you can visualize it so clearly and then put that into action.”

“See? I told you Kei’s a prodigy!” Pixie declared proudly—for what felt like the fifth time today.

“How many times do I have to say I’m not a prodigy?” Kei groaned.

It was hard to explain that he was just applying what he already did when composing music. Sure, he poured emotion into his songs, but there was a technical process too—structure, rhythm, precision. That same process, repurposed with Magatsuhi, seemed to work for his elemental control.

“For electricity, though,” Cait Sith began, “it’s gonna be a bit trickier. I don’t think there’s an easy image to relate to… Maybe think of the jolt you get when you accidentally touch something electric?”

“Which I can’t recreate now,” Kei deadpanned, “seeing as I’m apparently immune to electricity.”

Apsaras tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then perhaps the focus shouldn’t be on the sensation, but the effect. What electricity does rather than how it feels.”

Kei blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Think of the aftermath,” she continued. “The sharp flash. The crackling air. The way everything stands still for a heartbeat right after a bolt hits. Electricity is sudden. Unpredictable. You don’t have to feel it—you just have to remember what it changes.”

“That… actually makes sense,” Kei admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “So visualize what it causes, not what it is.”

Cait Sith gave an approving nod. “Exactly. Imagine the strike—lights flickering, the charge in the air, the surge running through wires. Feel that tension in your gut, then pull it into your hands. Think snap. Not flow.”

Pixie raised a finger. “But not too snappy. We don’t want you frying the lights or me.”

Kei exhaled slowly. This was harder than water or wind. Those felt fluid, natural—more instinctive. Lightning was erratic. Explosive. Still, he closed his eyes.

Snap.

He pictured the school dorms during a thunderstorm—how the power blinked off, how the static made his hair prickle, how the sound cracked the sky open. That suspended moment when time felt like it had stopped.

He reached for the Magatsuhi within him, guided it to his fingertips.

A low hum buzzed in the air around him and the air seemed to fill itself with ozone.

A faint arc jumped between his fingers—then another. Sparks crackled once, twice—then fizzled out.

“Whoa!” Pixie said, wings flapping in excitement. “You did it!”

Kei’s brow furrowed. “Barely.”

“Barely is still doing it,” Cait Sith pointed out. “You made a spark. That’s the start of a storm.”

Kei exhaled again, this time with the faintest hint of satisfaction. “Okay. Let’s see if I can get past the drizzle phase.”

Pixie grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

Cait Sith offered him a small nod. “Just remember—lightning doesn’t ask for permission. It strikes when it’s ready. Trust yourself. Then let it out. Imagine it as an arrow trying to hit a target. We usually relate basic moves with names, this one is Zio.”

To demonstrate, he drew a slim rapier from seemingly nowhere, flicked it through the air in a sharp Z motion, and struck one of the nearby training dummies. A bolt of lightning burst forth, the impact leaving a scorch mark on the target.

“I recommend tying a movement to the name—something physical. A stance, a gesture, a jump. Anything that helps focus the release.”

Kei gave a small nod. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to visualize the process. It was the first time he needed to externalize Magatsuhi toward a physical target rather than simply channeling it through himself. The sensation was different—tense, like trying to hold compressed energy in trembling hands.

He imagined a thread of lightning coiling around his arms, crackling with anticipation. Then, in one swift motion, he opened his eyes and thrust his right arm forward toward the nearest dummy. His fingers snapped open as though hurling the charge.

The spark leapt.

It arced forward like a jagged flash of light, snapping through the air with a sharp crack! before hitting the dummy dead center. The figure twitched slightly from the impact, a faint sizzle rising from the singed surface.

Kei’s eyes widened.

“Holy crap,” he muttered. “That actually worked.”

Pixie clapped enthusiastically, wings buzzing. “You totally Zio’d that thing!”

“That was solid form,” Cait Sith said with a half-grin. “Little raw on the charge-up, but the aim was good. Very clean for a first real shot.”

Kei let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That was… intense.”

Apsaras stepped forward, examining the dummy. “Controlled damage. No collateral. You didn’t overcharge, either. Very good.”

“It’s still not stable,” Kei admitted, flexing his fingers. He could still feel the residual tingle beneath his skin, like the lightning hadn’t completely left him.

“And it won’t be for a while,” Cait Sith said casually. “But that’s the point of training. You’ve got the spark—now we help you shape it.”

Kei nodded slowly, a flicker of something—satisfaction, maybe—crossing his expression. “Alright. Again?”

Pixie grinned. “Oh, we’re gonna keep going until you fry that dummy Kei-kun!”

Apsaras gave her a look. “Preferably not until it’s reduced to cinders, Pixie. We still need them to teach him how to use Bufu and Zan”

Kei shook out his arms and set his stance again.

Chapter Text

Monday arrived, and as expected, Kei was heading to school. The day before had been completely absorbed by training—and just as Kei had anticipated, it had been long.

Not necessarily tiring, though. Fatigue and soreness were sensations he didn’t feel often anymore, not since that fateful day. His body had changed too much.

All three heroes had gone into full instructor mode, each more enthusiastic than the last. What started as a simple lecture had quickly spiraled into an impromptu boot camp the moment they saw how fast Kei could grab the theory and put it into practice—he almost felt sorry for the poor dummies that were converted into dust during that training. Their excitement only fueled their intensity, and in turn, the expectations they placed on him.

And Kei, though composed on the outside, couldn’t shake the gnawing unease that came with those expectations. On the good side, it could be said that he was able to master Zio, Bufu and Zan in a day of practice—spartan practice.

Pixie was pretty chill, and Cait Sith—whom he was seriously considering asking if he could just call Cait or Sith to shorten his hero alias—was also fairly carefree in his approach.

Apsaras, on the other hand…

She was a different story.

Elegant, graceful, and composed at all times—but when it came to training, she had a perfectionist streak that could rival any drill sergeant. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t bark orders. But her calm, unwavering gaze and quietly pointed corrections were somehow worse. She didn’t need to yell. One look was enough to make Kei straighten up and rethink his entire form. She almost reminded him to his mother, Kei though with a shiver.

By the end of the day, he had the three basic elemental techniques down: Zio, Bufu, and Zan. Mastery might’ve been a strong word, but he could summon and direct each with a precision that startled even himself. That might’ve been the part that unnerved him the most—how natural it felt. As if those elements had always been inside him, just waiting for a reason to emerge.

Still, when he’d finally returned to his dorm, his body was charged with lingering energy, not exhaustion. His mind, though, was buzzing with too many thoughts.

And now it was Monday again. Back to school. Back to pretending none of this was happening. No one else could see what was under the surface—the subtle shifts in his gaze, the way his senses reached just a little farther than they should, how his body responded before his brain even finished the command.

At least he wasn’t alone—but for someone who had been a loner not so long ago, that wasn’t always a good thing. Ichiro hadn’t shut up ever since they got back to the dorms yesterday, asking Kei everything about his training with the heroes—and of course, about the heroes themselves.

Kei would never understand Ichiro’s obsession with them, and the constant rambling was getting on his nerves. Now, walking to school with him and Yuzuru, Kei was doing his best not to glare the poor guy into silence—but the task was proving more and more difficult by the second. Honestly, he couldn’t wait to reach the school and ditch them at the entrance with some excuse like being the student on duty or whatever.

He was so glad they didn’t share the same classroom.

It might’ve sounded hypocritical, but he still needed his space. Just because he’d opened up a little around them didn’t mean he was suddenly a social butterfly. The bond forming between them—tentative as it was—didn’t erase the years he’d spent keeping people at arm’s length.

He wasn’t used to the noise, the questions, or the constant pressure to talk.

Ichiro, bless his overly enthusiastic soul, had been buzzing like a caffeine-charged wasp ever since they’d returned to the dorms. It hadn’t stopped. From “What’s Apsaras like in person?” to “Do you think Cait Sith would sign my collector card if I asked?” to “Wait, wait—did you actually cast Zio? Like, full-on lightning?” And Kei… Kei had done his best not to fry the hallway lights in response.

Even now, walking to school with Ichiro excitedly narrating half his monologue to Yuzuru (who at least had the decency to nod and occasionally redirect the conversation), Kei found himself grinding his teeth behind a polite nod.

Breathe. Just breathe.

The school gate loomed ahead like salvation.

Maybe if he was fast enough, he could slip inside with a mumbled “See you later” and disappear into the crowd. Maybe he could pretend, just for a few hours, that he was a normal student with normal problems. Maybe the buzz in his fingertips, the weight of expectation from heroes, the government, teachers and  his parents alike, and the creeping sense that something was about to shift again could all be shoved to the back of his mind.

Maybe.

He gave the schoolyard a sweeping glance as they stepped through the gates, hands tucked in his pockets, expression unreadable.

Just another Monday.

Then why did it feel like something was wrong?

A heavy sense of dread coiled in his stomach—tight, persistent, and without a clear source. Something was off.

Kei shook his head, trying to push the feeling away.

“Everything alright, Amemura?” Yuzuru asked, his voice low but laced with concern. Ichiro looked over too, unusually quiet for once.

“Yeah… It’s nothing,” Kei replied, brushing it off with a shrug. But his tone wasn’t convincing, and both boys exchanged a glance. They didn’t press further, but their silence said enough.

Still, the uneasiness didn’t go away. It clung to him like static—tightening with every step toward the school building. His skin prickled, and for a moment, he was certain he’d bump into someone. The feeling reminded him too much of that one day. The day he’d first crossed paths with Sahori Itsukushima.

The pressure, the instinctive spike of his Magatsuhi, the sense that something dark was just around the corner…

But Sahori was nowhere to be seen.

And yet…

He paused just before stepping into the main building, eyes narrowing as he scanned the students moving past.

Something’s not right.

The feeling crawled beneath his skin like a whisper just out of earshot. He shook it off, or at least tried to, and walked the remaining steps to his classroom. As he slid into his seat, the usual chatter around him sounded distant—blurred, hollow.

Homeroom began, but his focus wasn’t there. His teacher’s voice washed over him like background noise, and Kei stared out the window, careful not to let his mind wander too far. He didn’t want to accidentally short-circuit the lights again with a stray thought.

Then, without fully understanding why, he decided to do something he hadn’t planned to.

—Aogami, are you there?

A beat of silence.

Then, the familiar, steady voice answered.

Yes, young man. Is everything alright? This is the first time you’ve contacted me since our joint examination.

Yeah—no. I mean… I don’t know? Ever since I got here this morning, something feels off. I’ve got a bad feeling…

There was a pause.

Thank you for the report. I’ll pass it on to my brother.

W-wait, it wasn’t a report. Just… just a bad feeling. And—wait. Brother? I thought you were the only model of the Nahobino Project left.

My apologies. You are correct. I was referring to Director Koshimizu.

That… that makes absolutely no sense.

I understand your confusion, young man. I assume you’ve noticed the uncanny resemblance between the director and myself.

That much was true. One was made of synthetic metal and the other of flesh, but they looked like water drops from the same source. The only real differences were Aogami’s otherworldly golden eyes and striking blue hair.

Yeah…

Well, my design was based on him. For that reason, he has expressed that he considers me family—and has asked that I refer to him as my brother.

Okay… that’s not weird at all, Kei thought dryly, hoping Aogami couldn’t sense—feel?—his sarcasm.

Now, returning to your rep—ah, excuse me—bad feeling, I still believe it should be reported to my brother. You should learn to trust your instincts more.

I mean, it could just be paranoia. I did just learn yesterday that a hero identity had already been dec—

Kei didn’t get to finish that thought.

A loud crash shattered the classroom’s normalcy.

Startled, he turned toward the door, now ripped from its hinges and thrown across the classroom. A man stood there, silhouetted in the debris.

What struck Kei wasn’t the force or brazenness of the act, but the man’s aura.

It felt wrong—eerily similar to Sahori’s, but darker… rougher. A side effect of strong negative emotion, maybe? Or was this just his usual aura?

What really caught Kei’s attention, though, was Tao’s face.

She recognized him.

The man had greasy black hair, opaque eyes, and a twisted smirk. And as if bursting into a prestigious private school wasn’t bold enough, he didn’t even bother hiding his identity.

He wanted to be recognized.

The man walked slowly into the room, ignoring the teacher cowering on the floor. He made his way to the front, then locked eyes with Tao.

“Tao-chan,” he rasped, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. The sound sent shivers through the classroom.

“Aren’t you supposed to be Sahori’s best friend? To be there for her—through the good and the bad?”

Before she could answer, his arm twisted and morphed—long, black, and serpentine.

A tentacle.

Any doubt Kei had about him having ingested lucidum evaporated. If that wasn’t a secondary trait, he didn’t know what was.

The man grabbed Tao with the inky appendage and lifted her off the floor. She struggled, but his grip was brutal.

“Then why did you abandon her to the mercy of those bullies?! You have any idea how much she’s suffered?! How I’vesuffered every weekend she came home with bruises and empty eyes?!”

Tao, though restrained, managed to choke out a response.

“I-I did try to help her, I-Itsukushima-san… I still am… but she brushes me off, acts like everything’s fine. She won’t let me in!”

Itsukushima… Kei’s mind clicked. He must be Sahori’s father.

“You didn’t try hard enough!” the man snarled. “You could’ve told the teachers—done something!”

This time, the teacher found her voice, trembling.

“Isonokami-san did try to warn us. But unless Itsukushima-san herself came to us, there was nothing we could officially do…”

“So you knew! And yet you let it get this bad?!”

He turned on the teacher, his other arm now morphing as well—two tentacles now, swaying like deadly whips.

Then, with a final look at Tao, he threw her.

Straight at the back of the room.

Kei didn’t think. His body moved before his mind caught up.

He leapt, catching Tao midair, twisting so his back hit the wall first. The impact left a huge dent—but thankfully, the wall held. Barely.

Kei hoped she was okay. His own body absorbed most of the shock. He felt it—but not enough to hurt. Still, for the sake of secrecy, he slumped to the ground and pretended to be unconscious.

“Amemura-kun!” someone screamed.

“Oh? We’ve got a little hero in here,” the man said with sick amusement. “Too bad that hit might’ve broken a few bones—just like I’ll do with the kids who made my daughter suffer.”

Kei resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Good. No one had seen through him yet.

The room was chaos. Students panicked. Some whispered about getting help.

Then Kei whispered, just loud enough for Tao to hear.

“Isonokami-san.”

No response.

“Isonokami-san…”

Still nothing.

He clicked his tongue softly.

“Tao-san.”

That did it. She blinked and looked at him in shock.

“Did you jus—”

“Don’t draw attention,” he cut her off. “Act like you’re worried about me.”

“But I am worried.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. I just can’t afford to stand up like nothing happened. That’d be… suspicious.”

Tao swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. This whole thing was spiraling. If only she had tried harder—pushed more, told someone louder—maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“I guess it’s time we all get moving,” the man said, tone light but chilling.

“T-to where?” asked one of the braver students.

“The gym, of course! Easier to keep you all together.”

Kei could hear his classmates gulp at the suggestion.

“You don’t have to do this!” Tao cried, regaining her voice.

“Oh, but I must, Tao-chan,” the man replied with terrifying cheer. “If I don’t avenge my daughter, who will?”

“Do you really think Sahori will thank you for this? That she’ll be happy about it?”

“Yes, she will. I’m saving her from this suffering! She’ll see I did it all for her.”

“That’s not true, and you know it, Itsuk—”

“Lahmu,” he snapped. “That’s the name I chose to protect her. Lahmu.”

He tightened the tentacle around the teacher’s neck.

“Now let’s get moving. Unless, of course, you want something to happen to your dear homeroom teacher.”

One by one, the students began to stand.

Some moved toward Kei, but Lahmu waved them off.

“Leave your friend. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

For once, Kei was glad to be underestimated. It gave him the freedom to act without attracting any more attention.

Aogami, did you follow all that?

Yes, young man. I remained… let’s say, tuned in during the commotion. My brother would like to speak with you.

Kei was about to ask how—he didn’t have Koshimizu’s number, let alone a direct line to a government director. Not even one of those fancy communication devices like the one given to Ichiro.

But then, before the question could form properly, a different voice echoed in his mind. Calm. Commanding. Human.

Great. He was a telephone now.

“Amemura, this is Director Koshimizu.”

Kei blinked. His head didn’t hurt, and there was no echo. The voice was just… there. Embedded directly into his thoughts like Aogami’s, but with a sharper presence. Less warmth. More gravity.

I—uh—yes?

“Aogami has briefed me on the situation at your school. I have to say, I’m honestly surprised by your actions and decision-making. I’ll give you this—you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

Thanks? Kei replied uncertainly, not sure if that was a compliment or a warning. He really wasn’t trying to earn extra credit here.

“Heroes are en route to apprehend this ‘Lahmu’—” there was a faint scoff in Koshimizu’s tone, “but it seems he’s not alone. We received a corrupted signal from Atsuta’s location. From what little we could decode, my guess is that he recognized the situation as dangerous, attempted to warn us, but was intercepted. The message was unfinished and lacking clear content.”

Kei’s throat tightened.

“This alone raised our concern—Atsuta isn’t prone to panic. But thanks to your input, we now have a clearer picture of what’s unfolding at Jouin High.”

That much was true. Kei could hear multiple footsteps echoing down the hallways—heavy, purposeful. Lahmu hadn’t come here alone.

“Now, regarding you…” Koshimizu continued, voice steady. “This will be your first official mission.”

Kei’s breath caught. As a hero-in-training? he asked, trying to steady his thoughts.

There was a pause. A long, deliberate pause.

“As Nahobino.”

For a moment, it felt as if the ground beneath Kei gave way—and he was falling straight through it. His pulse thundered in his ears. He would know what that felt like. He’d already lived through it once.

A-as a hero?! he stammered, trying and failing to keep the edge of panic from creeping into his voice. I haven’t even trained with Aogami yet! I—I’ve barely—

“I understand your concerns,” Koshimizu interrupted, tone calm but unyielding. “But your actions today, combined with the report submitted yesterday by Pixie, Apsaras, and Cait Sith regarding your combat initiative and discipline, show me you’re level-headed enough to handle this.”

That doesn’t mean I’m ready, Kei wanted to argue—but the words where never ‘transferred’—if that was the correct term.

There was no arguing with a voice like that. Not when it came from someone who spoke in declarations, not opinions.

“This isn’t about flashy powers or perfect training, Amemura. You kept your composure under pressure. You protected civilians—protected Isonokami—without revealing yourself. That alone puts you ahead of many with twice your experience.”

But I’m just— Kei gritted his teeth. No, he wasn’t just a high schooler anymore. He knew it. They all knew it. There was no turning back now.

…Understood, he finally said.

There was a pause before Koshimizu spoke again.

“For now, head to the main entrance. Aogami is en route, alongside the senior heroes. You’re to meet him and merge. From there, you’ll work with the others to establish a plan for handling the situation.”

Kei didn’t reply at first, letting the weight of those instructions settle. He was still vaguely wondering how Aogami had relayed this whole ‘call’ if he wasn’t even nearby. Mental relay? Signal boost through Magatsuhi? Kei had no idea.

But before the moment could pass, he spoke—something had been gnawing at him since the moment Lahmu had burst into the classroom.

Sir, he began, unusually formal. The kind of polite tone he used when trying to appease demanding adults. The reason Lahmu acted is because—even though it was known his daughter was being harassed—no one did anything. If someone had stepped in earlier, I think this might’ve been avoided entirely.

This time, the silence came from Koshimizu.

“Are you saying you agree with his actions?” the man asked evenly.

Nothing like that, Kei answered quickly. I just… I think he was driven to extremes because he felt cornered. Powerless. If action had been taken earlier—by the school, by anyone—this wouldn’t have escalated so far.

More silence.

Then, Koshimizu spoke again—measured, calm, but with the faintest edge.

“Tell me, Amemura. Before this incident—did the man in question attempt to contact the school? Did he file a complaint? Speak to a teacher? Demand accountability?”

Kei thought back. Judging by Lahmu’s words when he stormed the classroom, it didn’t seem like he had. There’d been no mention of reaching out before resorting to violence.

It… doesn’t seem to be the case, Kei admitted.

“So,” Koshimizu continued, “you believe it’s reasonable to take such a drastic, violent method—without even attempting more logical channels first? Do you think his actions are justified?”

Kei felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

They’re not… but—

“But there you have it.” Koshimizu cut him off, voice brisk now. “This isn’t the time for philosophical debates. We don’t have that luxury.”

His tone left no room for argument.

“I suggest you start heading to the school gate.”

And just like that, the connection was gone—cleanly severed, leaving Kei in the silent, emptied classroom, the hum of the lights overhead now strangely loud.

He sat there for a heartbeat longer, staring at the front of the room as if expecting it to somehow offer clarity.

It didn’t.

He stood up.

If many villains were created like that… Kei though, If someone—anyone—had acted before things escalated, maybe they wouldn’t have turned to that path in the first place.

Heroes aren’t a prevention tool. They’re damage control. Just as I thought, they’re just different flavors of the same mess…

But, just as Koshimizu said, Kei couldn’t stand still.

Whether he wanted it or not, he was a hero now. A dog on a government-issued leash, and he had orders to follow.

If there was a silver lining, it was that his classroom—3-A—was on the second floor, just a short flight of stairs away from the entrance.

Still, the footsteps echoing in the hallway made it impossible to move undetected.

He crept toward the window, trying to gauge the height by eye. Two floors wasn’t that much, right? He’d probably survive the fall. Probably. But then came the landing—

Would he land on his feet? Would it be loud? Would opening the window be too noisy?

What even counted as too loud right now?

Before he could decide, a new problem approached—one he couldn’t ignore.

The footsteps grew clearer. Purposeful. Not the random shuffle of a patrol. Someone was coming straight toward him.

Then a siluette could be seen in the entrance—where after Lahmu’s stunt there was a lacking door.

A tall, heavily built man stepped into the room. He had grayish-green hair, a short matching beard, and a crimson mask pulled over his eyes—likely more for style than for any real anonymity.

Even if Kei had never seen him in person before, he knew instantly who this was.

Shiisa.

A mercenary villain, known from Bethel’s files. A freelancer who lent his strength to whoever paid the highest.

Great, Kei thought dryly, this day just keeps getting better.

“Oh! So you’re the kid I was sent to retrieve,” Shiisa said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re already back on your feet after that hit. And walking around like nothing hurts? Impressive.”

Kei didn’t respond. His eyes stayed locked on the man, calculating.

Shiisa chuckled, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe. “What, speechless? Or are you trying to size me up?”

He tilted his head, amused. “I get it. You kids think you’re tougher than you are.”

His voice dropped into something more serious—more dangerous.

“Now listen, kid. You’ve got two options. Either you come with me the easy way…” He cracked his knuckles with a grin that showed just a hint of fang. “Or I mess you up worse than you already are and drag you back to your little friends. Don’t worry—I won’t kill you. Probably.”

Kei still said nothing. He was busy trying to recall everything he’d learned about Shiisa from his Bethel lectures—his abilities, his fighting style, his weaknesses—anything that could help. At the same time, he weighed his options: how to fight, how to flee, how to stall. But his silence only seemed to grate on the man in front of him.

“Kiddo, are you even listening to me?” Shiisa’s tone sharpened, irritation rising. At least he hadn’t attacked outright—yet. “In all honesty, I don’t like your eyes.”

That caught Kei off guard. “…My eyes?”

“Yeah. Some might say they look effeminate, but there’s something in them…” He paused for a moment. “They remind me of someone I fought once. And it’s pissing me off.”

…My eyes remind him of someone he once fought?

“So, I’ve made my decision,” the man continued. “I’ll just knock you out again and drag you to the gym like a lifeless doll.”

But oddly enough, he didn’t adopt a fighting stance.

Well—not that odd. No villain or hero would expect a regular high school student to fight back, let alone be able to. He was being underestimated, and Kei could see why. He vaguely remembered something Hayataro had said about situations like this—something about taking advantage of the enemy’s misconceptions.

But what did that actually mean in practice? Should he fight back now? Hit where it hurts? Go for the gut?

By the readings, Kei was stronger than most standard heroes. He could probably land a hit that would stagger Shiisa, maybe even knock him out. But if he failed—if he didn’t take him down in one strike—he’d just make things worse. And raise a lot of questions he couldn’t legally or safely answer.

While Kei was still caught in that mental spiral, Shiisa stepped closer.

“What, you scared? Paralyzed?” Shiisa laughed, then placed a hand on Kei’s shoulder.

The sensation was eerily familiar. A strange déjà vu flooded Kei’s mind.

And then it hit him—Cait Sith’s training, how he’d tested Kei’s elemental resistance… and Shiisa’s element was electricity.

Shiisa grinned. “Wait… why aren’t you passing out? That should’ve been enough current to knock you unconscious—I was even being gentle!”

“Shit” The word slipped from Kei’s mouth before he could stop it.

Panic shot through him—and he acted on instinct. Kei grabbed Shiisa’s wrist and drove his knee straight into the man’s abdomen with everything he had.

The form was shockingly clean—almost too clean, considering he’d only been practicing for a month.

As for the effect…

Well, maybe he’d overdone it a bit.

Shiisa went flying, crashing through the chalkboard on the opposite wall and tumbling down the stairs to the first floor with a loud thud.

…Okay. Knocked out. That’s something.

Now Kei had two problems. First, Shiisa would almost definitely come after him for this—unless he was lucky and the concussion wiped the whole thing from his memory. And second, that hit had definitely been loud enough to attract unwanted attention.

So once again, Kei did the first thing that came to his mind:

The window.

Without wasting a second—or thinking too hard about the landing—Kei rushed to the nearest window, slid it open, and jumped.

Earlier, he’d measured the height by eye. Three, maybe four meters—doable even for a normal person, if they landed right. With Kei’s current physical capabilities, it shouldn’t be a problem.

His Gakuran flared behind him as he dropped.

The wind hit his face, cold and sharp.

Then—impact.

Kei landed on both feet, bending his knees to absorb the shock. A jolt ran up his legs, but nothing broke, nothing sprained. Just a harsh reminder that his body was not what it used to be, but gravity still did its job.

He straightened up, heart pounding in his chest.

No time to stay still.

He broke into a sprint, dashing at full speed toward the school gates where he was supposed to meet the heroes sent to handle this situation—and, much to his dismay, Aogami.

Without slowing down, he jumped clean over the closed school gate—an action that would’ve been completely impossible for him a month ago, but he chose not to dwell on it.

Once off school grounds, he skidded to a stop and leaned his back against the school’s outer wall. A shaky breath escaped him as he slid down, his legs finally catching up to the adrenaline draining from his system.

“Everything alright, kitten?”

The voice startled him. Kei’s eyes snapped open—only to find Cait Sith, Pixie, Apsaras, and the Jack Bros all looking down at him with varying degrees of concern.

“Oh! It’s Strong Boi!” exclaimed Jack Frost, his voice bright with mischief as he struck a confident pose in his bold, winter-themed superhero outfit.

He wore a sleek, form-fitting harlequin suit in shimmering white and royal blue. Draped over his shoulders was a sharp-cut, blue jester-style mantle, its jagged edges swaying with every motion. His boots were tall and theatrical—mid-calf, royal blue, and gleaming under the morning light.

But the most eye-catching part was his oversized jester cap, snug around his head and sprouting two jagged, lightning-bolt-shaped horns that curved upward like frozen antlers. It was ridiculous. It was dramatic. And somehow—it worked, especially with the self-assured smirk plastered on his face.

He looked like a circus performer, a court jester, and a Saturday morning cartoon superhero all rolled into one—and yet, every inch of him radiated strength and chaotic confidence.

“Strong Boi!” echoed Pyro Jack gleefully. Like his brother, he was decked out in his own flashy superhero getup—but while Jack Frost looked like a walking snowstorm in tights, Pyro Jack’s vibe was pure Halloween mischief.

He wore a long, dramatic dark-blue cloak that billowed behind him with every bouncing step, clasped at the front with oversized pom-poms like some kind of haunted jester. A tall, floppy wizard’s hat—matching the same deep shade of midnight—slouched over his head, its brim low and shadowy. Kei had seen him wear a pumpkin head on occasion too… for some reason. Weird.

Kei could feel the start of a headache coming on.

After all, the Jack Bros were well-known pranksters… and somehow, that only added to their popularity.

“Pyro, Frost, stand back. Give Kei-kun a bit of space to breathe,” Apsaras said coolly, casting a firm look at the twins.

“Oh! So his name’s Kei!” Pyro said.

“It’s nice to finally put a name to the face,” Frost added.

Then, in perfect unison, the two grinned and said,

“But I’m still calling him Strong Boi.”

Kei groaned. The twins chuckled.

“May I interrupt?” came Aogami’s voice. “The current situation appears to be quite serious.”

“Oh! Mister Cyborg!” the twins sang in sync again.

“For the last time,” Aogami corrected them sounding almost tired, “I’m a proto-fiend, not a cyborg.”

From what Kei could tell, most of the other heroes present still didn’t seem to know what to make of Aogami—whether to be impressed, alarmed, or just confused.“What do you know about the situation so far?” Kei asked, addressing everyone.

“No need to fret, young man,” Aogami replied. “I debriefed them during our approach.”

The others nodded in confirmation.

“Now, if you would, update us on the immediate situation.”

Kei nodded. “As you know, all my classmates—and probably the teachers too—were relocated to the gym.”

Another round of nods.

“I…” Kei hesitated for a second. “I might have caused a bit of a commotion trying to get here. So I think there’s a good chance some of the henchmen are loitering around the second-floor staircase.”

“Oh! Oh! Question! Question!” Frost burst out, practically bouncing in place. “Are the guys you hang around with in Bethel here too??”

Pyro chimed in, “You know! The blondie, the one with the glasses, and the pretty girl!”

Before Kei could say anything, Aogami cut in smoothly.

“That would be correct.” Without missing a beat, he projected a holographic image of the trio midair, complete with names and brief stats. “Yuzuru Atsuta, Ichiro Dazai, and Tao Isonokami.”

“Oh! I’ve seen them around,” Pixie noted, wings fluttering as she peered at the projection. “Pretty sure I’ve run into Tao-chan more than once in the medical wing or handling admin stuff.”

“Correct,” Aogami said, voice neutral. “After being taken in by Abdiel, she began assisting at Bethel. A portion of her brain is awakened—she can manipulate light to a degree and possesses healing capabilities.”

The color drained from the heroes’ faces.

“You mean Abdiel’s adoptive daughter is caught up in this whole mess?!” Cait Sith’s voice pitched up in panic. “If someone lays a finger on her, we’re done for! I don’t want to be on the wrong end of her spear,” he added, visibly trembling.

“A little late for that…” Kei muttered.

Everyone froze.

But Kei quickly held up a hand. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. At least, she was the last time I saw her. Stuff happened, but—I acted before I even realized what I was doing. I managed to stop her from getting hurt.”

The group let out a collective sigh of relief.

“I’ve also seen the glasses one around,” Apsaras added calmly. “He’s efficient. Helped me a few times with field support and errands.”

Aogami nodded. “Yuzuru Atsuta was recruited by Tsukuyomi after his parents’ deaths. Alongside Isonokami-san, he’s one of Bethel’s longest-standing interns—he’s been with us since he was very young.”

The heroes paled again.

“Kitten!” Cait Sith nearly shouted. “What kind of school do you go to?! Abdiel’s adoptive daughter and Tsukuyomi’s protégé?! If anything happensto them, we’re dead meat! DEAD MEAT!”

Kei gave him an exasperated look.

“Okay, first of all, Isonokami-san told me that, more than anything, Abdiel kind of treats her like a saint—she still doesn’t fully understand what Abdiels even  means by that after all these years.”

“Still!”

Kei ignored him. “Atsuta joined Bethel because he wanted to stay close to his sister and protect her. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

“But sti—”

“And lastly,” Kei cut him off, “Dazai might not have a big-name backer, but he’s probably the biggest hero fanboy in existence. He’s sincere, determined, and will throw himself into danger if it means helping people.”

He leveled a sharp look at them.

“So instead of worrying just about your necks—maybe focus on everyone’s safety.”

The group fell silent.

Even Jack Frost and Pyro Jack looked properly humbled.

“Wow, Kei-kun! That’s some serious leader material you’ve got there,” Pixie teased, effectively making Kei turn red.

“T-that’s not true—and not the point right now,” Kei replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“I actually agree with Pixie on this one,” Apsaras added. “I think you should lead this mission.”

“Me?” Kei blinked, clearly surprised.

“I mean, yeah,” Cait Sith chimed in. “You know the layout of the school, and the people in there are ones you actually care about.”

“Well, I do know the infrastructure,” Kei admitted, “but aside from the ones we mentioned earlier, I don’t really interact with most students. And I only started hanging out with those three after the incident. Plus… I don’t have any experience being a leader—let alone a hero.”

“Geez, Kei-kun, you really are a loner, huh?” Pixie said with a grin.

Kei simply shrugged. He didn’t really mind.

“What do you mean by ‘incident’? Is that the reason awaked the totality of your brain even though you’re a minor?” Apsaras asked, her tone shifting to concern.

Kei tensed. He had assumed that those responsible for training him knew what had happened. Hayataro definitely did. But apparently, it wasn’t common knowledge among the other heroes.

Almost reflexively, he glanced at Aogami.

“It’s something related to Robocop here?” Frost asked, clearly intrigued.

Kei let out a quiet sigh.

Aogami… is it alright to tell them?

There’s no problem with it, young man, Aogami’s voice echoed firmly in his mind.

In fact, I’d recommend it, given our current situation. If speaking about it causes you distress, I can do it for you.

Kei shook his head. “No… I can handle it.”

“So it is related to the proto-fiend here present?” Cait Sith asked.

“Yeah. It’s the whole reason I was… well, basically forced to join Bethel.”

“Forced?” the group—minus Aogami—repeated in surprise.

“We don’t have time for the full story,” Kei said, “but in a nutshell… I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I fell into an abandoned lab and somehow ended up merging with him.” He nodded toward Aogami.

“You merged with a robot?” Pyro asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Yeah…” Kei sighed. “We still don’t know how it was even possible. It wasn’t even part of his original code. And to top it all off, the fusion had the same effect on me as if I’d ingested Lucidus…”

“In other words,” Apsaras continued, “you’re now bound to Bethel to avoid being automatically considered a criminal for awakening your brain’s full capacity—on top of your… unique circumstances.”

“That would be correct,” Kei affirmed.

“Cool!” the twins exclaimed in unison, earning a tired look from Kei. He could hear Pixie quietly whisper, “It’s not fair for someone so young…”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Kei said, straightening up. “We should focus on our course of action.”

“See! I told you! Totally leader material,” Pixie beamed back to her usual mood.

Kei ignored her and spoke up. “So, the hostages are all being kept in the gym. But then there’s the matter of the henchmen…”

He paused, frowning in thought. “How many are there? Where exactly are they stationed? Are they patrolling or assigned to fixed positions? How many are inside the gym? Are they prepared for a hero assault? There are too many variables.

“At first, I thought we could storm the gym from different entry points and take it back quickly—but if it’s heavily guarded from the inside, any sudden move could endanger the hostages. On the other hand, if most of their reinforcements are positioned outside, we risk walking into an ambush before we even get near the gym.”

A moment of silence followed.

“…Are you sure this is your first time doing something like this?” Apsaras asked, genuinely impressed. “You’re thinking way more tactically than I expected.”

Kei blinked, caught off guard. “I just… I’d hate for there to be any collateral damage because I overlooked something. I know it’s probably unrealistic to think everyone will come out unscathed… but at the very least, I want to prevent any deaths.”

The room fell silent.

A kid his age shouldn’t have to think that way—yet none of the veteran heroes could find it in themselves to disagree.

“I can help with that,” Aogami said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’m capable of scanning the building’s structure and accessing the internal security network. With that, I should be able to pinpoint the location of every hostile presence within the school.”

He paused then, as though weighing his next words.

“…If we merge, I believe you’ll be able to see it too, young man. You’ll have direct access to the data through me—faster, clearer.”

Kei understood the hesitation now. Aogami had expected him to refuse. That offer was a vulnerable one.

But Kei met his eyes, steady and resolute, then gave a firm nod.

Something softened in Aogami’s expression—relief, maybe even gratitude.

Kei extended his hand. Aogami took it without hesitation.

In an instant, a pulse of blue light surged outward, engulfing them both—and when it faded, the two were one again.

The heroes stared.

A low whistle broke the stunned silence.

“…That’s something…” Cait Sith muttered.

Kei’s eyes glowed faintly as data streamed into his mind in a flood of crystal-clear awareness.

He could see it—heat signatures, movement trails, blind spots, locked and unlocked doors… even the layout of each hallway in perfect detail.

“I’ve got it,” he said calmly. “Here’s the situation.”

He pointed mentally, eyes scanning nothing and everything.

“There are fifteen henchmen in total. Five are stationed around the gym—three inside with Lahmu, two patrolling the hallway outside. Most of them are low level recognized villains, with some exceptions like Shiisa.”

A murmur of unease rippled through the presents.

“Another six are scattered across the second and third floors—most likely sweeping classrooms. They’re not moving fast, which means they’re either looking for something… or someone.”

“That’s probably you,” Apsaras muttered.

“Four more are near the main stairwell and entrance—they’ve set up some kind of barrier, maybe to keep heroes out or block reinforcements. That area’s heavily watched.”

He closed his eyes briefly, aligning a mental map. He had no idea how could he do that, but it felt instinctual.

“The gym is surrounded, but not completely sealed. There’s a weakness in the northwest wall—an old maintenance door that was never properly updated on the school blueprints. It’s only guarded by one guy, and he’s not paying attention.”

“Sounds like a perfect infiltration point,” Pixie said, hovering closer.

Kei nodded. “I propose we divide into two groups. One goes through the maintenance door and disables the internal gym guards as quickly and quietly as possible. The other causes a distraction at the main stairwell—draw their attention, maybe pull some guards away from the gym.”

“And which group are you leading?” Cait Sith asked.

Kei paused.

“…The infiltration group. I can navigate the school’s layout better than anyone, and if something goes wrong, I want to be the one closest to the hostages.”

This time, the silence wasn’t awkward. It was respectful. No one questioned his resolve.

“Pyro, Frost,” Kei said, drawing the twins’ attention. “You’re on distraction duty.”

He met their eyes, and, for once, allowed a smirk to break through his usual expression. “Go wild.”

The twins lit up.

“We love you, Strong Boi!” one of them cheered.

“You’re officially on our good side!” said the other. “Don’t worry—you’re off our prank list!”

Kei wasn’t sure how to feel about that… but he supposed it was an honor. Sort of.

“For infiltration,” Kei continued, “Pixie’s coming. Her wings let her move almost silently.”

He turned to Cait Sith and Apsaras. “Between you two, who’s better for stealth?”

Without a doubt Cait Sith raised his hand “If discretion is what you want kitten, I might me the best option”  

Apsaras gave a small nod. “He’s right. His feline traits make him ideal for recon. I’ll join the twins on distraction detail.”

The twins pouted slightly but didn’t argue. They both knew having someone level-headed with them would prevent… accidental explosions.

“Alright,” Apsaras said, clapping her hands once. “Let’s move.”

“Wait—just one last thing,” Kei interrupted, his tone shifting slightly. “Call me Nahobino. It’s the hero name Bethel assigned me.”

“Assigned you?” Pixie asked, surprised. “You didn’t choose it?”

Kei shook his head. “No. It’s the name of the project Aogami was originally part of before it was shut down. They… just went with it.”

No one spoke for a beat. Then Cait Sith gave a short nod.

“Well, Nahobino,” he said, voice serious for once, “lead the way.”

“We’re counting on you, Nahobino!” Pixie added with a thumbs-up.

Kei’s eyes briefly scanned the group—hero seniors, each with unique powers, trusting him to lead. He took a quiet breath.

“Mission start.”

Chapter Text

Kei could hear screams, bursts of energy, even laughter coming from the east side of the school. The distraction team was doing a great job. Explosions echoed down the halls, followed by the unmistakable sound of chaos. Several of the villains originally stationed around the gym had already abandoned their posts to investigate—but two remained, still guarding the old maintenance door and the main entrance.

He, Pixie, and Cait Sith were in position.

Kei crouched atop the gym roof, peering down through the skylights. Pixie hovered near the main entrance, her wings barely rustling. Cait Sith was hidden behind a line of overgrown shrubs near the old maintenance door. The plan was simple on paper—risky in execution.

At Kei’s signal, Pixie and Cait Sith would strike simultaneously, taking out the remaining guards and forcing their way inside. The goal: draw the enemy toward a predetermined location. Once they had the villains’ attention, Kei would punch a hole through the roof and drop in, hopefully catching Lahmu—or at least a cluster of henchmen—off guard.

Even with his emotions dampened by the fusion, Kei couldn’t suppress a flicker of anxiety.

This was his first real mission.

Not just as a trainee—but as a hero. If he could even be called that yet. He hadn’t gone on a single standard field op before today, not even the beginner errands heroes-in-training usually ran. Yuzuru had done those. Kei had been stuck in prep with Ichiro. No simulations. No experience. Just the basics.

And now, here he was—fused with Aogami—deployed into a live crisis with barely a moment to catch his breath.

He tried not to focus on the overwhelming tide of information rushing through his mind. Aogami was filtering most of it—prioritizing, managing, parsing what Kei needed to see. Still, with building scans, internal security feeds, and heat signatures streaming into his mind, it felt like he could see through the walls—an eerie, hyperreal perception that made his skin crawl if he thought about it too much.

But even stranger than the avoided sensory overload was what the scientists at Bethel had warned him about.

Kei’s brain was adapting—too well.

They called it cognitive mimicry.

Because of his age—and the extreme plasticity of a developing brain—every fusion left a deeper imprint. Even brief sessions with Aogami flooded his mind with alien data structures and machine logic. Over time, his brain had begun to reorganize itself around that input. Reshaping. Rewriting. Becoming faster, more efficient…

And just a little more computer like.

He hadn’t noticed any obvious changes yet—or maybe nothing major had happened so far. Before today, they had only fused two or three times, and never for long. Most of his training had been theoretical: studying hero and villain data, learning tactics, drilling combat basics with Hayataro, and practicing Magatsuhi control with Pixie.

Recently, Apsaras and Cait Sith had joined the rotation. Actual training while merged with Aogami, though?

That was supposed to start today.

Instead, he’d been thrown headfirst into a crisis.

He wouldn’t deny it.

He was terrified.

A single mistake could cost someone their life—his friends, his classmates, a faculty member, another hero… or his own.

“Whenever you say Kitten”

Cait Sith’s voice hummed in his mind. Kei knew it was just the comm line, Bethel’s standard issue for heroes—clean transmission, no lag, designed for fast tactical exchanges in the middle of a fight. It let teams coordinate without shouting, a lifeline in chaos.

Kei didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

His mind was locked on the gym interior, scanning and re-scanning through Aogami’s feed. He was waiting for the perfect moment for Pixie and Cait Sith to move in—ignoring the flood of calculations that kept streaming through his brain.

Angles. Trajectories. Blast radii. Escape paths. Probability trees branching in dozens of directions at once.

They were far too complex for him to work out under normal circumstances, and yet, here he was—running them flawlessly, by sight alone, with only scraps of data to go on. It didn’t feel like thinking. It felt like… processing.

The scan painted ghostlike outlines through the gym’s walls.

From this vantage, Lahmu appeared as a large, distorted mass of movement in the center of the room, heat signature steady and posture upright. The data showed a cluster of smaller, warmer shapes—students—standing directly before him. He couldn’t see their faces, but the stillness in their readings told him they weren’t panicking. They were probably speaking to him. Or trying to.

The rest of the school—hundreds of students and staff—was packed across the gym floor. The scan painted them as a patchwork of motionless silhouettes, pressed against walls, bunched in uneven clusters, or sitting in tight rows.

Three other villain signatures roamed the space: One held position near the left-hand exit, their outline shifting with the repetitive flick of an arm—likely playing with a weapon while keeping watch. Another stood at the bleachers, mass broad and still, a sentry’s stance. The third moved with erratic, sharp bursts—pacing tight circuits around the far end of the court.

And of course, the ones guarding the two entrances of the gym.

The gym was almost certainly locked from the inside. A silent entry was impossible. Pixie and Cait Sith would have to blow the doors open—and that meant trajectories mattered. One wrong angle and a hostage could be injured before they even got inside.

Kei was waiting for the most efficient window to strike—one where no hostage would be caught in the crossfire and, if possible, a villain would be taken out in the process.

So he stayed on the roof, eyes fixed on the shifting outlines, breath steady, every muscle wired tight—ready to give the signal.

“Now”.

Earlier that day…

All the students and faculty had been herded into the gym.

No one was certain what was really happening—only that their school had been taken over by villains. Many assumed it was about money; after all, they were students at a prestigious private school, and ransom demands seemed plausible. But that wasn’t the case.

Class 3-A already knew that much. They were the class where Lahmu himself had appeared when this all began.

Some students were in full panic, voices trembling or breaking into sobs. Others, like Yuzuru Atsuta, tried to keep calm.

It was his first time as a hostage in a situation like this. As a hero-in-training, whenever he had supported heroes in similar incidents, his role had always been to escort hostages to safety while others dealt with the villain. Now, without his armband, he couldn’t even do that.

Maybe that was for the best—too many witnesses here. If his status as a hero-in-training became public, the last person he wanted to worry, his sister Miyazu, would inevitably find out. Plus, his status was to be kept secret. At least he’d managed to send some sort of warning to HQ, even if it had been incomplete—cut short when he was spotted.

His gaze shifted to Ichiro. The poor guy looked more shaken than he was. From what Yuzuru had learned about him so far, Ichiro would probably beat himself up later for not being able to help. Honestly, Yuzuru was relieved Ichiro hadn’t had his armband either. He was far more hot-headed and reckless, and without any real experience—not even as support—he might have done something dangerous.

Then Yuzuru’s eyes landed on Tao. He noticed faint bruises on her skin and frowned. He wanted to ask what had happened, or better yet, check on his sister…

But before he could move, the crowd parted.

A man stepped into the center of the gym, as if the air itself made way for him. He was in his forties, with greasy black hair, opaque eyes, and a twisted smirk that made Yuzuru’s stomach knot.

He didn’t need an introduction.

That posture. That smile. That oppressive stillness.

This was the man who planned this all.

And they were all trapped in here with him.

“D-dad?” a voice trembled from the students of class 3-C. “Is that you?”

Sahori Itsukushima slowly stood, eyes wide.

The man barely spared her a glance.

“I’m Lahmu,” he said, voice cold but loud enough for all to hear. “And I am here to reclaim justice. My daughter has been tortured—over and over—since the start of the semester. No one did anything to help her. Not the teachers, not her classmates, not even her so-called best friend.”

“Don’t bring Tao into this!” Sahori snapped. “I did everything I could to push her away! The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt too!”

Tao stepped forward calmly, stopping before Lahmu.

“I tried,” she said quietly, “over and over.”

“Not enough,” Lahmu replied sharply.

“Maybe you’re right,” Tao said, ignoring Sahori as she slowly took her side, speaking her name softly.

“But this isn’t the way.” Tao’s voice was firm but reasoned. “Look at her. Does she look happy in this situation?”

“She’ll thank me once I pay back the bullies thrice over,” Lahmu growled, but before he could continue, explosions rocked the school’s exterior.

“What’s happening?” Lahmu demanded, turning to the other villains stationed inside the gym.

“Heroes have arrived,” one answered, checking a communication device.

“That was faster than expected,” Lahmu muttered. “How did they know about the hostage situation? We cut all outside communication.”

Another villain spoke up nervously. “I think it’s that glasses over there.” He nodded toward Yuzuru. “I caught him trying to send something through his phone.”

Yuzuru’s breath caught, relief washing over him as the villain held up Bethel’s confiscated communication device, mistaking it for a phone.

Lahmu suddenly extended one arm, which morphed into a writhing tentacle, eliciting small screams. The tentacle wrapped tightly around Yuzuru, forcing him forward.

“What did you do?” Lahmu demanded.

“N-nothing,” Yuzuru gasped, struggling to breathe as the grip tightened. “I wrote something, but my phone was confiscated before I could send it.”

“Onii-chan!” Miyazu cried out, concern evident. Yet, a glance from Yuzuru kept her quiet. Thankfully, Lahmu hadn’t mentioned Miyazu—his crusade seemed focused solely on his daughter.

“So how did the authorities learn about this?” Lahmu asked, gesturing to the chaos around them. Then, as if remembering something urgent, he demanded, “Where is Shiisa with the kid I knocked out?”

Yuzuru, pushed roughly to the floor, looked around class 3-A. Kei was nowhere in sight. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

The other villains swallowed hard, clearly nervous. “W-we lost contact with him. Others found Shiisa knocked out, and the kid was missing.”

“That’s impossible!” Lahmu barked. “He should have broken bones from that hit!”

“Maybe a hero found him, took him out, and then took care of Shiisa?” one suggested nervously.

Lahmu’s eyes narrowed. “Then how did the hero know about the kidnapping, genius?”

His gaze swept over the first-year students until it landed on a girl who resembled the boy standing before him. Without warning, his tentacle-like hand lashed out toward Miyazu.

Yuzuru’s heart plummeted. Before he could react, a figure sprang forward, intercepting the tentacle mid-swipe—Ichiro.

“Hey, you heard my bro,” Ichiro said, legs trembling but voice steady. “If he said he didn’t do it, he didn’t. So don’t drag his sister into this.”

Lahmu barely spared Ichiro a glance before extending his other hand, grabbing both Ichiro and Miyazu and pulling them forward, dropping them in front of him.

“Miyazu!” Yuzuru exclaimed, rushing to his sister and Dazai’s side. He was about to turn to thank Ichiro when a loud clash shattered the tense silence.

The gym doors, mostly ignored by the panicked students until now, were ripped off their hinges and sent flying through the air—somehow missing everyone in the chaos.

Against the backlit haze of dust and debris, two figures emerged.

On one side, Pixie hovered gracefully, her wings slicing the air in rapid beats, the wind curling around her like an extension of her will. On the other, Cait Sith crouched low, leaves and twigs tangled in his hair, the air around his hands buzzing faintly with electricity.

They didn’t speak—there was no time. The plan was already in motion.

Pixie shot upward, spinning once before diving low. A sudden gale exploded outward from her wings, herding the scattered villains back toward the gym’s center. The gust was sharp and controlled, pushing not only Lahmu’s henchmen but also the hostages still held near the front of the crowd —specially in front of Lahmu. The force stopped just short of harming them, but the wind’s pressure funneled everyone—friend and foe alike—into a tight cluster in front of Lahmu.

“Good,” Cait Sith muttered, seeing the positioning fall into place. Sparks raced up his arms, pooling at his fingertips. He slammed his palm to the floor—electricity arced outward in jagged veins, snaring the villains’ legs and shocking them into paralysis. Cries of surprise and pain echoed through the gym as their bodies locked for a precious few seconds.

That was all the time they needed.

The roof groaned above, dust drifting down like falling ash. Lahmu’s head snapped upward just as a jagged hole ripped open in the ceiling.

Kei dropped through like a blue shadow made solid, feet slamming into the floor with a bone-rattling crack. The impact sent a ripple through the ground, knocking over two stunned henchmen outright.

Without hesitation, Pixie swept her arms in a wide arc. A wall of air surged up, swirling into a dense, shimmering dome that enclosed Lahmu and his forces—and Kei standing right there with them. The wind roared, forming a barrier strong enough to keep the villains from breaking out and, more importantly, to keep the hostages from being dragged back in.

Inside the dome, the fight was about to begin.

Outside, the hostages could finally breathe.

Only three students recognized the figure in the dome. Two—Ichiro and Yuzuru—had seen it before. The third, Tao, had only heard descriptions of that form. All three recognized Kei instantly, relief flooding them.

They knew he’d been tougher since the incident, but seeing him here—standing between them and Lahmu—steadied their nerves more than they expected.

Within seconds, Kei raised his hands. Shards of ice formed in the air around him and shot forward like spears. One villain ducked clear, but two were struck, their pained shouts cutting through the wind. Lahmu, however, barely flinched. The ice didn’t bounce off—he wasn’t immune—but it was little more than an irritation to him.

Kei clicked his tongue, his eyes flicking toward Cait Sith. The exchange lasted less than a heartbeat.

Cait Sith’s fingers crackled with electricity just as Kei’s control of the air intensified. Together, they unleashed a joint strike—lightning carried on screaming currents of wind. The smaller henchmen crumpled instantly, unconscious before they hit the floor. Lahmu staggered, his coat of tentacles shuddering under the combined force, but he remained standing.

Good. He could be hurt.

Kei began charging another wind strike—bigger, faster, sharper—when a mass of seething black energy erupted from Lahmu’s hand and hurtled toward him.

“Nahobino!” Pixie’s voice broke through the roar, sharp with worry.

The blast struck him squarely in the chest. Kei braced for agony—but nothing came.

Young man, Aogami’s voice resonated in his mind, calm as ever. It seems the darkness dampener you were carrying has broken. I recommend avoiding further contact with his attacks if possible. The results will not be pleasant.

Ah. Right. He’d almost forgotten he even had that thing.

Got it Kei thought back, mentally thanking Aogami before fixing his gaze on Lahmu again.

Kei exhaled slowly, feeling the air shift around him, alive and eager under his control. Lahmu’s tentacles flexed like coiled snakes, searching for an opening, but Kei didn’t give him one.

The moment the last trace of black energy fizzled against the gym floor, Kei moved. The dome of wind that Pixie had created around the villains surged inward, its currents sharpening under his influence. Every gust became a blade, slicing into the air around Lahmu.

The sound was deafening—a low, ripping howl that seemed to pull the breath from the room. Lahmu staggered, tentacles wrapping around his body for protection. It didn’t help. The wind found every gap, tearing at him, forcing him to brace against the onslaught.

His voice rose over the storm, guttural and furious. “You—!”

Kei didn’t let him finish. With a twist of his wrists, the gale intensified, becoming a cyclone that hurled two of the remaining conscious henchmen straight into the far wall. They didn’t get up. Lahmu’s footing faltered, his body bowing under the pressure.

Pixie darted above him, riding the currents Kei shaped. “Keep pushing! He’s reeling!”

“I know,” Kei muttered, his voice low but determined. He could feel it—the weakness, the way Lahmu’s mass buckled in the wind. One more strike might drop him.

He gathered the air again, tighter this time, condensing it into a single, spear-like burst aimed right at Lahmu’s chest. The moment it was ready, Kei thrust his hands forward—

A piercing gale shot straight into Lahmu, lifting him off his feet and slamming him backward into the gym floor hard enough to crack the metal. Dust exploded upward, swallowing him in a haze.

For a heartbeat, the dome was silent except for Kei’s steady breathing.

The dust began to settle, shapes slowly emerging in the haze—Lahmu and his three henchmen, sprawled motionless on the splintered gym floor.

With Aogami feeding him data, Kei scanned them quickly. Heart rates steady but faint. Muscle activity minimal. No signs of waking anytime soon. Satisfied, he raised a hand toward Pixie. She caught the signal and, with a small flick of her wrist, dissolved the wind barrier. The air in the gym grew still again.

The quiet didn’t last.

Applause burst out, echoing from the high walls and rafters.

Kei froze, a cold weight dropping into his stomach. The stares were everywhere—dozens, maybe hundreds of them—pressing in from all sides. It was too much like standing under the lights during a piano recital, every eye waiting for him to play the perfect note.

He turned toward his seniors, eager to hand the attention to anyone else.

“Aogami already contacted the police. They’re outside,” he said evenly. His gaze drifted back to the collapsed villains. “I’ll drag them out.”

He’d only taken a step before Pixie’s voice cut in. “Our job here’s not over.”

He blinked. “…It’s not?”

“Of course not!” She crossed her arms, floating at eye level with him. “First we check that everyone’s safe and that nothing—besides the busted gym—took collateral damage.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Kei just nodded and crouched by Lahmu, looping the villain’s own limp tentacles into a rough binding.

A voice rose from the crowd, hesitant but clear.

“What… will happen to them?”

Kei didn’t need to look to know it was Sahori. He turned anyway—and froze. That was a good question. One he didn’t have a clean answer for. From what he’d seen, villains were arrested… then weeks, sometimes days later, they were back on the streets, and the chaos began all over again.

“Sorry, miss,” Cait Sith interjected smoothly, “our kōhai here’s on his first mission. Still wet behind the ears.”

Kei shot him a sharp look, but Pixie was already stepping forward, her expression softening as her eyes found Sahori.

“Ah, right. He’s your father, isn’t he, sweetheart?”

Her hand came to rest gently on the girl’s shoulder. Sahori gave the faintest nod.

“Don’t worry. He’ll live, and he’ll get medical care. But he’ll likely be kept in solitary until a psychiatrist clears him. What happens after…” Pixie’s gaze flicked toward Lahmu’s bound form, “…depends on him.”

She let out a faint sigh before continuing.

“That said, I’ll have to ask you to come with us once we’re finished here.”

Sahori tensed, but nodded again.

The momentary quiet shattered when someone in the crowd yelled, “Who’s the blueberry hero?”

“Blueber—” Kei didn’t even get the word out before Cait Sith’s grin turned wicked. He clapped a hand on Kei’s shoulder.

“This grumpy, socially awkward blueberry here,” he announced loudly, “is our brand-new kōhai—Nahobino!”

Kei glared at him, but it only seemed to fuel Cait Sith’s amusement.

Pixie swooped in next, all teeth in her smile. “He’s pretty much a prodigy! Today’s rescue? Technically, Apsaras was supposed to lead it. But this one—” she ruffled Kei’s hair with a maddening casualness “had so many sharp ideas, we just had to put him in charge.”

“Wasn’t that a bit reckless?” one of the teachers asked, their voice cutting through the fading murmurs. “To let him lead in his very first mission?”

“Well, it is an unusual situation,” Apsaras’ voice rang out from the gym entrance, calm yet carrying a quiet authority. The Jack twins trailed behind her, and the atmosphere shifted instantly—cheers and applause breaking out again.

“But,” she continued, “he had an excellent grasp of the situation from the start. Every move was planned down to the millisecond to avoid collateral damage. That was his priority—your safety. Don’t be fooled by his seemingly cold, blue exterior.”

“He’s a big softie inside!” Pyro grinned.

“A heart of gold, indeed!” Frost chimed in.

“He sent us off to distract the other villains in the building,” Pyro went on, “while he kept the hostages here safe and handled Lahmu head-on.”

“And he didn’t even flinch under all those eyes watching,” Frost added. “That’s harder than it looks.”

Kei felt his ears burn under their words. Praise always sat on him like an ill-fitted jacket—too tight in the shoulders, itchy at the collar. He kept his gaze low, fiddling with the bindings around Lahmu, hoping the conversation would move on before someone asked for a speech.

But judging by the sparkle in Cait Sith’s eyes, that hope was doomed.

But he was saved by one of his classmates.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said shyly, addressing Apsaras and the twins. “But you were in the classroom building, right?”

They all nodded.

“Did you come across one of our classmates from Class 3-A? He was left behind and probably in bad shape… His name is Kei Amemura.”

Kei almost tensed. Right… that’s what they all think.

“Oh! I know him!” Pixie exclaimed, wings fluttering with excitement. “He’s a renowned pianist, right?”

…Shit. Kei’s jaw tightened. She googled me. Great. Now there’s no way she won’t start asking questions… or worse, ask for a performance during training.

That little comment drew a few curious glances from the other heroes—glances Kei did not want to deal with right now—but before it could snowball, Apsaras stepped in like a frost-coated shield.

“Yeah, he was actually the one who informed the authorities of the situation,” she said smoothly. “He wasn’t in the best shape—it was a miracle he even reached his phone—so we sent him away to get treated.”

Kei kept his expression neutral, though inside he winced. Apsaras… that part about informing the authorities? Way too much.

Well, at least no one—besides his friends—seemed to recognize him like this. Small victories.

“Now, back on track,” Cait Sith said, folding his arms. “Was anyone here touched by that guy’s tentacles?”

That snapped Kei’s attention. His gaze swept the gym, searching for any reaction—

—and his heart sank. All of his friends bore bruises. Even Miyazu, Yuzuru’s frail younger sister, had a dark mark blooming on her arm.

Tao stepped forward, and the sight alone made a few of the heroes pale.

“I was,” she said evenly. “And so were my friends.” She gestured toward Yuzuru, Ichiro, and Miyazu. “And my homeroom teacher.”

Apsaras nodded and addressed the principal. “Sir, we’ll be taking them—along with Itsukushima-san—to get treated. We need to make sure Lahmu’s tentacles didn’t carry any passive effects like poison or corruption. Don’t worry. They, along with Amemura-kun, will be back—if not before your dorm curfew, then by Wednesday, or by the end of the week at worst. We’ll keep you and their parents informed.”

The principal inclined his head. “I’ll leave them in your capable hands. Thank you for saving us.”

“It’s just what we do,” Pixie said brightly.

“Either way,” the principal continued, “the school will remain closed for the rest of the week. I think we all need space. If anyone needs to talk, the counselor’s office will still be open. Lectures will likely resume next week, virtually, due to the damage.”

“Don’t worry, the government will cover repairs,” one of the twins added.

“Will Amemura-kun really be back by Friday?” a classmate asked. “He took a pretty hard hit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pixie said with a wink. “We’ve got our ways to put him back together.”

“Does this mean he’ll get treated by a healing hero?!” Ichiro blurted, temporarily forgetting Kei was perfectly fine.

“Yup, that’s the case,” Pixie replied cheerfully.

“Cool!” Ichiro grinned.

Kei resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Fantastic. Now half the class is probably picturing me in an ER surrounded by healing heroes.

Thankfully, the chatter shifted as Apsaras gestured to the exit.

“Alright, we’re moving out. Let’s not give Lahmu any chance for a second act. Most of the villains are already outside with the police—these are the last stragglers.”

Without a word, Kei stepped forward, hefting the four unconscious bodies as if they weighed nothing and started toward the exit.

Before he could leave the gym, a chorus of voices broke out.

“Thanks, Nahobino!”

The shouts were uneven, overlapping—but warm. Unexpectedly, they tugged a small smile from him. He lifted a hand in a casual wave, as if to say see you soon.

His friends, Sahori and his homeroom teacher were escorted out by the other heroes, the group filing toward the front gate. Sure enough, several police officers waited there.

“Thanks for your service!” one of them called, giving Kei a crisp salute.

Kei froze for a second, uncertain—should he salute back, bow, or just nod? Before he could decide, Cait Sith stepped in.

“Hey, Inspector Kaburagi,” he greeted easily.

“You got quite a catch today, huh? Good job,” the inspector replied. Her gaze shifted to Kei. “Who’s the new guy? It’s unusual for someone to jump straight into hero work without serving in the forces first.”

Is that so? Kei wondered.

Affirmative, young man, Aogami’s voice echoed in his mind. There’s usually a specific background required to ingest Lucidus and become a hero—most have at least two years in the police or military. Effectuating an internship or apprenticeship in Bethel is also valid, but less usual.

I see… thanks for the info, Kei thought back.

“Yeah, he’s something,” Cait Sith said with a faint smirk. “His situation’s… unusual, but he’s good on the job.”

“Hmm…” Kaburagi’s eyes narrowed slightly before turning back to Kei. “What’s your name, newbie?”

Kei froze. Real name, or the one they’d assigned him?

“K—” he began, but Cait Sith cut in immediately.

“His name’s Nahobino,” Cait Sith said smoothly, patting Kei’s head. “Well, inspector, we’ll leave the rest to you. Keep an eye on Tentacles here.” He jerked his chin toward Lahmu. “Not pleasant to touch, trust me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he steered Kei away, his easy smile fading into something more serious.

“Never—ever—give your real name when someone asks you as a hero,” he said firmly.

“But you know mine,” Kei pointed out. “And I wasn’t sure which one to use, since he’s an officer—”

“Listen, kitten,” Cait Sith cut him off. “I know it because I’m one of your tutors. I’ll probably be one of the very few who ever do. Heroes don’t share their real names. Not with other heroes. Definitely not with strangers. Only with people you’d trust with your life.”

Kei just nodded.

“Good, now that we’ve got that covered,” Cait Sith said, “it’s time to go. Your friends are already in the car over there.” He gestured toward a pair of sleek black government-licensed sedans. “Your teacher on the other hand was taken away in an ambulance.”

Kei started in that direction, but Cait Sith’s voice stopped him. “Where are you going? Our ride’s over here.”

He pointed toward an unassuming van parked a short distance away, its plain exterior making it look like it belonged to a delivery company rather than a government unit. Cait Sith motioned for him to follow.

They climbed in through the back, and Kei was met with a surprisingly spacious interior. It reminded him of the military transports he’d seen in movies—only this one had air conditioning and a wall of humming, cutting-edge tech.

The van rumbled to life.

“Kei-kun!” Pixie launched herself at him with a hug. “You did great out there!”

“I second that,” Apsaras said, seated across from him. “We just rewatched the battle footage. It was impressive—top notch, in fact.”

She hesitated, as if weighing her next words.

“How did you manage all that? Your Magatsuhi control is already astounding, but what you pulled off in the gym… that was high-level work. And yesterday, we’d only gone over the basics.”

“Ah… that…” Kei scratched the back of his head—awkward with hair this long. Honestly, how had it not tripped him up mid-fight? “Aogami helped me perform those.”

“Right! Aogami!” Pixie said, as though she’d only just remembered the proto-fiend.

The van went unusually quiet—even the twins kept still—but Kei could feel everyone’s eyes on him.

He sighed.

“Okay, go ahead. I know you’ve all got questions, especially about the merge. I figured you were holding back because of the situation, so… shoot.”

The heroes glanced at one another before Apsaras finally spoke.

“So… a renowned pianist?”

Of all the things they could’ve led with, that was the last he expected.

“Yeah,” Kei said slowly. “Been doing recitals since I can remember.”

“Won any prizes?” Frost piped up.

This Q&A was taking a hard left.

“Some,” Kei replied quietly.

“Were you the one playing the grand piano in the common room at the start of the month?” Cait Sith asked.

“Yup! That was him!” Pyro answered before he could.

“It was stunning—hypnotizing,” Frost added.

“And improvised on the spot!” the twins chimed together.

“That was improvised?!” Cait Sith’s cat ears popped up and twitched. “I only caught part of it before deployment, but if that was all off the cuff… you’re a prodigy.”

Kei looked away. That cursed word clung to him worse than gum in hair.

“Anyone could do it with enough practice,” he muttered, eager to deflect.

“I’d like to hear you play sometime,” Apsaras said.

“Oh! Me too! Me too!” Pixie followed.

“Maybe one day,” Kei said quickly. “Other questions?”

Frost didn’t miss a beat. “Why’s your getup so blue and… cyborg-y?”

“Do you become a cyborg when you merge with Robocop?” Pyro added.

“Why’s your hair so long? Can you cut it?” Frost continued.

“Why are your eyes golden? Are you okay? Your Magatsuhi won’t go berserk on us, right?” Pyro piled on.

Kei’s head was spinning from the barrage.

“Alright, first—no idea about the blue. My best guess? Something tied to Aogami’s programming. The hair and eyes are his colors. He told me once this form uses his body as a model and my mind as the base. Why it’s so long? Beats me. Can I cut it? Hopefully, yes. It didn’t get in my way this time, but it’s… annoying.”

He paused, then added,

“And no, I’m not a cyborg like this—at least I don’t think so. The scientists said that in this state my body’s been… altered. Muscle density, bone structure, neural activity—everything’s beyond human limits. But it’s not a full fusion. Parts of me are still just me.”

He leaned back slightly, tone darkening.

“They called it ‘integration, not overwrite.’ Which means I’m still me… just changed. The brain scans were the kicker—they found two distinct brainwave patterns. One’s mine, boosted compared to before. The other? Not human. Too precise. Too mechanical.”

His voice dropped.

“Aogami isn’t just in my head—he’s wired into it, processing everything alongside me.”

“What about when you’re separated? Does it still affect you?” Apsaras asked, concern in her voice.

Kei exhaled.

“Even apart, we can feel each other. Communicate, too.”

“Like telepathy?!” the twins asked, eyes bright.

“Pretty much,” Kei said, glossing over the details. “That’s how I told Bethel what was happening at my school.”

“Awesome!” the twins cheered. For a second, Kei swore he heard Ichiro’s voice mixed in—their energy was eerily similar.

“Anything else?” Apsaras asked.

Kei hesitated before speaking again.

“They also said… after the first merge, my brain might’ve copied parts of Aogami’s processing patterns. Not a full copy—just enough that it started restructuring itself without me knowing. And it’ll probably keep progressing the longer I stay like this. Aogami calls it a symbiosis, not a replacement, but…” He trailed off.

“But it makes you feel uncomfortable?” Apsaras offered.

Kei wasn’t sure if that was the right word. Uncomfortable felt too mild, too ordinary—like an itchy shirt or a bad smell. This was different. If anything, he was afraid it would make him less him. That it would seep into the edges of his mind and sand them down, changing the way he thought, the way he saw the world.

What if, little by little, he wouldn’t even notice the difference until he woke up one day and realized there was nothing left of the person he used to be?

“Sorry for the question,” Apsaras said at last. “I guess you haven’t separated from Aogami yet… because you’re afraid of it.”

She was partially right.

“That, and…” Kei let out a short breath, forcing a small smirk, “it’d be pretty weird if people saw Nahobino getting into a van, then a high school kid and a robot getting out of it.”

It wasn’t entirely a joke. He didn’t know if they’d be dropped off at the same place as his classmates. Ichiro, Yuzuru, and Tao were fine—but Sahori and Miyazu? They’d put two and two together in a heartbeat, no matter how far-fetched the truth sounded.

Sensing the heaviness in his mood, Pixie leaned forward, her voice bright and determined.

“That besides, you are super awesome!” she declared. “Now we just have to get there, give an oral report to Mister First Minister, and then—freedom for the rest of the day!”

Well… that did sound good. It had been a while since he’d had any real free time.

The vehicle rolled to a smooth stop, and the back doors swung open.

“We’re here,” said the valet who greeted them with a small bow.

“Thanks for the ride, Takeshi,” Cait Sith said as he hopped out.

“Yeah, thanks for the ride,” the rest of the heroes echoed.

“Just doing my job,” Takeshi replied with a friendly smile. “Director Koshimizu is waiting for you in Conference Room 2.”

Kei had no idea where that was, so he simply fell in step with the others. The group wound their way through the sleek, sterile halls until they reached the room.

Inside, Director Koshimizu was already waiting, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the large monitor behind him. Footage of the day’s battles—likely compiled from the school’s security feeds—played in crisp detail, every moment from the first clash to the final capture looping silently in the background.

“Excellent job, everyone,” he said, before his eyes settled squarely on Kei.

“Especially you, Nahobino. You exceeded my expectations by far—your actions and decision-making would put even seasoned operatives to shame.” His voice was level, yet there was an undercurrent to it, as if each word was being measured against some internal ledger.

Kei shifted under the weight of the praise, his posture instinctively straightening even as his gaze dipped slightly. “I… had help. From Aogami, and the others. I’m just glad everything ended alright.”

Koshimizu nodded once, curt. “I want written reports from the rest of you by Wednesday,” he said to the more seasoned heroes before turning back to Kei. “I’ll let you off this time—it was your first deployment, and it wasn’t even planned. That changes a lot of what we had in mind for your debut… Either way, Aogami will automatically submit a report.”

He shifted his stance. “Now, concerning your situation—we’ll arrange a room for you to stay in for a few days while you get ‘treated.’” The pause and faint emphasis on the word made his meaning clear.

Ah, right… Kei Amemura is supposed to be beaten up and recovering, Kei thought dryly. Guess I’m not going back to the dorms anytime soon.

“As per protocol, your parents have been informed by the school,” Koshimizu added.

Great. As if this wasn’t complicated enough.

“Still, due to your contract, all ‘medical’ situations will be handled and paid for by Bethel. So instead of being referred to a hospital—which, of course, you do not actually need—you’ll be treated here. Everyone else injured during this incident—Dazai, Isonokami, and Atsuta—besides your teacher, are also affiliated with Bethel through internship agreements. Atsuta’s younger sister will be treated here as well, despite not being part of Bethel, due to her fragile health and because Atsuta joined the internship specifically to remain close to her and care for her.”

Kei nodded. After a pause, he hesitated, then asked quietly “What will happen to Itsukushima?”

None of what happened was her fault, yet it was going to shape her life in ways she probably couldn’t even imagine. If anything, she was the one who had been hurt the most…

“Right now she’s being held in the psychological ward,” Koshimizu replied. “She’s likely being questioned as we speak—to get a complete understanding of the situation: what drove her father to such extremes, any hint about how he acquired Lucidus, and so on. It’s mainly to determine what can be done to prevent something like this from happening again, and if possible, to get a clearer picture of the underground commerce around Lucidus.”

Kei’s lips pressed into a thin line. It didn’t seem fair. Sahori had been through so much—now she was being interrogated after losing both her father and her reputation.

As if reading Kei’s thoughts, Koshimizu spoke again. “I understand your concerns. But she’s not alone.” He exhaled slowly, the weariness in his voice clear. “Abdiel’s Saint, Isonokami-san, insisted—against her own best judgment and everyone’s objections—on staying by her friend’s side at all times, even while injured herself. She even had a direct confrontation with Abdiel, who was already displeased about her being hurt in the first place, just so she could remain with Itsukushima-san.”

“Having said that,” Koshimizu continued, “you are expected at the labs for a quick check-up to verify everything is in order and that there are no side effects from your current state. After that, you’ll be temporarily transferred to a room in our medical ward, where the other injured members from this mission are being treated. It’s mostly to maintain appearances.”

He leaned back slightly, folding his hands on the desk. “You’ll have the next few days off until your ‘official’ recovery is processed on paper. During that time, whenever you don’t have visitors, you’ll be assigned a private room where you can rest without disturbance and to use as you please.”

Koshimizu’s eyes met Kei’s, steady and unreadable. “That will be all for now. Dismissed.”

Kei gave a short nod and turned to leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The low hum of the command center faded into the quieter corridor beyond.

Aogami, Kei thought as he walked, do you know how to get to the labs from here?

Yes. The answer came instantly, followed by a strange ripple in his vision. For a split second, the hallway around him seemed overlaid with a semi-transparent projection—faint lines marking turns, glowing indicators hovering over doorways, even a dotted path curling forward like something out of an augmented reality game.

Kei stopped short, blinking. “Whoa—!” He caught himself, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed his reaction. The projection lingered just long enough for him to get his bearings before fading away, leaving only the plain hallway in front of him.

You now have the most efficient route memorized, Aogami said matter-of-factly. It will remain in your short-term recall for approximately eight hours.

Kei exhaled through his nose, muttering, “A little warning next time would be nice…” before starting toward the labs, still shaking off the odd sensation.

As he walked, he could feel eyes following him. Not surprising—his current getup was hard to miss. In this form he was taller, his long blue hair spilling down his back, and his golden eyes gleaming like twin beacons against Bethel’s sterile, white-lit corridors. Definitely not the standard look for an operative around here.

He wondered if word about him had already made the rounds, or if the stares were just par for the course in a place where “unusual” was probably a daily occurrence. Heroes’ aesthetics could be… questionable, to put it kindly. Pyro, for instance, occasionally sported an actual pumpkin for a head, and no one batted an eye. Kei tried not to dwell on how easily a villain might stroll in if everyone was that blasé about appearances.

In just a few minutes, the labs came into view. Someone was already waiting by the door, as if expecting him.

“Welcome back, Kei-kun. Good work out there,” the man greeted him warmly. “Come in—once we finish the check-up and collect some data from the mission, you’ll be free to go.”

Kei nodded silently and stepped inside. The faint scent of disinfectant and electronics met him, accompanied by the soft hum of equipment.

“Anything hurt? Feel strange?” the scientist asked as he moved toward a nearby console.

Kei thought about it for a moment, mentally running through his body for any signs of strain, then gave a small shake of his head.

“Good,” the man replied with a satisfied nod. “In that case, could you please remove your… armor?”

It was a strange request—well, strange to anyone else. Kei had gone through something similar during his initial examination, though it still felt odd to hear it phrased that way. After all, the “armor” wasn’t really armor in the traditional sense. It didn’t sit heavy on him like metal plates or leather—it was part of him now, seamless, alive.

Kei gave a small nod, speaking inwardly. Aogami—release it.

Understood.

The faint hum of energy rippled through his body, and he began peeling the armor away piece by piece. Each section dissolved and retracted almost organically, like metal and light melting into vapor, until only the thin, nearly transparent black bodysuit clung to him. It hugged his frame like a second skin, tracing the lines of muscle and movement without offering much in the way of modesty.

“I’m done,” he said quietly.

“Perfect,” the scientist replied, already turning toward a side room. “Please, this way.”

Kei followed, the soles of his feet making barely a sound against the polished floor, and stopped by an examination table under a harsh white light. The man began a thorough check-up—scanning from head to toe, running gloved hands lightly over muscle groups, testing joints and reflexes, and occasionally switching to sleek diagnostic tools that emitted soft beeps and pings.

A faint prickling sensation ran over Kei’s skin as one instrument passed near his temples, the display beside them flickering with streams of data he didn’t bother trying to read.

“Now, we’ll collect the mission data from your fusion interface,” the scientist said, reaching for a small, disk-shaped device with faintly glowing edges. “Please stay still. This won’t hurt, but you may feel… unusual sensations.”

Kei sat up straighter, bracing himself as the man placed the device lightly against the base of his neck.

Immediately, a faint static shiver spread down his spine, like cold water trickling just beneath the skin. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it made the muscles in his back twitch involuntarily.

What are they pulling from me exactly? I though you will send them a report later Kei thought, fighting the urge to frown.

Yes, I will indeed submit later a written report. Right now they are extraction mission logs, environmental readings, battle telemetry… and certain physiological patterns Aogami’s calm voice answered directly in his mind.

Kei’s jaw tightened. Sounds like they’re downloading me more than just the fight.

Not you Aogami corrected, but rather… the you that exists when we are fused.

That didn’t exactly make him feel better. If anything, it scraped at the same unease he’d been wrestling with earlier—the fear that little by little, piece by piece, he might not notice himself changing until the “him” he knew was gone.

“Huh? That’s curious,” the scientist murmured, eyes flicking across the data on his monitor. “You did some calculations during the battle, right?”

Kei hesitated. “Yeah… is there something wrong?”

“Not wrong,” the man replied, his tone sharpening with interest. “Just… intriguing. Could you unfuse for a moment? I want to run a few additional tests.”

Kei asked Aogami to disengage. In a faint wash of blue light they where two separated beings again, and the shift hit Kei like stepping off a moving walkway—his balance wavering, a dull throb forming behind his eyes. This was new.

“You all right?” the scientist asked.

“Just… give me a second.” Kei rubbed his temple until the dizziness faded.

They led him to another station, attaching a slim headband dotted with sensors. The cradle of a scanning device lowered around his skull, humming faintly. He could hear the scientists muttering to each other—“unusual neural activity”, “cross-referencing with fusion logs”.

Then one of them appeared in front of him, holding a tablet. “Let’s start simple. Seven plus three?”

Kei frowned. “…Ten.”

The man’s finger flicked across the screen. “Eighty-three times twenty-four?”

“1,992,” Kei answered before even realizing he’d calculated it.

A swipe later: “The square root of 784?”

“Twenty-eight.”

They began showing him increasingly absurd problems—integrals, logarithms, probability calculations—and each time, the answer popped into his mind instantly, without conscious effort.

Then they switched to diagrams: a triangle with its base and height marked. “Area?”

“Thirty-two square centimeters,” Kei said.

A cylinder with no numbers, just proportions. “Volume?”

“About one hundred and fifty-five cubic centimeters… give or take two.”

The scientist’s brows rose. “And how did you—?”

Kei pointed vaguely at the proportions. “It just… looks like that’s the number.”

The man grinned faintly, clearly delighted. “During battle, your fusion partner’s computational processes were running in parallel with your own. Your brain was essentially dragged into performing high-speed, high-precision problem solving nonstop. Over hours, that stimulation has left you with a heightened capacity for mental math, pattern recognition, and spatial estimation. You’re, for lack of a better term, a human calculator now.”

Kei’s expression flattened. Great. Another thing to add to the list. If people find out about this, I’ll get saddled with yet another “prodigy” title.

He let out a tired sigh.

“Will it affect me negatively somehow?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” the scientist replied. “At most, you might start noticing patterns and making unconscious calculations in your head. But besides that—” he smiled proudly “—if you ever decide to quit heroing around, you could easily pursue a scientific, mathematical, or engineering career without a worry.”

Kei didn’t share the man’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t as if he could just quit Bethel on a whim…

“Are we done here?” Kei asked, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

The scientist nodded. “Yes, thank you for your cooperation and the data. I’d say you’re free to go but—”

The door slid open and another scientist stepped in. “But we were instructed to have you change into a hospital gown and transport you on a litter to a room in the medical ward.”

Kei simply nodded; he’d already been informed of that part.

He was handed a neatly folded hospital gown, the kind that looked like it belonged in a dreary clinic brochure.

“Change in there,” the first scientist said, gesturing toward a small side room.

Kei complied, trading his school uniform for the loose, pale-blue hospital gown. The fabric was cold against his skin, and the faint scent of disinfectant clung to it. When he stepped out, a pair of medics with a wheeled litter were already waiting.

He lay down without complaint, feeling the gentle roll of the wheels as they pushed him down the corridors. The sterile lighting above passed in steady intervals, almost hypnotic.

After a few turns, they entered the medical ward—a large, open space sectioned into curtained bays. Immediately, Kei spotted familiar figures: Tao, Ichiro, Yuzuru, and beside him, his younger sister Miyazu. All of them sat on beds, except Yuzuru, who stood beside Miyazu’s, probably too worried about her to think about himself.

Bruises marked the upper sides of their arms, and likely their chests and backs as well. Lahmu hadn’t gone easy on anyone. His sticky tentacles had probably squeezed them hard, and the stinging sensation from the adhesive film they left behind was something Kei knew all too well.

“Amemura!”

Their relief was palpable.

“Hey,” was all Kei said.

“Glad to see you’re alright, man,” Ichiro grinned. “Now, tell us everything about the re—”

He was abruptly cut short by Tao, who slid off her bed just far enough to discreetly pinch him.

Kei silently thanked her. With Miyazu here, there was no way he could start explaining the full story. Ichiro, in particular, had a way of dragging every detail out of him and asking a million hero-related questions.

“Are you alright, Amemura-senpai?” Miyazu asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Kei offered a small smile. “A bit sore here and there, but I’ll live.” It was a lie, but one he had to keep up.

That earned a small chuckle from her. “Good to know. From what Tao told us, you got hit pretty hard.”

“Yeah, but I’m almost alright now. More importantly—how are you? Those bruises look nasty. And… mentally, I mean.”

Before she could answer, hurried footsteps echoed from the hall.

“Ichiro!” a voice called, tight with worry. A moment later, a couple appeared in the doorway—a tall man in a business suit and a freckled woman in a dress.

“Mom! Dad!” Ichiro’s face lit up. Being stuck at a boarding school, and now spending weekends at Bethel, didn’t leave him much time to visit them.

They rushed over and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Are you alright, my teddy bear?” his mother asked, making his cheeks flush.

“M-Mom…” he managed, before his father gently interjected.

“Darling, you’re embarrassing him.”

“Ah—sorry, Ichiro,” she said quickly. “I was just worried. When we were told about what happened at your school, and that you were hurt… We’re just so relieved it’s only bruises.”

“Mom, Dad, I’m fine,” Ichiro reassured them. “If anything, Amemura’s the one who took the biggest hit.”

“Why are you dragging me into this now?” Kei deadpanned, though inwardly he was a little grateful Ichiro was helping maintain the act.

It was only then that Ichiro’s parents seemed to notice the rest of the room.

“Oh! Sorry about that,” Ichiro’s mom said quickly. “I’m Emi Dazai, and this is my husband, Inosuke Dazai. It’s nice to meet you—and thank you for taking care of Ichiro.”

“The pleasure is ours, Mrs. Dazai,” Yuzuru replied on behalf of everyone present. “Dazai can be a bit hotheaded sometimes, but we all know his heart’s in the right place.”

That earned an indignant, “Hey!” from Ichiro and a chuckle from both his parents.

“If I’m hotheaded, then what are you two?” Ichiro shot back, gesturing toward Kei and Yuzuru. “I’ve been trying for almost a month to get you to call me by my first name.”

Both boys averted their gaze, which only made Ichiro smirk.

“Or maybe it’s too much for Jouin’s golden boy and the Ice Prince?”

They both groaned at the mention of those titles—Ichiro knew full well they hated them.

“An Ice Prince indeed,” Emi mused, her gaze drifting to Kei. “Even in a hospital gown, he looks regal.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly as she looked him over, making Kei shift uncomfortably.

“D-Darling!” Inosuke sputtered.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You know I only have eyes for you,” she teased, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Ano…” a shy voice spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention to Miyazu, who was climbing out of bed despite Yuzuru’s sharp glare.

“I’m sorry,” she said, bowing deeply. “That Ichiro got hurt was my fault. He tried to protect me…”

“That’s true,” Yuzuru said, his tone softening. “I didn’t have time to thank him properly.” He turned to Ichiro and bowed as well. “Thank you for trying to keep Miyazu safe.”

“What good kids,” Inosuke remarked warmly. “Your parents should be proud of you.”

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water—small, but sending ripples through the room. Ichiro, Tao, and Kei all froze, the air around them tightening. Each of them seemed to retreat inward at once, their expressions flickering with something unspoken.

Before the weight could settle further, Miyazu’s quiet voice cut through.

“I sure hope so… My brother’s done his best to raise me while attending school and keeping up with his internship.”

The sudden change in the room didn’t go unnoticed by Ichiro’s parents. Emi tilted her head slightly, her smile softening in a more thoughtful way.

“Oh… that’s a lot of responsibility for someone your age,” she remarked gently, almost as if testing the weight of Miyazu’s words.

Inosuke gave a small nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on Yuzuru with quiet respect. “It speaks volumes about your character.”

A beat passed, then Emi suddenly clasped her hands together with a bright grin, the shift so abrupt it caught them off guard.

“Honestly, you’re all so sweet and well-mannered—can we adopt them, Inosuke?” she asked, half-joking but with an unmistakable sparkle in her eye.

Her husband simply gave her a weary, amused look and shook his head. “Emi…”

“Well, I’m just saying,” she said with a small shrug, “your parents should be arriving here soon too.”

Tao, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up with a calm smile.

“I’m adopted,” she said. “After my parents died in an incident a few years ago. I don’t think my mom will be able to make it here today.”

She was probably referring to the ever-busy hero Abdiel.

Emi’s smile twitched—just barely—and she turned to her husband with a subtle, almost pleading look, as if asking if they could do something. Inosuke gave a faint shake of his head, his hand brushing against hers in a silent reminder that this wasn’t the place.

The air threatened to grow heavy, but Tao, sensing it, brightened her expression.

“Well… since we’re on the topic of thanking people,” she said, turning toward Kei with a warm smile, “thanks for keeping me safe back then, Kei-kun.”

Kei blinked at her, caught off guard by the direct gratitude and the sudden use of his first name.

“…It was nothing, Isonokami-san,” he replied, tone even but polite.

“Oh?” Tao tilted her head, a sly spark in her eyes. “Are we back to that? After you called me by my name during the incident?”

Kei looked away, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure the impact hit you harder than I thought? Sorry for not being able to shoulder it more.”

Tao let out a small laugh, and before she could fire back, Ichiro leaned in with a grin.

“I’ve already said this multiple times, you know—you’ve got a soft spot for girls, Amemura.”

Kei sighed through his nose, glaring at him with just enough irritation to cover the fact that Ichiro wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Well, of course he does,” a new voice said. “We raised him to be a gentleman.”

The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman with a stylish low bun and expensive-looking clothes, her posture radiating composure and authority. The most striking part, however, was her face—it was almost a carbon copy of Kei’s, only more feminine. Her cheekbones were a touch softer, her lips more defined, and her eyes, instead of Kei’s green-gray, were a deep, piercing onyx. Her expression carried that subtle, effortless sharpness of someone used to commanding a room.

Behind her stood a lanky man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair streaked with dignified silver. A pair of rectangular, gray-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, catching the light with every slight movement. His demeanor was calm—bordering on unreadable—but there was a quiet weight in his gaze, the sort that could make people straighten their backs without a word.

“Mu—” Kei started, only to receive a well-practiced glare from her.

“…Mother. Father,” he corrected himself, slipping into the polished tone expected of him in public.

“Kei,” his mother said, her voice carrying the poised displeasure of someone used to being obeyed, “I received a call from your school. They told me you were injured. Is your school truly that unsafe?”

“Mother, no, t-that’s not th—” Kei started, only to be interrupted by his father’s calm, clipped voice.

“Don’t stutter, Kei.”

Kei swallowed hard, forcing the words out in a steady tone. “The school is safe. There was just… a villain incident.”

“Which should have been prevented by the school,” his father countered without missing a beat.

“It wasn’t their fault,” Kei replied, more firmly this time.

Technically, he thought, they could have prevented it if they’d dealt with Itsukushima’s bullying earlier… but that wasn’t the battlefield he was choosing today.

“That’s not the issue here,” his mother said, her words precise and decisive. “The issue is that you were hurt.”

For a brief moment, Kei thought that she was actually concerned for his well-being. But the thought was short-lived.

“You have a recital next month,” she continued. “Will you be in shape to perform?”

Kei kept his expression neutral, but a flicker in the room’s light made his annoyance clear enough for his friends to notice. They exchanged quiet glances.

Her gaze then narrowed slightly as she looked him over. “Have you been going to the gym? Your arms look… more defined.”

Kei’s mind froze for half a second—this was the first time his parents had seen him in person since the incident.

“It’s part of Bethel’s internship,” Yuzuru said smoothly, stepping in before Kei could fumble. “They require all members to maintain a certain level of fitness.”

“That’s true, Mother,” Kei confirmed quickly. “It was included in the schedule you were sent.”

That seemed to catch her attention for the first time since entering. Her eyes shifted to Yuzuru, studying him with quiet calculation. “You must be Yuzuru Atsuta—the one I spoke to when Bethel was arranging Kei’s placement.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Yuzuru replied, his tone respectful but steady.

“I see.” Her gaze moved again, this time to Tao. “And you must be Tao Isonokami. I recall your name being mentioned in one of the reports.”

Tao gave a polite nod. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

“I actually want to excuse myself,” she said. “Amemura-kun got hurt while protecting me.”

That, for the first time, made Kei’s parents truly focus on her.

“I was being thrown,” Tao continued, her tone steady but warm. “I was about to hit the wall, but Amemura-kun jumped in to shield me.”

Both parents turned to Kei, their expressions unreadable—caught somewhere between surprise, calculation, and the faintest flicker of approval.

“In that case,” Kei’s mother began, her voice shifting ever so slightly, “this changes the situation.”

She looked directly at him, and then, to Kei’s quiet shock, said something he could never recall hearing from her.

“You did well, Kei. Protecting a lady in distress is always the right thing to do.”

A spark lit in Kei’s eyes, and he almost smiled before his father cut in.

“Still,” his father said, “putting yourself in harm’s way like that isn’t wise. You should have found another method—throwing your school bag, for instance.”

Kei shifted uncomfortably. Even if he hadn’t been as resilient as he was now, he would have thrown himself in front of Tao without hesitation. It wasn’t about friendship—it was about principle. But he kept that to himself.

“But he did keep his friend safe,” a voice broke in from the side, warm but firm. “And even if he took the hit, he’s fine now. You should be praising him a bit more.”

For the first time since Kei's parents stepped into the room, Ichiro’s parents—who, along with Ichiro himself, had been conspicuously unacknowledged—spoke up.

“And you are?” Kei’s father asked coolly.

“I’m Inosuke Dazai, and this is my wife, Emi,” the man said, gesturing to the woman beside him. “We’re Ichiro Dazai’s parents.”

Kei shot Ichiro a subtle, pleading look—please make them stop—worried that his parents might say something cutting or dismissive now that the Dazais had dared to enter the conversation.

His parents barely spared them a glance.

“Kenjiro Amemura,” his father said flatly, nodding toward the woman beside him. “And my wife, Mei Amemura.”

He didn’t so much as acknowledge the handshake Ichiro’s father extended, leaving Inouske’s hand awkwardly suspended for a moment before the man withdrew it with a polite, almost imperceptible smile.

The silence that followed was taut. Tao shifted slightly, as if sensing the undercurrent, while Ichiro’s mother answered it with a warm, deliberate smile—choosing to ignore the slight.

Then, like a lifeline tossed into deep waters, the door opened and a nurse stepped in, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the room.

“Oh, I see some of the parents are here already,” she said brightly. “The kids are alright—just some bruises. All, besides Miyazu-chan and Kei-kun, are free to leave once their files have been processed.”

Ichiro’s parents let out a relieved sigh.

The nurse turned to Yuzuru. “I’m guessing you’re staying behind with your sister, as always?”

Yuzuru nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Always?” Ichiro tilted his head. “I knew Miyazu-chan had her moments, but… is it that often?”

Yuzuru didn’t answer, but Miyazu spoke up quietly. “Not really. Only once or twice a month.”

“They probably want to keep her for some additional screening, just to verify her condition’s stable,” Yuzuru added.

“Can we take Ichiro home?” the Dazais asked. “Seeing that the school’s closed for the week and all.”

“There’s no problem on our end,” the nurse replied, “but you’ll need to inform his school.”

They nodded.

“Also,” the nurse went on, “you’re all excused from your duties as interns for the rest of the week. The director’s decided you need time to rest up and heal from this experience.”

Ichiro’s face lit up with a grin at the news.

She then turned to the Amemuras. “Your son will need to stay for a few more days, but most of the bruises were already healed by heroes on-site. If anything, he should just be feeling sore and tired. You’re also free to take him home for the rest of the week once he’s cleared.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mei Amemura replied smoothly. “Home would only be a distraction. Once he’s cleared, he’ll return to the dorms.”

The nurse was almost taken aback by the answer but chose not to comment.

“If you’d like details about what happened, your child’s injuries, and their treatment, please come this way,” she said, motioning for them to follow.

Kei’s parents went with her, while Ichiro’s remained behind. Once the sound of his parents’ footsteps faded beyond his hearing range—which was fairly large—Kei let out a long, weary sigh.

He turned to his friends and Ichiro’s parents. “Sorry about that.”

“Your parents sure are something, Amemura,” Ichiro remarked. “I already had an idea about your mom after that call in the teachers’ lounge, but seeing her in person…” He gave an exaggerated shiver, making Kei almost chuckle.

Ichiro’s mother tilted her head, her smile warm but tinged with something more knowing, as if she was deliberately marking the weight of Mei Amemura’s earlier words. “Well,” she said with a faint laugh, “I suppose every family has their… style.”

Her husband chuckled softly and gave her a look. She leaned closer to him and whispered just loud enough for the teens to hear, “Are you sure we can’t we adopt them? They’re too cute.”

He shook his head with mock solemnity. “Emi…”

Kei gave a faint, awkward smile at their banter, only for Ichiro to break in, smirking. “Careful, Amemura—if you hang around my family too long, you might actually get used to being spoiled.”

Kei shot him a sharp glare.

Ichiro blinked and then grinned wider. “Whoa. You’ve got your mother’s glare.”

The words made Kei’s stomach tighten in mild discomfort. His gaze flicked away almost instantly, jaw tightening as if to erase the resemblance.

“Well, look at the time,” Inouske Dazai said, rising from his seat. “I guess it’s time for us to get going. You all must be exhausted after such a long day. Ichiro, you coming?”

Ichiro nodded and hopped off the bed.

“It was nice meeting you all,” Ichiro’s father added with an easy smile. “And I hope today’s incident won’t leave any scars—physical or otherwise.” He began heading for the door with the rest of the family.

Just before disappearing from view, Ichiro turned back, a playful grin on his face. “I’ll come visit,” he said, giving his friends a wink before hurrying after his parents.

Kei couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. Ichiro was probably dying to get every detail about the rescue mission—but he had held himself back surprisingly well today.

Now, only Tao, Yuzuru, Miyazu, and Kei remained in the room.

Tao rose from her seat with a soft exhale. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to get going too,” she said. “People must be wondering about us.” She started toward the door. “I’ll come visit with Ichiro.”

Before she could cross the threshold, Kei’s voice stopped her.

“Is Itsukushima-san alright?”

Tao froze mid-step, her back stiffening. Slowly, she turned to face him, lips pressed into a tight line.

“She will be,” she said after a pause. “She went home with her mother and grandmother.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “She’ll probably transfer to another school.” The sadness in her tone was palpable. “I… kinda saw that coming, after everything that happened.”

A heavy silence settled over the room before tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “But… it’s for the best, I guess,” she whispered, her voice trembling as sobs began to shake her shoulders.

Kei’s fingers twitched against the blanket. He wasn’t good with this sort of thing—comforting people—but Tao’s quiet sobs clawed at something in his chest.

She shook her head quickly, swiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “S-sorry. I just… I keep wondering if I could’ve done more. If I’d acted sooner…”

“It’s not your fault,” Kei finally said, surprising even himself. “It’s not your fault.”

“Amemura is right, Isonokami-san—you are not at fault here,” Yuzuru added, his tone steady.

“That’s true, Tao-chan,” Miyazu chimed in, her voice gentle. “You did all you could, and you even told the teachers.”

Both Yuzuru and Kei nodded in agreement.

“And at least she’s just transferring schools,” Kei added. “You can see her in your free time.”

Tao took a shaky breath, finishing the task of wiping away her tears. “You’re right, guys. Thanks,” she said with a small smile. “Now, I’m heading back for real. See you tomorrow.”

With that, she left, and the siblings remained in the room with Kei. The quiet didn’t last long—three nurses soon entered, their voices brisk but kind.

“Well, we’ll be taking you all to your rooms now,” one of them announced.

Kei’s bed was the first to be moved.

“See you tomorrow,” he heard the siblings call after him. He gave a brief nod in return.

Once they were far enough down the hall, the nurse at his side spoke. “We’ve been informed about your situation,” she said matter-of-factly.

That was expected.

“I’ll bring you to the entrance of the medical ward. From there, someone will meet you and take you to the room assigned to you.”

Kei simply nodded.

The nurse handed him a folded bundle. “Here. I was told to return your clothes. You can change in the restroom over there.”

Another nod. He slipped inside, trading the hospital gown for his familiar uniform. The scent of detergent clung faintly to the fabric.

When he stepped back out, curiosity got the better of him. “Did my parents already leave?”

The nurse nodded. “They said they had things to attend to, and left.”

No goodbye, then. Kei didn’t even flinch. It wasn’t unexpected.

The nurse wheeled him to the medical ward’s entrance, her footsteps soft against the polished floor. Beyond the automatic glass doors, the air felt different—quieter, warmer. Waiting for them was a young man in a tailored black uniform. He gave Kei a polite bow.

“I’ll be escorting you to your quarters,” he said, voice low but formal.

From there, Kei followed him into an elevator he had never taken before. Instead of descending into the familiar underground facilities—the sterile white corridors, the low hum of ventilation—this elevator climbed, floor after floor, numbers blinking upward in steady rhythm.

When the doors opened, Kei stepped into a part of Bethel he didn’t even know existed. The lighting was warmer, softer. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral, like a faint perfume. The carpet beneath his shoes muffled every step.

They passed tall windows that offered a breathtaking view of Tokyo’s skyline, neon scattered across the night like stars trapped between buildings. The walls were lined with elegant sconces, the kind you’d expect in a high-end hotel, not a secretive military organization.

Finally, the escort stopped in front of a door—dark wood, with a subtle brass plate marked with his name.

“Pajamas and towels should be on the shelves,” the man said as he opened the door for him.

Kei stepped inside… and froze.

This wasn’t the bare, minimalistic space he’d been given the first time he ever stayed at Bethel—back then, his “room” had been little more than a box with a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a cramped bathroom. Functional. Forgettable.

But this… this was something else entirely.

It was spacious—almost unnecessarily so. The bed was king-sized, dressed in crisp white linens and an inviting dark blue throw. A sitting area with a low table and plush armchairs occupied one corner. A wide desk faced another window, its surface empty save for a sleek lamp. Heavy curtains framed the glass, though the city lights still bled in around the edges.

The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, revealing marble tiling and the gleam of chrome fixtures. There was even a small shelf of books near the wall, their spines neat and untouched.

Kei took a slow step inside, feeling the softness of the carpet under his soles.

This wasn’t a room. This was… a suite. Something you’d see in a glossy travel magazine for a renowned hotel.

And he had no idea why.

He didn’t even stay in this kind of room when he gave recitals in foreign countries.

For now, he tucked the question away, a note to ask someone tomorrow. He pulled fresh towels from the shelf and slipped into the bathroom.

The shower came as a relief—steam curling against his skin, warm water cascading down his shoulders and spine. He let it wash over him, the tension of the day unraveling thread by thread. He hadn’t felt the nerves in battle thanks to Aogami’s calm, steady presence, but the weight of everything still clung to him.

Lahmu’s sudden attack.

The ride and tests back at Bethel.

The conversation with his parents…

Yes. A long day. A heavy one. His body felt fine—too fine, almost unnervingly unmarked by the chaos—but emotionally, he was worn thin.

What unsettled him most was the irony: he had been more anxious facing his parents than facing down a villain. More unnerved by their eyes, their words, than by his first mission—an official one, even if unplanned.

A sigh escaped him. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes. The water streamed down his face, along his neck, tracing every line of him as if trying to erase the day. He almost wanted to dissolve into it completely—to become water, shapeless and unseen. To slip away from all the gazes, all the expectations that now loomed heavier than ever after his debut.

To flow somewhere quiet.

Somewhere he could just be.

A place without eyes on him, without weight on his shoulders.

Right now, he wished he had his book, the one that carried him into poems where he could dissolve and forget himself. But it lay abandoned in his bag, left behind at school amid the chaos, as unreachable as the peace he longed for.

He sighed again, a quiet exhale that seemed to sink into the suite’s silence. At last, he stepped out of the shower, dressed in the provided pajamas, and collapsed onto the vast King-size bed. The mattress welcomed him, soft and generous, but sleep refused to follow.

Restlessness gnawed at him. No matter how many times he shifted, how tightly he closed his eyes, his mind refused to quiet. He was mentally tired—exhausted even—but slumber remained just out of reach, like a cruel joke after the day he’d endured.

The first thought that came to him was the piano. If he could sit at the keys, let his hands move, he could empty himself into the music. That was always how he untangled the weight inside. But the only piano he knew of in Bethel was in the heroes’ lounge. He didn’t know the way, and even if he did… it was too late. Even in a place as restless as Bethel, someone would hear. Someone would be disturbed.

So, for the second time in one day, he did something he usually avoided. He reached inward.

Aogami… are you there?

The words were hesitant, as though he wasn’t even sure they’d reach. He didn’t know what Aogami did when they weren’t fused—did he rest? Did he go silent, like a machine slipping into standby?

I am here.

The reply came almost instantly, steady as ever. But this time, there was a faint undertone Kei could only describe as… concern. It is unusual for you to contact me, especially twice in one day. Is everything alright?

Kei hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Then, finally:

I was wondering… if you could reserve a training room for me.

That, in itself, was unusual. He had never been the sportif type, nor had he ever made use of Bethel’s facilities outside the sensory rooms that have been at his disposition during the first weeks after his awakening.

Aogami went quiet. The silence stretched, weighted. Kei could feel his attention, sharp and deliberate, assessing him.

Young man, Aogami said at last, does this request have to do with today’s mission? Or perhaps… with the emotional fluctuations you experienced this afternoon?

Kei groaned softly, dragging the pillow over his face. Of course. He should have expected this. Aogami always noticed—he seemed to perceive his every shift in mood, even the ones Kei barely registered himself.

No… Kei finally muttered, the word heavy with half-truth.

I’m just… restless. I can’t sleep. I don’t feel like watching TV, and I don’t have any books with me. Playing piano isn’t an option right now, so I thought… maybe something physical instead.

There were a few seconds of silence before Aogami spoke again.

Noted. The request has been sent and approved.

Kei blinked at the ceiling.

That was fast.

Yes. Hayataro accepted to monitor you.

Kei stiffened. That… was not what he had expected. He thought he’d get an empty training room, a chance to work through the knot inside him without anyone watching.

Great… he muttered under his breath. He pulled the pillow over his face and groaned. Now I feel bad. I thought this way I wouldn’t bother anyone.

Hayataro did not seem bothered, Aogami replied, steady as ever. In fact, he said it might be beneficial.

Kei winced. That only made him feel more cornered. Beneficial. Right. He wasn’t looking for someone to train him, or to teach him anything tonight. He just wanted to burn off the noise inside his chest.

Still… he couldn’t exactly retract the request now. And Hayataro wasn’t the type to hold it against him.

Kei let the pillow drop beside him and stared up at the dim light above.

“…Fine. Guess I’ll get dressed again.” He muttered to himself.

He was about to reach for where he had set his school uniform when Aogami spoke again.

No need, young man. A set of sportswear is being sent to your location as we speak, along with the person who will guide you to the training room.

“Ah… umm… thanks,” Kei replied sheepishly.

Great, he thought bitterly, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. I bothered even more people.

His arm slid down to cover his eyes as he lay back on the bed. He had been raised to be self-sufficient, drilled into the habit of never asking for help unless it was absolutely necessary. His parents called it discipline, responsibility. To Kei, it often felt like isolation, like an invisible chain that strangled the simple act of reaching out.

And now… Bethel.

Even after almost a month, it still felt foreign to him. Too big, too alive, too interconnected. Bethel pulsed with a rhythm he wasn’t sure he could ever match—everyone always moving, always watching, always depending on one another. He had inched closer to the others—Tao’s quiet warmth, Yuzuru’s steady presence, Miyazu’s gentle kindness, Ichiro’s unshakable friendliness—but the instinct to keep himself at a distance hadn’t dissolved overnight.

Part of him feared it never would.

Maybe the nickname his classmates gave him wasn’t so far from the truth. Maybe he really was doomed to be the “Ice Prince”—perfect, unreachable, self-contained and admired from afar. A boy sculpted to withstand everything alone, to be praised, for things he didn’t want to. Even now, when he wasn’t always alone anymore, when the beginnings of real friendship had taken root, the name still clung to him.

Perhaps it was because he refused to cross certain invisible lines. Ichiro had pressed him more than once to drop the formalities and just call him by his first name. Tao, too, had gently encouraged it. But Kei never could, and Yuzuru’s own reluctance only reinforced the habit. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was fear.

His thoughts scattered at the soft knock knock at the door. Kei tensed, breath catching. Already? That must be the clothes… and the person Aogami had mentioned.

He dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the entrance. When he opened the door, it wasn’t who he expected.

Standing there was a familiar face—Takeshi, the young man who had driven him and the others back to Bethel after the mission. In one hand, Takeshi held a neatly folded set of Bethel’s standard training clothes; in the other, a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

Kei blinked, his gaze drawn to the food. Only then did it hit him—he hadn’t eaten anything since morning. His stomach gave a quiet protest, almost as if reminding him of its existence.

Did Aogami… ask for this too?

“Uhm—sorry?” Takeshi tilted his head, clearly uneasy at Kei’s silence and stare. “Have we met before?”

Kei froze. Panic flickered through him, sharp and fast. He had seen Takeshi around Bethel in passing, but officially, their first introduction had been earlier today—when he was Nahobino.

A long second stretched thin between them. Then, after an inward scramble, Kei forced a small, stiff shake of his head. “…No.”

Takeshi didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it slide without pressing. Kei wondered if the young man found it strange—being sent not only to escort him, but also carrying a sandwich, as though Kei were some pampered guest instead of just another trainee.

Well… technically he was an intern. But not in the same way as the others. He hadn’t applied, hadn’t gone through the interviews or the screenings. He hadn’t spent weeks running errands like Yuzuru, or shadowing senior heroes the way most new recruits did. His “internship” had simply… happened. A byproduct of circumstance, of being pulled into Bethel during an incident he hadn’t even understood at the time.

Ichiro was the same, of course—dragged in through chaos, not choice. But the thought didn’t make Kei feel any less out of place. If anything, it sharpened the divide. What did it mean to belong here? Was he truly being trusted… or simply tolerated because of what he could do?

Kei forced those thoughts aside.

“Thanks,” he said, taking both the sandwich and the folded clothes. “I actually haven’t eaten anything since morning.”

Takeshi blinked at that, brows lifting as if surprised, but only answered with a quick, “It’s nothing.”

There was a beat of silence. Kei hesitated, then stepped back from the doorway. “…Do you want to come in?”

The intern gave a half-smile, almost sheepish, and accepted. Kei set the sandwich on the desk, placed the clothes over a chair, and without much ceremony began to change. It wasn’t until he pulled the shirt over his head that he noticed Takeshi staring.

“Uh—sorry,” Takeshi said quickly, though his eyes flicked again, almost involuntarily, toward Kei’s abdomen. “Didn’t expect… abs. You don’t really look like the type.”

Kei stiffened, ears warming. “…I didn’t either...”

But Takeshi wasn’t finished. He glanced around the suite again—the plush furnishings, the polished floors, the sheer size of it—and frowned. “Still… why the ‘hero treatment’?”

Kei blinked, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “…Hero treatment?”

“Yeah. This room. It’s usually reserved for the MVP after a mission—the hero who carried the day, you know? I was honestly surprised when a high school kid opened the door.”

Heat rushed to Kei’s cheeks. So that was it. He had wondered why the place felt so out of proportion, but the explanation still left him unmoored. Him? The “MVP”? He had barely acted out of need, the whole situation was nothing but a big improv for him, well, at least until he left his classroom.

He busied himself with the sandwich, biting into it to buy time. Takeshi, however, leaned forward a little, meeting his eyes directly.

“Tell me straight,” Takeshi said. “You’re that blue hero, aren’t you? The one I drove back here from Jouin High, along with the others dispatched for the mission.”

Kei froze mid-bite. The sandwich suddenly felt heavy in his hand. A long second passed before he let out a sharp, tired sigh, setting the food aside. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool edge of the desk.

The silence stretched, broken only by the thrum of his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing—both unbearably loud to his sharpened senses. Takeshi didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“…I suck at this,” Kei muttered finally, voice muffled against his sleeve. “Cait Sith warned me not to tell anyone my identity, and it’s not even the next day and I’ve already been found out. Great.”

His tone was dry, but the weight beneath it was raw. With another sigh, he pushed himself upright, meeting Takeshi’s gaze head-on.

“Look. Yeah—you’re right. That was me. But it’s not what you think. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t even want this. One thing led to another, and… I ended up here. A Bethel intern.” His voice wavered, frustration bubbling up. “But the truth is, I haven’t done anything like the others do. No errands, no intel gathering, no proper fieldwork. Today was the first time I got thrown into something real—and only because I happened to be there when everything went to hell.”

His throat tightened, the words catching. He lowered his gaze, knuckles white where he gripped the desk’s edge.

For a long moment, Takeshi was silent. Then, quietly, he asked:

“…Want to talk about it?”

Kei blinked, startled.

“I’m actually a psychology student,” Takeshi went on, his tone softer. “Bethel recruited me because one of my professors recommended me. He knew my reasons, my drive. Heroes saved me—my family, my friends—more times than I can count. I wanted to give something back. The best way I knew how was this: learning to be someone they could talk to. Someone who could help carry the weight. As an intern I do whatever I can, but once I graduate, I’m aiming for a position in Bethel’s mental health division.”

A faint, rueful smile touched his lips. “I didn’t apply directly. No one really does. They… notice you. Pull you in if you’ve got something to offer.”

He leaned back, arms folded loosely. “So, yeah. You don’t have to force it. But if you need to unload, I’ll listen.”

Kei stared at him, a storm of feelings he couldn’t untangle: doubt, weariness, the faintest flicker of relief—smothered quickly by guilt. He didn’t know where to begin. Didn’t know how much he was even allowed to say. There were rules, secrets, boundaries he didn’t fully understand.

And worse—it didn’t feel right. To confide in someone he’d just met, when he hadn’t managed to open up to Tao, to Yuzuru, to Ichiro. Wouldn’t it be unfair? Wouldn’t it make him a coward, unburdening himself on a stranger while holding back from the people who had stood by him?

But then another thought slid in, sharp and uninvited: What if the weight is too much for them? What if they told him he was too much?

As if sensing the shift in him, Takeshi spoke again. “It doesn’t have to be now. Or even today. But if you ever want to talk, you can reach me through the communication device Bethel issued you.”

The communication device I never got, Kei thought dryly. Apparently Aogami is more efficient in my case.

“…Thanks,” he said instead. He hesitated, then added, “It’s… a lot. And I don’t even know what I’m allowed to share with you and what I’m not.”

Kei’s voice sounded small to his own ears, almost brittle.

Takeshi studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “That makes sense. You’ve got restrictions, protocols… I get it.” There was no disappointment in his tone, only understanding. “But even if you can’t give details, that doesn’t mean you can’t talk. Sometimes what matters isn’t the classified stuff—it’s what it feels like to carry it.”

Kei gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Feels like too much.”

“Then that’s enough to start with,” Takeshi replied gently. “No one’s keeping score. If it’s heavy, it’s heavy.”

The simple certainty unsettled Kei. He wasn’t used to being given space without expectation, without someone prying for answers or solutions. His parents had drilled self-sufficiency into him. Bethel demanded results. And even with his friends, he still kept a part of himself hidden.

He stared down at the untouched sandwich, the knot in his chest pulling tighter. “…Thanks. Really. I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Takeshi said with a small, wry smile. “Just—don’t think you’ve got to carry it all alone. Even if it’s not me, find someone. Because trust me—heroes who don’t… they burn out fast.”

Kei flinched, a shadow flickering across his face. He thought of Aogami’s quiet observations, Tao’s weary eyes, Yuzuru’s rigid sense of duty, Ichiro’s boundless eagerness that sometimes felt like it was hiding something deeper.

Was that where he was heading too?

He swallowed hard and pushed the thought down. “…I’ll try.”

It wasn’t a promise. But it was the closest he could manage.

“Well then,” Takeshi said as he stood up, brushing off his pants. “We should get going. I still need to take you to the training room.”

“Ah—right, I almost forgot,” Kei replied, hurriedly taking another bite of his sandwich. “I’ll eat on the way.”

With that, the two stepped out together. The hallway was quiet, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. They entered the elevator, Takeshi pressing the button without hesitation.

As the car descended, a faint hum filled the silence. Kei focused on chewing his sandwich, while Takeshi leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed. The ride wasn’t long, but the seconds stretched, heavy with the awkwardness of unspoken thoughts.

“Thanks for everything, Takeshi-sempai,” Kei finally said, his voice low but sincere.

Takeshi blinked, caught off guard. “How did you—oh. Right. Cait Sith mentioned my name this morning.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Kei muttered, scratching his cheek. “I don’t know your family name, so I just… used your given name.” It felt strangely intimate, even improper—he hadn’t called someone by their given name in a long, long time. Least of all a sempai.

Takeshi waved it off with an easy grin. “No worries. I never actually introduced myself anyway. It’s Higo—Takeshi Higo. But you can stick to Takeshi if you want, Hero-kun.” He finished with a wink.

The nickname made Kei’s ears burn. “Kei,” he blurted out, almost too fast. “My name is Kei Amemura. Thank you for your help, sempai.” He gave a polite bow, trying to mask his embarrassment.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open. They stepped out into another corridor, Takeshi leading the way with practiced familiarity. They turned corners, passed a few closed rooms, and finally stopped before a pair of heavy reinforced doors.

“Well, this is it,” Takeshi said, motioning toward the door.

“See you around, Kei,” he added warmly before heading down the hall.

“See you around, sempai,” Kei replied, his voice softer, but steady.

When the door shut behind him, silence reclaimed the training room. Kei stood still, eyes sweeping over the space. He half-expected Hayataro to be waiting for him, arms crossed, ready to bark instructions—but the room was empty.

He let out a small sigh and wandered further inside. Rows of equipment lined the walls—weights, mats, a few machines humming faintly on standby. His gaze lingered on the punching bag in the corner.

“…Why not,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he approached.

Kei squared up and gave it a tentative punch. Then another. Before long, he found a rhythm, each blow echoing dully in the quiet. The repetitive motion helped, in a way—something to focus on other than the whirlpool of thoughts in his head.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep hitting like that.”

Kei jolted, spinning toward the voice.

Hayataro was leaning casually against the doorway, his ever-present smirk softened by genuine concern.

Kei blinked startled for not having sensed him at all. “…You were here?”

“Just got in.” Hayataro straightened, walking over with a measured pace. “Wanted to see what had you asking for the training room at this hour. Didn’t strike me as the type who enjoys sweating it out.”

Kei frowned lightly, turning back to the bag. “…I was restless. Needed to burn off some steam.”

“Mm. Steam, huh?” Hayataro cocked his head, watching as Kei threw another punch. This time, Kei’s fist sank in deep, and the chain gave a sharp metallic creak—before the bag suddenly swung violently, tore loose, and launched across the room. It crashed against the far wall with a heavy thud, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

Kei froze, breath catching in his throat. “…Ah.”

Hayataro whistled low, eyes wide for just a moment before his grin returned. “Guess that answers my question.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, maybe I underestimated just how much ‘steam’ you’ve got stored up.”

Kei flushed with embarrassment, looking away.

Hayataro’s tone softened as he stepped closer. “…Something bothering you?”

Kei didn’t answer. He’d just spilled his guts once today to a near stranger—he wasn’t about to open up again so soon. His lips pressed thin, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor.

“Is it about the mission?” Hayataro ventured, watching him carefully. Kei stayed still, unmoving as stone.

“Or…” Hayataro tilted his head, studying him. “Might it be related to that visit you had this afternoon?”

That made Kei flinch. The tension in his shoulders gave him away before he could school his expression. He hadn’t expected Hayataro to know about his parents showing up in the medical wing.

“I see. So, parental issues it is,” Hayataro muttered, almost to himself. Then, more directly: “Surprised I know?”

Kei hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.

“Well, honestly speaking, the nurses love to gossip,” Hayataro said with a shrug, though his eyes stayed sharp on Kei. “Word got around. Koshimizu caught wind and passed the report along to me.”

Kei’s jaw tightened. “…Figures.”

“Relax,” Hayataro said, raising a hand as if to slow him down. “It’s not like I went snooping. When you’re on Bethel’s radar, things don’t stay private for long.”

None of them spoke for several seconds, the silence heavy between the sound of the bag swaying and the faint hum of the room’s ventilation.

“I just find it curious,” Hayataro said at last, his tone even but probing, “that you seem more shaken by your parents’ visit than by what happened at your school.”

Kei’s eyes flicked up, startled. For a second he almost protested—but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, his mouth snapped shut, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Hayataro studied him quietly, then added, softer this time: “Most people would be haunted by the attack. You? You look like you’ve already filed it away. But when it comes to them…” He tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction. “…that’s where the cracks show.”

Kei turned his gaze aside, jaw tight. He hated how easily Hayataro had read him. He looked at the punching bag he’d sent flying—now sprawled uselessly against the far wall—and felt the urge to hit something again, harder this time.

“There’s another one in storage,” Hayataro said, as if following the exact line of Kei’s thought. He crossed the room with steady steps, unlocked a side panel, and rolled out a new, heavier bag. In a few practiced motions he clipped it to the chain, gave it a testing tug, and stepped back.

“Don’t half-ass it this time,” he instructed. “If you’re going to hit, do it with intent—but don’t throw control away with the force. Feet steady, pivot from the hips, exhale with the strike.”

Kei bristled at first, but found himself obeying anyway. He squared up, replaying Hayataro’s words in his head. His first punch was sharp but unfocused, driven by irritation. The next came cleaner. Then another. Slowly, a rhythm took shape: stance, twist, strike, exhale, reset.

He didn’t get tired. Not anymore. His body never burned, never demanded rest—not since the incident. No matter how hard or fast he hit, his breathing stayed steady, his muscles refused to give out. If anything, it was his mind that faltered, desperate for an outlet the body could no longer provide.

Hayataro’s voice cut through the steady thud of blows. “You look a lot like your mother.”

Kei froze mid-motion, his fist hovering inches from the bag. He turned, startled, eyes narrowing in confusion. “…What?”

Hayataro met his look evenly. “From what I saw. Security feed from the hospital, and your file. The resemblance is… strong.” 

Kei’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t expected that. Not from Hayataro. The mention of his mother, so casually dropped into the sterile training room, hit harder than any punch he could’ve thrown.

Hayataro didn’t press, didn’t elaborate. He only gave a faint shrug and stepped back. “That’s all. Keep going until the noise in your head feels manageable. Sometimes that’s the only way through.”

The silence between them hung heavy, charged. Kei looked back at the bag, fists trembling faintly at his sides. Then, without a word, he resumed striking—each hit echoing louder in the empty room, each impact an attempt to bury the sudden knot Hayataro had pulled to the surface.

Hayataro stepped into Hayao Koshimizu’s office. The prime minister, as always, was buried under paperwork, his pen scratching across page after page.

“He went to bed?” Koshimizu asked without looking up.

“Not exactly,” Hayataro replied, settling into the chair opposite. “I left him in the training room. That kid…” He hesitated, as if weighing the words. “That kid’s got too much bottled up. Tell me—are we really doing the right thing, sending someone his age onto the battlefield?”

For the first time, Koshimizu lifted his gaze, sharp and assessing.

“Yes, yes, I know his situation is complicated,” Hayataro said quickly, before the silence grew heavy. “But still—he’s not even in college. He shouldn’t be carrying this kind of weight.”

His voice tightened. “Honestly? After what happened to Susano-o, I thought you’d—”

That snapped something.

“What happened to my brother was his own fault,” Koshimizu cut in, voice cold. “He was reckless. Idiotic.”

“Maybe so,” Hayataro countered, leaning forward. “But he was still beloved. Respected. He stood at the very top of the rankings—right alongside you and Amaterasu.”

The pen in Koshimizu’s hand cracked clean in two. Ink bled across his papers, but he didn’t glance down.

“I know you miss them,” Hayataro pressed on. “Hell, you used the proto-fiend program as an excuse to try and bring your brother back from the grave. Don’t look at me like that—you know it’s true. And that’s exactly why I thought you’d be more protective of the only family you have left.”

Koshimizu’s expression barely shifted, but his words came low and deliberate. “Amemura doesn’t know. He has no idea the man he calls father isn’t his blood. Tell me, what would you have me do? Tell him his mother had an affair with my brother? That I’m his uncle? That his entire life has been a lie? Does his mother even know the truth herself?”

“That changes nothing!” Hayataro shot back. “He doesn’t need to know if you think it’d break him. But that kid’s cracking, and not because of Jouin.”

Koshimizu frowned. “…Explain.”

Hayataro sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ve seen green rookies come back from their first fight. They shake. They spiral. Some never recover. Kei isn’t like that. Maybe Aogami steadies him, maybe he’s just built different—but he bounced back from the mission itself. What really rattled him wasn’t the fight. It was his parents. Just mentioning his parents was enough to lock him up tight.”

The room fell still, save for the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall.

Chapter Text

Kei woke up groggily just to be greeted by an unbeknown ceiling. It took him a moment or two before yesterday’s memories came back. He had no idea at which hour he had gone to bed, yet he remembered with clarity all the events from yesterday—from the attack at his school to his late night turmoil, unloading everything in his head against a punching bag as if there were no tomorrow.

Right. He thought, remembering where he was: the Hero Suite.

He had no idea what hour it was. There wasn’t any clock around—at least none visible from his position—and his phone…

Kei let out a sigh.

His phone was in his school bag, lying abandoned back at school along with his books—unless someone had retrieved it for him. He doubted it. He usually kept it in his pocket, but during class he always stored it in the bag to avoid distractions.

Still too comfortable in bed, he didn’t pressure himself to get up. It had been a while since the last time he had the luxury to just lie around. And honestly? He wasn’t planning on getting up anytime soon—unless nature called and he truly couldn’t hold it anymore.

The silence was strange. Comforting, yet heavy. Kei’s mind wandered back to the training hall, to Hayataro’s sharp words and the way he had seen through him too easily. He could still picture the punching bag rolling across the floor. He clenched his jaw at the memory.

Kei let himself sink deeper into the mattress, the softness cradling him in a way he wasn’t used to. A whole month without rest, always moving, always fighting, always bracing for what would come next—and now, suddenly, a day where nothing demanded his immediate attention.

The suite itself still felt surreal. He turned his head slightly, taking in the polished walls, the neatly arranged furniture, and the view from the wide window. It could easily pass as a five-star hotel. For a second, he found himself wondering what kind of budget Bethel really had to afford places like this.

But he quickly pushed that thought aside. He already knew the answer: these rooms were meant for the “MVPs” of missions. Those who shined brightest, the heroes who everyone whispered about after the battle was over.

Kei’s lips pressed into a thin line. MVP. The word sat uncomfortably with him. He didn’t feel like he had earned anything of the sort. He hadn’t done anything spectacular—just what he had to do. Survive, protect, push forward. That was all.

His eyes drifted toward the ceiling again, as if it might hold the counterargument he couldn’t make himself believe. Maybe they only put him here because of his supposed “injuries.” That had to be it. A convenient excuse for handing him the kind of treatment that made his stomach twist.

His line of thought was cut short by a series of knocks at the suite’s entrance. The sound felt almost intrusive in the quiet, and Kei groaned softly into the pillow. Honestly, the last thing he wanted was to drag himself out of bed. Whoever it was could surely wait, couldn’t they?

For a moment, he entertained the idea of ignoring it altogether. But then his mind unhelpfully supplied a scenario: if it turned out to be the prime minister himself checking in on him, what kind of impression would that leave? Kei winced. Definitely not a good one.

He lay there a few more seconds, debating, as though sheer willpower might make the visitor go away. No such luck—the silence that followed only made him more conscious of the knocking that had already happened.

With the weight of a thousand excuses, Kei finally gave in. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving with all the laziness in the world, each step toward the door heavier than it had any right to be.

When he reached the entrance, Kei paused, hand hovering just above the handle. Muffled voices carried through the door, and beyond the sound, he felt a pulse of familiar presences.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips before he quickly smothered it. No—he wasn’t about to let his friends catch him without the usual mask he wore around others. Not yet, anyway.

He opened the door. Sure enough, Yuzuru, Tao, and—unexpectedly—Ichiro stood there.

“Wow,” Ichiro said the moment their eyes met. “So you can get bed hair.” His grin was shameless, and Kei’s unamused glare did little to deter him.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with your parents?” Kei shot back, ears prickling hot. He had completely forgotten about his appearance. Normally, he’d have checked the mirror at least once. Maybe, deep down, he already knew who was at the door and that’s why he hadn’t bothered.

“Yes, I was,” Ichiro replied, puffing up a little. “Took some serious convincing to make them let me come. But hey, I need the details!”

“Right, the details…” Kei repeated flatly. He paused, then said, “Nope.” And with that, he shut the door in their faces.

The mental image of their stunned expressions nearly broke his composure. He bit back a laugh, waited a few seconds, then opened the door again to find his friends still frozen in disbelief.

“Just kidding,” Kei said lightly. “Come in.”

The trio blinked, clearly trying to process what had just happened.

“Did you just—” Tao began, utterly baffled. “Did you just troll us?”

That was it. Kei cracked, laughter spilling out of him—unrestrained, uncalculated. It felt strange, uncharacteristic, yet refreshing all the same. For once, he wasn’t weighed down by expectations, training, or responsibilities. He wasn’t tethered to his phone, his parents couldn’t reach him, and he had a perfect excuse to skip piano practice. For the rest of the week, he was free.

When had he last felt this light? This… unshackled?

His friends were staring at him as if he’d grown a second head, but for once, he didn’t care.

When the laughter finally died down, Kei rubbed at his eyes, still catching his breath. Their gazes hadn’t shifted an inch—still wide, still fixed on him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, raising a hand in mock surrender. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

The trio remained stunned, as if they’d just witnessed some world-shattering revelation. For them, maybe they had. The so-called Ice Prince of Jouin High—stone-faced, aloof, untouchable—had just pulled a prank and laughed about it like any normal teenager.

“Are you really our Amemura?!” Ichiro blurted, pointing at him as if he were accusing an imposter. “Were you drugged? What’s going on here?! You’re acting weird.”

He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Then again… if it was drugs, would you even be affected by them?”

Kei let out a quiet huff, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “No, Dazai. No drugs. It’s just… the first time in years I’ve felt this relaxed.” His voice softened a fraction. “Like I can breathe without something pressing down on me.”

Ichiro’s grin returned instantly. “Relaxed enough to prank us, huh?”

“Not quite,” Tao cut in gently, her lips curling into a wide, warm smile. “Comfortable enough with us to prank us.”

That small correction made Kei blink. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but the words caught in his throat. For once, he couldn’t deny it.

“Just don’t get used to it,” Kei said, waving a hand dismissively. “I was just… feeling like that. Let’s say it was because of drowsiness.”

“Liar!” Ichiro shot back immediately. “When you’re sleepy, you’re grumpier than usual.”

Kei’s ears twitched at the accuracy, but before he could reply, Yuzuru—who had been quiet since they arrived—spoke up.

“Did we wake you?” he asked, his tone softer than the others’.

Kei shook his head right away. “Not really. I mean… kinda? I don’t even know when I woke up, but I didn’t move from the bed until you knocked. Honestly, I also considered not even answering.”

Ichiro’s jaw dropped. “Wow. So this wasn’t drowsiness—it was laziness!”

Ignoring him, Kei shifted the subject. “…Is Miyazu alright?”

“Yes. She’s doing fine,” Yuzuru answered without hesitation. “Normally, she’ll be discharged tomorrow. She was actually the one who encouraged me to come check on you when Isonokami-san and Dazai came.”

“It took a lot of convincing to make him leave his sister’s side…” Ichiro said with a teasing smirk. “But now, what we really came here for—” his eyes gleamed, leaning forward like a kid about to hear a ghost story, “give us the details of what happened yesterday from your side!”

His voice was practically bubbling with excitement, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for days.

Kei let out a long sigh, already knowing exactly how this would end. “…What do you want to know?”

“Absolutely everything!” Ichiro practically jumped in place. “Tao told us from when Lahmu barged into your classroom to when everyone was herded into the gym—but what about you? What happened after that?!”

With a tired look that stood in heavy contrast to the laughing Kei from moments ago, he began recounting it. From Shiisa’s arrival, to him joining the heroes outside the school gate, and everything that unfolded afterward. He told them about talking with Aogami—earning a wide-eyed stare from Tao, who clearly hadn’t known they could communicate like that—which was the reason why Bethel had been able to move in so fast.

“You knew from the start something was going to happen,” Yuzuru said. It wasn’t posed as a question—it was a statement.

Kei grimaced. “…I didn’t really know. Something just felt… off.”

“And your feeling was spot on,” Yuzuru replied, his gaze steady, as if he were weighing every unspoken piece of the story.

“I don’t want to think about that,” Kei muttered, turning his head away. He didn’t want to dwell on it—on how his body seemed to know before his mind did. Nope. Not going there.

“Still! The whole thing was so cool,” Ichiro burst out, his tone full of energy.

Kei gave him a flat, unimpressed look. Tao mirrored it a second later.

“Yeah, sure,” Kei said dryly. “You could’ve died. There was mass panic. Super cool.”

“Hey, don’t be like that, Amemura!” Ichiro protested, waving his hands defensively. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see real heroes in action! Plus—” his expression softened “—I got to see my parents again. It’s been a while since I went home.”

The room fell quiet at that.

“They seemed nice,” Kei said finally, his tone neutral, but something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.

“They are great!” Ichiro said brightly, then his smile faltered. “Still… they fight sometimes. I hate when it happens. It’s like a switch flips—one second they’re all lovey-dovey, and the next they’re throwing things at each other.”

“I see,” Kei said quietly. “Didn’t expect that from them. They looked so…”

“…So happy?” Ichiro finished with a small, humorless laugh. “They are, most of the time. But when they clash—it’s like a cold war for weeks.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. No one met each other’s eyes. Kei found himself staring at the floor, his thoughts drifting. He couldn’t help wondering if Ichiro’s “cold wars” were really that different from his own parents’ quiet, suffocating distance. Maybe other families weren’t as whole or harmonious as he’d always assumed. Maybe everyone just had their own kind of fracture.

“Your parents seemed like quite something,” Ichiro said at last, his tone cautious, as if stepping onto fragile ground.

“Yeah,” Kei replied softly. “Sorry about how they treated yours.” He bowed slightly, the gesture instinctive, polite—but there was something tired in it, too.

“Ah, no, no! I didn’t mean it like that,” Ichiro said quickly, waving his hands. “It’s just… I already knew they were strict, but their presence…”

“You seemed on the verge of a breakdown,” Yuzuru interjected, his voice calm but pointed. “It was nothing like the usual you.”

Kei looked up, caught off guard by how precisely Yuzuru had read him. He wanted to say something—deny it, maybe—but the words refused to come.

As if sensing his hesitation, Tao spoke up, her voice cutting through the silence. “What surprised me the most was how similar you looked to your mom.”

Kei visibly flinched at the comment before letting out a small sigh. “Everybody seems to be commenting on that.”

“It’s just that the resemblance is uncanny,” Ichiro said, chiming in. “It’s kinda hard not to mention it.” He tilted his head thoughtfully.

“On the other hand, you don’t really look a lot like your father,” he added. “Not even in the eye color. Your mom’s got onyx eyes, right? And your dad’s are kind of honey brown, but yours…” Ichiro leaned closer, squinting a little. “They’re… something else. Greenish-gray, but not quite either. It’s like they shift under the light.”

Kei shifted in his seat, an uneasy look crossing his face. “It happens sometimes,” he said, tone casual but a touch defensive. “It’s a genetic anomaly.”

Ichiro blinked. “Anomaly?”

Kei nodded, tapping his fingers lightly against the table as if repeating something he’d memorized. “Yeah. My parents told me it’s a rare case of incomplete dominance and polygenic inheritance—basically, multiple genes mixing in unpredictable ways. Eye color isn’t determined by just one gene, so when the pigments don’t blend evenly, you get something… atypical.” He paused, then shrugged lightly. “The grayish tint comes from low melanin density in the iris stroma, and the greenish tone is caused by how light scatters through it. Kind of like the Tyndall effect in blue eyes, but less common.”

Ichiro’s eyes widened a bit. “Whoa. You really did your homework on that.”

“I get that question a lot, actually,” Kei said tiredly. “Not about looking like my dad, but people mentioning my eyes. Even back—”

Kei stopped abruptly mid-sentence remembering Shiisa’s words, how he said that he didn’t like his eyes. That they remind him to someone he once fought…

His stomach tightened.

“Earth to Amemuraaaaa,” Ichiro sing-songed, waving a hand in front of him. “You kinda froze there. Everything alright?”

Kei blinked, grounding himself again. “…Yeah. Sorry. Just remembered something.”

Ichiro didn’t look convinced, but before he could press further, Yuzuru spoke up, his tone mild. “Is she always that intense? Your mom, I mean.”

Kei hesitated, weighing his words. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting.

“She’s always been like that—for as long as I can remember,” he said at last. “Mei Amemura, my mother… used to be a renowned ballerina.”

“I can totally picture her as one,” Ichiro remarked.

“Used to be?” Tao asked gently.

Kei looked away, his expression tightening. “I’m not sure what happened. I don’t know what made her quit. My best guess is… me.”

Silence fell over the group again, heavy but understanding.

“As far as I know, she doesn’t have any injury,” Kei continued, his voice softer now. “Every morning and evening she still does her stretches and routines.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Even now. It’s like muscle memory for her—something she can’t let go of.”

Tao’s expression softened. “That must’ve been beautiful to see, though. A dancer’s discipline never really fades.”

“Yeah,” Kei said, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “She still moves with that same grace. But it’s different when you live with it every day. When you’re… expected to mirror it.”

Yuzuru’s eyes flicked toward him. “You mean she pushed you into something similar?”

“She expected me to follow her path—to become a ballet dancer too,” Kei admitted. “But one day, something changed. I don’t know why, but she enrolled me in piano lessons instead. And from there, everything shifted.”

“Because of your talent,” Yuzuru said quietly—firm, leaving no room for denial.

Kei didn’t try to argue. He couldn’t—not with them. Not anymore. They had all seen it firsthand; all the denial in the world couldn’t erase what they knew: no matter how much they practiced, none of them could play like Kei Amemura.

He had tried to teach them during lunch in the music room—to explain how his feelings guided the notes, how he could feel them, for lack of a better word. That was the first time he truly noticed how different his perception was from everyone else’s.

When Ichiro had asked what he meant by feeling, Kei had paused, searching for words that wouldn’t sound absurd. How could he explain that melodies weren’t just sounds to him, but sensations? That every harmony was like an emotion leaking through his fingers, letting him express everything he couldn’t just say. The keys of the piano were his language—each one a different shade of emotion, each note a heartbeat he could finally release.

When he played, he didn’t think. He felt. The melodies formed themselves, flowing in perfect rhythm with whatever stirred inside him—joy, grief, tension, peace. It was instinctive, something that simply happened the moment his hands touched the keys.

That was when Kei truly understood, for the first time, why everyone praised him whenever he played. Yet, as always, those words of admiration felt like an ill-fitted glove—too tight in some places, too loose in others. It just didn’t feel right.

That’s why when others called him a prodigy, he would deny it without hesitation. How could he accept praise for something that came so naturally, so effortlessly? For him, the piano wasn’t a skill earned through sweat and discipline—it was instinct, something that simply was. And that, somehow, made the compliments feel even more hollow.

“What does she do today, your mother, I mean” Tao asked bringing him back to reality.

 “Right now she’s the marketing head of the Japanese Dior branch” he said leaving his friends speechless.

“D-dior?!” Ichiro exclaimed surprised “that super expensive and well known French brand?!” Ichiro blurted out, eyes wide. “As in the Dior?!”

Kei nodded with a tired sort of resignation, as if he’d gone through that same reaction too many times before. “Yeah. That one.”

“Whoa…” Ichiro leaned back against the couch, letting out a low whistle. “No wonder she gave off that aura—she looked like she’d just stepped out of one of their ads.”

Yuzuru, however, remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly. “That must come with a lot of pressure.”

“You have no idea,” Kei muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “She treats everything like a stage performance. At work, at home… even family dinners feel like rehearsals sometimes.”

Tao tilted her head, her tone gentle. “So she never really stopped performing.”

Kei gave a small, almost humorless smile. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” He hesitated before continuing, “My father’s not much different either. He works in finance—an executive for a European company based in Tokyo. Between the two of them, perfection’s not a goal. It’s the minimum requirement.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of his words settling over them like dust.

“Man…” Ichiro finally said, his tone softer now, “…and I thought my parents were intense.”

Kei let out a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, well. They’re not bad people, just… very good at making you forget you’re human sometimes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing he’d probably said more than he meant to. “Anyway,” he added quickly, trying to shift the mood, “it’s not like it’s always that serious. They do have their good moments.”

But even as he said it, a distant look clouded his eyes—a quiet uncertainty that betrayed just how much he wished he truly believed that.

The moment was then abruptly cut short by a very loud, very herdable sound coming from Kei’s guts making his cheeks gain a bit of color, while remembering he hasn’t eaten anything since the sandwich he had last night. He didn’t even know what hour it was, but Kei was pretty sure that it was well pass breakfast time.

“What hour is it?” Kei asked with his cheeks colored in red and not looking at anyone in particular. He didn’t need to see them to know what kind of face they were making.

Ichiro immediately burst out laughing. “Pfft—dude! You could’ve warned us before starting a concert down there!”

“Ichiro!” Tao scolded, though she was clearly holding back a smile herself. “Don’t tease him.”

“It should be around past noon” Yuzuru said calmly with the ghost of a smile in his face “We came here with the idea of getting the full history of what happened yesterday and fetching you before heading to the cafeteria” he explained.

“Ah! But we weren’t planning on eating there” Tao chipped in “We also wanted to take some stuff to bring to Miyazu-chan”

Kei looked at them for a moment before standing up.

“Wait a moment while I get myself more presentable” he said while taking his school uniform, seeing it was the only other clothing he had around and heading to the bathroom.

In a matter of minutes, he was ready. He washed his face, combed his hair, and put on his uniform. As he inspected his reflection in the mirror, he noted he’d need to ask for a razor soon. It wasn’t visible yet, but by tomorrow morning, he knew the faint stubble along his jawline and above his upper lip would start to show. The thought of facing anyone with an unkempt face made him grimace.

With a small sigh, Kei straightened his collar and adjusted the uniform’s gold buttons. It was strange, he thought, how putting it on felt grounding. The navy fabric, the soft weight of it—it reminded him of normalcy, of the life he was supposed to be living. The one where he was just a student, not whatever existence he’d been thrown into since the incident.

He gave himself one last glance in the mirror, tilting his head slightly. The reflection staring back looked composed, maybe even calm—but he knew better. Beneath the still surface, his thoughts churned like static.

A knock came from the other side of the bathroom door. “Amemura, are you done?” Ichiro called, impatience bleeding into his voice.

“Almost,” Kei replied, fastening the last clasp and smoothing out the floral pattern on his jacket. He took a steadying breath, his expression settling back into its usual neutral mask.

He stepped toward the door, his hand hovering over the handle for a second longer than necessary.

“You didn’t need to button the gakuran all the way down, you know?” Ichiro said, half-annoyed. “Hell, you didn’t even need to put it on.”

In all honesty, Kei hadn’t actually thought about that—he’d acted on autopilot. But there was also another reason.

He could take off the gakuran, the uniform jacket, and just stay in the pants and the shirt. It would’ve been more comfortable than buttoning everything up again. The problem was the shirt itself—a white, short-sleeved top with a deep V-shaped neckline bordered by a bold blue stripe that traced the collar and neckline.

Why was that a problem? It showed his arms.

Kei had never been the type to reveal much skin. That was why, out of all the uniform options the school offered, he always chose the full set with the gakuran. And ever since the incident, he’d been even more reluctant to expose his now well-defined arms. He might have come to terms, somewhat, with what his body had become—but that didn’t mean he liked it. He didn’t like seeing it, much less letting others see it.

It felt too vulnerable, as if he were exposing himself. There was no real difference between that and standing under stage lights during a performance. Sure, there was no guarantee anyone would actually stare at him—but he still felt the weight of being looked at, and it made him self-conscious.

He could sense his friends’ eyes on him expectantly. He knew they didn’t mean any harm, and that they were completely unaware of the small internal war he was fighting. They wouldn’t judge or stare—after all, they’d seen him like this countless times during training, all of them wearing Bethel’s fitted, short-sleeved uniforms.

So why was he hesitating so much?

Letting out a long breath through his nose, Kei began to unbutton the gakuran once again.

“Done,” he said, and without waiting for his friends, started toward the door. “We should get going.”

And just like that, the four teenagers made their way to the cafeteria.

As always, it was lively—buzzing with chatter, the air filled with the warm aroma of freshly cooked food. The clatter of trays, the hum of conversation, the occasional laughter—it all felt disarmingly normal, almost enough to make Kei forget where they were.

Each of them split off to grab something to eat. Tao, ever the multitasker, somehow managed to secure a rolling tray cart to bring extra meals and drinks to Miyazu’s recovery room. Kei briefly wondered how she’d convinced the staff to lend her one, but decided not to ask.

He was too busy facing a dilemma that, for anyone else, would’ve been laughably simple: metal tray or plastic tray?

Sure, he had better control of his strength now—he probably wouldn’t crush the plastic tray again like the first time—but the metal ones had grown on him. They were heavier, sturdier, familiar. Practical, even.

Still, this wasn’t about comfort or practicality. It was about normality.

If he walked in carrying a metal tray while everyone else had plastic ones, it might draw attention. Maybe not much, maybe none at all—but what if Miyazu noticed? What if she asked? She likely didn’t even know the difference, but the idea of standing out made him hesitate.

He still remembered Yuzuru’s words from that first meal a Bethel.

That memory alone made him cringe internally. It had taken days for him to stop obsessing over it—especially after the disastrous attempt to use a plastic one later, which ended with him crushing it to bits at touch.

So now, standing before the stack of trays, Kei sighed in defeat and reached for a metal one.

In the end, it didn’t really matter after all. Miyazu wasn’t going to hold it. No one besides him was going to hold it. Even on the way to her room, it would be carried by the rolling tray Tao had somehow secured.

With his decision made, he headed toward the counter to choose his food. The moment he stepped closer, the blend of aromas hit him—thick, vivid, and layered. His sense of smell had grown absurdly sharp ever since the incident, almost to the point of being sometimes overwhelming. Each scent had weight and texture; they didn’t just pass by his nose, they painted the air.

Steam rose from trays lined with glossy rice, tender cuts of meat, simmering stews, and neatly arranged sides. Beneath the metallic hum of the kitchen, he could smell everything—the rich umami of miso broth, the subtle caramelization of soy sauce, the faint bitterness of charred onions, the salt-sweet glaze of teriyaki that lingered just a bit longer than it should’ve.

It was strangely comforting.

He reached for the grilled eel over rice as his main dish. The scent was intoxicating—sweet soy glaze seared to perfection, smoky and rich with a whisper of the charcoal it had been cooked over. The glossy eel strips shimmered beneath the light, the sauce clinging like lacquer. Even before taking a bite, Kei could already taste it on the air—the savory sweetness, the soft, almost buttery texture that would melt against the rice grains.

For the entrée, he picked something lighter: a small bowl of miso soup with cubes of tofu and a handful of chopped green onions, their aroma bright and clean. The scent of fermented soy mingled with dashi stock, subtle yet grounding, the kind of flavor that made everything else feel more balanced.

He moved along the line, his nose catching onto the faint citrusy note of ponzu dressing from a nearby salad station, the earthy smell of sautéed mushrooms, the faint oiliness of tempura still cooling on its rack. He didn’t linger—he knew if he did, he’d start piling on unnecessary dishes just because they smelled good.

He grabbed a chilled can of Coke for his drink. The metal felt cold against his palm, and the soft hiss it made when he cracked it open sent a wave of carbonation and syrupy sweetness into the air. The scent was almost nostalgic—artificial, yes, but somehow comforting.

Then came the hardest part: dessert.

He hesitated in front of the chilled display, staring at the colorful array of sweets arranged behind the glass. Creams, custards, mousses, and fruit glazes all called out to him at once. His sense of smell made it almost cruel—each dessert had its own melody: vanilla and caramel, citrus and berries, toasted nuts, and chocolate so dark it practically hummed.

He leaned closer, scanning, until one particular slice caught his eye—a strawberry mille-feuille.

The moment the server lifted it from the tray, the scent enveloped him: the delicate sweetness of fresh strawberries layered with the buttery aroma of puff pastry and the mellow warmth of vanilla custard. He could smell the faintest trace of powdered sugar dusted on top, mixing with the fruity tartness in a perfect balance.

The pastry layers crackled faintly under the fork as it was placed on the plate, their texture light yet rich, crisp yet fragile. Kei could practically feel the contrast already—the cool custard against the flaky pastry, the burst of ripe strawberry in between.

His mouth watered despite himself. It wasn’t just hunger; it was sensory overflow, an orchestra of scents and textures his body couldn’t always tune out anymore.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. It had been a slow day, but after yesterday’s events, a bit of sweetness felt like the one sane indulgence left.

He set the dessert carefully on his tray beside the Coke and took a quiet breath to center himself, letting the chaotic mix of aromas settle into something bearable.

“Only one this time,” he muttered under his breath, half to reassure himself. To convince himself not to get another dessert.

“Only one what?” Ichiro called from behind, catching the tail end of his words but with an amused knowing smile.

Kei didn’t answer, just shook his head faintly and moved toward the rolling tray.

All set, the four high schoolers followed Yuzuru through the clean, quiet hallways toward Miyazu’s new room. The atmosphere changed subtly as they walked—less sterile than the general medical area, more personal somehow. The faint hum of medical machines gave way to softer sounds: the distant murmur of a TV, the muted tread of nurses’ shoes on waxed floors.

Yesterday, Miyazu had been moved from the shared medical ward to a small private room. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was quiet and comfortable—close enough for nurses to drop in regularly, but far from the bustle of the main infirmary. Nothing like the spacious suite Kei had been given after the incident, with its unnecessary amenities and sterile view of Tokyo’s skyline.

Yuzuru stopped at the door and gave a polite knock before opening it slightly. “Miyazu? It’s us.”

The girl’s voice came softly from inside, light but steady. “Come in.

When they stepped through the doorway, Miyazu was sitting up in bed. The familiar green scarf she always wore—along with the matching gloves—lay neatly folded on the bedside table. A light blanket was draped over her knees. The television played quietly in the background, showing some afternoon talk show with subtitles she clearly wasn’t following. As soon as she saw them, she reached for the remote and turned the volume down, her face brightening with genuine warmth.

“Oh—thank you for bringing lunch,” she said, smiling as her eyes moved over each of them. “You didn’t have to.” Her gaze paused briefly on the rolling tray—the five food trays arranged neatly across it: four orange plastic ones, and one metallic. Her eyes lingered for a few seconds on the odd one out, but she chose not to comment.

Tao returned her smile with a gentle one of her own as she guided the rolling tray closer to the bed. “We wanted to,” she said simply. “You’ve been cooped up in here all day—you deserve a little company.”

“Plus, your dear onii-san was worried sick about you this whole time,” Ichiro added teasingly, grinning.

Yuzuru ignored him, stepping forward with that familiar mix of composure and protective energy. “You didn’t feel lonely, did you? I should’ve stayed, but I wanted to check on Amemura—”

“Onii-san,” Miyazu interrupted softly, shaking her head. “I was the one who told you to go.”

Her tone was firm but affectionate. “You were worried about your friend, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Between the nurses coming and going and the TV, I had plenty of distractions. Besides—” she smiled faintly, her eyes flicking toward Kei “—you came back, didn’t you? You even brought him with you.”

Her gentle remark earned her brother’s silence. Even through her calm, Yuzuru felt that familiar pang of guilt twist deep inside. She didn’t know—about Bethel, about what really happened yesterday, about how Kei didn’t need any medical attention at all.

And she wouldn’t. Not if he could help it. The less she knew, the less she’d have to worry. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer, especially if he was the cause of it.

Ichiro leaned closer to Tao, whispering, “Wow, she’s as calm as he is when she scolds someone.”

Tao elbowed him sharply in the ribs before he could say anything else. Even Kei had to suppress a small, silent chuckle at that.

While the others talked, Kei quietly set about arranging Miyazu’s food on the tray table, making sure everything was within easy reach. He didn’t say much, but his movements were precise and careful—almost ceremonial in how he placed each dish. The grilled eel still released soft ribbons of steam, the miso soup radiating that comforting, earthy warmth that filled the sterile air of the room. Yuzuru had chosen for her a balanced lunch, almost the same dishes Kei himself have selected for himself.

Miyazu watched him for a moment, noticing the subtle gentleness in how he handled everything despite the unreadable calm on his face.

“Are you feeling alright, senpai?” she asked gently.

Kei gave a short nod, but when he noticed her expectant expression, he added quietly, “I’m feeling fine, Miyazu-san. You don’t have to worry about me. If I wasn’t, do you think they’d have let me come visit you?”

Miyazu looked at him for a moment, then at his metal tray. Eating while standing wasn’t exactly easy, and the weight of her gaze didn’t make it easier.

“I know…” she said softly. “It’s just that everyone said you took a hard hit yesterday. But when they brought you in with us, you looked completely fine—well, except when your parents showed up…”

“Oh, that.” Kei’s tone flattened slightly. “You don’t need to worry. I was pretty much healed by the heroes, so the worst is already far behind. I’m just a little sore, that’s all.”

He spoke with the calm, detached tone he always used when closing a topic. Miyazu caught it, and though she clearly wanted to ask more, she let it go and started eating instead.

“You’re getting discharged tomorrow, right, Miyazu-chan?” Tao asked, trying to steer the conversation toward lighter ground.

“Yes,” Yuzuru answered for her, his voice quiet but steady. “We stayed last night because the nurses wanted to run a few extra screenings—to make sure yesterday’s incident didn’t have any repercussions on her health.”

That single sentence made the silence in the room thicken. Everyone present knew all too well how delicate Miyazu’s health was.

“But I’m alright,” Miyazu said quickly, sensing the mood shift. “That’s why I was cleared to return to the dormitories tomorrow. They just want me to stay today for double checking.”

Her reassurance caught Kei’s attention. He had been meaning to ask something since that morning.

“Did anyone fetch the things we left at school after the incident?” he asked, glancing between them.

“I mean, I got my phone back, so I guess someone did,” Ichiro replied uncertainly.

“Ah, yes,” Tao said, nodding. “After the whole ordeal, a retrieval team was sent in. Your belongings should already be back in your dorm room, I think.”

Kei considered that for a moment before speaking again. “Would it be possible for you to bring mine here, please?”

Ichiro leaned forward with a teasing smirk. “If you want your phone, you know Bethel won’t let it in.”

Kei shot him a sharp glare. “It’s not that,” he said curtly. “It’s just… even with the TV, there’s not much to do in the room they assigned me. I wanted my book. And maybe a few essentials.”

“Like?” Tao asked.

“For starters, my book,” Kei said simply. “But then—maybe a pair of boxers would be appreciated. And more comfortable clothes to wear; right now, I only have my uniform and the pajamas they gave me.”

He paused briefly before adding, quieter, “I’d also like my toothbrush and… a razor.”

The last word came out softer than intended, his gaze lowering as a faint color rose to his cheeks.

“The maximum I can go without shaving is two to three days before it starts showing,” he said, his tone somewhere between embarrassment and resignation. “It’s not visible yet, but by tomorrow morning, it will be.”

Ichiro grinned, predictably. “What, you think a little stubble’s gonna ruin your whole aesthetic, Mr. Perfect?”

Kei exhaled slowly through his nose, not taking the bait. “I’d rather not look like I forgot how to take care of myself.”

Yuzuru, ever the composed one, nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll go later and bring your things,” he offered. “It’s the least I can do.”

Kei blinked, mildly surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Yuzuru cut in gently. “Besides, you carried enough weight for all of us yesterday.”

The words lingered in the air—quiet, but heavy with meaning.

Miyazu didn’t quite grasp the full weight behind them, but she smiled softly nonetheless, her gaze moving between the two boys with quiet fondness.

Kei didn’t respond immediately. His expression remained neutral, but his hands paused briefly over the tray before he inclined his head slightly.

“Thank you,” he said simply, though the sincerity in his voice made Yuzuru’s lips curve faintly in return.

The steady hum of the hospital’s air conditioning filled the brief silence that followed. Tao smiled at the small exchange, while Ichiro gave an approving nod as he dug into his food again, pretending not to notice the subtle tension that still lingered under the surface.

“Speaking of the dorms,” Tao began, breaking the moment before it grew too quiet again, “some of our classmates were wondering if they could come check on you, Amemura-kun.”

Kei blinked, caught off guard. “…They were?”

Tao raised her hands a little, almost apologetically. “If you don’t want to, I can always tell them you’re not feeling up for visitors,” she said quickly, misreading his silence.

“Ah—no, it’s not that,” Kei said after a moment “It’s just… unexpected. I’m not exactly close to anyone in class. Besides maybe you,” he added quietly.

“That maybe was unnecessary,” Tao said, half teasing, half chiding, though the warmth in her voice softened the words. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll check with the nurses and see if it’s allowed.”

Kei gave a small nod. “Alright. I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Tao said, her smile brightening. “I think it’d cheer them up too. Everyone’s been worried after what happened.”

“Look at that! Our local Ice Prince socializing!” Ichiro grinned, leaning back dramatically in his chair. “This is something I’d love to stick around and witness, but I just barely convinced my parents to let me come check on you today. They want to pass some time together before I need to go back to the dorm.”

He turned to Tao with a cheeky smile. “Please film it and send it to me. I want proof this actually happened.”

Tao rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, come on,” Ichiro said, feigning innocence. “This is a historical moment! Amemura Kei—the man, the myth, the emotionless legend—talking to his classmates without freezing the room solid? That’s headline material!”

Kei exhaled slowly through his nose, looking unimpressed, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You seem very invested in things that don’t concern you, Dazai.”

“Only when they’re entertaining,” Ichiro shot back with a grin. “Besides, you’re kind of like my personal character development arc. If you start being social, I’ll have to level up too.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t,” Kei said flatly, earning a laugh from Tao and even a quiet chuckle from Yuzuru.

Miyazu covered her mouth, smiling at the exchange. “You really all get along well,” she said softly, her voice carrying that mixture of amusement and quiet gratitude that made even Kei pause for a second.

“Sometimes too well,” Yuzuru muttered, though there was warmth in his tone.

After that, the group ate together—the conversation light and meandering, filled with the kind of harmless chatter that felt strangely precious after everything that had happened. Between bites of eel and the quiet clinking of cutlery, laughter occasionally broke the calm rhythm of the room. Even Kei, usually so composed, found himself speaking a little more than usual—small, almost offhand comments that somehow carried weight. Tao noticed, and her smile turned tender, like someone proud to see a wall quietly lowering.

When they finished, the trays were gathered back onto the rolling cart. Kei insisted on helping Tao wheel it to the canteen before they parted ways. Soon after, Tao, Ichiro, and Yuzuru exited the building—their destination, the student dorms.

Even though Ichiro would be staying at his parents’ for the rest of the week, he volunteered to help Yuzuru retrieve Kei’s belongings. Normally, student IDs doubled as room keys, but since Kei’s was inside his bag—which could either be in his room or held by the dorm monitor—they needed assistance to access it.

By now, it was quite well known that they were people of confidence for Kei. There was no one who didn’t know that, after all, when they started to hang out together there was a mile of rumors going all around the school about those who were able to bypass that stoic Ice prince wall. Still, to avoid any inconvenience Kei wrote a note grating them permission to enter his room.

Meanwhile, Kei stayed with Miyazu. She was to be discharged tomorrow morning, but until then, she remained under Bethel’s care. Not wanting to leave her alone, Kei chose to stay while Yuzuru handled his request.

The room fell into a soft, uneasy quiet. Kei was never much of a talker, but Miyazu didn’t seem to mind. She sat with her hands folded on her lap eyes, adorned by framed glasses, distant for a moment before speaking.

“Senpai,” she began softly, drawing his attention. “Are you really alright?”

Kei blinked, slightly caught off guard with the question.

“I know it’s the third time I’ve asked,” she said, hesitating, “but… your tray was different.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “You mean because it was a metallic one?”

Miyazu nodded “I mean, you chose to eat eel with rice as main dish, just like what my brother brought me, but why the platter? Was it like that because they added some medications or something? So that you wouldn’t mix it up with that of others?”

Kei was honestly taken aback and kinda regretted taking the metallic tray “Ah… no, not really” he said awkwardly while scratching the back of his head “I just took the tray and plates randomly, there’s no really a deeper meaning into it” he lied.

Miyazu looked at him not really convinced before looking away to the window “I know that my brother lies to me” she then said out of nowhere making Kei’s hearth sink.

“He’s always elusive when talking about what he does here at Bethel” she continued “and it worries me that he might be putting himself in danger”

Kei made his best not to react at that, he didn’t want the sister to know how close to the truth she was. Right now, more than ever, he couldn’t let his emotions show, he couldn’t give Miyazu any signal that she was on the right track, he couldn’t allow himself to betray the trust that Yuzuru had put on him.

“That’s why I asked you to go with him that day” Miyazu went on quietly. “When we were heading back to the dorms after our first week at school.”

Kei still didn’t react.

“I asked you to go after him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Because I thought my brother was in danger. I sent you to watch over him.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks, sudden and unguarded. She bowed her head slightly, as if ashamed. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to put you in danger too. I just thought—if something happened, you could help him. But then neither you or him came back to the dorms and I got worried.”

For a few seconds, Kei just stood there, frozen. This—someone crying in front of him, especially a girl—was something he had no manual for. He wasn’t good at comfort; words didn’t come easily to him when emotions overflowed like this. But something about Miyazu’s sincerity—the quiet guilt in her voice—moved him in a way he didn’t expect.

“…You don’t have to apologize,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “You were worried about your brother. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

Miyazu looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft.

“But it was selfish,” she murmured.

Kei shook his head faintly. “No. It was human.”

For a brief moment, their eyes met—and in the stillness of the room, with only the muted hum of machines and the soft rustle of sheets between them, the weight of unspoken truths hung quietly in the air. Kei didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out—but his tone, his presence, carried a rare gentleness that said enough.

Miyazu wiped her tears with the back of her hand, a small, shaky smile replacing the trembling on her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I feel a lot better now that I said it. The guilt’s been driving me crazy these past few weeks.”

Kei’s expression softened. “It’s alright,” he said simply, his voice calm—steady in that way of his that somehow made the words sound more genuine.

For a moment, silence settled again. Then, to his quiet surprise, Miyazu let out a tiny laugh—light and almost self-conscious.

“You know,” she began, her tone hesitant but tinged with a shy kind of playfulness he’d never heard from her before, “a lot of my classmates would probably lose their minds if they saw you like this.”

Kei blinked, caught completely off guard. “…Like this?”

She nodded, still smiling faintly. “Calm, polite, kind… and smiling a little. Some of them even asked me for your number once, or if I could give you their love letters.”

For a second, it didn’t even register—then Kei’s brain short-circuited.

“W–what?” he stammered, color rushing to his cheeks so fast he almost startled himself. “T-they what—?”

Miyazu covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her shoulders trembling with quiet amusement. “I told them that it was something that they should do by themselves, and that you’d probably ignore them anyway,” she added softly, eyes gleaming with mirth.

Kei groaned under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “That… would’ve been the right call,” he admitted.

Seeing the usually stoic “Ice Prince” flustered was rare enough to make Miyazu laugh again—a soft, airy sound that seemed to fill the room far better than the TV ever could.

At that very moment, with a joyful Miyazu and a very red Kei, there came a knock at the door. Yuzuru stepped in, immediately catching both of their expressions. Kei’s mortification was almost palpable.

Yuzuru raised an eyebrow, silently asking what was going on. Kei could only shake his head, defeated, unable—or unwilling—to explain.

“Here,” Yuzuru said, holding out a bag. “I wasn’t sure what clothes would be comfortable for you, so I grabbed a few options. The other things you asked for are in here as well.”

“Thanks,” Kei replied, taking the bag with a small nod. He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Did Dazai prod around my room too much?” His tone was careful, almost wary. “I’m guessing he mostly tagged along out of curiosity.”

Yuzuru let out a quiet sigh, confirming Kei’s theory without needing words. “Curiosity is definitely his specialty,” he said wryly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’ll go drop this off in my room,” Kei said casually—but as he spoke, he made a subtle hand motion, one of those discreet signals he’d picked up during Bethel’s briefing sessions. It was brief and deliberate, but clear enough to catch Yuzuru’s eye.

It was unusual—Kei rarely asked for anything, let alone privately. That alone was enough to make Yuzuru straighten slightly. “I’ll go with you,” he said, matching Kei’s tone as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Just to make sure I brought everything you needed.”

Once outside, the door closing softly behind them, Kei started down the corridor with quiet, measured steps. Truth be told, he had no idea how to get back to his assigned suite—Bethel’s layout still felt like a maze, and his lack of orientation sense didn’t help—but he didn’t care. He took a few random turns, letting his instincts guide him until they were far enough from Miyazu’s room that their voices wouldn’t carry.

Then he stopped.

Yuzuru noticed the shift instantly—the way Kei’s posture straightened, the faint furrow in his brow. Whatever this was, it wasn’t casual anymore.

“Miyazu-san…” Kei began, his voice low but steady. “She’s worried about you.”

He met Yuzuru’s eyes, the silence between them suddenly taut.

“She suspects you’re involved in something dangerous,” he admitted quietly.

For a moment, Yuzuru’s composure faltered. It was subtle—just a flicker in his expression, the slight tightening of his jaw—but Kei noticed it. Of all the things that could’ve happened, this was the one Yuzuru dreaded most: Miyazu finding out, even partially, about the truth he’d fought so hard to hide. She was the reason he joined Bethel in the first place, the reason he endured the secrecy, the risk, the constant vigilance. Why he gave his very best to excel and be deemed worth of being part of Bethel.

Kei could see his friend’s breathing quicken, his shoulders tense. It was strange—seeing Yuzuru, usually so calm and controlled, unravel even a little. Not sure what else to do, Kei set his bag down and placed both hands gently on Yuzuru’s shoulders.

“Don’t panic,” he said softly. His tone carried a quiet authority that belied his usual reserve. “She doesn’t know anything yet. She just… suspects it.”

He waited a few seconds, watching carefully until Yuzuru’s breathing steadied and the color returned to his face.

“I just thought you should know,” Kei added, releasing his shoulders and picking up his bag again. “I couldn’t stay quiet after hearing it from her.”

Yuzuru stood still for a moment, the weight of Kei’s words sinking in. He lowered his gaze, one hand coming up to rub at his temple as if trying to hold his thoughts together.

“…I see,” he murmured, more to himself than to Kei. “I should’ve known she’d notice eventually. She’s… always been sharper than she lets on.”

There was a long pause. The hall around them was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. Yuzuru drew in a slow, deliberate breath before speaking again.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said at last, his voice quieter, steadier. “I don’t know how I’ll handle it yet, but… I’d rather hear it from you than have it catch me off guard.”

Kei nodded, saying nothing. The sincerity in Yuzuru’s tone spoke for itself.

“I just wish she didn’t have to worry,” Yuzuru continued, almost to himself now. “All I wanted was to keep her out of this world entirely. But the more I try to protect her, the more she senses something’s wrong.”He let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “I guess that’s the curse of being family.”

Kei glanced at him, his expression thoughtful. “You’re doing what you can,” he said simply. “That’s more than most.”

That drew a faint, tired smile from Yuzuru—the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was genuine nonetheless. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything else. Then Yuzuru straightened slightly, the composed leader in him slipping back into place.

“I should get back before Miyazu starts wondering what are we up to” he said.

“Yeah,” Kei agreed, falling into step beside him.

As they walked down the quiet corridor, Yuzuru cast one last sidelong glance at his friend.

“You really are a terrible liar, you know,” he said with a faint smirk. “If it had been anyone else, I’d suspect you let something slip.”

Kei exhaled softly through his nose, almost amused. “Maybe that’s the reason I usually keep quiet.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Yuzuru—the first genuine one Kei had ever heard from him—as he turned the corner and headed back toward Miyazu’s room. Kei watched him go, deciding to give him some space to collect his thoughts.

“Now,” Kei muttered, glancing around the unfamiliar hallway, “where am I?”

He let out a sigh, resigning himself to ask Aogami for help getting back to the suite