The afternoon light spilled across Min Academy's courtyard, gilding the stone archways in pale gold. Students moved in clusters, chatting about lectures, duels, and new Thread theories. The day's lesson had just ended — a complex demonstration of Thread Resonance Index (TRI) calibration and the origins of Thread Weaving.
"Remember," Professor Yu had said, voice echoing through the hall,
"before you can weave, you must listen. The threads are alive — silent witnesses of your intent."
For most students, those words inspired awe.
For Kaito, they were merely reminders of what he already knew — that threads were nothing but echoes of karma, the residue of countless choices.
He stood at the back of the hall, his crimson eyes half-lidded, his mind elsewhere. Around him, murmurs rippled.
Girls whispered.
"His eyes are unreal…"
"I swear, he doesn't even blink."
"He's like a living sculpture."
Kaito ignored them. Praise, awe, curiosity — all meaningless. They only ever saw the surface. None of them could sense the quiet storm beneath his skin.
He packed his notebook and left the hall in silence.
---
Outside, the sky had turned amber. Students were still buzzing about resonance tests, pairing up to measure their TRI levels. Every Thread Weaver needed to awaken their personal index — the Thread Resonance Index, a numerical reflection of their synchronization with the world's energy.
Rank 1 students usually scored between 100 and 300 TRI. Rank 2s could reach 500–800.
No one knew where Kaito stood.
As he passed through the courtyard, a voice rang out — sharp, mocking.
"Hey, Fei!"
Kaito stopped. Slowly, he turned his head.
A tall boy with short silver hair and two gold thread markings under his eyes stood with a group of followers. His name was Daren Myrr, a Rank 2 Weaver known for his arrogance and fire-thread techniques.
"I've been hearing rumors," Daren said, strolling closer. "The quiet boy from the Fei Branch who made Ren Kurogane kneel." He smirked. "You think that makes you special?"
Kaito's eyes flickered with disinterest. "No."
Daren frowned, thrown off by the cold reply. "Then stop acting like you're above everyone. These girls—" he gestured around, "—can't even focus when you walk by."
"Not my concern," Kaito said.
That calm tone, emotionless and flat, somehow angered Daren more than mockery would have. His lips curled. "You hiding behind that stone face of yours? I bet without it, you're just another coward pretending to be mysterious."
Kaito turned fully now. His gaze locked with Daren's — steady, unflinching. For a moment, the crowd's chatter dimmed. The air seemed heavier.
"I don't pretend," Kaito said quietly. "You simply lack depth to understand silence."
The words weren't loud, but they struck like a blade. Several students gasped.
Daren's expression twisted. His hand flared with light as a faint Lifeline Thread shimmered into being — a golden weave coiling around his wrist like fire. "Then prove it. Duel me. Right now."
Kaito didn't move. "You're not worth the energy."
Gasps again — sharper this time. The arrogance of the words wasn't in the tone, but in how empty it was.
"Scared?" Daren spat. "Or maybe your rank's just talk?"
Kaito exhaled softly, bored. "You misunderstand me. I said you're not worth it… not because I fear losing — but because your thread would break before the first strike."
The silence that followed was thick, electric.
Daren snapped. "Fine! Then you'll regret saying that!"
He lunged, his Lifeline Thread expanding like molten light. The ground around him cracked from the resonance shockwave.
But Kaito's body blurred — not fast, but precise, like he simply stepped past the moment itself. His finger brushed Daren's thread mid-strike.
The golden weave flickered — then froze.
A heartbeat later, it shattered like glass.
The courtyard went utterly still. Daren staggered back, gripping his wrist. "What—what did you—"
"Your thread is too loud," Kaito said calmly. "It screams your intent before it moves."
He turned to leave, his coat swaying lightly.
Students stared, wide-eyed. Some in fear, some in awe.
Kaito stopped after a few steps, without looking back.
"Next time," he said, voice low but clear, "learn to listen before you attack. Threads reveal more in silence than noise."
Then he walked away, leaving the crowd murmuring, the air thick with disbelief.
---
Later that evening, Kaito sat alone beneath the silver willow by the academy's lake. The reflection of the moon danced on the rippling water.
In his hand, he twined a faint red filament — his Karma Thread. It pulsed faintly, reacting to the echoes of what he had done. The confrontation wasn't meaningless; it was another test — another balance.
He thought of Daren's thread — golden, fiery, untamed.
Then of his own — cold, silent, inevitable.
His fingers tightened slightly. The red filament trembled, then stilled.
They see the surface, he thought. They always see the surface.
A breeze whispered through the trees, carrying faint voices from the dorms — laughter, arguments, the ordinary sound of life. He stared at the moonlight's reflection, eyes distant.
To others, he was the prodigy, the cold boy with crimson eyes who bent threads like air.
But to himself, he was just a man counting years—
7,777 lifetimes long.
And each thread he touched, each fate he rewove, pulled him one step closer to the gods who had betrayed him.
His eyes flickered once, faint red light gleaming beneath the darkness.
"Let them watch," he murmured. "Let them envy, let them fear. In the end… their threads will lead to me."