"Can you remember?" K9 asked, his voice echoing across three identical yet separate bathrooms. "Anything from before this place claimed you?"
In the mirror, Hiroki's reflection wavered like heat waves off summer pavement. Next to it, impossibly, Takeshi's image appeared, then Abeni's - each in their own bathroom yet somehow sharing the same glass. Their essences swirled around them - fire, gravity, and that strange purple glow.
"Three words," they spoke in unison, voices crossing impossible distances. "Find each other."
Their reflections looked at each other through the mirror's strange window, hope and recognition flickering across faces that had been blank with factory compliance moments before. Something passed between them, a connection that even this twisted space couldn't fully sever.
These bathroom breaks had become a rebellion in malicious compliance. Fifteen minutes, again and again, each visit pulling at reality's fabric like a loose thread. They weren't breaking rules - labor laws guaranteed bathroom rights, and the sanctity of restroom privacy was absolute. Even the Perfect Worker couldn't question it.
What's said in the bathroom stays in the bathroom - it was such an ironclad rule that their words literally couldn't leave this tiled sanctuary. And that very rigidity was becoming a weapon, each visit stretching the territory's seams a little further.
K9 was perched on the bathroom windowsill, haloed by formless light from outside - though "outside" here meant something questionable at best. Hiroki stood before him, essence flickering like summer heat, sweat marking the hours of practice neither of them were sure had actually passed.
"Time for the real basics," K9 said, his profile cut sharp against the strange light. From this angle, slightly above, his face carried something Hiroki hadn't noticed before - a weariness that went deeper than his manufactured burnout affect. The fluorescent lights caught shadows under his eyes that seemed earned rather than performed.
"Haven't we been doing basics?" Hiroki gestured at the essence swirling around him. "All this... talk about outside work?"
K9 shook his head, and for a moment his carefully maintained image of the disaffected worker slipped. There was a melancholy to his features that felt more real than any expression they'd seen him wear - like watching a mask fall to reveal another mask underneath, only to realize the second mask was actually skin.
"Different direction," he said softly, suddenly looking every hour of however long he'd been in this place. "Had to teach you to see the cage before I could teach you to break it."
K9's shadow wisp danced lazily as he outlined the soul smith classes in the air, each description taking shape in the bathroom's strange light.
"Forgers craft arcane weapons from their Wraiths. Conductors channel essence through their bodies like living lightning rods. Weavers," his wisp twisted into complex patterns, "manipulate the fabric of essence itself - barriers, seals, spatial domains. They're rare, especially the ones who can form territories." He paused. "Then there's Whisperers, who speak directly to Wraiths. Not flashy, but they're the ones who keep both worlds from collapsing into each other."
The fluorescent lights buzzed in harmony with his words, casting shadows that moved wrong.
"Neo-Kyoto's method," he continued, that new weariness showing through his practiced indifference, "is brutally simple. Find your talent, follow that path until you're perfect or broken. No deviation. No exploration."
"Does it work?" Abeni's question echoed across impossible space.
K9 looked up at that formless light outside the window. "Oh, it works. Creates more failures than successes - Neo-Kyoto has the fewest soul smiths of any major city. But the ones who survive?" A grim smile. "They're monsters. Unparalleled. Perfect."
"There's a weakness though," Takeshi's voice carried the weight of someone used to finding flaws in systems.
"Bingo." K9's toothpick moved to the other side of his mouth. "All that perfection shatters against the unexpected. Outside Neo-Kyoto, they teach fundamentals of all classes. Creates something unique, unpredictable."
"So outside soul smiths are more dangerous?" Hiroki asked.
K9's laugh carried genuine amusement tinged with something darker. "God no. Neo-Kyoto's soul smiths are so dangerous they had to put a seal on the city limits. Their powers fade the moment they leave." He turned back to the window. "Imagine being so strong they have to cage you in your own home."
"Don't misunderstand," K9 continued, his shadow wisp curling tighter as he spoke. "Neo-Kyoto's method isn't poor. Brutal competition, endless polishing - it creates fewer soul smiths, yes. But those few hundred?" His smile carried genuine respect tinged with fear. "They're terrifying."
The fluorescent lights cast strange shadows as he spoke, each one seeming to pulse with the weight of his words.
"But there's a minority," he said carefully, like someone setting up pieces on a board. "Those who can perfect multiple classes. Use them together, switch between them like changing clothes. So rare they might not exist." His burnout expression shifted slightly. "Why look for impossibilities when the known path is dangerous enough?"
Takeshi began to circle K9, his perfect posture now carrying something predatory. Even stripped of his memories, his Kurogane instincts remained - the ability to sense traps, to read beneath words. His eyes shifted from their usual guarded calculation to something sharper, more suspicious.
"Unless," he said, each step measured, precise, "you happened to find three promising soul smiths."
K9's eyes followed Takeshi's movement, his smile never wavering. Even here, where reality bent like wet paper and memories slipped like water, the boy's infamous perception cut through the fog. The hound had caught a scent.
The Kurogane blood runs true, his wisp like wraither seemed to whisper, even in a place where truth doesn't exist
"What are the odds?" Abeni's question cut through three identical yet separate bathrooms, her purple aura pulsing with dawning understanding.
"Regular soul smiths," K9 nodded, his practiced weariness giving way to something more calculating, "would have been consumed the moment they stepped inside. Become hollow-eyed workers checking boxes that check themselves." His wisp danced faster, agitated. "But you three... you kept yourselves."
The bathroom lights flickered, casting his face in stark shadows as he continued. "The surefire rule isn't just about getting fired. It's about becoming the perfect worker. The nine-to-five that never ends, the slow drift into conformity, the loss of self." His voice carried the weight of experience. "That's what makes this place truly frightening. It doesn't just kill you - it erases you."
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He stood, moving away from the window's strange light. "Yet here you are, holding onto the core parts of yourselves needed to survive. That takes years of training, decades of expertise." A grim smile. "Trust me, I know. I've lived it."
Takeshi's perfect posture somehow managed to become even more precise, more threatening. "Why should we think of you as an ally?"
"Simple." K9's burnout mask slipped completely, revealing something ancient and knowing beneath. "Because I'm the only way you're getting out of here alive.
"You're already using fundamentals without realizing it," K9 said, his shadow wisp tracing patterns in the stale air. "Hiroki - you speak with your Wraith naturally. Basic Whisperer technique. Then in your first fight, you turned those flames into essence-burning infernos." His eyes gleamed. "That's pure Conductor ability. Terrifying stuff."
He glanced at Hiroki's reflection. "Haven't managed it since though, have you?"
"Can't remember," Hiroki said, but his hands clenched slightly. "Just feels like something that would've really pissed me off."
"Muscle memory's funny that way," K9's toothpick moved thoughtfully. "The fundamentals are there in all of you. But to grow stronger, you need the basics of everything." He paused, choosing words carefully in this place where words had power. "Not everyone can do this. But you three..."
"What's your real goal?" Takeshi's question cut like a blade, perfect posture radiating suspicion. "If not helping us."
K9's eyes drifted upward, past the grinding gears to something only he could see. His usually expressive face went blank - not the manufactured burnout look, but something more honest in its emptiness.
"A world is coming," he said finally, voice distant. "One where only the strong survive." The wisp above his shoulder coiled tighter. "I want to see that world exist." His gaze returned to their reflections, sharp and knowing. "And I think you three might be strong enough to see it with me."
They moved through the factory floor, Abeni's purple aura rippling against the hostile stares of workers whose eyes had grown too empty. The shadow from the central office tracked their movement, but K9 walked with the perfect affect of someone discussing productivity metrics.
"Hold on a bit longer," he said under his breath, watching her struggle against the territory's weight. Even with her protective shroud, the place pressed down like a lead blanket. "You're the key to unraveling all of this."
Workers shifted away as they passed, their movements jerky, mechanical, yet somehow threatening. Like dolls learning to hate.
"Start conservative," K9 continued, his burnout expression masking the intensity of his words. "Polish your Whisperer abilities. Talk to the rogues." A smile flickered across his face. "You know why Whisperers are rare? The real you might not remember, but think about it - if Wraiths are reality's echoes, being a Whisperer means commanding reality itself. Including the people in it."
The shadow above loomed darker.
"And you," his wisp curled with something like pride, "you're the rarest of rare. Once you've got that down, we'll use the rogues to pull this place apart at the seams." His step gained a subtle bounce. "Then we'll teach you something practical. Like punching people."
"Don't know why," Abeni said, her social grace carrying through even here, "but that sounds really appealing right now."
K9's snicker carried genuine amusement as he bounced another step. The workers' hostile stares intensified, but their eyes slid past him like he wasn't quite real enough to hate.
The Perfect Worker stood at the workstation entrance like a statue carved from smiles, his presence making the air feel thin. That studio-perfect face stretched into something that only approximated joy, teeth too white under fluorescent lights.
Abeni felt her muscles lock, the weight of rules and consequences pressing down despite her protective aura. The memory of her supervisor's immolation flashed bright and hot.
K9's hand found her shoulder, warm and steady. His eyes remained fixed ahead, but his voice carried quiet steel: "Don't falter. Keep fighting."
She glanced at him, surprised by the gesture's warmth. Death waited ahead of them, wrapped in perfect creases and mechanical cheer, yet K9's touch held no fear. In that moment, something clicked - not trust exactly, but understanding.
He cared. Not in the clean, simple way of fairy tales. Not even in the way normal people cared. But he valued their strength, saw something in them worth preserving. The kind of caring that wouldn't let him sacrifice them like pawns.
He needs us alive, she realized. Not just as tools, but as proof of something.
The Perfect Worker's smile widened impossibly as they approached, but K9's hand remained steady on her shoulder.
They approached the blockade of muscle and manufactured cheer. Abeni's smile appeared, precisely calibrated - the perfect blend of confusion and deference that years of social navigation had taught her. Just another worker, trying to do her job.
"Um... excuse me..." Her voice carried just the right note of hesitation. "I'm trying to get in, but you're in the way."
The Perfect Worker's head remained tilted upward, but his eyes - too bright, too focused - drifted down to her like spotlights seeking targets. "Is that so?"
"Certainly," K9 drawled, his burnout affect somehow sharper, more pointed. "You're blocking the poor girl from doing her work." His wisp curled with barely contained amusement. "Surely you know hindering workplace operations could be against the rules."
A current passed through the Perfect Worker's features - quick as lightning, gone just as fast. Both men's smiles remained fixed, a silent acknowledgement passing between them.
They all knew it - K9 didn't belong. Even his designation broke pattern, stood out like a wrong note in a perfect symphony. He'd never tried to hide it, Abeni realized. Had worn his strangeness like armor from the start.
"I just wanted to mention," the perfect worker began, "that the other workers have been complaining about the lengthy bathroom breaks you both have been taking—often at the same times. These frequent breaks are already pushing the limit." He paused, circling them slowly, his tone sharpening. "But one might consider this particular arrangement inappropriate. Inappropriate relations, as you know, could lead to termination."
K9 kept his easy smile. "Fifteen-minute bathroom breaks are mandated by law here—in this warehouse, I mean—and we certainly haven't let that time interfere with our duties."
"Of course!" the perfect worker exclaimed, his manic enthusiasm barely masking his true irritation. He pulled out his tablet, practically shoving it in their faces. "Your productivity rates are through the roof! How delightful!"
"How delightful indeed," K9 replied smoothly. He glanced at his companion, his smile now holding a hint of mischief. "As for these alleged 'inappropriate relations,' you could ask the lady here if anything of the sort is going on. I assure you, when we go in, we each do our business separately."
The perfect worker was no longer smiling. His expression had shifted, like someone who had just been pushed too far. He looked down at Abeni, his smile reappearing, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
"Little missus, any complaints about this gentleman here?" he asked.
Abeni swallowed and shook her head, muttering, "No."
The perfect worker sighed, still smiling. "Alright then. Sorry to interrupt your duties. I'll leave you to it." He turned to leave, but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. In that ridiculous announcer accent of his, he added, "And don't forget, folks—if you break the rules..."
With mock enthusiasm, K9 and Abeni chimed in, "Youuuu’re fired!"
"Thank you," the perfect worker said, nodding slightly before he walked away.
As they both entered the workstation, Abeni felt a wave of relief wash over her. She briefly wondered if she was even a fighter—maybe she looked like one on the outside, but deep down, just moments ago, she had been absolutely terrified.
It wasn’t long before Abeni realized K9 was no longer walking beside her. She looked back and found him standing at the entrance, his eyes fixed on the looming shadow above with a predatory intensity.
She knew, instinctively—likely because of her strange powers—that K9 meant no harm to her or her friends... if they could even be called friends in a place like this. But one thing was certain: the man was a predator. He sought out strength, and he’d mentioned more than once just how peculiar and powerful this territory was, and how inexperienced the person who set it up seemed to be.
Abeni wondered then, what plans he had for the creator of this place.