The rain hadn't stopped, but here, behind the high walls of the "Tenran" Academy, it took on a different sound. Drops streamed from pagoda roofs, beat a rhythm on the leaves of ancient maples painted in the crimson of autumn. The air was thick with the scent of wet cypress and something else—ozone, the static tension of invisible power. This place was the heart of the world of Kokuro, and every stone here held a thousand Scars.
Akira walked along the polished stone slabs behind Ryūnosuke Morohashi. The aristocrat moved with a measured, careless grace, his steel-gray haori not a drop wet—a minor Scar of water repulsion, constant and almost unnoticeable, had been applied to the fabric.
"Remember, Mushiro," he threw over his shoulder without looking at Akira. "Here, your nature is not an advantage, but a brand. You will be a servant. You will be silent. And you will observe. If your theory about the 'Scar-eater' is correct, then here, in this breeding ground of future rulers, it will surely manifest itself again. You are the bait."
"Bait for a ghost." That suited Akira just fine. He was a ghost.
They were led through endless covered galleries to the director's office. The room was ascetic and yet luxurious. Dark wood walls, the only decoration a calligraphy scroll depicting the kanji for "Heaven" (天). Behind a simple desk sat an old man in a snow-white haori. His face was etched with wrinkles, each seeming not a trace of years, but an encoded Scar. This was Director Keiden Fujibayashi, head of the guardian clan.
Next to him, by the window, stood a girl. Her long black hair was tied in a simple style, and her dark blue kimono made her almost part of the twilight landscape outside the window. Shiori Fujibayashi. Her gaze, filled with a bottomless, quiet sorrow, slid over Akira, and he thought he saw not surprise in her eyes, but... recognition?
"So, this is our 'specialist'?" the Director's voice was dry as the rustle of old scrolls. "The one who leaves no traces in the Chronicles of Existence. Curious. Dangerous."
"He is a tool, Fujibayashi-sensei," Ryūnosuke answered for Akira. "And like any tool, he will be useful if you point its edge in the right direction."
"To direct what cannot be seen..." the old man shook his head. "Shiori. He will be assigned to you. As an additional servant. Your... research in the archives may be useful for his investigation. And his presence may protect you."
The girl silently nodded. Her bow was perfectly polite and utterly detached.
Life at "Tenran" turned out to be a complex tapestry of rituals, study, and quiet enmity. Akira, clad in simple gray servant's clothing, became Shiori's shadow. He carried her books, prepared her tea, accompanied her to the library—a giant multi-tiered repository where thousands of scrolls rested on shelves, each a vessel for powerful Scars.
It was in the library that he first truly saw her Kokuro in action.
They were studying an ancient scroll describing the Battle of Uji. Shiori carefully ran her fingers over the yellowed paper without touching it.
"Kokuro: Whisper of the Withered Scroll," she whispered softly.
The air around her shimmered. And then, from nothing, from the trembling haze, a shadow emerged. A phantom warrior in battered armor, with an extra-long bow in his hands. The shadow performed a single movement—drew the bowstring and released an invisible arrow. In the air, a Scar of incredible sharpness flashed for a second, the trace of that very arrow released eight centuries ago. The scroll on the table trembled faintly.
That was all. The shadow disappeared.
"I cannot summon the warrior himself," Shiori explained, her voice tired. "Only the imprint of his action. A single Scar. But sometimes that is enough to understand the essence of a technique or... to defend oneself."
Akira watched. He felt not the slightest energy from the phantom archer. To him, it was simply a play of light and shadow. But he saw how Shiori grew paler for several minutes afterward, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Every use of Kokuro had its price.
Three days later, his "invisibility" was breached.
He and Shiori were crossing the inner courtyard, the famous Pond of Reflections, where schools of white and scarlet carp, considered living "vessels" of luck, swam in the clear water. And then their path was blocked by a group of students.
Leading them was her. Kaede Himeji. Her crimson kimono with embroidered golden butterflies seemed like a shout in this world of muted tones. Long black hair cascaded down, and in her narrow, intelligent eyes shone curiosity mixed with challenge.
"Shiori-san," her voice was sweet as honey and sharp as a blade. "I heard you have a new servant. The very one who helped Morohashi-kun with that... unpleasant incident in the city."
Her gaze fell on Akira. It was heavy, appraising. Akira felt a slight pressure—she was trying to "read" him. And failing. On her perfectly calm face, a flicker of mild confusion appeared for an instant.
"He is unremarkable, Kaede-san," Shiori said quietly, taking a step forward as if trying to shield Akira.
"Not true," Kaede smiled, and her smile was dangerous. "He's... smooth. Like a pebble polished by the sea. Nothing catches the eye on him. Not a single Scar, not even the tiniest one. That's unnatural!"
Ryūnosuke, who had appeared from behind Kaede, snorted:
"Told you, Himeji. Not everything in this world can be packaged into your neat little boxes of cause and effect."
Kaede ignored him. She took a step toward Akira.
"I wonder... what happens if you throw such a smooth stone into our pond?" she turned metaphorically toward the carp pond, but everyone understood what she meant.
And without warning, she activated her Kokuro.
"Kokuro: Crimson Loop of Fate."
The world didn't change. There were no flashes of light, no hum of energy. But Akira felt it instantly. The fabric of reality around him tightened like a string. He stood in place, but his own body, his inertia, his past forward movement—all of it was "rewritten." The effect was simple and terrifying: his next movement, the step he was just about to take, was already doomed to lead to a fall. Cause: he would slip on a wet stone. Consequence: he would fall into the mud. And this was unbreakable.
For anyone else, it would have been the end. They would have fallen without even understanding what happened.
But Akira was a Mushiro. The Scar of slipping that Kaede tried to impose on reality could not "stick" to him. He was smooth. Absolutely.
He simply... stopped. Froze in place, canceling the very intention of taking a step. He looked directly at Kaede, and in his empty eyes, for the first time, a spark flashed—not of anger, not of challenge, but of cold, indifferent understanding.
"Useless," he uttered. "You cannot change what is not there."
Kaede recoiled as if struck. Her perfect composure cracked. Her Kokuro, her power over cause and effect, simply didn't work. It was impossible.
"What... what are you?" she whispered.
At that moment, with a quiet splash, a huge white carp jumped out of the pond. For a second, it hung in the air, its scales glinting dull silver in the gray daylight, then it splashed back into the water.
Everyone looked at the carp. Akira looked at the water. And saw it.
From where the carp touched the surface, perfect circles rippled out. And in those circles, for an instant, reflected not the gloomy sky, but something else. Distorted, dark, featureless. It was there for only a fraction of a second, but Akira recognized it. It was the same "absence" he had seen in Yukihime's room. The reflection of the one who shouldn't be there.
The ghost was here. It was already in "Tenran." And it was watching.
Akira slowly shifted his gaze from the water to Kaede's pale face, then to Ryūnosuke's frown, and finally to Shiori, who was looking at him with a strange, inscrutable expression.
"The stone has already been thrown into your pond, Himeji-san," Akira said quietly. "The ripples just haven't reached the shore yet."
He turned and walked away, leaving the academy's elite in a state of shock and bewilderment. The game had truly begun. And all of them, unknowingly, had already become pawns in it.