The Cracks Beneath the Calm

Morning light crept softly through the windows, spilling pale gold across the tatami mats.

Ayame stirred awake, blinking against the gentle brightness. Her eyes fell on Kaito, still asleep on his futon, chest rising and falling steadily—but she sensed something was off. His hands were clenched lightly, and a faint tension lingered in his posture.

She rose quietly, not wanting to wake him, and padded over to the mirror. Her reflection greeted her: hair slightly mussed, eyes still heavy with sleep. She felt tired, but a small, tired smile curved her lips.

After splashing her face with cold water and brushing her hair into place, Ayame dressed and slipped downstairs.

The living room was calm. Renjiro sat on the sofa, reading a thick scroll, posture relaxed but alert in that way only an older brother could manage.

From the kitchen came the soft clatter of dishes and the faint smell of breakfast. Akari moved with quiet efficiency, humming softly as she prepared the morning meal.

Ayame paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The house was waking slowly, each sound and movement ordinary, peaceful… almost a stark contrast to the tension she'd glimpsed in Kaito just moments ago.

She let out a soft breath, then stepped forward, ready to greet the day.

Kaito stirred on his futon, blinking against the creeping morning light. He rubbed at his eyes and slowly sat up, the events of the night still lingering in his mind like a shadow.

Downstairs, the smell of breakfast drifted through the house. Ayame quickly went to freshen up, brushing her hair and adjusting her clothes, her small smile still in place despite the lingering tiredness from early morning.

Kaito made his way to the living room, slumping onto the sofa. Renjiro gave him a brief, knowing glance but said nothing. The breakfast table was already set, and the smell of warm rice and tea filled the room.

They ate in quiet, the sound of clinking bowls and gentle sips the only interruption. Ayame finished quickly and excused herself to get ready for the day.

Once she was gone, Akari approached Kaito, her steps quiet but purposeful. She crouched slightly to meet his eyes, her expression gentle but searching.
"Kaito… what were you doing last night?" she asked softly.

"Sleeping," he muttered, keeping his gaze on the floor.

Akari's eyes narrowed slightly, noticing something off. "Then… why is your shirt torn?"

Kaito froze. He hadn't noticed until now—or hadn't allowed himself to think about it. Slowly, he looked down, and his expression shifted. His brow furrowed, jaw tight, and a strange mix of fear and confusion flashed in his eyes.

"…I… I don't know," he said quietly, voice low. His hands instinctively gripped the edges of the sofa, as if grounding himself.

Akari studied him for a moment, her intuition telling her that whatever had happened last night wasn't just a dream.

Akari watched Kaito disappear up the stairs, the playful edge in her expression fading as the house grew quiet again.

She turned and headed upstairs, her steps light as she reached her room. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open.

Haruto was still asleep on the futon beside the bed.

At first glance, he looked peaceful—but a second look said otherwise. His brows were drawn tight, his breathing shallow and uneven, like he was trapped somewhere far from the room. One of his hands twitched faintly, fingers curling as if grasping at something unseen.

Akari stopped near the doorway.

"…You're not fine, are you?" she murmured.

She moved closer, kneeling beside him. For a moment, she considered waking him—but she'd seen this before. Waking him now would only leave him shaken and confused.

So instead, she gently pulled the blanket up, smoothing it over his shoulder.

"Rest," she whispered. "I've got you."

Haruto stirred slightly, then settled again.

Akari let out a quiet breath and stood. She changed quickly, then left the room, closing the door with care.

Downstairs, Kaito and Ayame were already there, both dressed and ready. Ayame adjusted her collar, while Kaito lingered near the sofa, his earlier confidence nowhere to be seen.

Renjiro was waiting by the entrance.

"Time," he said.

Without another word, he led Kaito and Ayame out toward the academy.

The door shut behind them.

Upstairs, in Akari's room, Haruto remained asleep—
still bound to a dream that refused to let go.

The streets were calm in the early morning light.

Renjiro walked ahead with steady steps, Ayame and Kaito following beside him. The academy towers rose in the distance, their shadows stretching across the stone path as students slowly began to gather.

Neither Ayame nor Kaito spoke much. Kaito's hands were tucked into his pockets, his thoughts still tangled from the night before. Ayame walked quietly, her usual energy subdued but focused.

As they reached the academy gates, Renjiro stopped.

"That's as far as I go," he said, turning back toward them. "Don't cause trouble."

Ayame smiled lightly. "We won't."

Kaito gave a short nod. "See you later."

Renjiro watched as they walked through the gates, then turned and headed back down the street.

Inside the academy, the classroom buzzed with low voices and shuffling feet.

Haruki sat at his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the entrance. His expression was tense—not angry, but unsettled. What had happened with Haruto yesterday still weighed on him, lingering in his thoughts.

The door slid open.

Ayame and Kaito stepped inside.

Haruki's gaze snapped toward them. For a brief moment, his shoulders stiffened—then his expression eased slightly as he watched them walk to their seats. Kaito and Ayame placed their bags down, the soft thud echoing in the room.

Haruki hesitated, then stood and walked over.

"…Where's Haruto?" he asked quietly.

Ayame looked up at him, calm. "He'll come late today. Don't worry—he's fine."

Haruki searched her face for a moment.

Then he let out a small breath and smiled, relieved. "I see. Thanks."

Without another word, he turned and returned to his seat.

Moments later, the classroom door slid open again.

Daigo entered, closing the door firmly behind him.

"All right," he said, his voice cutting through the room. "Take your seats."

The chatter died instantly.

"Attendance first."

The class settled into silence.

Meanwhile, at home

Akari was standing in the hall when—

The door upstairs flew open.

Footsteps slammed down the stairs.

"I don't want to die!"

She barely had time to turn before Haruto stumbled toward her. Blood dripped from him as he ran, his breath uneven, panic written across his face.

"I don't want to die!" he shouted again.

He crashed into her and wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if letting go would make everything end.

Akari caught him instinctively, holding him upright as his body trembled against hers.

"I don't want to die…" he choked, burying his face against her.

Akari tightened her grip, shock flashing through her eyes—but she didn't let him fall.

"I'm here," she said firmly, pulling him close. "You're not dying. I've got you."

Haruto clung to her, breathing hard, his fear spilling into the quiet hall as the house seemed to freeze around them.

Haruto's grip tightened.

Akari felt him shaking violently in her arms.

Only then did she notice it—
his left eye was shut tight, blood smeared across that side of his face, matting his lashes and soaking into his hair. Tears mixed with it as his shoulders rose and fell in broken breaths.

"Don't leave me, Aka…" he cried, his voice raw, desperate.
"I don't want to die… I don't want to die…"

Akari's heart lurched.

She cupped the back of his head, pressing him gently against her shoulder. "Hey—listen to me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving. You're safe, Haruto. You're safe."

Her words came fast, steady, even as her hands trembled.

"Breathe," she whispered. "Just breathe with me."

He tried.

But his sobs only grew weaker.

His grip slackened without warning.

"Haruto—?"

His body suddenly gave in.

Akari barely had time to react before his weight fell forward. She caught him, stumbling a step back, shock flashing across her face as she held him upright.

"Haruto!" she called, panic breaking through her calm.

But he didn't answer.

Unconscious, breathing shallowly, he hung in her arms—
the echo of his last words still ringing in the hall.

"I don't want to die…"

The house fell silent again.

And Akari realized—

Whatever Haruto had seen, it wasn't just a dream.

Akari moved fast.

She lowered Haruto onto the sofa, guiding him down carefully despite the fear tightening in her chest. She adjusted his position so he wouldn't slip, brushing the hair from his face once to be sure he was breathing.

He was.

Shallow—but steady.

"…Stay here," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Then she turned and ran.

Her feet pounded up the stairs as she rushed into her room. The door slid open hard, the sudden motion stirring the still air inside.

Her eyes scanned the room instantly.

No broken windows.
No overturned furniture.
No sign of anyone else.

But then she saw it.

Blood.

Dark drops stained the floor, scattered unevenly, leading back toward the futon.

Akari stepped closer, her breath catching.

The blood wasn't spread like a struggle.

It started there.

Right at the edge of Haruto's futon.

She knelt slowly, fingers hovering just above the stain, her mind racing.

No footprints.
No marks.
No signs of an intruder.

Only the quiet room…
and proof that whatever happened to Haruto had begun while he was asleep.

Akari's steps were hurried as she rushed back downstairs, her heart still pounding from the shock of Haruto running into her.

Haruto lay slumped on the sofa, limp and trembling from the fainting spell. She knelt beside him, gently brushing his hair from his face.

"Haruto… stay with me," she murmured, her fingers lightly tracing his jaw, trying to rouse him without startling him.

She carefully checked his body for wounds—his arms, chest, and legs—but found nothing.

Nothing.

Except…

Blood.

A thin streak ran from his left eye, glistening in the morning light.

Akari froze, her mind racing.

What… could do this? she thought, tracing the edge of the stain without touching it. There's no cut… no mark… nothing on his skin. Why is it only his eye?

Her heart tightened. She had no answers, only a creeping dread that something was seriously wrong—something tied to Haruto himself.

She stayed there, silent, holding him gently, staring at his face. The house was quiet, but the unease in her chest refused to fade.

"…Haruto…" she whispered softly, more to herself than him, "…what happened to you?"

The front door slid open.

Akari looked up sharply.

Renjiro stepped inside, loosening his outer coat, his expression calm—until his eyes fell on the sofa.

He stopped.

"…I thought you both would be here when I got back," he said slowly. "You weren't on the way home."

Then he noticed Haruto.

Sleeping. Unnaturally still.

Renjiro's brows drew together as he stepped closer. "Why is Haruto sleeping in the hall?"

Akari stood, turning toward him. "He wasn't sleeping," she said quietly. "He ran down the stairs. Panicking."

Renjiro's gaze sharpened. "Panicking?"

"He was crying," Akari continued, her voice steady but tense. "Saying he didn't want to die. He collapsed into me and fainted right after."

Renjiro knelt beside the sofa at once, checking Haruto's breathing, his pulse—quick, practiced movements.

"No wounds," Akari added quickly. "I checked. Upstairs too. No one was there."

Renjiro paused. "Then the blood?"

Akari hesitated, then pointed gently. "Only his left eye. That's all I could find."

Renjiro's expression darkened slightly—not with fear, but concern.

"…An eye issue," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"I don't know what it is," Akari said. "It started while he was asleep. The blood on the floor… it was near his futon."

Renjiro straightened slowly, looking down at Haruto's face.

"He's been under a lot of pressure," he said after a moment. "Too much, maybe."

Akari clenched her hands. "So this isn't normal."

"No," Renjiro replied. "But it's not something we ignore either."

He placed a blanket over Haruto, his tone firm but controlled.

"When he wakes up," Renjiro said, "we talk. Until then… let him rest."

Akari nodded, though the unease in her chest didn't fade.

Whatever was happening to Haruto—

It had already begun.

About an hour later, the house remained still.

Haruto stirred on the sofa.

His breathing changed first, growing uneven, then his fingers curled slightly against the blanket. Slowly, his eyes opened.

Light filtered in through the window, too bright, too sharp.

He winced.

His head throbbed faintly, a dull ache spreading behind his eyes—especially the left one. He raised a hand instinctively, pressing his fingers against his temple.

"…Why does it hurt…?" he murmured.

No answer came.

Akari was nearby, seated on the floor with her back against the sofa. When she sensed movement, she looked up—but she didn't speak.

Neither did Renjiro, who stood near the doorway, arms crossed.

Haruto shifted, confused. He looked around the room slowly, as if expecting something to jump out at him.

"…Did I fall asleep?" he asked quietly.

Akari met his eyes. For a moment, it looked like she might say something.

But she didn't.

"You fainted," she said simply.

Haruto frowned. "I don't remember."

That was all.

No questions followed. No explanations were offered.

He sat up carefully this time. The pain behind his left eye pulsed once, sharp enough to make him pause, but it faded as he stayed still.

Something felt wrong.

Not fear—
absence.

Like a missing piece he couldn't reach.

Akari watched him closely, noting how he avoided sudden movement, how his hand lingered near his eye without him realizing it.

Renjiro said nothing.

The silence stayed.

And though Haruto couldn't remember what had happened—

His body clearly did.

Akari broke the silence first.

"Do you want me to bring breakfast?" she asked gently.

Haruto looked up at her, a little surprised by the normalcy of the question. He hesitated, then nodded. "…Yeah. That'd be nice."

Akari stood and moved toward the kitchen, but she didn't rush. She paused once, glancing back at him as if checking that he was still steady, then disappeared from view.

Renjiro remained where he was.

Haruto shifted slightly on the sofa, then frowned. He rubbed his left eye without thinking.

Renjiro noticed.

"…Does your eye hurt?" he asked, not accusing—just observant.

Haruto froze for a second. "Huh?"

"You've been touching it," Renjiro said. "Feels off?"

Haruto thought about it. The pain wasn't sharp anymore—just a lingering soreness, like pressure that had already passed.

"…Maybe," he said slowly. "It's not bad. Just… tired, I guess."

Renjiro nodded once, as if filing that away. "If it gets worse, you say something."

Haruto nodded back.

Akari returned a moment later with breakfast, setting it down quietly. She glanced at Haruto's face—his eyes—then looked away, pretending she hadn't checked.

"Eat slowly," she said. "No rushing."

Haruto picked up the bowl, still unsure why his body felt heavier than his thoughts.

He didn't remember what happened.

But everyone else was watching him a little too closely.

And that told him enough.

Haruto's spoon hovered midair.

The room slowly faded around him—not completely, but enough that the sounds dulled, like he was sinking underwater. The pressure behind his left eye returned faintly, and his thoughts began to spiral, one after another, faster than he could follow.

Why does my body feel like this?
What did I forget?
Something's wrong…

"Haruto."

Akari's voice cut through it.

He blinked hard, the room snapping back into focus. His spoon clinked softly against the bowl as his hand lowered.

"…Yeah?" he said, a little startled.

Akari watched him for a second longer, then relaxed slightly when she saw his eyes clear. "You spaced out."

"Sorry," Haruto muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just tired."

Renjiro, who had been leaning against the wall, spoke then.

"By the way," he said evenly, "what did you tell Mikasa-sensei yesterday?"

Haruto looked up. "Huh?"

"You talked to her after class," Renjiro continued. "She mentioned something about it this morning."

Haruto paused, then gave a small, awkward smile. "Oh… that."

Akari glanced between them.

"I just complained a little," Haruto said, trying to sound casual. "I told her you guys don't really take us outside much. Training's always inside or controlled… and I don't really get to meet family members either. She's my aunt—and Mimi's my cousin."

Renjiro raised an eyebrow. "You complained."

"Well—yeah," Haruto said quickly. "Not like, angrily. I just said maybe seeing the outside world would help. You know… real experience."

The room went quiet again.

Akari studied Haruto's face, searching for something unspoken.

Renjiro exhaled slowly. "…You always say things at interesting times."

Haruto shrugged, but his fingers tightened slightly around the bowl.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," he said. "I just… thought it might matter."

No one responded right away.

And though Haruto didn't realize it—

That small conversation might have mattered more than he knew.

Haruto shifted slightly on the sofa, his voice quiet but steady.

"Can you guys… arrange a party?"

Akari tilted her head, surprised. "A party… for whom?"

He looked down at his hands, voice tight and hesitant. "…For Mimi. She's turning five… two days later."

Renjiro raised an eyebrow. "Why now?"

Haruto swallowed hard. "…I couldn't do anything for her before. The only thing I gave her was a chocolate. When I told her that her birthday would be a big party if her brother was there, she said it already would be. Because I'm here."

His lips pressed together. "…That's when I realized Aunty never told her she had a big brother. And I won't let her know. Ever."

He paused, voice dropping to a whisper. "…Only if that day I hadn't given up… Enruto would be here with us."

Tears ran quietly down his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away.

Akari exhaled softly. "Then we'll do it. We'll make sure she has a birthday to remember."

Haruto managed a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "…Thanks."

Haruto finished the last of his food, setting the bowl down quietly.

Akari glanced at him and then at Renjiro. "Come on," she said. "We need to head outside."

Haruto frowned slightly. "Where?"

Renjiro's expression was calm but firm. "Dr. Ken wants to meet you. So… let's go."

Haruto nodded and rose, still a little sluggish from the morning, and followed them out.

The streets were quiet, the soft morning sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Leaves rustled gently in the breeze as they walked, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly.

Akari glanced at Haruto. "You feeling okay?"

Haruto ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah… just tired."

Renjiro kept pace beside him, his gaze scanning the surroundings but occasionally flicking toward Haruto. "Don't push yourself too hard today. Take it easy if you need."

Haruto nodded again, quiet for a moment. Then he muttered, almost to himself, "I wonder what Dr. Ken wants to talk about…"

Akari's lips curved slightly. "Maybe he has some training for you. Or… something else."

Haruto looked between them. "Something else?"

Renjiro gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "We'll find out soon enough. For now… just keep walking."

The three of them continued down the streets, the morning sun warm but gentle.

Akari glanced at Haruto as he walked, his gaze distant. "Do you… Ever think about your cousin brother Kazuki?" she asked softly.

Haruto's steps slowed slightly. He didn't look up. "…Sometimes," he murmured. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the breeze.

Renjiro's eyes softened, but he didn't speak immediately, letting Haruto find his words.

Akari continued gently, "Do you… miss him?"

Haruto's jaw tightened. "Yeah." His fingers clenched slightly at his sides. "…I remember everything. His laugh, the way he'd tease me, the afternoons we spent training together. I… I still can't believe he's gone."

Akari fell silent, giving him space. Renjiro's hand brushed the edge of his coat pocket as if unsure whether to intervene.

"I don't talk about it much," Haruto admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "Because… it hurts too much. But sometimes, when I'm alone… I just… wish he was here."

Akari's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing, letting him carry the weight of his thoughts.

Renjiro finally spoke, his voice calm but steady. "He'd want you to keep going, Haruto. To keep moving forward. Not to stop yourself because of what happened."

Haruto nodded faintly, swallowing hard. "…I know. I just… I miss him. Every day."

The streets stretched on ahead, empty enough that their footsteps sounded like the only rhythm in the world.

Akari placed a hand lightly on Haruto's shoulder. "I know you do. And it's okay to miss him… but you're not alone, Haruto. We're here too."

Haruto looked at her for a moment, a faint, fleeting smile brushing his lips. Then he looked forward again, letting the quiet settle between them, his mind carrying both memory and the weight of the present.

The streets gradually opened up to the hospital grounds, the building rising above them with clean stone walls and tall windows that reflected the morning sun.

Haruto walked between Akari and Renjiro, his steps quieter now, weighed down by the conversation about Kazuki. Akari kept a gentle hand near his shoulder, while Renjiro maintained a protective distance.

As they reached the entrance, the heavy wooden doors swung open. A faint scent of herbs and antiseptic mixed in the air. Haruto hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

The main hall was bright and spacious. A few patients and staff moved quietly along the corridors, their footsteps soft on the polished floor.

At the end of the hall, a figure in a white coat waited. Dr. Ken—tall, calm, and always precise—looked up as they approached. His eyes softened slightly at the sight of Haruto.

"Ah, Haruto," he said in his steady voice, bowing slightly. "I was expecting you."

Haruto nodded quietly. "Good morning, Dr. Ken."

Akari gave a polite nod, while Renjiro remained observant, scanning the hall subtly.

Dr. Ken's gaze shifted between them. "I hear there's been… some unusual stress lately," he said carefully, addressing Haruto without directly naming the incident. "I wanted to see how you're doing, and discuss a few things about your training."

Haruto swallowed and shifted slightly. "Yes… I'm okay," he said softly.

Dr. Ken nodded. "Good. Come, let's sit." He gestured toward a small sitting area near the back of the hall, where a wooden table and chairs waited. "We have some matters to discuss that may affect your upcoming training."

Haruto followed, Akari and Renjiro flanking him silently.

As they settled, Dr. Ken folded his hands neatly on the table. His tone was calm but carried weight. "Before we begin, I want to understand something about you, Haruto. How you respond under extreme stress… how your body and mind react."

Haruto's gaze fell to the floor, quietly anticipating the conversation. He didn't speak immediately, letting the weight of Dr. Ken's words sink in.

The quiet hum of the hospital seemed to grow around them, a calm contrast to the tension building in the room.

Dr. Ken's eyes softened again, this time with a hint of something else—concern.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll take this step by step. But it's important I know everything, Haruto. Everything."

Haruto nodded faintly, unsure if he was ready—but he knew he couldn't avoid it.

The conversation was about to begin.

Dr. Ken stood and gestured toward a soft, reclining examination table.

"Lie down here, Haruto," he said calmly. "It will only take a moment."

Haruto hesitated for a second, then carefully settled himself on the table, his hands resting on his lap. Akari and Renjiro stood silently nearby, watching intently.

Dr. Ken held his hands slightly above Haruto's body. A faint green glow shimmered from his palms, casting soft light across the room. The glow pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat.

"Stay still," Dr. Ken instructed. "I need to scan your body and see how it reacts."

Haruto's eyes widened slightly as the glow spread over him. He felt a strange warmth, not uncomfortable, but different—like an invisible current brushing across his skin.

Dr. Ken moved his hands slowly, deliberately, over Haruto's chest, shoulders, arms, and back, his green aura tracing lines as if mapping something invisible.

The glow brightened briefly as he hovered over Haruto's left eye, then moved along the side of his head, as if sensing deeper layers beneath the surface.

Haruto swallowed, gripping the edge of the table lightly. "It… feels… weird," he whispered.

"It's normal," Dr. Ken said softly, eyes never leaving Haruto. "I'm only observing. No pain, no harm."

The green light flowed around him, gliding over his torso, arms, legs, and finally back toward his head. Haruto could feel a subtle pull, like the glow was reading not just his body, but something beneath—his energy, his stress, his very core.

Renjiro's gaze was sharp, but he didn't move. Akari's fingers twitched slightly as she watched, both mesmerized and worried.

Finally, Dr. Ken lowered his hands. The green glow faded, leaving only the soft ambient light of the room.

Haruto exhaled slowly, blinking. "Done…?"

Dr. Ken nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Yes. That gives me a good picture. But it also tells me… there's more we need to discuss."

Haruto swallowed, unsure if he was ready—but deep down, he knew there was no turning back now.

Dr. Ken slowly lowered his glowing hand, the green light fading as the room returned to normal. He straightened up, his expression calm—but far more serious than before.

"I'll explain this simply," he said. "What I saw isn't an injury, and it isn't an illness in the usual sense."

Haruto sat up slightly. "Then… what is it?"

Dr. Ken paused, choosing his words. "Your body reacts to pressure differently. When your emotions spike—fear, grief, anger—your system doesn't just feel it. It acts on it."

Haruto blinked. "…Acts how?"

Dr. Ken gestured gently toward Haruto's face. "Your left side responds first. Especially your eye. It's where the reaction becomes visible."

Haruto frowned harder. "So… it's like… stress?"

Akari's fingers tightened against her sleeve.

Renjiro didn't move at all.

Dr. Ken gave a slow nod. "Stress is part of it, yes. But not the whole picture. Your body isn't just reacting—it's containing something. When the strain becomes too much, the balance breaks, and symptoms appear."

Haruto stared at him blankly. "Containing… what?"

Dr. Ken didn't answer that directly. "That's something you're not ready to understand yet."

Silence fell.

Haruto scratched the back of his head, forcing a weak laugh. "So… if I rest more, I'll be fine, right?"

Akari's eyes widened slightly.

Renjiro finally spoke, his voice low. "That's not what he's saying."

Haruto looked between them. "Huh?"

Dr. Ken glanced at Akari and Renjiro—just briefly. It was enough.

"You don't need to understand everything now," Dr. Ken said. "But you do need to listen. Pushing yourself emotionally or physically could trigger another episode. Next time… it may not stop at your eye."

Haruto tilted his head, still confused. "Episode?"

Akari swallowed. "Haruto… he means it could get worse."

Renjiro clenched his fist. "Much worse."

Haruto laughed again, uneasy this time. "You guys are overreacting. I feel fine."

Dr. Ken didn't smile.

"That's exactly the problem," he said quietly.

Akari looked away, her expression tight.

Renjiro stared at the floor, understanding fully now what Dr. Ken hadn't said aloud—that whatever Haruto was holding inside him, his body was already struggling to keep it sealed.

And Haruto… still didn't realize how close he was to breaking.

Haruto shifted on the bed, stretching his neck slightly. As he did, his eyes caught something in the reflection of the glass cabinet across the room.

Someone was sitting in the corridor.

Black hair tied neatly, posture calm, eyes lowered to a book resting on her lap.

"…Misaki?" Haruto muttered.

Akari glanced toward the door. "Misaki?"

Haruto smiled faintly. "Yeah. She's from my class."

Before either of them could stop him, he slid off the bed. "I'll be back. Don't start any serious talks without me."

Renjiro opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Haruto—"

Too late.

Haruto pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor, the soft click of it shutting behind him echoing far louder than it should have.

The moment he was gone, the air in the room changed.

Dr. Ken straightened, the faint green glow around his hands fading completely.

"There are things I could tell just from the scan," he said. "But I need to know something first."

Akari looked up. Renjiro turned fully toward him.

"Did anything happen after the night of the attack?" Dr. Ken asked. "Anything unusual. Physical. Sudden."

Akari hesitated. Then quietly, she said,
"This morning."

Renjiro exhaled through his nose. "He ran downstairs. Blood was coming from his left eye. He was terrified—kept saying he didn't want to die. Then he collapsed."

Dr. Ken's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened slightly.

"I thought so," he said.

Akari's voice trembled. "What does it mean?"

Dr. Ken folded his hands.
"The bleeding isn't the problem. It's the signal."

Renjiro frowned. "Signal of what?"

"That he's carrying more than his mind can stabilize," Dr. Ken replied. "The body steps in when the psyche is overloaded. In Haruto's case, it chose the eye as a release point."

Akari shook her head. "Overloaded by what? Stress? Pain?"

Dr. Ken looked at her directly.
"Fear."

The word settled heavily between them.

Renjiro stiffened. "Fear of what?"

Dr. Ken paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Not something abstract. Not danger in front of him. This is deep, sustained fear—something he's been bracing against for a long time."

Akari whispered, "He doesn't talk about being scared."

"That's exactly why it's dangerous," Dr. Ken said. "He doesn't acknowledge it. He suppresses it. Every time he does, the pressure builds."

Renjiro's jaw tightened. "So what is he afraid of?"

Dr. Ken looked down briefly.
"Loss. Repetition. Being left behind again."

Akari's hands clenched. "Again…"

Dr. Ken nodded.
"There is something he believes will happen if he fails—something he thinks he won't survive a second time."

Renjiro asked quietly, "And the eye?"

"When the fear spikes suddenly," Dr. Ken said, "his system attempts an emergency release. If he stays calm, the pressure redistributes and he recovers. If he resists—if he panics—he collapses."

Akari swallowed hard.
"So the bleeding is a warning."

"Yes," Dr. Ken said. "Not of death. Of overload."

Renjiro looked away. "And if we ignore it?"

Dr. Ken's voice lowered.
"Then one day the warning won't be enough."

Silence filled the room.

Akari spoke softly. "So we protect him… from fear?"

Dr. Ken met her eyes.
"You help him feel safe. You don't let him believe he's facing things alone. And above all—"

He paused.

"—you don't let him think dying would be easier than continuing."

Outside, laughter echoed faintly down the corridor.

Inside the room, they realized just how close Haruto had already come to believing exactly that.

Dr. Ken moved to the chair near the wall and sat down slowly, as if the weight of the room had finally caught up to him.

"There's something I want to ask," he said.

Akari and Renjiro both looked at him.

"…Go on," Renjiro said.

Dr. Ken folded his hands together.
"Why don't you let Haruto remain as he is?"

Akari stiffened.

"You care for him deeply," Dr. Ken continued. "You watch him constantly. You protect him. You adjust your lives around him." He looked up. "Why?"

Renjiro frowned. "Because he's family."

Dr. Ken nodded once.
"Even though he's sick?"

Akari's breath caught. "That doesn't change anything."

Dr. Ken didn't argue.
"You put more effort into him than into Ayame or Kaito. But that effort won't change the outcome."

The words landed heavily.

"You're wasting yourselves," he said calmly. "I don't know the future—but I do know this: Haruto is not going to live a long life."

Akari's hands trembled. "Don't say that."

Dr. Ken looked at her, not unkindly.
"It would be easier for you," he went on, "to focus on the others. Ayame and Kaito have no abnormalities. No instability. They will live full lives."

Renjiro's voice dropped. "And Haruto?"

Dr. Ken exhaled.
"Haruto is different."

He leaned back slightly.

"I've known him since the day he was born," he said. "As a baby. As a child. And now at eight." His eyes narrowed. "Every time I examine him, something is different. His emotional balance. His responses. His internal state. They never stabilize the same way twice."

Akari whispered, "But you said he's improving."

"He is," Dr. Ken agreed. "But improvement does not mean longevity."

Silence stretched.

"The day he was born," Dr. Ken said quietly, "his parents feared only one thing."

Renjiro looked up sharply. "What?"

"That if the truth about him was ever revealed to his siblings," Dr. Ken said, "he would be alone."

Akari swallowed. "Alone…?"

"Yes," Dr. Ken replied. "Because once he understands what he is—once others understand—it becomes very easy to distance yourself."

Renjiro clenched his fists. "You still haven't said what that truth is."

Dr. Ken looked at the floor for a long moment.

"The reason," he said, "is because Haruto is… an abnormal."

The word hung in the air, cold and final.

Akari's voice shook. "You're saying we should give up on him?"

Dr. Ken looked up at her then.
"I'm saying the world eventually will."

Another silence followed—this one heavier.

Outside the room, Haruto laughed faintly at something Misaki said.

Inside, Akari stood.

"No," she said firmly.

Dr. Ken looked at her.

"If the world is going to abandon him," Akari continued, "then that's exactly why we won't."

Renjiro stepped forward beside her.
"You may see an abnormal," he said. "But we see a child who's still here."

Dr. Ken watched them both. For the first time, something unreadable crossed his face.

"…Then," he said quietly, "be prepared."

"For what?" Akari asked.

"For the day," Dr. Ken replied, "when staying with him will hurt more than letting go."

Outside the room, Haruto sat on the bench beside Misaki, his legs swinging slightly as he leaned back against the wall.

Misaki stared ahead, her hands clenched in her lap.

After a moment, she spoke.
"So… why are you here?"

Haruto blinked and turned to her. "Dr. Ken wanted to see me."

He hesitated, then added lightly, "Anyway… why are you here?"

The moment he said it, Misaki's expression changed.

Her jaw tightened. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

"…You really don't know," she said.

Haruto frowned. "Know what?"

She let out a shaky breath, then another—until suddenly it all came out.

"My dad," she said, her voice breaking, "he's sick. Really sick. He's been here for days."

Haruto froze.

"I've been missing classes," Misaki continued, tears spilling over now. "I sit here every day after school. I thought—" Her voice cracked. "I thought you knew."

"I—I didn't," Haruto said quickly. "Misaki, I swear—"

She turned to him, eyes red.
"That's exactly it."

Her hands balled into fists.
"You don't even know what's happening to me, and you still call yourself my friend."

Haruto's chest tightened. "That's not fair. You never told me."

Misaki shook her head hard.
"A real friend wouldn't need to be told."

The words hit harder than anything else that day.

"I'm always listening to you," she said through tears. "Your fears. Your nightmares. Your silence. But when it's me—when I'm breaking— you're not even there."

Haruto stood up. "Misaki, I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to—"

But she was already turning away.

"I don't want to hear it," she said, her voice small and raw. "Not today."

She wiped her eyes roughly and ran down the corridor, her footsteps fading.

Haruto stood there, his hands clenched at his sides.

"…Am I really that bad of a friend?" he whispered.

He sat back down slowly, staring at the floor.

How could I not know?
How could I miss something like that?

His thoughts spiraled, tightening around his chest.

"…I didn't know," he said again, quieter now. "I swear I didn't."

But the hallway didn't answer.

Suddenly, he stood up again—this time abruptly.

"No," he muttered. "I can't just sit here."

Without looking back toward the room, Haruto ran in the opposite direction—away from Misaki, away from the hospital room, away from the words that wouldn't stop echoing in his head.

You're not a real friend.

And the corridor swallowed him whole.

Dr. Ken leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp.
"Akari… you should start accepting the things I'm telling you about Haruto. You have to. I know you already understand, deep down, what he is."

Akari's hands clenched in her lap. Her voice was firm, almost defiant.
"He isn't abnormal. He's… he's like a younger brother to me. I won't hear otherwise."

Dr. Ken's expression remained steady, unshaken.
"See, that's why I want him to join The Shinobi Vanguard Tournament."

Akari's eyes widened. "No! He can't. He isn't ready. He's too young. It's dangerous—he can't do it."

Renjiro stepped forward, his tone low and controlled. "Exactly. He isn't prepared for something like that."

Dr. Ken shook his head slightly, calm but firm.
"You misunderstand. I'm not sending him there to push him, or to harm him. I want to test him… to confirm what I already suspect. The things about Haruto I've only observed half of. He won't perform in a test I make him take in front of us. You know that as well as I do."

Akari's lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing. "But that… he's still just a child. How can you—"

Dr. Ken's gaze hardened, unwavering.
"Who expected him to kill that hunter? That's exactly what I'm saying. There is a vast difference between what he can do naturally and what anyone expects from him. That difference… it can tell us everything about him without putting him in unnecessary danger."

Renjiro's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Dr. Ken continued, his voice steady and measured.
"You don't need to do too much for him. You don't need to push him purposefully. But through this—through a controlled, observed environment—we will understand his fears. His instincts. How he reacts under stress. Everything I need to know to protect him… and guide him safely."

Akari looked down, her hands fidgeting slightly. Her heart clenched at the thought, but slowly, her shoulders relaxed.

"…If it helps us understand him," she said quietly, "and keep him safe… then I'll accept it. I'll accept Haruto as he is, and whatever this test will reveal."

Dr. Ken gave a small, approving nod.
"Good. That is all I ask. Carefully. Step by step. Always under supervision."

Dr. Ken leaned back slightly, his hands folded in front of him.
"Anyway," he said calmly, "you two don't need to take tension over this. There will be shinobi assigned as guards. He won't be alone, and the environment will be controlled."

Akari's eyes narrowed. "Wait… you just told us to leave him be because he won't last long, and that he's… abnormal. Then why are you doing this?"

Dr. Ken met her gaze evenly, unflinching.
"I do this for Haruto. Not for the tournament. Not for me. For him."

Akari blinked, confused. "For him?"

"Yes," Dr. Ken said, his voice steady, authoritative. "And because it is my duty. I am his personal doctor—directly appointed by the Hoshikawa clan leader. It is my responsibility to ensure he survives and develops safely, no matter what others think or fear."

Renjiro exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Even knowing the risks?"

Dr. Ken's expression didn't change.
"Especially because of the risks. Someone must see him clearly. Someone must act before he cannot. That's why I am doing this. Step by step. Controlled. Observed."

Akari's hands clenched, but her voice softened, heavy with emotion.
"…If it's for him… then I'll trust you. But I won't let him face it alone."

Dr. Ken gave a small, approving nod.
"Good. That is exactly what he needs. Presence. Guidance. Not fear. You two are that for him."