The training field was quiet.
Too quiet.
Kurogane stood at the center of the circular arena, rain-dark stone beneath his boots still faintly scorched from earlier exercises. The sky above was clear again—mockingly calm after the storm that had torn through the academy two nights prior.
Raien joined him without ceremony.
"No audience," Raien noted, scanning the surrounding balconies. "That's new."
"It's intentional," Kurogane replied. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "They don't want witnesses if this fails."
Raien glanced at him sharply."If?"
Kurogane didn't answer.
A barrier flared to life around the arena, translucent and humming. Containment-grade.
Raien exhaled slowly. "So. Duo training with a walking lightning rod."A pause."Any rules?"
"One," Kurogane said. "If I lose focus—move."
Raien smirked faintly. "You're finally starting to sound dangerous."
The signal flare ignited.
Targets rose from the arena floor—constructs of reinforced earth and crystallized mana, jointed and fast. Training golems designed to overwhelm coordination, not raw power.
"Three," Raien muttered. "No—five."
They moved.
Raien attacked first.
Fire burst outward in controlled arcs, not wide blasts. He sculpted heat into cutting lines, severing joints and slowing the constructs without obliterating them. Precision. Discipline.
Kurogane followed—not with power, but with timing.
He didn't summon lightning.
He waited.
The first construct lunged. Raien's fire struck its shoulder—just enough resistance.
That was all lightning needed.
The air snapped.
A thin bolt slid down the construct's arm, detonating its core from the inside. It collapsed into harmless fragments.
Raien's eyes flicked toward Kurogane. "You redirected it."
Kurogane nodded, breathing carefully. "Your fire creates imbalance. I close it."
Another construct leapt.
Raien adjusted instantly—fire low, dragging heat across the ground. Kurogane felt the pressure spike and opened the channel a fraction.
Lightning followed the path of least resistance.
The construct froze mid-motion, then shattered.
For a moment—
It worked.
They moved like a system.Fire pressured.Lightning resolved.
Two more constructs fell in quick succession.
Then the fifth adapted.
It didn't charge.
It waited.
Mana shifted unpredictably within its frame, cycling elements irregularly. Anti-synergy design.
Raien cursed. "That one's meant to disrupt conduction."
"I know," Kurogane said.
The construct struck without warning.
Raien reacted instantly—but Kurogane was half a step slower.
Fire flared.
Lightning lagged.
The delay hit him like a hammer.
Pain ripped through his chest as the conduction gap spasmed violently. Blue-white light erupted along his ribs, uncontrolled, tearing outward instead of flowing.
The barrier screamed.
Raien grabbed Kurogane's shoulder and yanked him sideways as the lightning discharged into empty air, blasting a crater into the arena floor.
Silence followed.
Kurogane hit the ground hard, breath torn from his lungs. His vision swam, static roaring in his ears.
Raien knelt beside him, panic barely restrained."Hey—HEY. You with me?"
"I—" Kurogane coughed. "Too… slow."
The barrier dropped.
Mizuki Yukihana stepped into the arena, expression unreadable.
"That," she said, "is the problem."
Raishin appeared beside her like a shadow snapping into place.
"Reaction delay," he said quietly. "Fire initiates faster than lightning can stabilize."
Raien looked between them. "So what, he just dies if I move too fast?"
Raishin shook his head. "No."
He looked down at Kurogane.
"You stop trying to keep up."
Kurogane struggled to sit. Pain flared instantly.
"…What?"
"Lightning does not chase fire," Raishin continued. "It ends it."
Mizuki crossed her arms. "Which means?"
Raishin met her gaze. "Raien fires first. Always. Kurogane responds last."
Raien frowned. "Delay?"
"Dominance," Raishin corrected.
Kurogane closed his eyes, focusing through the pain.
Not speed.
Timing.
He understood.
Mizuki spoke again, colder now. "You've proven one thing today. Cooperation increases stability."
A pause.
"But you've also proven the margin is thin."
Raien stiffened. "You're pulling him."
"I'm setting terms," Mizuki replied. "Three more failures like that, and the council enacts containment."
Kurogane looked up.
"…Understood."
They left the arena in silence.
That night, alone in his room, Kurogane sat on the floor, back against the wall, hands trembling faintly with residual charge.
Fire had taught lightning patience.
But lightning had exacted a price.
He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the familiar tension respond—not violently, but present.
Six months.
And the margin for error had just vanished.