Early the next morning, Cloak High breathed like a living thing.
Footsteps overlapped across stone corridors. Boots. Sandals. Polished shoes. The low hum of conversation swelled and dipped like waves against the campus walls. Teachers in long coats and pressed uniforms walked with measured dignity. Students in uniforms stretched their arms, compared bruises, reenacted movements with animated gestures.
Everywhere—one topic.
"How did Senior Yamato survive Senior Ichiha's blows?"
"I'm telling you, Senior Sora moved like she wasn't even touching the ground."
"Chella's strikes? Magnificent."
Words bounced from locker to locker, from pillar to pillar.
Then—
STOMP.
The sound cracked through the hallway.
It wasn't loud because of force. It was loud because of presence.
Conversations cut mid-sentence. Heads turned. A ripple of silence expanded outward as if the air itself had flinched.
He walked forward.
Yamato.
His hands, buried in his pockets. Shoulders relaxed. Chin slightly raised. Each step measured. Each step unhurried. Confidence rolled off him like heat from sun-baked stone.
Whispers returned, softer now—closer.
"Yamato is just so cool."
"Look at that aura…"
"He fought Ichiha head-on. He must feel untouchable."
His eyes didn't shift toward any of them. Not left. Not right.
He reached a round wooden table near the long corridor window. Morning light poured in, framing him in gold. He pulled the chair back slowly and sat, leaning into it like a king claiming his seat.
A smirk curved at the edge of his mouth.
"Another day to glaze myself."
A blur streaked through the hallway.
A light thud—
Sora dropped from a small leap, arms looping around Yamato's neck from behind. The chair tipped backward for half a second before Yamato's hand snapped to its leg, steadying it without looking.
Her laughter brushed against his ear.
Yamato gently peeled her arms away. "Keep me on a low profile."
"Low profile?" Lumei's voice came from behind them.
He approached with calm steps, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite Yamato. "You fought Ichiha without a trace of fear. That's the definition of high profile."
For a moment—
Silence.
Then the three of them burst into laughter, the sound warm and unguarded.
Sora slid into the chair beside Yamato, leaning her chin into her palm as she grinned at him. Light danced across her eyes.
Their conversation softened—no boasting, no tension. Just shared glances. Private jokes. The kind of comfort built in fire.
The hallway noise began to swell again.
And then—
A presence entered.
The chatter dulled at the edges.
Ichiha walked toward them.
His expression unreadable. A faint grin hovering—not friendly, not hostile.
He stopped behind Yamato and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
The contact didn't shake Yamato.
But it was deliberate.
"Why didn't you stop fighting?" Ichiha asked quietly.
Yamato tilted his head slightly, then gestured toward an empty seat.
"Sit. Chella should be here too. I need to—"
"Yamato!"
Chella's voice cut through before he could finish.
She strode toward the table and sat without invitation, eyes locking onto him.
"What did you do to Sora?"
Yamato blinked once.
Then chuckled.
The others joined in, the tension dissolving into laughter that turned nearby heads.
"I didn't do anything to her," Yamato said, raising his palms slightly. "I just gave her the shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Chella narrowed her eyes.
Sora leaned forward before Yamato could respond. "He showed me how to use my Divine Energy efficiently. I was wasting it."
Lumei looked up at the ceiling, then back down at the table, exhaling slowly. "Let him finish. He's building up to something."
Yamato shot him a grateful look. "Thank you."
He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table.
"Ichiha," he began, gaze steady, "I went easy on you."
Ichiha's brow twitched.
"If I had removed my percentage limiter, things would've looked different."
Silence settled over the table.
Yamato's eyes didn't waver.
"You fought well. But I adjusted your rhythm mid-fight. You'll notice next time. Your reactions will be sharper."
Ichiha didn't speak. But his fingers tightened faintly against the table's edge.
Lumei rubbed his temples. "Just tell us the main point."
Yamato leaned back, folding one leg over the other.
"I was getting to that."
His expression changed—less playful now.
"If Ozaki—your master—is the man they say he is…" He glanced at Lumei, then back to the rest. "…then I already know his decision."
The others leaned in despite themselves.
"Come closer."
They did.
"He'll pick all five of us."
Sora let out a quiet laugh. Chella covered her mouth, shaking her head. Ichiha's stare sharpened.
Lumei crossed his arms slowly.
"If I'm following you correctly," he said, "he would pick the five of us?."
Yamato looked toward the corridor clock.
"Two minutes."
The group exchanged looks.
Ichiha finally cracked a grin. "We're friends, Yamato. Stop acting like you're sitting on top of the world."
Chella nudged Sora lightly. "Are you sure he's the one you want to impress?"
Sora hesitated—just for a second.
The hallway noise rose again.
Then—
The speaker system screeched.
Static cut across the ceiling.
Every conversation froze.
Ozaki's voice flowed through the corridor, smooth and amused.
"Students of Cloak High… I trust you enjoyed the matches these past days. The victories. The speeches. The noise."
A pause.
"I've seen what I needed to see."
Murmurs broke out across the hall.
"The purpose of the battles was never about the winner."
Silence pressed in harder.
"The students who will follow me…"
The pause stretched.
"Lumei."
Gasps.
"Ichiha."
A ripple.
"Sora."
More whispers.
"Chella."
Shock thickened the air.
"…and Yamato."
For a split second, the hallway forgot how to breathe.
Then—
Ozaki laughed softly through the microphone.
"I know you're confused. That's fine. Prepare yourselves. In two days, we depart."
The speaker clicked off.
The hallway erupted.
Students turned in disbelief. Some stared openly at the round table. Some whispered. Some looked betrayed.
At the center—
The five of them sat frozen.
Chella's eyes wide.
Sora's lips slightly parted.
Ichiha staring at Yamato.
Lumei exhaled slowly through his nose.
Yamato stood.
He slid his hands into his pockets and stepped away from the table without looking back.
As he passed through the parted crowd, the whispers followed him again—different now.
He didn't smile widely.
Just a small, satisfied curve of his lips.
"Glaze."
Behind him, at the edge of the upper corridor balcony—
A shadow shifted.
Watching.
A faint voice whispered under its breath.
"So… he chose the five of them."
And somewhere far beyond the campus walls—
Something stirred.