An Exciting News

After returning from his trip, Kaito wasted no time diving into the documents. The faded pages contained the details of Operation Eclipse, his mother’s final mission. His focus was singular—he needed to find that symbol. File after file, he sifted through photographs, reports, and hastily written notes, his eyes scanning for any trace of it.

Then, at last, he found it.

The symbol sat on the corner of a roughly sketched diagram—an eerie, hand-drawn design. A burnt wing, its jagged edges reminiscent of something scorched by fire. Embedded within it was a G, simple yet striking in its design. Despite its crude appearance, there was no mistaking it. It was the same symbol he had seen on the screen a week earlier during the news broadcast.

Kaito froze, staring at the symbol as the questions swirled in his mind. What does this mean? How are these incidents connected?

His gut told him that whatever this symbol represented, it was tied to something bigger—something deliberately hidden. He leaned back, exhaling sharply as he muttered to himself, “What is this?”

Determined to get answers, he searched online, hoping to find some reference, some fragment of its origin. But his efforts proved fruitless. Searches returned no useful results—no history, no obscure mentions, no leads at all. The symbol might as well have been erased from existence. That only made Kaito more suspicious. Who could have the power to bury this so completely?

His frustration grew as he returned to the files. The more he read, the deeper his suspicions ran. Bits and pieces of information jumped out at him—disjointed, inconsistent, like someone had carefully removed the key parts of the puzzle. The deeper he dug, the more certain he became: the truth had been covered up.

If he was going to get answers, he needed someone who had lived through Operation Eclipse other than his mother. A witness.

One name came to mind.

Ryuji.

Ryuji had been part of the same mission 11 years ago. Unlike Kaito’s mother, he’d emerged unscathed—but for reasons unknown, he chose to retire shortly afterward. Kaito distinctly remembered Ryuji visiting their home once, gently advising his mother to retire as well. At the time, the symptoms of her illness hadn’t even begun to show.

Kaito hurriedly retrieved his mother’s old cell phone. The device was old and slow, but as he scrolled through the list of saved contacts, a wave of nostalgia and unease settled over him. She trusted this man, he thought. Maybe he can tell me what really happened.

Finally, he found the number.

Kaito hesitated for a moment before pressing “Call,” his pulse quickening. The phone rang once, then twice. Then, suddenly—

The call redirected.

The line clicked open.

Kaito’s breath caught as a voice—not human, but mechanical, cold, and unnerving—spoke on the other end. It wasn’t the voice of Ryuji.

“How do you know this number?”

The voice, though artificial, carried a haunting weight, as though it knew far more than Kaito had bargained for.

A chill ran down his spine, and his grip tightened around the phone.

Some days had passed since the unsettling call, but its impact still lingered. Kaito couldn’t shake the unease clawing at him. During his years in the Special Forces, he’d faced terrifying situations—life-threatening battles, relentless enemies—but this felt different. This time, he didn’t even know who or what he was up against, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

Lost in his thoughts, the world around him seemed to blur until a familiar voice pulled him back.

“Sensei!” Emi called, her voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been calling your name for a while. Is something bothering you?”

Kaito blinked and turned to her, forcing a small smile. “Sorry, I spaced out. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” His voice, however, wavered ever so slightly, as though he was trying to pull himself back together.

Emi caught the hesitation in his tone and, without a word, took his hand gently in hers. “My mom does this for me when I’m agitated,” she said softly, her expression warm and kind. “Apparently, it helps to calm the nerves.”

Kaito looked at her, surprised by the simple but genuine gesture. A faint sense of comfort washed over him. “Thanks, Emi. I appreciate it,” he replied, his voice steadying at last.

For a moment, Kaito sat there, surprised but touched by the gesture. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing. “Thanks, Emi. I appreciate it,” he replied, his voice steady this time.

Turning his attention back to the field, Kaito watched as the students carried on with the drills he had assigned earlier. A faint smile tugged at his lips—this simple routine, seeing his students work hard, brought him a brief sense of peace. I really can’t let them worry about me, he thought, whispering the words quietly to himself.

By noon, Kaito decided to gather the class for an announcement. Getting their attention, however, was proving more challenging than usual. Reina and Tatsumi were at it again, their argument loud enough to turn heads. Kaito sighed inwardly. Part of him almost missed the days when Reina’s squabbles were directed at Katsuhito; they felt far less... intense than her clashes with Tatsumi.

“Enough!” Kaito’s voice rang out with sharp authority. “If you don’t pay attention, you’ll have to redo the drill ten times. Got it?”

The murmuring stopped instantly. The students grumbled under their breath but ultimately fell into line, eyes finally on him.

Kaito took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across their expectant faces. “I’ve gathered you all for a special announcement,” he began, letting the words hang in the air just long enough to spark a hint of curiosity.

The students exchanged curious glances. Even Reina and Tatsumi, still smoldering from their earlier argument, quieted down to listen.

“Next month,” Kaito continued, his tone steady and deliberate, “the Iron-Wing games will commence and you all will be participating.”

A ripple of excitement swept through the group. The Iron-Wing Games were a highly anticipated event at the academy—a rigorous competition designed to test aerial combat skills, strategy, and teamwork. It was more than just a contest; it was a rite of passage for aspiring aero combatants.

“Finally!” Katsuhito exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “I’ve been waiting for this!”

“I can’t believe it’s already here,” Emi murmured, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“But that’s not all,” Kaito said, his voice cutting through the chatter. The students quieted down again, hanging on his every word. “In preparation for the games, you will finally be selecting your primary weapons.”

The announcement hit like a thunderclap. A chorus of exclamations erupted from the group, ranging from Reina’s confident smirk to Tatsumi’s wide grin.

“Our own weapons?” Hikari said, almost breathless. “This is huge!”

“Indeed,” Kaito nodded. “The weapon you choose is not just a tool; it’s an extension of yourself, your style, and your strengths. Over the next few days, you’ll be given the opportunity to try out a variety of weapons to find the one that suits you best.”

“Also” Kaito continued, “This’ll give you time to practice before the games”.

Shizuka raised her hand, her expression a mix of eagerness and skepticism. “Will we be evaluated on our choices, sensei?”

“Not quite,” Kaito replied. “However your performance in the Iron-Wing Games will reflect how well you’ve chosen. A mismatched weapon can hinder you as much as a perfect one can elevate you. So take your time and choose wisely.”

The students nodded, their excitement now tempered with determination.

“I don’t need time,” Katsuhito declared smugly. “I already know I’ll pick the most powerful weapon available.”

“Powerful doesn’t mean practical,” Reina retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Try not to overcompensate.”

Kaito sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Reina, Katsuhito, I suggest you focus on finding what suits you individually rather than bickering over who’s right. This isn’t about anyone else—it’s about you.”

The two grudgingly fell silent, though Reina shot Katsuhito a pointed glare.

“As for the rest of you,” Kaito said, his tone softening, “the Iron-Wing Games aren’t just a test of your physical skills. They’re also a measure of how well you can work as a team. No matter how strong or skilled you are individually, you’ll fail if you don’t learn to trust and support each other.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Kaito’s eyes lingered on Tatsumi, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but said nothing.

“That’s all for today,” Kaito concluded. “Dismissed. And remember, I’m here if you have any questions about the weapons or the games.”

The students began to disperse, their voices buzzing with excitement and speculation. Kaito watched them go, his thoughts briefly returning to the symbol, the call, and the mysteries he was trying to unravel.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside. His students needed him focused and steady. Whatever he was facing, he couldn’t let it show.