A sudden jolt snapped the gaze awake, blinking once, twice, then a third time before it remained fixed on the white-tiled ceiling above. A drop of sweat formed, yet no ripple of emotion followed—no shock, no fear, not even the faintest trace of despair. The gaze shifted left, then right, before settling once more on the ceiling, as if searching for something that wasn't there. A fleeting thought, sharp and fleeting, stirred in the mind before dissolving into the void, leaving only a faint echo. For a moment, a flash of golden strands fluttering in the air flickered through the haze, and the gaze blinked again, as if reaching for a memory that slipped like sand through fingers.
They rose from the bed, the mattress yielding softly beneath them, though the sensation went unnoticed. The hum of the air conditioner, the sunlight streaming through the open window—it all fell on senses that seemed detached, distant. The gaze lingered on the nothingness of the room, empty and unfeeling, before snapping back to the present. There was no need to observe the surroundings, no time for such things. A hand lifted to their forehead, brushing aside strands of black hair as they straightened their posture. The simple clothes they wore—soft-colored cotton gowns with ties—were noted only in passing, as though they belonged to someone else.
The wind stirred, and their gaze shifted to a black coat draped over a chair, a folded black shirt, brown pants, and a sword resting in its scabbard. With deliberate steps, they moved toward it, their hand reaching for the hilt. The blade slid free, and in its cold, gray surface, a reflection stared back—Kazuki, his face blank, his eyes devoid of anything resembling emotion. Brief flashes clouded their vision, black scribbled-like images flickering before vanishing as quickly as they came. The reflection remained steady, the metal unyielding and cold.
The door creaked open, and Kazuki turned, his expression unchanged, his movements almost mechanical. A figure stepped into the room, the tap of a cane echoing softly against the floor. The man's silver hair gleamed faintly in the light, his calm smile unwavering as he adjusted his spectacles with one hand. He held the cane with both hands, positioning it neatly in front of him, his presence deliberate yet unassuming. Kazuki's gaze met his, but there was no recognition, no reaction—only the same hollow stillness that had been there from the start.
"Well, well… A peculiar one, you must be."
The man's voice was friendly yet formal, laced with an unsettling familiarity—like an old acquaintance whose name remained just out of reach.
"I've observed countless individuals," he began, his tone measured, words deliberate. "Some, brimming with talent yet stagnant. Others, bearing potential they've barely glimpsed. But you… you exist in an unusual space between these extremes. Not unprecedented, yet… peculiar."
With each step, his cane pressed into the floor, the rhythmic sound echoing through the empty hall. Steady. Deliberate. He moved forward, stopping at the center. His left hand rested atop the cane, while the other, effortlessly composed, balanced a mug with practiced ease.
Kazuki did not respond. He did not acknowledge the man's presence. With fluid precision, he sheathed his sword, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat. Then, without a wasted motion, he gathered his clothes with his left arm, the sheathed weapon now slung over his back.
The man smiled. A measured step forward. His fingers curled slightly, palm tilting upward—an unspoken invitation wrapped in feigned curiosity.
"So, I wonder," he mused, voice impeccably composed, yet carrying an edge of something deeper. "How is it that someone of your… stature possesses such talent, yet remains indifferent to its use? When the storm rages, even the sharpest blade can miss its mark. A second ensures nothing is left to chance."
The smile remained, sharp and restrained, but his eyes—his eyes held something else. An intrigue carefully veiled beneath layers of control. A quiet, calculated admiration.
Kazuki's gaze was devoid of life, his posture motionless, indifferent—just as Isaac had expected.
A flicker of amusement crossed Isaac's face, his smirk twisting into something more direct. A subtle shift that wordlessly conveyed: Let's cut to the chase.
"Do you know who I am?" The man asked, his tone calm, an intrigued smile forming.
A heavy pause hung in the air, tension thickening with each passing second. Yet, Kazuki still did not turn. Instead, he lowered his sword, exhaling a quiet sigh.
"Isaac. Former Magic Council member. Arcane 10. Headmaster of your little academy."
Kazuki's voice was devoid of inflection, monotone, stripped of anything that might suggest interest or engagement. It was a statement. A conclusion. A signal that, in his mind, the conversation had already ended. And yet, it only deepened Isaac's curiosity.
The man took a slow sip from his mug, placing it gently atop his cane. His smile never wavered.
Isaac's expression remained composed, unfazed. "Your awareness doesn't surprise me. I've watched your movements with great interest for a while." He leaned against the wall, spinning his cane effortlessly around his pointer finger. "But let's not waste time with pleasantries. I'm sure you've already figured out my intention, but let me spell it out for you."
His voice remained measured, steady—before thumping his cane against the ground with a swift stop.
"I'm here to extend an invitation to my academy."
Silence persisted.
Kazuki did not move, his stance unchanged, as if he were analyzing the situation. A faint breeze drifted through the open window, carrying with it the slightest movement—Isaac's coat shifting ever so slightly, Kazuki's black coat swaying along with his dark hair.
Isaac's smirk deepened. His eyes held both anticipation and expectancy, a knowing look, as if he already had the answer yet still wished to hear it spoken aloud.
"One might question the value of such an offer. The potential benefits." His tone was casual, yet deliberate. Then, with an almost imperceptible lean forward, his voice dropped ever so slightly.
"But first… What drives you, Young Kazuki of the Fractured Clan?"
For the first time, a flicker of reaction—so minute it was almost imperceptible. A subtle shift in Kazuki's posture, his fingers curling into fists as he lifted them from the table, straightening.
A pause.
Then, his reply came, dry and devoid of inflection.
"Your research is thorough, old man. Spare me your talk. You already know."
"Then I shall present my offer once more."
Kazuki exhaled, his voice flat. "And if I decline?"
The air grew heavier, the unspoken weight between them settling into the silence.
Kazuki shifted ever so slightly, just enough for Isaac to catch a glimpse of his eyes—calm, yet edged with something faint. A mild sincerity laced with a slight frown. A fleeting crack in his otherwise impassive demeanor.
Then, just as quickly, he turned away.
Disengaged. Distant.
Yet, Isaac's intrigue only deepened.
Speaking with careful deliberation, he said, "There will be no hostilities between us. No threats, no force," he said, voice smooth, measured. "But knowledge is a fickle thing. Some doors remain closed until the right key is found."
Then, with a faint smile, his voice dipped into something almost proverbial.
Kazuki remained silent. The conversation had already ended in his mind.
A gust of wind swept through the space, and without warning, his fingers now held a small, folded piece of paper. He hadn't seen it appear, but he expected as much.
"You'd be surprised, young man." Isaac's voice was a whisper in the dim light along the passing wind, layered with meaning. "Even I haven't unraveled all of this world's mysteries. Neither have you."
Outside the hospital, a lone figure stood still, embraced by the quiet chill of the autumn wind. Their long yellow hair swayed gently, drifting with the breeze. Eyes closed, they took a deep breath, letting the crisp air settle within them.
Then—
A stray leaf, carried by the wind, brushed against their face and was promptly sucked onto their nose.
"Hh—haa... oh n-no, not now—HACHOO!"
A small, high-pitched squeak followed, accompanied by flailing arms that nearly caused them to lose balance. The figure stumbled forward a few steps, catching themselves with all the grace of a newborn fawn.
Claire regained her footing, face flushed bright red. "O-oh geez, that was, um... that was embarrassing... c-capisce," she muttered under her breath, fidgeting with trembling fingers while trying to fix her now-messy hair.
She shot the offending leaf what was meant to be a fierce glare, but her expression faltered. Her gaze followed the leaf as it floated away, twisting and turning, until it disappeared into the sky.
Her fingers, once busy smoothing her hair, stilled. The cold autumn air brushed against her skin, and the silence pressed in gently. Slowly, she lowered her arms, staring ahead, yet seeing something far beyond the present moment.
A familiar ache settled within her chest. A quiet weight. A lingering guilt.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her head lowered.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. A quiet sniffle followed, punctuated by a small hiccup.
And then—stillness once more.