The afternoon sun slanted through classroom windows, turning everything golden and unreal. Abeni sat in Literature class, surrounded by her "friends," feeling like she was watching a play she'd somehow been cast in.

Look at them, her Wraith's whispers had grown clearer through the day. The way they lean in when you speak, laugh before you finish the joke. All perfectly timed, perfectly hollow.

She watched Mai adjust her sitting posture to mirror hers - an unconscious gesture she'd never noticed before. How many other little performances had she missed?

"...and so the theme of masks in this story," their teacher droned on, "represents the faces we wear in society..."

Oh, how appropriate, the Wraith's laugh tickled her mind. Shall we count your masks? The perfect friend, the social butterfly, the brave heroine...

Abeni's pen pressed too hard against her paper, tearing through. For a split second, she wanted to scream, to tell everyone about the darkness and the monsters and the boy they'd all decided to forget-

But that wasn't part of the script.

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Across the hall, Hiroki had given up on taking notes. Every time he tried to focus, he felt the power surge, like a song stuck in his head but made of fire.

"Your sleeve is smoking again," Arkan pointed out helpfully.

A girl nearby wrinkled her nose. "What's that burning smell? Ugh, is the freak doing something weird?"

"Maybe he's finally spontaneously combusting," someone whispered, earning quiet laughs.

"Just ignore them," Arkan advised. "Though I guess that's harder when you're literally lighting up every time you get annoyed. Which is... pretty much constantly."

Hiroki stared at his desk, trying to become invisible - a skill that used to come so naturally. But now everything felt exposed, raw. Like his newfound power had stripped away his ability to fade into the background.

"Hey," a boy behind him kicked his chair. "Weirdo. You planning another public meltdown like with Kai?"

The temperature around Hiroki spiked. Papers on nearby desks started to curl.

"Okay, maybe let's not incinerate the classroom," Arkan suggested. "Though their faces would be pretty priceless..."

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Meanwhile, Takeshi observed both scenes from his strategic position in Student Council meetings. His phone buzzed constantly - siblings, Crimson Hand contacts, social obligations.

The Kurogane heir, playing high school politics, Umbrel mused. How far the mighty have fallen.

"Everything is positioning," Takeshi murmured, watching Abeni's carefully maintained smile crack just slightly, seeing Hiroki's desperate attempt to control his power.

The class president was saying something about festival preparations. Takeshi made appropriate noises of agreement while typing responses to three different conversations.

Your new pets are struggling, Umbrel noted. The girl's realizing her cage, the boy's losing his invisibility...

"They're adapting," Takeshi replied under his breath. "The question is whether they'll adapt quickly enough."

His phone lit up with another message from his eldest brother: "Father wants an update. Tonight."

Outside, the afternoon light made everything look warm and peaceful. But in three different classrooms, three students felt the pressure building - social, supernatural, and strategic - like a storm about to break.

Hiroki was heading for his bike when a hand shot out from the equipment room, yanking him inside. His first instinct was to flare up - literally - but he caught himself when he recognized Abeni's face in the dim light.

"Oh great," Arkan drawled. "It's your favorite ghost from guilt-ridden past."

"What do you want?" Hiroki's voice came out flat, controlled. The temperature in the small room rose slightly.

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Abeni was pacing, an unusual break in her usual composed demeanor. "I think I'm going crazy. There's this voice, and it won't shut up, and it keeps saying these things about shoes and clothes and how my hair doesn't match my-"

"Your Wraith," Hiroki cut in. "That's what you're hearing."

"I know that!" She ran fingers through her perfectly styled hair, messing it up. "But I can barely hear it. It's like... like trying to listen to a whisper in a crowded room. But you - you talk to yours all the time. How?"

"Practice," he shrugged, moving toward the door. "We'll learn in training."

Her hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "No, teach me now. I need- I can't keep pretending everything's normal when there's this voice that won't-"

The touch sent a surge of heat through Hiroki. Not the power this time - something older, angrier. He turned, fixing her with a glare that made her step back.

"Now you want my help?" His voice was quiet but burning. "That's rich."

Ooh, spicy, Arkan commented. Though maybe tone down the actual temperature before we set off the sprinklers.

Abeni's perfectly maintained facade cracked completely. "I know, okay? I know. But we were just-"

"Kids?" Hiroki finished. "Yeah. You've made that pretty clear."

Their eyes met, and suddenly they were both eleven again. Her, the shy girl who couldn't talk to anyone. Him, the weird kid who made up stories about clouds. The shared lunches, the secret handshakes, the promises that meant everything until they meant nothing.

Abeni's Wraith must have said something because she flinched. Her eyes, usually so carefully blank around him, filled with something that looked like regret.

But they weren't kids anymore.

The moment broke. Her expression smoothed over, that practiced mask sliding back into place. His anger banked down to its usual dull burn.

"Fine," she said, voice perfect and empty. "I'll wait for training."

"Fine," he echoed, reaching for the door.

That's when Takeshi materialized from the shadows, because of course he did.

"Well," he smiled his calculated smile. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Perfect timing," Hiroki muttered.

"Always is," Takeshi adjusted his tie. "And speaking of timing - our meeting with the Crimson Hand is happening. Now."

"Here?" Abeni asked, mask cracking again. "How-"

The shadows in the corner of the room began to move, deepening, spreading. Before anyone could react, the darkness had enveloped them completely.

When it cleared, they weren't in the equipment room anymore.

The darkness dissolved like ink in water, revealing a vast circular chamber that seemed to exist somewhere between traditional and modern. Ancient wood panels lined the walls, inscribed with patterns that mixed kanji and Yoruba symbols, while holographic screens flickered in the air above them. The floor was polished stone, but beneath its surface, faint lines of arcane energy pulsed like circuit boards.

"Welcome," said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, "to the Heart of Flames."

Well, they're not subtle with the names, are they? Arkan commented.

Careful now, Umbrel's voice whispered in Takeshi's mind. Old powers don't appreciate mockery.

At the center of the chamber sat a single figure in a minimalist chair that looked like it was carved from light itself. The man appeared both ancient and ageless - his traditional hakama was pristine white, but decorated with red patterns that seemed to move if you looked too long. His face was lined with experience rather than just years, and his eyes...

"His eyes are on fire," Abeni whispered, forgetting her usual composure.

Indeed, where the man's eyes should have been, there were dancing flames, five different colors weaving together in hypnotic patterns.

"Morikawa Yoshirou," Takeshi bowed formally. "The Sage of Five Flames. Thank you for granting us audience."

"Kurogane's wayward son," Morikawa's voice carried both amusement and weight. "Bringing me strays. How unexpectedly charitable of your family."

Another pedigree calling us strays, Abeni's Wraith whispered, clear enough now that fear had stripped away her barriers. How delightfully predictable.

Hiroki felt the heat rising under his skin, whether from nerves or irritation he couldn't tell. The flames in Morikawa's eyes flickered in response.

"Ah," the Sage turned his burning gaze toward Hiroki. "There's the power we felt. Unrefined, unstable... but interesting. Very interesting."

He stood in one fluid motion, his hakama rippling like water. As he moved closer, the air grew heavy with presence. This wasn't just power - it was authority, history, the weight of tradition made manifest.

"Show me," Morikawa commanded simply.

Hiroki glanced at Takeshi, who gave a slight nod. But before he could do anything, the Sage raised his hand.

"Not you, boy. Her."

Abeni startled. "Me?"

"The Joy Wraith you carry - it's not fully bonded yet, hovering between formed and formless. Perfect for a demonstration." Morikawa's flame eyes danced. "Let's see if the Kurogane heir's judgment extends beyond raw power."

The pressure in the room intensified. Above them, the holographic screens flickered faster, displaying data none of them could read. And in the center of it all, Abeni stood frozen, feeling more exposed than she ever had in any social situation.

Well, her Wraith's voice came crystal clear now, sharp with fear. This should be interesting.