Last time, they only had doubts. Today, they have facts, and that changes everything. I understood it before even entering the room, just by reading the message. The tone was different. Less administrative, less neutral. There was no room left for interpretation. Something had happened, something serious enough for them to escalate it to me without hesitation.
I walked through the administrative building without slowing down, eyes forward, hands in my pockets. The academy continued functioning normally around me. Students talked, screens displayed continuous data streams, automated systems managed everything as if nothing had changed. But for me, it was different. I had crossed a line, even if no one had clearly defined it yet.
I stopped in front of the door for a few seconds, just enough to steady my breathing. It wasn't fear that bothered me, but uncertainty. I didn't know exactly what they had, nor how far they were willing to go. And in situations like this, it was always the invisible detail that decided everything.
I entered.
The room was more formal than last time. Three people were already seated, interfaces open in front of them, floating graphs, energy and structural readings displayed with surgical precision. There were no unnecessary elements. Just data, facts, and people assigned to interpret them.
I sat down without waiting.
The man in the center looked up at me, his gaze perfectly steady.
"Ymir Hôjlünd."
I gave a slight nod.
"Last time, we only had doubts. Today, we have facts."
He projected several graphs in front of me, curves rising sharply before dropping just as fast.
"Yesterday, between 18:47 and 19:59, you used a generic training room. During that period, a pressure anomaly was detected in that room, then in two adjacent rooms. Sensors recorded a uniform compression of air, accompanied by a diffuse vector disturbance."
He paused, letting me process the data.
"You were the only registered user in that time slot."
I didn't respond.
"Generic rooms do not record internal activity, as you know. We have no footage, no direct trace of what you did. However, the effects were measured with precision, and they do not correspond to any known manifestation of a Mentalist ability."
He folded his hands, still watching me.
"So we will proceed with an interrogation."
I remained perfectly still.
"First question. Why choose a generic room when you have access to specialized Mentalist facilities?"
I took a slow, controlled breath.
"Because specialized rooms analyze everything in real time. Every variation, every instability, every attempt. I had just lost a duel, and I already knew what that would lead to. I didn't need it to be recorded and archived."
The woman on the right immediately intervened, without raising her voice.
"So you deliberately chose a less suitable environment for your progress in order to avoid technical monitoring."
"Yes."
She didn't reply, but her expression shifted slightly. She was noting it down.
The man continued.
"Describe precisely what you did during that session."
I knew this was the turning point. Not the first answer, but the details. Always the details.
"I worked on cognitive stabilization. Without interface. Without simulation. Just internal control of thought flow."
"Why without assistance?"
"Because I wanted to measure my limits without external bias. Simulators compensate for certain errors. I wanted to see what I was truly capable of."
Silence.
They were analyzing again.
Always analyzing.
Then the man projected another dataset.
"The recorded anomaly corresponds to a sudden increase in pressure in an enclosed space, followed by propagation into adjacent structures. This phenomenon implies direct physical interaction with the environment."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Explain."
I let a second pass.
"I can't."
"You can't, or you won't?"
I held his gaze.
"I can't."
The woman spoke again.
"You are a Mentalist. Your abilities affect cognitive processes, not physical structures. You confirm you are not capable of producing this type of effect?"
"Yes."
"So you claim you are not the direct cause of the anomaly."
…
The trap was there.
I answered.
"Yes."
Silence.
This time, it lasted longer.
The man didn't move, but I felt the shift. A different tension, finer, more precise. Not an accusation, but something approaching one.
"Then you were alone in a room. A physical anomaly occurred. It spread into two other rooms. And you have no explanation."
"No."
That's when I felt it.
Not a clear mistake. Not an obvious contradiction. Just a slight dissonance, like something didn't fully align. And apparently, they felt it too.
The man activated an interface.
"Given the nature of the incident, we will request a specialist."
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. For incidents of this level, the academy systematically called a Level 4 Mentalist directly affiliated with the European government. It wasn't unusual. It was standard procedure.
I felt his presence before I even saw him. Stable. Dense. Controlled. Not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore.
He sat in front of me without a sound, without theatrics.
"I will take over."
His voice was calm, almost neutral.
I didn't move.
"Why a generic room?"
Same question.
But this time, it carried weight.
"To avoid monitoring."
"Why?"
"Because I had just lost."
He nodded slightly.
"And you thought an uncontrolled environment would give you a more honest reading of your abilities."
I took a second.
"Not more honest. More real."
His eyes stayed locked on mine.
"Describe exactly what you did."
I repeated it. Same version. Same structure. But something had changed. My thoughts were flowing more easily, more accessible. I could feel a subtle influence, almost imperceptible, guiding my responses without forcing them.
"You weren't just stabilizing yourself."
His voice was soft, but precise.
"You were looking for something else."
I didn't respond immediately.
"What?"
I thought for a fraction of a second.
And then I made a choice.
A lie.
Not improvised.
Not panic.
Calculated.
"I was trying to increase my mental resistance to stress by simulating internal overload."
Silence.
A very faint smile appeared on his lips.
"No."
One word.
Calm.
Certain.
"You're lying."
I didn't react.
But internally, everything froze.
"Inconsistency detected in response pattern. Cognitive rhythm variation. Micro-emotional deviation."
He leaned back slightly.
"Partial refusal of cooperation."
Pause.
"Limited mental probing authorized."
No one objected.
Because it was enough.
Because it was legal.
Because I had given the opening.
I clenched my jaw slightly.
And this time, I felt it.
Not influence.
Not suggestion.
An intrusion.
Precise.
Targeted.
He wasn't searching everything.
Only one point.
Yesterday.
The room.
The rise.
The pressure.
The air becoming dense.
Objects vibrating without contact.
Uncontrolled propagation.
Then—
further back.
Without warning.
Another memory.
Same sensation.
Older.
More unstable.
Long before the academy.
He stopped there.
On purpose.
When he withdrew, the silence had changed.
Completely.
"This is not an isolated incident."
His voice was still calm.
"The manifestations predate his entry into the academy."
The man in the center straightened slightly.
"Conclusion?"
The Mentalist looked at him.
Then at me.
"Hybrid."
The word dropped.
Heavy.
Undeniable.
Internal systems activated immediately. Data transmission. Status update. Priority alert.
I remained still.
But this time, there was no doubt left.
It was over.
The Mentalist stood up, but before leaving, he simply added:
"And he has known for a long time."
Then he left.
The door closed.
And the interrogation continued.
The man looked at me differently now. Less like a suspect. More like a case.
"We will conclude."
His voice was heavier.
"Why hide it?"
I took a second.
Not to lie.
To answer correctly.
"Because I knew what it would imply."
Silence.
"Hybrids are not treated like others. They are monitored. Controlled. Restricted."
I paused.
"And I had no interest in attracting attention."
The woman spoke again.
"And how did you manage to hide it for so long?"
I exhaled slightly.
"By not using it. Or not consciously. Not enough to be detected."
I looked up at them.
"And because it wasn't stable."
This time, they didn't argue.
Because it fit.
Because it made sense.
Because it was enough.
The man stood up.
"You will be transferred to the central administration. Your status will be reassessed. Enhanced surveillance will be implemented."
Pause.
"Damages will also be charged to you."
Logical.
Secondary.
I stood up as well.
And as I left the room, only one thought remained.
No panic.
No regret.
Just a cold truth.
I am no longer invisible.
And in this world… that is probably the worst thing that could have happened to me.