"Man... I really do hate needles."
I pressed a piece of gauze to my left arm where they'd just drawn blood, taking a moment to recover. They had put me through a relentless battery of tests, and I was finally getting a moment to breathe. I grabbed a paper cup from the dispenser nearby and drained the water in one go, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat. I still had a long road of examinations ahead, but the mental fatigue was already setting in. I stifled a yawn, covering my mouth with a hand.
After that bizarre "first contact" with Barakiel, Teacher Azazel had led me to a sterile, white waiting room. It had that distinct, cold hospital feel—empty and echoing. I'd left my gear there and changed into a thin exam gown while Azazel prepped the machinery. Having never been seriously ill, a full-scale physical like this was a rare and nerve-wracking experience.
What followed was a parade of technology that looked like a cross between a modern clinic and a high-budget sci-fi film. Everything was automated. Beyond the standard height, weight, and vision tests, I was subjected to full-body scans, arterial wall pressure checks, and deep-tissue analysis of my muscles and bones.
Then came the supernatural stuff: magic capacity, aura circulation ratios, and surplus energy levels. The most unsettling part was the "soul scan." I couldn't even describe what they did, but it felt like something was stirring deep, deep inside my core. It was a lingering, nauseating sensation that I just couldn't shake.
"I never realized how much my Gear's aura was doing for me... thanks, partner," I whispered to the spear within.
Azazel had instructed me to cut off all Sacred Gear input during the tests. Without it, the dull ache of the needle felt much sharper than usual. Normally, my partner would have healed the wound or dulled the pain instantly. Now, I was feeling everything directly.
It made me realize how much I had been relying on it without even knowing. Since the aura was gone, my body felt heavy—sluggish. It turned out my partner had been circulating its energy through me 24/7, boosting my physical strength, reflexes, and even my sensory perception. While most users have to consciously "equip" their aura for battle, I had been in a constant, passive combat-ready state. No wonder I was such a "healthy" kid—my Sacred Gear was basically a helicopter parent.
+++
"Hey, Kanata. Done resting?"
The automatic doors slid open, and Teacher Azazel walked in carrying a stack of files. With his white coat over his suit and those slightly tinted glasses, he looked exactly like a veteran doctor. It suited him. I tossed my cup in the bin and walked over.
"From where I'm sitting, your results are so good it's almost disgusting," he said with a smirk.
"Wow, thanks for the toxic feedback."
"I'm serious. I didn't think a Sacred Gear could manage a host's health this closely. Your partner is basically a doting mother. Did you really not notice a foreign aura constantly flowing through your veins?"
"I mean... not really," I admitted, tilting my head.
If you're born with it, you just get used to it. I suspect the reason nobody noticed was that my partner used Concept Deletion to mask its signature. It was doing all the work, and I was reaping all the benefits without lifting a finger. I couldn't be mad at it for that.
"Anyway, here are the results. Most kids your age have terrible nutrition or eye strain from too many video games, but you're the picture of health. Magic, aura, and soul—all top-tier. As a 'wicked angel,' I almost want to teach you a few bad habits just to balance things out."
I flipped through the papers. I'd grown a bit since spring, which made me grin. But then I noticed a specific page with a sticky note on it—an X-ray of what looked like a stomach.
"That's the only red flag," Azazel noted. "Your stomach lining is a bit irritated. I'll write you a three-day prescription; take it after meals. Stress is a killer, Kanata."
He traced the dark spots on the image. It looked like a minefield. It made me think of Toji Shido. I wondered if he was doing better, or if I should be praying for his continued recovery abroad, given that Kuoh Town was turning into a literal madhouse.
Speaking of Kuoh, I did my best to steer Irina Shido away from the "Magical Girl" madness before she left. She's impressionable, and I didn't want her shouting "Milky Magical!" in front of the Church's upper brass. I told her that shouting "Amen!" when she used a move would make her just like her father. I'm glad she took the advice—at least now she'll look like a devout believer while she's throwing those "Love Punches."
+++
"I've never had a soul scan before," I said, changing the subject. "I wasn't a fan."
"Most people aren't. Shaking the soul directly isn't a pleasant experience. But we're moving on to the main event: synchronization and resistance."
"Resistance?"
We began walking toward the Sacred Gear testing lab.
"Think of it as an allergy test. In rare cases, a host's body and soul can't handle the 'unknown' power of a Sacred Gear. Their own spirit rejects the aura, leading to an anaphylactic-like shock."
I listened, wide-eyed. Azazel explained that since the Gear is tied to the soul, you can't just remove the cause of the "allergy." The hosts suffer through constant, agonizing symptoms that eventually become fatal. This facility, he admitted, acted as a sanctuary for those users—people who couldn't even survive without the advanced life-support systems Grigori provided.
It was a cruel fate. To be born with a power that was destined to kill you.
"Can't it be cured?"
"Maintenance is all we can do right now. It used to be considered an incurable disease where the only mercy was a quick death."
Even in a world of magic and miracles, this was a wall they couldn't climb. Azazel put a hand on my head, noticing my somber expression.
"Don't look so down. I'm currently researching a buffer circuit—an external magic loop that can regulate and dampen the Gear's output to stop it from poisoning the host. We're far from finished, and it might only help the milder cases, but it's a start."
I remembered a character from the original stories—a boy who should have been fast but was confined to a wheelchair because his body couldn't handle his Gear. Later, after the three factions formed an alliance, Azazel managed to help him. The theory he was working on now was the foundation for that future.
"Could I... use my Concept Deletion to erase the aura that's hurting them?"
"Kanata, don't take the weight of the world on your shoulders. You can't spend your whole life acting as a temporary filter for strangers. The connection is at the soul level; unless we fix the root cause, their lives will keep slipping away."
He explained it like a teacher correcting a stubborn student. I went quiet. He was right—I couldn't sacrifice my own life to act as a living dialysis machine for every incompatible user in the world. But it still felt wrong. I was saved by my Gear, while they were being destroyed by theirs. It was a terrifying, irrational destiny.
+++
"Alright, let's wrap up the gloom. This is the place."
Azazel grinned, his serious demeanor vanishing. I sat in a specialized chair, and he fitted a helmet-like device over my head. A sensor was placed near my heart, and a clip-like machine was attached to my middle finger.
"Now, reach out to your Gear. Melt your consciousness into it and wrap your whole body in its aura."
"Like I'm doing a detection scan?"
"Exactly."
I closed my eyes and sank into the familiar sensation. My senses expanded. I could feel the layout of the room, the hum of the equipment, and even the faint presence of people in far-off corridors.
"...This is..."
I caught a faint whisper. Not a voice, but a shift in the air. Teacher Azazel's aura flickered—a rare sign of genuine shock from someone of his caliber.
"Teacher? What happened?"
"Sorry, did I break your focus? I've got the data I need. Just hang on a second."
His voice sounded strained. He was cross-referencing my results with dozens of magic circles, his brow furrowed in deep thought. After a few minutes, he walked over with a printed graph.
"I previously said you were just 'dull' for not noticing your Gear's aura. I was wrong. You weren't ignoring it—you couldn't have noticed it."
"What do you mean?"
He showed me the graph. Two waves, left and right. They were almost identical in frequency and color—a shimmering orange-crimson gradient.
"The left is your aura. The right is your Gear's. They're so similar that they look like twins. No—they look like the sameexistence. It's no wonder you mistook its aura for your own."
I stared at the paper. The Red Crimson Spear of Ruin was my partner, yes, but it was supposed to be a separate entity.
"Kanata, remember the experiment we did a year ago to measure your output? I still have that data. Back then, your aura was bright orange, completely different from the spear's frequency. You aren't just similar anymore. You are becoming the Gear."
A shiver ran down my spine. My heart hammered against my ribs. Even a carefree guy like me knew how dangerous this sounded.
I thought back to the moment I created the Law Rewrite to save Clere. I felt something "click" into place that day. I hadn't just changed the world; I had changed myself.
I was still me. I had my memories, my will, my personality. But the foundation of my soul was being rewritten. Was my partner taking me over? Or was it protecting me by making us one?
Hey... partner, I called out in my mind.
I closed my eyes, sinking as deep as I could go. I didn't want a feeling. I didn't want a light. I wanted to know who—or what—was at the center of my soul. I needed to know if I could still trust the being I called my best friend.
You'll stay with me, won't you? We're in this together, right?
I poured all my will into the synchronization, seeking the consciousness beyond the wall.
It was my final plea. A desperate need for reassurance.
Then, from the absolute silence of the abyss, a response came. It wasn't an emotion. It wasn't a pulse. It was a sound.
"—As you wish, my Vessel."
I had heard it. Not with my ears, but with my soul.
The Voice.
***
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