The liquid trembled.
It was so slight that, under normal circumstances, it might have gone completely unnoticed—a faint quiver running across the surface of the spilled drink, like a breath that didn't belong to the room. Haruto's hand hovered just above the floor, fingers half-curled, suspended in that small, uncertain space where motion hesitates and thought lags behind. For a second, he simply stared, unsure whether he had actually seen anything at all. The ripple didn't spread outward like it should have, didn't scatter or distort randomly. Instead, it seemed to gather itself, shifting ever so subtly… toward him.
"…?"
The sound slipped out before he could stop it.
His brows pulled together, a faint crease forming as he leaned in slightly, his gaze fixed on the thin, reflective surface of the liquid. It made no sense. Ripples didn't behave like that. They weren't supposed to. The floor beneath him gave the faintest tremor, so light it barely registered—more a suggestion than a sensation, gone almost as soon as it appeared. A vibration, maybe. Something distant. Something explainable.
And just like that, the movement stopped.
The liquid stilled, flattening out into a quiet, unmoving surface as if nothing had happened at all. No trace of the disturbance remained. No lingering ripple, no distortion, nothing to prove that anything unusual had taken place. Silence settled back into the classroom, thick and ordinary, pressing in around him as though the moment had never existed.
Haruto kept staring for a second longer, his eyes searching for something—anything—that might confirm what he'd seen. But there was nothing.
After a moment, he let out a slow breath.
"…It's nothing."
The words sounded more like something he needed to hear than something he believed.
He reached forward, picking up the cloth and pressing it against the floor. The fabric absorbed the liquid without resistance this time, soaking it up in dull, unremarkable strokes. No movement. No strange pull. Just a normal spill being wiped away. His hand moved steadily, but there was a slight hesitation to it now, a carefulness that hadn't been there before.
"Just vibration," he muttered under his breath, more to fill the silence than anything else. " It's probably from the ships…"
That explanation fit. It had to. Ships passed overhead all the time—massive Vanguard-class carriers that could shake the structure if they flew low enough. It wasn't unusual. It wasn't anything strange.
Yeah.
That was it.
Still, his movements slowed as he finished cleaning, each motion deliberate, as if part of him was waiting for something to happen again. But nothing did. When he was done, he straightened up, tossing the damp cloth aside with a soft, careless flick.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
His gaze drifted back to the spot on the floor.
Nothing.
Just a clean surface, reflecting the faint light from the windows like any other part of the room.
"…Fuck this."
He clicked his tongue quietly and turned away, as if dismissing the thought entirely.
The classroom was empty now. Desks lined up in neat rows, chairs pushed in perfectly, everything exactly where it should be. It looked untouched, undisturbed—like no one had been there at all, like the brief moment of confusion had been something imagined rather than real.
Haruto walked toward the door, his footsteps soft against the floor, barely making a sound. Each step echoed faintly in the quiet, swallowed quickly by the stillness around him.
He reached for the handle.
And paused.
It wasn't anything obvious. Nothing outside had changed. The hallway beyond the door was just as silent as the room behind him. But for a second—just a second—something felt… off.
Not around him. Inside.
A faint pressure settled in his chest, subtle and strange, like something shifting in a place he couldn't quite reach. It wasn't pain. Not even discomfort. Just… there. Quiet. Watching.
Haruto frowned slightly, his grip tightening around the handle.
"…I need sleep."
The thought came easily, almost automatically, something to explain the feeling away before it could take shape.
Without giving it any more attention, he pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.
The sensation disappeared instantly.
Like it had never been there at all.
And Haruto Mori kept walking.
If there was one class Haruto could never bring himself to tolerate—no matter how many times he told himself it didn't matter, no matter how much he tried to treat it like any other part of the day—it was this one. Physical Education. The moment he stepped onto the open field, the weight of it settled on his shoulders like something inevitable, something he had already lost before it even began. "…Of course," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the wide stretch of the court ahead of him. "It had to be today." The space was already alive with movement—students gathering in small groups, stretching casually, laughing like nothing here required effort. Some of them summoned their Astrals without a second thought, translucent figures of energy flickering into existence beside them as naturally as breathing. It wasn't a spectacle to them. It was normal. And that was exactly what made it worse.
Haruto glanced down at himself, almost out of habit, like maybe something would be different this time. It wasn't. Same worn clothes, same scuffed shoes that had seen better days, and most noticeably—no uniform. No standard gear. Nothing that made him look like he belonged here. A faint, humorless breath slipped past his lips. "Yeah… figures," he murmured. "Everyone else shows up ready… and I walk in like this." He didn't need to look around to know he'd been noticed, but he did anyway—and sure enough, a few nearby students had already glanced in his direction. Their eyes lingered just long enough before they leaned closer to each other, whispering, smirking, not even bothering to hide it. The sound didn't reach him clearly, but it didn't have to. He'd heard it enough times before to fill in the blanks on his own.
Why is he even here?
Doesn't he feel embarrassed?
Haruto scratched the back of his head, forcing out a quiet breath that felt more tired than amused. "…You'd think I'd get used to it by now." He paused, staring at the ground for a second before letting his shoulders drop just a little. "…Guess not." There was no point lingering on it, though. There never was. He walked further onto the court, eyes scanning the area as he tried to ignore the background noise of voices and movement. Two teams were already being formed, students shifting into place with an ease that made it clear they'd done this countless times before. Eight on each side. Balanced. Organized. Normal. "…Team games," Haruto muttered under his breath, already feeling the tension settle into his muscles. "Great. That just makes it worse."
He stopped near the edge of the formation, rolling his shoulders slowly as if trying to loosen the discomfort before it could fully take hold. It didn't help much. "…This is going to hurt," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. A sharp whistle cut through the air before he could think any further, snapping the scattered attention of the students into focus. "Handball," the instructor called out, voice carrying easily across the field. "Same rules as always. Fair game. No holding back." Haruto let out a faint laugh at that—short, dry, almost reflexive. "No holding back, huh…" he murmured. "Like anyone ever does with me."
His gaze drifted across the other students again, watching as some of them flexed their hands, faint currents of light beginning to gather around their arms, while others stood with their Astrals hovering beside them, silent, watchful, waiting. It was all so effortless for them. So natural. "…Right," Haruto muttered, shifting his stance slightly as his focus dropped inward. If nothing else, he could at least ground himself in something familiar—something he understood, even if he couldn't use it.
"In this world… everything has energy," he thought, lifting his hand slowly and staring at it as if he could see something hidden beneath the surface. "The ground. The air. The sky… it's everywhere." His fingers twitched faintly as the thought continued, almost automatic at this point, like a lesson he had repeated to himself too many times to forget. "In space… in dust… in stone… in every living thing." His hand closed gradually into a fist. "They call it Zenthrai."
A faint breeze passed through the field, stirring hair and clothing, carrying with it the sound of laughter, conversation, the normal rhythm of students who didn't have to think about any of this. Haruto exhaled slowly, letting the air leave his lungs in a steady stream. "And Astrals…" His gaze lifted slightly, distant for just a moment. "They're not just using Aether… they're almost entirely made of it." The thought lingered there, heavy and quiet. "Beings of pure energy… something closer to gods, I guess."
Compared to that… humans were nothing.
He straightened slightly, forcing his thoughts to stay steady instead of drifting too far. "That's why we need Zenthrai inside our bodies," he continued silently. "So we don't break when an Astral bonds with us. So we can handle even a fraction of what they are." A quiet scoff slipped out before he could stop it. "And humans… we have it too. Just a tiny amount." His eyes moved again, scanning the other students, watching the faint flickers of energy that surrounded them like a second skin. "That little bit… is what lets them survive the bond. What lets them stand on the same field as something like that."
His fingers tightened slightly at his side.
"Just enough… to keep up."
A beat passed.
"…Well," he muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth pulling into something almost like a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Most humans."
His gaze dropped back to his hand, still completely normal, completely empty. No glow. No warmth. Nothing. "And that same energy… can be used." He shifted his focus to a student nearby, watching as the boy bent his knees slightly, the air around his legs shimmering faintly before flaring outward. "Reinforcement," Haruto thought. "Basic technique." The concept was simple. Push Aether through your body, and it responds. Muscles strengthened. Movements sharpened. Endurance stretched further than it should.
Faster. Stronger. Better.
He looked at his own hand again.
Still nothing.
"No matter how weak someone is…" his thoughts continued, slower now, heavier, "…if they can use Zenthrai… they're already above normal humans."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Because me?"
A quiet, humorless breath left him.
"I don't even have that."
The realization wasn't new. It never was. But it didn't get easier either. His gaze drifted across the court one more time—the students, their Astrals, the faint pulses of power that surrounded them like it was nothing special at all. "If you compare me to them…" he thought, shaking his head faintly.
"…it's not even close."
A pause.
"I'm not weak."
The words came quietly, almost stubbornly, like something he refused to let go of.
"But if I fought someone my age… someone who has access to zenthrai…"
He hesitated, searching for something that felt accurate enough.
"…it's like throwing me against a hundred of myself."
Another breath escaped him.
"…Actually…"
A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"…that might still be easier."
"Teams are set!"
The instructor's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.
Haruto blinked once, the world refocusing around him. "…Right."
He stepped forward, taking his place as the two sides finalized their positions. Eight against eight. Balanced. Fair. At least, on paper.
He stood with his team, though no one stood particularly close to him. No one glanced his way. No one acknowledged him at all.
"…Yeah," he muttered quietly, almost under his breath.
"Just like always."
Across from him, one of the opposing players stepped forward, rolling his shoulders with an easy confidence, a grin already forming like he knew how this would go.
Haruto exhaled slowly, his expression settling into something calm, something steady.
"…Alright."
His eyes narrowed just slightly as he fixed his gaze ahead.
"Let's get this over with."