The sun shone brightly through scattered clouds in the clear blue sky above the lush hills of Mounagiri Gakuen. Yet the trees, even the leaves, remained still, without the slightest flutter. It felt as if the world itself had paused, listening closely to whatever was unfolding within the Gakuen.
The corridors of Mounagiri felt narrower that morning, not because the walls had shifted, but because the air had.
Kodo walked beside Tamara in silence, their footsteps soft against the threaded corridor pathway. Students passed them with lowered voices and uncertain glances, unsure whether to greet them or give them space. Threads flickered, then stilled, as if the Gakuen itself was holding its breath.
A pale thread-scroll drifted ahead of them, unhurried, guiding rather than commanding. Its light was gentle, almost apologetic.
Please report to the Pre-Trial Assembly, it read.
This is a procedural meeting.
Procedural.
Kodo repeated the word in his mind as they reached the end of the corridor, where a single large door stood waiting. It was guarded on both sides by the Keivalars of the Assembly.
As Kodo, Tamara, and Tom approached, the Keivalars raised a hand, stopping them.
Tom halted a step behind the others.
"That's as far as I'm allowed," he said quietly — already cleared by Shizumanam, already returned to the rhythm of the Gakuen.
Kodo turned. Tom smiled — the same steady, grounding smile — but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He gave Kodo a small nod, as if to say I'm still here. Tamara met Tom's gaze and inclined her head in thanks.
The Keivalars examined the guiding scroll, their eyes tracing the thread-script carefully. After a brief exchange, they nodded.
One of them stepped forward and announced,
"Esteemed Assembly of the Mounagiri Gakuen, we present the summoned students to the Pre-Trial Assembly of the Kazan. Kodokuna and Tamara."
Kodo and Tamara bowed in unison.
Inside the chamber, warmth greeted them.
Soft lights lined the walls. Polished stone reflected calm rather than authority. A low table rested at the center, threadwater untouched in shallow bowls. Three figures were already seated, not elevated, not looming — simply present.
"You're both looking better," a voice said gently.
Kodo and Tamara looked up in unison.
"Please," the voice continued, calm and steady, "sit. This is not a punishment."
They sat on the silvery, thread-woven chairs, their movements careful, restrained.
Another voice spoke older, measured, not unkind.
"We wished to see you before the Kazan begins. Not as subjects of the Trial, but as students of Mounagiri."
Tamara's golden threads shimmered faintly at her shoulders restrained, yet steady. Kodo felt his breath slow, though his palms still tingled with that familiar, unsettling emptiness.
"What occurred on the rooftop," the voice continued, "exceeded safety thresholds. Not because of malice. Not because of intent. But because emotions crossed faster than restraint."
No names were spoken. No blame was assigned.
Still, the words carried weight.
"The crimson binding itself," the voice added evenly, "has been classified as a security breach and is being addressed through separate channels."
The room remained calm, as if that matter had already been placed behind a sealed door. Kodo and Tamara exchanged a brief glance, then looked away.
"We are relieved," another figure said softly, "that no lasting harm remains."
Tamara inclined her head.
"I'm stable now," she said quietly but firmly. "The Inimainashi sisters confirmed it."
"Yes," the Assembly member replied. "And we are grateful for your cooperation."
A pause settled into the chamber.
"Rohan," the first voice said not harshly, but formally.
Kodo straightened.
"We do not yet understand your thread behavior."
The words were gentle, yet still carried a heavy weight.
"Instruments failed to detect a clear harmonic origin," the voice continued. "Yet the environment responded to you regardless. At the time of your admission, your harmonic response fell within acceptable variance. What we are observing now exceeds it."
Kodo swallowed.
"I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."
"This is not a question of fault," another voice said. "It is a matter of responsibility."
Tamara's fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"For the duration leading up to the Kazan Trial," the first voice continued, "certain boundaries will be observed."
Kodo felt it, the quiet tightening.
"You will not engage in unsupervised joint activity," the Assembly member said gently. "This is not separation. It is a precaution."
Tamara's threads dimmed just a fraction.
"You will undergo periodic observation," another added. "It will be brief, supervised, and solely for safety."
Kodo nodded, though something inside him sank. Tamara nodded along as well.
"Finally," the first voice said, softer now, "we ask that you rest. The Kazan does not reward exhaustion."
Silence followed.
"This Assembly will make no further demands of you today," the voice concluded.
"You are not being disciplined. You are being observed — because you matter. You remain the pride and soul of this Gakuen, as every student does."
Neither Kodo nor Tamara spoke.
After a moment, a voice asked,
"Do you have any queries or objections regarding these measures?"
Both shook their heads in unison.
"Good," the Assembly said — authority carried lightly, not coldly.
"Supervision will occur at Shizumanam under the Inimainashi sisters. Your resonance cores and thread stability will be periodically evaluated through Yojna, and reports will be submitted accordingly. You may leave."
The door opened quietly. Outside, the corridor waited.
As they stepped out, Kodo felt the difference immediately, not in the air, but within himself. Something had shifted. A line had been crossed, gently and irrevocably.
Tom straightened when he saw them.
"It's done?" he asked.
Tamara nodded once.
"Yes."
Tom didn't push. He never did.
They walked together for a while, neither speaking nor separating. Just three threads moving through the Gakuen, drawn a little tighter than before.
Behind them, the door closed softly.
And somewhere deep within Mounagiri, unseen and unaccounted for, something watched the Trial's approach with patience of its own.