Fault Lines

Tokyo did not forgive quickly.

By morning, Renji’s face was everywhere.

Paused frames. Cropped angles. Headlines that used words like unknown weapon, electrical anomaly, unregistered ability. The footage from Shinjuku played on an endless loop: the moment his hands lit up, the instant the station went dark, the chaos that followed.

They never showed Hina collapsing.

They never showed the electricity misbehaving before he touched it.

Narratives liked clean villains.

The underground safe house Haruto had dragged them to was an old municipal shelter, buried beneath layers of forgotten infrastructure. Concrete walls. Exposed pipes. A constant, low-frequency hum from somewhere far above.

Hina sat on the floor, back against the wall, eyes half-closed. She could feel the city again, but distantly, like a limb that had fallen asleep. The current was guarded now. Suspicious.

Renji stood on the opposite side of the room.

He hadn’t slept.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, for the third time.

Haruto didn’t look up from his laptop. “Intent doesn’t change outcome.”

Renji flinched.

Hina opened her eyes. “Stop.”

Haruto sighed and leaned back. “I’m not blaming you. I’m stating a fact. Which the authorities are very fond of.”

On the screen, a government press briefing flickered silently. A spokesperson stood rigid, flanked by military officers.

The situation is under control.

Citizens should remain calm.

Unidentified individuals may be involved.

Hina felt the hum tighten.

“They’re going to come for you,” she said quietly to Renji.

He nodded. “I know.”

“And not just arrest,” Haruto added. “Containment. Study. Weaponization, if they get impatient.”

Renji laughed once, short and hollow. “I didn’t even pass my grad exams.”

Silence swallowed the room again.

Hina pushed herself to her feet. The floor responded faintly, a subtle grounding that steadied her balance. “This is what he wanted.”

Haruto glanced at her. “Ishikawa.”

“He split the system,” she continued. “Forced multiple failures, just enough to make us react. And when Renji stepped in…” She shook her head. “He didn’t hijack the electricity. He nudged it. Like steering a fall.”

Renji looked up. “He made me feel like I was choosing.”

“That’s his trick,” Hina said. “Control without force.”

As if summoned by the thought, the lights dimmed slightly.

Not a blackout. A suggestion.

Hina stiffened. Her hand dropped instinctively to the floor. The current beneath them wasn’t surging. It was aligning.

Haruto’s screens lit up with alerts. “Substation activity spiking. Multiple districts. He’s rerouting load away from residential zones.”

Renji frowned. “That’s… good, isn’t it?”

“No,” Hina said. “It’s careful.”

The city wasn’t screaming.

It was holding its breath.

The first explosion hit an hour later.

Not a power plant. Not infrastructure.

A mobile military convoy, rerouted under emergency protocol to guard a transformer hub. The vehicles never stood a chance. Electricity tore through their systems simultaneously, detonating fuel cells in a precise, cascading pattern.

No civilians injured.

The message was clear.

“He’s setting boundaries,” Haruto muttered. “Telling them where they’re not allowed to go.”

Renji clenched his fists. Sparks leapt instinctively, then died as he forced them down. “He’s escalating because of me.”

Hina shook her head. “Because of us.”

She moved toward the center of the room, sitting cross-legged despite the protest in her muscles. Her palms pressed flat against the concrete. She didn’t push. She didn’t pull.

She listened.

The city unfolded beneath her awareness. Power lines like veins. Substations like hearts. And threaded through it all, a presence that didn’t belong to the grid but wore it perfectly.

Cold. Exact. Watching.

“He knows you’re here,” Renji said softly.

“Yes,” Hina replied. “But he’s not looking at me.”

She opened her eyes. “He’s looking at you.”

Renji swallowed. “Why?”

“Because you can do what he does,” she said. “And because you’re unstable.”

That one hurt. He nodded anyway.

Haruto’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then froze. “We have a problem.”

On the screen: a live feed from a hospital in Minato Ward. Backup generators were online. Patients were being evacuated in an orderly, calm line.

Too calm.

Hina felt it immediately. The grounding beneath the hospital was… blocked. Not overwhelmed. Sealed.

“He’s isolating it,” she whispered. “Cutting it off from the earth.”

Renji’s blood ran cold. “That’ll overload everything inside.”

“Not immediately,” Haruto said. “Five, maybe six minutes.”

Hina was already on her feet. “He’s forcing our hand.”

Renji stepped in front of her. “No. He’s forcing mine.”

She met his gaze. For a moment, the tension between them was raw and unfiltered. Fear. Guilt. Trust stretched thin.

“If you go alone,” she said, “he controls the field.”

“And if you come,” Renji shot back, “he uses you against me.”

Haruto raised his voice. “We don’t have time for this.”

Hina exhaled slowly. The city pulsed once, like a heartbeat.

“Then we change the rules,” she said.

She placed her hand against Renji’s chest.

Not forcefully. Not dramatically.

Grounded.

“For once,” she continued, “we don’t react. We arrive quiet.”

Renji felt it immediately. The electricity inside him didn’t vanish, but it settled. Like a storm that realized it didn’t need to rage to exist.

Haruto stared. “That’s new.”

Hina nodded. “I’m not just grounding the city anymore.”

She looked at Renji. “I’m grounding you.”

For the first time since the accident, Renji smiled without panic.

“Then let’s go break his perfect system.”

Beneath the hospital, deep in a sealed control chamber, Dr. Kaoru Ishikawa watched the approaching disturbances converge.

Two signals. No chaos. No surge.

Interesting.

“They’re learning,” he murmured.

The currents around him shifted, eager.

“Good,” Ishikawa said softly. “So am I.”

Aboveground, the hospital lights flickered.

And did not go out.