(Bell rings) — and the odd, hollow tone it emitted echoed unnaturally through the corridors, sharp enough to raise suspicion. Hina and Mitasu moved forward toward the school's main, well-decorated hall, but Mitasu could not ignore the flood of ideas racing through his mind that day, so he decided to take a shortcut. The path he chose, however, was hardly worthy of being called one—it was a narrow, poorly maintained route along the outer wall of the building, lined with exposed pipes and cracked concrete.
Hina: "That fool… he's going to get himself suspended again," she growled, her steps firm as her hips swayed with restrained irritation while she crossed the polished school hall.
Meanwhile, Mitasu was deeply absorbed in thought, mentally rehearsing complex maneuvering techniques—imagining precise movements that could disable his own arms and legs, even disrupt his thoughts entirely if executed under the right conditions.
Now acting on impulse, he gripped a cold, rusted drainage pipe fixed to the wall and began climbing. His shoes pressed against the rough surface as his fingers tightened around the metal, pulling himself upward toward the classroom window just above. The pipe creaked faintly under his weight.
A surveillance camera mounted at the corner of the building slowly rotated, its lens locking onto him. A faint mechanical hum followed as it tracked his movement. Within moments, he knew—he was going to be caught.
Mitasu: "I'd rather deal with the guards than miss Himawari. She gives me a seriously bad feeling… and that malicious look of hers—it's not normal."
A chill ran down his spine as a vivid image flashed in his mind—Himawari standing before him, her lips curled into a satisfied grin as her fist drove sharply into his neck.
The thought alone made his grip falter.
Then, suddenly—
A cold gust of wind rushed past him, slipping between his fingers and along the pipe. His hand lost its hold.
His body dropped.
For a split second, everything tightened—his fingers clenched instinctively, his back stiffened, and a violent rush of pressure surged upward through his body, forcing the blood toward his head. The air tore past his ears as the ground rapidly closed in beneath him.
The fall accelerated.
Just before impact—
A faint, flickering light sparked in front of his eyes, like a distant shimmer breaking through reality. It expanded instantly, flooding his vision.
Darkness followed.
It swallowed everything.
Then, slowly, the darkness began to thin.
Mitasu's eyes opened—carefully, almost painfully—as light seeped back in. His vision blurred, struggling to adjust to the sudden and unfamiliar surroundings.
Mitasu: "...Was I dreaming?"
He raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking repeatedly as the new environment came into focus.
His eyes opened slowly like two horizontal, up-and-down windows, and the surface of the surrounding ambience became clearly visible. The eyes belonged to a kid what was amiss was that he had no bruises, no cuts—he could only watch and speak simple words, an assumption made since he was already mumbling them. Nothing was off about his physical appearance apart from his torn, shredded clothes that were unrecognizable.
In the near distance, a man approached silently. He was dawned in brown clothing with green bushy like spots on it. The man looked old—time had taken a huge toll on him. He had lightly sagging jaws that still seemed usable; his eyes were still beaming with charisma, like a golden retriever on a calm, sunny day. Even though his body looked weary, he still seemed capable of powerful deeds.
"If I make it to the market in time, then there will be no problem securing basic commodities. I just hope this beach route is the right one… or am I lost again?" he mumbled to himself while continuously scrubbing his black-and-white hair.
As he passed by, he spotted the kid on the shoreline,he was about 3.5 feet in height, with white hair, nicely curved young jaws, and a pale but shiny face. He looked just about 11 years of age.
"Well then, look what we have here. I hope he speaks English," he grumbled. He swayed down and stretched his hands to pick him up.
As he was lifting the boy, a young man conjured from thin air, his presence showed no signd of hostility or disregard to the ongoing event. He was dressed in the same attire as the old man, which made it clear that those camouflaged clothes were organization uniforms—probably for the Army or Navy.
Young man: "Commander Camador'e, sir—permission to speak."
Camador'e: "Proceed, and be brief about it, young soldier."
Young soldier: "Yes, sir. Thanks for the utmost kindness. Now for the ongoing report on the east side, Area 66B, Center 7—the G gates have been breached."
His voice casually dropped and rose, a tense tone clearly sensed in it. Anxiety radiated from his strained voice.