Sakuya was still struggling to catch his breath when he finally lifted his eyes toward the woman.
From the way she spoke to him calm, composed, without unnecessary warmth he was not surprised to see that she wore the same black uniform as the other agents. The same long trench coat. The same controlled rigidity. The same quiet sense of authority.
What struck him more, however, were her eyes.
It was only the second time he had seen a color similar to his own, or to Mizunashi's. But in her case, the blue was so pale, so piercingly bright, it was almost white. A cold blue, stripped of any softness, giving the unsettling impression of a gaze capable of piercing far deeper than flesh.
Then she insisted.
"Come on. Get up. We need to run your test."
She accompanied her words with a smile.
A deliberately polite smile. Almost kind.
But far too controlled to be sincere.
Sakuya finally pushed himself up.
The movement was slow. Painful. Each breath still tugged sharply at his chest, but he endured it. He stood fully, without assistance, barely wavering, then stepped beside the woman.
He did not spare a single glance toward Jūzō.
At that moment, the agent had become nothing more than background noise. An absurd threat. Something unhinged he would rather forget.
They left the library and returned to the corridors of the complex.
This time, the gazes no longer lingered on Sakuya.
They were focused on her.
Agents they passed either subtly lowered their eyes or straightened instinctively. There was something strange in their reactions a mix of restraint, quiet fear, and unspoken respect.
Sakuya had seen that reaction only once before.
With Mizunashi.
As they walked, Sakuya leaned slightly toward her, just enough to speak without drawing attention. He hesitated briefly, searching for his words.
"Uh…" A short pause. "You know the guy in the library… right? Does he… does he do that to everyone?"
The woman did not turn her head.
She merely gave a very slight nod, almost imperceptible.
The silence that followed pressed heavily on Sakuya. Too familiar. Too heavy.
He tried again, more softly.
"And… do you know why he talked about my eyes?" He took a breath. "Why he implied that I'm a Theta?"
This time, she stopped.
She slowly turned her head toward him.
Her gaze hit him full force.
It was pure pressure. Raw. Something that made it feel as though a single wrong step could crush you where you stood. A look capable of making something far larger than him kneel.
Then, without a word, she turned her eyes forward again and resumed walking.
In a low voice, almost to herself, she muttered:
"Jūzō… idiot."
A brief pause.
"He deserves to have his head blown off."
She offered no further explanation.
And instinctively, Sakuya understood that asking more questions would be a mistake.
They passed through several more corridors.
The complex seemed endless. Each section had its own atmosphere, its own sounds, its own unspoken rules. The walls subtly changed texture sometimes smooth and cold, sometimes lined with integrated bands of light. Secured doors opened automatically as they approached, recognizing Natsumi's presence without hesitation.
Sakuya walked in silence.
His chest still throbbed, every breath a brutal reminder of the blow he had taken. But he clenched his teeth. He refused to slow down. Refused to let anyone think he was weak.
They eventually reached an elevator.
Unlike the others, this one was isolated, recessed into the corridor as if it led somewhere separate. Natsumi placed her hand against a touch panel. A pale light briefly rippled across the surface before the doors slid open soundlessly.
Inside, the space was narrow. Functional. Almost oppressive.
The doors closed.
The elevator descended.
The movement was perfectly smooth, yet Sakuya still felt his stomach tighten. Every meter felt like he was sinking deeper into something irreversible.
At last, a discreet signal chimed.
The doors opened onto another corridor.
Darker. Colder.
The air felt different here, tinged with a faint metallic, almost electrical scent. The walls were reinforced, thicker, lined with visible security systems. Nothing here was decorative. Everything served a purpose.
They walked a little farther.
Then stopped before a large circular door, marked with technical symbols and security codes. Just above it, a cold, impersonal inscription read:
カプセル8 ― 試験室
(CAPSULE EIGHT – TESTING CHAMBER)
Before entering, Natsumi turned toward Sakuya.
Her gaze was calm. Professional. Yet behind that facade, there was something sharp.
"Natsumi Endō," she said. "Class T. Rank T-3."
She paused briefly.
"Prepare yourself. Soon enough, you'll be able to introduce yourself the same way."
Sakuya stared at her, visibly lost.
He understood nothing.
Not a single word.
"Class T… T-3?" he finally asked. "What does that mean? What are you talking about?"
Natsumi curved a faint smile.
Not mocking.
Not kind either.
Something reserved for those who already knew.
"You'll understand soon enough, Shiozumi."
She turned back to the door.
"Come on. Let's go in."
The door opened.
The room was immense.
Far larger than he had imagined.
At its center stood the Capsule Eight.
Massive. Imposing. Nearly overwhelming by its mere presence.
A cylindrical structure of dark metal and reinforced glass, threaded with faintly pulsing lines of light, like an artificial organism in standby. Thick cables extended from it, connecting to the floor and ceiling, feeding the machine with energy and data.
Screens covered the walls.
Dozens of them.
Real-time curves. Incomprehensible graphs. Seimei flows modeled as dynamic schematics. Biometric data scrolling endlessly.
The room vibrated softly, filled with a constant hum subtle, yet impossible to ignore.
And he was not alone.
Mizunashi Seishō stood near the capsule.
Straight. Still.
Arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the machine as if evaluating something invisible to the others. His presence imposed a particular silence, a weight that seemed to thicken the air itself.
Nearby, four N.A.S.C researchers were already at work.
Light-colored lab coats. Tablets in hand. Some adjusted parameters, others spoke in low voices, occasionally glancing toward Sakuya. None of them looked surprised to see him.
As if everything had already been decided.
As if his arrival was merely another step in a protocol far too vast for him to grasp.
Sakuya felt his stomach tighten.
The Capsule Eight was here.
And this time, there was no escape.
Sakuya immediately turned toward Mizunashi.
"What are you doing here?"
Mizunashi lowered his head slightly, an amused smile briefly touching his lips before he met Sakuya's gaze again.
"You know, Sakuya…" he said calmly. "I'm partly responsible for you being here. So it's only natural that I'm present for procedures like this."
Sakuya frowned faintly.
The information surprised him, but didn't truly shock him. In truth, it fit naturally with what he had already suspected. Without Mizunashi, Shinobu would never have been allowed to visit him so often. Without Mizunashi, he probably wouldn't even still be here.
He didn't press further.
Before he could reply, one of the men in a lab coat approached him, his tone neutral and professional, stripped of any unnecessary emotion.
"You may enter the capsule whenever you're ready."
Sakuya nodded slowly.
His gaze returned to the Capsule Eight.
That thing.
Even motionless, even silent, it inspired a visceral unease. He remained still for a few seconds, as if considering one last time the possibility of turning back though he knew perfectly well it wasn't an option.
He closed his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Then stepped forward.
The interior of the capsule was cold, narrow, almost clinical. The metal beneath his feet vibrated faintly, as if the machine were already breathing. He positioned himself at the center, where he had been instructed to stand.
For now, the capsule remained open.
Through the transparent wall, he watched the researchers move to their screens, take their positions, adjust parameters. Each of them knew exactly what to do, as if they had rehearsed this moment countless times.
Mechanical clicks echoed.
Locks engaged.
Then a voice sounded, amplified by the integrated speakers.
"Are you ready?"
Sakuya lifted his head slightly. He just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.
"Yes. Go ahead."
The capsule sealed shut.
The panels locked with a muted hiss, isolating Sakuya from the rest of the room. The air inside grew denser, compressed, almost unreal. As always, it felt like stepping into a separate dimension where reality carried a different weight.
Then the voice resumed.
"Three…"
A faint hum rose.
"Two…"
The lights inside the capsule shifted.
"One…"
A brief silence.
"Activation."
The machine started.
The familiar oppressive noise filled the space the same grinding resonance he knew all too well. But something was wrong.
This time, his senses were not disrupted.
He could still hear voices outside. He could even make out the researchers' movements, their quiet exchanges. Above him, he could see pure energy being released by the capsule an unstable, almost living light flowing through invisible channels.
And yet…
He felt nothing.
No pressure.
No pull.
No interaction with his Seimei.
It was as if the machine was operating… in a vacuum.
As if it passed straight through him without ever touching him.
Outside, a tense voice rang out.
"What… what does that mean?"
Another researcher hurried over, leaning toward the screen.
"That's impossible…" he exclaimed. "It's like he's… inert."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
"Like a rock," he added, almost disbelieving.
Inside the capsule, Sakuya slowly closed his eyes.
He felt neither fear nor pain. Only a strange, suspended emptiness.
(Clearly, the machine is defective.)
(They've realized it.)
He simply waited, motionless, convinced the test would be aborted at any moment.
The machine eventually shut down.
A final mechanical breath escaped the capsule, followed by a series of sharp clicks as the locks disengaged. The panels opened slowly, letting the air of the room rush back toward him.
Sakuya stepped out.
And immediately, he felt it.
Every gaze was fixed on him.
No whispers.
No immediate reactions.
Just that strange, heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the still-active screens.
The researchers stared at him as if he had emerged from something other than a machine.
As if he were no longer entirely… human.
Sakuya stood there for a second, uncomfortable, then understood what they were waiting for. They wanted confirmation. Something solid to hold onto. A simple explanation.
So he spoke.
"Uh… yeah." He scratched the back of his head, hesitating. "I think the capsule is defective."