The sun’s crimson farewell faded into the deep purples of twilight, casting eerie shadows through windows veiled with years of dust. As darkness settled, the clubroom seemed to transform—the sharp edges of desks softened, chalk marks on the board turned into ghostly scribbles, and the empty corners took on unsettling depths. The distant thud of a soccer ball echoed faintly, a lingering reminder of the day’s dwindling normalcy.
They rose slowly, bodies stretching and unknotting after hours spent hunched over plans. Though they hadn’t slept, they felt strangely renewed, as if shared strategies and the camaraderie of hastily eaten meals had replaced rest. The overflowing trash can, surrounded by half-eaten food boxes, bore evidence of their impromptu occupation of this forgotten room.
Takeshi reached for his phone, intending to activate their spatial transport. But instead of the expected geometric patterns, the air was pierced by a sudden ringtone.
“About the transport—” Satoru’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with amusement. “It won’t work tonight. This mission requires... conventional travel.”
They turned to the windows, now painted with the hues of dusk, to see a sleek black limousine gliding up to the curb, its glossy surface reflecting the streetlights like a shark cruising through shallow water. Abeni and Hiroki exchanged a look before turning to Takeshi, questions unspoken in their eyes.
“It’s not mine,” Takeshi said quickly, his usually perfect composure slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of uncertainty. “I swear.”
As they descended the stairs and stepped out of the school building, they found Satoru waiting beside the limousine, his suit absorbing the last traces of daylight like a shadow-made-flesh. His usual gentle demeanor remained, but it had taken on a sharper edge—like a benevolent jailer escorting his charges to a velvet-lined prison. The door he held open revealed a glimpse of leather and opulence inside, an invitation that felt more like an inevitability.
The three moved wordlessly, falling into their well-worn positions. Abeni settled on the left, Takeshi on the right, while Hiroki was instinctively guided to the center. This formation had become so second nature to them—a pair of shields flanking a flame—that none of them thought to question it.
Until the flame sparked.
“Hey,” Hiroki blinked, suddenly aware of his placement. “Why am I always stuck in the middle?”
“Because little kids get the middle seat,” Takeshi drawled, condescension dripping from every syllable. “For their own protection.”
“Wait, what—?”
“We just don’t want you flying out the window if we hit a bump,” Abeni added with a smirk, earning a low, almost genuine chuckle from Takeshi.
Heat rippled in the air as Hiroki’s indignation flared, but before it could ignite fully, a new voice sliced through the space—cool, yet searing with hidden intensity.
“Is this calmness simply a way to steady your nerves,” Morikawa’s eyes gleamed like embers in the dim interior, “or are you truly this confident in your abilities?”
The Sage of Five Flames sat across from them, his gaze unwavering. In that moment, the limousine’s lush comfort felt less like luxury and more like the weight of impending judgment.
"I will not admonish you for being sure of your powers, despite being green," Morikawa's voice carried like smoke across still water. "But a flower, no matter how beautiful, must not forget how fragile it is."
The limousine's interior cast his features in shifting shadows. Age pulled at the corners of his eyes, but not in the way that suggested weakness - rather like a blade worn to perfect sharpness. His blue-white hair caught what little light filtered through tinted windows, a trait of the Shizuma blood that ran strong enough to ignore the years.
The traditional kimono he wore had been modified, its top half discarded below the belt to reveal a fitted vest that did little to hide the strength beneath. Modern practicality meeting ancient tradition, much like the man himself.
But it was his eyes that commanded attention - pools of living flame that danced with colors that shouldn't exist. The Shizuma bloodline burned brightest there, turning mere vision into something more profound.
Satoru settled into his seat adjacent to his master as the car pulled away from the curb, his geometric patterns dimmed to near-invisibility in Morikawa's presence.
"What preparations have you made?" Morikawa asked, flame-eyes dancing with interest.
Their ideas tumbled out - Hiroki's gravity tunnels, Takeshi's heated fields, Abeni's psychic disruptions. Each theory more impossible than the last.
Morikawa and Satoru exchanged a look that spoke volumes - the kind of look teachers share when promising students reveal themselves to be spectacular idiots.
I think we just lost some respect, Arkan noted, watching those flame-eyes dim slightly.
"A heated... gravity tunnel," Morikawa repeated slowly, as if the words might make more sense spoken aloud. They didn't.
Satoru's geometric patterns actually stuttered.
The flames in his eyes flickered between disbelief and something almost like amusement. Satoru's geometric patterns actually stuttered, his usual composure cracking.
"And this tunnel would..." Morikawa gestured elegantly with one hand, inviting them to dig their grave deeper.
"Well," Hiroki started, then felt the heat of embarrassment as their hours of planning suddenly sounded like children playing pretend. Takeshi, for once, seemed to have lost his silver tongue.
"We had other ideas," Abeni offered quickly, then immediately regretted drawing attention to their creative strategy session.
"Did these other ideas also involve violating several laws of physics?" Satoru asked mildly.
We're never living this down, Arkan sighed. At least the food was good.
"We did come up with something realistic," Abeni said, pulling dignity from social grace. "Stay close, form a barrier, and I try to disorient whatever we're facing."
"That," Morikawa cut in, flame-eyes brightening, "is exactly what you need."
The limousine hummed through darkening streets, his next words carrying weight beyond their simplicity: "For this mission, seek nothing spectacular. Only teamwork." His gaze moved between them. "Teamwork saves or breaks a mission. Often, it decides who lives."
The city lights painted stripes across their faces through tinted windows. Three students who'd spent hours crafting impossible strategies suddenly felt the reality of what they were heading toward.
"Watch each other," Morikawa said simply. "That's all."
Morikawa regarded the three of them thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over their tired yet determined faces. “You’ve all made commendable progress in mastering the fundamentals,” he began, his tone calm and measured. Then, turning to Hiroki, his focus sharpened.
“Hiroki,” he said, “while it’s true that right now, you’re encouraged to draw on your arcane essence without overthinking classifications or specific techniques, that doesn’t mean you should release your energy without restraint. If you allow it to flow unchecked, you risk exhausting not only your Wraith but yourself as well. Arcane energy may seem limitless, but in reality, its use is bound by your own stamina. The true limit,” he added, “is not the power itself, but how much physical and mental energy you have to control it.”
Hiroki nodded slowly, absorbing the advice. Morikawa’s gaze lingered, his expression softening with a knowing smile. “You certainly don’t lack stamina,” he remarked. “In fact, you practically radiate heat.” The words hung in the air, and while Hiroki remained oblivious, Abeni and Takeshi exchanged a brief, understanding look. They were fully aware that Hiroki’s constant simmering warmth was a telltale trait of the Shizuma bloodline. Even Morikawa’s smile had the warmth of an older brother who knew more than he was letting on.
“But precisely because of your natural capacity to harness vast amounts of arcane energy,” Morikawa continued, “you might lose track of your limits. In the heat of battle, it’s easy to burn through your reserves without realizing it. So, for now, your focus should be on tension—control. It’s not about going ‘bwah,’ but more like... ‘shhhh,’” he emphasized, mimicking a tight, controlled gesture.
Hiroki blinked, then grinned. “Got it. Less ‘bwah,’ more ‘shhhh.’”
For a moment, Morikawa was taken aback by Hiroki’s odd analogy, but he couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, despite the simplicity, the boy had grasped the essence of his advice.
Turning to Takeshi, Morikawa’s expression shifted. “As for you,” he said, “your power is rooted in gravity—force and tension are concepts you’re already familiar with. So I won’t repeat the same lesson.” His gaze became more intense. “Instead, I’ll give you the opposite advice: be a little less careful, less... manicured. Your fighting style is precise, almost surgical, but sometimes, you need to be willing to let go. Allow yourself to be a bit more reckless, to trust in the chaos of the moment.”
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Takeshi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded, absorbing the unexpected guidance.
Abeni hesitated, an apology already on her lips before she began to speak. “I know everyone’s explained this to me—many times, and it makes sense. But...” She paused, frustration flickering in her eyes. “I still don’t feel like I’m learning the fundamentals at the same level as the others.” She glanced briefly at Hiroki and Takeshi, her fingers twisting in her lap. “Even our so-called trump plan, where I reach out to rogue Wraiths, is more uncertain than the fact that Hiroki will set something on fire. That’s what I want—certainty. I don’t want this... will-I, won’t-I routine. Every time I communicate with a Wraith, it feels like I’m gambling.” Her voice wavered. “And I don’t want to gamble when people’s lives are on the line.”
Morikawa nodded, his expression remaining patient and kind. “You’re right to consider the words and guidance others have given you,” he said thoughtfully. “But if you need more reassurance, I understand. At this point in your training, especially with your abilities, things may feel... conceptual. Your lessons will seem abstract, intangible.” He paused, his eyes softening. “But those concepts will solidify, become more reliable, as your certainty in yourself grows.”
He smiled warmly, a hint of knowing in his eyes. “You must be really concerned for the safety of your friends.”
Abeni said nothing, her gaze dropping. The silence stretched, and the air grew heavy. None of them spoke; instead, they shifted uncomfortably in their seats, each looking away, reasserting a distance that hadn’t existed moments ago. Hiroki focused on his hands, Takeshi adjusted his tie, and Abeni crossed her arms, as if trying to rebuild a barrier they had unknowingly let down.
Morikawa held that gentle smile, undeterred. “For someone like you, Abeni,” he continued softly, “the certainty you need to reach for isn’t in your powers, but in your emotions. It’s your conviction that will forge the strongest connections, not just with Wraiths, but with everyone around you.”
The car came to a smooth stop. Despite having reached their destination, the tinted windows allowed no hint of the outside world—keeping even the shadows of the night at bay. It was as if they were still cocooned in their own isolated world.
Morikawa raised his hand, the motion elegant and unhurried. There was a quiet grace to the way his arm lifted, his fingers extending just so, that spoke of a lifetime steeped in power. Even Hiroki, usually as oblivious as a rock, couldn’t miss it: the way Morikawa called upon Satoru was not just a request but the natural command of someone who had always been attended to.
Satoru responded with a practiced bow and pulled a sleek black briefcase from a hidden compartment. With a click, he opened it to reveal three carefully arranged items. The eyes of the three students widened with excitement, but before they could speak, Morikawa’s voice filled the car.
“These are sacred charms,” he explained, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable weight. “Each one is imbued with divine essence, forged with the power of Wraiths.”
They massacred my boy, Arkan muttered in a perfect imitation of Marlon Brando, earning a quick, stifled laugh from Hiroki.
Morikawa ignored the quip, lifting the first item—a wide-bladed weapon with a curved tip. Its handle was intricately decorated, A braided horsetail danced from the hilt like a captured flame. He turned to Hiroki. “This blade was forged in my flame,” he said, placing it in Hiroki’s hands. “Before you’re able to forge your own weapons, I want you to wield this one. The blade is strong—it can withstand your heat. If you need a surface for tension, this will serve you well.”
Hiroki’s eyes lit up with uncontainable excitement. The weight of the blade in his hands felt right, solid. He could already feel the resonance between his energy and the weapon.
Next, Morikawa lifted a second item. Takeshi’s eyebrows shot up. “A... gun?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.
Morikawa shook his head, a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Not just any gun,” he clarified. Beside the weapon were seven specially crafted bullets, their alloy shimmering with a subtle glow. “These bullets are forged for your power. Load them with gravity, and you can create a blast wide enough to clear the battlefield.”
Takeshi’s surprise softened into understanding, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he examined the craftsmanship. Morikawa’s attempt at humor had caught them all off guard, but it somehow made the moment feel more real.
Lastly, Morikawa pulled out a delicate necklace. At the end hung a small dream catcher woven with intricate threads. He turned to Abeni. “I did not forge this one myself,” he said softly. “It was requested by a dear friend. This charm will allow you not just to speak to rogue Wraiths, but to truly understand them. It will help you gather their dreams from the arcane currents, letting you see into their feelings.”
Abeni accepted the necklace with a mix of awe and gratitude, her fingers brushing over the delicate webbing of the dream catcher.
With that, the car door opened, and a rush of cool night air spilled in. The three of them stepped out, Satoru joining them while Morikawa remained seated inside.
“I have other matters to attend to,” Morikawa said, his gentle smile never wavering. But as the car prepared to pull away, he left them with one final piece of advice. “Never forget,” he said, his voice carrying over the hum of the engine, “to always find each other. In the end, that is your greatest strength.”
And with that, the limousine glided silently into the darkness, leaving the trio standing together under the flickering streetlights.
"Here we are." Satoru's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he gestured toward the warehouse.
PROSPERITY LOGISTICS hung in stuttering neon against the night, letters clinging to life like a dying man's breath. Rust had claimed the metal walls in patches that looked like old bruises. The whole structure exuded wrongness - not just physical decay, but something deeper, something that made the air feel thick and spoiled.
"Even I'm surprised by the essence here," Satoru said, pulling the cover from his tablet. The screen cast sickly light across his features as he studied heat maps and energy readings.
Workers drifted through the loading bays like ghosts - shoulders bent, eyes glazed with something heavier than mere exhaustion. Each face carried the same hollow expression, as if something essential had been slowly drained away.
"From these readings, we're looking at a low-ranked Wraith. Strong, but nothing special." His geometric patterns rippled with uncertainty. "At least, that's my best guess. Fear-type, probably."
"Best guess?" Abeni's voice carried a sharp edge.
"It's been... elusive. Takes down our drones somehow. Hides despite these energy signatures." Satoru's fingers traced patterns across the screen. "And now three workers have gone missing. Tanaka Hiro. Olayinka Adebayo. Folami Ogundimu. Find them. Preferably alive."
Takeshi grumbled, his voice low and irritated. “You’re just making our job harder by having us track it down. You should’ve found the damn thing yourself, instead of delegating your work to us.”
Satoru responded with a guilty smile that somehow conveyed he wasn’t all that remorseful. “Perhaps, but it’s good experience, don’t you think?” he said lightly, handing over the profiles of the missing workers.
The trio took in the information, exchanging uncertain glances. Anxiety rippled through Abeni, a tight knot forming in her stomach. Hiroki, usually unflappable, felt a creeping weariness laced with anxiety; this mission was more real than any training exercise. Even Takeshi, despite his elite upbringing and polished exterior, couldn’t hide the tension in his eyes. For all his tactical knowledge, this was the first time he’d ever been on an actual hunt.
But as they looked at one another, something shifted. Seeing their own fears mirrored in each other’s faces somehow smoothed the edges of their apprehension. They weren’t alone in this.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Satoru added casually. “I’ve placed trackers on each of you. If things go south, I’ll extract you.” His smile widened, but it carried a hint of warning. “Of course, if I have to rescue you, that counts as a failure.”
Abeni straightened, her voice steadying. “We will not lose.”
“And we won’t die,” Hiroki added, fists clenched, heat radiating faintly from his skin.
“And we’ll hunt this damn rogue Wraith,” Takeshi finished, his tone as cold as his resolve.
Without another word, the three of them turned toward the entrance of the decrepit warehouse.
Satoru kept his eyes on the tablet, watching the trio's red dots move steadily deeper into the warehouse. With a sigh, he glanced around, searching for a place to sit. But everywhere he looked—crates stacked haphazardly, rusted metal beams, and grimy concrete floors—seemed both unsanitary and depressingly drab. Resigned, he decided to stand; after all, hours on his feet were no problem for him.
His eyes flicked back to the screen, and as he reached for the mic to check in, the red dots abruptly vanished.
A spike of alarm shot through him. “Hey, can you hear me?” he called into the mic. Silence. No response. The markers had disappeared completely, swallowed by some unseen force. He tried again, voice tighter now, but only a static hiss answered him.
Satoru’s unease deepened as he glanced around. The air had gone disturbingly still, the bustling noise of earlier completely absent. Just minutes ago, this place had been alive with the sounds of weary workers trudging home, machines whirring, and the distant clang of metal. Now, it was like someone had flipped a switch, plunging the world into an unnatural silence. Even the faint hum of the evening city had faded into a void.
Heart pounding, Satoru sprinted toward the warehouse entrance. He had been here countless times, tracking the comings and goings, monitoring the weary laborers who moved with mechanical exhaustion. The place had always been grim, like it was slowly draining the life from its occupants—but it was busy, filled with the sounds of industry and labor.
Yet now, as he stepped inside, the space before him seemed to have transformed. The once-active warehouse looked decrepit, abandoned, like it had been out of operation for years. Machines lay dormant, covered in dust, and the air smelled faintly of rot.
Panic gnawed at his gut. The truth hit him like a blow
Satoru’s hands shook as he dialed Morikawa’s number. The line clicked, and Morikawa’s calm voice came through.
“Lord Morikawa,” Satoru said in a rush, barely pausing for breath. “The kids—they’ve entered a territory.”
There was a moment of tense silence on the other end before Morikawa’s voice turned sharp. “A territory? Satoru, get inside and extract them immediately. They’re not ready to handle combat in that kind of environment.”
But Satoru’s next words were even graver. “It’s worse than that, my lord,” he said, his voice trembling. “The territory isn’t... physically here. It’s spatial—disconnected from this location. I can sense that it’s linked to this building, but whatever’s inside... it’s somewhere else entirely.”
Morikawa’s silence was heavy, the weight of realization settling. “A high-level territory,” he finally said, his tone colder now. “Only a powerful rogue, one bonded with someone, could create such a space. This isn’t just any rogue Wraith...”
“Yes,” Satoru whispered, his eyes darting around the now-abandoned warehouse. “We’re dealing with something far more dangerous than we anticipated.”
"My lord...", A bead of sweat trickled down Satoru’s face as he waited for Morikawa’s response. The seconds stretched into an agonizing minute. Finally, Morikawa’s voice came through, icy and unyielding—a tone that sent a chill down Satoru’s spine, reminding him of the man’s true nature, and the kind of organization they served. They were neither teachers, nor protectors, but testers of steel.
"Let's see how it plays out." Each word fell like ice. "Tell no one. If they are who we seek - the penultimate talent - then we can only hope they survive this ordeal." A pause heavy with cruel purpose. "Isn't that right, Satoru?"
Satoru’s breath hitched, his earlier panic dissolving into a cold dread. He could almost feel the middle-aged man’s predatory smile through the phone - the one that had watched centuries of candidates live or die.
His breathing steadied. His spine straightened. His eyes cleared of weakness, of concern, of anything but duty. The geometric patterns around him settled into perfect, emotionless order.
He found a rust-eaten chair in what had been, just hours ago, a living workplace. Sat. Watched darkness gather in corners that shouldn't exist.
Three children's fates were no longer in his hands. They never had been.