"You've changed, Renji."
My name in his voice.
It cracked something open.
Not violently. Just enough to remind me the wound had never really closed.
I stood frozen.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there in that slouched, familiar way—hands in his pockets, shirt a little wrinkled, like he'd walked out of an old memory and forgot to iron it on the way.
The hallway around us was still—fluorescent lights buzzing, dust thick in the air like the whole room had been paused, just waiting for me to remember it.
I swallowed, but my throat stayed dry.
"I—"
The word caught.
I didn't even know what I was trying to say.
He stepped forward.
Slow. Like he didn't want to startle me.
"You always tried to carry it all," he said softly. "Even when you didn't understand the weight."
My fingers twitched. I looked down.
Shoes clean. Floor scuffed.
Just like his office at home used to be.
"Dad…"
It slipped out before I could trap it.
He smiled—small, tired. The kind he used to give when he knew I was lying about being okay.
"It's been a while," he said.
I laughed. Or something like it.
"Sixteen years."
His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Sixteen here. Three, back there. Time plays strange when grief bends it."
I blinked.
He knew. He remembered.
"You died," I whispered.
"I did."
"And I…" I looked away. "I followed."
Silence.
Then:
"You didn't follow, Renji. You fell. And then you stood again."
He walked past me, slow, hands still in his pockets. No rush.
He stopped beside me—just enough for his shoulder to be in reach.
The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions. Doors without labels. Lights that flickered but never went out.
"I don't know if this is real," I admitted.
"Maybe it is," he said. "Maybe it's just a dream with better timing."
I didn't answer.
He turned his head, eyes locking onto mine.
Not accusing. Not heavy.
Just full of all the things I'd spent years trying not to feel.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
I shook my head. "You don't know what I've done. What I've seen."
He nodded slowly. "Then tell me."
I hesitated.
"I saw them," I said quietly. "Kaito and Emi. Broken. Bleeding. And I…"
I bit the inside of my cheek.
"There was someone else. Wearing my face. Speaking like he'd always been there."
His expression didn't change.
I continued, voice thin. "He said I'd become him. That kindness wouldn't save me. That I'd crawl back to the part of myself I buried."
"And did you believe him?"
I didn't answer.
Because for a moment… I had.
He turned fully toward me now.
"Renji… You didn't die to escape."
The words weren't loud.
But they echoed like they had gravity.
"You've carried so much guilt, you started thinking pain was your foundation. But it's not. That part of you—the one that broke—it isn't all that's left."
He stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.
Warm. Solid. Real.
"You're not meant to fall, Renji."
I blinked fast.
The world around us began to tremble—edges flickering, like a film reel coming undone.
His hand didn't move.
But behind us… something stirred.
A flicker of red. Just faint. A pressure in the air, curling in the corners of the hallway like smoke that didn't belong.
He looked past me.
His expression didn't falter. But he spoke one last time—firm now.
"Don't listen to what you fear. Listen to what still loves."
And then—
Another voice.
Not his.
Deeper. Quieter. Close enough to feel like it came from inside me.
"You weren't meant to fall…"
A pause. A shift.
"But you will."
The hallway shattered.
Light bled through the cracks. Heat surged like breath from a furnace. My father was gone.
I woke up gasping, drenched in cold sweat, the ceiling spinning above me.
My wrist twitched.
The Synchronicity Band blinked.
One soft blink. Brown.Like the world still thought I hadn't changed.Something under my skin begged to differ.
But something in the silence felt colder now.
And somewhere inside—
I knew the Red hadn't left.
The morning light pushed through the window like it was testing me—soft, pale, hesitant.
I lay there for a while, chest rising too fast, skin still damp from the dream.
It hadn't faded.
I could still hear him.
My dad.
And the other voice—the one that felt like rusted wire coiled around my ribs.
I sat up. Slowly. Like my body wasn't convinced I'd survived the night.
Downstairs smelled like miso and rice and something sweet. The kind of breakfast that only showed up when the house was trying to feel normal.
Mom didn't say anything when I walked in.
She was at the stove, moving quietly, like her footsteps didn't want to wake something.
I nodded once. She nodded back. That was enough for both of us.
Then I saw it.
Sitting on the table—just left of my plate.
Matte black. Silver seal. The kind of envelope that didn't arrive by accident.
I stared at it for a second too long.
Didn't sit.
Didn't touch it.
Just stood there.
Mom didn't glance over, but she said, softly, "Came early. Courier dropped it off an hour ago."
I moved toward it. Slowly. Like it might change if I got too close too fast.
The seal was already cracked.
Government. Elite Academy Division.
I slid it open.
Inside: a letter. No fluff. No decoration.
Just a header, bold and direct:
Akira Ramou – Invitation to Join the Elite Academy, Class 107.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
It should've felt like something.
Honor. Pride. Maybe fear.
Instead…
I just felt the weight settle.
Not heavy. Not cruel.
Just… inevitable.
My fingers curled around the paper.
Kaito and Emi were already going.
They'd be there either way.
And me?
I wasn't chasing strength.
I wasn't dreaming of glory.
But I'd seen what waited if I stood still.
I'd heard his voice.
I'd seen his face.
Red. Cold. Me.
I didn't want to become him.
But I couldn't ignore him either.
If I had to carry this—whatever this was—
I needed to do it somewhere it mattered.
Somewhere it could be used before it turned on me.
I folded the letter in half. Then in half again.
Slipped it into my pocket without another word.
Mom placed a bowl in front of me without asking. Still warm.
I sat down and picked up my chopsticks.
Neither of us spoke.
But for the first time that morning—maybe since the Soul Lens—I wasn't just trying to feel normal.
I was choosing something.
Not peace.
But forward.
The sky was clearer than I expected.No clouds. No wind. Just heat lingering on rooftops like it didn't know where else to go.
I didn't have a destination. Not really."But I couldn't sit still—not with that voice still echoing like it had unfinished business."
So I walked.
A few blocks later, I found myself in front of the Tanaka house.The balcony door was cracked open. Voices drifted out, low and easy.
I climbed the steps slowly.Kaito sat sprawled in a plastic chair, lazily flicking sunflower seed shells into an empty cup.Emi leaned against the railing—arms folded, posture straight, gaze half-lidded like she'd been waiting for someone to show up and disappoint her.
They both looked up when they saw me.Not surprised. Just... noting it.
Kaito grinned. "Hey. You lived."
I gave him a nod. "Barely."
Emi didn't move. "You didn't sleep."
I shrugged. "Define sleep."
She didn't press, but her eyes followed me longer than usual.
I stepped closer, reached into my pocket, and held out the envelope.The silver seal caught the light.
Kaito whistled low. "Oh, damn. Elite Academy." He took it, thumb brushing over the header. "Guess they saw something deep in that big, broody head of yours."
Emi leaned in to read over his shoulder. "Full clearance. Fast-track path."She looked up. "Are you accepting?"
I paused.The weight of the question sat heavier than I expected.For a second, that voice echoed again—not my father's.
"But you will."
I shut it out.
My gaze drifted between the two of them—Kaito's easy confidence, Emi's steady sharpness.They were already moving forward. Already chosen.
I couldn't explain what had changed in me.Not yet.Maybe not ever.
So I just said—
"Yeah"
Emi glanced at the envelope again. "You sure?"
I met her eyes. "Not even a little."
She gave a quiet snort. "Good."
"Can't let you two idiots go unsupervised."
Kaito let out a short laugh and slapped the envelope against my chest before handing it back."Then we're in this together."
"Try not to get us expelled," I muttered.
"No promises," he said, flashing too many teeth.
Emi stepped away from the railing. Her eyes lingered just a second longer than usual."You're Green. They'll expect you to hit first, think later."She paused. "Don't let them be right."
"Then I'll give them something they don't expect."
That earned a slight nod. Approval. Or maybe curiosity.
A beat of silence passed. But it didn't feel empty.It felt like something had shifted into place.
Kaito, of course, shattered it."So… when do we start training? Or do we just wing it and hope your Spectra doesn't level someone's garage?"
I smiled faintly. Not because the joke was good.But because it felt like the beginning of something.
"I think we already started."