Leo sat on the rooftop of Gosha Academy, legs dangling over the edge as the midday sun warmed the concrete. Lunch break noises drifted up faintly from below—laughter, clashing trays, the distant thud of training drills.
Asagi sat beside him, casually feeding him bites from her bento as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Open," she said, smiling.
Leo did, barely thinking about it.
Then—
'Hey kid. Looks like we're gonna be living for a while.'
James' voice echoed inside his head.
Leo froze mid-chew.
'Wait—really? he asked internally, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral so Asagi wouldn't notice.'
'You already know how it works', Alex cut in, his voice calm and clinical as always. 'Time flow between our world and yours is asymmetrical. Days for us translate to years for you.'
Leo swallowed.
'So… you're leaving, he said.'
'Temporarily,' James replied. 'But yeah. You won't be hearing from us for a long time.'
Asagi tilted her head. "You okay?" she asked. "You're chewing like you just bit into something cursed."
Leo forced a small grin. "Just thinking."
Then—
Nothing.
No sarcastic commentary.
No warnings.
No background hum of two other minds sharing his skull.
Silence.
Pure, absolute silence.
It hit harder than any blow.
For as long as he could remember—longer than this life—there had always been something. A presence. A voice. Someone watching his back when no one else could.
Now there was only the wind.
Leo slowly clenched his chopsticks.
Asagi didn't say anything. She just leaned closer, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, as if she sensed something had shifted.
Below them, life went on.
Students trained.
Teachers yelled.
Enemies plotted.
And for the first time since he was 6 in this world—
Leo Fuuma was truly alone in his own head.
He stared out over Gosha Village, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…Guess that means," he murmured quietly, too low for Asagi to hear,
"I don't get to rely on anyone else anymore."
Somewhere far away, unseen gears began to turn.
And change—real change—finally began to settle in.
The rest of the school day passed.
Leo attended class.
He answered questions.
He trained.
He laughed when someone made a joke.
From the outside, nothing was wrong.
But inside—
It was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind.
The wrong kind.
He sat at his desk, listening to Kana lecture about chakra flow efficiency, his pen moving across the page automatically. Normally, James would've cracked a joke about how boring this was. Alex would've added some unnecessary-but-interesting trivia.
Nothing came.
He caught himself pausing mid-note, waiting for a voice that never arrived.
Training was worse.
When they sparred, Leo moved cleanly—too cleanly. No internal callouts. No split-second corrections. No overlapping thoughts running simulations in parallel.
Just him.
His breathing felt louder.
His heartbeat felt heavier.
During breaks, Asagi held his hand like always, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in that absent-minded way she had.
Leo squeezed back.
He needed the contact more than he wanted to admit.
"You're quiet today," she said softly.
"Am I?" Leo replied.
She nodded. "Yeah. Not distant. Just… inward."
Leo didn't know how to explain it.
How do you tell someone that your head used to be crowded—and now it feels like an empty room where voices still echo?
So he just smiled. "Guess I'm tired."
Asagi didn't push.
That somehow made it worse.
By the time classes ended, Leo realized something unsettling.
He hadn't felt this alone since he was six years old.
Back when fear was louder than logic.
Back when mistakes hurt more.
Back when survival didn't come with commentary.
He stood at the edge of the training grounds as the sun dipped low, watching other students spar.
Normally, he'd be analyzing them.
Now he just… watched.
This is on me now, he thought.
No safety net.
No internal council.
No second opinion.
Just Leo Fuuma.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the unease and the silence—
Something else stirred.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
If James and Alex were gone, even temporarily, then this strength—
this power—
this life—
It was his to carry.
Alone.
Leo exhaled slowly, straightened his posture, and stepped back onto the field.
No voices.
No guidance.
Just his own will.
And for the first time, that scared him more than any enemy ever had.
Meanwhile, in a Completely Different World
James stood on the edge of a rooftop, hands in his jacket pockets, city lights stretching endlessly below.
Alex was a few steps ahead, looking down as if the distance itself was data.
"We really left the kid alone," James said at last.
Alex didn't turn. "Yes."
James snorted. "Wow. No denial. No sarcasm. That's new."
"The Virus has to grow alone," Alex replied calmly. "It always does."
James tilted his head, studying him. "You say that like this was inevitable."
Alex stepped forward, the wind tugging at his coat. "It was."
James clicked his tongue. "Really. Because it sounds like you're planning something."
Alex finally looked back. "What makes you say that?"
James pointed at him without hesitation. "Your entire reputation."
Alex didn't argue.
Instead, he adjusted his glasses. "Leo has relied on external processing since childhood. Shared cognition. Redundant perspectives. Risk mitigation."
James frowned. "You're saying we made him dependent."
"I'm saying," Alex corrected, "we prevented failure long enough for survival."
He paused.
"Now he needs ownership."
James crossed his arms. "And if he breaks?"
"He won't," Alex said. "He bends. Adapts. Evolves."
James stared at the skyline, quieter now. "You sound real confident for someone who just cut the kid off cold."
Alex's voice softened—just slightly. "This isn't abandonment. This is pressure."
"Pressure cracks things," James muttered.
Alex shook his head. "Pressure reveals them."
A moment of silence passed.
Then James sighed. "You better be right. Because if he figures out we did this on purpose—"
Alex interrupted calmly. "He already will."
James blinked. "Excuse me?"
Alex allowed himself the faintest smile. "Leo is not stupid. He will realize this silence is temporary, intentional… and necessary."
James rubbed his face. "Great. So he's gonna be pissed."
"Yes."
"…And stronger?"
Alex looked back toward the unseen world they'd left behind.
"Much."
James exhaled slowly, then smirked. "Man. Being his conscience was easier."
Alex nodded. "Being his catalyst is harder."
The wind howled across the rooftop.
Somewhere else—far away—a boy was learning what it meant to stand alone.
And that was exactly the point.
Back in the forest, Leo stood still.
No voices.
No warnings.
No calculations whispered into his skull.
Just the wind… and his own breathing.
'No Alex. No James,' he thought.
'Guess there's no one stopping me from doing something stupid now.'
Blacklight Virus crept over his right arm.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
Carefully.
The biomass thickened, layering over itself like overlapping plates. Spikes erupted outward—jagged, asymmetrical, grown for brutality rather than balance. Veins of dull red pulsed beneath the black surface, reacting to his heartbeat.
The arm was no longer an arm.
It was a shield.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Alive.
Leo flexed his fingers—or what remained of them beneath the armor. The shield shifted in response, spikes retracting and extending instinctively.
"…So that's how it feels," he muttered.
He didn't test it gently.
Leo charged.
The shield slammed into a tree trunk with a deep, wet crack—not wood breaking, but being erased. Bark exploded outward as the spikes bit in, shredding through fibers like paper. He twisted his torso and swung sideways.
Another tree was cleaved in half, not cut cleanly, but torn apart—splinters and sap sprayed across the forest floor.
Leo skidded to a stop, boots digging trenches into the dirt.
He stared at the wreckage.
"…Okay," he breathed. "That's… way more useful than I expected."
The shield wasn't just defense.
It was momentum.
Weight.
Control.
Footsteps thundered.
An Oni burst from the treeline, larger than the last—horns cracked, muscles corded with scars. It roared and charged, club raised high.
Normally, Leo would've dodged.
Calculated.
Redirected.
Played safe.
Instead, he lowered his stance and raised the shield.
"Come on," he growled.
The Oni swung.
The club struck the shield head-on—
—and stopped.
Not deflected.
Not softened.
Stopped.
Spikes dug into the weapon, anchoring it. The impact sent shockwaves through Leo's body, bones creaking—but the Blacklight adapted instantly, reinforcing fractures before they could fully form.
Leo grinned through clenched teeth.
"Yeah," he said, voice low. "This is new."
He rammed forward.
The shield punched into the Oni's chest, spikes tearing through flesh and bone. The creature howled as Leo twisted, using the shield like a battering ram, slamming it into a nearby boulder and pinning it there.
Leo didn't hesitate.
His free arm morphed into a blade.
One clean thrust.
The Oni went limp.
As Leo stepped back, the shield slowly retracted, spikes folding inward until his arm was once again visible—though faint black veins still crawled beneath the skin.
He stood there for a long moment.
No applause.
No analysis.
No voice telling him what he did right or wrong.
Just silence.
"…Guess I'll have to figure this out myself," Leo said quietly.
Somewhere far away, Alex would've called this adaptive evolution.
James would've called it reckless.
Leo just called it necessary.
And for the first time since he was six—
He didn't ask anyone if it was a good idea.
Leo recreated the shield, its spikes locking into place with a wet, armored sound. Blacklight surged through his other arm, reshaping it into vicious claws.
"Alright," he muttered. "Time to test some fusion."
He vanished.
A red blur tore through the forest, branches snapping as Leo slammed into the Oni pack head-on. Shield first—he plowed through the front line, spikes impaling one Oni and throwing another aside. His clawed hand followed, slashing in a wide arc, carving deep into flesh.
Screams echoed.
Leo pushed harder.
Shield bash—claw follow-up.
Claw feint—shield ram.
Momentum feeding momentum.
For a moment, it worked.
Then—
THUD.
Something massive collided with him from the side.
Leo didn't even see it.
The impact crushed the air from his lungs and sent him flying. He slammed through two trees before embedding into a third, bark exploding outward. The shield cracked against the trunk, spikes shattering and regrowing unevenly.
Pain hit all at once.
Not delayed.
Not softened.
Leo coughed, blood spraying from his mouth as he slid down the tree.
"…Fuck," he gasped.
Bones in his ribs had shattered—this time badly. The Blacklight reacted, but slower than usual, threads scrambling to knit damage that should've been avoided entirely.
No warning.
No voice yelling duck.
No instant analysis of enemy movement.
Leo forced himself upright just as the ground shook.
The Oni stepped forward.
Bigger than the rest. Taller. Its skin was dark and cracked like cooled lava, veins glowing faintly beneath. One horn was broken—old damage—but the other curved forward like a spear. Its eyes locked onto Leo with something disturbingly close to intelligence.
An alpha.
It rolled its shoulders and exhaled, the sound low and heavy.
Leo wiped blood from his chin and steadied himself, shield reforming thicker this time—but uneven, rushed.
"…Yeah," he muttered, breathing hard. "That's on me."
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the realization.
Fusion worked.
Power was there.
But without Alex… without James…
He had no margin for error.
The Oni roared and charged.
Leo braced, shield forward, claws raised.
'Guess this is where I learn,' he thought grimly,
'whether strength alone is enough.'
The forest exploded as they collided again—this time with no safety net.
Leo surged forward before the Oni could recover.
No hesitation.
No flourish.
He drove the spiked shield straight through the Oni's skull.
The spikes punched in with a sickening crunch, Blacklight flooding the wound as the monster's roar cut off mid-breath. Its massive body stiffened for a heartbeat—then collapsed, lifeless, hitting the ground like a felled tower.
Leo landed lightly beside it, breathing hard.
The forest went silent.
He looked down at the corpse, shield dissolving back into writhing biomass around his arm.
"…I should've taken Alex's advice sooner," Leo muttered.
"Go for the instant kill."
His hands still shook.
Not from exhaustion—but from the understanding that without voices in his head, every mistake now actually mattered.
He turned away from the body, scanning the forest with sharper eyes than before.
Less reckless.
More deliberate.
This wasn't training anymore.
This was survival.
Leo sat beneath a tree, his back resting against the rough bark, eyes unfocused as his thoughts drifted.
I need awareness, he realized.
Not just what's in front of me… everything.
Back.
Front.
Sides.
A full sphere of perception.
Eyes won't work, he thought. Blacklight can shape flesh, armor, weapons—but creating functional eyes outside my body? That's pushing it.
He closed his eyes and listened.
The forest wasn't quiet.
Leaves rustled.
Insects clicked.
Distant branches cracked under unseen weight.
Leo frowned slightly.
"…Sound," he murmured.
Not sight.
Hearing doesn't need eyes.
It needs vibration.
Blacklight crept along his skin, thin as veins beneath the surface, responding to his intent.
If I can't see everything…
then I'll feel it.
Every step.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat that didn't belong to the forest.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
Detect the signature.
Not vision.
Awareness.
The next day came, and—well.
Asagi blinked as she looked at Leo.
"…Leo?"
Leo turned his head slightly, smiling. "What's wrong, Asagi?"
Sakura tilted her head, arms crossed. "Why are you wearing a blindfold? Are you trying to copy Daredevil or something?"
Leo shrugged as he kept walking. "Training my other senses."
They followed behind him in silence.
A tree stood directly in his path.
Asagi opened her mouth—then stopped.
Sakura smirked, clearly deciding to let reality handle the lesson.
Leo didn't slow down.
At the last moment, he stopped.
Then, calmly, he shifted half a step to the side and continued walking, never once turning his head.
Both girls froze.
"…You saw that," Sakura said slowly.
Leo shook his head. "Nope."
Asagi stared at him, uneasy. "Then how did you—"
"I didn't," Leo interrupted gently. "I heard it."
He tapped the side of his head. "And felt it."
The forest breathed around them—footsteps, leaves, distant movement—every vibration mapping itself into his awareness.
Not sight.
Presence.
Asagi swallowed.
Sakura's smirk vanished.
"…That's not normal training," Sakura muttered.
Leo just smiled beneath the blindfold and kept walking.
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy and happy new year