Kaito did not feel the pain immediately.
That was what frightened him the most.
It wasn't sharp, or sudden, or dramatic. It crept in slowly, spreading through his body like a second pulse layered beneath his heartbeat. By the time he noticed it, it was already everywhere—his arms, his chest, his legs—burning quietly, insistently.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, breathing in measured intervals. Each inhale felt too warm. Each exhale left him colder than before.
The orphanage slept around him.
Soft breaths.The occasional creak of old wood.A distant cough.
Normal sounds.
Kaito focused on them, grounding himself, trying to ignore the deeper sensation—the pressure behind his left eye that refused to fade. It wasn't violent anymore. It didn't lash out or surge unpredictably.
It waited.
Jun sat on the opposite bed, watching him.
He hadn't spoken yet.
That alone told Kaito everything.
— You're shaking, Jun said finally.
Kaito looked down at his hands. They trembled faintly, just enough to notice if you were paying attention.
— It'll pass, Kaito replied.
Jun didn't argue.
He stood and crossed the room, stopping just short of touching him.
— That thing yesterday, Jun said quietly.— It didn't feel finished.
Kaito swallowed.
— None of this feels finished.
Jun studied him for a long moment.
— You're scared.
Kaito opened his mouth to deny it.
Then closed it.
— …Yeah.
Jun nodded once, as if that was all he needed.
Morning brought no relief.
If anything, the world felt looser.
Sounds didn't behave the way they should. When someone laughed in the cafeteria, the echo arrived half a second late. When a tray slipped from a table, it hovered just long enough for Kaito to notice—then crashed louder than expected.
No one else reacted.
Jun did.
— You felt that, didn't you? he murmured without looking at him.
Kaito kept his gaze on his food.
— Don't say it.
— I'm not saying anything.
But his tone said everything.
As they walked through the corridor afterward, Kaito forced himself to slow down, to breathe, to stay present. The pressure behind his eye pulsed in response, like something annoyed by the restraint.
He didn't let it win.
Not today.
— You're hesitating, Jun said suddenly.
Kaito stopped.
— What?
Jun turned to face him.
— Yesterday, you didn't think.— You just moved.
Kaito's jaw tightened.
— And look how that turned out.
Jun shook his head.
— That's not what I meant.— Today… you're holding something back.
Kaito didn't answer.
Because he didn't know how to explain the fear of doing too much… or the terror of doing nothing at all.
Across the city, beneath a concrete overpass, the swordsman knelt.
Rain dripped steadily from above, splashing against the ground in irregular rhythms. His coat clung to his shoulders, heavy with moisture, but he didn't move to adjust it.
The katana lay beside him.
Old.Dull.Silent.
He stared at it without touching it.
The command pressed against his thoughts again, subtle but unyielding.
Eliminate the anomaly.
His teeth clenched.
— Not yet, he whispered.
Pain flared behind his eyes immediately.
Memories fractured—training rooms without doors, voices without faces, hands guiding his grip, correcting angles he didn't remember learning.
He exhaled slowly, riding out the sensation.
When it passed, something felt… off.
The command was still there.
But thinner.
Like a blade that had been chipped.
The katana vibrated faintly.
Not approval.
A warning.
Back at the orphanage, the collapse came without drama.
Kaito was carrying a stack of books down the west corridor when the floor seemed to tilt beneath him. His vision narrowed. The pressure behind his eye surged violently, heat flooding his skull.
His legs gave out.
Jun caught him.
— Kaito—!
The moment Jun's hands closed around his arm, the air resisted.
Not visibly.
But tangibly.
Jun gasped as invisible pressure pushed back against his grip, like pressing against solid glass.
— …What is this…?
Kaito forced his breathing to slow.
— Let go, Jun.
Jun hesitated.
Then obeyed.
The resistance vanished instantly.
The world snapped back into place.
Caretakers rushed toward them, voices overlapping, concern sharp but shallow.
— He's dizzy, Jun said quickly.— Probably didn't eat enough.
The explanation slid into place too easily.
No one questioned it.
They never did.
That night, Kaito dreamed without images.
Just sensation.
Weight pressing down on his chest.Cracks spreading beneath unseen ground.The feeling of something being watched… evaluated.
A voice brushed the edge of his awareness.
Low. Calm.
— You're destabilizing again.
Kaito tried to respond.
— I'm trying not to.
A pause.
— That's the problem.
He woke with his heart racing and his left eye burning fiercely.
Under the overpass, the swordsman opened his eyes at the same moment.
Pain pulsed through his temples, synchronized with something else—something not entirely his own.
He reached for the katana.
Stopped.
— You feel it too, don't you? he murmured.
The blade remained silent.
But the silence felt thinner than before.
As if something—long suppressed—was beginning to push back.