Neo-Kyoto Academy emptied like the receding tide. Students flowed through the gates and spilled into the streets, breaking into smaller streams of uniforms and backpacks. Sports clubs staked out their territories: the rhythmic thud of basketballs from the gym, the sharp crack of baseball bats from the field, the synchronized stomping from the dance studio.
The setting sun drenched everything in a wash of amber, stretching shadows that made the school buildings seem older than they were. Most windows had gone dark, save for a few where dedicated students lingered over projects or cleaning duties.
Perfect cover for three students moving against the flow. They waited until the last stragglers had drifted away, until only the distant sounds of practice and the hum of evening insects remained.
Time it right, Arkan’s voice murmured in Hiroki’s mind as he watched the student council members file out of their meeting. Wait for it...
Abeni rounded the corner with an effortless grace that made it seem as though she belonged exactly where she was. Moments later, Takeshi materialized as if from thin air—he had a knack for that—casually adjusting his tie as he approached.
Their destination: the unused club room on the third floor. It had remained mysteriously vacant ever since the robotics club merged with engineering. Despite the constant demand for space, no new clubs were ever assigned to it—a perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
Probably because someone’s paying to keep it empty, Abeni’s Wraith remarked as they approached the stairs.
“Strange that no one’s caught on to us yet,” Abeni said as they filed into the dusty club room. Afternoon light streamed through windows coated in months of grime, casting long, slanting shadows. “Can you imagine the rumors if they did?”
Three students, one empty room, her Wraith snickered. The gossip writes itself.
“Worried some of your adoring fans might spot you?” Takeshi’s voice was laced with that infuriating mix of amusement and condescension as he locked the door behind them. “How scandalous—their queen bee sneaking off with the class pariah and the enigmatic transfer student.”
“I’m not worried,” Abeni snapped, though her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s just... my excuses are wearing thin. ‘Student council project’ only works so many times, especially since I’m not even on the council.”
And your so-called friends are starting to whisper, her Wraith added. Questions about where you vanish to, why you’re suddenly so... unavailable.
“The crown growing heavy?” Takeshi asked, his smile that irritating, all-knowing curve.
"Shut up," Abeni muttered, but there was less bite to it than usual.
“I’m still amazed that excuse worked at all,” Takeshi remarked, leaning casually against a dusty desk, his Armani suit somehow repelling the grime. “I thought the ‘popular kids are stupid’ trope was overplayed, but your friends...” He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Truly bottom-of-the-barrel.”
Oh, he’s asking for it, Arkan muttered, catching the sudden rise in temperature from both Hiroki and the air around them.
But Abeni’s retort was swift, honed by years of social maneuvering. “Most students have no clue what goes on in their own school,” she shot back. “They don’t question why the basketball team gets new uniforms mid-season, or why certain clubs get the best rooms, or who’s actually funding the cultural festival.”
She straightened, the polished mask she wore slipping just enough to reveal a hint of sincerity. “They don’t care about administrative politics because they don’t have to. That’s why it works.”
Takeshi’s eyebrows lifted slightly—genuine surprise breaking through his otherwise controlled expressions. After a beat, he inclined his head. “A fair point,” he conceded, the words sounding almost grudging, as if dragged from him.
Did she just... win an argument with him? Arkan mused, clearly impressed. Mark the calendar, kid. This is historic.
“You two get along surprisingly well,” Hiroki muttered absently, only to blink in confusion as both Takeshi and Abeni turned on him, their expressions identical mixes of horror.
Oh, this’ll be good, Arkan snickered.
“We do NOT—” Abeni began.
“That’s absolutely—” Takeshi started at the same time.
They stopped, glaring at each other for speaking in unison. Takeshi’s usually impeccable composure twisted into something that looked almost physically painful, while Abeni’s practiced social grace crumbled into pure revulsion.
“I would rather eat glass,” Abeni declared with utter conviction.
“I would rather wear polyester,” Takeshi shot back, somehow making his pristine tie look affronted.
Look what you started, Arkan laughed in Hiroki’s mind. The queen bee and the perfect prince, united in mutual denial.
Hiroki shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, you kinda do the same thing with the whole...” he gestured vaguely, “manipulation thing.”
The room seemed to drop several degrees as their combined glares turned on him.
“I believe,” Takeshi said with icy dignity, “it’s time.” He pulled out his phone with a flourish that made even that simple act look like part of a choreographed performance.
Abeni made an exaggerated retching sound. “Do you practice that in front of a mirror?”
Probably has a whole routine, her Wraith snickered. ‘How to Look Dramatically Rich in Three Easy Steps.’
Ignoring their banter, Takeshi pressed the call button with elegant precision. Instantly, the air around them rippled with familiar geometric patterns.
Here we go again, Arkan quipped. Express elevator to supernatural fight club.
The dusty club room dissolved, reality folding around them like layers of origami. When the world reformed, they stepped not into a school corridor but onto the expansive training grounds of the Crimson Hand headquarters. Mountains that defied Neo-Kyoto’s geography rose in the distance, and the air vibrated with barely contained power.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Abeni muttered, smoothing her skirt. “One minute you’re in school, the next...”
“It’s still pretty cool, though,” Hiroki said, watching the last of the geometric patterns dissolve into the air. “Like those old sci-fi streams, but with magic instead of tech.”
“More like both,” Takeshi corrected without thinking, then caught himself. His expression quickly reverted to its usual aloofness.
Did he just... explain something without being condescending? Arkan gasped theatrically in Hiroki’s mind. Guess the world really does change when you step through that door.
The training grounds stretched out before them, other students already gathering for their sessions. The impossible cherry tree swayed gently in a breeze that seemed to belong only to this folded pocket of reality, its petals drifting along the seams where the fabric of existence frayed.
They stepped into the central training ground—a vast circular expanse where the ancient and the modern intertwined seamlessly. At its heart stood the cherry tree, its gnarled trunk twisted not by age, but by the currents of arcane energy flowing through this warped dimension. Each branch extended like strokes of calligraphy against the surreal sky, and the blossoms...
The blossoms were something entirely other.
Each petal glimmered with its own inner light, like pink flames frozen in an eternal dance. They didn’t simply fall; they floated on unseen currents of power, some disintegrating into sparks of pure energy before ever reaching the ground, others lingering in the air like luminous snowflakes.
Beautiful and deadly, Arkan observed. Like everything else here.
The ground beneath their feet transitioned from sleek modern training mats near the entrance to ancient stone circles closer to the tree. Each ring was inscribed with characters that fused Japanese kanji with Yoruba script, pulsing faintly with every step they took, as if responding to their presence.
Near the tree’s base, the bark seemed to shift like liquid metal, reflecting not their physical forms but the ethereal shimmer of their Wraiths' energies. The air around the tree was dense, charged with potential, as if the laws of reality were mere suggestions here.
Even the air tastes different, Abeni’s Wraith murmured. Like standing in the space between heartbeats.
Pink fire flickered in their vision as they stepped into the central chamber. Not flames—cherry blossoms, though in this surreal space, the distinction seemed irrelevant. Each petal caught the light like a delicate ember, suspended in air that shimmered with barely contained energy.
At the center, the tree loomed, its trunk twisted into forms that defied natural growth. The bark rippled like liquid metal, reflecting not their physical bodies, but the ghostly auras of their Wraiths. The branches stretched upward, tracing lines in the air like strokes of calligraphy against the chamber’s impossible heights.
Look at how the shadows move wrong, Arkan murmured to Hiroki.
He was right—darkness pooled and shifted beneath the tree, reacting to footsteps that had yet to occur. The ground beneath them changed with each step: modern training mats blending seamlessly into ancient stone, as fluid as an incoming tide. Symbols carved into concentric circles glowed softly as they crossed, reading something deeper than mere flesh.
The air pressed against their skin like velvet, dense with unspoken possibilities. Abeni inhaled and tasted hints of copper and storm winds. Hiroki’s exhale sent a swirl of petals spinning, scattering like stars falling sideways.
Takeshi’s phone appeared in his hand with his usual practiced elegance. His fingers danced across the screen, composing a message to Satoru.
The reply came instantly: "Stuck in traffic! 😅"
A vein visibly pulsed in Takeshi’s forehead, his perfect composure fracturing. He stabbed the voice message button harder than necessary. “You literally bend space to travel. How are you stuck in traffic?”
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared on the screen. A wall of text began to form—something about “spatial anchors,” “connection points,” and “the theoretical physics of fold-space transportation.”
Takeshi cut it off mid-sentence with a sharp tap, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a rare, unpolished gesture that none of them had ever seen from him before.
“Satoru-san will be late,” he announced, his voice flat.
“How is that even possible?” Hiroki asked. “Doesn’t he just...” He waved his hands vaguely, attempting to convey the concept of spatial manipulation.
“Yeah, can’t he just...” Abeni mirrored the gesture, looking equally baffled.
Takeshi’s barely-there shrug conveyed a universe of exasperation, his irritation palpable.
Ten bucks says he’s just messing with Mr. Perfect, Arkan snickered in Hiroki’s mind. Guy’s got to find his entertainment somewhere.
Guy's got to get his entertainment somewhere.
“So...” Abeni glanced between her reluctant companions. “What do we do while we wait?”
Takeshi was already fishing out a sleek pair of noise-canceling headphones from his messenger bag—because of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead with a typical school backpack. “Don’t particularly care,” he muttered, slipping the headphones over his ears with the kind of practiced elegance that screamed isolation, before retreating into his meticulously curated world.
Left with only Hiroki, Abeni turned to see him stretching his arms overhead, the air around him beginning to shimmer with that familiar warmth. “Maybe we should train?” he suggested, his voice surprisingly steady, without its usual hesitance.
“It’s always training with you,” Abeni sighed, rolling her eyes as she moved to settle beneath the cherry tree’s impossible branches. Pink embers pretending to be petals drifted down around her as she sat.
“You’re the one who’s been making the most progress,” Hiroki pointed out, continuing his stretches. “Out of all of us, you’ve picked up your abilities the fastest. Doesn’t that make you want to train more? Get stronger?”
“Get stronger?” Abeni leaned back against the metallic bark, her tone edged with a hint of sarcasm. “So far, all I’ve learned is how to chat with Wraiths and play emotional therapist. Meanwhile, you and Mr. Perfect over there,” she gestured toward Takeshi, who remained resolutely unresponsive, “get to blow stuff up.”
Hiroki paused mid-stretch, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. “Wait... you want to blow stuff up? I never figured...”
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“Of course I want to blow stuff up,” Abeni replied with a sharp-edged smile. “It’s the most efficient way to keep people at a distance.”
“Actually,” Takeshi’s voice cut in, barely audible over the music in his headphones, which he didn’t bother to remove, “in the field, especially against rogue Wraiths, Joy wielders like you tend to accumulate more bonds. The more Wraiths you bring under your influence, the more power you can draw on.”
He shifted, the movement as precise as ever despite his apparent nonchalance. “In fact, you’re more likely than most to develop a territory—a space where your influence becomes absolute. The potential for raw power is significant.”
“What does that even mean?” Hiroki asked, his stretches slowing as curiosity overtook his training focus. “A territory?”
Takeshi sighed, finally sliding one headphone off his ear. “Think of it as... a bubble of reality where your Wraith’s power becomes law. Some Soul Smiths can create spaces where their abilities are amplified far beyond normal limits.” He gestured vaguely at the cherry tree and the training grounds around them. “Like this place, but uniquely yours. Personal. Intimate.”
“Most Soul Smiths,” Takeshi continued, his usual condescension softening into something that almost resembled genuine instruction, “might manage to affect a room, maybe a building at best. But Joy Wraiths?” He actually removed both headphones this time. “They operate through emotional connections, networks of feeling. In theory, your territory could extend as far as your influence reaches.”
He means you could turn an entire crowd into your personal playground, Abeni’s Wraith whispered, its voice tinged with a note of intrigue.
“The Sage mentioned something about this once,” Abeni said thoughtfully, sitting up straighter beneath the cherry tree. “But he cut himself off before explaining further.”
“Because it’s advanced. Dangerous,” Takeshi replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Most Soul Smiths who attempt to establish territories too early... well, let’s just say the success rate isn’t exactly promising.”
Before anyone could respond, a geometric pattern flickered into existence beside them, and Satoru materialized mid-step, as if he’d been walking through another world and simply decided to join theirs.
“Ah, you’re all here—” was all Satoru managed to get out before he was hit with a barrage of questions.
“What do you mean, stuck in traffic?” Takeshi demanded, arms crossed.
“Tell us more about territories!” Abeni practically sprang up from her spot beneath the cherry tree.
“Can we start actual combat training today?” Hiroki added, heat shimmering around his fingers.
Satoru blinked rapidly, his usual composed demeanor cracking as the three of them converged like wolves scenting blood. The geometric patterns surrounding him swirled erratically, looping in confused spirals.
Oh look, Arkan snickered, the space-bender’s cornered.
“First of all,” Satoru said, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, the swirling patterns shifting defensively, “Takeshi-kun, I sent you a very detailed explanation about spatial anchor points, which you chose to ignore.”
Takeshi’s impeccable posture somehow conveyed both disdain and reluctant guilt.
“Abeni-san,” Satoru turned to her, “territories are... well, let’s just say we’re not quite ready for you to accidentally create a zone of perpetual forced happiness in the heart of Neo-Kyoto. Yet.”
Finally, he faced Hiroki, his expression turning serious. “As for combat training—you’ll all be getting that sooner than planned. We’ve located a rogue Wraith. Your first field mission.”
The air in the training ground thickened, charged with an electric anticipation.
Abeni’s casual slouch straightened into perfect posture. Takeshi’s mask of disinterest slipped away, replaced by a keen focus. Even his headphones vanished into his bag with uncharacteristic haste.
Hiroki’s ever-present heat surged, the temperature around him spiking. “What kind of Wraith?”
“Nothing on the level of Voragos,” Satoru replied, his swirling patterns morphing into a map of Neo-Kyoto’s warehouse district. “But it’s dangerous enough to require... careful handling.”
Finally, Arkan hummed with delight. Some real action instead of these practice flames.
“We’ve tracked it to an abandoned storage facility,” Satoru continued, his patterns shifting to pinpoint the location. “It’s been feeding off the anxiety of night shift workers nearby. Not immediately lethal, but...”
“But what?” Abeni pressed, her eyes narrowing.
“Let’s just say productivity in that district has plummeted by ninety percent,” Satoru said, his tone darkening. “People are too paralyzed by irrational fears to work effectively.”
Ah, Abeni’s Wraith murmured. A Fear-type, then.
“A Fear-type Wraith,” Satoru confirmed as his geometric patterns shifted, revealing a dark, writhing form. “Not particularly strong on its own, but it’s been growing. Feeding. And Fear Wraiths have a nasty habit of... multiplying if left unchecked.”
Like your anxiety infecting a whole crowd, Arkan whispered to Hiroki. But way worse.
“The mission parameters are straightforward,” Satoru continued, his patterns rearranging into a tactical display. “Locate, contain, and neutralize. You’ll be working as a unit, with minimal supervision.”
“Minimal?” Takeshi arched an eyebrow with carefully measured skepticism.
“We’ll have observers, of course,” Satoru said smoothly. “But this is your test run. How you handle this will determine future assignments.”
“And if we mess up?” Abeni asked, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through her usual confident veneer.
Satoru’s smile was gentle, but there was a firmness behind it. “Then you’ll learn from it. Assuming you survive.”
Oh, great, her Wraith grumbled. Now he’s making jokes.
“When do we start?” Hiroki asked, the air around him already shimmering with rising heat.
“Calm down,” Satoru cautioned, noting the rippling heat waves. “Evening shift. This kind of Wraith is more active after dark.” His geometric patterns shifted, displaying time signatures. “And you’ll need rest beforehand. It’s going to be intense.”
Aw, and here I thought we’d get to set things on fire right away, Arkan sighed with exaggerated disappointment.
“Rest?” Hiroki’s temperature dropped a few degrees, his enthusiasm dimming.
“He means actual sleep,” Takeshi interjected, already scrolling through his phone’s calendar. “Not your usual three hours squeezed in between part-time shifts.”
Abeni’s eyes flicked between them, suspicion creeping into her gaze. “How do you know his sleep schedule?”
“Background checks exist for a reason,” Takeshi replied smoothly, though his eyes lingered on his phone screen just a fraction too long.
“Evening shift,” Satoru repeated, his geometric patterns shifting to display heat maps of the warehouse district. The images pulsed with darker hues as day bled into dusk, tracing movements that slipped past conventional detection. Fear, after all, left its own unique imprint—visible only to those who knew where to look.
Hiroki’s disappointment manifested physically; the air around him cooled from near-combustion to a mere summer warmth. His body had become a barometer for his emotions, betraying him with every surge of heat. The constant simmer beneath his skin felt like a fever dream, an exhausting hyper-awareness of every cell, every muscle.
You’re doing that thing again, Arkan remarked. Getting lost in your own temperature.
Takeshi’s focus on his phone was a masterclass in practiced indifference, yet the way he monitored Hiroki’s sleep schedule hinted at something almost protective. It didn’t quite fit with his meticulously maintained persona of detached self-interest. These subtle lapses were becoming more apparent—small cracks in the mask of the perfect heir.
Above them, the training ground’s cherry tree swayed in its impossible rhythm, each petal-flame casting shadows that defied conventional logic. Abeni watched the petals drift, her mind already dissecting the social dynamics of their upcoming mission. Missions meant teamwork, and teamwork required trust—a commodity their carefully guarded distance made scarce.
“Rest isn’t just about sleep,” Satoru continued, his geometric patterns shifting into intricate diagrams of neural activity. “Wraith encounters require mental clarity. Emotional stability.” His gaze lingered on each of them in turn. “Something none of you are particularly known for.”
"I called off work for this," Hiroki said. The air shimmered where his fingers ran through his hair.
"Is that even okay?" Abeni asked. The question hung heavier than it should have. “Calling off work so many times”
"They won't fire me." Hiroki's shrug carried the weight of too many extra shifts. "I'm the only one who tolerates their wages. Boss will probably be thrilled I'm coming in after all."
The cherry blossoms continued their impossible dance while somewhere across Neo-Kyoto, a manager revised today's schedule, unaware his most reliable worker stood in folded space, preparing to hunt creatures of fear.
The real horror story is minimum wage, Arkan mused.
He flicked his little wraith.
"Maybe we should head back to the clubroom," Abeni said. "Plan strategy. Figure out our powers." Her eyes found Takeshi, and they all knew why. In their strange dynamic, his choices had become Hiroki's compass.
Takeshi’s mouth twisted, considering. A flicker of tension crossed his otherwise perfect features—the kind of hesitation that came with decisions that weren’t solely his to make anymore. Then, with a graceful shrug that carried a hint of resignation, he conceded, “Fine.”
Hiroki nodded, the air around him cooling to reflect the decision. Always following, yet lately, his agreement felt less like submission and more like a conscious choice.
Like ducklings, Arkan quipped. Very dangerous, potentially explosive ducklings.
“I can take you—” Satoru began, his geometric patterns already coalescing into familiar transport arrays. But Takeshi raised a hand, his phone appearing with that same practiced elegance.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Takeshi said smoothly, thumb poised over the screen. “You seem busy enough.”
A tap. The door opening. Three students stepping out from impossible space back into the dusty clubroom. Cherry blossom petals clung to their uniforms like dying embers, each falling petal a lingering reminder of the power they were only beginning to grasp.
Back in the quiet, dusty clubroom, Takeshi held up his phone like a conductor’s baton. “What do you want?”
Oh, the rich kid’s buying lunch, Arkan snickered. How charitable.
The question hung in the stale afternoon air, heavy with more than just menu choices. Hiroki hesitated—he’d seen the prices at the places Takeshi considered “casual.” Abeni’s fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, old instincts to refuse charity clashing with the demands of their newfound alliance.
“Don’t make it weird,” Takeshi said, not even glancing up from his screen. “We’ve got six hours to kill.”
Their orders came hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. Takeshi’s eyebrow arched slightly when Hiroki made his selection.
“The premium wagyu bowl?” A crack appeared in his usually flawless mask—a hint of genuine surprise. “Finally, someone with actual taste.”
Kid’s been living on convenience store bentos so long he’s gone feral, Arkan cackled..
“When someone else is paying,” Hiroki shrugged, though there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what game he was playing.
“I’m ordering extra,” he added, that spark brightening. “Since I’ve got work later.”
“Of course you are,” Takeshi muttered, but didn’t miss a beat as his fingers continued typing. The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty windows, casting their quiet rebellion in a warm, amber glow.
Abeni leaned back into her usual desk, observing with barely concealed amusement. “Should we talk strategy while we wait? Or are we too busy bankrupting the Kurogane heir?”
“The family spends more on tie clips,” Takeshi replied absentmindedly, only to catch himself revealing more than intended. He quickly pivoted. “Delivery in twenty minutes. We should at least pretend to be productive.”
His version of productive usually ends up as someone else’s headache, Abeni’s Wraith noted dryly.
“So far,” Abeni leaned back in her chair, the slanting afternoon light highlighting her perfect posture, “they’ve had you two learning how to blow things up while I’ve been stuck practicing how to make Wraiths feel better about themselves.”
The bitterness was subtle, but it cut deep.
“They haven’t even bothered to teach me proper defense,” she continued, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk. “Just... influence and support.” She paused, then added with a sigh, “Which means, for now, we stick close. Very close.”
Hiroki momentarily paused in his mental tally of how many premium sides he could squeeze into his order. “You mean—”
“I mean I’m practically helpless if we get separated.” The admission seemed to cost her, each word a reluctant surrender. “All this talk about Joy Wraiths being powerful, but right now? I’m your liability.”
At least she’s honest about it, Arkan remarked. Most would try to fake confidence.
Takeshi looked up from his phone, eyes sharp. “Simple formation, then. Triangle. Hiroki’s flames in front, my gravity control covering the rear. You in the center, managing the Wraith’s emotional state.”
“Heat and gravity,” Abeni mused, her expression brightening. “Basic astronomy tells us they’re perfect for keeping threats at bay.”
Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, casting long, fragmented shadows over their makeshift strategy session.
“Too restrictive,” Hiroki countered, shaking his head. “It’s not just about physical attacks. Remember Voragos? A shield wouldn’t have stopped it from getting into our heads. Going purely defensive just gives them time to adapt.”
Abeni blinked, caught off guard not just by his logic but by the confidence with which he spoke. The shy boy who once hesitated over a lunch order had been replaced by someone who grasped combat tactics on an instinctive level.
“Actually,” Takeshi set his phone down with a measured precision, “a sustained defense might have been ideal against Voragos. Your flames worked, my gravity made it recoil.” His eyes locked onto Hiroki’s with a focus that was almost predatory. “The issue isn’t whether we defend, but how we leverage that defense into an offensive strategy. How to strike from within our line.”
Look at them, Arkan mused in Hiroki’s mind. Already arguing like seasoned warriors instead of teenagers who only just learned to wield magic.
“About what you said earlier,” Takeshi straightened, a rare spark of genuine interest in his voice. “Your so-called ‘useless’ skills? They might actually be our best offensive option from within a defensive line. Psychic attacks don’t require physical proximity.”
Abeni shifted in her seat. “They’ve been training me to communicate with rogue Wraiths. It’s... different from regular ones—like trying to hear someone through heavy static.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “But they do get startled when words suddenly show up in their heads.”
Speaking of voices in heads... Arkan’s presence pulsed with curiosity.
“Of course I can hear you too,” Abeni said, her gaze shifting to the space above Hiroki’s shoulder where Arkan’s energy concentrated. “Both of you. I always have.”
Hiroki’s temperature spiked for an instant, a flare of surprise. Even Takeshi’s carefully crafted composure faltered for a split second.
Well, Arkan purred, sounding thoroughly amused. This just got a lot more interesting.
“These psychic interruptions,” Takeshi leaned forward, theory already weaving itself behind his eyes, “could destabilize an enemy’s territory. Territories are partly mental constructs. You might even sever Wraith bonds, if only temporarily.”
“But for now,” Abeni traced absent patterns on the desk, her fingers moving in deliberate arcs, “I’m limited. Huge potential, but currently... weak. Unless...”
“Unless we’re proactive in supporting you,” Takeshi finished, his tone firm. “Which means Hiroki and I need a joint strategy. Fighting separately while pretending to cooperate is inefficient.”
Hiroki shifted uncomfortably, heat rippling around him. “Our powers are too explosive to combine. We’d just end up getting in each other’s way.”
“Actually,” Takeshi’s smile held an uncharacteristic hint of excitement, “remember what Abeni said about heat and gravity? If we combine them, we could create something like a heated gravity field. I think... Science says...” He hesitated. “Though, admittedly, I don’t know much about science.”
“Neither do I,” Hiroki added hastily.
“Same here,” Abeni raised her hand. “But—”
“It could function like a territory,” Takeshi pressed on, undeterred. “If we generate enough power—”
“Except,” Abeni interjected, “how would you two survive in it? You might be immune to your own powers, but not to each other’s.”
The spark of enthusiasm in the boys’ eyes flickered and died, like a balloon slowly deflating.
Back to the drawing board, Arkan sighed.
And so they continued, between bites of food, discussing plans they would draw up only to discard moments later when they realized how absurd they were. Even Takeshi, usually the most serious among them, would get caught up in Hiroki’s wild schemes. It often took the steadying force of Abeni to pull him back from the abyss of Hiroki’s boundless imagination. But that meant Abeni herself had to dive headfirst into the madness, dismantling each outlandish idea piece by piece to disprove it.
The hours slipped by unnoticed, the blazing white of the afternoon sun slowly turning crimson, signaling the approach of evening. They had been there for hours, yet time seemed to stretch and blur, leaving them unaware of its passing
But soon enough, evening came and it was time to head out to their first mission.