Morning came again, marking the last day of the academic week. Golden light streamed into the dorm room as Sato woke early and drew the curtains aside. The movement stirred Shiro, who lay sprawled in his usual chaotic manner. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the light, and stretched his arms and legs like a cat before pushing himself upright. Seeing Sato standing near the window, he offered a lazy greeting.
Shiro: Morning.
Sato: Good morning.
Shiro didn't show any abnormal behavior. His movements were slow, his expression vacant. It looked as though he had returned to his old, listless self. But Sato, watching him carefully, suspected this nonchalance was just another performance.
Sato: Well, how about yesterday?
He asked casually, wanting to pry an answer from Shiro's mouth—to see if he remembered the self-inflicted blow or not.
Shiro merely shuffled toward the small bathroom in their room to wash his face, his voice muffled by the running water.
Shiro: Well, nothing really. Practical class is a little... you know.
Sato: Ya, that's why I chose Artificers over Practical.
After they both packed their things and were ready to head out, a familiar scene unfolded. As they walked through the door, Shiro suddenly bent backward in a fluid, almost unnatural motion, snatching his katana from where he had propped it near the doorframe.
Shiro: Almost forgot.
Sato: For Practical?
Shiro: Yes. Arien would kill me if I didn't bring this this time, too.
Both started walking down the hall, the sound of their footsteps echoing.
Sato: Why didn't you bring that with you yesterday?
Shiro: Heh heh.
After some time, they reached the point where their paths split. Sato raised his hand in a casual wave, and Shiro mirrored the gesture—their silent way of saying goodbye.
As he walked away, Sato couldn't shake his unease.
Is he back to normal? No, no... this might be an act, too. But why do I feel like the mask he wore was gone?
Meanwhile, Shiro walked alone, a faint frown on his face as he muttered to himself.
Shiro: Something's missing...
As he walked toward the SR class, a girl with long, flowing silver hair approached from the opposite direction. She held her hands behind her back, her pace neither fast nor slow, almost gliding. Just as she passed Shiro, her voice, soft but clear, cut through the hallway's murmur.
??? : That girl won't be coming today.
The moment Shiro heard it, he turned around. But the girl never looked back; she continued walking in the direction he had come from, her silver hair swaying. Shiro faced forward again and continued toward the class.
Shiro: She looks familiar. I think she was in the practical class...
After Shiro reached the classroom door, he peeked inside. Arien's seat was empty. The class started, and Arien didn't come. And without Arien, Shiro couldn't enter either.
Prof. Kareth: Six students didn't come today? she noted while taking attendance, but Shiro, lingering outside, didn't hear her.
He waited another twenty minutes or so, leaning against the wall, but there was no sign of Arien coming.
Shiro: She's really not coming... Ahhh, what a pain.
With a sigh, he started walking everywhere, peering into every classroom window he passed. But Arien wasn't there. Shiro spent the entire first half of the day looking for her, yet with all that time, he hadn't even covered half of the academy. It wasn't because the academy was overwhelmingly large—it was because even while searching, Shiro walked with an infuriating lack of urgency.
When the interval bell rang, Shiro, thinking Arien might come to the canteen, headed that way. And then, he came face to face with the silver-haired girl from the morning again. Just as they passed each other, the girl spoke once more.
???: You didn't find her yet. Well, that's a problem, I think.
Shiro stopped but didn't turn around.
Shiro: You know the place?
???: No. But try to detect magic usage. You might find her.
This time, Shiro turned around.
Shiro: Who are you?
???: Who, me? Well, think of me as a friend of yours.
With that, the girl left. Shiro pondered her words: Try to detect magic usage. You might find her. But without magic, Shiro couldn't do it. So he tightened his grip on his katana and searched for an empty room, finally entering one.
But before he entered, he looked both ways to ensure no one was watching, then slipped inside. The room was dark and silent. Shiro walked to the wall on his right side, closed his eyes, and gently tapped the wall with the scabbard of his katana. He repeated this on all four walls. Then he walked to the middle of the room, closed his eyes, and held his katana vertically. He tapped the ground twice and slowly opened his eyes.
Shiro: Found her.
Then Shiro exited the classroom and started walking with clear purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going.
After some time, Shiro stopped at the back of the academy, in front of a large, imposing door. It was closed. He tried to push it open with one hand, but it didn't budge. Peering through the gap between the doors, he saw that nothing was physically locking it.
Shiro: So this door isn't real, then.
He tapped the door lightly. His hunch was correct—the door was rock hard, but not in the way a real door should be. Annoyed, Shiro took a step backward and unsheathed his katana. He stretched his back by twisting his upper body left and right, and in a flash, he delivered a swift upward slash.
Shing!
A clean cut appeared on the door, but it didn't fall. Shiro's expression soured.
Shiro: Ahhh, what the hell is this? Well, then...
Shiro closed one eye, carefully measuring the door's height and width.
Shiro: Wonder if it will cut?
He resheathed his katana and shifted his stance. He lowered his center of gravity, settling into a posture like a runner poised to sprint. Then, Shiro took a deep breath and let it out as he muttered a single, technique-forming phrase under his breath.
Shiro: ────────
In the next instant, he drew and sheathed his katana in a motion faster than the eye could follow—a flash swifter than the upward blow he had delivered moments before. Smoke wafted from his upper body, around his shoulders and back, like steam rising when water is splashed on heated iron.
Shiro took a few steps back, and suddenly, the door began to fall. But it didn't simply collapse—it disintegrated into fine, dust-like pieces. As the magical barrier dissolved, Shiro stepped through the opening.
Shiro: Arien. What are you doing?