The BA-24 dorm wing was quieter than usual.
Most students were either still in the courtyard—or pretending they weren't waiting for news.
The door slid open softly.
Masakiro stepped in.
White.
Clean.
But not untouched.
His uniform had been changed, but faint traces of dried blood still clung to the edge of his sleeve. His hair—pure white—fell loosely over his eyes, slightly messy for once.
He looked… tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Inside the room—
Nairo sat on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other, shadow coiling lazily around his arm like a living thing.
His long dark hair was tied back, though one side still fell over his eye.
He didn't look up immediately.
"…You're late."
Masakiro dropped his bag quietly.
"…We ran into a Shinryu."
Nairo paused.
Then slowly looked up.
"…You're joking."
Masakiro sat on his bed, shoulders sinking slightly.
"I wish I was."
Silence stretched.
Then Nairo stood.
Shadows tightened.
"Tell me."
Masakiro exhaled.
And told him everything.
The forest.
The pressure.
The way the air stopped breathing.
Kurokazan.
The dungeon.
The way they were held—like insects in invisible hands.
Nairo didn't interrupt.
Not once.
But his shadows moved more as the story went on.
When Masakiro got to his part—
He hesitated.
"…It targeted me."
Nairo's eye sharpened.
"Why?"
Masakiro looked down at his hands.
"…Because I looked scared."
A pause.
"…I was."
Nairo didn't laugh.
Didn't mock.
"Then what happened?"
Masakiro swallowed slightly.
"I fought."
"…You?"
There was a hint of disbelief.
Masakiro nodded.
"I used my sword."
His voice dropped.
"And I almost killed it."
That made Nairo go still.
"…Almost?"
Masakiro's grip tightened slightly on his sleeve.
"I lost control."
Silence.
The shadows around Nairo froze completely.
Masakiro's voice was quieter now.
"It wasn't… clean."
"…It felt like I wanted to destroy it."
A beat.
"…Not protect. Not stop."
His shoulders lowered.
"…Just end it."
Nairo studied him.
Carefully.
Then—
"…And?"
Masakiro exhaled slowly.
"Tsuramo stepped in."
Of course he did.
Nairo clicked his tongue softly.
"…That guy again."
Masakiro gave a small, tired smile.
"…Yeah."
He leaned back slightly.
"Ayame pulled us out after that."
Nairo folded his arms.
"…So you survived a Shinryu encounter."
Masakiro nodded.
"…Barely."
Nairo stared at him for a second.
Then one eyebrow lifted.
"…Cool."
Masakiro blinked.
"…That's your reaction?"
Nairo smirked faintly.
"You fought a Dragon-level threat, almost lost control, didn't die, and came back."
A pause.
"…That's cool."
Masakiro scoffed softly, shaking his head.
"…You're insane."
Nairo shrugged.
"Next time, I'm coming."
Masakiro's head snapped toward him.
"No."
"Why not?"
Masakiro sat up slightly, frowning.
"Because it's not 'cool,' Nairo."
His voice was sharper now.
"It's terrifying."
A pause.
"You don't understand what that pressure feels like."
He looked away.
"…It feels like the world is deciding whether you deserve to exist."
Silence filled the room again.
Nairo's expression didn't change much.
But his shadows slowed.
"…Even better," he said quietly.
Masakiro stared at him.
"You're impossible."
Nairo smirked again.
"And you're dramatic."
Masakiro flopped back onto his bed.
"…I don't want to go there again."
That came out softer.
Honest.
Nairo glanced at him.
"…You will."
Masakiro covered his eyes with his arm.
"…Don't say that."
Nairo leaned back against the wall.
"You're strong."
Masakiro didn't respond.
Nairo added,
"And you hate fighting."
A small pause.
"…Which means when you do fight, it matters."
Masakiro's fingers shifted slightly.
"…It didn't feel like that."
Nairo looked at the ceiling.
"…That's because you're not used to yourself yet."
Silence again.
Then—
Masakiro sighed.
"…If there's a next time…"
Nairo tilted his head.
"…Yeah?"
Masakiro peeked at him from under his arm.
"…You can come."
Nairo grinned.
"There it is."
Masakiro immediately added,
"But if you die, I'm not explaining it."
Nairo laughed quietly.
"If I die, it's because I chose a good fight."
Masakiro groaned.
"…You're actually insane."
Nairo's shadows curled lazily again.
"…And you're coming back stronger."
Masakiro didn't argue this time.
He just stared at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Feeling.
Remembering.
And somewhere deep inside—
That same power flickered again.
Not violent.
Not yet.
But no longer asleep.
----
The forest was silent—
Not peaceful.
Waiting.
Tall trees twisted toward the sky, their branches clawing through dim light. The ground was damp, layered with fallen leaves that never fully rotted—like the forest refused to let anything disappear.
At the center of a clearing—
A boy stood alone.
Still.
Listening.
His breath was slow.
Controlled.
Then—
He moved.
Not forward.
Down.
His fingers brushed the earth.
And the world answered.
The ground cracked.
Not violently—
Precisely.
Thin lines spread outward from his touch, glowing faintly like veins beneath skin.
Roots shifted.
Stone whispered.
The forest didn't shake.
It adjusted.
The boy rose slowly.
His hair—dark at first glance—shifted as he moved, streaks of deep green threading through it like moss catching light. It wasn't styled.
It grew.
Alive.
His eyes opened—
Gold.
Not bright.
Heavy.
Like something old was looking out through them.
"…Still too slow," he muttered.
He lifted his hand.
The air thickened.
A boulder nearby—
didn't lift.
It folded.
Edges softened, compressed inward, reshaping under invisible pressure until it became something else entirely—
A blade.
Rough.
Dense.
Unnaturally heavy.
He caught it one-handed.
No strain.
But the ground beneath his feet sank slightly.
Balancing him.
Always balancing.
"Come on…"
His voice lowered.
"Move."
The trees responded.
Not bending—
Shifting position.
Just slightly.
Enough to change sightlines.
Enough to create paths.
Enough to trap something.
Or someone.
The boy stepped forward—
And the forest stepped with him.
Then suddenly—
He stopped.
Something wasn't right.
His grip tightened.
The blade in his hand cracked—
Not breaking—
Condensing further.
Too much force.
Too fast.
"…Tch."
He released it.
The weapon collapsed into dust instantly, falling to the ground like it had never existed.
Silence returned.
The forest reset.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like it was afraid of him.
He exhaled.
Ran a hand through his hair.
"…Still unstable."
A pause.
Then a smirk.
Sharp.
Determined.
"But it's enough."
He looked up through the trees—
Toward something far away.
Not physically visible.
But known.
"Shadowreach Academy…"
The name sat in his mouth like a promise.
"If I get in there…"
His eyes sharpened.
"…everything changes."
The ground beneath him pulsed once.
Agreeing.
"I just need one chance."
Wind moved through the forest—
But it didn't touch him.
It curved around him.
Like even air understood its limits.
He turned.
Started walking.
Each step deliberate.
Measured.
The forest parted.
Not out of respect.
Out of instinct.
Behind him—
The place where he trained didn't return to normal.
The ground remained slightly lowered.
The trees slightly misaligned.
Reality—
Just a little off.
Like something had pressed too hard against it.
And it hadn't fully recovered.
As his figure disappeared into the deeper woods—
His voice echoed faintly.
"Get in first…"
A small grin.
"…then break everything after."
And far away—
Unseen—
Something in the direction of Shadowreach shifted.
Like it had just been noticed.