That was it.
He was dead.
That single stab became several; they were rapid, frantic thrusts aimed at his chest and stomach. The boy didn't stop. Yuma stood there, frozen, the shock of his own death halting everything…
Then it hit him.
How am I still standing…?
Why doesn't it hurt?
Slowly, Yuma looked down at himself.
Every time the knife made contact, his body flickered with blue flame, cold and sharp, yet alive. There were no wounds. No blood. Not even torn fabric. It was as if the blade never truly touched him.
The boy noticed too.
Instead of recoiling in terror, he stabbed harder. Faster. Again and again. Still… nothing.
After several more failed attempts, horror finally settled in.
The boy staggered back, eyes wide. The knife in his hand began to melt, metal liquefying and dripping over his fingers. Strangely, his skin didn't burn. He didn't scream.
The other boys stared at Yuma, all sharing the same expression of disbelief and fear.
The well-dressed one was the first to speak.
"ACTUALLY WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" he shouted. "A FREAK?!"
Yuma lifted his head.
Confidence surged through him, raw, instinctive, mixed with disbelief at his own power. He opened his mouth to respond,
When a shadow loomed behind the boys.
A towering figure stood there.
He wasn't muscular, more lanky, like a beanstalk stretched too far. His dark brown hair was messy and unkempt, circular glasses resting on a prominent Roman nose. His face was nearly gaunt, shadows carving deep lines beneath his eyes. Though partially obscured, his upper body was visible: a simple white button-up beneath his uniform blazer.
Then, without hesitation, he spoke.
"Hey," he said sharply. "Get lost."
The boys turned, looking up at him.
All their bravado vanished instantly.
They scattered like frightened animals, scrambling over one another to escape. Within seconds, the alley was empty.
The towering boy turned to Yuma.
Still riding his newfound bravado, Yuma returned the stare, the two of them locked in silent tension. For a moment, neither moved.
Then the act cracked.
The boy's lower lip quivered. His hands trembled slightly at his sides. Fear. real fear. bled through his posture.
Yuma noticed immediately.
He wasn't hardened. He wasn't threatening.
"You good?" Yuma asked, stripping the edge from his voice.
The boy nodded quickly, adrenaline still coursing through him.
"Y-yeah… I-I'm f-fine," he stuttered. "T-thank you…"
Yuma turned to leave.
"W-wait!" the boy called out. "Y-you're a conduit, r-right?"
Yuma froze.
He turned slowly, shock flashing across his face as he looked the boy over again. He couldn't tell if he was just a normal, albeit giant, student or some grown man with an unsettling presence. What rattled him most wasn't the height.
It was the word conduit.
"How-" Yuma started.
"O-oh! I am too!" the boy blurted out. "The glass conduit!"
A wide smile spread across his face, excitement replacing the nervous stutter entirely.
The adrenaline shifted into relief, then into enthusiasm. It unsettled Yuma a little, but it dulled his suspicion enough to keep listening.
"So…" Yuma said cautiously. "Who are you?"
The boy's eyes widened.
"Oh! R-right!" He bowed slightly, fumbling over his words. "My name is Yamamoto Hiroshi. I'm a final-year student at Kohurei. I'm eighteen. And like I said, the glass conduit."
Yuma tilted his head, suspicion creeping back in.
Same school. Three years. Never seen him once.
Noticing Yuma's expression, Hiroshi waved his hands frantically.
"Ah! We probably never met because I'm always in the library! I don't really interact with people, I find them scary and loud and-"
"Too much information, man," Yuma cut in.
Hiroshi froze, embarrassed, but quickly straightened.
"Tomorrow," he said suddenly. "Meet me at the library. I really need to talk about what I just saw." He swallowed. "In return, I'll answer anything you ask."
With that, he turned and walked away, long strides carrying him around the corner and out of sight.
Yuma stood there for a moment, processing.
Then he turned and continued home.
***
When he reached his house, he noticed a car parked in the driveway.
Great.
He knew exactly who it belonged to.
Inside, he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the dining table. Sitting there were his mother and Mrs. Furuhashi, chatting casually about their kids, recipes, and life. Normal things.
Too normal.
Underneath the light conversation, tension lingered. Both women were carefully avoiding the same topic.
His father.
His brother.
Grinding his teeth, Yuma slipped away before he could be pulled in. His room greeted him exactly as he'd left it, pillow carnage everywhere, unmade bed, cluttered desk, clothes scattered where they didn't belong.
Home.
He sat cross-legged on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to reach out to Sera.
Nothing.
Minutes passed.
Still nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, he collapsed backward. If nothing else worked, sleep always did. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was until darkness claimed him almost instantly.
For a while, there was nothing.
Then…
Blue flames surged.
He was back in the ruined house.
Everything looked the same. Burned walls. Frozen wreckage. Yet something felt… off. His gut screamed it.
He moved toward where Serapheria had last been.
She wasn't there.
No couch. No presence.
Behind him…
Heat and cold slammed into his back.
He turned.
Serapheria stood there.
Her expression was twisted in anger, her face contorted in a way he had never seen before. Not calm. Not amused.
Furious.
Oh… I'm so cooked.
It was the last thought he had as she stepped toward him.