The festival ended quietly.
Lanterns were taken down one by one, their warm glow replaced by streetlights and distant neon. Vendors packed away their stalls. Laughter thinned into tired goodbyes. Petals still fell, but now they landed on empty paths.
Tobi walked behind the teachers as they left the park.
No one spoke.
Not because there was nothing to say—but because too much had been confirmed.
When they reached the edge of the river, Yanshi finally stopped.
"This is where we split," he said.
Mizumi blinked. "Huh? Already?"
Miss Shiratori turned slightly, her expression serious. "You three will return home together. We'll handle the aftermath."
Iruka frowned. "Those people—"
"Are not your concern yet," Yanshi interrupted, firmly.
Tobi felt the word yet settle heavily in his chest.
Sumi adjusted the strap of her bag. "They weren't scouts."
Miss Shiratori looked at her. "No."
"They were observers," Sumi continued. "Which means something larger is deciding."
Yanshi nodded once. "And when larger things decide… smaller ones get crushed."
Tobi's hands tightened at his sides.
"I don't want anyone protecting me like I'm fragile," he said quietly.
Yanshi looked down at him.
"You're not fragile," he replied. "You're unfinished."
That night, Tobi couldn't sleep.
The room was dark, quiet—too quiet.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again:
that pressure.
That presence.
Not the sword itself—but the space it occupied inside him.
Like a door that refused to close.
He sat up, breathing slowly.
"…I'm awake," he said.
The air shifted.
Light rippled faintly near the window, then dimmed.
Miss Shiratori stood there, leaning against the frame, arms folded.
"You sensed me," she said calmly.
Tobi nodded. "I didn't before."
"No," she agreed. "You wouldn't have."
She stepped inside and sat on the edge of his desk.
"The people you saw tonight," she continued, "belong to factions that don't believe in balance."
Tobi looked down. "They said I'd have to choose."
Miss Shiratori's eyes sharpened. "That's a lie."
He looked up.
"They want you to believe choice is limited," she said. "Light or dark. Order or chaos. Obedience or destruction."
She leaned forward slightly.
"But balance terrifies people who survive on extremes."
Tobi swallowed. "Then what happens now?"
Miss Shiratori stood.
"Now," she said, "you train."
The next morning, the ruins of the school were gone.
Not repaired.
Removed.
A wide empty lot stood where the academy once had—clean, silent, sealed by layers of spellwork so dense it made the air feel thick.
At the centre of it all stood Yanshi.
"Welcome," he said, "to your first lesson."
Mizumi groaned. "Too early."
Iruka cracked his neck. "I knew peace wouldn't last."
Sumi was already focused, eyes scanning the seals beneath her feet.
Yanshi's gaze settled on Tobi.
"You don't train to get stronger," he said.
"You train so you don't lose control when it matters."
He raised his hand.
The ground responded.
Stone rose in slow, deliberate motion—forming a wide circular arena.
"Today," Yanshi continued, "you will not use the sword."
Tobi stiffened. "What?"
"You rely on it too much," Yanshi said bluntly. "And worse—it listens too well."
A ripple passed through the air.
Far away—beyond cities, beyond borders—something shifted.
Three figures stood before a council of shadows.
"The sword breathes," the silver-haired woman said softly.
The fox-masked man chuckled. "Good. That means pressure will work."
A voice from the darkness spoke at last.
"Do not break him."
A pause.
"…Yet."
Back in the arena, Yanshi took a single step forward.
"Tobi," he said, fire whispering around his heel,
"show me what you can do—without borrowing power."
Tobi inhaled.
Deep.
Steady.
And for the first time since his awakening—
He stepped forward on his own.
The air inside the stone arena felt heavier than the night before, as if the ground itself was pressing against his lungs. He could feel the seals beneath his feet—old, layered, powerful. This place wasn't meant for beginners.
Yanshi stood at the centre, arms relaxed at his sides, fire barely visible at his heels.
"Come at me," he said calmly.
Tobi hesitated.
Mizumi leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. "He's serious."
Iruka muttered, "Sensei always looks like that right before something painful happens."
Sumi said nothing. Her focus was entirely on Tobi.
Tobi took a step forward.
Nothing happened.
No surge.
No glow.
No answering pulse from the sword within him.
His heart began to race.
"…I can't feel it," he said quietly.
Yanshi nodded. "Good."
Tobi blinked. "Good?"
"You're finally noticing the difference," Yanshi replied. "Power that answers you is easy. Power that comes from you is not."
Yanshi raised a hand.
The ground beneath Tobi's feet cracked slightly.
Not violently—just enough to throw him off balance.
Tobi stumbled back, barely catching himself before falling.
"Again," Yanshi said.
This time, the stone rose in sharp pillars around Tobi, forcing him to move. He jumped aside, scraped his arm against the rough edge, and landed hard on one knee.
Pain shot up his leg.
"Too slow," Yanshi said.
Tobi clenched his teeth and pushed himself up.
Inside his chest, something stirred.
Not the sword.
Him.
He moved again—faster this time—rolling beneath another rising slab of stone. His breathing grew uneven, sweat forming at his temples.
"Don't think about the blade," Miss Shiratori called from the edge of the arena. "Think about your footing."
A pillar lunged toward him.
Instinct took over.
Tobi twisted his body, slammed his palm against the ground, and used the momentum to flip sideways. He landed awkwardly but upright.
For a moment, the arena was silent.
Iruka's eyes widened. "Did you see that?"
Mizumi grinned. "He didn't even glow."
Yanshi's lips curved slightly. "Better."
Tobi stood there, chest heaving, surprised.
"I didn't—" He paused. "I didn't use it."
"And you didn't die," Yanshi replied. "That's progress."
The stone pillars slowly sank back into the ground.
Yanshi walked closer now, his presence heavy but controlled.
"Listen carefully," he said. "Your power is dangerous not because it's strong—but because it responds to emotion."
Tobi swallowed.
"When you're afraid," Yanshi continued, "it protects you. When you're angry, it destroys. But what happens when you hesitate?"
Tobi didn't answer.
Yanshi stopped directly in front of him.
"You freeze," he said quietly. "And freezing gets people killed."
The words hit harder than the stone.
Tobi lowered his gaze. Images flashed through his mind—glass cutting into his skin, the blast, the hole in his chest, everyone shouting his name.
"…I don't want that to happen again," he said.
Yanshi studied him for a long moment.
"Then learn to move before power moves for you."
A faint ripple passed through the air.
Sumi stiffened.
"Something's wrong," she said.
Miss Shiratori's eyes sharpened. "The seals are reacting."
From far beyond the empty lot, a low vibration echoed—subtle, distant, but unmistakable.
Iruka felt it then. "That feeling again…"
Mizumi clenched her fists. "They're testing him, aren't they?"
Yanshi straightened. "Class dismissed."
"What?" Tobi asked.
"Today's lesson is over," Yanshi said firmly. "Because someone else just decided to observe."
The pressure faded—but not completely.
As they walked away, Tobi glanced back once at the empty arena.
For a brief second, he thought he saw a shadow stretch unnaturally across the stone.
Watching.
That night, alone in his room again, Tobi sat on the floor, back against his bed.
He placed a hand over his chest.
The sword did not appear.
But the presence remained.
"…I'm not ready," he whispered.
Inside him, light stirred.
Darkness answered.
Not in defiance.
In agreement.
Far away, beneath a sky untouched by lanterns or fireworks, Hideo stood at the edge of a cliff.
"The boy survived," a voice said behind him.
Hideo didn't turn. "Survival isn't the problem."
"What is?"
Hideo smiled faintly.
"Choice."
The wind howled softly.
And the world, now fully aware, began to shift its pieces.