Chapter 3- The Weight Of Emotion

Shizukesa left his next class with the same quiet step he always carried, but something was different. His hand felt strangely warm. It was not painful, merely out of place, as if something inside him had begun to stir without asking permission.

Aki walked beside him, talking so quickly he suspected she had forgotten to breathe. Rin followed a short distance behind, pretending not to listen but clearly absorbing every word. Mira walked on Shizukesa’s right, reading him in that subtle way she did, noticing details others never saw.

“I still cannot believe you made a petal appear,” Aki said, waving her arms in animated arcs. “I have never seen anything like it. Not even the teachers could explain it. What colour do you think it was meant to be? Or was it every colour? Or no colour at all? Actually, can emotions even be colourless?”

Rin cut in before she spiralled too far. “He obviously does not know. Stop interrogating him.”

“I am not interrogating him. I am expressing scientific curiosity,” Aki replied, puffing out her cheeks.

“That was not scientific. That was panicking with questions,” Rin said.

“It was enthusiastic,” she corrected sharply.

Rin opened his mouth to argue, then stopped himself, evidently aware that arguing with Aki was like wrestling the wind.

Shizukesa watched them with mild confusion. He had never been surrounded by people like this before. Reika was loud and stubborn, but she was only one person. These three were entirely different energies, different rhythms, and he still was not sure why they chose to stay near him.

Mira glanced at him as they walked. “How do you feel?” she asked gently.

He thought about it. “Normal.”

“Normal for you or normal for an average person?” she asked.

He paused. “I am not sure.”

Mira nodded as if that answer made perfect sense. “If anything feels heavy, tell me. I can help lighten it.”

Aki beamed. “Me too. If you are ever confused or overwhelmed or in danger or bored or hungry, I can help.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “You are the second most chaotic student in the academy. How exactly will you help if he is in danger?”

“I will shout encouragement,” Aki said proudly.

“That will not help.”

“It might.”

Rin looked at Shizukesa. “I will help with the actual danger.”

A faint warmth stirred in Shizukesa’s chest. It was not quite a feeling, more like a nudge. He wondered if a petal would appear again, but nothing surfaced.

They reached the courtyard, where students milled about before the next lesson. A pair of older boys from the Shade Guild were eyeing Shizukesa suspiciously. One of them muttered something under his breath. The other snickered.

Aki noticed immediately. “Oi. What are you staring at?”

The Shade boys smirked. “The Prism troublemaker. The one who broke the Resonance Core. How does it feel to be the unstable one?”

Shizukesa looked at them with confusion rather than offence. “I did not break anything.”

“You nearly caused a power surge. Why are you even allowed in the academy?” the taller boy said.

Aki bristled. “He did nothing wrong. Leave him alone.”

Rin stepped forward with a steady expression. “Do you want a problem with someone who uses a sword every day, or would you like to rethink your decision?”

The Shade boys hesitated. One scoffed under his breath but turned away.

Mira placed a hand on Shizukesa’s arm. “Do not take their words in. People fear what they do not understand.”

Shizukesa nodded once. “I do not feel upset.”

“That is what worries me,” Mira said, almost in a whisper.

They walked to the next classroom.

The following lesson was a history class on emotional corruption. A large screen showed images of dark, animal-like creatures twisting through forests, their bodies surrounded by thick, smoky colours.

The instructor, a tall woman with her hair in a tight knot, spoke with a clipped tone.

“These are corrupted beasts. They form when a powerful emotional discharge saturates an area and is left unchecked. Negative wavelengths tend to be the most volatile. Fear and despair produce unstable creatures. Anger creates aggressive ones. Jealousy can distort the body completely.”

Aki shuddered. “That is terrifying.”

Rin looked intrigued. “So they are formed by emotions leaking into the environment.”

Mira nodded. “Corruption happens when someone has more emotion than their body can hold.”

Shizukesa stared at the projections on the screen. He felt a strange sensation while looking at the creatures. They were frightening, yet something about them felt familiar. Not in memory, but in instinct.

As the instructor continued her explanation, a faint warmth built behind his sternum again. He placed a hand there, wondering if something was wrong.

Then something shimmered at the edge of his vision.

A small flicker of white.

A petal.

It hovered just above his desk, fragile and pale.

Aki gasped quietly and nudged him. Rin straightened in his seat, eyes sharp. Mira’s breath caught, and she placed a gentle hand on the table.

Shizukesa looked at Kurobane, who happened to walk past their classroom window. The instructor did not notice, but Kurobane did. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw the floating petal.

Shizukesa blinked once, and the petal vanished.

Kurobane strode away without a word.

Aki whispered, “That was definitely a petal. How are you doing that?”

“I do not know,” Shizukesa murmured.

“You are going to cause a lot of trouble,” Rin said quietly, though there was no judgement in his tone. More curiosity, perhaps even anticipation.

Mira leaned closer. “Does it hurt when it happens?”

“No,” Shizukesa answered.

Mira looked relieved. “Then you are not in danger yet.”

Aki looked horrified. “Yet? Why did you say yet?”

Mira placed a hand on her arm. “Because his control is unstable. But he is not alone in this.”

Shizukesa looked at all three of them. Their faces. Their eyes. Their concern. Their trust.

It made his chest feel warm again.

He wondered if another petal would appear, but nothing did.

The lesson continued, but he scarcely heard it.

Something inside him had begun to move again, quietly but insistently.

Something he could not ignore forever.