Anna's smile was a razor's edge—subtle, but capable of cutting through the ambient tension. The lift became a crucible, containing not just passengers, but potential. Heirs. Survivors. Each breath carried the weight of unspoken histories.
Leonardo's curiosity erupted like an exposed nerve. "Why do his eyes look like that?" he asked, pointing at Tadashi—a gesture both innocent and invasive.
"Monolids," Anna responded, the word falling like a stone into still water. Her exasperation wasn't merely about explaining—it was about the vast cultural chasms that separated their experiences. Each word was a negotiation between understanding and incomprehension.
"What are monolids?" Leonardo persisted, his ignorance a weapon more dangerous than any blade.
Anna's forehead massage was a ritual of restraint. "A feature from a different city," she explained, her patience a thin membrane stretched to its breaking point. "People from that city carry their history in the geometry of their eyes, in the cadence of their names."
Elara's interjection cut through their exchange like cold steel. "No more rasvian-based machines," she muttered—a statement that was part warning, part lament.
The concept of "technology" here was an illusion—a delicate dance with rasvian energy. Not creation, but negotiation. Not invention, but manipulation. Objects were not crafted; they were persuaded. Each infusion of energy a whispered promise, each device a potential betrayal.
High-tier users didn't create; they conversed with fundamental reality. They were not engineers or scientists, but translators of an incomprehensible language—rasvian energy flowing like an underground river, responsive to will, indifferent to intention.
Tadashi and Ryuji approached—not as individuals, but as living archives of potential.
Ryuji was architecture made flesh. His kimono wasn't clothing, but armor. Black fabric with subtle patterns that caught light like memory—each thread a potential weapon, each fold a strategic decision. The katana at his side was less a weapon and more a philosophical statement: precision embodied.
His eyes—green and intense—scanned the environment like a predator assessing terrain. Every movement calculated, every glance a measurement of threat and opportunity.
When Ryuji drew his blade against Leonardo, it wasn't aggression. It was assessment. A test. A fundamental probing of boundaries.
"You're her guide?" The question was a scalpel, dissecting Leonardo's worth in a single breath.
Leonardo became smaller, compressed by Ryuji's gaze—a raw demonstration of hierarchical power. Not cruelty. Just pure, unfiltered evaluation.
He's probably the strongest heir at the moment. "Takashiro Ryuji," Anna replied with a precise accent.
"I don't think we have met before?" Takashiro said, confusion evident. "The tower is a huge place, and your family is always off on vacation to the other cities," Anna replied. "Ah, you're right," he said, scratching his chin slightly.
They continued conversing, Takashiro acting as if Elara and Leonardo were nonexistent in the current discussion. Unlike Wata, Leonardo didn't think he had the right to ask for a shorter nickname, and he could only hope he would pronounce it correctly.
Suddenly, Takashiro turned towards Leonardo.
"You're her guide?" he said flatly, eyeing him with a steely gaze. Leonardo couldn't help but feel inferior to the boy.
"You can call me Takashiro," he said, watching Leonardo's every fidget and motion. Drawing his blade in a swift motion with calculated precision, Takashiro's blade hovered at the tip of Leonardo's neck.
"He really didn't dodge that?" Takashiro asked, genuinely perplexed. "You chose such a weakling as your guide?" he mocked. "You picked someone beneath you in overall prowess as your guide, too?" Anna retorted, annoyance growing on her face as she forced a smile and sighed a little. "Let's greet formally at the tower," he finally said, stepping aside.
"That's the master—such dedication. No one in the family managed to master three styles at the age of seventeen," Wata said, practically praising him as they departed.
"Yes, yes, Wata," Takashiro replied dismissively.
He employs two styles with his blade: Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto-ryu (天真正伝香取神道流) with a hint of Yagyu Shinkage-ryu (柳生新陰流), somewhat visible. Unlike many others, he also mastered another style, Itto-ryu (一刀流), which he attempted to use on Leonardo.
"We have a long way to go," Anna sighed.
"Get ready, everyone. We are about to reach the final floor," Hector announced cheerily.