Chapter 10.

The afternoon sun floods the academy’s courtyard with its golden light, bathing the buildings in an orange glow. Shadows stretch lazily across the lawn, and a gentle breeze sways the treetops, making the wind chimes hanging from their branches tinkle. Each element conspires to create an idyllic tableau, like a piece of a world that knows no ugliness, plucked from some forgotten postcard in the back of a souvenir shop.

But this bright and peaceful setting is just the backdrop for a very different scene for me. My attention, oblivious to the flattery of light and the whisper of leaves, rests upon a figure that I perceive more clearly than any vibration of color or sound: Ryota.

There he is, paradoxically fragile and steady at the same time, standing in front of the class with his arms crossed over a chest that, I imagine, harbors a vibrant tangle of emotions. He explains today’s topic patiently, with his clear and measured voice. “Curses and how to combat them,” a topic that clearly fascinates him. I notice it in the feverish sparkle of his violet eyes, in the subtle gestures of his hands as he speaks.

“Curses are not simple tricks of dark magic,” he says gravely. “They are manifestations of hatred and negative feelings accumulated in objects or places. They have will and consciousness of their own, so they must not be underestimated.”

He pauses, allowing his words to sink deep into the class. Then he continues:

“There are many types of curses. Some slowly corrode health and sanity, while others are more direct and lethal. The key is to identify them as soon as possible to neutralize them. That’s why sensory training is so important. You have to sharpen your senses to perceive even the slightest hint of a nearby curse.”

I observe him with a clinical gaze, analyzing every feature of his face as if he were a specimen under a microscope. I memorize the exact rhythm of his breathing, the slightest tremor of his eyelashes. It’s the kind of gaze that makes people nervous, too intense, too focused. But Ryota is not like most people.

From time to time, his eyes lock onto mine for a moment. In those brief visual contacts, I think I discern a flicker of suspicion, quickly concealed. He knows I’m studying him, evaluating him. That my apparent indifference is a facade. But I can’t help it. I need to understand what lies behind that violet gaze that seems to pierce through all my masks.

“Professor,” suddenly interrupts the voice of Yori, one of our classmates. “Fumiko didn’t come to class today. Do you know if she is all right?”

Ryota blinks, pulled from his thoughts. For a moment he seems confused, as if waking from a reverie. Then he regains his composure.

“Oh, yes, Fumiko reported sick this morning,” he replies naturally. “It is probably nothing serious; we’ll have her back in a few days. Thank you for asking, Yori.”

Of course, he doesn’t know about my breakup with Fumiko. Or if he does, he hides it marvelously.

I sigh. That girl still hasn’t gotten over it, judging by her absence. I thought she was stronger, but in the end, she turned out to be another fragile being unable to withstand rejection. It’s a shame, she really was a good facade. But her sensitivities were beginning to wear on me. I needed to cut ties before it became too annoying. Although it seems to have affected her more than expected... Perhaps I didn’t measure my blow well. I’ll have to be more careful next time.

Ryota is about to resume the lesson when an icy gust suddenly hits us. It’s the height of summer and the climate is warm, so the cold is unnatural. The hairs on my arms instantly stand on end. Something is not right.

The others feel it too. Murmurs of dismay spread as everyone looks around for the source of the anomaly. The sky, clear just a minute ago, begins to cloud over at an extraordinary speed. In a matter of seconds, the sun is obscured behind dense black clouds that seem to come out of nowhere.

And then we see it: above our heads, an enormous vortex forms, like an inverted tornado spinning into the sky. The force of its suction shakes the trees and forces us to cling to the ground, digging our fingers into the earth.

From the vortex emerges a kind of dark lightning that bursts through the clouds. Then, spheres surrounded by a purple aura begin to fall. They plummet like meteorites, crashing against the ground and nearby buildings with deafening thunder that makes the earth tremble.

“Take cover!” shouts Ryota.

There is no time to think. Students run in all directions, but there is no safe place to flee to. Smoke and dust cover the environment in a thick fog. Suddenly, one of the spheres heads straight for me. Reflexively, I lift my arms to cover my face. I brace for the impact, but it never comes.

When I open my eyes, I see the sphere floating harmlessly inches from me. It’s surrounded by a bright purple aura, as if an invisible hand held it in the air. I follow the direction of that aura to Ryota, who has one arm outstretched towards me and the other hand on the ground.

“Shadow Hands!” he exclaims.

Suddenly, dozens of enormous spectral hands emerge from the ground around him. They stretch into the sky like gigantic tentacles and begin to intercept and deflect the spheres, preventing them from reaching the ground.

I watch his display of power. I knew Ryota was special, but this surpasses my expectations. He manipulates those dozens of hands as if they were part of his own body. He makes them emerge from the concrete as if they sprouted from his shadow.

In a matter of minutes, he manages to repel the barrage of projectiles. The spectral hands capture the last remaining spheres and move them away from us. When the threat passes, Ryota lowers his arm with a gesture of exhaustion. The hands gradually fade, merging with the shadows on the ground.

But the relief is short-lived. From the smoking craters where the meteorites impacted the ground, dark shapes begin to emerge. At first, they are just vague silhouettes, but they quickly gain consistency, solidifying into horrendous creatures.

They are curses that have come to life, released from their prison by the force of the impact. They crawl out of their holes like larvae gestated in the depths of the underworld. Their number increases by the second, until dozens of them are crawling across the courtyard, surrounding my terrified classmates.

The curses are deformed specters with pained faces, twisted limbs, and fanged mouths. Some move like spiders on multiple jointed legs, while others slide leglessly like slimy worms. All emit moans and growls that make one’s blood run cold, eager to feed on fear and despair.

The students flee in terror, but the curses are fast and corner several against the walls. Screams of agony echo through the courtyard, resounding in my ears. Several of my classmates lie inert on the grass or concrete, their bodies battered by the attack. I don’t know if they are dead, and frankly, I don’t care.

My focus remains on Ryota, who desperately fights to contain the threat. His usually serene face is now contorted with fury and impotence. He knows he cannot protect them all, and that eats away at him.

I see his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turn white, while the gears turn rapidly in his mind. I can tell he is torn between continuing to fight the vortex in the sky, from which meteorites are again falling, or rushing to the aid of the students, cornered by the curses.

Finally, the need to save lives prevails. With a grimace of determination, Ryota prepares to face the horrendous creatures to free the captives. But just as he takes the first step, I feel a presence emerging behind me.

“It’s been a long time, Ryota,” resonates a serene and impassive voice. “I’m sorry to interrupt this important lesson, but I’m afraid I’ve waited too long.”

Ryota freezes, his eyes wide open in pure shock. Slowly he turns around as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. I also turn.

In front of us stands a tall, slim man, dressed in a black robe. He has long, black hair. In one hand, he holds a long wooden staff, and in the other, a japamala he slides between his fingers.

Despite the chaos unleashed around us, he seems to exist in his own bubble of calm and silence. Neither the explosions nor the screams seem to alter his meditative expression. It’s as if everything is indifferent to him, focused only on his path.

“Kazuki...” whispers Ryota, pale as a ghost.

The stranger cracks an emotionless, almost condescending smile.

“Three years, if I’m not mistaken,” he says with a silky voice. “You look well.”

Ryota shivers and clenches his fists. Clearly, their shared past does not evoke pleasant memories for him.

“You haven’t changed at all. I can tell by that putrid aura you emit that you still use your powers for evil.”

Kazuki lets out a sinister chuckle.

“There are no good or bad powers, Ryota. Only the use we decide to give them. But we’re not here to debate ethics, are we?”

Ryota seems to break out of his stupor, and his expression hardens.

“So, it was you... I should’ve imagined you were behind this,” he spouts with restrained anger.

Kazuki tilts his head, unflustered.

“I only set the gears of fate in motion. The rest unfolded by its own inertia.”

I understand none of what is happening. Who is Kazuki, really? What’s his link to Ryota? Why did he call him “friend”?

“Do you two know each other?” I ask, curious.

“We were classmates,” Ryota answers without taking his eyes off Kazuki. “A long time ago.”

Kazuki nods wistfully. For a moment, he seems lost in his memories, but then he recovers his sardonic expression.

“Time spares no one. You’re no longer the reckless rebel you once were, Ryota. Age has made you responsible, who would’ve thought. Now you’re protecting your students instead of getting them into trouble.”

“And you keep looking for trouble, but now on the wrong side,” retorts Ryota with a stern look. “If you’ve come all this way, it must be for some purpose. What are you plotting, Kazuki? Why are you attacking the academy? Speak up before I lose my patience!”

Kazuki shrugs, unaffected by Ryota’s anger.

“You know what I want, the scroll of Master Yu. Give it to me, too much blood of such talented youths has already been spilled.”

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Ryota shakes his head.

“Don’t involve my students in your twisted affairs,” he snaps. “If you have a problem with me, settle it directly. Leave the students out of this. They have nothing to do with it.”

Kazuki lets out a mocking chuckle.

“Straight to the point as always,” he says. “I like that. But I’m afraid your dear students are already involved, Ryota. Look around.”

He gestures broadly at the courtyard, where joy once reigned and now chaos prevails. The students run away in terror in all directions, pushing and shoving each other in their anxiety to escape. Some stumble and fall, being trampled by the stampede. Their screams of panic resound against the walls like the screeching from a slaughterhouse.

Others are not so lucky. They lie sprawled over the rubble, with broken limbs or drenched in blood. Those still conscious weakly drag themselves, sobbing and begging for help.

Kazuki turns his gaze to me, looking at me with curiosity.

“All of your students fled like chickens before a fox... except for this one. Interesting. Why didn’t you run with the rest, boy?”

I think he’s looking for a hint of fear in my face. But there is none, just a slight shrug of my shoulders.

“I don’t know... I guess I wanted to see what happened.”

Kazuki narrows his eyes. My strange calm seems to unsettle him. But he quickly regains his usual mocking expression.

“You are a very peculiar young man,” he finally says.

Then, in a blink, the figure of Kazuki splits into two perfect replicas. I can’t process what’s happening before one of the copies pounces on Ryota and the other slams into me with brutal force, delivering a blow to my abdomen that sends me flying several meters backward.

I soar through the air like a rag doll until I crash against the trunk of a tree. The impact knocks the wind out of me. For a moment, I see white lights exploding behind my eyelids as I struggle to breathe.

Finally, after a couple of seconds, my lungs inflate again and oxygen starts to circulate. Dazed, I struggle to stand up. In front of me stands the figure of Kazuki. He observes me with an inquisitive look, seemingly fascinated by my strange mindset.

“I see it in your eyes. An endless void. Not to feel fear, anger, or sadness... That sounds very liberating,” he comments. “Most humans let themselves be dominated by their emotions, but you seem to have freed yourself from those ‘shackles’.”

Kazuki approaches slowly.

“Tell me, young friend, if you lack emotions... do you also lack the survival instinct?” he asks in a gentle voice. “That visceral fear of death that keeps us alive... Do you not feel it either?”

I try to regain my composure. I’ve never considered that.

“I don’t know... I’ve never been in a life or death situation,” I reflect. “But I guess not. Death doesn’t evoke any particular fear in me.”

Kazuki smiles broadly.

“Would you like to find out?” he suggests, cracking his knuckles.

I don’t have time to respond. In a flash, Kazuki lunges at me at a speed that’s impossible to follow with the naked eye. I barely manage to cross my arms in a defensive reflex before his fist connects squarely with my face, sending me flying backward again.

I roll on the ground, stunned and disoriented. Kazuki doesn’t give me time to recover. He’s in front of me again, delivering a kick that sends me several meters into the air before I crash into the wall of a nearby building.

I fall to my knees, gasping for air. Kazuki walks over calmly, like a predator that knows its prey can’t escape.

“Come on, fight back,” he encourages me. “Or this will get boring.”

I get to my feet as quickly as I can and adopt a defensive stance, ready to dodge his next attack. But it’s useless. Kazuki moves like a shadow, appearing and disappearing before my eyes. His blows rain down on me from every angle, impossible to anticipate or evade.

Punches and kicks land on my face, chest, and abdomen. I fall and get up again and again, trying to activate my fire blessing. But I’m no match for his superhuman speed, which is hundreds of times superior to Fumiko’s. In a matter of seconds, my body is completely bruised and bloodied.

Kazuki doesn’t even seem to be trying hard. I know he’s holding back, playing with me like a cat with a dying mouse.

“Well, this is disappointing,” he comments with feigned sadness. “I expected more resistance from someone supposedly free of fear.”

I spit out blood and stand up once more.

“I’m not afraid,” I gasp, wiping the blood from my split lip. “Just curious... about what you’re going to do next.”

Kazuki laughs.

“I admire your tenacity. Let’s see how much more you can endure!”

He extends a hand towards me and, to my surprise, a series of lightning bolts emanate from his fingers. The electric shock jolts me violently, burning every nerve ending in my body.

I scream in pain, an instinctive reaction that I can’t suppress. My body convulses uncontrollably until Kazuki finally lowers his hand and the electrical torture stops. I fall face down, smoking and shaking uncontrollably. The smell of charred flesh turns my stomach.

Kazuki crouches down beside me and grabs my hair, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“You said you were immune to fear, yet you just screamed like a dying animal,” he points out with sarcasm. “It seems you were lying about that extraordinary ability of yours.”

I look at him defiantly despite the tears of pain clouding my vision.

“I feel nothing... it’s just electric shock... involuntary reactions,” I manage to articulate between stammers.

Kazuki clicks his tongue.

“Now you are feeling such intense pain that it clouds your thoughts. And yet, you refuse to beg. Keep it up, there’s something worse than pain coming soon... Fear.”

He releases my hair with a jerk and stands up. For a moment, I think he will finally leave me alone. But he’s just gaining momentum to deliver a brutal kick to my ribs.

I hear the crunch of breaking bones before the pain clouds my mind. What follows is endless torture. Kazuki hits me over and over again, breaking my ribs, fracturing my arms, bursting my internal organs. Each new blow rips screams of suffering from me that I can’t suppress.

Eventually, I lose track of how long he’s been beating me. The minutes, which drag on like hours, lose all shape and sense. There’s no beginning, no end, just a red mist of agony from which I can’t awaken. When he finally stops, my body is a shapeless mass of bruised and swollen flesh. I can barely keep my eyes open or move my fingers.

Kazuki kneels beside me and takes my pulse at the neck.

“Incredible, you’re still alive,” he says calmly. “I must admit I’m impressed. But I think it’s time to end this little experiment,” Kazuki extends a hand towards my throat, ready to deliver the coup de grace.

I never imagined my end would have an audience of one, a single enthusiastic spectator indifferent to the art of my death. Until now, I’ve walked through a shadowy world, where emotions are specters I never managed to touch. A master of disguise, mimicking fear, sadness, and love like someone reciting lines from someone else’s script. But here the curtain falls, and in this final act, I feel it.

It’s a vile feeling, a visitor that emerges from the shadows, filling my lungs with thick, toxic air. It clings to my chest with cold claws, a hungry creature that craves more of the sensation that now suffocates me. It’s unlike physical pain, unlike the sadness I’ve mimicked and observed from behind an invisible barrier. It’s something else, a beast that grows within me.

Is this... fear?

It’s more than a word; it’s a world opening beneath my feet, an abyss promising only darkness and disappearance. My mind, so adept at warding off horror and emotion, is naked, vulnerable to this internal monster that devours any vestige of the cold logic to which I’ve clung all my life.

For a moment, I can almost hear the whisper of the worm crawling through my veins: “Live,” it orders.

Against old certainties, against the mask of indifference that has shielded me from the banality of human feeling, I find myself clinging to the most primitive and desperate will to exist. Not for a desire for pleasure or triumph, but for the basic and powerful impulse not to let my story fade here, on this tasteless ground, before this being who delights in my degradation.

I would like to scream, fight, run away, but my body no longer responds to the call. I can only stare at Kazuki, my face becoming a wordless plea, begging, supplicating: “Let me live.”

And in that silent plea, I discover the humiliation of need, the atrocity of dependence. A prisoner of my own body, a puppet of fate that, for the first time, fervently wishes to be the puppeteer and not the broken toy.

“No... please...” I beg, hating the sound of supplication in my own voice.

Kazuki smiles in satisfaction.

“So, after all, you are capable of feeling it. Interesting.”

He stands up and watches me writhe on the ground.

“You should know one thing,” he points out. “There’s an emotion that’s separate from all others. An innate fear of death etched into our genes. It’s the last thing to be lost, even in someone like you.”

I close my eyes, waiting for the end. But it never comes. Instead, I feel the soft touch of a finger sliding across my bloodied cheek. I open my eyes, confused.

Kazuki examines the blood on his finger with a thoughtful expression. Then, he brings the crimson-stained digit to his mouth and slowly licks my blood, without taking his eyes off mine.

“There’s something else in you, apart from fear,” he says softly. “A hidden longing, buried so deep that you yourself are unaware of it. Let me guess... what you really crave is to feel.”

My lips tremble, trying to articulate a denial, a protest, anything that disproves his diagnosis. But what emerges is a moan, a pitiful sob that is both a capitulation and a confession. Kazuki smiles, and it’s not a gesture of triumph but of validation.

“I see it in your eyes,” he continues. “To experience joy, sadness, anger... To be like everyone else. It must be a very lonely existence, right? Walking among shadows, unable to experience the fullness of life like others. Watching others’ smiles and tears from afar, like a silent observer.”

My silence is a confession, a slow nurse feeding his theory with my own stillness.

A stone falls within me, echoing in the abyss where my emotions should be. Is this how Ryota sees me? A specter on the shore, a being dressed in human skin but as hollow as the shells the sea leaves on the beach.

Powerlessness grips my shoulders, shaking me violently. Kazuki’s words are a dark mirror I don’t want to look into, but am fixated on, hypnotized by the image it reflects. Is this how I feel, how I perceive myself? Memories swirl around me.

The incident with the cursed box, that absence, that mud-thick nothingness that smothered me, disturbed me more than I want to admit. A silence that was not silence but a question hanging in the air, a question that I, until now, had not dared to formulate.

Do I really want to feel?

In the pause that follows, it’s as if the air itself is waiting, holding its breath for my answer. But there are no words, for how do you give voice to something that has never had form, to a shadow you do not know but have learned to, perhaps, crave, in the depths of your being.

“That gear you’re missing... you must want it more than anything,” Kazuki says relentlessly. “Without it, you’ll always be an empty shell.”

Kazuki chuckles and brings a hand to his mouth.

“It’s a good longing, after all, emotions are not a hindrance, they are fuel,” he declares. “A friend’s betrayal, the death of a loved one, the euphoria of battle... they are the kindling that fuels our powers.”

Kazuki closes his eyes for a moment.

“I used to believe that serenity and detachment were the way,” he confesses. “But I was wrong. It’s our passions that connect us to the flow of the world and allow us to shape it to our will. Anger makes you strong. Hatred makes you relentless. Even love, in its most twisted form, gives you conviction.”

Each word is like a stab, tearing apart the illusions and denials behind which I’ve shielded myself all my life. Kazuki pulls a small dagger from the folds of his tunic. Without a word, he makes a deep cut in the palm of his hand, so that the blood flows abundantly.

“I can give you what you desire,” he says as his blood drips onto the floor. “I can fix that broken gear. All you need to do is drink.”

He tilts his bloodied hand over my open mouth, allowing crimson drops to fall onto my parched lips. The metallic taste floods my taste buds.

“Drink, and you will receive the gift of emotion,” Kazuki urges. “You will no longer be an empty shell. You will become something much greater than you ever imagined.”

Inside my head, things spin, a tangle of possibilities and dangers. What would become of me, I wonder, if I were assailed by a flood of those supposed human treasures: pain, joy, love, anger?

I contemplate the analogy of a blind man suddenly given sight; a once dark world now exploding into a chaos of light and color, as overwhelming as it is dazzling.

Could I endure such a sensory storm, or would I break like an oak before the fury of a hurricane?

Somewhere, deep within me, something like a cry escapes. It’s a distant and faint echo, from my cells, my atoms, from the very essence that makes me up. Tremulous, but deliciously dangerous, that cry is a call for change, for metamorphosis... So, I drink. I swallow Kazuki’s blood in desperation, ignoring the terrible pains of my shattered body.

Kazuki promises me an escape, a key to an existence where I will no longer be bound by an apathy that has chained me and sentenced me. I have always been the true prisoner, the real slave to a nature that relegated me to being a spectator of my own life.

Until now.

Each drop of his essence seems to infuse new life into my veins. I feel a surge of vitality repairing my wounds, renewing every cell of my body. But most astonishing is the avalanche of feelings that overwhelms me.

It’s as if every feeling that was ever written, every melody that sought to evoke a passion, every brushstroke of color intended to provoke a response, exploded inside my skull in a deafening crescendo.

Suddenly I’m overwhelmed by euphoria, sadness, anger, fear... a universe of emotions exploding inside me like fireworks. I laugh and cry at the same time, drunk on sensations so vivid they seem to burn me from within. It’s more than my mind can handle, and yet I never want it to stop.

Kazuki watches me with gleaming eyes.

“Congratulations, the ritual has worked,” he announces. “Now you are complete.”

He’s right. I can feel it. A new kind of energy pulsing through every fiber of my being, connecting me to the world in a way I’ve never experienced before.

Kazuki raises his staff and strikes the ground once. The vortex in the sky contracts into itself until it closes completely, the creeping curses instantly freeze and begin to wither like dry flowers in the sun. In a matter of seconds, the courtyard is empty again, with only a few injured students moaning on the floor.

Kazuki bows his head in a parody of respectful farewell.

“It’s time to say goodbye,” he says, then turns and walks away calmly, blending with the shadows cast by the buildings. In the blink of an eye, his figure vanishes without a trace.

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pang pierces my chest, and at that moment, an abyss of darkness opens at my feet. And I fall, fall, not knowing when or if I will ever reach the bottom, a man newly born into a world of overwhelming sensation, holding in his hands the most dangerous gift of all: the capacity to feel, in abundance and without escape.