The morning of the Academy Trial arrived with unseasonable fog that clung to the village like a shroud.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands in the pale dawn light. In just a few hours, I'd be standing in front of Academy officials again, trying to prove I belonged among their students while desperately hiding everything that might actually make me worthy.
No pressure at all.
"You're going to be amazing," Mina said from the doorway, already dressed and bouncing with excitement despite the early hour.
"What if I mess up again?"
"Then you mess up." She climbed onto the bed beside me. "But you won't. You've been practicing really hard, and I know you're stronger than before."
If only she knew how much stronger.
"Besides," she continued, "even if something goes wrong, you'll figure it out. You always do."
Her faith in me was both comforting and terrifying. What would she think when I deliberately held back, when I failed to show what I was really capable of?
"Come on," she said, tugging at my sleeve. "Elder Tanaka made special breakfast rice for trial candidates. And I heard Yuki's family is coming to watch!"
The Academy Trial grounds looked very different from three weeks ago.
Where before there had been simple wooden platforms and casual seating, now there were multiple examination stations, formal barriers separating spectators from candidates, and twice as many officials as last time. Academy representatives in their pristine white uniforms clustered in serious discussions, while additional figures in darker clothing observed from elevated positions.
Investigators. Had to be.
"Impressive turnout," said a familiar voice beside me.
I turned to find Daichi, one of my village friends who'd also qualified for the delayed trial. Unlike me, he looked confident and excited, his practice sword polished to a gleaming finish.
"Yeah," I agreed, trying to match his enthusiasm. "Lot more serious than last time."
"Can you blame them? After what happened..." He gestured toward the spot where the Akuma had appeared. "I heard they've got special security measures now. And those guys in the dark uniforms? They're Academy Investigators. They're here to observe and interview anyone who shows unusual potential."
Unusual potential. Exactly what Kyoto had warned me not to display.
"Attention candidates!" Examiner Sato's voice carried clearly across the grounds. "Due to recent events, we've implemented additional evaluation protocols. Each candidate will be tested individually, with comprehensive assessment of both technique and control."
Individual testing. That was new. Last time, we'd performed in small groups, which made it easier to blend in with the crowd.
"Candidates will be called in alphabetical order. Please wait in the designated area until your name is announced."
Hayashi. I'd be going relatively early.
The first few candidates performed exactly as expected—competent displays of basic techniques that impressed the spectators without raising any special attention. Water manipulation, earth shaping, simple fire control. The kind of skills that would earn Academy acceptance without making anyone take special notice.
"Kaito Hayashi!"
My stomach dropped as my name echoed across the grounds. I stood on unsteady legs and walked toward the examination platform, acutely aware of every eye following my movement.
The testing area had been expanded since last time, with multiple stations for different types of evaluation. Examiner Sato stood at the center, flanked by two Academy officials I didn't recognize and one of the dark-uniformed investigators.
"Mr. Hayashi," Sato said formally. "Please proceed to Station One for basic Shinzai demonstration."
I approached the first platform, my mind racing through everything Kyoto had taught me about hiding in plain sight. Show competence, but not excellence. Demonstrate control, but not mastery. Prove I belonged without proving I was special.
"Please perform a basic fire manipulation technique," instructed one of the Academy officials. "Focus on control and duration rather than raw power."
Perfect. I could do basic fire control in my sleep.
I raised my hands and reached for my Shinzai, carefully limiting the flow to just enough for a simple technique. A small flame appeared in my palm—orange, steady, unremarkable. I shaped it into a basic spiral, then a square, then let it fade.
"Adequate control," the official noted. "Proceed to Station Two."
Station Two tested precision. I was asked to light a series of candles at varying distances, each requiring different intensities of flame. Again, I held back, making it look slightly challenging while actually finding it almost trivially easy.
"Good improvement from your previous attempt," Sato observed. "Station Three."
Station Three was where things got complicated.
"This station tests your ability to maintain technique under pressure," explained the investigator, speaking for the first time. His voice was smooth, professional, and somehow unsettling. "You'll perform your chosen technique while we introduce various distractions and stressors."
I moved to the center of a circle marked on the ground and prepared to demonstrate basic fire control again. Safe, simple, unremarkable.
"Begin whenever you're ready," the investigator said.
I created another small flame and began the basic exercises I'd been practicing since childhood. Nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention.
That's when they started the distractions.
First came loud noises—sudden claps, shouts, even a small explosion from somewhere behind me. I maintained my flame through all of it, keeping my face calm and focused.
Then came physical distractions. Academy students began moving around the circle, creating flashes of light and motion designed to break concentration. My flame wavered slightly—a believable response that showed I was competent but not exceptional.
"Maintain your technique," the investigator instructed. "We're now introducing environmental stressors."
The temperature around me began to rise dramatically. Not dangerous, but uncomfortable enough to make most people sweat. My flame remained steady.
Then the ground beneath my feet started vibrating, subtle at first but gradually increasing until I had to adjust my stance to maintain balance.
That's when I heard the scream.
It came from the spectator area—high, terrified, distinctly young. My concentration shattered instantly as I spun toward the sound, my training flame guttering out.
Mina.
The wooden spectator platform was collapsing. One of the support beams had snapped under the weight of the expanded crowd, sending a section of elevated seating tilting at a dangerous angle. People were sliding toward the edge, scrambling for handholds, shouting in panic.
And Mina was right in the middle of it, her small hands clutching desperately at a wooden rail that was starting to crack under the strain.
"Help!" she screamed. "Kaito!"
Time slowed to a crawl.
I could see Academy officials beginning to move, but they were too far away. The platform was collapsing faster than anyone could react. In seconds, Mina and a dozen other spectators would fall fifteen feet onto rocky ground.
Kyoto's warnings echoed in my mind: Keep your head down. Don't draw attention. Hide what you can really do.
But this was Mina.
My Shinzai exploded outward before conscious thought could stop it.
Five flame threads erupted from my hands, moving faster and with more precision than I'd ever managed before. They shot across the distance between me and the collapsing platform like arrows of pure fire, wrapping around the broken support beam and the failing sections of railing.
The threads held.
More than held—they began pulling the platform back toward stability, their semi-solid nature allowing them to bear weight that normal fire never could. I poured more energy into them, creating additional support points, essentially rebuilding the platform's structure with constructs of living flame.
The collapse stopped. The platform steadied. People stopped falling.
In the sudden silence that followed, Mina looked directly at me across the distance, her eyes wide with understanding and something that might have been awe.
Then I realized what I'd done.
Every eye in the Academy Trial grounds was fixed on me. Academy officials, investigators, spectators—everyone was staring at the impossible sight of a village boy controlling advanced flame techniques with casual mastery.
"That," said the investigator quietly, "was not a basic fire manipulation."
I let the flame threads dissolve, my hands shaking with more than just Shinzai exhaustion. Around me, hushed conversations began to spread through the crowd like wildfire.
"Did you see that?"
"How did he create solid fire constructs?"
"That's Academy-level technique work!"
"Where did a village boy learn something like that?"
Examiner Sato approached me slowly, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Hayashi, would you care to explain how you performed that technique?"
"I..." My mouth felt desert-dry. "I just... I couldn't let them fall."
"That's not what I asked." The investigator stepped forward, his dark uniform somehow making him seem more imposing than the Academy officials in their pristine white. "That was Flame Threading. An advanced technique that takes most Academy students months to learn, if they can learn it at all. Where did you acquire this knowledge?"
The warning rang in my head: Never tell anyone where you learned it.
"I... I've been practicing. Trying different things."
"On your own?" The investigator's tone suggested he found that explanation less than convincing. "Without instruction? Without guidance from someone trained in advanced Shinzai arts?"
"Yes, sir."
The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could see no alternative. Around us, the crowd had fallen silent, everyone straining to hear my answer.
"Remarkable," the investigator said softly. "Truly remarkable." He exchanged a meaningful look with the Academy officials. "I think we've seen enough for today."
"Am I... did I pass?" I asked hesitantly.
"Oh, Mr. Hayashi," Examiner Sato said with something that might have been amusement. "You've done much more than pass. Academy admission is definitely approved."
For a moment, the words didn't register. Then it hit me like a lightning bolt.
"I PASSED!" I shouted, throwing my hands up in the air. "I ACTUALLY PASSED! DID YOU HEAR THAT, MINA? I'M GOING TO THE ACADEMY!"
I started jumping up and down like a complete idiot, pumping my fists and grinning so wide my face hurt. Three weeks of secret training, stress, and worry exploded out of me in pure, unfiltered joy.
"Take that, you stupid flames!" I yelled at my hands. "I knew we could work together eventually! And you!" I pointed at the trial platform. "I showed you who's boss this time!"
Someone in the crowd started laughing. Then someone else. Soon the entire spectator area was chuckling at my ridiculous display, the earlier tension dissolving into warm amusement.
"KAITO!" Mina's voice cut through my celebration as she ran toward me, arms spread wide.
I caught her in a spinning hug, both of us laughing like maniacs. "I did it, Mina! I actually did it!"
"I knew you would!" she said, squeezing me tight. "You were amazing!"
"Mr. Hayashi." The investigator's voice cut through my euphoria like a cold blade.
I set Mina down and turned to face him, suddenly remembering that maybe celebrating my use of advanced techniques wasn't the smartest move.
"However," he continued, "given the... unique nature of your abilities, you'll be enrolled in a special advanced program. Additional training, specialized instruction, and of course, regular progress evaluations."
Additional oversight. Regular evaluations. Everything Kyoto had warned me to avoid.
But I was too happy to care. I was going to the Academy. I was going to become strong enough to protect Mina properly.
"When do I start?" I asked, trying to contain my grin.
"Next week," Examiner Sato announced to the crowd. "Transport will arrive to collect our eight selected candidates. They'll begin their Academy training together as a cohort."
Eight candidates. I looked around at the other trial participants, wondering who else had made it.
Daichi was grinning and giving me a thumbs up—apparently he'd been selected too. Kenji looked shocked but pleased. A few others I didn't know well were being congratulated by their families.
"One week to prepare," the investigator said, his attention returning to me. "I suggest you use that time wisely, Mr. Hayashi. Academy training is... intensive."
As the officials began packing up their equipment and the crowd started to disperse, I stood in the center of the trial grounds with Mina beside me, still hardly believing what had happened.
"Kaito!" Elder Tanaka's voice boomed across the grounds as he approached with a broad smile. "Magnificent performance, my boy! Absolutely magnificent!"
"Thank you, Elder."
"That technique—where on earth did you learn something so advanced?" His eyes twinkled with curiosity.
"I, uh..." I glanced around nervously. "Just... lots of practice. Trying different things."
"Well, whatever you did, it worked!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "The whole village is proud of you. From village failure to Academy candidate in just three weeks—it's quite the story!"
Village failure. Had I really changed that much in everyone's eyes?
As we walked home through the village streets, I was amazed by the reactions. People I barely knew stopped to congratulate me. Shopkeepers waved from their stalls. Even some of the kids who'd been avoiding me lately came up to ask about the Academy.
"You're famous now," Mina said with obvious pride. "Everyone's talking about how you saved the platform."
"It wasn't that big a deal."
"Are you kidding? You made fire hold up a whole building! That's not normal, Kaito. That's special."
Special. The word made me uncomfortable, even as part of me glowed with pride.
But as we reached our house, I noticed a few people watching from a distance with expressions that weren't entirely friendly. Worried glances, hushed conversations that stopped when I looked their way.
Not everyone was happy about what they'd seen.
"One week," I said to myself as we stepped inside. One week to enjoy this victory, to prepare for whatever came next, and to figure out how to say goodbye to the only family I had left.
Tomorrow, I'd start dealing with the consequences of my choices.
Tonight, I was just going to be happy.