The Quiet Before The Facture

Morning arrived in a pale wash of silver light, the kind that made the academy look colder than it was. Clouds hung low over the rooftops of Hinode Garden Academy, softening the sky into a muted grey. There was no breeze, no distant chatter from the sports field, not even the usual flock of birds that circled the main tower at sunrise.

It still felt as if the entire campus was holding its breath.

Shizukesa passed through the front gates with slow, steady steps, carrying the faint echo of yesterday’s Resonance incident deep in his chest. He did not feel tired, but he did not feel awake either. It was as if something inside him had begun to move and then fallen silent again, waiting.

Students clustered in small groups along the path. Their eyes flicked towards him whenever he walked by. Some tried to pretend they were looking elsewhere, but their glances were too sharp, too hurried.

He recognised the look.
He had seen it before, though perhaps not directed at him.
It was the look people gave a crack in the pavement, unsure whether it would widen when they stepped near it.

He neither sped up nor slowed down.

The courtyard was usually bright at this hour, with the white petal tree glowing in the sun, but the cloud cover dulled its colours. A few petals drifted down regardless, fluttering gently until they reached the stone ground and settled without a sound.

“Shizukesa!”

Aki’s voice cut through the stillness in a burst of colour. She sprinted across the courtyard, her red hair flying wildly behind her, one hand gripping her schoolbag as if she had forgotten to fasten it.

“You could have waited,” she said, breath catching slightly. “We said we would walk together today.”

Shizukesa blinked. “I thought it would be inconvenient.”

“It is inconvenient when you vanish,” she replied, jabbing a finger at his arm with more concern than annoyance. “You made me think you were in the medical wing again.”

“I apologise.”

Aki waved her hand. “No, do not apologise. Just… stay near us today, alright?”

Before he could answer, Rin and Mira approached at a calmer pace.

Rin carried himself with a quiet alertness, shoulders slightly raised, eyes scanning the courtyard as if expecting trouble behind every tree and column. His dark blue hair had fallen slightly out of place, perhaps from lack of sleep, though his expression remained disciplined.

Mira had her usual soft composure, but her eyes seemed brighter, more focused, as if she were listening to the emotional atmosphere of the academy itself.

She looked at Shizukesa. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied.

Her gaze lingered on him. “Your wavelength feels contained today. Not calm. Contained.”

Aki frowned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Because today I would like good things only.”

Mira tilted her head slightly. “It is neither good nor bad. It is… deliberate. As if something inside him is holding itself together very tightly.”

Rin stepped closer. “You look a little unsteady.”

Shizukesa nodded with quiet honesty. “Something feels different.”

Aki immediately took his sleeve between her fingers. “If you faint again, I will… I will drag you to the infirmary myself.”

Rin sighed. “You can barely drag your schoolbag.”

“It is heavier than it looks,” Aki muttered.

Mira touched Shizukesa’s wrist lightly. “Did you dream anything last night?”

He shook his head. “I do not remember dreaming.”

She studied his expression. “Do you feel anything unusual now?”

Shizukesa paused. The same coldness from yesterday fluttered faintly under his skin, like a hidden thread tugging inside his chest. It wasn’t painful. Just persistent.

“I do not know,” he said quietly. “I feel… weight.”

Rin let out a slow breath. “You need to stay close to us for the next few days.”

Shizukesa frowned. “Why?”

Rin met his eyes with a seriousness that Shizukesa rarely saw from him. “Because whatever is inside you is no longer asleep. And if something intends to reach for you, it will have to pass through me first.”

Aki stared at him. Mira’s eyes widened slightly.

Rin continued in a low, unwavering voice.

“And I do not break. Not for beasts. Not for teachers. And not for whatever is watching you.”

The courtyard wind seemed to quieten in the space after his words.

Shizukesa didn’t understand the warmth that rose inside him, but it softened something that had been knotted tight since yesterday.

“Thank you,” he said.

Rin looked away as if the gratitude made him uncomfortable. “It is not a favour. It is common sense.”

Aki elbowed him gently. “It was cool. You can admit it.”

Rin ignored her.

Inside the academy, the atmosphere remained thick with unspoken tension. Teachers spoke more softly than usual. Some glanced at Shizukesa between lessons as if checking whether he might suddenly collapse or ignite.

In Prism Theory class, Kurobane began with no greeting.

“Your assignment today is simple. You will each learn how to recognise the earliest signs of emotional instability.”

Aki leaned towards Rin. “He is talking about yesterday, isn’t he.”

“He absolutely is,” Rin muttered.

Mira quietly took notes, but her gaze shifted to Shizukesa several times, checking his posture, his breathing, his eyes.

Kurobane walked between the desks as he spoke.
“Instability can arise from internal conflict, suppressed emotion, or external interference. When the emotional core becomes overwhelmed, manifestations can occur without conscious intent.”

Aki whispered, “He is forty percent teaching, sixty percent glaring at Shizukesa.”

“He is worried,” Mira said softly. “Not angry. Worried.”

By midday, the entire academy felt wrapped in a strange emotional fog. Even the corridors felt heavier, with conversations floating just above whispers.

But once lessons ended, the four of them headed to the back courtyard, seeking fresh air beneath the large white cherry tree.

The clouds had begun to clear, allowing shafts of sunlight to fall through the branches. White petals drifted down like slow-motion snow, catching the light before dropping gently to the ground.

Aki sat cross-legged on the grass, chewing her lunch with loud enthusiasm. “I swear I saw three teachers following us earlier.”

“You definitely did,” Rin said. “They have been tracking Shizukesa all day.”

Mira opened her lunchbox neatly. The smell of warm rice and ginger filled the air. “The academy wants to observe him, not frighten him.”

Aki wrinkled her nose. “It is working. I am frightened for him.”

Rin looked at Shizukesa. “How do you feel?”

Shizukesa watched a petal land on his knee before answering. “It feels like something is moving behind me. But when I turn, nothing is there.”

Aki swallowed. “That is the single most horrifying thing you have ever said.”

Mira closed her eyes for a moment, stretching her senses into the air. “I can feel something too. Faint. Like a trail.”

“A trail of what?” Rin asked.

“A presence,” Mira murmured, opening her eyes. “Something brushed against his wavelength.”

Shizukesa’s fingers curled slightly.

The coldness inside him deepened.

Rin immediately shifted, placing himself beside him. “Tell me where.”

Mira paused, concentrating. The courtyard fell unnaturally quiet, as if even the birds were listening.

Then she whispered, “Above.”

The four of them looked up.

Nothing.

Only the quiet sky and the branches of the cherry tree swaying lightly.

But Shizukesa felt it.
A faint pressure, like a gaze that had only just turned away.

Mira stepped closer to him. “Someone is reaching for you. I cannot tell how far away they are, but they are strong.”

Aki clenched her jaw. “Someone strong enough to hide from Mira? Brilliant. That is exactly what I wanted to hear today.”

Rin’s hand tightened around the strap of his practice sword. “We stay together. No matter what happens.”

A single white petal drifted down.

Then another.

One brushed the back of Shizukesa’s hand.
It glowed faintly, unlike any petal he had seen before.

Mira gasped. “That is not neutrality. That is a new emotional bloom.”

The petal shimmered with a soft, warm light before dissolving into dust that sparkled briefly in the air.

Aki whispered, “He has a new petal already.”

Rin looked at Shizukesa. “What emotion was that?”

Shizukesa stared at his empty palm.

“I do not know.”

But the warmth it left behind felt impossibly gentle.

And impossibly dangerous.