The sun rose slowly over the city, painting the streets in pale gold that only barely reached into the alleyways. Kaito moved quietly along the familiar path to school, the weight of morning air pressing on his shoulders. His expression was calm as always, unreadable, but the faint twinge of tension around his eyes betrayed what the world refused to see.
From the first day of high school, the tension had been constant. His white-streaked hair, the subtle mark of his Catherine heritage, had always drawn attention—but attention of the wrong kind. The first year had been harsh. The bullies had appeared almost immediately, four students at first, but it had escalated over weeks. By the end of the first semester, it became clear: they were not ordinary troublemakers. They were a gang. Not just any gang, but a large one, nearly twenty members strong, all Amerians, all confident in the knowledge that Kaito, a Catherine, could not retaliate.
He had learned quickly that resistance was futile. The world outside his family, outside the walls that had raised him with warmth and careful guidance, was cruel. To survive, he had to bend. He had to endure. And so he had endured.
---
Arthur had watched it all. Small at first, cautious, hesitant. Arthur had been the kind of student who observed, who felt deeply, who internalized what he could not yet change. He remembered the first time he had seen Kaito cornered by the gang.
It had been a chilly autumn afternoon. The gang circled Kaito in the courtyard, sneering, shoving, testing boundaries. Kaito had stood perfectly still, expressionless, letting the words, the punches, the mocking laughter wash over him. Nothing escaped his control, yet he did not strike back. His hands remained at his sides, his stance neutral. Arthur had felt a pang of fear and anger. Why doesn't he fight back? he had thought. Why let them humiliate him like that?
Days later, he found the answer—not in rage, not in some dramatic act, but in quiet, almost imperceptible gestures.
It had happened one afternoon after classes. Arthur had lingered near the gym, waiting for his backpack, when he saw a scene that imprinted itself on his memory. One of the bullies—a particularly arrogant boy—was shoving another student, a small first-year, around, mocking him. "What's wrong? Can't even stand up to us?" The boy was terrified, trembling, and Arthur felt helpless, unsure whether to step in.
And then Kaito appeared.
He had walked through the side corridor, expressionless as always. His steps were slow, calm, deliberate. Arthur held his breath. The bully noticed him immediately. "Hey! Catherine boy! You gonna watch, or you gonna interfere?"
Kaito had not moved, had not flinched. But in the silence that followed, Arthur saw a subtle shift—just a fraction of a smile, a hint of his calm resolve, something that said he understood the danger but chose his action carefully.
Ten minutes later, when the first-year was about to be struck, Kaito acted. He intercepted them, silent, precise, bringing a teacher around the corner before the attack could escalate. The bullies had fled, furious, hissing threats that they would take revenge, but the moment had been enough.
Arthur had been stunned. Afterward, he had walked beside Kaito, thanking him quietly. "Why… why did you save me? If you hadn't, it wouldn't have mattered to you. You wouldn't have been hurt…"
Kaito's face remained calm, almost cold. His eyes did not waver, his tone flat. "Maybe it's my very big flaw… being kind."
Arthur had blinked. It was such a simple answer, yet it was profound in its honesty. From that moment, he had wanted to be Kaito's friend. He had approached him repeatedly, asking to talk, to sit together, to study together. Kaito had refused. Flat refusals, months of them. Arthur had been persistent, yet he respected the boundaries silently set by the stoic boy.
Over time, something shifted. Kaito began to allow him closer, subtle openings—shared lunches, small gestures, quiet understanding. By the start of their second year, it had solidified: they were friends. Not loud, energetic, boisterous friends, but a kind of calm, steady companionship. Arthur brought warmth and energy, Kaito brought calm and observance. They balanced each other, learned from each other.
Now, in their third year, nearly two years after that first act of kindness, they had become inseparable in quiet ways. Not all students understood, not all approved. But the bond was real. And it had been tested more than once.
---
And yet, in the present, the memory was bittersweet. Kaito—stoic, calm, seemingly indestructible—was lying unconscious, his body wracked by power he could not yet control. The tower above had collapsed, the world around them had burned, and yet Arthur could not let go of the past.
He remembered the mornings in school when Kaito endured the bullying. Every insult, every shove, every act of humiliation, he endured without retaliation. Arthur had wanted to intervene but had been held back by fear for both of them. Kaito had been alone in that way, and Arthur had only been able to watch, to admire, to quietly support from a distance.
Even now, thinking of that past, Arthur's heart ached. He remembered the way Kaito had walked silently through the courtyard, how he had remained expressionless while enduring everything. How, despite knowing he was vulnerable because of his Catherine heritage, he had never struck back indiscriminately, never retaliated unnecessarily.
It was a lesson Arthur had carried with him for years—the weight of kindness, the strength in restraint, and the courage in surviving silently. And it was why he believed Kaito would survive now. That quiet strength had always been a part of him.
---
As Arthur, Mina, and Alia navigated the alleyways, making their way toward safety, the conversation between them was sparse. The fire of the old tower was behind them, the smoldering heat a distant reminder of the chaos they had survived. Arthur's mind, however, was elsewhere. It was back in the school courtyards, in the hallways, in the quiet moments that had defined his bond with Kaito.
He remembered one particular incident in the second year. The bullies had regrouped, threatening others, spreading fear through the school. Kaito had not flinched. Arthur had wanted to challenge them, to intervene, yet Kaito had only given a small shake of his head. "Don't interfere. It's not necessary. It's easier to endure than escalate."
Arthur had argued silently, frustrated, but Kaito's calm had always been absolute. He had endured, yes—but he had also acted when it truly mattered, like the first-year student in the hallway, or the stray cat years before. Arthur had learned that kindness was not weakness—it was precision. It was calculated, careful, yet no less powerful.
---
The streets were quiet now, yet the shadows felt long, echoing with the weight of memory and expectation. Arthur glanced at Kaito, unconscious, fragile in a way that seemed impossible. He had endured so much before—so much bullying, so much discrimination, so much isolation. Yet he had survived. He had persevered. He had acted when it counted. And he had chosen friendship with Arthur, despite all the reasons the world had given him to remain alone.
Arthur's fists clenched. He would not let this moment be the one that broke that bond. Not now, not ever. The memory of Kaito's calm, of his silent courage in the face of overwhelming odds, gave him strength.
"Hang on," he whispered, though Kaito could not hear. "You've always been there for me… now I'll be there for you."
Alia and Mina stayed close, their eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. Yet Arthur's focus remained on Kaito, on the boy who had shown him what it meant to endure, to act with kindness, and to protect without question.
---
They moved cautiously, exiting the alleyways, heading toward the wider streets where the sounds of the city resumed. The faint glow of dawn highlighted the buildings, the rubble, the subtle scars of the night before. Yet amid the ruins, Arthur felt the echo of memory, a quiet reassurance: Kaito's strength had never been in his ability to strike back—it had been in his ability to endure, to choose carefully, and to act when it truly mattered.
Even now, as he lay unconscious, Arthur knew that strength was still within him. And he knew that their bond, forged through years of quiet understanding, endured beyond any collapse, beyond any chaos.
For two years, from first year to third year, their friendship had grown, subtle but unbreakable, rooted in small acts of kindness, resilience, and mutual understanding. And though the present was dire, the memory of those acts, of Kaito's calm, of his enduring courage, gave Arthur the hope to keep moving forward.
---
The city streets stretched ahead, long and empty, carrying them toward safety, carrying them toward the unknown. But within Arthur, within Mina, within the echoes of their shared past, there was a quiet certainty: Kaito had endured before, and he would endure now. And they would not abandon him.
---
The sky had darkened to an indigo veil, pierced only by the faint glow of the sinking sun, though its light barely reached the ruined streets. The clock in Guren's mind registered the time with exact precision: 19:35. Evening. The world had begun its slow descent into night, yet in the heart of the city, chaos burned like a second sun.
Guren moved with deliberate pace, his boots crunching against shards of charred concrete and broken masonry. The faint hum in his ear was constant—the Bluetooth device clipped behind his temple keeping him tethered to Minister Brown.
"Report," Brown's voice came, crackling faintly with static, laced with authority.
"Sir," Guren replied, voice steady and measured, "the situation has deviated from expectations. The boy has escaped the initial containment zones. Eclipse activity is concentrated in the old tower ruins. The energy output… unprecedented."
"Unprecedented?" Brown's tone sharpened. "Explain."
Guren's mind flicked through every diagram, every calculated variable he had prepared, each perfectly laid plan. Nothing could have predicted the surge that now radiated from a single boy. The calculations, the simulations, the field data—it was all undone. He ground his jaw.
"The convergence failed because of human error," he said, careful with each word. "Kuro altered the deployment, targeted a low-affinity marker, and… the boy became the focal point of the eclipse. Out of 187 targets, 150 had no affinity. But Kuro manipulated the sequence, creating this… anomaly."
Brown's voice was low, deliberate, and edged with lethal intent. "Kuro did this? Then you know what must happen. If the boy cannot be captured, find Kuro. Find him in the depths of Hell if you must—and eliminate him."
Guren's lips pressed into a thin line. He did not flinch, did not argue. The minister's words were law. They would be carried out.
---
The ruins of the old tower loomed ahead, dark and jagged, the skeletal remains of its structure glowing faintly from residual fires. Smoke still rose from scattered debris, curling like phantom fingers, carrying the faint scent of ash and ozone. And at its heart, Guren could see the boy—the source of the anomaly—radiating energy that distorted the air around him.
Kaito.
The pulse of his power was tangible, vibrating through the soles of Guren's boots, thrumming in his chest. It was not mere light. It was something alive, a force that seemed to test the fabric of the world itself. Small arcs of flame, residual from the collapse, did not dissipate naturally—they bent toward him as though drawn to the locus of power, converging in spirals that made the air shimmer.
Guren slowed his pace, cataloging each anomaly: discharge patterns, frequency deviations, thermal flux. The boy's chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each inhalation sending subtle waves of energy rippling outward. The ground cracked, the stone underfoot trembling as if acknowledging the presence of something beyond its comprehension.
Every instinct Guren had, honed through years of strategy and meticulous planning, screamed caution. He was trained to predict energy surges, to read power signatures, to neutralize threats before they became catastrophic. Yet this—this was beyond protocol. It was pure, raw, and terrifying.
---
He stopped a few meters from the epicenter, letting his eyes adjust to the distorted light. Kaito's body was small against the magnitude of energy radiating from him, yet the luminosity emphasized the boy's presence. It was almost obscene how fragile he appeared, human yet somehow a fulcrum for forces that could reshape the world.
The shadows of the ruins stretched across Guren's path, twisted by the bending light of the eclipse. He felt the pull of Kaito's power against his own aura, the subtle tug of an anomaly resisting containment. The air vibrated with the unspoken warning of danger. One wrong move, and the boy's energy could snap outward in unpredictable arcs.
Guren inhaled sharply, steadying himself. "Calculations are secondary," he muttered under his breath. "Containment must be immediate. And Kuro… he will pay."
The Bluetooth device buzzed faintly, a reminder of the minister's orders echoing in his mind. There was no time to consider mercy or hesitation. Kuro's interference had undone months of precision. Guren would not allow it to happen again.
Around the perimeter, the remnants of the collapsed tower shifted. Small stones fell like rain, but none disturbed the core of energy at the center. Kaito's eyelids fluttered slightly, his fingers twitching. The white streaks in his hair, marking him as Catherine, seemed almost to glow against the darkened backdrop—a beacon of defiance and anomaly.
Guren's hand brushed the small speaker in his ear, clipping it off. The minister's words were not distant now—they were a weight pressing into his mind, a directive to act, to control, to enforce order. The task ahead was clear: contain the boy, capture the eclipse, restore protocol. And if the boy could not be captured… Kuro would be next.
He stepped closer, boots crunching on scorched debris, feeling the heat pulse faintly through the stone. Each step carried the tension of a battlefield, silent but alive, waiting for the spark that would ignite the next phase.
Kaito's chest rose again, shallow, uneven, and the air around him shimmered like heat above a summer road. The energy coiled outward in spirals and arcs, almost sentient in its motion, reaching toward the edges of the ruined tower like fingers testing boundaries.
Guren allowed a calculated pause, taking in the field. Containment measures, neutralization vectors, energy damping protocols—all were assessed, logged, stored. He had trained for anomalies, had calculated for worst-case scenarios. But even in his methodical mind, the beauty of the power unsettled him. It was raw, untamed, and brilliant.
The moment stretched, time slowed, and the scene was almost hypnotic. The boy, the energy, the collapsing ruins, the fading light—all combined into a tableau that was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing.
Guren's eyes narrowed. The orders from Minister Brown, the chaos caused by Kuro, the unexpected resilience of a single boy—it all condensed into one truth: the eclipse was alive in ways no protocol could fully dictate.
He squared his shoulders. The night was settling, shadows stretching long and deep across the ruins. Guren inhaled, let the weight of his mission center him, and prepared for the inevitable.
The boy's energy pulsed again, brighter, stronger. Guren's gaze sharpened. Every calculation, every plan, every second of training had led to this moment. The containment was ready. The confrontation was inevitable.
And at 19:35, with the evening shadows falling across the city, Guren stood at the threshold of chaos, watching the boy—Kaito—release energy that threatened to unravel everything.
The scene held like a breath before a scream.
---
The clock read 7:35 in the evening. The entire sky above Viace was still trembling with the residue of the Eclipse. A faint, rippling glow painted the horizon in sickly streaks of violet and black, as if the heavens themselves had been torn and refused to stitch back together.
In government offices across the world, the atmosphere was no less torn apart.
---
From Krai, the capital of the eastern continent, the Prime Minister sat with a phone pressed tight against his ear. His suit jacket hung open, tie loosened, sweat beading on his forehead. He had already received reports—hundreds of dead, thousands missing, countless displaced. But what disturbed him most was not the number of casualties. It was the fact that this power…this impossible power…had appeared in the hands of a single boy.
"Get me Brown. Chief Minister Brown of Vrod," he barked into the receiver.
"Yes, Prime Minister. But—" the secretary stammered, "the line keeps cutting. We've tried four times. Minister Brown is not answering."
The Prime Minister slammed his desk with the flat of his hand. "He must answer. Vrod is responsible for Viace's safety. If he cannot contain this, the entire global order will collapse!"
Already, multiple calls were flooding in from allied nations. Each minister, each representative was demanding the same thing: answers.
A foreign minister from the west snapped over a secured channel:
"What is happening in Viace? Is it true the Eclipse energy is leaking uncontrolled? Are you hiding a weapon?"
The Prime Minister ground his teeth. "No, it's not a weapon. It's a…boy. A boy who awakened to Eclipse power."
"Then contain him! Neutralize him!"
The Prime Minister's hands tightened into fists. Neutralize a boy who can burn a city down in minutes? If it were that easy, Brown would not be silent right now…
---
Meanwhile, in the streets below the glowing tower, chaos reigned.
Families pressed close to one another, children crying into their mothers' arms. The elderly shuffled with shaking hands, guided by neighbors who themselves were trembling.
Crowds flooded the narrow roads, some dragging suitcases, others clutching whatever valuables they could carry. Street vendors had abandoned their stalls. Shops stood open, half-looted. Stray animals darted nervously, sensing the tension in the air.
On one corner, a young man shouted, "The world's ending! Don't you see? The Eclipse is the sign—the old texts said it would return!"
Another, clutching his coat tightly, hissed back, "Shut up! Don't spread panic!"
But panic was already spreading.
Two women whispered hurriedly while clutching grocery bags:
"Did you hear? They say the boy's body is already burning, like a sun about to collapse."
"And what if it spreads? Will Viace even exist tomorrow?"
An old shopkeeper shook his head bitterly. "In my youth, we feared earthquakes. But this—this is something we can't run from."
The streets were alive with voices of fear, dread, and hopelessness.
---
Farther from the crowds, near a desolate road flanked by withered trees, Samuel and Kuro watched the spectacle from the shadows of a parked car.
Samuel's body was tense, his fingers curled into his coat. His eyes never left the towering shape of the burning old tower where Kaito's unconscious body was still leaking that unnatural energy. The glow reflected in his pupils like fire.
"Kuro…" his voice cracked with tension, "we can't. This is madness. Look at that." He pointed toward the distance where the air itself seemed to shimmer, bending from the unstable surge of power. "That boy is like a walking catastrophe. And you're telling me we should capture him?"
Kuro stood calmly, his back leaned against the car, arms crossed. The reflection of the Eclipse danced in his eyes, violet and cold. "Yes."
Samuel wheeled on him. "Are you insane? Do you even hear yourself? There will be police everywhere. Not just normal ones—Regan 9 and 10 are on their way. Kiayara and Riley! They'll kill us before we can even touch that boy."
Kuro tilted his head, unbothered. His voice was low, chilling. "You think small, Samuel. You see obstacles. I see opportunity. The world is already in chaos. Look around you—the ministers, the police, the people—they're already trembling. A boy like him, if taken under our wing, could be reshaped into the very heart of power."
Samuel gritted his teeth. "Reshaped? He's not some tool! He's—he's—" His words faltered, because even he didn't know what Kaito was anymore. A friend? A stranger? Or just a ticking bomb waiting to explode?
Kuro straightened from the car, dusting off his sleeves. Then he glanced sideways at Samuel with a faint, cold smirk. "Besides…"
He lifted a hand and gestured to the road beside them. "Do you really think we came alone?"
---
Headlights pierced the dark. Another car rolled up, sleek and black, stopping right beside them.
The door opened, and one by one, four figures stepped out.
The first was a girl, barely taller than Samuel's shoulder. 152 cm, purple-haired, with eyes of a clear, piercing blue. Her face was almost childlike in its roundness, but the way she carried herself was anything but innocent. A wrench—normal in design, but worn and scratched as if it had been through countless battles—hung loosely in her grip. She twirled it once, the metal glinting under the pale light.
The second was another girl, taller, 165 cm, with sleek black hair and striking yellow eyes. Her face was narrow, oval, sharp with maturity. Dressed in a formal black suit, she looked more like an assassin than a student. In her hand was a long, rectangular black suitcase, and though no one could see what was inside, the weight of it was unmistakable.
Then came the first of the two men. His hair was black, his eyes brown, and his height modest—around 175 cm. His clothes were torn, ragged, but in his hands gleamed a sickle, curved and glowing faintly with some unnatural energy. His smile stretched too wide, his laughter breaking the silence with something almost feral.
Finally, the fourth stepped down: 180 cm, dressed in a pristine suit, his black hair neatly combed. Unlike the wild-eyed man, this one carried himself with dignity, calm and composed. But in his hand rested a staff, its end carved with runes that faintly pulsed. His very presence carried weight, as though he had no need to boast—power simply followed him.
The four of them stood in a line, and for a moment, the night itself seemed to grow heavier.
Samuel swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His heart thudded as he whispered, "…Is this our team?" His voice wavered between fear and awe.
Kuro's lips curled faintly. "Yes."
The purple-haired girl spun her wrench and grinned. "So, this is the chaos we've been promised? I like it already."
The suited girl adjusted her suitcase with an icy expression. "Stay focused. We're not here to play."
The laughing man with the sickle tilted his head back, letting out another unsettling chuckle. "Heheh…burning skies, screaming people…what a lovely orchestra tonight."
The staff-wielding man merely looked at the tower in the distance, silent, his eyes calculating.
Kuro stepped forward, the Eclipse still dancing in his gaze. "Tonight," he said softly, "we make history."
---
The city burned with fear. The world was in uproar. And now, in the shadow of chaos, a new team stood assembled, ready to step into the storm around Kaito's unconscious body.
The Eclipse had begun to write its next chapter.