Antonie led him up to the second floor, the nerve center of his research into the Doors and the tracking of their relics. Alphard stood in awe; his eyes wandered across the overwhelming amount of dust-covered documents and towering stacks of notes, dwarfing anything he'd seen back in Antonie's own office.
There, Antonie explained that Alphard's trouble controlling his power was most likely tied to the Digestion process, and that he wouldn't need much longer before achieving genuine mastery. Still, he made a point of clarifying it wasn't a simple matter: every soul carries a unique nature, and while most users absorb their abilities almost instantly, exceptions to the rule always exist.
This could actually be even stronger proof that there have been — or still are — other transmigrators out there. Or it could just be something that happens to people whose souls fall outside the ordinary.
Is my soul really different from everyone else's?
Antonie took the lead and began walking Alphard through the first steps toward mastering his ability.
"Listen — focus all your concentration on what you're doing. You need to take direct control over your own body."
Alphard closed his eyes at once and turned his gaze inward. Instantly, he felt the structure of his limbs begin to warp: flesh and bone stretched slowly into an unnatural deformation, before, through conscious effort, folding back and reclaiming their human shape.
"What was that?" Alphard asked, unsettled by the sensation.
"That's body control. Essentially, you can manipulate parts of your body in ways that go against nature."
Antonie gestured toward the fountain pen resting on the table, asking him to try concealing it using his own body. Alphard accepted the challenge. The moment he grasped it, he compressed the tissue of his hand into a sphere, gradually swallowing the instrument whole.
The assimilation, though, was far from clean: a cold, foreign current spread through him, causing his body to reject the object outright. Unable to sustain the effort any longer, Alphard released the tension, and the pen tore free from his skin, clattering to the floor.
"I've got an idea."
Despite his body's rejection, Alphard picked the pen back up off the floor and forced it back into his flesh. The sensation was absurdly uncomfortable; his body fought to expel the object the instant it registered it as an invader.
Rather than give in, though, Alphard channeled that same rejecting pressure: he molded his hand into a small, thumb-width cannon and fired the pen at a terrifying speed, punching a small, clean hole into the floor.
"What was that?!" Antonie asked, alarmed by what Alphard had just done.
"I just turned it into a projectile. It's incredibly uncomfortable, honestly."
Witnessing the result, Antonie wasted no time. He pulled a small bullet from a wooden case on the table and handed it to Alphard, urging him to repeat the exercise — but with a clear warning this time: simply forcing the material out crudely wasn't good enough. He needed to see real control over the trajectory, force, and precision of the shot.
Full of doubt, Alphard accepted the challenge anyway and once again manipulated the tissue of his hand to swallow the bullet. The discomfort, though, turned out to be exponentially worse than with the pen: the dense, icy cold of the lead refused to yield to his will, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through him that threatened to shatter his concentration.
Gritting his teeth, he channeled his willpower to reshape his arm once more into the form of a small cannon.
He fixed his eyes on a small mark on the wall, calculating the right speed and angle.
BANG!
The projectile tore out at a devastating speed, cracking the surface and blasting open a fissure wrapped in debris. At the same moment, Alphard choked back a groan as a whip of pain shot up his arm, the brutal recoil of the shot taking its toll.
"Ow!"
Antonie rushed to help him steady himself. The pain in his arm gradually faded until it vanished entirely, but the unpleasant sensory memory of the lead stayed burned into Alphard's mind.
Despite the discomfort, a deep relief washed over his chest — he'd just taken a massive step forward. First, he'd managed to master his spiritual sight, and now, he was beginning to take command of his own body's anatomy.
Meanwhile, a satisfied smile crossed Antonie's face at Alphard's feat. He looked at the young man with a clear mix of pride: admiring his student's determination, while quietly celebrating, at the same time, the effectiveness of his own teaching.
The sky remained blanketed in thick clouds, but the rain had finally let up. Without the sting of falling drops, the icy breeze gradually began to ease, letting the air settle into a relatively milder temperature.
"You know, even so, this kind of power is genuinely difficult to handle. Most people have no idea this world hasn't fallen into madness and chaos purely because of fools like us, doing all the dirty work behind the scenes."
"Do you fight too?" Alphard asked.
"Only when the moment calls for it. I much prefer research and study. I do my part, small as it might be."
"Your part's bigger than you think. Nobody else puts in the kind of time you do for this. You know so much."
Antonie let out a small chuckle before rising to clean up the mess the two of them had made. Alphard followed suit immediately, lending a hand stacking the scattered papers and files.
Once the space was clear, they made their way carefully down the stairs. The sharp creak of the wood beneath every step made it painfully clear the building was crying out for renovation — not to mention the fresh hole in the upper floor, and the gaping breach they'd just blown into the wall.
Right at that moment, the insistent clatter of the telegraph cut through the air and pulled both their attention. They hurried over to receive the message and decode the transmission: it was Charlotte, requesting both of them immediately for a matter of extreme urgency.
They left the print shop at a brisk pace, locking the entrance behind them before climbing into a carriage that carried them swiftly toward the station. As the carriage moved, the clouds finally broke apart entirely, and the sun began to blaze down over the city with renewed strength.
They hurried inside, and within moments, were already descending to the underground level. The darkness swallowed them whole, forcing them to navigate by nothing but the faint glow of the gas lamps scattered along the walls.
After walking far enough, they reached Charlotte's office; the moment they opened the door, the bright glow of the chandeliers struck them full force, leaving them momentarily dazzled as their eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in light.
"Morning, boss," Antonie said, his voice steady.
"Morning... boss," Alphard echoed, trying to mimic Antonie, though clearly feeling a bit out of place doing so.
Inside the office were three more people, not counting Charlotte. The first was Philip, wearing his usual unmistakable air.
Beside him stood a woman of striking elegance, her long red hair paired with captivating green eyes, dressed in a flawless burgundy tailored suit. The last was a young man with dark blue hair and eyes to match, wearing an outfit fairly similar to the one Alphard himself had on.
"Alphard, this is Evelyn Grimsley and Didier Cadwell. They're both part of Noctis as well, so if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask either of them."
"Pleasure to meet you, Alphard," Evelyn said, offering a faint smile.
Far from intimidated, Didier stepped up to Alphard and gave him a couple of friendly pats on the back, a broad grin spreading across his face.
"Hey, Alphard! How's it going? I know being the new guy around here probably feels a little nerve-wracking, but don't worry — your future best friend's got your back," he said, before leaning in with obvious curiosity.
"So, what's your Door, anyway?"
Before the conversation could go any further, Charlotte cut Didier off with a sharp tone.
"He's a Door user. That's all any of you need to know for now. You'll have plenty of time to chat later."
Didier bowed his head in mock despair and took a single step back, retreating with exaggerated defeat. Still, before pulling away entirely, he shot Alphard a sideways glance and a mischievous grin, clearly trying to coax a laugh out of him.
Alphard only managed an obligatory half-smile in return, keeping his focus locked on Charlotte; not out of rudeness, but because every ounce of his attention was fixed on why the boss had called them all together in the first place.
"Listen up, everyone. We've got an emergency. In the Brumes District, near a wine cellar, someone spotted an anomaly. You all know the drill by now, so get ready — we're heading out to handle this."
Without wasting a moment, everyone prepared to head to the location. But before they set out, Charlotte gave Alphard a clear instruction: he was to stay close to her, holding the rear alongside Antonie, and under no circumstances was he to fall behind or wander off.