The Next Evening:
The streets were too quiet.
Not the usual quiet, where everything fades into background hum, but the kind that buzzes under your skin. Every streetlamp flickered like it was unsure of itself. Pavement wet from an earlier drizzle reflected broken pools of light. I walked fast, bag slung over my shoulder, heart thumping a little louder than I wanted to admit.
I wasn't imagining it. I could feel it—someone trailing behind me. No footsteps this time, just the absence of sound where sound should've been.
I stopped under one of the flickering lights and listened. Nothing.
That was worse.
The silence thickened, pressing against my ears. Then, a laugh.
It came soft and low, like silk sliding over glass. "So, you do notice."
I turned and locked eyes with the figure stepping out of the shadows. Tall. Relaxed. Hood drawn low. Their movements were careful, deliberate—someone who knew how to make an entrance without a sound.
"You've stirred up a lot of attention, Hikaru Saito."
Their voice slipped between the flickers of light, half-amused, half-appraising. I didn't answer. I moved.
Fist shot out, fast and clean. But they weren't there. They'd already sidestepped, hands tucked behind their back like this was a lesson, not a fight.
"Predictable," they murmured—and then came the jab. Sharp and fast, a sting to the ribs. I stumbled, bit back a curse, and attacked again. Got a graze on their shoulder.
That smirk broke, just for a second.
"You've got power. Untamed, wild. It glows off you. But strength without control?"
They drew a blade.
No flashy twirl or grand flourish—just that subtle shift in weight and metal glinting in the dim. I could smell it. Cold steel. Sharp edges. Intent.
When it came for me, I didn't think. My hand reached out, caught the blade mid-swing. My skin tore. Warmth blossomed across my palm—but I didn't let go. Something surged through me. Deep. Primal. Not pain. Not fear.
Their eyes widened. "What... are you?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My reflection in the glass nearby told them everything. Eyes glowing crimson, faint and steady.
They took one step back. Then another.
"You're stronger than they said," they muttered. "But strength won't be enough."
And just like that—they vanished.
I stood there, chest rising and falling like drums, hand bleeding, heart rattling inside me.
This wasn't over.
The Next Morning
Morning came with too much light and too little peace.
I hadn't slept—not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of the blade, the shadowed figure, the moment the steel sang in my hand and my eyes bled crimson in the glass. It was still there, humming under my skin. Whatever that power was… it hadn't gone back to sleep.
I sat at the edge of the school courtyard, backpack beside me, fingertips pressed into my knees to keep them from shaking. The early chatter of students filtered around like static—background noise I couldn't tune into.
Then I saw her.
Akane.
Her stride was sharp, focused. But her eyes—that usual calm, almost playful gleam—was gone. Replaced by something colder. Warier. She stopped a few paces away, and for a moment, just looked at me.
Her crimson eyes widened. Slightly. Barely.
But it was enough.
"Akane?" I asked, voice low. "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer immediately. She just stood there, gaze pinned to mine like she needed to read something beneath the surface. I didn't need to explain what happened. I think she already knew.
"They found you," she said finally.
Not a question. A verdict.
My stomach dropped.
"Who?" I pressed. "Who found me?"
She stepped forward and grabbed my arm tight. Her voice trembled with urgency. "Hikaru, listen to me. Whoever attacked you… they don't back off. Ever."
I stared at her. I'd seen Akane smirk in the face of chaos, roll her eyes at teachers, even tear into someone twice her size with one hand tied behind her confidence. But this—this was fear. Raw. Unfiltered.
"You're not safe," she said. "And neither am I."
That silence between us stretched—thick and real. I swallowed, trying to push down the ache in my chest. "What aren't you telling me? What do they want?"
Her eyes dropped to the concrete. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"They want to know what you are. And once they've seen enough... they'll decide if you're a threat."
"And if they decide I am?" I asked.
She looked up—and I saw it. That flicker in her jaw, the tremble in her fingers. "They'll hit harder next time. Much harder."
The way she glanced toward the school windows, toward passing shadows—it was like she expected something to leap out of them any second. Her armour was cracking.
"You're scared," I said softly.
She flinched. Just barely. Then let out a slow, uneven breath. "Of course I'm scared. Do you think I want to see you get hurt? Do you think I want to lose you?"
The words stunned me. I sat up straighter, heart pounding against ribs that still ached from last night.
"I can handle myself," I said, though it sounded thinner than I meant it to.
"No," she snapped. "You don't understand. You can't just fight your way through this. These people… they're trained. They're brutal. You're just learning what you are, and they already know what you could become."
We sat there in silence, both of us braced for something we couldn't name.
Then she exhaled and straightened. "I'm taking you to school. Every day. From now on."
"What? Akane, you don't—"
"It's not a debate." Her voice was ice. "If they come back, I need to be there."
Guilt twisted in my chest, but I couldn't push her away. Not when she looked like she might break apart if I did. "You've already done so much."
"I'm not doing this out of duty." She stepped closer, voice softer but more resolute. "I care about you, Hikaru. That's why."
Her eyes held me there. And for once, I didn't argue.
"Okay," I said quietly. "If it'll help... okay."
She smiled. Small. Sad. But it warmed something in me.
After she walked off, I stayed sitting in the shadow of the courtyard tree. Her words echoed louder than the morning bell.
They'd found me. But they hadn't seen everything yet.
And neither had I.
The courtyard buzzed with anticipation after the morning assembly. The principal's voice still echoed in the halls, announcing the annual Sports Festival and club try-outs. For most students, it was a thrilling chance to compete and show off. For me? It felt like walking into an arena with every eye trained on the mystery I'd become.
"Soccer or basketball?" Taro asked as he jogged up to me, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His glasses slid slightly down his nose, already fogged from excitement. "Coach's recruiting hard this year. Akira's dead set on basketball. I'm leaning soccer. What about you?"
Akira stood a few steps behind, arms crossed and watching quietly. "Try-outs are this afternoon. It'd be good to know where your strengths are," he said. "Especially now."
I didn't answer. A weight pressed against my chest—attention, expectations, Akane's lingering warnings. I glanced toward the courtyard entrance where she stood watching me, her crimson eyes sharper than ever. The kind of sharp that saw through people.
"You know you don't have to prove anything," she said softly, approaching. "But you do need to understand what you're capable of… before someone else does."
That was the real reason I couldn't walk away.
The field stretched wide under a sun that felt almost theatrical, lighting every blade of grass like a stage. I joined the last group to rotate in, flanked by Taro and Akira. Akane had drifted to the bleachers, her gaze never leaving me.
Coach blew his whistle. "Drill starts now! Keep it clean, keep it quick!"
The ball was passed my way.
I didn't think—I reacted.
The moment my foot touched the ball; it was like something inside unlocked. I weaved through two defenders with unintentional precision, the ball glued to me like an extension of thought. Taro barked a laugh as I feinted left, passed him with a flick, and launched the ball toward Akira, who blinked at the sheer speed before redirecting it into the net.
Coach gaped. "Who taught you footwork like that?"
"I... didn't know I could do that," I muttered.
Akira jogged beside me, voice low. "You weren't trying. You were... adapting. That's different."
I glanced toward Akane.
She wasn't smiling. She was calculating.
The gym echoed with the bounce of rubber and squeak of sneakers. I was late joining the drill rotation. Students whispered, already buzzing from the soccer performance. The basketball coach called my name.
"Let's see your handling. Hikaru, take position."
A defender—a third-year team captain—stepped in to guard me, eyebrows raised. "You're the one everyone's whispering about."
I nodded once. "I didn't ask for it."
He smirked. "Good. Because I'm here to test the hype."
The ball hit my hands.
Everything slowed.
I stepped left; he followed. I spun right—he blinked, already half a second behind. It wasn't just agility; it was intuition. I faked a shot, drove hard, and soared—higher than I ever had—dunking the ball with effortless momentum.
Silence.
Then shock.
"Did he just—?"
"Was that a—?"
The coach stared. Akira whistled. Taro clapped once, dazed. But the only reaction I focused on was Akane's.
She was at the edge of the court now, voice low, urgent. "That's enough."
"Akane, they asked me to—"
"No. You showed them. Now stop." Her tone didn't waver, but her eyes flickered with fear. Real fear.
"They're watching," she whispered, stepping closer. "Not just the students. This goes beyond school hype now."
I felt it too. The stares weren't just admiration—they were unease. Wonder edged with suspicion. I walked past the whispers, past the coach's stunned praise. Akane followed silently, her presence the only anchor in a storm I couldn't control.
Because I wasn't just being noticed.
I was being studied.
The courtyard was quieter now, late sunlight stretching gold across the cement. Basketball drills were done, and most of the crowd had thinned, scattered across benches or heading to the cafeteria. But Akane and I lingered beneath an oak tree, like we always did after try-outs. It had become our unspoken routine.
She didn't look at me at first, just stared off toward the gym. "You went too far," she said softly.
I kicked at the edge of a root poking from the grass. "It wasn't planned. My body moved on its own. Like it wanted to prove something."
Akane finally turned, eyes narrowed. "And now they're wondering what you really are."
I didn't respond. I didn't have to. Her tone said enough.
"Well, this feels familiar." Taro's voice cut through the air with a smirk. He marched toward us, juice box in hand, that usual glint in his glasses catching the light.
Akira followed, more subdued but equally amused. "Seriously, again? Fujiwara and Hikaru, in their usual hideaway under the tree."
I straightened up. Akane didn't move.
Taro grinned wider. "You two show up to school together, walk to class together, and disappear after practice. If this were an anime, you'd be the couple with the tragic backstory and a secret power."
Akira cocked his head, arms crossed. "Every time I turn a corner, it's Fujiwara giving you that look like she's about to deliver classified intel."
I tried to speak, but Akane cut me off.
Her voice was cool. "Is there a reason you two are here?"
Taro held up his hands. "Touchy."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Fujiwara's really on edge today."
Akane folded her arms. "Maybe that's because you're both nosy."
The breeze shifted awkwardly. Even Taro hesitated for once.
I cleared my throat. "Guys, chill. We were just talking."
Taro gave me a sly look. "Talking. Sure. Totally normal talking between two people who accidentally sync up their walk every morning."
Akira chuckled. "Don't get us wrong, Hikaru. We support the mystery couple dynamic."
Akane's glare sharpened. "You're pushing it."
They finally backed off—sort of. Taro tossed me his half-finished juice box like a peace offering, and Akira gave a shrug as they walked away.
I stood there in silence, beside Akane, not sure what to say.
She didn't look at me. But after a moment, her voice dropped again—quieter this time.
"They notice everything."
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. But I don't mind if you're the one they think I'm always with."
She didn't respond, but the faint tint in her cheeks said enough.
??? POV:
She's changed.
Not in appearance. Not even in the way she walks those hallways with practiced silence, the hem of her skirt catching twilight as if it were her only companion. No—Akane Fujiwara has changed in posture. In presence. In intent.
She knows the curtain has lifted.
Hikaru isn't a rumour anymore. He's become something observable. Tangible. The sprint, the reflexes, the silent shudder of reality bending around his will—all of it confirmed. And Akane… she's done nothing to silence it. That smile of hers? Cold calculation. That lingering gaze at the basketball court? Fear wrapped in certainty.
She knows we're watching.
The Crimson Order received the signal first—weeks ago, when he fractured the air during that rooftop incident. The elders sent their probes. Still quiet. Still hidden. But I see the marks: her subtle glances toward shadowed rooftops, her deflection of questions, her sudden protectiveness.
If the Order has eyes, then so do the Heretics.
And unlike the Order, they don't observe.
They hunt.
Akane's presence at Hikaru's side is no longer friendship—it's shield work. She's buying time. Delaying exposure. Guiding him through the rituals of school life to keep suspicion at bay. But even she must know time's thinning.
We must get to him before he does.
The One Born of Ash—the anomaly the Order failed to control. He's moving again. Whispered in ruins, tracked by blood. If he reaches Hikaru first, we lose the last tether holding balance. Akane knows it. I see it in how her fingers twitch when Hikaru walks ahead of her—always slightly too fast, always slightly unaware.
She's watching everyone now. Not just us. Not just him.
She's watching the sky.
And that means the signal's close.
Footsteps echoed through the hall—measured, deliberate. I didn't need to turn to know who they belonged to.
A moment passed, then a voice joined the silence.
"Are you still thinking about the half-human?"
I exhaled slowly. "It's kind of hard not to."
My eyes tracked the courtyard beyond the glass, where Hikaru had been just hours earlier. The way he moved lately—how reality seemed to ripple around him, just subtly enough to unsettle those watching—he was becoming something more. Something observed. Catalogued. And soon, feared.
"He's… different," I murmured. "I thought I understood what we'd unlocked. But now I'm not so sure."
The presence beside me didn't shift, didn't flinch.
Ren Kurozawa.
One of my most loyal subjects. Not because I made him so—but because the world gave him no other choice.
He was never meant to stand here.
The Heretics built him. Broke him. Used him as a living experiment. No guidance, no escape. He clawed through that torment alone, navigating wreckage and rumour until he reached us. And when I found him, what remained wasn't just a survivor. It was a soldier forged from pain.
I trained him myself.
Alongside Akane.
Where she was steel beneath ice, Ren was flame with a locked jaw—silent, fast, merciless when needed. And brilliant in a way that made older tacticians nervous.
He ascended quickly. Too quickly. So, I placed him in The Crimson Order's Special Forces. Ren didn't flinch. He thrived.
But I never respected him for his power alone.
No. What makes Ren invaluable—what sets him apart—is that every mission he takes, every Heretic he silences, every threat he intercepts… It's all for one purpose:
So, anomalies such as Hikaru don't suffer the same fate.
Ren knows what it means to be exploited, weaponised, and discarded. He won't let Hikaru Walk that path. Not while he can burn it away first.
Even now, as we stood watching, I could feel it. The air around him didn't just hold duty—it held resolve.
And that makes him more than a soldier.
That makes him dangerous to anyone who stands in our way.
The moon was low now, skimming rooftops like a quiet sentinel. Beneath its muted glow, Ren stood beside me—silent, arms crossed, his coat catching the wind like a second shadow.
"...You were right about one thing," he said without preface. "The boy's growing fast. Even during battle."
I glanced sideways, letting the weight of his tone settle. "He's adapting mid-combat?"
Ren nodded. "Not just adapting. Reacting before there's anything to react to. Instinctive movement. Like muscle memory he shouldn't have."
"That's not evolution," I said, narrowing my eyes towards where he stood. "That's inheritance."
He hesitated. Then: "It's almost as if he wasn't human to begin with."
I finally turned to face him. "You confronted him?"
"A brief exchange. Nothing serious. He didn't recognize it as a test. But I did." Ren's voice lowered. "Whatever's inside him—it's watching us back."
That chilled me more than I expected.
"He kept his composure?" I asked.
"For the most part. But something slipped when I pressed. He recovered quickly… too quickly."
I folded my hands behind my back. "What did you feel?"
Ren paused. "A pull. Like standing near something ancient trying to remember itself."
I nodded slowly. "You'll observe him closer, then."
"Starting tomorrow," he said. "I need more than readings. I want to know what drives him—what he fears, what he won't say."
A silence fell between us, heavy with shared calculations.
I studied Ren again. Not just his expression, but his restraint. That was always his greatest weapon—knowing when to hold back, when to wait.
"You were once a subject too," I murmured. "Twisted, experimented on, abandoned."
Ren's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"And yet… you've never turned bitter. Never reckless."
He shrugged, gaze fixed ahead. "I just refuse to let Hikaru walk the same path. I know how it ends. I lived the worst version of it."
I looked at him with something close to respect. Real respect.
"That's why I trust you most," I said. "Not because of your strength. But because of what you choose to protect."
Ren didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The moon shifted slightly overhead watching, waiting.
We weren't alone in observing the boy anymore.