The hall split in two.
Riku's grunt carried as he slammed another dummy into the wall.
Kaito's laugh followed—too loud, too forced.
Emi's stance stayed locked, but her eyes flicked once toward me.
Rin didn't move. Just watched.
And me—
I was standing on the wrong side of the line.
Kuro made it without words. A flick of his head, that lazy grin, and suddenly it was me and Yui stepping out. The others left behind.
"Drills," he tossed over his shoulder. "The Kai kind. Keep yourselves busy."
Riku's leg bounced. His glare burned hotter than his Spectra.
Kaito muttered something, grin slipping.
Emi shifted, almost spoke.
Rin tracked us, sharp, silent.
Yui walked steady.
My stomach didn't.
The line stretched wider with every step. The noise faded.
Just boots on wood.
Just Kuro's humming—low, careless.
He stopped. Didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
"Alright," he said, hands sliding into pockets.
"Lesson two. You two get me. The rest can play soldier."
The words echoed to the far wall.
And I still felt Riku's stare cutting holes in my spine.
Kuro didn't speak at first.
He just looked at us like he was deciding whether we were worth the breath.
Then—
"Lesson two."
His grin widened.
"Your Violet."
The word landed heavier than it should've.
"You're not here to throw punches. Not here to practice Kai's drills. You're here to learn how to use what you are."
His boots tapped slow as he paced.
"See, the Academy likes order. Every Violet cadet gets logged. Reports filed. Powers catalogued. Some neat clerk with a clipboard trying to make sense of chaos."
He flicked two fingers.
"They think it makes it safer. That if they can name it, they can control it."
A chuckle.
"Cute idea. Doesn't work. Violet isn't a chart. It's not even power. It's will sharpened into something the body shouldn't be able to do."
He stopped in front of Yui.
"You. Yui Arakawa. Aether Step. Fault Veins. You're the prodigy type—their example on a brochure. You fly, you cut weaknesses open before they even know they're exposed. Dangerous, clean, precise. If you can keep your head out of your way."
Then me.
His eyes pinned me still.
"And you. Akira Ramou. I read the report from your dance with Vance Krait. Twice, actually."
The grin sharpened.
"Shock Pulse. Spectral Guard. Instinct. Reflex. You weren't choosing it—it was choosing for you. The only reason you're standing here is because fear happened to get it right. Good news: that means you've got instincts. Bad news: instincts don't win trophies."
The static hissed in my head, harder now.
Like it didn't want to be defined.
Kuro leaned closer, voice dropping, smooth as a secret he wasn't supposed to share.
"Instinct kept you alive, sure. But mastery's the difference between surviving and showing off. The Academy logged your powers, sure—same as they log everyone's. But you're not in the system yet. You're still undefined."
He stepped back, smirk lazy again.
"And if you don't learn to own those names, the next fight will end the way Vance wanted it to."
He let the silence hang. Then he tilted his head, amused.
"Maybe I should show you instead."
His hand lifted. No strain, no gesture of effort—just fingers flexing.
Violet flared. Not wild. Not cracked like mine. Smooth, clean, like it knew where it belonged.
The air shimmered around his arm. Then it shaped itself.
First a knife.
Then a blade, long and narrow, forming out of light like glass poured into steel.
A second later, the knife dissolved—reformed as a shield strapped across his forearm.
Then gauntlets. A spear. Armor plates crawling up his shoulder.
Every change was instant. Easy.
He spun the spear once, let it vanish, and waggled his empty fingers.
"Spectra Forge. I don't carry weapons. I make them. Four, five, six at a time. Blades, shields, armor—whatever I need. Human scale only, no castles or cannons. But if you're in reach, I don't run out."
The constructs winked out like he'd just flicked a switch.
"This is Violet. Will. Shaped. I picture a weapon. The Spectra agrees. Simple as that."
He spread his hands.
"Some cadets get one ability. Some, two. Rarely, three. The Academy keeps every record it can. Sometimes you'll share a power with someone in the logs. Most times, you won't. That's why they call Violet the anomaly rank. They can't predict us. Can't chart us. All they can do is keep reports on what's been seen before."
His smile twisted.
"Cute little system. Doesn't matter. No chart makes you faster when you're bleeding."
And just like that—half a dozen more constructs blinked into existence around him. Swords, spears, knives orbiting like lazy satellites.
He plucked one, flicked his wrist—
and it folded itself midair, edges curling until it looked like a glowing paper airplane.
Kuro blew on it. The little construct drifted across the hall and bounced harmlessly off the wall.
"See?" he said, grin wider. "Doesn't all have to be doom and gloom."
Another knife folded. Then another. Soon he had three glowing airplanes circling his head like some idiot showing off a party trick.
The knives vanished. The last paper airplane dissolved into nothing with a spark.
I realized I was staring.
Not wide-eyed. Not jaw open like Kaito would've been.
But—
yeah. Amused.
It was cool. Too clean, too easy, like he was drawing shapes out of the air just to kill time.
Kuro caught it. Of course he did.
A curl formed at his lip.
"Good. You're not drooling. That's progress."
He stepped closer, boots barely tapping the boards.
"Spectra Forge is show-and-tell. Pretty, sure. But pretty won't keep you alive."
His hand slid back into his pocket. He tilted his head at me.
"Now. Hit me."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Punch. Kick. Whatever you want. No Spectra if you're worried about breaking me."
His smile thinned.
"Trust me. You won't."
The static in my skull hissed, uneasy.
But his stance never shifted.
Loose. Hands tucked away. Like none of this mattered.
"Go on," he said, almost bored.
"Make it interesting."
I drew a breath.
Stepped in.
No Violet. Just weight, shoulder, and fist.
The hit should've landed.
Then nothing.
Boards rattled left, then right.
By the time I turned, he was behind me, a step back, hands still in his pockets.
"Flashstep Reflex," he said, voice casual, like he was reading from a card.
"The second danger touches me, time slows down—for me. Your swing feels fast to you. To me?"
He flicked forward—closer than my next breath—then gone again.
Only the wind he left behind brushed my cheek.
"Feels like you're moving underwater. I see it before you finish it."
He appeared in front of me again.
Smirk never left.
Didn't even look winded.
"You don't dodge something you never saw coming. I do."
The boards creaked under his weight. He tilted his head, like daring me to try again.
"Wanna swing twice?"
I didn't move.
His grin widened anyway.
"Doesn't matter if you come from the front, the side, even the back. The moment intent locks on me—" he tapped his temple with one finger, "—I feel it. Doesn't need eyes. Doesn't need warning. The Reflex fires on its own."
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"Only catch? It drinks Spectra. If I'm not lit up, I'm just another body waiting to get hit. But when it's flowing…"
He blurred again—behind me, then to my left, then perched casual on a support beam before I could blink.
"…I'm already gone before your brain decides to swing."
He hopped down, boots kissing the floor soft.
Hands in his pockets like none of it had happened.
The second swing itched at my knuckles. I held it back—for now.
My fist clenched, then eased.
Not yet. Better to see more first.
Kuro caught the thought without me saying a word. His grin sharpened.
"Smart. Most people just keep flailing."
He rocked back on his heels, hands loose in his pockets.
"You're probably wondering—are these my two abilities?"
The corner of my mouth twitched.
He wasn't wrong.
Kuro's laugh cracked sharp, bouncing off the rafters.
"Two? Kid, people with two pray they never meet me. Three's rare. Dangerous. But me?"
He tapped his chest once, grin cut wide.
"I'm The Limit. If you think I stopped counting at two, you haven't been paying attention."
The way he said it—half mocking, half deadly serious—I couldn't tell if it was a joke or a warning.
Then he pulled a knife from the air. Violet, clean, sharp.
"Last one for today."
Without pause, he dragged the edge down his palm. Blood welled. He held it up like he was showing off a trick.
Violet filaments crawled across his skin, bright veins threading light through his hand. His breathing slowed— unnaturally calm. By the time he flexed his fingers, the wound was gone.
"Spectra Sync. Not healing. Don't get it twisted. I'm not fixing what's broken—I'm syncing. Body, breath, Spectra—aligned until it runs clean. That's why I last longer than anyone else. Why I don't stay down when I should."
The glow faded. His hand looked untouched. He wiggled his fingers like nothing had happened.
I caught myself staring again. Not like before. Not just impressed.
Fascinated.
I hated how impressed I was.
This was Violet at its peak.
Power that bent rules like they weren't even rules.
And if he could do this so casually… where did that leave me?
The thought scraped sharp in my chest.
Before I could second-guess it, my fist was already moving.
Hard, straight, faster than before.
The air popped where I swung—
but he wasn't there.
One blink, and he was at my side, grinning like I'd done exactly what he wanted.
"Twice," he said, amused. "Knew you'd crack eventually."
My breath hitched, teeth tight.
He leaned in, voice low, smooth.
"Remember this, kid—Flashstep reflex doesn't care if you see me. Doesn't care if I'm in your blind spot. The second you decide to hit me, I'm already moving. That's the difference between instinct and mastery."
He tapped my shoulder once, light as a joke, before drifting back with that lazy grin.
"Damn," I muttered, hating how honest it sounded.
Kuro's smirk sharpened like I'd just handed him a gift.
"Knew I'd get you eventually."
I looked away, jaw tight. No point feeding him more.
He clapped once, sharp enough to snap the air.
"Alright, enough of me showing off. Let's talk about you two."
His eyes cut to Yui first.
"Arakawa. I read your file. Neat little pair you've got. Aether Step—ten, fifteen seconds of flight if you don't overcook it. Dangerous tool if you've got altitude, deadweight if you panic. Lose focus, and you're not flying. You're just falling with style."
Yui's arms folded tighter across her chest, but she didn't look away.
Kuro smirked.
"And Fault Veins. That one's rarer. Seeing weakness where nobody else can. Beautiful when you trust it, useless when you doubt. Your problem isn't speed or stamina—it's discipline. Lose focus, and the lines vanish. You've seen it happen."
She didn't answer, but her silence was answer enough.
Kuro let it hang a beat before shifting to me.
"And you…"
His stare wasn't heavy—it was worse. Light. Casual. Like he'd already decided the outcome before we started.
"I read the mission report from Vance. Messy, but useful. Shock Pulse—you've already felt it. Channel Spectra through your frame, detonate it in a stomp, a strike, even a shove. Think of it as violence turned outward. Simple. Brutal. Effective. You cracked a floor with it once. Learn to aim it, and you'll crack skulls."
I swallowed, feeling the echo in my legs, the memory of concrete fracturing beneath me.
"And then there's the other one." His grin tilted, sharp as glass.
"Spectral Guard. Violet shield, born when you were cornered. Reflexive, instinctive. You didn't summon it—you survived through it. A good trick. But a trick without control is just luck, and luck won't save you twice."
He started pacing slow, hands still buried in his coat pockets.
"Now here's what you need to understand: the Academy's got logs. Every Violet ability ever documented gets stored. Shock Pulse isn't new. Spectral Guard isn't new. Others have had them before. Some only one. Some both. But the mix? That's yours. Nobody else carries it like you. That's why they keep studying us."
His grin widened.
"They can't predict us. They can't chart us. All they can do is wait and watch until we break their rules again."
He stopped, turning his gaze between the two of us.
"Arakawa sharpens what she already has. Ramou—" his chin dipped at me, grin cutting wider—"you're going to stop waiting for near-death to pull your Violet out. You're going to learn how to call it."
Kuro's grin lingered, but his tone shifted.
Less mocker. More teacher.
"Spectra isn't a trick, Ramou. It isn't luck. It isn't anger. It's a current. You don't wait for it—you call it."
He tapped two fingers against his temple.
"First, you feel it. That hum in your chest, your veins, your bones. Don't chase it. Don't strangle it. Just feel it."
His hand pressed flat against his ribs.
"Then flow it. Let it run through you—not just your legs. Any limb. Any strike. Your body's the conduit, Spectra's the charge. Build it, hold it, then decide where it breaks."
He paced once in front of me, slow, measured.
"Picture it. The ground splitting beneath your heel. A fist that shakes bone when it lands. A pulse tearing through the air itself. Picture it so clear you can taste it."
His eyes cut into mine, sharp, unblinking.
"Set yourself to it. Every breath, every thought, every nerve. If your will wavers, it dies. If you decide—if you mean it—the Spectra obeys."
Silence. Thick.
Then he leaned back, grin sliding back into place.
"Spectra's picky. Don't give it half an answer. It wants confidence, not stuttering. Think it, mean it, and it listens."
He flicked his fingers, a ripple of Violet sparking under his boots before it winked out.
"…and you just might learn how to stand on your own two feet."
A sharp clap. The sound cracked against the rafters.
"Alright, Ramou. Call it. Not because you're dying. Not because Vance is looming over you. Call it because you choose to."
I shut my eyes. Tried to breathe.
Static gnawed at the edges of my ribs, my arms, my legs. It felt too big and too small all at once, like trying to grip smoke.
"Focus," Kuro's voice cut in, sharp but steady.
"Don't beg for it. Don't chase it. Decide."
I exhaled slow. Pictured the ground cracking. The air snapping. My fist driving something back.
Violet flickered across my knuckles, jittery and thin.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
The current snapped loose. Not clean, not sharp. Just a ripple, jagged and uneven.
It spat out from my fist, smacking into the wooden dummy Kuro had dragged from the wall. The shock cracked against its chest, enough to splinter the frame and rock it half a step back.
The glow died as quick as it came. My arm ached like I'd slammed it against stone.
Kuro's grin cut wide, sharp as a blade.
"Ha! Hideous. Absolutely hideous. But hideous is progress. That spark wasn't fear—it was you. Next time we'll polish it into ugly-but-lethal."
He clapped once, the sound snapping against the rafters.
"And that, Ramou, is where it starts."