Morning began with the insistent sound of the alarm. Lucy smacked it silent and lay staring at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts. The threads haunted his dreams now; vague colors remained in his mind, detached from any faces.
With a sigh, he got up and went to the bathroom. The mirror reflected pale skin and tired eyes. As he splashed water on his face, he recalled last night's note in his journal: "Threads are data, and I must learn to read them." The phrase obsessed him, a key he couldn't yet unlock.
The kitchen smelled of toast. His mother, already in her store uniform, sat surrounded by bills. A plate of scrambled eggs waited for him.
"Eat before it gets cold," she said without looking up.
Lucy sat, watching her. Threads around her glowed a soft gray of chronic fatigue, but also a warm green line tied to him: unconditional love.
"Did you sleep at all?" he asked.
She smiled, but her eyes told the truth.
"Enough. Don't worry about me. Focus on school, okay?"
He nodded, guilt twisting in his chest. The Eyes showed what she never said aloud: she was exhausted, balancing everything.
As he ate, he wondered: if he mastered his power, could he use it to help his family too?
The walk to school crunched with fallen leaves. Lucy reviewed his mental list: a literature assignment, math class, and basketball in PE. Ordinary things. But with the Eyes, nothing was ever just ordinary anymore.
In literature class, the teacher grouped them to analyze a classic story. Lucy sat with Mariana and Samuel. At first, discussion flowed. Soon Samuel tried to dominate.
"The protagonist represents freedom," he said firmly.
"No, it's loneliness," Mariana argued.
Their voices rose. Threads flared: a yellow strand of tension, Samuel's red of stubbornness, Mariana's pale blue of insecurity.
Lucy's eyes burned. He spoke carefully.
"Maybe you're both right. The search for freedom leads to loneliness. That might be the point."
The yellow thread relaxed. Samuel frowned but nodded. Mariana exhaled.
The teacher, overhearing, smiled.
"Good synthesis, Lucy."
Relief washed over him. The Sentence had worked—without breaking anyone this time.
At recess, he found Emily reading on a bench. He hesitated, then walked over.
"What are you reading?"
"Nothing interesting," she said quickly, closing the book. But her blue thread flickered pink as she smiled.
He sat beside her. They exchanged small comments about math class and last week's exam. Nothing big, yet the silence between them felt worth more than words.
Later came PE. The coach split them into teams for basketball. Lucy played reluctantly.
The game erupted in colors: green camaraderie, red rivalry, bright yellow excitement. Then Lucy noticed Eric again—his gray thread thinning. Before collapse came, Lucy shouted:
"Eric, switch with me!"
Startled, Eric agreed. Moments later he sat gasping, the coach rushing water to him. No one knew how Lucy foresaw it, but the threads had spoken.
Back home, tired, Lucy cooked rice and vegetables. He ate while writing in his notebook:
Today the Sentence united instead of dividing.
In sports, threads predict mistakes. Useful not just for judgment.
Emily remains a mystery, yet closer each day.
Mom… I must ease her burden somehow.
Closing the notebook, he glanced outside. The streetlamp glowed, empty. Yet for an instant, he swore a shadow lingered.
Routine was heavy. But each day brought him closer to the true meaning of the Karmic Eyes.