Royoshi was discharged one day later, just after sunrise.
The med-bay lights dimmed automatically as the outer glass panels shifted, letting the morning light in that felt peaceful. His body still felt wrong—light in some places, heavier in others.
A medic handed him a clearance band without meeting his eyes.
"Don't circulate for twelve hours," she said. "And don't push yourself."
Royoshi nodded, even though they both knew he wouldn't follow the second instruction.
The doors slid shut behind him.
The Citadel looked the same as always, as if nothing ever happened.
Recruits moved through the halls in small clusters, instructors spoke in low voices, and schedules updated themselves among the walls.
He reached his dorm without incident.
The room greeted him with familiar stillness—his bed neatly made, his training gear stacked where he'd left it, the window overlooking the inner courts. He sat down slowly, testing how his body responded.
It responded.
Just… not eagerly.
"So," Rikishu said, voice calm as ever. "You finally got discharged from the med-bay."
"How many times do I have to tell you not to appear at anytime?" Royoshi said.
"A few more," Rikishu replied.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Tired," Royoshi said honestly.
"Acceptable," Rikishu said.
Royoshi closed his eyes for a moment. The memory of the rooftop—pressure, distortion, Ishara's voice—hovered just beneath the surface.
Then Rikishu asked, "Are you ready to level up again?"
Royoshi opened his eyes.
He didn't answer immediately.
His body protested against that idea. His head felt heavy. Every reasonable part of him needed rest.
But that wasn't the part that mattered anymore.
"Good," Rikishu said. "Then we don't change how we train."
Royoshi frowned. "Is it safe to do so?"
"It isn't," Rikishu replied. "But it would help you."
Royoshi exhaled slowly. "Figures."
Elsewhere in the Citadel, Maris slowed her pace.
Not stopped.
Just… slowed.
Her internal display pulsed softly.
ROYOSHI KAIRO
Status: Discharged.
Location: Dormitory- Residential Wing.
Behaviour: Conversational activity detected.
She paused near a narrow observation corridor, one-way glass overlooking the dorm sector.
Royoshi's window came into view.
He was alone.
Yet, he was speaking. As if someone was there.
"Interesting," she murmured.
She didn't activate the recording yet.
She didn't collect answers immediately.
She waited to see patterns.
Back in his dorm, Royoshi stood and reached for his training jacket.
The fabric felt heavier than it used to. Or maybe it was his body.
He slid it on anyway.
The clearance band around his wrist pulsed faintly as if reminding him of the medic's warning. Twelve hours. No circulation. No pushing.
Royoshi flexed his fingers.
"Don't look at it like a challenge," Rikishu said.
Royoshi snorted. "You say that like you don't know me."
"I say that because I do," Rikishu replied.
Royoshi moved to the centre of the room, clearing just enough space between his bed and the window. The Citadel's inner courts were visible below—recruits already warming up, instructors pacing like clockwork.
Normal.
"So," Royoshi said, rolling his shoulders slowly. "What does 'training' mean today?"
"Today," Rikishu said, "we don't add pressure."
Royoshi paused. "That's new."
"We remove crutches."
That made Royoshi still.
"No circulation," Rikishu continued. "No controlled surges. No suppression tricks."
Royoshi frowned. "Then what's left?"
"Movement," Rikishu said. "Awareness. Decision-making."
Royoshi exhaled slowly. "So…the basics."
"Yes," Rikishu replied. "The things people stop refining once power enters the picture."
Royoshi adjusted his stance, feet shoulder-width apart. He moved slowly at first, testing how his weight shifted, how his balance responded.
His body complained instantly.
Not sharply. Just purposefully.
"That's annoying…," Royoshi muttered.
Rikishu's voice remained calm. "Pain isn't a problem. Arbitrating is."
Royoshi glanced at the window, watching a recruit overextend during a warm-up drill and getting corrected instantly.
"Am I falling behind?" he asked quietly.
Rikishu didn't answer immediately.
"You're not behind," he said finally. "You're just no longer sprinting without a reason."
Royoshi stepped forward, then back. A simple motion. He repeated it, refining the angle, the timing.
No Shuryoku.
No tricks.
Just him.
The silence stretched—not empty, but observant.
Unseen.
Royoshi finally stopped when his legs began to tremble—not from strain, but from restraint.
He leaned forward, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
"Okay," he said between breaths. "I get it. This is worse."
"It's supposed to be." Rikishu's tone softened.
Royoshi straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
"So when do we stop pretending I'm normal?" he asked.
Rikishu didn't answer immediately.
"When you stop needing the question," he said.
Royoshi sighed. "You're really good at not giving answers, you know."
"I had a lot of practice," Rikishu replied.
Royoshi moved to the window, resting his forehead lightly against the cool glass.
Below, Ishara crossed the inner court with an instructor, posture controlled as ever.
She didn't look up.
But Royoshi felt the memory of her voice anyway.
You chose me.
He exhaled.
"I don't want to become a problem," he said quietly.
Rikishu appeared beside him now.
"You already are," Rikishu said. "But that's not failure."
Royoshi glanced at him. "That's not reassuring."
"It's truthful."
The clearance band on Royoshi's wrist pulsed again—sofer this time.
A reminder.
A cooldown.
Rikishu's presence flickered faintly.
"Rest now," he said. "You listened today. That matters."
Royoshi nodded.
As Rikishu faded, Royoshi lay down on his bed, exhaustion finally settling into his bones.
The inner training court rang with controlled motion.
Footsteps. Commands. Discipline.
Ishara Veyl moved through her drills without missing a beat. Her form was precise, efficient, exactly as the instructors expected.
No hesitation.
No error.
Yet her focus kept slipping.
She adjusted her stance again, blade cutting through the air in a clean arc, but her timing was a fraction off.
She slowed, drawing a quiet breath.
Get it together.
Around her, recruits continued their routines. Nothing had changed. No alarms. No distortions.
But Ishara could still feel it.
That moment at the edge of the rooftop.
The way the world tilted—not physically, but decisively. As if something unseen had been weighing in her.
She tightened her grip on the weapon.
The pressure had come first.
Then silence.
Then him.
Royoshi Kairo, moving when he shouldn't have been able to. Interrupting something that felt final.
Her instructor called for rotation.
She acknowledged automatically and stepped aside, letting another recruit take her place. She rested the weapon against the rack, fingers lingering longer than necessary.
Was he okay?
The question surfaced before she could stop it.
She said seen him fall. The way his circulation collapsed, how the impact meant for her had been absorbed by him instead.
He had looked at her afterward like it was nothing.
Are you okay?
The memory unsettled her more than the anomaly itself.
Ishara folded her arms, posture firm again.
He didn't hesitate.
Not for the Citadel
Not even for himself.
She closed her eyes briefly.
I don't like owing people my life.
The thought returned, sharp and familiar. Yet it didn't settle the way it used to. There was something beneath it—a quiet tension she couldn't quite figure out.
Her chest felt tight.
She hadn't gone to the med-bay after. She told herself it was unnecessary. That security had already taken over.
But she knew better.
Nothing about him was like the others.
A strange sensation passed through her—subtle, almost electrical. Not Shuryoku. Not danger.
Awareness.
She opened her eyes, scanning the court instinctively.
Nothing.
Still, that feeling lingered, as a thread pulled too tight somewhere deep inside her.
She forced her way back into rhythm, exhaling slowly.
Focus.
If Royoshi were conscious, he'd make a joke about it. If he wasn't, he'd pretend he was fine the next time she saw him.
Her jaw tightened.
"I should go check on him again," she muttered under her breath.
The thought had surprised her,
She didn't move yet.
Instead, she picked up her weapon again and returned to the court, movements sharper now.
Whatever had chosen Royoshi.
Whatever was watching him.
She had been pulled into its shadow, too.
And whether she liked it or not,
She wanted to know if he was okay.