The morning sun bled weakly through the classroom windows, painting thin lines of light across the rows of desks. Students filled the room with laughter and chatter, the sound overlapping into a messy chorus that Kaito had grown used to drowning out.
He sat at the far corner of the room, his desk pressed against the wall as though even the furniture knew he didn't belong among the others. His school uniform was neat, almost too neat, but his posture gave him away—quiet, withdrawn, watching but not part of anything.
The only Catherine boy in the entire class.
A constant reminder.
(It doesn't matter. Their stares, their whispers, their childish cruelty… none of it matters. I've survived worse. Let them laugh. Let them hate. All they're doing is proving me right—proving that I'll always be alone.)
A giggle broke out near the window, followed by a low murmur. Two girls pointed in his direction before turning back to their small circle, whispering behind cupped hands.
(See? As predictable as breathing. They don't even try to hide it anymore. Hating me is the glue that holds them together.)
Kaito opened his notebook and began scribbling absentminded shapes. Not words, not formulas—just movements of his hand to silence the rest of him.
The chair in front of him scraped loudly. A boy with blond hair, just tall enough to look slightly smug about it, slid into the seat. He turned with a grin so sharp it seemed permanently etched onto his face.
"Yo, gloomy Kaito!"
Kaito's pen paused.
Arthur.
The only one who had ever dared to sit near him without spitting venom or hurling insults. The only one who looked at him and didn't see a target, but a person.
Kaito's eyes narrowed slightly. "I told you not to call me that."
Arthur smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head. "What? Gloomy Kaito? It suits you, don't you think? Always brooding, always scribbling. You're like a tragic hero from one of those bad dramas."
(Hero? Me? Don't make me laugh. I'm no hero. Heroes are loved, admired. They shine. I'm nothing more than a shadow everyone wants erased.)
"Besides," Arthur added, tapping his temple, "if I don't keep your mood light, you'll end up turning into some old philosopher who writes depressing books nobody reads."
Kaito sighed. "Why do you even bother with me? You know what the others think."
Arthur tilted his head, pretending to think hard. "Hmm… maybe because I like underdogs. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing their ugly faces twist whenever I sit here. They can't stand that I'm friends with you."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "That makes it fun."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips, his expression gleaming with mischief.
(Is it really that simple for him? Just… fun? He doesn't understand what it's like to live inside this cage. To be hated not for what you've done, but for what you are. He can walk away whenever he wants. He's free. I'm not.)
Arthur, either blind to the depth of Kaito's silence or deliberately ignoring it, pulled out a small crystal shard from his pocket. It pulsed faintly with a blue glow, almost like a heartbeat.
"Look. Rim particles," Arthur said casually, letting the shard hover between his fingers. "You see this light? It's faint now, but when amplified, it can become explosive energy. The flow is like… a river. Invisible currents everywhere. We're basically swimming in it every second of our lives."
Some students at the back of the class leaned forward, curious. Rim theory always pulled attention, even from those who'd usually avoid Arthur. But he ignored them, speaking directly to Kaito.
"You know the tricky part?" Arthur continued, spinning the shard. "It's not collecting rim particles—it's aligning them. Anyone can grab water from a river, but try shaping it into a perfect sphere… that's where skill comes in."
Kaito's eyes lingered on the shard. The glow reflected faintly in his dark pupils.
(Rim particles… power scattered like dust, waiting to be claimed. Everyone here is obsessed with them, because they think power will give them meaning. They'll never understand. Power doesn't give meaning. It only amplifies the emptiness inside.)
Arthur chuckled. "You always look like you're about to say something profound, then you don't. Do you secretly practice being mysterious?"
Kaito leaned back, his voice flat. "Maybe I just don't like wasting words."
"Ohhh, the silent philosopher strikes again." Arthur placed the shard back in his pocket with a grin. "Fine, keep your secrets. But one day, you'll have to say what you're really thinking. I'm curious."
(Curious? If I opened my mouth, if I spat out every thought that coils inside me, you'd run. Just like the rest. No one wants to hear the bitterness of a caged mind.)
The classroom's noise grew louder as more students noticed the faint shimmer from Arthur's shard. A boy muttered something about "showing off for the Catherine trash". The words weren't loud, but they carried.
Kaito's grip on his pen tightened until his knuckles whitened.
(Trash. Always trash. Every syllable drills into me like it was crafted just for me. I could fight back. I could snap, break them, prove them wrong with blood and fear. But no… not here. Not yet. Calm. Always calm. That's the only weapon they can't strip away from me.)
Arthur caught the whisper too, his grin flickering into something sharper. But instead of snapping, he only turned back to Kaito and shrugged. "Ignore them. They're jealous."
"Of what?" Kaito asked flatly.
Arthur smirked. "Of me sitting here with you. Obviously."
Kaito almost laughed. Almost. But the sound stuck in his throat and turned into silence.
The seconds stretched, tension vibrating in the air like an invisible thread pulled too tight. And then—
The door slid open.
A man stepped inside. His presence was heavy, instantly draining the room of chatter. His black coat trailed behind him, boots striking the floor with steady authority. His hair was dark, streaked faintly with gray, and his eyes were sharp enough to cut through excuses before they were even spoken.
Teacher Dorment.
"Quiet."
Just one word, but the classroom obeyed. Conversations collapsed into silence, movements froze. Even Arthur straightened slightly, though his grin never fully vanished.
Dorment scanned the room slowly, his gaze pausing on each student as if measuring their worth with a scale only he could read. When his eyes passed over Kaito, there was no change in expression—no disgust, no sympathy. Just… nothing.
And somehow, that emptiness was heavier than hatred.
(Even the teachers… they don't need to say it. Their silence tells me enough. To them, I'm not worth acknowledging. Just a shadow in the corner of the room. A Catherine boy fated to be forgotten.)
Dorment placed a thick stack of papers on the desk at the front. The faint rustle was the only sound in the room.
Kaito lowered his gaze back to his notebook. The page was filled with meaningless scribbles, jagged shapes pressed too hard into the paper.
(I'll keep calm. For now. Let them talk, let them hate, let them stare. I'll endure. Because one day… one day, they'll see what their hatred created.)
The faint blue glow from Arthur's pocket pulsed once more before fading, swallowed by the silence Dorment had brought with him.
And with that, the lesson began.
The hum of tension filled the classroom. Pencils lay still. Notebooks were closed. All eyes were fixed on the front where Teacher Dorment stood with a neat stack of marked answer sheets. His expression, as always, was unreadable—a solid mask of professionalism that neither praised nor condemned.
"Unit Test 1 results," he announced, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the murmurs. "Step forward when your name is called."
The air thickened instantly. For most students, the announcement of results was a moment of dread or excitement. For Kaito, it was something else entirely.
(Another test. Another number on a paper. Another way for them to sneer no matter what it says.)
Dorment began calling names, each student stepping forward to collect their mark sheet. Some smiled nervously, some whispered to friends as they returned to their desks.
"Kaito."
His name hung in the air for a second longer than necessary. A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Kaito stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked to the front. His steps were measured, deliberate—he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing haste or nerves.
Dorment handed him the paper without a word. At the top, in neat black ink, was his score.
First.
Top of the class.
A faint tightening in Kaito's chest. Not pride. Not joy. Something colder.
(Of course. If I don't come first, they call me incompetent. If I do come first, they call me a cheat. Either way, I lose.)
He turned back to his desk, paper in hand. The whispers began almost immediately.
"Did he cheat?"
"No way he scored that on his own…"
"Maybe Catherine boys have some trick…"
Not loud enough for Dorment to hear. But loud enough for Kaito. Always loud enough for him.
(Predictable. So predictable. You think your whispers are knives, but they're just dull echoes. Do you even realize how transparent you are?)
When Kaito sat down, Arthur leaned slightly toward him, his jaw tight. The teasing grin from earlier was gone.
"They're unbelievable," Arthur muttered under his breath. "You crush the test and still they can't handle it. But when it's someone else…"
His gaze slid toward a boy standing proudly at the front of the room, collecting his paper. Blue hair, 167 cm, bright-eyed and smiling. Aron.
Second place.
The class erupted in polite applause. Some even clapped loudly, shouting congratulations.
Arthur's teeth clenched. "See? This is what I hate. They cheer for him like he's some prodigy, but for you—nothing but suspicion."
Kaito stared at his paper, the ink blurring slightly in his vision.
(Let them. Applause, suspicion… they're just two sides of the same coin. Both meaningless. Both hollow. You can't fill the emptiness with their noise.)
Arthur's voice lowered, sharp with frustration. "Doesn't it bother you?"
Kaito's eyes flicked toward him. "Would it change anything if it did?"
Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his blond hair. "…You're impossible."
Dorment's voice cut through again. "Silence."
The applause died. Aron returned to his seat, still smiling, while Dorment continued calling names. Papers shuffled, footsteps echoed, but Kaito felt like he was drifting somewhere else entirely, watching it all from a distance.
(I should be used to this by now. Yet every time, it's the same… like a wave crashing against a wall. Over and over. Maybe Arthur's right. Maybe I am impossible. Or maybe I just refuse to play their game.)
When the last paper had been handed out, Dorment placed his hands on the desk at the front and said, "Open your textbooks to page one-hundred. The book titled The Rim."
A few students blinked in surprise. Others scrambled to pull out their copies. The book was thick, bound in dark blue with silver lettering. Kaito already had his on his desk.
Dorment continued, his tone steady but carrying weight. "We will begin the unit on rim particle science. Though you've learned fragments of this in earlier classes, it's time you understand it properly."
He began to write on the board, chalk screeching faintly.
"Rim," he said, "is energy gifted to our planet by the star Orion, which you call the Sun. It sustains life, but it also powers certain abilities in select humans. It can be acquired through three primary methods. Recite them if you know."
No one answered. Dorment's eyes swept the room. "Then listen carefully."
He raised a finger. "First: direct sunlight. Raw rim particles falling from Orion to Earth. Second: reflected sunlight, which travels from Orion to the Moon and then reaches Earth as a diluted form. And third—" he paused, his voice deepening slightly— "the Eclipse."
Several students shifted in their seats. The word carried a weight of mystery.
"Eclipse rim," Dorment said slowly, "is believed to be the most powerful form of all. Yet no confirmed wielder has ever been documented. Not in recorded history."
He let the words hang before continuing.
"Generational differences matter. Generation One rim users can only channel energy during the time of day or night their bodies adapted to—daylight or moonlight. Generation Two, however, can store rim particles for later use. They are rarer. Out of the entire population, only about five percent of humanity can manipulate rim particles to any significant degree."
A faint rustle spread across the class as students whispered to each other. Kaito listened silently, his fingers brushing the edge of his book.
(Five percent. A number small enough to make them feel special. But not small enough to make them understand what it costs. They think of power as a gift. They never think of it as a curse. Not like I do.)
Dorment's chalk moved quickly, diagrams forming on the board—arrows from Orion to Earth, arrows from Moon to Earth, a darker, thicker arrow for Eclipse.
"This," he said, tapping the chalk, "is the foundation. A simplified model. You learned fragments of it in your junior years, but now we go deeper. This year you will study rim flow dynamics, genetic adaptation, and particle retention limits. No shortcuts. No superstition. Only science."
His gaze swept over the class again. It lingered for the briefest moment on Kaito.
Kaito stared back.
(Only science, huh? You say that like it's a shield. Like facts will protect you from what's coming. But science won't save you from the truth hidden inside the Eclipse.)
Dorment turned back to the board. "Now. Open to chapter one. The origin of rim particles."
Pages rustled as the students obeyed. Arthur leaned over to whisper, his voice low enough to avoid Dorment's sharp ears. "You already know all this, don't you?"
Kaito's eyes stayed on the text. "More than they do."
Arthur smirked faintly. "Of course you do."
But there was no teasing in his tone this time—only quiet respect.
Dorment began explaining the diagrams in more detail, his voice steady, methodical. As he spoke, Kaito felt the classroom blur again. Not because he was bored, but because his mind was moving ahead of the lesson, tracing patterns no one else saw.
(Direct sunlight. Reflected moonlight. Eclipse. Three paths of power. But the Eclipse… the one path they can't explain. They think it's empty myth. They're wrong. I've felt it. I've seen it. And one day, when they realize, it will be too late.)
His grip on the pen tightened just slightly, the page under his hand trembling.
Arthur glanced at him. "You okay?"
Kaito blinked, the tremor stopping. "Fine."
Arthur's expression softened. "…I believe you, you know. Whatever it is you're holding in."
Kaito didn't answer.
Dorment's voice rose slightly to reclaim the room. "Pay attention. What I am teaching you now is the key to everything that follows. Most of you will fail to reach even the minimum threshold. Those who succeed… may yet learn what rim truly is."
The faint blue diagrams on the board seemed to glow under the sunlight streaming through the window, like a premonition.
And with that, the lesson carried on, deeper into the science of rim.
The night in the mountains near Viace was unnaturally still. The air carried a faint metallic tang, as though the very rim particles drifting between the pine trees had bled into the wind. The clouds shifted sluggishly, veiling the crescent moon. Down below, buried within jagged rock, a temporary research station flickered with dim orange lamps, fragile islands of light in an ocean of darkness.
Inside, the scientists were trembling, yet their eyes burned with feverish excitement. For months they had clawed at scraps of data, obsessed with deciphering the mysteries left behind by the broken soul laboratory. Tonight, after countless failures, their instruments whispered a truth they had longed for.
"We… we found it!" one of them cried, his voice cracking against the stone walls. "The formula to manipulate Eclipse directly!"
The room froze, then erupted. Chairs scraped, pens clattered, and shaking hands scribbled notes. Someone slammed their fist on the desk, unable to contain the euphoria. The glow of the monitors painted their pale faces with sickly green light. For the first time, they had unlocked the forbidden path—Eclipse energy no longer as wild radiation, but something they could use.
Yet amidst the chorus of celebration, a low sound rolled across the room. Slow, deliberate footsteps.
They turned.
At the far end of the tunnel, a silhouette emerged. Tall. Rigid. Black hair that swallowed the light. His presence was heavier than the mountain itself. Every pair of lungs in the chamber seemed to seize up, forgetting how to breathe.
"Kureto… Hiragi…" someone whispered, as though speaking the name might summon death.
The man stopped at the edge of the lamp's glow. His sharp eyes swept across the room, dissecting every trembling body. He said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a voice cold enough to burn, he spoke:
"Good work."
No one dared respond. The words were praise, yet they felt like a verdict.
Among them, one scientist—young, eager, and too foolish—felt the silence pressing against his ears. His nerves twisted, and he laughed, trying to shake the suffocating weight.
"Well, looks like we'll be gods soon, huh?" he said lightly, lips curled into a grin. "Maybe even eclipse you, sir."
The others stiffened in horror. Their eyes widened, hands frozen mid-note. The air seemed to stop moving.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Kureto Hiragi's lips curved.
He smiled.
It was not warmth. It was a fracture, like glass cracking under pressure. That smile stretched across his face without reaching his eyes, a grotesque mimicry of joy.
The young scientist let out a shaky chuckle of relief, as though the danger had passed. He turned to sit back down—
A hand gripped his shoulder.
"Idiot," hissed the man beside him, pale with terror. His whole body shook as he whispered, "You don't joke. Not in front of him. Don't you know? He—he doesn't like jokes."
The words burrowed into the young man's skull, but before he could even process them, something warm trickled down his chest.
He looked down.
A red line ran across his torso. Thin. Elegant. Like the brushstroke of a master calligrapher.
His smile collapsed. His lips parted, but no sound came.
Then the line opened.
Skin, flesh, bone—parted effortlessly. His body split from shoulder to hip as though reality itself had been unzipped.
The others screamed.
Chairs toppled. Papers scattered like feathers in a storm. The stench of iron filled the chamber as the corpse collapsed, two halves sliding wetly onto the stone floor.
One scientist dropped to his knees, vomiting. Another pressed himself against the wall, clawing at the rock as though he could dig his way out.
And Kureto Hiragi?
He stood in the center, calm. His black hair swayed slightly with the draft, his eyes reflecting the twitching lamps. That smile still lingered, faint, deliberate.
The scientists saw him not as a man, but a chasm. A void wearing human skin.
One of them, unable to bear the silence, muttered through broken sobs:
"W-what are you…?"
Kureto's eyes turned to him. In them was no hatred, no anger. Only indifference. As though the question itself was beneath answer.
Slowly, he stepped toward the exit, boots echoing against stone. Each sound was a hammer blow in the suffocating silence. None dared move. None dared breathe.
When he reached the tunnel mouth, he paused. Without turning, he spoke:
"You've taken the first step. Do not stumble."
Then he vanished into the night.
The lamps flickered. The mountain air pressed in. The corpse, still steaming, painted the floor red.
The remaining scientists stood frozen, trapped between triumph and terror, between discovery and death. They had found a way to use Eclipse—but in doing so, they had invited a shadow darker than Eclipse itself.
Kureto Hiragi had smiled.
And none of them would ever forget it.