They called it a demonstration.
That was another lie.
The platform hung above the capital's outer district, suspended by layered earth constructs and reinforced by wind arrays that hummed constantly. Below it, thousands of people gathered—students, instructors, officials, observers from allied territories.
This wasn't a training field.
It was a stage.
Kurogane stood at the center of the platform, robes clean, posture composed. No restraints. No visible suppression. Just him.
And eyes.
So many eyes.
He could feel them—not as pressure, but as expectation. Curiosity pulled at the edges of his awareness like static against skin. Lightning stirred uneasily inside him, sensitive to attention in a way no one had anticipated.
Raien stood a short distance away, acting as escort rather than partner, fire crest dimmed deliberately.
"Remember," Raien said quietly, "you're not here to prove power."
"I know," Kurogane replied.
"Good. Because half the crowd already decided what you are."
A horn sounded.
The platform stabilized.
Mizuki Yukihana's voice echoed outward, carried by amplification wards.
"Today's demonstration will showcase adaptive defense under pressure. No lethal force. No escalation beyond stated parameters."
That last part was for Kurogane.
He closed his eyes briefly.
No escalation.
Movement rippled at the far end of the platform.
Three figures stepped forward—licensed enforcers from the outer security corps. Strong. Disciplined. Their auras were controlled, neutral.
They bowed formally.
Then attacked.
Wind compressed first, driving forward like a tidal push meant to destabilize footing. Earth followed—jagged spikes erupting in controlled patterns, forcing movement rather than causing harm.
Kurogane moved.
Not quickly.Deliberately.
He stepped where pressure was weakest, letting stone rise beneath his heel at the last possible moment. The wind brushed past him, close enough to tug at his sleeves—but no closer.
The crowd murmured.
One enforcer shifted tactics, fire blooming low and wide, cutting off retreat paths.
Lightning surged instinctively—
Kurogane held it.
Instead, he grounded.
Earth absorbed the heat, stone blackening but holding. Wind dispersed excess energy upward. Fire died without spectacle.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
Someone in the crowd laughed nervously.
Another whispered.
Then the unexpected happened.
A fourth presence entered the field.
Not part of the demonstration.
Kurogane felt it instantly—sharp, misaligned, deliberate. Not an enforcer. Not academy.
Threat.
The platform tilted as interference rippled through the stabilizing arrays.
Gasps rose below.
Raien tensed. "That's not—"
A blade of compressed force sliced through the air toward Kurogane's blind side.
This one wasn't measured.
This one meant to kill.
Time fractured.
Lightning surged violently, screaming for release—NOW—
Kurogane clenched his jaw.
"No."
He turned.
Not fast enough to dodge.
Fast enough to accept.
The lightning didn't discharge outward.
It folded inward—wrapping tight around his spine, reinforcing structure instead of escaping. Pain exploded across his nerves, vision whitening—
But the blade deflected.
Barely.
It tore his sleeve, scored skin, but didn't reach anything vital.
The attacker faltered.
That hesitation was fatal.
Academy suppression snapped down instantly, Mizuki's control absolute. The intruder was pinned mid-motion, frozen in a cage of condensed water and pressure.
The platform stabilized.
Silence swallowed the city.
Kurogane stood shaking slightly, blood running down his arm, lightning flickering faintly beneath his skin—visible now. Not wild.
Contained.
Aware.
Thousands of people stared.
He didn't raise a hand.
Didn't strike back.
Didn't escalate.
He simply stood there—wounded, restrained, alive.
Mizuki's voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold.
"This demonstration is concluded."
The crowd didn't cheer.
They whispered.
Fear mixed with awe.Control mixed with dread.
Raien moved to Kurogane's side. "You okay?"
Kurogane nodded faintly. "They pushed."
"And you didn't break," Raien said.
Below, officials were already arguing. Observers whispering furiously to messengers. Somewhere in the crowd, someone was smiling for all the wrong reasons.
Lightning settled slowly inside Kurogane—not satisfied, not angry.
Recognized.
For the first time, the world hadn't seen a weapon.
It had seen restraint.
And that frightened it far more.