Unravelling Threads

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds of TMA. The air was heavy with an unusual stillness, as if the academy itself was holding its breath. Students stood in clusters, their chatter subdued. Many of Emi’s classmates bore expressions of grief, their eyes downcast, still processing the weight of the tragedy.

At the front of the grounds, the commandant stepped onto the podium, his stern visage softened by a hint of sorrow. The murmurs faded as he adjusted the microphone, clearing his throat.

“Attention,” his voice echoed across the grounds, firm but laced with gravity. “We gather here today under difficult circumstances. As you are all aware, we have lost one of our own, Cadet Emi Honeyfield.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd before silence reclaimed the moment.

“The investigation into this tragedy is ongoing. While the incident occurred during an external operation, not on academy grounds, it has nonetheless affected us all deeply. Emi Honeyfield’s dedication and promise as a soldier in training serve as a reminder of the courage it takes to walk this path.”

Kaito stood among the faculty, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He watched the students, particularly his own, as they hung onto the commandant’s every word.

“After careful deliberation, the academy will remain operational. The work we do here is vital, and we must press forward. However, in recognition of the profound impact this loss has had on our community, the graduating class—2A—will be granted a week-long leave to process and recover.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Some students exchanged glances, their grief mingling with confusion over how to move forward. Others stared straight ahead, their faces blank.

“This is not an end,” the commandant continued, his voice unwavering. “It is a call to honor those we have lost by striving to be the best we can be. Their sacrifices remind us of the responsibility we bear, and the lives we are committed to protecting.”

Kaito’s chest tightened as he heard the words. He looked toward the second-year students, his heart aching at their collective loss. Reina stood among them, her usual confident stance now hunched. Katsuhito had an arm around her shoulder, offering silent comfort.

As the commandant concluded and stepped back, the students remained quiet, absorbing the announcement. Slowly, they began to disperse, heading back to their dorms or lingering in small groups to talk in hushed tones.

Kaito turned, walking away from the grounds. His mind raced with questions and emotions he couldn’t yet untangle. The commandant’s words echoed in his ears, a mix of inspiration and weight.

The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Kaito sat slumped on the couch, the dim light of his phone illuminating his tired features. His fingers swiped idly through his gallery, a slideshow of fleeting moments frozen in time.

Pictures of his students filled the screen. Some were candid shots he had taken during training sessions: Reina mid-flight, Katsuhito laughing after a failed maneuver, Leona giving her usual analytical look during a briefing. Others were selfies and group photos the students had taken themselves, their faces lit with unrestrained joy.

Kaito’s chest tightened as a photo of Emi appeared—a candid shot of her grinning triumphantly after mastering an aerial combat move. She had always been so determined, so full of life. His thumb lingered over her face before swiping to the next image, his eyes misting as he continued.

He exited the gallery and opened his messages, scrolling absentmindedly. Then, his eyes caught something—a message marked unread.

From Emi.

His heart skipped a beat. The timestamp read the day after her unit’s last mission. Kaito frowned, surprised he had overlooked it. Emi had been sending him voice notes regularly during her field deployment, sharing her experiences and seeking his advice. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the play button.

With a deep breath, he tapped it.

Her voice came through the speaker, warm and slightly breathless, as if she’d recorded it in haste.

“Sensei, it’s me again. I’ve really learnt a lot during the FDP and I can’t wait to show you how I’ve grown, anyway I wanted to tell you about something... strange that happened after our last mission. Fujimoto and I were watching Hirose’s back and ended up... captured.”

Kaito’s grip on the phone tightened, his jaw clenching as he listened.

“The smugglers held us for a few hours before Kasumi and the others found us. They got us out, thank goodness, but during the time we were captured, I noticed something. There was a man, one of their leaders, I think. He didn’t talk much, but he stood out—a tall guy with a scar on his cheek. What really struck me was the tattoo on his neck. It was—”

She described the symbol, her tone faltering slightly as if even speaking of it unsettled her.

That symbol.

It was the same one that had haunted him for years, the same one burned into his memory from the day of his injury. The very symbol he had stumbled upon during his desperate search for answers about his mother’s condition.

The phone slipped from his hand, landing softly on the couch. A hollow ache spread through him, a sharp, invisible spear piercing his chest. Emi’s death wasn’t random. It wasn’t just a tragic accident.

Something—or someone—was behind it.

The disbelief in his eyes began to harden, replaced by a fire that grew steadily within him. His hands clenched into fists, trembling with a surge of emotions—grief, anger, and the cold resolve of a man who had lost too much.

Kaito rose from the couch, his posture rigid, his jaw set. The pieces of a grim puzzle were aligning in his mind, forming a picture he couldn’t ignore. Emi, his injury, his mother’s illness—it was all connected.

He turned to the window, staring into the dark expanse beyond. His reflection in the glass was almost unrecognizable, his eyes burning with vengeance.

“They took everything from me,” he muttered, his voice low and filled with venom. “But I’m not done yet. Not by a long shot.”

The room felt colder, heavier, as though the air itself understood the weight of the moment. Kaito’s path was set, his conviction unshakable. This wasn’t just about justice—it was personal.

And he wouldn’t stop until every last thread of the conspiracy was unraveled, no matter the cost.

The morning sunlight filtered through Kaito’s blinds, but he barely registered its warmth. His mind was a whirlwind, circling back to Emi’s voice note and the symbol she had described. It felt like a crack in a dam—one that threatened to unleash a flood of truths he wasn’t prepared for.

Yet, he couldn’t ignore it.

Revenge wasn’t straightforward. He needed a path to follow, and all he had were fragments: the tattoo Emi described and the man who had approached him just months ago after the Iron Wing Games.

The memory of that encounter burned in his mind. The man had appeared out of nowhere, his words cryptic, almost as if he had been issuing a warning—or laying bait.

“Who are you?” Kaito muttered under his breath. “And how much do you know?”

That man was his only lead.

Reaching for his phone, Kaito scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for. Shinji, a former colleague who had handled security during the Iron Wing Games. Shinji was meticulous and likely to remember unusual details—or at least know where to find them.

The phone rang twice before Shinji picked up.

“Kaito? This is a surprise.” Shinji’s voice carried its usual mix of gruffness and familiarity.

“I need a favor,” Kaito said, skipping any preamble.

“Favor?” Shinji sounded wary. “What kind of favor?”

“You worked security at the Iron Wing Games a few months ago, right? I need you to pull records. Surveillance footage.”

“For what?”

“There was a man who approached me after the final matches. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit. He spoke to me, said some things that didn’t sit right. I need to know who he is.”

Shinji paused, and Kaito could almost hear the skepticism on the other end. “That’s a pretty vague description, Yamamura. Why is this guy important?”

“Because I think he’s tied to something bigger.” Kaito’s voice was firm, his desperation tightly controlled. “Something I can’t ignore.”

Another pause, longer this time. Finally, Shinji sighed. “I’ll see what I can find, but no promises. I don’t know if that footage still exists, and even if it does, getting access won’t be easy.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shinji muttered. “I’ll call you when I have something.”

The line went dead, and Kaito lowered the phone slowly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. That man held answers, and Kaito was determined to find him.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as a mixture of fear and determination surged through him. This was no longer about piecing together fragments of the past. It was about uncovering the truth, no matter the cost.

If that man was connected to the symbol—or to the events that had stolen Emi, his mother’s health, and his own future—Kaito would find him. And this time, he would demand answers.

Later that day

Kaito’s phone buzzed, the name “Shinji” flashing on the screen.

“I’ve got something,” Shinji said without preamble. “Come to the surveillance office. Now.”

Kaito didn’t waste a second. He grabbed his jacket and headed out, his mind racing with possibilities.

The surveillance office was tucked away in one of the academy’s less-trafficked buildings. Shinji was waiting for him, his face a mix of triumph and curiosity.

“Follow me,” Shinji said, leading Kaito to a workstation where multiple monitors displayed grainy footage from the Iron Wing Games.

“This is the guy you mentioned, right?” Shinji pointed at one of the screens.

Kaito leaned closer, his breath hitching. There he was—the man in the dark suit, his sharp features unmistakable even in the low-resolution footage.

“That’s him,” Kaito confirmed, his voice tight.

“Thought so,” Shinji said. “I pulled everything I could find on him from that day. Watch this.”

He played the footage. The first clip showed the man approaching Kaito, their conversation brief but intense. Kaito’s posture in the video was guarded, his expression unreadable.

Shinji fast-forwarded to a later clip. The man was walking away from the venue, his stride confident. Instead of heading toward the aeropod parking area like most attendees, he made his way to a ground-level lot.

“Here’s the interesting part,” Shinji said, pausing the video to zoom in. “He didn’t leave in an aeropod like everyone else. He got into this car.”

The screen showed a sleek, black car—not flashy, but distinctive in its rarity. Shinji zoomed in further to reveal the license plate.

“I flagged the plate number,” Shinji continued. “It was registered under a fake name, but I ran some deeper checks. Turns out the car was last seen heading to the outskirts of Yotsuya.”

“Yotsuya?” Kaito repeated, his brow furrowing. The district was known for its industrial complexes and less-than-reputable establishments—a haven for those who wanted to stay off the radar.

“Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s a lead,” Shinji said. “If this guy’s tied to what you’re looking into, Yotsuya might be your next stop.”

Kaito stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. The image of the car and its trail felt like a lifeline—something tangible in the sea of uncertainty he’d been navigating.

“Thanks, Shinji,” he said, his voice heavy with determination.

“Just be careful, Yamamura,” Shinji warned. “Whoever this guy is, he’s not someone you want to mess with lightly.”

Kaito nodded but didn’t respond. His mind was already racing ahead, mapping out his next steps. The man, the car, the symbol—they were all threads leading to something larger, something dangerous.

And he was ready to follow them, no matter where they led.