Sakuya was eating alone in the cafeteria of the N.A.S.C. Kamakura Complex.
The food wasn't anything special, but it was decent.
A bowl of miso soup, still warm, accompanied by a simple dessert made from kanten.
Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth paying attention to.
And yet, he chewed mechanically, without taste, without presence.
His mind was elsewhere.
He thought of Mizunashi.
His gaze.
His voice.
"Do you realize how close you came to killing all of us?"
The words echoed again and again, forcing themselves into his thoughts like a cruel mantra.
Impossible to silence.
(How is that even possible?)
He frowned, slowly set his chopsticks down, and leaned forward slightly, one hand pressed against his forehead.
(I was in a coma.)
(I was asleep.)
(I wasn't doing anything.)
His breathing grew shallow.
(So how could I have been close to killing everyone?)
(It doesn't make any sense.)
His legs began to move nervously beneath the table, almost uncontrollably.
A tic.
An outlet.
Around him, conversations continued. Agents walked past. Trays clattered.
But none of it truly existed anymore.
He hadn't even finished his soup.
Another thought crept in, more insidious.
(The technician.)
(She also mentioned decompression.)
(And Mizunashi used the exact same word.)
His jaw tightened.
(Decompression of what?)
(My Seimei?)
His gaze drifted into the cloudy surface of the broth.
(And now they want to put me through a Capsule Eight again.)
(Again.)
A chill ran up his spine.
(If decompression exists.)
(Then does compression mean.)
(A hidden Seimei?)
Sakuya remained still for several seconds, frozen between fear, confusion, and something heavier.
Discomfort.
As if, for the first time since the incident, he had grasped something essential.
Maybe it wasn't what he had done that was dangerous.
But what he was, without even knowing it.
The thought lingered.
Heavy.
Unstable.
It didn't spark immediate panic.
Not yet.
Just a deep, dull unease settling slowly in his chest, like a pressure he couldn't escape or name.
Sakuya lowered his gaze to his hands.
They were barely trembling. Just enough for him to notice.
He closed his fingers. Opened them.
Nothing abnormal.
And yet.
(There's nothing different.)
(So why is everyone acting like.)
He inhaled slowly, trying to regain control.
Trying to cling to something tangible.
The noise of the cafeteria. The voices around him. The warmth of the bowl still faintly warm in front of him.
But even that was slipping away.
As if an invisible distance had opened between him and the rest of the world.
Then a voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.
"Hey, Shiozumi."
A familiar presence had approached.
A calm voice. Steady.
"You seem pretty far gone today. You okay? Is there anything I can do?"
Sakuya slowly lifted his head.
It was Itsuki Kurogane.
A N.A.S.C agent, currently recovering after a mission that had gone wrong. He still wore the standard uniform, though without the full suit. His left arm looked stiff, as if he hadn't fully recovered yet.
They had spoken before.
Several times, even.
Brief exchanges in hallways.
A few words in the cafeteria.
Nothing deep. Nothing official.
But enough for Sakuya to recognize his face.
And more importantly, the way he spoke to him.
Throughout the entire complex, Itsuki was one of the few who didn't treat him as the Shiozumi case.
He didn't ask medical questions.
He didn't stare at him like an anomaly.
He didn't try to understand what he was.
He just saw a guy who looked unwell.
There was something simple about Itsuki. Straightforward.
An almost disarming way of caring about others, without calculation or ulterior motives.
And from Sakuya's perspective, it reminded him of Shinobu.
He took a soft breath and replied.
"You know, you can call me Sakuya. It's really fine."
Itsuki blinked for a second, then scratched the back of his head with a light chuckle.
"Haha, sorry. I'm too used to following protocol. It sticks."
His smile was natural.
No awkwardness. No pity. No morbid curiosity.
Just human.
And for Sakuya, that made all the difference.
No hidden agenda. No calculation.
Aside from Kanao and Shinobu, he couldn't remember meeting many people like that.
Itsuki tilted his head slightly, watching him with quiet attentiveness.
"So," he said after a brief silence. "Want to tell me what had you zoning out like that?"
Sakuya stayed still for a few seconds, then brought a hand to his chin, searching for his words. Not because he didn't know what to say, but because he was afraid of saying too much. Of losing control. Of letting something slip out that he wouldn't be able to contain.
"It's just," he finally began. "I keep thinking about everything. What happened, and what's coming next."
He looked back up at Itsuki.
"For example, why am I being put through a Capsule Eight again?"
A slight frown.
"Normally, you only go through that three times in a lifetime. No more."
Itsuki didn't answer right away.
He looked away, gazing past the large cafeteria windows, as if searching his memory or weighing what he was about to say. His jaw tightened slightly.
Then he sighed.
"You know what."
He turned back to Sakuya.
"I'll tell you. Even though, technically, I shouldn't."
He raised one hand, as if to temper expectations.
"Obviously, I'm not officially aware of what's in your file. And I'd rather keep it that way."
A brief smile.
"But I can explain what this kind of procedure is usually for."
At that moment, all of Sakuya's attention locked onto him.
The ambient noise of the cafeteria faded away. The voices, footsteps, trays, everything became secondary.
There was only Itsuki.
And what he was about to say.
"Simply put," Itsuki continued, "some people show anomalies in their Seimei."
He spoke calmly, as if explaining something familiar. Almost mundane.
"Sometimes it's minor. A flux mismatch. An abnormal response during testing. Nothing alarming."
He paused.
"And then sometimes it's something else."
His expression grew more serious.
"Some Seimei are irregular. Unstable. They fluctuate without any clear logic. Those are often dangerous."
A brief silence.
"But there's another case. Rarer. More discreet."
Sakuya opened his mouth, ready to speak, but Itsuki continued immediately, as if anticipating the question.
"Seimei that don't react the way they should. That seem absent. Masked."
The word echoed in Sakuya's mind.
Masked.
"That kind of profile can be just as problematic. Sometimes even more."
Itsuki inhaled softly.
"Because you can't deal with what you can't see."
He turned slightly toward Sakuya.
"Agent Omega-0, for example, falls into that category."
A brief, loaded silence.
"His Seimei is classified as compressed."
The word landed between them.
(A compressed Seimei?)
Sakuya swallowed and spoke, his voice lower than he intended.
"So that could mean I'm in one of those categories?"
Itsuki nodded slowly, without hesitation.
"Probably, yes."
A short pause.
"Considering what you did to the rooms in the Ō-tō."
The sentence hit Sakuya head-on.
His cheeks flushed almost instantly, a brutal mix of shame and guilt rising in his chest.
"Oh, but I."
Itsuki interrupted immediately, lifting a hand in a calm gesture.
"Hey. Easy."
A reassuring smile.
"We all know. And believe me, no one's holding it against you. Really."
The words were kind.
Sincere.
And yet.
A subtle discomfort settled between them.
Nothing violent. Nothing hostile.
Just the strange feeling that a truth too heavy had been placed on the table.
Itsuki stood up from the bench, stretched his back lightly, then took a few steps before stopping. He turned back to Sakuya one last time.
"Sorry. I've got to go."
Then, almost like a thought spoken aloud.
"But before that, I have a question."
Sakuya looked up.
"What are you planning to do once you get out of here?"
The question caught him completely off guard.
As if, until that moment, he had never considered the existence of an after.
Sakuya froze.
His mind searched for something to hold onto, a plan, a desire, a direction.
There was nothing.
Since waking up, everything had moved too fast.
The revelations.
The loss.
The fear.
And suddenly, he realized something unsettling.
Leaving this complex.
Might be what he feared the most.
(Here, I don't have to decide.)
(Here, I don't have to think.)
(Here, everything is already regulated.)
Under normal circumstances, that would have been a nightmare.
But now.
It was almost comforting.
He let out a bitter breath.
(And anyway, what would I even do?)
(Go back to being an electrician?)
An inner scoff, humorless.
(I almost killed people while asleep.)
(I don't even want to imagine what I could do awake, handling electrical circuits.)
Seconds passed.
The silence thickened.
Finally, his voice came out. Broken. Uncertain.
"I."
He hesitated.
"I really don't know."
A beat.
"I don't know."
His throat tightened.
"I don't..."
Itsuki approached quietly and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
A simple gesture. Solid.
"You'll figure it out."
His voice was calm. Grounded.
"And most importantly, you won't be alone."
A sincere smile followed.
"Whether it's me or the N.A.S.C."
The hand lingered a moment longer.
Then Itsuki turned away, leaving behind a different kind of silence.
Lighter.
Sakuya lowered his gaze back to his bowl of miso soup.
Almost no steam rose from its surface anymore. The heat had dissipated while he sat there, motionless, thinking. The broth had gone cold, as if time itself had decided to slow down around him.
He stayed silent for a few more seconds, chopsticks suspended, unable to bring the bowl to his lips.
(What the hell am I supposed to do?)