Yuma slept through most of the day.
It wasn't the peaceful kind of sleep either, the kind that makes you feel rested and light when you wake up. It was heavy. Thick. Like his body was trying to compensate for something it didn't yet understand. His muscles ached faintly beneath the sheets, soreness lingering in places he didn't remember injuring. Even in sleep, his brow twitched occasionally, flashes of blue flame and cold wind stirring behind his closed eyelids.
For once, Serapheria didn't disturb him.
No words. No commands. No sudden jolts into his Soul's Region.
That alone should've tipped him off.
When he finally stirred, it wasn't because he was well-rested. It was because the air in the room changed.
Cold crept along his skin, not the soft chill of evening air through a cracked window, but something sharper. Intentional. Focused. His breath caught, instinct screaming at him before his mind fully woke.
His eyes snapped open.
In the corner of his room stood Akira.
Perfect posture. Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable, as stoic and composed as ever, like he had every right to be there.
"You're awake?" Akira asked.
It wasn't a question.
Yuma let out something between a yelp and a curse as he scrambled backward, slamming into the wall at the head of his bed.
"HOLY! WHAT- WHEN- WHY?!" he shouted, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Akira sighed, visibly unimpressed, rubbing his temple like Yuma's reaction was more annoying than the fact that he'd appeared uninvited in someone's bedroom.
"I know it's rude," Akira said calmly, "but it's important."
Yuma stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Important.
That word did nothing to calm him.
Showing up unannounced was one thing. Standing silently in the corner of his room like a ghost was another. And the cold, that familiar, unnatural chill, told him Akira hadn't even bothered to suppress his presence.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Yuma muttered, still pressed against the wall. "You don't just… appear in people's rooms."
Akira didn't bother responding to that. Instead, he stepped forward and sat on the edge of Yuma's bed, posture rigid, elbows resting lightly on his knees.
"That man you said you saw last night," Akira began.
He paused.
The silence stretched, deliberately.
Yuma's stomach tightened.
"I investigated it this morning," Akira continued.
Another pause.
At this point, Yuma was already on edge. Serapheria had confirmed it last night, confirmed that what he saw wasn't exhaustion, paranoia, or fear playing tricks on him. He'd already decided to keep it to himself for now. At least until he understood more.
But Akira had come to him.
Unprompted.
That alone meant something was wrong.
"…It was faint," Akira said finally, voice colder now, sharper. "But I picked something up. There was someone there."
Yuma swallowed.
"…Another conduit."
The words landed heavily.
Yuma opened his mouth to respond, but Akira spoke again before he could.
"Even with how little was left behind, it wasn't weak," Akira added. "Which means someone strong knows about you."
His eyes lifted slightly.
"Or worse," he said quietly, "about us."
Yuma didn't react right away.
There were too many implications packed into that sentence. Someone strong enough to mask themselves. Strong enough to let their presence be felt without revealing anything concrete. Strong enough to observe and walk away.
Someone deliberate.
And his mother was here.
Yuma finally moved, sliding down from the corner of his bed and sitting beside Akira. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight.
"So," Yuma said, voice low, "what do we do?"
He hated how much he needed an answer.
Akira exhaled slowly.
"Too soon to decide anything," he replied. "But one thing is clear—you need to get stronger."
His gaze flicked briefly to Yuma's arms, where faint discoloration still lingered beneath his sleeves. Training marks. Residual damage.
Yuma followed his gaze, then nodded.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I started."
"Good," Akira said. "Then I'll handle the real-world side."
That bothered Yuma more than he wanted to admit.
Being led. Being taught. Being protected by someone younger than him. It scratched at his pride in ways he didn't like. But he recognized the feeling for what it was
ego.
And ego would get him killed.
He swallowed it and nodded.
"When?" Yuma asked.
Akira stood.
"Tomorrow," he said simply. "We start."
And just like that, he turned and left the room.
Yuma heard his footsteps descend the stairs, followed by the practiced politeness in his voice as he greeted Yuma's mother. A moment later, the front door clicked shut.
The house felt… quieter after that.
Not calmer.
Just heavier.
Yuma glanced out his window. The sky outside was dark. Fully night. He blinked in surprise.
He'd slept the entire day.
His stomach growled loudly, snapping him back into his body.
"Yeah, that tracks," he muttered.
He dragged himself downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother stood washing something at the sink. She turned the moment she heard his steps.
"Oh, baba! You woke up," she said with a smile.
But he saw it. The flicker of concern in her eyes. The way her gaze lingered just a moment too long on his arms, his posture, the faint stiffness in his movement.
"Do we have food?" Yuma asked gently.
She nodded and slid a prepared plate toward him.
"Figured you'd be hungry after sleeping all day."
As he reached for it, she hesitated.
"Yuma habibi… are you okay?"
He met her gaze and smiled softly.
"I'm fine," he said. "Just started working out more."
She frowned slightly.
"You sure? Those don't look like workout bruises."
Her voice lowered.
"…Are you being bullied?"
Yuma let out a small, incredulous chuckle. The irony almost hurt.
"No, Mama," he reassured her. "I promise. Just a physical sport thing."
She didn't look convinced, but after a long moment, she sighed and accepted it.
Yuma ate quickly. Then went back for seconds. Then thirds. Maybe fourths. His body felt like a furnace burning through everything he put into it.
By the time he finished, exhaustion crashed over him again.
He returned to his room and collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
***
Morning came whether he was ready or not.
Yuma moved on autopilot, shower, uniform, bag, door, barely registering the world until he found himself standing at the front gates of school.
Akira was already there.
Leaning against a pillar. Arms crossed. Waiting.
"Yo," Yuma greeted.
Akira tilted his chin in acknowledgment.
"After school," he said. "Keisuke will join."
Then he walked away.
No conversation. No unnecessary words.
Honestly? Yuma preferred it.
The day passed in a blur. Teachers' voices washed over him without sticking. His thoughts kept drifting back to the night before, to the hooded figure the night before that. To Akira's warning.
By the time the final bell rang, he was already halfway elsewhere.
He waited at the track field.
Students practiced nearby, laughter and footfalls echoing through the air. Without meaning to, Yuma began analyzing their movement. Their form. Their speed.
His legs itched to run.
If he could enhance himself the way Hiroshi described…
A sudden gust rushed past him.
Someone sprinted by unnaturally fast.
Yuma snapped his head up.
The runner slowed near him. A boy just slightly shorter than Yuma, with a bulky athletic build, compact but thick muscles packed into every movement. Short hair fell just above his eyebrows, damp with sweat.
"Yo," the boy said. "Do I know you?"
"…Uh, no," Yuma replied.
The boy tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp, assessing.
"Then why're you staring?"
"Just impressed," Yuma said honestly. "You do track?"
The boy shook his head.
"Soccer," he replied. "I just like working out when I'm not training."
That explained a lot.
"What's your name?" Yuma asked.
"Kodama Yori."
"Kanzukuri Yuma. Nice to meet you."
"You're a second year?" Yori asked.
"No," Yuma replied. "Third."
"Oh," Yori said. "I thought you were a second year. I see you with Akira a lot."
That made Yuma pause.
But it dawned on him that Akira was known too well.
He checked his phone, noticing a text.
"I gotta go," Yuma said. "Nice meeting you."
Yori nodded, but his eyes lingered as if remembering something about him.
As he turned and ran, Yuma caught a glimpse of something beneath his collar.
A mark.
Maybe.
He didn't stop to confirm.
Because right now
He had training to get to.
And now, more than ever, he needed to get stronger.