A tall girl wearing a large white sun hat decorated with a red thread twisted along the flap, made her entrance. Her slender body was covered by a large white sweater, decorated with various lines of blue and golden yellow. A pair of trousers of the same color as the sweater crowned her clothing, giving it a very summery look.

What Klint noticed most was her embarrassed smile and her eyes, so deep and magnetic yet full of joy and vivacity despite the intense blue. She walked waving her hips, but without appearing vulgar or allusive, as if it were her way of moving normally.

Klint slowly stood up and smiled, approaching the girl to give her a hand. Monica herself pushed him.

< Pleasure... Lance Klint.> It turned out embarrassed by the girl. She, too, quite shy, extended her trembling hand, clutching it at her faintly.

She answered in a low voice, avoiding his look and looking down. They both failed to let go until Monica decided to pull them back towards the sofa, forcing Klint to sit in the middle between the two.

Klint held his hands over his abdomen, staring straight ahead. Without emitting a sound and squeezing as much as possible, avoiding making his presence tangible to the two, in the meantime, they were busy understanding what the boy was doing stuck between them.

Panic was taking full control of his mind. Fortunately, the embarrassment dissipated when another figure appeared in the room, going down the stairs and avoiding the lonely boy.

He stood in front of Klint, checking him from top to bottom as if he were looking at a precious bracelet trying to determine whether it was authentic or a fake. He beat his forehead, arousing his paranoia.

The figure was about the same height as Klint and was completely wrapped in a white coat decorated with blue circular patterns, while the rest of the clothing consisted of black stretch trousers and a particular black wide-brimmed hat with the same motifs as the coat.

A strange mechanical device appeared outside the collar of the dress and pressed slightly against the back of the neck, attracting the attention of Lance, who refrained from pronouncing any sound while the figure saw both recruits. A silver flask, identical to the ones Klint always saw in the hands of drunkards in the alleys at night, appeared from his pocket.

< Recruits? Great to see you in shape, I expect great things... Smalls are also good as long as you do not disturb me too much.> The man began by taking off his hat and reaching out to them.

He continued his tone slightly severe but without intrinsic malice.

Klint and Jeanne stood up suddenly, both holding his hand while shaking it.

They answered in unison smiling, noticing it immediately after and remaining motionless for their mild infantilism.

Klint noticed better the man now standing in front of him: he was very young and well-groomed, his face cut and especially attractive thanks to the red color of his eyes, very unusual but at the same time intriguing. However, one detail came to Klint's nostrils, a subtle but potent smell of alcohol. From under the hat, a black tuft appeared, slightly covering the forehead while smiling at both.

He said, walking towards the corridor, waving his hand backward, and grabbing the flask.

Net added sadly as she helped both of them to get off the couch.

Jeanne said, putting on her sweater and taking off the hat.

Klint added looking around. The whole situation seemed surreal to him and he definitely couldn't believe he'd ended up in such a place.

Monica smiled at the two, gently resting her palms on their shoulders.

Asked the figure on the stairs, finally turning to the crowd gathered below.

He was a boy with thick black hair, long on the back of his neck and with a bit of freckle on his cheek. The rest of his face is covered with a brown scarf with an ochre cube pattern. His face was young and defined.

The green and wide coat swayed as he slowly descended the stairs, continuing his opening speech in a harsh and cruel tone.

He continued pointing at the people, who promptly lowered their heads.

Finally the figure had reached the last set of steps, jumping down with an athletic gesture, landing perfectly, and continuing to walk.

He asked putting a hand on her shoulder.

Monica clenched her fists, and a series of feelings rushed into her heart, a varied mixture of sensations overtaking her judgment. Klint could see the pain in her eyes and the resentment in her grasp, but the girl just lifted her head.

She answered biting his lip and staging a smile. The boy snapped his tongue, letting go and approaching Jeanne.

He asked sternly, taking her wrist and forcing her to speak.

She tried to speak but the grip began to hurt and the growing panic dampened her throat.

He replied sarcastically, squeezing even more and lifting her arm. Jeanne cried out in pain as she felt her wrist lose sensitivity.

Maliard looked at her almost disgusted until a strong blow on his cheek forced him to turn his head and let go. Klint shook his hand slightly to regain sensitivity, he had hit the boy hard. He could notice the finger marks on her fair skin and especially the tingling on her hand. Klint had been seized by an instant of anger and had snapped in the rush of the moment.

He said slowly approaching the boy who had just turned with an expression of indignation and anger.

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He started talking, touching his cheek for a moment.

He pointed it out ironically and with disgusting malice, knowing he was hurting him. Klint looked at him without letting go of his face.

He asked him calmly, but the stillness of his tone and the strength that he transmitted in his arm was decidedly unfavorable to maintaining his attitude.

Maliard began to squeeze his wrist, noticing with surprise that there was no way to move it from there. Turning with all the strenght in his body, the boy violently hit Klint in the chest with the heel of the shoe, forcing him to back. Klint coughed a couple of times, but that wasn't enough to stop him from getting closer to Maliard, who had begun to take off his glove.

One hand took Klint from behind him, clinging to his shoulder. The boy rolled his head, noticing Net, still shaken by Maliard's comment.

He heard whispering from her lips, but her tone was shrouded in pain and embarrassment, she could have sworn to hear her almost sobbing.

Asked Klint, gently shaking Monica's hand from her shoulder.

He replied ironically almost mocking the stupidity of that question.

He asked him almost imperatively, staring at him in the eyes.

Klint continued, his stern and angry gaze, a slight grin of defiance on his smile, an invitation to Maliard.

Klint put his hand smiling but kept a severe and saturated air of resentment around him. Maliard refused the handshake, turning and slowly walking toward the corridor, settling his long glove.

Maliard did not wait for Klint's response and disappeared into the curve of the passage, finally illuminated by the light system.

Klint was left standing in the middle of the room and forced to listen to the voices of the people around him. In the tense air, there were rumors of various statements and comments such as "he is crazy", "he has no hope", and "waste of staff" but this did not change his intent.

Monica forced him to turn around and as soon as she could see his face, she hit him hard with a slap. Klint turned his head to soften the blow, but he was not surprised, his move had been selfish.

Monica yelled, clinging to his collar, tugging at it with disappointment and frustration.

He replied, looking into her eyes, Klint's eyes full of confidence and kindness.

Monica let go, looking down, and without saying a word, she walked down the hall, dragging Jeanne with her, still stunned. The room immediately began to empty and after a short while, Klint remained alone, surrounded by white walls and the sound of gears and doors.

He was talking to himself, trying to put the situation back in the palm of his hands.

He concluded, stretching his arms and then collecting a couple of sheets from the table.

Klint was demoralized and after 30 minutes was still almost at the beginning.

He covered his face with his hand, snorting until his eyes fell on a piece of paper stuck under the leg of the sofa.

He picked it up in curiosity: a yellowish sheet full of notes and scribbles, probably one of those that Lucas had dropped.

It was the continuation of the document on the categorization of the Meta. The large bold title clarified the content of the dossier: "WAYS AND PROCEDURES OF CATEGORIZATION".

Klint began to read the sheet, swiping with his eyes in fury all the details about the categories and how to reach them.

"A Meta's skills can be sharpened just as any other talent or physical characteristic is honed, so the core classes can simply be the extension of that talent to their limit. Zwei means two in the West Northest dialect, indicating a doubling or an evolution of the subject while Schritt (Progress) and Herrscher (Sovereign) result in an obvious evolution of the ability. This is probably due not only to training but also to a greater understanding and attunement to your frequency, as seen in the previous papers."

Klint read, seized by curiosity towards that piece of paper. The section on the Korrupt category was interrupted, erased by a series of disturbing and sharp ink lines.

Klint had reached the last paragraph and was almost losing hope, but a footnote caught his attention.

"Subjects categorized as Singular are exceptions for categories: Irre who maintain the mind even in impossible conditions or Herrscher who do not present a direct evolution of the ability but only an extension in it are some examples, While Nulls are existences completely outside the scope of our experiments, their frequency is so intricate that it is impossible to study and their characteristics are too varied and unique to fit into a single category."

A long, curved arrow of ink drew Klint's attention to a particular set of notes.

"As proof of my thesis, the frequency of a Meta can be perceived as a flow of electricity or a feeling of cold that extends from the center of the head to the fingers or the rest of the body depending on their tuning. A subject labeled as a Null probably perceives its frequency as something more intimate and personal, as the vast majority of subjects responded positively to the description of the sensation when using their abilities. Given my theory about the origin of a frequency in an individual, the discharge seems to be directly emitted by the brain or heart."

Klint squeezed the paper, realizing that he had ruined it, and jumped, trying to smooth it on the table, but not satisfied with the result he left it on the same. He clenched his fists, knowing he had made progress in his strategy.

< So this Frequency I have to understand how to perceive and channel it to do something with it, but how? I don't remember that feeling being like an electric shock or chills. > Klint began to breathe slowly, trying to remember all the events of the last days.

The creatures, Monica, the file, the pain, the sky, the blood and finally, almost like a flash, the memory of the figure in the fog flashed in his brain, with a strong pain attached.

The cold and distant but at the same time so close and comfortable warmth of the figure, of his hand, and his reborn limbs had returned to his mind. In his nerves, he could feel a faint sensation, that same and unique sensation.

Enduring the pain, he clung to the feeling that flowed through his synapses and flesh. His face twisted in a grimace of pain as he perceived his hands extinguishing and almost breaking because of that uneven union of heat and cold.

Suddenly a glow appeared in his hands, a black and white sphere that emanated a whitish and pale light. The ball floated in Klint's hands and with his fingers he managed to control it, directing it around the room. The eerie globe fell on him, almost entering his forehead, as if he wanted to return to his origin.

Klint shouted as he took his breath from the effort, the feeling was new to him and was tremendously imperative for his physique but this did not take him away from the joy of having taken a step forward.

His happiness was put on pause when he noticed that less than 10 minutes were left before the challenge and as if it were not enough a female robotic voice caught him by surprise, lightly stunning him and making him awake warily.

On his right a series of LEDs lit up, indicating the way in the corridor from where they all disappeared.

Klint rose, with a new force that gave his strategy the confidence it lacked. He had been thrown into that world with enthusiasm and now he was being tested.

< This will be my first assignment in this new life! Everything is for a minimum of progress! > He hummed his old motto as he warmed his shoulders, walking towards the light blue road.