Chapter 7: Like a Twig Under The Boot

Eiji, Mika and I sat in our usual formation for lunch.

Only this time.

We had an audience.

A captivated audience.

I wasn't a big fan of kids my age flinging stuff at me in order to test my "reaction time."

I dodged them all at first, but remembered what Izumi had said to me about restraint and overdoing it.

Mana was an integral part of my system now—whether I liked it or not.

If that reaches zero—my life force, as she put it, will take damage too.

I like to think of it like buying armour before a big mission.

Somehow people still think it's just a party trick.

Good.

That restraint was the only thing keeping me from going straight from algebra to a government watchlist.

I wouldn't want to experience an Izumi-like event myself.

"Hey Keizo, where did you learn how to do that!?" One of my classmates belted out.
I blinked.

"...Huh? Learn how to do what?"

"Like, dodge all those attacks!" Another shouted in reply.

"It’s not really learned so much as… in-the-moment thinking, you—"

A wad of paper hit me square in the face before I could finish that sentence.

"Ok that one was cheap." I rolled my eyes.

Everyone laughed with me. At least it felt that way.

Didn't matter.

"Keizo being school famous was not on my list this year." I heard Mika mumble to Eiji.

Not in a gossip way, more of like a "gee-look-at-how-grown-up-our-little-man-is" kinda way.

Someone from across the classroom shouted out a bit of relationship drama that was definitely supposed to be said at whisper level and just like that.

The crowd around me gravitated to the next hot scoop.

Thank my lucky stars.

I could do without attention.

"Keizo, you are one strange little goofball, but you're my strange little goofball." Eiji grinned.
I snorted, and glanced over at Mika.
She smiled back, nodding safely.

"You came a long way from shoving sand in my ears in the sandbox."

I winced.

"That mental picture still haunts me, Mr. Hamada" I bowed formally, joking. "Even after all these years."

"Mika, no luck in your inner circle?"

"I keep them at arms length. All those girls ever talk about is fashion, shallow gossip and boys. Not very interesting. Why talk about boys when you can talk to them."

I took a bite of a rice ball and cleared my throat.

"You picked the wrong two guys then," I said.

Mika laughed.

"I picked the right two guys."

The rest of the day passed without incident.

Which is more than I could've hoped for.

I made it through classes without attracting another audience, kept my head down, kept my reactions dull enough to pass for normal.

By the time the final bell rang, the weight in my chest had shifted into something lighter.

Pride, maybe.

Or relief.

I took the long way home, hands in my pockets, replaying the day in my head.

I hadn’t overdone it. I hadn’t slipped. No fires. No floating desks.

No mysterious men in suits pulling me aside for “a conversation.”

Restraint.

Izumi would’ve approved.

By the time I reached my front door, I was already rehearsing how I’d tell her. Not the details—just the outcome.

That I’d listened. That I’d kept control. That I hadn’t let it spiral.
I kicked my shoes off and headed straight upstairs.

That’s when it hit me.

Not a sound. Not a sight.

A wrongness.

The air felt thinner, like the room was holding its breath.

The familiar pull in my chest—the tether—was there, but strained, stretched tight in a way I’d never felt before.

My excitement evaporated.

I slowed at the top of the stairs, one hand brushing the wall for balance.

Something was off.

And I knew it before I saw the bathroom door.

"I WANT TO BE FREE!" Her scream sliced through the quiet. "FREE I SAY! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!"

She cried out again. "I DON'T WANT ANY OF THIS! I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"

I froze again.

"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

My hand was still on the doorknob. I couldn't turn it. Could barely breathe.

She was crying. That was enough of a reason to open it, wasn't it? She sounded genuinely mortified.

Crap, here goes.

I went in, shutting the door behind me.

And there she was.

Izumi.

She was curled in the center of that mirrored prison, gripping her arms, trembling.

Her hair: Disheveled; wild as an animal.

Tears: Streaming down her cheeks.

I felt awful seeing her cry like that.

"Izumi..."

She looked up—and when our eyes met, she recoiled.

"Keizo..." she whispered, voice hoarse and small. "Do not look upon me..."

My heart cracked right down the middle.

She looked so scared. So broken. So lost.

Her hands were clutching her knees against her chest.

I tried stepping closer but she moved back further in.

More tears fell faster and faster onto the floor with every step.

Izumi," I said quietly. "What happened? I'm here."

"Why?" Her voice broke. "Why are you here now? When it no longer matters? I—we—I screamed into the void and none answered. So I begged the gods and none heard. I cursed myself and still I remained.”

She stood slowly, and meekly stumbled over to me, and pressed her palms against the mirror.

"I have tried every chant, every rite. I fired out sigils until my palms bled and burnt up. I called to every celestial, every daemon, every force that might undo the spell that binds me—and none came. None came, Keizo."

I stepped closer too. My face now inches away from hers.

"I'm here with you," I said. “I’m going to get you out of there.”

She flinched. “You do not understand what you say.”

But I did. In that horrible moment I knew.