The next morning, the courtyard rang with the sound of quick steps and light laughter. Kazuo lunged, boots scraping against the stone as his hand shot forward — only to graze air.
Sora darted out of reach, tail swishing as she vaulted over a post and landed lightly on the other side. "Too slow!" she called, her voice sing-song as she spun away again.
Kazuo gritted his teeth and pushed off after her, breath coming fast. His sword arm was quick, his footwork sharper than yesterday — and still, he couldn't pin her down. Every time he thought he had her cornered, she slipped through a gap, body low and movements feline.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, wheeling around as she laughed and bolted past him again.
"You call that chasing?" she teased, glancing back over her shoulder with a grin. "You'll never catch me like that."
He pushed harder, muscles burning, but she was gone again — a flicker in the morning light, always a step ahead.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the air like a blade.
Kazuo slowed, chest heaving as he turned his head. Setsuna leaned casually against the fence at the edge of the yard, arms crossed. A rice cracker dangled lazily from his fingers.
"This is your sixth attempt today," Setsuna said dryly. "Take a break before you run yourself into the ground."
He flicked a hand toward Sora. "Go practice your archery. You're still terrible at aiming with that new bow."
Sora's ears twitched, and she spun on him with a scowl. "Tch, says the icicle who can't hit moving targets either."
Setsuna only smirked, crunching down on the last of his rice cracker. "Difference is, I don't miss when it counts."
Sora clicked her tongue but padded off anyway, tail swishing in irritation.
Kazuo wiped sweat from his brow and straightened, still catching his breath.
"Kazu," Setsuna said. "We need to talk. In private."
Kazuo's expression tightened, but he followed as Setsuna pushed away from the fence and led him toward the quieter shade of the armory wall.
They stopped in the narrow shade of the armory wall, where the clamor of the courtyard dulled to distant echoes. Setsuna folded his arms, his easy grin gone.
"Did you speak to Lady Elyria?" he asked.
Kazuo shifted at the sudden change in tone. "Uh… yes. She did come to me, just before my match with Kaya."
Setsuna's gaze sharpened. "I know she went to you. But I told you already — she's dangerous, if only because she's the king's daughter."
"I don't understand."
"She told Cedric everything — about the sketch of the white serpent you saw," Setsuna said serious. "Now any investigation of it is forbidden."
The words hit like a punch. Kazuo's hand shot out, then curled into a fist at his side. "What? That's not fair at all! Why would she—"
"Use your brain." Setsuna's voice cut in, sharp as steel. "Do you honestly believe she sought you out just to make small talk? Or was she digging — looking for something she wanted to know?"
Kazuo's breath caught, the memory flashing back unbidden: her gaze lingering too long, questions pressed a little too close. His throat tightened. "She… she's always been fascinated by my eyes. No — obsessed with them."
Setsuna exhaled through his nose. He turned his head aside, shoulders shifting with the movement. "I'm astonished you still don't see it."
"See what?"
Setsuna looked back at him, posture straightening, his hand brushing against the hilt at his waist as if to anchor himself. "The tournament. The Hollow Veins. You being here. Tell me—how did it start?"
The words lodged in Kazuo's chest. He stepped back, weight shifting hard onto his heels as if the ground had tilted beneath him. His hand rose, dragging back through his hair before pressing against his forehead. He forced the answer out. "…It was that day. When she saw me."
Setsuna gave the faintest nod.
Kazuo's voice hardened. "Are you implying she's the one who dragged me into this?"
"Not deliberately," Setsuna said. His shoulders drew tighter. "But it's because of her hunger."
"Hunger?"
"Her hunger for knowledge," Setsuna answered. "She didn't know all this would happen. But every step since started with her. It's because of her."
Kazuo's heart beat faster, as the weight of it sank in. All that pain… all that suffering until now… because of her. His eyes twitched, rage sparking, building hot in his chest—
—but he forced it down, swallowing the fire.
The realization hit like a hammer. Kazuo smacked his palm lightly against his temple, chest tightening. "Idiot… how did I not see it? It was right in front of me." His arm dropped back to his side, fingers flexing restlessly.
He had suspected something was wrong, but never connected the pieces. The illusion shattered, leaving only a weight in his gut.
Setsuna closed his eyes, his stance shifting, one hand resting loosely on his hip. "I'm sorry for breaking the illusion. But this isn't just about you. It would put Gramps and Rei in more danger, too. So from now on — no talking with her. And if you have to, keep it simple. And also… no investigation or mention of the white serpent. I already told Tetsu."
Kazuo straightened, planting his feet firm. "No. I have to thank you captain."
Setsuna's eyes opened a sliver, surprise flickering there at the tone.
Kazuo's gaze didn't waver. "I don't care about that anymore — not if it gets us in trouble. What I want is simple: to finally be allowed to see Gramps again." His expression burned with resolve.
The words hung between them. For a long moment, neither spoke. The courtyard felt heavier, as if even the air was holding still.
Setsuna studied him. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved. "Good. Hold on to that. You'll need it. Now… let's get back to work. Time for some resonance drill."
Kazuo exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck, the weight of their talk still pressing on him. "But… my sword's still broken. How am I supposed to train resonance without it?"
Setsuna's brows knit together. "What? It's not finished yet? He told me he would have it done by now."
Kazuo lifted a hand, palm open in a small, uncertain gesture. "What are you talking about?"
Without another word, Setsuna pushed off the wall and started toward the training ground again. Kazuo fell into step beside him. Confused.
"Tetsu?" Kazuo called, spotting the figure waiting ahead.
"It's done."
Tetsu stepped forward, a case tucked carefully under one arm. He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger, eyes gleaming.
Setsuna let out a low whistle. "You actually finished it? That's a new record."
"I'm not used to crafting swords," Tetsu admitted, adjusting his grip on the case. "But it's better than paying thousands of dranels for some poorly forged blade."
He shifted the case forward, addressing Kazuo directly. "Here."
Kazuo hesitated, staring at it before finally reaching out. "…This is for me?"
Tetsu gave a small, proud smile. "Open it."
Kazuo unlatched the case. Inside lay a new sword — the handgrip was the same familiar leather-worn hilt as his old blade, but the steel above had been reforged into something darker. The blade shimmered with faint blue wave-like patterns that caught the morning light and rippled across the surface.
"I've been working on it since the moment your sword broke," Tetsu said, pride threading through his voice.
Kazuo froze as the blade caught the light, his shoulders stiffening. He hadn't expected this — not from Tetsu.
"It's the same hilt from your old sword," Tetsu explained quickly. "I reforged the rest, strengthened the core, and—"
"You… did this." Kazuo's voice broke in, quieter than he meant. His gaze lifted, searching Tetsu's face. "…For me?"
Tetsu rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to play it off, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Well… yeah."
Kazuo reached down, fingers curling around the familiar grip. He drew the blade free, holding it up as the edge shimmered faintly in the air. He gave it a testing swing — clean, precise. Lighter than before.
"Why?" Kazuo asked, his voice low, almost raw. "Why for me?"
Kazuo turned the blade in his hand, watching the faint blue ripples shimmer along the steel. He slid it back into its sheath.
"This is the most beautiful sword I've ever seen. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."
Tetsu smiled, proud in a way he rarely showed. "I also infused it with my magnetism magic. It's not much, but it means the blade won't break so easily anymore."
Kazuo stepped closer and set a hand on his shoulder. "With this, it feels like you're fighting right beside me."
Tetsu's mouth opened, but the words tangled. He stuttered, flustered, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. "I—I… you really think so?"
"Alright, enough of the bromance," Setsuna cut in with a smirk. "Save the love confessions for later. We've got training to do."
Kazuo glanced at him. "Right… the drills." He paused, adjusting the new sword at his side. "But when you explained the five pillars of magic, you never mentioned Resonance. Why's that?"
"Because it's not one of the pillars," Setsuna said, walking ahead toward the training ground. "Resonance only matters if you fight with a weapon. Most mages don't. They throw spells and call it a day. But for someone like you, it's everything. Your blade and your magic have to breathe together."
Kazuo followed, mulling it over. "And what about Aoi?"
Setsuna glanced back at him. "We'll strategize for him soon. But first…" He tapped the hilt at his hip. "…training."
Elsewhere in the capital, steel rang against stone. Sparks flared as twin arcs of metal clashed against a training post, each strike clean, precise, measured — never wasted.
Aoi exhaled slowly, lowering his arms into another stance. Gleaming vambraces of dark steel hugged his forearms, the edges extending past his hands into sharp, tapered points. Faint static danced along their surface, crackling faintly in the air. His blue hair clung to his forehead with sweat, but his gaze was cold, untouched by fatigue.
From the edge of the training yard, Idris leaned against the railing, watching. Smoke drifted lazily from the cigar between his fingers, curling in the heat.
"Why are you so eager to fight this boy?" Idris asked at last. His tone was calm. "He's talented, yes — but this can't be the reason."
Aoi's arms moved in a blur, the metal guards slicing through the air with a hiss. Lightning sparked between the points as he answered, "Because he reminds me of me."
Idris's eyelids lowered a fraction. "You believe he's a genius?"
Aoi scoffed, swinging his arm down hard enough to send a crackle of static racing through the post. "No. He gambles away his fights. Bad habit. One that'll cost him his life someday." His gaze stayed on the scorched wood. "What I mean is… he doesn't fit in." A pause, the faintest tremor in his voice. "And yet, he has people who stand by him. People who care. That, I don't understand."
Idris closed his eyes, ash from his cigar dropping into the tray at his side. For a moment, he let the silence stretch. Just like Kazuo, eh…
But no — there was more to it. He opened his eyes again, half-lidded. "That's not it. You didn't join this tournament just because of that. What's the real reason, Aoi?"
Aoi stopped mid-motion. "You're sharp, Captain." The crackling energy fizzled out as he lowered his arms, the pointed edges of his gauntlets grazing the stone floor. "But I am not going to tell."
Before Idris could reply, another voice cut in.
"It's because of that wish," a woman said, stepping from the shadows of the yard.
Mimi. Red hair fell over one eye, the other glinting green beneath the fringe. Her assassin's garb clung close to her frame, dark and practical, not unlike Sora's hunter attire — built for silence and killing.
Idris didn't move, "…A wish. Are you telling me you still haven't given that up?"
Aoi nodded once, though the flicker of annoyance in his eyes was clear as Mimi came closer.
She stopped at his side, red hair falling across one eye as she looked at him. "You want that wish granted. You don't just want to crush him like Kaien or Yuki. You actually want to kill him."
Aoi didn't answer. He raised his arms again, feet sliding into stance. Electricity snapped across the metal, and when he struck the post, the blow split wood and scorched it black in one motion.
The sound echoed through the yard — the hiss of burned timber lingering — then silence.