Red mist rolled across a shattered cliffside.
No wind—just gravity pulling ash, blood, echoes.
My boots sank into Spectra-scarred stone.
My hands—heavy with someone else's blood.
All I heard was a voice.
"Hold the line! Renji—move!"
Before I knew it, I was reaching for a sword.
My hands looked wrong. Older. Sharper.
Then I saw it.
A blade driven into the earth.
Cracks pulsing. Breathing.
A woman fell beside me.
I felt like I knew her.
She didn't scream. Didn't look at me.
Her light died as I went to try to hold her.
That's when—
I jolted upright.
Sweat clung to my skin like static.
"Again."
I looked at my hands.
They were mine again.
For eight months, I've been having these dreams.
And they never stop.
I got up.
Bathroom. Sink. Cold water.
I stared into the mirror.
Waiting to feel like myself.
They said Toru died of sudden cardiac arrest.
Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
A genetic fluke.
No way to know.
But I remember the red lines in his eyes before he dropped.
I remember the sound his body made when it hit the floor.
I remember not moving fast enough.
They said it was his heart.
But I still feel his blood on my hands.
A knock. Sharp. Made to wake me.
"Briefing in ten. You good?"
Emi's voice.
I didn't answer right away.
Didn't trust my voice to sound like mine.
"Yeah," I said eventually.
"Just got up."
Locker. Uniform. Boots. Routine.
The photo was still there.
Emi — half-smile.
Kaito — flashing peace.
Riku — pretending not to care.
Toru had been torn out.
Not removed.
Torn.
I looked down at my hands.
They weren't glowing.
But they felt red.
The door hissed behind me.
Corridor light hit like static—white, sterile, humming low in the bones.
Emi was already there.
Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, boots braced light. She didn't look over.
Not surprised. Just waiting.
"You always have to wait for me?" I asked.
She exhaled — not quite a sigh.
"You always have to wake up this late?"
Her tone wasn't sharp. But it didn't miss.
I stepped beside her. We started walking.
No words for the first few meters. Just the sound of our boots and the low current that ran through this part of the academy. Lights overhead buzzed faint. Somewhere behind the walls, a turbine thrummed in rhythm with my skull.
After a while, I felt her glance.
She didn't say it right away — not until she saw my face fully under the light.
"You look like hell," she said.
Then, after a breath: "Bad night again?"
I didn't answer.
She didn't press.
We passed two cadets by the far wall. They went quiet the second they saw me. One of them glanced over — then looked away too fast. Like eye contact might incriminate them.
I kept walking.
A few more ahead — second years, leaning near the rec doors. One whispered something I didn't catch. The other responded too quietly, but I still heard the name.
Toru.
It landed like a nail in a bruise.
They weren't loud. They never were.
But silence has weight. And it always knew how to fall on my shoulders.
Emi stayed beside me. Didn't slow, didn't look back. But her steps shifted — closer, steadier. Like if she couldn't shield me, she could at least match pace.
I didn't thank her. I didn't need to.
"Well damn, remind me never to walk behind you two again — this vibe is heavy."
Kaito's voice broke through like sunlight under a door.
He slid into step beside us, slightly out of breath, like he'd jogged just to catch up. Hoodie half-zipped, collar askew, hair still damp.
"No offense," he said, "but you both look like you lost a bet with sleep."
Neither of us replied.
He didn't seem to mind. Just walked with us.
After a beat, he glanced at me sideways.Not mocking. Not cheerful. Just checking.
"You holding up?"
I gave a small nod.Didn't lie. Didn't explain.
He nodded back, like that was enough.
"Cool," he said softly. "Just… don't get all tragic on us mid-training. I'm not built for that."
The corner of Emi's mouth twitched.Not quite a smile.But close enough.
We walked the rest of the way in silence.Not tense.Just together.
We turned the last corner.
Riku was already there — leaning against the wall just outside the briefing room, arms crossed, posture coiled.
He looked up when he saw me.
Didn't look away.
"Well," he said. "Sleeps fine. Eats fine. Still showing up like nothing happened."
Kaito exhaled. "Don't start, man."
But Riku wasn't talking to him.
"Eight months," he said. "And no one says it out loud. No one asks why it was you in the ring with him. Why it happened then."
He pushed off the wall — slow. Deliberate.
"They called it a condition. Cardiac something. Sudden. Unstoppable. Just bad luck."
He stepped closer. Not threatening.
Just close enough to be sure the words would land.
"But Toru didn't just drop. He looked at you. Right before. Like he knew."
Emi's breath caught. "Riku—"
"He was my best friend," Riku said, without blinking. "And now I walk past an empty bunk every damn morning. And you? You just keep walking like you didn't feel his heart stop right next to yours."
I didn't answer.
I didn't flinch.
Because I couldn't.
Because I still saw the lines in Toru's eyes before he collapsed.
Because I still heard the sound of his body hitting the floor.
Kaito took half a step forward. "Let it go, Riku. No one's walking clean from that day."
But Riku didn't back off.
He just stared at me.
Like he was daring me to say it. To deny it. To try.
I didn't.
He turned. Not quick. Not angry.
Just done.
And as the door hissed open and swallowed him, he left one more thing behind:
"He was better than you'll ever be."
Silence.
Emi looked at me.
I looked past her.
And we walked in.
Because I couldn't stay in the hallway with those words any longer.
The briefing room was already lit — soft panels overhead, long table in the center, curved wall screens flickering between maps and unreadable data.
Rin sat near the end — back straight, hands folded. Her gaze flicked up the moment we entered, then back to her tablet.
Yui was beside her, legs crossed on the bench, posture relaxed in the way only someone deeply confident could manage. She didn't look over.
Emi peeled off from my side and took a seat beside Rin without a word.
Kaito lingered near the back, stretching like he hadn't just walked through tension thick enough to drown in.
I stayed standing for a second longer than I needed to — unsure where to go, or who was watching.
Yui broke the silence.
"Well, at least we won't be late," she said, eyes still on her own device.
Her tone was flat. Not cruel. Just indifferent.
Rin glanced sideways. "Technically, briefing starts in four minutes."
She didn't say it like a correction. Just a fact.
I sat near the far end — not close to anyone, but not isolated either.
Yui finally looked at me.
"Word of advice," she said, still casual. "Don't let Riku bait you. He doesn't know when to stop."
She didn't sound like she was defending me. Just stating terms of survival.
Rin nodded faintly, not looking up. "He's grieving. But grief makes poor logic."
Emi gave them both a look — not sharp, but enough to quiet the commentary.
I didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
Hiroshi Kai stepped in — coat half-buttoned, expression carved from stone. Same look he wore eight months ago.
Same weight in his footsteps.
He didn't stop walking until he reached the front of the room. The screen behind him flared to life — location tags, schematics, name overlays in sharp green.
He didn't raise his voice.
He never had to.
"Axis Six," he said. "Your first operation begins today."
The screen behind him locked into focus — rotating map, clean grid lines, pulsing data overlays.
Hiroshi didn't look back at it.He didn't need to.
"Vance Krait," he said. "Green Spectra. Likely high-tier. Leader of an unaffiliated network that operates just far enough beneath radar to avoid full classification."
His voice was low, level — not hiding the weight behind each word.
"We've flagged him for three years. No convictions. No confirmed kills. Doesn't matter. He's smart. Keeps clean paper, dirty floors."
The map zoomed in — a port district, southwest edge of Varen. Cranes. Containers. Ghost terminals.
"At 0200, Krait's crew is overseeing a private transfer — stolen tech, not Spectra-bound. Low-profile transport. But he's on site."
The screen flashed again — heat signatures, marked vehicles, time stamps.
"We don't care what he's moving. We care that he's dumb enough to show up."
A few of us leaned forward.
Hiroshi didn't pause.
"Your job is containment. Capture only. Krait is the key to his network. Take him down clean, we follow the bloodline back to every crew he's ever traded with."
He tapped a control on the side panel. Multiple maps now — route plans, building layouts, backdoor paths.
"Axis Six will lead insertion. You'll have low-range surveillance support and drone perimeter from Team G-4, but this is your op."
Then, flat:
"No direct backup."
He let that sit.
Then clicked to the final slide: a schematic of our earpieces.
"Standard comms. Secure line. You break formation, you speak. You split visual, you speak. You hit resistance, you call for reinforcements. No solo acts."
Kaito's fingers stopped fidgeting. Rin's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Hiroshi kept going.
"Spectra is authorized. Controlled use only. You escalate when ordered — not before. No one burns out for a petty dealer."
Yui nodded once. No words. She already knew.
"Yui's in command. Her discretion stands."
I saw Riku shift, just a little.
"If Krait resists, disable. If he runs, cut the route. If you lose him—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Then — a beat.
He looked across the room, one face at a time.
"This should be simple. Organized. Contained."
His eyes locked to mine for just a second longer than the rest.
Then he turned.
"You move in two hours. Loadout stations open now. Dismissed."