Two weeks.
That was all it took.
The doctors had been surprised—but not alarmed. Their bodies were young, conditioned, and already accustomed to punishment. Broken bones knit together cleanly. Internal injuries stabilized faster than expected. Bruises faded into pale marks that would soon vanish beneath uniforms.
By the fourteenth day, all seven were cleared for active duty.
The training hall echoed softly as Akira rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion. No pain. No resistance. His urumi lay coiled neatly at his side, its flexible steel responding smoothly when he lifted it from the mat.
Everything worked.
That alone was enough.
"Man," Ren said, stretching both arms overhead until his joints popped loudly, "I swear that bed rest almost killed me."
Kaito adjusted his glasses without looking up from his tablet. "Medically speaking, boredom is not fatal."
Ren dropped his arms and stared at him. "It is to me."
"That is not a medical condition," Kaito replied.
"It should be," Ren said. "I was five more hours away from dying of absolutely nothing."
Ayla stood a short distance away, running through controlled footwork drills, her movements precise and economical. The Misoke twins mirrored each other near the far wall, silent as ever.
Normal.
Routine.
That afternoon, the summons arrived.
The command room felt unchanged—sterile, orderly, efficient. Viran Varanasi stood at the center with his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression unreadable.
"You have all been medically cleared," he said. "Effective immediately, your rookie squad is reinstated."
Ren grinned. "Knew it."
Akira remained still, listening.
"However," Viran continued, "there has been a structural complication."
That caught their attention.
"Akirawa is currently absent from duty."
A pause followed.
Ren blinked. "Absent as in… vacation?"
Viran's expression did not shift.
"He left without authorization."
Silence filled the room.
Akira processed that quietly. It was… expected, in its own way.
"Because his departure was unofficial," Viran said evenly, "no elite agent has been formally assigned as a replacement."
Then—
"Therefore, your squad will be supervised by Senior Squad Seven."
The doors slid open.
Lights dimmed.
Smoke poured into the room for absolutely no reason.
Six silhouettes stepped through in perfect formation, boots striking the floor in sync.
A deep voice rang out—
"We are Senior Squad Se—"
"Wait, wait—whose turn was it to say the cool line?!"
The formation collapsed instantly.
"What do you mean you forgot?!" "I thought YOU were doing it!" "Reset! Reset—!"
Ren stared. "…Are these guys serious?"
The man at the front rubbed his temples before stepping forward properly.
"Ryou Kanzaki," he said. "Captain."
A red-haired woman beside him smirked. "Misaki."
A tall man with a long rifle resting over his shoulder nodded once. "Jin."
A calm woman adjusted her gloves. "Fumika."
The last two stood near the doorway in dramatic poses.
"Recon," the smiling one said.
"And flank," the other added.
Ryou glanced back at them, sighed, then returned his attention to Akira's team.
"Until Akirawa returns, we'll accompany and supervise your deployments," he said. His tone sharpened slightly. "Understand this—we're not babysitters."
His gaze swept across them, measured and impersonal.
"Nightmareisation activity has been increasing. Each incident is more aggressive than the last. If you die, that's your responsibility."
The room felt heavier.
Akira nodded once. "Understood."
Ryou studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Good."
He extended his hand.
"Let's do our best," he said. "And protect everyone who still can be."
Akira accepted the handshake.
It was firm. Steady.
No theatrics.
As the meeting concluded, Akira glanced briefly at his team—at Ren's restless grin, Kaito's focused calm, Ayla's quiet readiness, the twins' unshakable presence.
Akira closed his fingers around the urumi.
If I become strong enough, he told himself,
I will never watch them bleed again.
Volume Two had begun.