Lingering Shadows

The Vanguard Exchange, an event that every cadet at the academy anticipated with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Designed as a collaborative program between academies, the exchange allowed cadets to train and interact with peers from other regions, fostering both competition and exposure.

The announcement came two weeks prior, and the students had been buzzing with preparations ever since.

“Kaito-sensei, will you be coming with us?” Hikari had asked the day before, his trademark optimism shining through despite the tension.

Kaito shook his head. “Not this time. This exchange is for you to grow as cadets. You’ll learn more on your own without me watching your every move.”

Hikari pouted slightly but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned to Reina. “Guess that means you’ll have to be the one to keep us in check.”

Reina smirked, crossing her arms. “As if you need keeping in check. I’ll be too busy ensuring Katsuhito doesn’t get us into trouble.”

The banter continued until the day of departure.

The airship stood ready at the academy’s main docking bay, its metallic frame gleaming under the morning sun. It was a sight to behold—a technological marvel capable of carrying dozens of passengers and their equipment safely over vast distances.

“Why aren’t we just flying there?” Katsuhito asked as they boarded, his tone a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“It’s too far,” Leona replied, adjusting her duffel bag. “Personal flight isn’t practical over such long distances, especially in adverse weather conditions. Plus, the region we’re going to has anti flight mechanisms or so I heard. The only safe way in is by airship.”

Kaito watched from a distance as his students boarded, a pang of something he couldn’t quite name settling in his chest. He knew they’d be fine—they were skilled, resilient, and capable. But the thought of not being there to guide them still felt strange.

As the airship’s engines roared to life, Hikari leaned out of one of the windows, waving enthusiastically. “We’ll make you proud, Kaito-sensei!”

Kaito raised a hand in response, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched the airship disappear into the horizon.

Kaito made his way to the medical center later that morning, guilt gnawing at him for not visiting his mother sooner. Harumi Yamamura had been a pillar of strength throughout his life, but seeing her reduced to such a frail state was a constant reminder of how much the world had taken from her—and from him.

“Mom,” he said softly as he entered her room.

Harumi’s eyes lit up at the sight of her son. “Kaito,” she murmured, her voice weak but warm.

He sat beside her, taking her hand gently. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here much lately. Work has been... overwhelming.”

Harumi smiled faintly, her fingers brushing his. “You’ve always been busy. But you’ve always been strong, too. I’m proud of you.”

Kaito’s chest tightened. They talked about mundane things—his students, the academy, even the weather—but beneath their words lay an unspoken understanding of the gravity of her condition.

“Do you remember when you were little?” Harumi said suddenly. “You used to say you’d grow up to protect everyone. I see that boy in you even now.”

Kaito didn’t reply, his throat too tight to form words.

After leaving his mother’s room, Kaito proceeded to his own check-up. The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, and the hum of medical devices echoed faintly in the corridors. He entered the consultation room and was greeted by Dr. Watanabe, an older woman with a stiff demeanor. She gestured for him to sit as she reviewed his file on a tablet.

“Still experiencing pain during exertion?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Sometimes,” Kaito admitted. “But it’s manageable.”

“Manageable doesn’t mean healthy,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s run a few scans.”

As the machines whirred around him, Kaito’s thoughts drifted back to the injury he had sustained two years ago. The mission that had gone wrong, the explosion that had nearly claimed his life. The medical team had marveled at his survival, but the damage to his body had been severe. His lower spine and left hip bore the brunt of the impact, necessitating reconstructive surgeries and limiting his ability to fly for extended periods. The incident had ended his career in the field and left him with a permanent reminder of his failure—and a thirst for answers.

Dr. Watanabe returned with the results, breaking him from his reverie.

“No significant changes,” she reported, though her tone was stern. “But you’re pushing yourself too hard. I’ve seen your file; I know what you’re doing outside of teaching. Be careful, Kaito.”

He gave her a noncommittal nod. “Thanks, Doc.”

On his way out of the medical wing, Kaito’s attention was drawn to a patient in a wheelchair. The man, gaunt and with hollow eyes, sat alone near a window, his hands trembling slightly. His posture was tense, his face lined with a mixture of fear and regret.

Kaito hesitated before approaching him. “Mind if I sit here?”

The man looked up, startled, but nodded. Kaito settled into the chair beside him. For a moment, neither spoke.

“Rough day?” Kaito asked, his tone casual.

The man chuckled dryly, but there was no humor in it. “Rough life. I should’ve known better... should’ve walked away when I had the chance.”

Kaito’s interest piqued. “Walked away from what?”

The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared out the window, his fingers tapping nervously on the armrest. “Some things... some people... they’re better left alone. You get involved, and there’s no way out. No way to undo what you’ve seen or done.”

Kaito reached into his pocket and pulled out the sketch of the symbol he’d been investigating. “Does this mean anything to you?”

The moment the man’s eyes fell on the symbol, his entire demeanor changed. His breathing hitched, his face drained of color, and his hands gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Where did you get that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“It’s part of an investigation I’m working on,” Kaito replied, leaning in. “If you know anything—”

“Don’t...” the man cut him off, his voice trembling. “Don’t dig into this. Don’t ask questions. You’ll only make it worse.”

“What’s worse?” Kaito pressed.

The man’s lips moved soundlessly, as if struggling to form the word. Finally, he whispered, “Geheim...”

Before Kaito could ask more, the man’s body convulsed violently. His eyes rolled back, and foam began to form at his mouth. Nurses and doctors rushed over as Kaito stepped back, his heart racing.

As the medical team worked to stabilize the man, Kaito stood frozen, the word “Geheim” echoing in his mind. The fear in the man’s eyes and the sudden seizure spoke volumes about the danger he had stumbled into.

Kaito stepped back, his mind racing. The fear in the man’s eyes, the word “Geheim,” the sudden seizure—it all pointed to something far more sinister than he’d anticipated.

As he left the medical center, the weight of the man’s final word settled heavily in his mind.

Geheim.

Whatever it was, Kaito knew it wouldn’t be long before he found out.