Kaito Moriyama hated being ignored.
It wasn't arrogance—at least, that's what he told himself. It was instinct. When something felt off, he wanted answers now, not later. And lately, too many things felt off.
Like Ren leaving biology without a word.
Like Aiko staying behind.
Like Mr. Sashimoto watching the class as if he were counting pieces on a board.
Kaito stood at the far end of the science wing corridor, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed.
The building should have been empty by now.
Yet the lights were still on.
⸻
He hadn't planned to follow them.
But when Ren didn't show up at the bus stop, curiosity won.
And curiosity, Kaito knew, was dangerous.
He moved quietly, shoes barely making a sound against the polished floor. The deeper he went, the colder the air became. The familiar layout of classrooms gave way to reinforced doors and warning signs.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Kaito scoffed under his breath. "Yeah. Sure."
That was when he heard it.
A low mechanical hum—steady, deliberate.
Not school equipment.
Something else.
⸻
Below the academy, Ren sat frozen in front of the console.
Data streamed across the screen in endless lines—gene sequences folding into themselves, energy curves intersecting at impossible angles. His mind tried to keep up, breaking the information down into manageable parts, but even then, it was overwhelming.
"This can't be stable," Ren said quietly. "The rejection rate alone—"
"—is expected," Mr. Sashimoto replied calmly. "Evolution has never been gentle."
Aiko looked up sharply. "You talk about it like suffering is acceptable."
Mr. Sashimoto met her gaze without flinching. "Progress has always demanded a price."
Ren felt something tighten in his chest.
"You said this was observation," he said. "But this lab—these subjects—this is experimentation."
"Yes," the teacher agreed. "And experiments require variables."
Ren stood abruptly. "We're not variables."
Mr. Sashimoto smiled.
"Not yet."
⸻
The warning light flickered again.
This time, Ren noticed.
"Sensei," he said slowly, "what does that indicator mean?"
Mr. Sashimoto glanced toward it briefly. "Minor fluctuation. Nothing to concern yourself with."
The hum of the machinery deepened.
Aiko stepped back instinctively. "That doesn't sound minor."
The chamber containing the failed subject trembled—just slightly—but enough.
Ren's heart began to race.
"If the system destabilizes—" he started.
"—then we learn," Mr. Sashimoto finished.
Ren stared at him.
For the first time, he understood.
This man wasn't careless.
He was committed.
⸻
Above them, Kaito pressed his ear against a reinforced wall.
He couldn't hear words—but he could feel it.
The vibration.
The wall was warm.
"Ren…" he muttered.
Before he could think better of it, he reached out and placed his hand against the surface.
The vibration spiked.
Lights along the corridor flickered.
Kaito yanked his hand back.
"What the hell is down there?"
⸻
In the lab, alarms chirped softly—not loud enough to alert the academy, but enough to signal instability.
Mr. Sashimoto's eyes gleamed.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "The threshold is reacting faster than anticipated."
Ren moved between the teacher and the console. "Shut it down."
Mr. Sashimoto looked at him with genuine curiosity.
"Why?"
"Because you're risking lives," Ren snapped. "Because this isn't control—this is obsession."
For a moment, silence filled the lab.
Then Mr. Sashimoto laughed.
A quiet, pleased sound.
"That," he said, "is the difference between us, Takahashi Ren."
He stepped past Ren and keyed in a command.
The chamber lights flared.
The warning indicator turned red.
⸻
Somewhere deep within the system, containment protocols failed by a fraction of a second.
Not enough to cause disaster.
Not yet.
But enough to leave a mark.
Ren felt it.
A pressure—sharp, sudden—like his thoughts were being pulled apart and stitched back together.
Aiko gasped, clutching her head.
And far above them, Kaito staggered as the corridor lights burst into brilliance for a heartbeat before returning to normal.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
Mr. Sashimoto exhaled slowly.
"…So," he said softly, "the fracture lines have begun."
Ren's hands trembled.
Nothing had happened.
And yet—
Everything had changed.