The infirmary was silent in a way Kurogane had come to hate.
Not peaceful silence—measured silence.
The kind that waited for something to go wrong.
He lay on a stone bed etched with diagnostic sigils, chest wrapped in layered cooling bands that pulsed softly with water-aspected mana. Each breath felt shallow, constrained—not by pain, but by tension that refused to release.
Lightning hummed beneath his skin.
Not audibly.Not violently.
Persistently.
A healer stood at his side, her brow furrowed as translucent glyphs hovered above his torso, rearranging themselves faster than she could read them.
"This makes no sense," she muttered.
"Say that louder," another healer replied from across the room. "Maybe it'll fix itself."
Raishin watched from the far wall, arms folded, expression unreadable. Mizuki stood beside him, still and attentive.
"The wound on his side has already closed," the first healer continued. "But the nerve pathways around it are… reinforced."
Mizuki's eyes narrowed. "Reinforced how?"
The healer hesitated. "As if his body expected the damage."
That landed heavily.
Kurogane swallowed. "Is that bad?"
No one answered immediately.
Raishin sighed and pushed off the wall. "Your body is learning," he said bluntly. "And it's learning the wrong lesson."
"What lesson?" Kurogane asked.
"That lightning is necessary."
The healers stiffened.
"That's impossible," one protested. "The body doesn't prioritize energy states—"
"It does when it survives because of them," Raishin cut in. "Adaptation doesn't ask permission."
Mizuki stepped forward. "Explain."
Raishin looked at Kurogane. "Your nervous system has begun rerouting responses through the conduction gap. Pain, shock, threat—it all triggers lightning alignment before conscious thought."
Kurogane stared at the ceiling. "So… my body's faster than me."
"Yes," Raishin said quietly. "And it won't slow down."
A faint tremor ran through Kurogane's fingers.
"Can you stop it?" Mizuki asked.
Raishin didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said at last. "Not completely."
The healers exchanged uneasy glances.
"What about suppression?" one asked. "If we dampen the pathway—"
Mizuki shook her head. "You risk collapse."
"And dependency," Raishin added. "If you starve the system of lightning now, the recoil could be fatal."
Silence returned, thicker than before.
"So what?" Kurogane asked softly. "I just… live with it?"
Mizuki studied him closely. "You learn to pace it."
Raishin nodded. "Short activations. No chaining. No instinctive anchoring during injury."
Kurogane winced. "That's… everything."
"Yes," Raishin said. "Which is why this next part is dangerous."
Mizuki turned to the healers. "We reduce medical intervention."
"What?" one exclaimed. "He's injured!"
"And healing him aggressively forces reliance," Mizuki replied. "Minimal aid only. The body must not associate lightning with survival by default."
The healer looked horrified. "You're asking us to let a child suffer."
Mizuki's voice was cold. "I'm asking you to prevent a future catastrophe."
Kurogane closed his eyes.
"I can handle it," he said quietly.
Everyone looked at him.
"I don't like it," he continued, "but I can feel it. If I lean on lightning every time something hurts… I won't know how to stop."
Raishin watched him for a long moment.
"…You're learning too fast," he said.
Later, alone in his room, Kurogane sat on the edge of his bed, hands resting loosely on his knees.
The silence was different here.
Personal.
The lightning stirred faintly in response to his awareness—not demanding, not eager. Just… present.
He focused on his breathing.
Nothing happened.
Good.
Then a sudden jolt of pain flared in his side as he shifted.
Lightning surged instantly—
Kurogane slammed his palm into the floor.
"No," he whispered. "Not now."
Earth answered, grounding the impulse. The surge died away reluctantly, like something denied its purpose.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
So this was the next fight.
Not enemies.Not assassins.
Himself.
Outside his door, unseen by him, a small rune etched into the wall pulsed once—then went still.
Deep within the academy systems, a new note was added beneath his file:
Recommendation:Delay frontline deployment.Monitor neurological dependence.Probability of permanent integration: rising.
Kurogane lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Lightning did not speak.
But his body listened.