Gripping the hilt, Yuma held it out for Hiroshi to examine.
Hiroshi leaned in with meticulous focus, his gaze immediately locking onto the crimson inner circle embedded within the pommel. His eyes traced every detail with almost reverent care, sliding along the straight, light-blue grip where intricate patterns flowed naturally along its length. When he reached the other end, he paused.
The beginnings of a cross guard were forming.
It wasn't fully there, just a hint of shape, faint but undeniable.
"Did it always have a cross guard?" Hiroshi asked quietly.
"Not that I remember…" Yuma shook his head.
Hiroshi nodded slowly, as if confirming a theory.
"Then it's probably a sign you're growing," he said. "But don't neglect your abilities. Communicate with your Ikon. Use your powers. That's how you complete your sword."
Yuma nodded and pulled his hand back.
The hilt dissolved instantly, blue flames consuming it in a smokeless burn. He hadn't consciously dismissed it, but it made sense. The weapon responded to his will just like everything else now did.
Hiroshi stood up, his towering height forcing Yuma to tilt his head. Feeling mildly uncomfortable with the sudden difference in stature, Yuma stood as well.
Hiroshi gave a polite nod and extended his hand.
"I hope we can become better friends," he said with a small, sincere smile.
Yuma hesitated for half a second before returning the smile and shaking his hand.
"Likewise."
It wasn't entirely genuine.
Friendship wasn't what Yuma was thinking about. He saw Hiroshi's value, his knowledge, his experience, his usefulness. If being "friends" made that easier, then so be it.
They parted ways.
Hiroshi disappeared deeper into the library, while Yuma headed for the exit.
***
Later that day, the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon.
Yuma lingered on the rooftop, watching the sky shift into deep navy as the last traces of gold faded away. After a few moments, the rooftop door creaked open behind him.
Keisuke's familiar chatter followed, Akira's quieter presence beside him.
Both of them stopped when they noticed Yuma.
They approached and leaned against the railing beside him, mirroring his posture.
"So," Akira said, cutting straight to it. "What did you find out?"
Yuma remained silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the sunset.
"Nothing we don't already know," he replied lazily.
Akira shot him a glare but didn't press.
"He's been a conduit since he enrolled here," Yuma continued, his tone serious now. "Just under ninety percent resonance."
Akira nodded once.
"Any danger to anyone?"
Yuma paused.
He had no interest in snitching about what Hiroshi had done during his first year.
"No," he said finally. "He's safe. Keeps to himself."
"Good," Akira replied. "Wasn't sure if he was still letting his secret slip."
Yuma turned sharply.
"What do you mean?"
Keisuke blinked, confused.
"What secret?"
Yuma hesitated, then Akira spoke before he could decide.
"He killed the boys who found out he was a conduit."
The air went dead.
Keisuke's smile vanished completely.
Yuma stared at Akira, anger beginning to spark at his secrecy about it.
"How did you know?"
Akira leaned further into the railing, gaze fixed on the horizon.
"One of the boys he killed was my neighbor," he said calmly. "He was a piece of shit, harassed anyone unlucky enough to cross him." His voice remained detached. "I saw it happen through my window. I didn't interfere. I just confronted Hiroshi afterward."
Yuma's eyes widened.
"You were there?"
"I didn't care that he died," Akira continued, shrugging. "That made it easier to accept Hiroshi's explanation."
That was it.
Yuma snapped.
He grabbed the front of Akira's shirt, yanking him forward.
Before he could say a word…
Steel flashed.
The edge of a katana appeared between Yuma's throat and Akira's chest.
"Let go," Akira said coldly.
Yuma didn't.
His eyes dropped just enough to register the weapon as it finished forming, wind spiraling with shaved ice as the blade completed itself. The katana was pale blue and white, its guard shaped like traditional Japanese dragons coiling around the spacers. The blade shimmered translucently, its edge a brilliant white, the spine lined with darkened ice.
It was beautiful.
It was lethal.
The edge brushed Yuma's Adam's apple.
"I thought you said you wouldn't kill," Yuma growled.
"And I never have," Akira replied evenly. "Saving people is something else entirely."
"It's the same!" Yuma shouted. "Watching someone die and accepting it is no different than killing them yourself!"
"Would you say that about a rapist?"
The word hit like a hammer.
Yuma's grip loosened.
"W-what do you mean…?" Keisuke spoke quietly behind him.
"For months," Akira said, eyes still locked on Yuma, "I heard his younger sister cry while he forced himself on her. Every night. No one believed me." His voice hardened. "Why would they? A fourteen-year-old with enhanced hearing claiming things were happening in a basement?"
Yuma swallowed.
"Why not call the cops?"
"I did," Akira said. "Daily. Until I was threatened with imprisonment for false reports." He exhaled slowly. "Every time they checked, someone covered for him. Even forced the girl to say she was fine."
Silence swallowed the rooftop.
"I debated killing him myself," Akira continued. "Chieno told me not to. So I didn't." His gaze softened just slightly. "The night he died… I didn't hear a single scream… no one grieved him."
The sun dipped lower.
Yuma released Akira completely and stepped back.
"If the other boys died with him," Akira added, "I doubt they were innocent either. They all got what they deserved." He turned back toward the horizon. "I won't treat Hiroshi as a villain unless he kills someone innocent."
No one spoke.
Eventually, Akira left.
Keisuke followed shortly after.
Yuma remained alone on the rooftop, staring out at the dying light, wondering whether Akira was wrong…