The training hall smelled faintly of ash and old wood.
Sunlight filtered through high windows, cutting the dust in long pale lines. The floor had been repaired—but not replaced. Cracks still ran beneath the polished surface like scars someone chose not to hide.
Tobi stood in the centre of the hall, barefoot, sleeves rolled up.
His heart beat too fast.
Across from him, a boy about his age rolled his shoulders once, loosening his arms. His uniform was neat, untouched—new. Dark hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp with something between confidence and curiosity.
"Name's Kaien," the boy said casually. "Transferred yesterday."
Yanshi stood between them, arms crossed. "Controlled spar," he said. "No killing intent. No awakening."
His gaze flicked to Tobi—heavy.
"No sword."
Tobi nodded. "…Understood."
Kaien smiled faintly. "Guess that evens it out."
Something about the way he said it made Tobi's stomach tighten.
Miss Shiratori raised her hand. "Begin."
The moment her hand dropped—
Kaien moved.
Not fast.
Precise.
Tobi barely had time to raise his guard before Kaien's fist brushed past his cheek, wind snapping against his skin. He stumbled back, surprised—not by the speed, but by the timing. Kaien didn't press. He waited.
Watching.
Tobi inhaled and stepped forward, grounding himself the way Yanshi had taught him. He threw a clean strike—
Kaien pivoted.
Pain flared along Tobi's ribs as a heel caught him mid-turn. He hit the floor hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
The hall went silent.
"Point," Yanshi said flatly.
Tobi pushed himself up, teeth clenched.
Again.
This time he was ready—anticipating the rhythm, reading the shoulders. He blocked, countered—
Kaien's elbow slipped through his guard.
Too close.
Too calm.
Tobi felt it then.
Pressure.
Not power—control.
Kaien wasn't stronger.
He was certain.
The third exchange ended worse than the first two.
Tobi lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive—not from exhaustion, but hesitation.
"Enough," Yanshi said.
Kaien stepped back, not even breathing hard. "You hesitate," he said, not unkindly. "Like you're afraid of crossing a line."
Tobi didn't answer.
Because it was true.
Because every time he pushed, something inside him stirred—and he pulled back before it could answer.
Yanshi dismissed them shortly after.
As the hall emptied, whispers followed Tobi like shadows.
That's him?
Didn't he destroy half the school?
He lost?
Kaien passed him on the way out and paused.
"You're holding something down," he said quietly. "Just don't let it rot."
Then he left.
---
The council chamber was cold.
Not in temperature—but intent.
Tall windows overlooked the city, sunlight muted by layered seals etched into the glass. Figures sat in a half-circle, faces obscured by shadow or ceremonial veils.
"He failed," one voice said.
"He hesitated," another corrected. "That is worse."
Hideo stood near the edge of the chamber, hands in his coat pockets.
"A failure in control is still a failure," a woman said. "The boy is unstable."
"He's human," Hideo replied calmly.
Silence followed.
Finally, an older voice spoke. "And the girl?"
A pause.
"…Sumi Arai remains within acceptable parameters."
Hideo's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're certain?" he asked.
The voice answered, slower now. "Her restriction remains intact."
---
Evening fell quietly.
Tobi walked along the path behind the dorms, hands shoved into his pockets. Gravel crunched underfoot. He didn't look up until he realised he wasn't alone.
Sumi walked beside him, steps light, expression unreadable.
They walked in silence for a while.
"I lost," Tobi said finally.
"Yes," Sumi replied.
Not cruel. Not comforting.
Just true.
"…I didn't even feel like I was fighting," he continued. "It's like every time I get close, something pulls me back."
Sumi stopped.
He stopped too.
She looked ahead, not at him. "Because you're afraid of what happens after."
Tobi swallowed. "…What do you mean?"
Sumi hesitated. The lantern light flickered across her face.
"There are limits placed on power," she said softly. "Some chosen. Some forced."
She lifted her sleeve slightly.
Just enough.
Thin, glowing script ran along her wrist—sealed symbols etched into skin, faint but unmistakable.
Tobi's breath caught. "That's—"
"A restriction," Sumi said. "Placed long ago."
"…By the council?"
She didn't answer.
"If I remove it," she continued, "I lose something. Not control. Not strength."
Her hand clenched.
"Time."
Tobi stared at the markings, heart pounding. "Why would they—"
"Because some power is only acceptable if it ends quickly," she said.
Silence settled between them.
"I think," Sumi added quietly, "your fear is different."
He looked at her.
"You're afraid that if you let go… You won't be able to stop."
The words hit harder than Kaien's strikes.
"…What do I do?" Tobi asked.
Sumi lowered her sleeve.
"You listen," she said. "Not to the power."
She tapped his chest lightly, once.
"To the space where you decide."
They resumed walking.
Above them, the sky darkened—clouds rolling slowly, heavy with something unspoken.
Somewhere nearby, Kaien stood on a rooftop, watching the lights below.
"Interesting," he murmured.
And deep within Tobi, the sword stirred again—not impatient.
Waiting.
The night stretched on.
And consequences had only just begun.