The academy didn't sound like a school anymore.
Sirens wailed — not the mechanical kind, but old warning chimes buried deep within the grounds, vibrating through bone instead of air. Lights flickered, corridors sealed themselves off, and the walls themselves seemed to lean inward, listening.
Tobi woke up on stone.
Cold.
For half a second, he didn't know where he was — only that his sword was still in his hand, and his chest hurt in a way that felt earned.
"Don't move."
Sumi's voice.
Soft. Close.
Her palm was pressed lightly against his shoulder, steady but shaking just enough to give her away. She was kneeling beside him, hair loose, eyes locked on his face like she was afraid he might vanish if she blinked.
"You blacked out for ten seconds," she said. "That's… not good."
Iruka laughed weakly from somewhere nearby. "Hey, at least he didn't die. That's improvement, right?"
Mizumi didn't laugh.
She was standing near the broken corridor wall, staring into a stretch of darkness that hadn't been there before. The space twisted subtly, like a wound refusing to close.
"They're still here," she said.
That shut everyone up.
---
Something Is Hunting
Teachers were forming perimeter lines now — real ones. Not drills. Not exercises.
Yanshi's presence hit the corridor like pressure before a storm. His eyes burned faintly, scanning damage, students, energy traces.
"They didn't retreat," he said. "They repositioned."
Miss Shiratori swallowed. "Inside the academy?"
"Yes."
A chill ran through Tobi that had nothing to do with injury.
"They want us moving," Sumi said suddenly.
Everyone turned to her.
She hesitated — then forced herself to continue. "They're not attacking randomly. They're shaping fear. Herding."
Iruka frowned. "Like predators?"
Sumi nodded once. "Like hunters who enjoy the chase."
Right on cue, a scream echoed from above.
Not cut short.
Dragged.
---
The Second Encounter
They reached the stairwell too late.
A teacher lay slumped against the railing, breathing shallowly, eyes wide with terror rather than pain. No visible wounds — just frost crawling up the metal near his hands, spreading unnaturally.
Tobi felt sick.
"That's fear-based energy," Mizumi whispered. "Compressed."
A laugh echoed from the upper floor.
Slow.
Amused.
"So many protectors," a voice purred. "And yet you all shake the same."
A figure stepped into view.
No mask this time.
Just a face — pale, smiling, eyes too reflective, like they didn't belong to this lighting. His shadow didn't match his movements.
Iruka took a step back. "I don't like him."
The man tilted his head. "Good. Fear makes you honest."
He looked past everyone.
Straight at Tobi.
"Ohhh," he said softly. "You're loud."
The sword reacted instantly.
Not violently — defensively.
Tobi tightened his grip. "Don't come closer."
The man's smile widened. "Or what? You'll lose control again?"
That hit harder than any strike.
Sumi moved without thinking.
She stepped in front of Tobi.
Just half a step — not dramatic, not heroic.
Protective.
The man noticed.
"Oh?" His gaze lingered on her. "Interesting anchor you have."
Sumi's jaw tightened.
"You should leave," she said quietly. "Now."
He laughed.
Then vanished.
---
Rest That Isn't Rest
They regrouped in a sealed chamber beneath the main hall — reinforced, warded, ancient. The kind of place you hid things you never wanted seen again.
Tobi sat against the wall, head bowed, breathing slow and controlled like Yanshi had taught him.
Don't let it answer unless you choose.
Across the room, Iruka stared at his reflection in a cracked mirror.
"I froze," he said suddenly. "When he smiled. I couldn't move."
"No," Mizumi said gently. "You moved anyway."
Iruka shook his head. "Not fast enough."
Silence stretched.
Sumi sat beside Tobi.
Not touching him.
Close enough that he could feel her presence — calm, restrained, heavy with things she wasn't saying.
"They'll come again," she said.
Tobi nodded. "Yeah."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"You don't have to carry this alone," she said.
He met her eyes.
Something dangerous and warm twisted in his chest.
"I know," he replied. "But I don't know who I become if I let go."
Her fingers brushed his sleeve.
Just once.
Then she pulled back.
---
Above the Academy
High above the city, one attacker crouched on a spire, watching emergency lights bloom like flowers.
"They didn't break," one said.
"No," the other replied. "But they bent."
A pause.
"Next time," the first continued, "we take something."
The wind howled.
Below, the academy held its breath.