Yuma made it to the field adjacent to the track field just as the sun began dipping lower in the sky, its warm orange glow stretching shadows long across the grass. The air smelled faintly of rubber from the track and sweat from students who had stayed behind for after-school activities. A few runners were still circling the track, their steady footfalls rhythmic and distant, while a small group practiced drills near the far end of the field. Compared to the noise of the school during the day, it was eerily quiet, like the world had taken a breath and was waiting.
Akira and Keisuke were already there.
They stood several meters apart, both facing the direction Yuma approached from. Neither of them spoke. Neither waved. They simply watched him.
The way they stood wasn't casual. Their posture was too straight, too alert. Keisuke's shoulders were relaxed but ready, like someone trying to look calm while bracing for impact. Akira, on the other hand, looked carved from ice, hands loosely at his sides, feet planted with precision, eyes sharp and unwavering.
As Yuma stepped fully onto the field, both of their gazes locked onto him at once.
Akira gave a single nod when Yuma stopped a few feet away.
"You're here," he said flatly.
There was a brief pause, just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
"On time," Akira added, emphasizing the words.
Yuma felt irritation flare immediately.
So that's how you see me,
he thought.
Late. Unreliable. Lazy.
It wasn't like Akira had known him long enough to judge, but that didn't stop the implication from stinging. Yuma rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself not to react too strongly.
"Yeah… yeah," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "So what, are we starting or are you just gonna keep staring at me like I'm about to ditch?"
Keisuke shifted slightly, glancing between them as if anticipating friction.
Akira exhaled through his nose and turned away, nodding toward the gymnasium building nearby.
Yuma followed his gaze, realization clicking into place a second later.
Right. We can't exactly throw ice and fire around out here.
The three of them started walking toward the gym, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. For a few seconds, the silence stretched between them. Yuma hated silence; it gave his thoughts too much room to spiral.
"So," he finally said, breaking it, "how'd you even get the gym after school?"
Akira didn't slow down.
"Paid him."
Yuma blinked.
"…Paid who?"
"The supervisor," Akira replied.
Yuma frowned, picking up his pace to walk beside him. "Okay, but how much?" he pressed. "Because if bribing teachers is an option, I'd love to have private gym access too."
Akira let out a quiet scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that felt almost smug.
"42,400 yen."
Yuma stopped walking entirely.
"…You're joking."
Akira kept walking.
"YOU'RE JOKING," Yuma repeated louder, jogging to catch up. "That's insane! That's like- like eight months of my pay for a couple hours in a gym!"
He spun toward Keisuke. "Why aren't you shocked?!"
Keisuke tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "Why would I be?"
Yuma stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
Akira sighed, clearly realizing Yuma was missing context.
"My family is well off," he said simply. "My father invested heavily in a lot of private operations."
Yuma narrowed his eyes. "So… what, your dad's a CEO or something?"
Akira shook his head. "Ex-mercenary."
Both Yuma and Keisuke stopped.
It was news to Keisuke, too.
"…Your dad was a mercenary?" Keisuke asked carefully.
Akira nodded. "He was also the previous Ice conduit. It wasn't unusual." He paused briefly, then added a little pride gleaming through, "He started with fifteen percent resonance."
Yuma stared at Akira with new eyes.
So this wasn't just talent or discipline. Akira had been born into this world, raised by someone who understood it completely. Someone who lived violence, strategy, and consequence.
Another thought surfaced, uncomfortably slow. The laws of a conduit in the forefront.
"…Is your dad alive?" Yuma asked.
Akira's expression shifted. Not dramatic, just quieter.
"No," he said. "He died before I was born."
Yuma felt something twist in his chest.
A father gone before memories could form. A presence defined only by legacy and absence. Something Yuma could understand a little.
Keisuke stayed silent, letting the moment pass.
They reached the gym.
Akira unlocked the door and stepped inside first. Yuma followed, then Keisuke, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the wide, empty space. The door closed behind them with a dull thud.
The temperature dropped almost immediately.
Cold crept across the polished floor like a living thing, frost spreading outward from Akira's position. The air felt sharper, heavier, biting at Yuma's lungs.
"Both of you," Akira said, voice stripped of all warmth, "draw your weapons."
Yuma didn't hesitate. He rubbed his wrist, blue flame coiling into existence as his hilt formed in his hand. Keisuke summoned his weapon effortlessly, crystalline shards swirling together to form a half-completed rapier. The handle glowed deep amethyst, the blade a pale rose quartz that refracted the gym lights beautifully.
Yuma barely had time to admire it.
The flat of Akira's katana slammed into his shoulder blades.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs as he crashed face-first onto the floor. Pain exploded across his back, sharp and unforgiving.
He didn't hold back.
Before Yuma could even groan, Akira was already moving.
Keisuke barely managed to raise his rapier in time, catching the next strike between blade and guard. The clash echoed through the gym.
"WOAH! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" Keisuke shouted.
Akira's expression didn't change.
"I'll treat you like enemies," he said coldly. "If you can't handle this, you won't survive."
Then he punched Keisuke square in the chest.
Keisuke flew backward, slamming into the wall with a hollow thud. He slid down, groaning.
Yuma forced himself up, adrenaline surging.
This isn't training, he realized.
This is reality.
He stumbled back, instinctively assuming the stance Serapheria drilled into him, feet planted, knees bent, weight centered.
Akira vanished.
Frost exploded behind him.
Pain detonated in Yuma's ribs as Akira smashed the base of his katana into his chest, sending him staggering back.
Yuma snarled and swung wildly. His fist connected cleanly with Akira's jaw.
For a split second, hope flared.
Akira barely flinched.
Disappointment crossed his face.
He grabbed Yuma's shirt and hurled him effortlessly, tossing him beside Keisuke like a discarded weight.
Yuma lay there, chest heaving, ribs screaming.
"This road will be long," Akira said. "I didn't even use more than what you can do."
"That's bullshit," Yuma muttered through gritted teeth. "You were going all out."
Akira appeared in front of him instantly, far faster than before.
Ice surged, jagged shards hovering dangerously close. His body temperature was slowly dropping lower than it already was.
"This," Akira said, blade tip resting lightly against Yuma's back, "is restraint."
For the first time, Yuma felt real fear, not of Akira, but of the man who lurked.
Akira straightened.
"Get up," he ordered. "Daily training. From now on."
Yuma forced himself upright, helping Keisuke to his feet.
Akira turned to him. "Do you know how to enhance yourself?"
Yuma shook his head.
Akira sighed. "Of course."
"Imagine your body becoming your element," he explained. "Inside and out, skin and bones."
Keisuke added softly, "Like you're dreaming. Like your soul's region."
Yuma closed his eyes.
Blue flame sparked through his veins.
Cold and heat are intertwined.
His muscles ignited.
Yuma opened his eyes, breath sharp.
He felt it.
It wasn't much, but he felt it.
He was finally doing it.