Here's a clean, natural English adaptation suited for Webnovel—fluid, immersive, and faithful to your tone:
Today, the corridor of the complex felt different.
Not brighter.
Not warmer.
But less suffocating.
The fluorescent lights still cast their pale glow across the gray walls. The metal doors were unchanged. Footsteps still echoed with that same cold, clinical regularity.
And yet… something had shifted.
Sakuya felt it immediately.
People no longer avoided him.
For several days now, the glances had stopped darting away. No one stared at him like an anomaly anymore. Not like a monster. Not like a bomb ready to explode.
The agents looked at him differently now.
With a certain gravity.
Restraint.
Perhaps even… respect.
And that, despite the incident.
Despite Jūzō's death.
Despite the chaos at Kanao's funeral.
He had been officially cleared. Quickly. Almost too easily. The case had been closed as a "Seimei-related accident under extreme stress."
The system was efficient.
The system forgave quickly.
Sakuya, on the other hand, felt nothing.
A week had passed.
A week since his arm had pierced through Jūzō's side.
Sometimes, he thought about him.
That arrogant idiot who had done everything he could to make his life unbearable.
His raspy voice.
His mocking laugh—even as he was dying.
And yet…
There was nothing.
No shame.
No guilt.
No relief.
Not even anger.
He would have preferred it hadn't happened.
Yes.
But it wasn't a burden.
Not a crack.
Not an open wound.
It was… a fact.
An event.
Filed away somewhere in his memory, without any emotional label.
The only person he felt anything for in all of this… was Shinobu.
Because, deep down, that's where it had all started.
Jūzō had dared to touch her.
And for Sakuya, one thing was clear.
There was no way anyone would ever lay a hand on the last person he had left from his old life.
He didn't know exactly when that decision had settled inside him.
But it was there.
Unshakable.
Like an invisible line he would never allow anyone to cross again.
His footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor as he made his way toward the special training room—the one only a few agents were allowed to use.
The one where Mizunashi was already waiting.
Sakuya lowered his gaze as he walked.
He watched his own steps without really seeing them.
Why.
The question kept coming back.
Why did Mizunashi place so much importance on him since the incident?
Why insist on training him personally?
Why speak in his defense without hesitation in front of the higher-ups… when Jūzō's death could have easily been seen as a loss of control?
Sakuya was no one.
A trainee.
Unstable.
Unpredictable.
And yet, Mizunashi had chosen him.
Him.
Even though—by all accounts—he was the most powerful Seimeishi in Japan.
Perhaps even in the world.
Some whispered that national security rested almost entirely on his shoulders. That if he were to fall, the balance of the country would collapse with him.
A man at that level had no reason to waste his time.
Even less on someone like Sakuya.
And yet…
For the past week, he had made him a priority.
Sakuya felt a faint tension tighten in his chest.
It wasn't gratitude.
It wasn't admiration.
It was something else.
Something between suspicion and confusion.
Why me.
Again.
Always that question.
And for the first time, a thought crossed his mind.
Maybe…
Mizunashi didn't see him as a student.
But as something else.
Maybe…
Maybe Mizunashi saw in him someone just as isolated as himself.
Someone detached from the world.
Apart.
The thought passed through his mind like a shadow—then vanished just as quickly.
He had arrived.
The door to the special training room stood before him.
It was the only moment in the day when he still felt a trace of apprehension.
A different kind of silence.
Denser.
Sakuya placed his hand on the handle.
And opened it.
As always, Mizunashi sat at the center of the room.
In seiza.
Motionless.
Perfectly straight.
His gaze lifted toward Sakuya the moment the door opened. A cold, perfectly steady look—neither hostile nor kind.
But demanding.
He didn't need to speak.
Sakuya understood immediately.
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, then knelt in seiza facing him.
Back straight.
Hands on his thighs.
He waited.
Several long seconds passed.
The silence wasn't empty.
It weighed.
Then Mizunashi spoke.
"Focus your Seimei throughout your entire body. Reinforce your muscles."
Sakuya took a deep breath.
He visualized his breath sinking into him, spreading like a diffuse warmth. His Seimei responded instantly, flowing through his limbs like a second bloodstream—sharper, more sensitive.
His muscles tensed slightly.
Condensed.
Veins surfaced beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heart. His body felt heavier, denser. Almost compressed by its own energy.
He wasn't fully comfortable with this control yet.
But he could now maintain it without faltering.
Mizunashi observed without blinking.
"Good."
His voice was calm. Neutral.
"Your control is progressing exponentially."
A pause.
"Today, you will learn to use your Seimei beyond the limits of your body."
Sakuya's eyes widened slightly.
"Already? But—"
Mizunashi cut him off immediately.
"Stimulate your senses."
A brief silence.
"And more specifically… your eyes."
Sakuya frowned slightly.
"My eyes? At the same time as my body?"
Mizunashi held his gaze.
"Do you think you're capable of it?"
This wasn't a kind question.
It was a test.
Sakuya didn't answer.
He closed his eyes.
His Seimei was already flowing through his muscles like a contained tide. Redirecting it elsewhere without losing physical stability felt… counterintuitive.
Like pedaling without holding the handlebars.
Like asking his heart to beat at two different rhythms.
He forced his focus.
He felt his Seimei as an internal network—an invisible weave running through his body. Almost tangible. Responsive to thought.
Slowly, he tried to split the flow.
One part remained anchored in his muscles.
The other rose upward.
Toward his neck.
Toward his skull.
Toward his eyes.
Pressure built behind his eyelids.
His body trembled slightly, trying to redistribute the energy without losing balance.
He managed it.
His Seimei reached his eyes.
But—
He couldn't open them.
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy. As if the energy itself was holding them shut.
Mizunashi spoke without the slightest surprise.
"Unable to open your eyes, aren't you?"
Sakuya didn't answer.
He simply nodded.
Mizunashi closed his own eyes.
His breathing slowed.
His body became perfectly still, as if emptied of all tension. And yet, the air around him seemed to vibrate more subtly.
"Shiozumi."
His voice was calm. Steady.
"The only reason you can't open your eyes…"
A pause.
"…is because you perceive nothing but the darkness of your eyelids."
The silence grew heavier.
"And yet, your Seimei is already concentrated in your eyes."
"For it… your eyelids are not a barrier."
Sakuya grimaced.
"Do you go out of your way to be impossible to understand…?"
Mizunashi inhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly.
"In simpler terms…"
"You're blocking your own vision."
"You're reinforcing your eyelids like you would a muscle. Instinctively."
A faint tension slipped into his voice.
"This isn't about strength."
"It's about perception."
He slightly opened his eyes without moving his head.
"Don't try to open your eyes."
"Try to see me."
"Through your Seimei."
Sakuya clenched his teeth slightly.
As if everything about Seimei wasn't already unnatural enough…
Now I have to open my eyes… without opening them?
He focused more of the flow toward his eyes.
The pressure immediately intensified.
He tried to open them.
Nothing.
If anything, they felt even heavier, as if the energy was sealing them from within.
Mizunashi continued, just as calm:
"Seimei is the reflection of life."
"It is as personal to you as your own eyes."
"If you don't allow it to be you… you will see nothing."
Sakuya frowned slightly.
Allow it to be me…?
He tried to release part of the flow.
To redistribute it.
To refine his control.
It changed nothing.
The darkness remained absolute.
Mizunashi spoke again, this time with a trace of impatience—barely perceptible.
"Stop treating your Seimei as something you manipulate."
"You are not a user."
"You are your Seimei."
Silence fell.
"And your Seimei is you."
A brief pause.
"See what you want to see."
"Then… look at me."
The words struck him.
As if Mizunashi was asking something impossible… or something too simple.
A dull frustration rose in Sakuya's chest.
He inhaled slowly.
Very slowly.
He let his muscles relax slightly without losing the flow.
He stopped trying to open his eyes.
He stopped forcing.
See what you want to see.
This time, the words felt different.
Not like an instruction.
Like permission.
The darkness behind his eyelids stopped being an obstacle.
He let his Seimei settle… instead of directing it.
And then—
He saw her.
Kanao.
In their small apartment in Osaka.
The late afternoon light filtered through the curtains. She was kneeling in front of him, focused, her hands gently wrapped around his injured ankle after his accident at the construction site.
Her Seimei flowed with precision. With care.
He remembered the warmth.
The soothing sensation.
Her almost stubborn seriousness when she worked.
She had earned one of the top scores in her class that term. She had been praised for treating a complex case so quickly in her very first year.
He remembered her quiet smile when she pretended it was "nothing."
A restrained smile.
Proud.
Alive.
Sakuya felt something crack inside him.
No pain.
No rage.
Just… a presence.
His Seimei vibrated differently.
Calmer.
More aligned.
And before he even realized—
The memory faded.
The darkness changed texture.
It became thinner.
More transparent.
And he saw.
Mizunashi was still in front of him.
Motionless.
His deep, fuchsia eyes shone within this new perception—not like an external light, but like a clear vibrational imprint in the space.
It wasn't an image.
It was a presence.
A living outline.
Mizunashi understood immediately.
A subtle shift in his gaze revealed restrained satisfaction.
"You've done it."
His voice was lower.
Deeper.
"Now… open your eyes."