We didn't move at first.
No signal. No command. Just Hiroshi Kai's voice settling into silence — and waiting to see what we'd do with it.
Then he turned and walked.
That was the signal.
No one spoke. We just followed.
The Academy didn't echo like I expected. You'd think Spectra-lined alloy would ring like a steel drum, but it didn't. Everything felt muted. Like the building itself demanded control. Even our footsteps sounded like they'd been told to behave.
Hiroshi never looked back. He walked like a man who already knew which of us would crack first.
We turned two corners and passed a chamber that pulsed with blue light behind reinforced glass — some kind of diagnostics lab, or maybe punishment. I wasn't sure. I just knew I didn't want to find out.
Then the hall opened into an overlook. Below, older cadets fought in pairs — their uniforms tighter than usual, their movement exact. Not flashy. Not loud. Just lethal. They moved like they'd been shaped by war drills, each step muscle memory, each strike a calculation.
No cheers. No corrections. Just silent impact.
Kaito let out a low breath behind me. "Okay. That's serious."
He didn't sound scared. Just... updating his expectations.
Emi kept walking. No blink. No breath changes.
Riku scoffed. "Think they let you watch once you're dead?"
Yui didn't respond. She walked past all of them like none of it mattered — or like it mattered too much to flinch.
We stopped outside a recessed chamber — steel hatch, reinforced glass strip down the middle. I assumed storage.
Until it hissed open.
Seven lockers. Perfectly aligned. Each one stamped with our initials and Spectra type, burned straight into the metal. Not engraved. Branded. Like we belonged to the system now.
Hiroshi stood at the far end.
"You'll train in standard uniform until it's earned," he said. "For now, gear up. Locker sequence is yours."
Then he left. No further explanation. No moment to adjust.
Kaito stepped in first, brushing a hand across the locker's edge. "No pressure," he muttered. "Just casually being judged by a military ghost."
No one laughed.
I opened mine.
Inside: matte black under suit, armor-plated at the joints. Flexible spine weave. Compression layering over the chest. Lightweight boots and gloves. No helmet.
Yui changed first. Precise, mechanical. Like she'd done it a hundred times.
Emi was faster, but with rougher movements — built for action, not polish.
Riku paused before unzipping his jacket, gaze flicking toward Toru's locker. His shoulders set like concrete.
Toru hadn't moved. He stood with the door open, fingers resting on the edge like he was waiting for someone to acknowledge him. No one did.
Kaito struggled briefly with a glove, cursed under his breath, then forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
I didn't say anything. Just suited up.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was heavy.
When we stepped back into the hallway, Hiroshi was already moving again.
We followed two levels down. Each turn pulled us deeper — past empty platforms, echoing chambers still being sanitized, holo-screens flickering with last cycle's cadet rankings.
It wasn't a campus.
It was a forge.
We stopped at a wide door — metal-plated, vertical indentations trailing up the wall like oversized bullet marks.
They hissed open. The air hit like old steel and dried sweat.
Inside was the track.
Twisting. Unforgiving. Lined with sharp angles, low beams, sudden drops. At the far end: turrets. Powered down, but humming.
Kaito blinked. "That's not a course. That's a lawsuit."
No one laughed.
We hadn't seen this before. Not in simulations. Not in orientation scans. It didn't exist in any file we had access to.
This wasn't training.
It looked like a test meant to break someone on the first try.
Hiroshi stepped forward without a word.
Took off his coat. Folded it. Placed it beside the wall.
No warm-up. No stance.
He walked to the line.
The system scanned him.
Level 5.
It flashed red across the top of the gate.
The turrets rotated. Reset. Waited.
He didn't flinch.
Then he moved.
Not fast. Not showy. Just… certain.
He flowed beneath the first swinging bar, twisted past a falling panel before it even triggered, rolled low through a collapsing trap like he'd built it himself.
First projectile fired. He let it miss.
Second came low. He slipped sideways, came up in stride.
Third and fourth came at angles — one rear, one tight right. He didn't glance.
He crossed the gate untouched.
System:
Run Validated – Tier 5 – Spectra Off
He turned to face us. Eyes unreadable.
"This course wasn't designed for you," he said. "It was designed for people who don't get second tries."
Silence.
"Today, you get three. You stop when you're hit. You pass when you don't."
He stepped aside. Nodded toward the track.
"Axis Six. Begin."
Yui moved first.
No hesitation. No nod. No words.
She stepped to the line, and the system chirped.
The turrets spun up.
Her movement was clean. Balanced. Calculated to the millimeter.
But on marker twelve, a high shot grazed her shoulder.
She stopped immediately. No frustration. No comment.
Second run — she adjusted her posture by a breath.
Passed it like she was built for it.
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
Rin followed. No sound. No breath wasted.
She didn't run it.
She solved it.
Every pivot was pre-planned. Every lean was mapped.
She didn't flinch once. She barely touched the floor.
One attempt. No hits.
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
Kaito took a long breath, rolled his shoulders, muttered, "Don't die. Don't trip. Don't embarrass yourself."
He made it halfway.
A twitch in a turret's aim made him flinch — just enough to throw his step off.
Tag. Dead center.
"Okay, that's fair," he muttered, jogging back. "Totally fair."
Second try — slower, more grounded. It worked.
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
Emi didn't say anything. Just moved.
Her style was fast, fluid — instinct in motion.
But she dove too early beneath a rising panel and caught one across the ankle.
She swore — not loud, but sharp.
Second run — she gritted her teeth, adjusted by a fraction.
Clean.
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
Riku stepped up heavy. His boots echoed louder than anyone's.
He didn't try to finesse it.
He tried to break it.
Seventh marker — shot to the shoulder. Ninth — another across his back.
He slammed the wall when it buzzed red. "Damn it!"
The curse snapped through the silence.
On the third, he slowed — not much, just enough to time the corners.
Trusted his legs. Trusted the spacing.
Barely made it.
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
Toru didn't act nervous.
He acted insulted.
Rolled his shoulders. Grinned like he owned the place.
"Guess I'll show you how it's done."
First run — fifth marker, clipped from the side.
He stopped. Didn't say a word.
Second — two steps in, tagged low. He turned like it was the course's fault.
Third — tried to barrel through with speed and got nailed twice.
The lights flashed red. Turrets went dormant.
System:
Run Incomplete – 3 Hits Registered – Disqualified
He stood at the gate for a second.
Jaw clenched. Not locked.
Like he wanted to say something — needed to — but the words wouldn't land with power anymore.
He walked back stiffly. Shoulders tight. Eyes on the floor.
He didn't look humiliated.
He looked furious.
The silence around him wasn't pity.
It was distance.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped to the line. My heart wasn't racing — but I could feel every beat. Like each one had something to prove.
First run — too slow. Not scared. Just measuring.
That cost me.
One shot clipped my shoulder. Reset.
Second — better. Reached the final corner.
But I hesitated — half a step.
The turret caught me across the thigh. Reset again.
Only one left.
I let my breath settle.
Everything faded — the turrets, the team, the nerves.
I didn't sprint. I didn't brace.
I just moved.
Low gate. Duck.
Rising bar — slide under.
Side spin. Don't blink.
First turret fired — grazed past my ear.
Rolled out of the next.
Tight breath. Chest started to cramp — but I didn't stop.
Final stretch.
One turret twitched late — I didn't give it time.
I crossed the gate.
System:
Run Validated – Tier 1 – Spectra Off
I let the air rush out. Fast. A little ragged.
Looked back.
Only one name hadn't passed.
And he was already pretending it didn't matter.
Hiroshi stepped forward, coat still off, gaze unreadable.
"No rest. No delay."
His voice didn't rise, but it didn't need to. It just landed — hard.
"Next phase begins now."
The far wall split open with a low grind. Panels retracted inward, revealing a recessed chamber — a shallow alloy ring with faint white boundary lines pulsing beneath the floor lights.
"Hand-to-hand combat," Hiroshi said. "Three minutes per bout. No Spectra. No breaks. I call the end. I call the winner."
He paused. Let the silence bite.
"This is not about dominance. It's about control. Pain reveals it. Let's see who still has it."
No one moved.
Then—
"Akira. Toru. In."
Toru cracked his neck like he'd been holding that tension for hours.
"Finally," he muttered, stepping forward. "Let's see what fate tastes like up close."
I didn't answer.
My boots hit the ring floor harder than I expected. The sound echoed.
Hands loose. Breath steady. Mind taut.
Across from me, Toru rolled his shoulders. Waiting for an opening, or maybe just the permission to cause one.
Hiroshi said nothing more.
"Begin."
Toru came in fast. No setup, no read. Just a wide left hook — heavy and overcommitted.
I ducked under it, pivoted around his side, redirected him off balance. His weight overshot.
He grinned, almost pleased.
"Good. You've bled before."
He didn't let up.
This time a straight jab — quick and tight. I caught it on my forearm, but his elbow followed fast. It clipped the side of my jaw, not enough to drop me, but enough to jolt my stance.
He pressed forward.
I stepped in — body to body — and drove a short strike to his ribs.
He grunted. Then smiled again.
He's trying to bait me. Break the rhythm. Make me fight on instinct.
He shoved hard. I absorbed it, shifted back a half-step. He followed with a low kick to my calf, then snapped a jab high toward my face.
Everything he threw came fast — too fast.
Like he was burning through a fuse.
A feint — then a sudden jab toward my throat.
I slapped it down. He wasn't expecting that.
He's not calculating. He's bleeding energy. Throwing weight just to see what sticks.
A short fake — then he lunged in again, driving a knee toward my thigh from tight range. I slid to the side, caught his momentum with my shoulder, and knocked him off his centerline.
His footing broke. Just for a beat.
Not a feint. A real stumble.
He reset — barely — then charged again, arm cocked wide.
Too wide.
I stepped in, inside the arc, and slammed my knee into his gut.
His breath punched out of him. He folded halfway, stumbled back, one hand dropping toward his ribs like he didn't trust it to hold.
Something's wrong. He's slowing too fast. That last hit shouldn't have landed that deep.
Then I saw it.
His left arm didn't rise all the way. His foot scraped. His breathing clipped out of rhythm.
This isn't pride. It's breaking point.
He charged again, wild — forced himself into a tight left hook that barely made contact. It brushed my ribs, no force behind it.
I stepped off the line and caught his stomach with a clean palm strike, center mass.
He stumbled back.
But he smiled — or tried to.
"You've got something," he muttered, breath stuttering. "Not enough. But something."
Then he swayed.
I didn't move.
His arm rose for another swing — wild, off-angle — but it stalled mid-air. Just hung there. Trembling.
His jaw loosened.
His breath caught like something inside had snapped.
Then his eyes widened.
Cracks.
Tiny at first — delicate lines radiating from the edge of his irises. But they weren't reflections. Not shimmer. Not glow.
Red.
Wrong red.
Like veins behind glass. Like something sacred had torn and bled through.
I froze.
No one else saw it. Just me.
Then his legs buckled.
No stagger. No control. Just collapse.
His body crumpled in on itself — arms limp, spine twisted on the way down. The sound wasn't dramatic. Just sickeningly final.
Thud.
Not a crash.
Just bone on alloy.
Toru Vance. Down.
Silence.
For a second, I didn't hear anything. Not breath. Not voice. Just the echo of that sound replaying in my skull, again and again.
I knew I had to move. But my body refused the order.
My fists were still half-clenched. My lungs wouldn't finish the breath I started.
Hiroshi was already there — kneeling, fast. Fingers at Toru's neck. Then his wrist.
Nothing.
He stood.
His voice didn't rise.
But it carved through the room like a blade.
"Toru Vance is dead."
The words didn't land — they detonated.
Kaito flinched so hard he stumbled. "Wait— what?!"
Riku jerked forward. "No— what do you mean, dead? He's— he just—!"
"Back," Hiroshi snapped, sharper now. "All of you. Now."
His tone didn't invite discussion. It ended it.
But the room didn't listen.
Riku took another step, eyes wide. "No. No, he was fine! He was moving— he was talking—" His voice cracked. "You don't just drop like that—!"
Hiroshi turned, eyes ice.
"Back."
Kaito didn't move. Not at first. Just stared at the floor like it might offer another explanation. Then he swallowed hard — a sound too loud in the quiet — and backed away.
Yui's shoulders shifted. Barely. But her head tilted. Calculating. Cataloguing.
Emi stood like she'd been punched in the lungs. Hands half-lifted, frozen in motion. Her mouth parted, breath stuck mid-leave. Her whole frame locked.
She looked like she'd forgotten how to breathe. Like one wrong step would break something inside her.
Rin stared at me.
Not suspicious. Just… precise. Like she was trying to decode something no one else could see.
I couldn't feel my legs.
I stepped back once. Almost tripped. My arms hung limp at my sides.
"I didn't…"
The words came out raw. Strangled. Not even loud enough to fill the space.
"I didn't hit him that hard."
No one answered.
No one had to.
Because I saw it.
That red.
The same one from the dream.
Bleeding behind his eyes. Cracking through his soul.
And now—
Now, he was gone.
And my hands still felt hot.
Not from impact.
From something deeper. Something wrong.
I stared at my palms like they might start glowing. Like they might crack next.
What did I do?
No answer.
Just silence.
And Toru's body,
Still warm,
Already turning into memory.