The corridors of the Academy were silent, save for the soft hum of floating Essence conduits that lined the walls. Shinjiru's steps were unsteady, a subtle tremor running through his limbs from the field mission earlier that day. He had barely survived a skirmish with a minor Krawler incursion in the outskirts of Serium City, and though victory had been his, the cost was written in bruised muscles, strained essence, and the uneasy hum of his violet aura.
Aoi Hasegawa awaited him in the Healing Chambers, her lavender aura glowing softly like a gentle dusk. She did not speak immediately, merely motioning him to a raised platform cushioned with soft, essence-infused mats.
"Sit," she commanded quietly, her tone calm yet firm. Her hands glided over the first Aid Instruments, which shimmered faintly with captured essence. "You pushed too hard. Again."
Shinjiru lowered himself carefully, feeling the fatigue in ways that words could not capture. "I… I didn't have a choice. That Krawler—if I hadn't—"
"Stopped," she finished for him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Yes. You stopped it. But at what cost? Every time you push beyond your limits, the aura strain compounds. And your hybrid nature… amplifies the consequences."
Shinjiru looked down, catching a glimpse of the faint, silver-streaked glow in his veins. The pulse of power, normally steady and rhythmic, was jagged now, flickering in sharp beats. "I feel it," he admitted. "My aura—it's… unstable."
Aoi nodded, her expression a mixture of concern and sadness. "The infusion I will give you will stabilize it temporarily. But do not mistake this for a cure. Every intervention exacts a price. Your body will remember, even if your mind does not."
She produced a small vial, liquid inside swirling with soft lavender luminescence. Shinjiru took it without hesitation, trusting her implicitly. As the liquid entered his veins, warmth radiated outward, coiling through every sinew, every nerve, and every pulse of his essence. It was intoxicating and frightening all at once, the kind of power a human was never meant to contain fully.
Pain lanced through him, sudden and sharp, his vision fracturing into bursts of light and shadow. He gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of will to endure. Memories flashed—snippets of the field mission, of Kaito calling out his name, of Haruto's notes in the Archive—all intermingled in a chaotic blur.
When the surge finally subsided, Shinjiru collapsed onto the mat, chest heaving, aura flickering weakly. Aoi knelt beside him, placing her hands lightly on his shoulders, reinforcing the stabilization with her own essence.
"You are resilient," she said softly, almost a whisper. "But resilience alone does not forge mastery. You must understand your limits, your weaknesses… and respect them. Otherwise, the next time—" She hesitated, her gaze sharp. "The next time may not allow recovery."
Shinjiru struggled to speak, voice hoarse. "I understand… but I can't… I can't just hold back. Not when people—humans or Himen—are at risk."
Aoi's gaze softened, but her warning remained firm. "Then you must learn control. Precision over power, strategy over instinct. If you cannot, your hybrid nature—while extraordinary—will become your undoing."
For the first time, Shinjiru allowed himself to feel the weight of his lineage. Being the only hybrid in history was not merely a distinction—it was a burden, a target, and a responsibility. He looked down at his hands, the faint silver streaks glowing within his violet aura. "I'll learn control," he said quietly, determination threading through the exhaustion. "I'll master this… for my father, for those I can't protect otherwise."
Aoi stood and gently guided him off the mat, her movements careful yet assured. "Good. Rest now. Tomorrow, the Succession Trials begin, and you will need every ounce of clarity and strength."
Shinjiru nodded, though the thought of the upcoming trials sent a chill through him. The whispers of the Academy corridors seemed louder now, voices of past Himen echoing through time, urging caution and respect. Yet amidst the fear, a spark of resolve blazed brighter.
He knew the path ahead was unforgiving—filled with secrets, challenges, and sacrifices. But for the first time, he felt the weight of his hybrid power not as a curse, but as a tool. One that could shape destiny itself.
As the lavender glow faded from his body, leaving him fatigued but stabilized, Shinjiru rose, gazing at the distant towers of the Academy. Somewhere in those corridors, the Elite 8 watched, observing every movement, every decision. And somewhere deeper, his father's legacy whispered—a challenge, a guide, a warning: You are alone in this path, yet it is yours to walk.
And Shinjiru Arakami would not falter.