The Room That Listens

The next day began with a quiet tension that hung over Shizukesa like a thin, invisible veil. He walked through the academy gates with the same even steps as always, yet something in the air felt different. Students whispered in smaller groups. Teachers watched the corridors more closely. Even the sky above seemed unusually still.

Aki spotted him before he reached the Prism hallway and hurried over, almost tripping on her own bag in the process.

“Good morning!” she said, forcing a cheerful tone. “Did you sleep? Eat? Breathe properly? I have back-up snacks if you forgot.”

“I slept,” Shizukesa said. “And ate.”

Aki let out a relieved breath. “Good. Yesterday was… a lot.”

Rin walked up behind her, a sword bag slung over his shoulder. “You need to stop fussing over him like a mother bird.”

Aki puffed out her cheeks. “I am showing moral support.”

“It looks more like overcompensation,” Rin replied.

Aki glared. Rin pretended not to notice.

Mira approached quietly from behind them. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes held a softness that hadn’t been there the day before.

“Good morning,” she said. “Shizukesa, are you feeling alright?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She studied him a moment longer. “Your wavelength feels quieter today.”

Aki leaned forward. “Is that good?”

“Quieter does not always mean calmer,” Mira replied. “Sometimes it means ‘waiting’.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “Waiting for what?”

Mira did not answer. Instead, she tilted her head slightly as if listening to a distant sound only she could hear.

Before anyone could ask further, a familiar voice called from behind.

“Hana. With me.”

Kurobane stood in the hall, clipboard under one arm, expression unreadable.

Aki stiffened. Rin stepped instinctively closer to Shizukesa. Mira bowed her head politely.

“Is it time already?” Shizukesa asked.

“Yes,” Kurobane replied. “The Resonance Observation Room is prepared.”

Aki looked at him anxiously. “Will he be alright?”

Kurobane stared at her for a moment. “That depends.”

Aki turned pale.

Rin placed a hand on Shizukesa’s shoulder. “If you feel something is wrong, say it. Do not hold anything in.”

Mira nodded in agreement. “Your emotions are waking. You must understand them, not hide from them.”

Shizukesa nodded once. “I will try.”

Kurobane gestured. “Follow me.”

The hall leading to the Observation Wing was noticeably colder than the rest of the building. The lights were dimmer, the walls thicker, reinforced with strange metallic panels. A faint hum vibrated through the floor, like a heartbeat buried under the concrete.

Kurobane walked ahead with clipped steps. “This facility monitors irregular emotional wavelengths. Prism students undergo assessments here to determine any dangerous instabilities.”

Shizukesa looked around. The walls felt as though they were listening.

They reached a large steel door with glowing lines that pulsed in faint rhythm. Kurobane placed his palm against a panel. The door slid open with a soft hiss.

Inside was a circular chamber. The floor was marked with rings of faint blue light. The ceiling held a suspended lens that seemed to watch from every angle. Along the far wall stood another instructor and a tall figure in dark robes.

Shizukesa recognised neither, but the aura the robed figure gave off was different. Settled. Heavy. As if the air shaped itself around him rather than the other way around.

Kurobane spoke softly. “This is Headmaster Rengoku.”

The man turned.

His hair was silver at the temples, his expression calm and unreadable. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, lingered on Shizukesa for a long, tense moment.

“So this is the boy,” the headmaster said.

Shizukesa bowed slightly. “Good morning.”

Rengoku nodded. “Step into the circle.”

Shizukesa did.

The blue rings on the floor brightened beneath his feet.

Mira had described emotional sensing before, but nothing prepared him for the sudden rush of cold air that swept up from the floor, as if invisible hands were brushing along the surface of his mind.

“Do not fight it,” Kurobane said quietly.

“I am not.”

“Then breathe normally.”

Shizukesa tried.

The lens above shifted its light, projecting multiple colours around the chamber. Each hue represented a recognised emotional spectrum. Shizukesa stood in the middle of them, the lights casting long, blended shadows around him.

The headmaster raised his hand. “Begin the scan.”

The floor vibrated.

A ring of pale blue light moved slowly from the outer edge towards the centre, passing beneath Shizukesa’s feet. When it reached him, he felt a soft pressure against his chest, as if something inside was being nudged awake.

Nothing happened.

The second ring passed.

Still nothing.

Kurobane scribbled on his clipboard. “No resonance. As expected.”

The headmaster watched silently.

Then came the third ring.

When it touched him, a cold spike stabbed beneath his ribs. Shizukesa drew in a sharp breath.

The lights flickered.

A faint shimmer rose around his arm.

A petal appeared.

Black.

Perfectly formed.

It drifted upward, hovering in the air like a trembling question mark.

Aki let out a gasp from the observation window above the chamber.

Rin stiffened.

Mira clutched the railing, her eyes widening. “He is reacting again.”

Inside the chamber, the petal shook violently.

Kurobane frowned. “It is unstable.”

Another petal formed.

Then a third.

All black. All flickering.

Shizukesa felt the tightness return to his chest. Cold. Sharp. The same pressure he had felt during the beast incident.

Fear.

But this was different.

This time the fear did not whisper.

It hammered against him like a trapped animal.

The lens above him flared red. The headmaster’s eyes narrowed.

“Stop the scan,” he commanded.

The instructor at the control panel pressed a sequence of symbols.

Nothing happened.

The red light grew brighter.

Kurobane stepped forward. “Stop the scan now.”

“I am trying,” the instructor said. “The system is not responding.”

Shizukesa’s head spun.

Black petals formed around him in a circle, rising like smoke.

The headmaster snapped his fingers. “Engage the dampener.”

A loud hum filled the room as a stabilisation field began to form. But as it activated, the lights flickered violently.

Mira pressed her hand against the glass. “Something is wrong. The room is reacting to him.”

Aki grabbed Mira’s sleeve. “We need to do something.”

“We cannot go in,” Rin said, but his voice trembled.

Inside the chamber, Shizukesa’s vision blurred. The petals swirled around him like a small storm of darkness.

He tried to breathe.

He could not.

He tried to speak.

No sound came out.

Kurobane’s voice faintly reached him. “Hana. Focus on my voice. Do not let the emotion take control.”

Shizukesa looked at him.

But he did not see Kurobane.

He saw claws.

Black claws.
Shadowed mouths.
Hollow eyes.
The corrupted beast from yesterday.
Its roar.
Its teeth.
Its lunge.
The moment he almost—

The pressure snapped.

The petals burst at once.

The entire chamber shook.

The lights went out.

Everything plunged into darkness.

Aki screamed.

Mira gasped.

Rin swore under his breath.

And in the pitch black, Shizukesa heard something he had never heard inside himself before.

A voice.

A whisper.

Soft. Broken. Calling from somewhere deep inside him.

“Let me out.”

The power cut ended an instant later. Lights flickered back on. The petals vanished. Shizukesa stood in the centre of the circle, trembling slightly, eyes wide but unfocused.

The headmaster exhaled slowly. “Shut the room down.”

Kurobane approached Shizukesa cautiously. “Can you hear me?”

Shizukesa nodded weakly.

“What happened?” Kurobane asked.

Shizukesa lowered his gaze. “I… I do not know.”

The headmaster exchanged a tense look with Kurobane.

“This boy cannot be treated as a regular Prism student,” Rengoku said. “We will need special measures.”

Kurobane looked at Shizukesa with an expression that was not fear, but something very close to it.

“This is more serious than we thought.”

Far beyond the academy grounds, in a dimly lit room filled with old screens and books, Hana Kiyoshi watched the footage of the Resonance Room flicker across a monitor.

His masked hand trembled as he reached out to touch the screen.

“Your petals are awakening.”

He whispered the words with quiet, desperate sorrow.

“This is too soon.”

He watched his son tremble inside the circle of light.

And he whispered again,

“I am so sorry, Shizukesa.”