Mina Tachibana emerged from the portal, her knees still trembling.
The battle had lasted less than a minute, but her body didn't know that yet. Her hands clutched the pyramid against her chest, knuckles white, breathing ragged. The spheres of light she had summoned no longer existed — only the echo of the explosion in her palms remained, and the strange sensation of having done something she didn't fully understand.
I won, she thought. I think I won.
She looked around for an instructor, a classmate, any point of reference. But her portal had appeared at the edge of the simulated field, far from the center, and the forest to her left was... strange.
Very strange.
She approached slowly.
The trees within a twenty-meter radius were all tilted outward, as if something had exploded from the center. Roots protruded from the ground. The grass was burned in patterns that followed no logic — spirals, cracks, pressure marks that sank the earth several centimeters. At the center of the disaster, the ground had a perfect circular fracture from which thin, reddish smoke still escaped.
Beside that fracture, sitting on a fallen root with his hands in his pockets, was Alex Voss.
He was looking at the sky.
"What… what happened here?" Mina asked, unable to help herself.
Alex lowered his gaze to her. He looked at her for a second with that expression of his — completely flat, without surprise, without particular interest.
"You have very pretty eyes."
Mina blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Your eyes." He gestured vaguely toward her face. "They're big. Expressive." He paused. "And that way of hiding your hands in your sleeves when you're nervous is pretty cliché, to be honest. I don't mean it as an insult. Just as an observation."
Mina opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at the disaster around her and then at him.
"I… I asked you what happened here."
"Ah." Alex looked at the fractured ground with the same expression he might use to regard a puddle after rain. "The Shinju was here. Then it wasn't."
"You defeated it?"
"More or less."
"More or less?"
"I told it to sleep."
Mina looked at him. Then looked at the marks on the ground. The uprooted roots. The fracture still emanating smoke. Then she looked at him again.
Alex had already returned to gazing at the sky.
Mina decided she didn't have enough emotional energy to process that right now.
Then the world exploded.
---
It wasn't a nearby explosion. It was the kind of sound that doesn't come from a specific point but from everywhere at once — a detonation that hit the chest before reaching the ears, that made teeth vibrate and buckled knees without permission.
The ground shook.
From the northern sector of the simulated field, a column of black and red smoke rose toward the violet sky like a second moon being born in reverse.
And from the smoke, they emerged.
First the silhouettes — enormous, distorted, moving with that slowness that only things possess when they don't need to hurry because nothing can stop them. Then the details: two Category 3 creatures, their bodies an impossible mixture of organic matter and fractured crystal, each step leaving craters in the ground. And behind them, slower but more solid, a Category 2 Shinju whose mere presence made the surrounding air vibrate as if the simulated field itself wanted to reject it.
Three Shinju.
Without summoning. Without a portal. Without any logical explanation.
The students who hadn't yet finished their individual tests emerged from the forests, drawn by the noise, and upon seeing the creatures, panic did what it always does: spread before anyone could process it.
"Category 3!"
"How did they get into the sealed field?"
"Two of them! There are two Category 3!"
Instructor Renkai appeared in the center of the field in seconds, his blue cape billowing with an energy he hadn't shown during the exam. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"All aspirants, evacuate through the emergency portals now! This is not part of the exam!"
The pyramid in his hand — dark gray, with a visual density that made it seem heavier than the rest — began to rotate slowly.
Alex, who had appeared at the edge of the group with his hands in his pockets, watched him.
"Hey, sensei."
"I said evacuate!"
"What exactly are you going to do with a Rank D pyramid against that?" Alex nodded toward the three creatures still advancing. "Against one of the Category 3 ones, maybe you'd have a chance. Maybe. But against two plus a Category 2 behind them…" He paused. "You're just hastening your death."
Renkai turned to him with an expression that mixed professional fury with something that, in other circumstances, might have been shame.
"You. Evacuate. Now."
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
"Evacuate!"
Renkai didn't wait for a response. He launched himself forward.
The pyramid exploded in gray light, and from it emerged the armor — complete, imposing, built of magical metal that didn't exist in any known catalog. Gray plates with edges glowing electric blue, shoulder guards projecting energy shields, a closed visor hiding his face. In his right hand, he materialized a meter-and-a-half-long sword, its edge covered in runes that burned with each movement.
It was, objectively, impressive.
The students who hadn't yet evacuated stopped.
Renkai charged at the first Category 3 Shinju with a speed that contradicted his size. The sword traced a descending arc that split the air with a sonic boom, impacting the creature's side and leaving a deep mark of blue energy that made it roar and step back two paces.
He spun without stopping, blocked the second Category 3's charge with his left shoulder shield — the impact pushed him back several meters, his boots leaving furrows in the ground, but he held firm. He counterattacked with a quick thrust that pierced one of the monster's crystal plates and released a discharge of energy inside it.
The creature howled.
The students watched in silence. Some with mouths open.
"He's incredible…"
"Rank D and holding his own against two Category 3…"
"My father always said Tenryuu instructors were different…"
Renkai didn't rest. He moved with brutal efficiency, covering angles, alternating between attack and defense, using the terrain to prevent the two Category 3 from surrounding him. It was a real demonstration of what years of combat meant — not brute power, but experience distilled into every decision.
But the Category 2 kept advancing.
And the two Category 3, wounded, hadn't fallen.
The armor began to show cracks. The left shoulder shield fragmented after absorbing a second charge. Renkai regained his balance, but his breathing was already visible — rapid, controlled by sheer will. The sword in his hand glowed less brightly. The pyramid on his chest hummed with the tension of someone extracting more than they should.
He blocked a blow from the first Category 3. Dodged the second. Couldn't dodge the third.
The impact sent him flying sideways five meters. He landed on his feet, barely, one knee touching the ground for an instant before he rose.
The armor had a diagonal fracture across the chest.
Silence among the students.
"I told you."
The voice was completely calm.
Alex was in the same spot as always, hands in his pockets, observing the scene with the expression of someone who had just seen exactly what they expected to see.
"Rank D against a Category 2 and two Category 3. The outcome wasn't a mystery."
"Shut up."
The voice came from his left. Cold, contained, with that specific quality of someone who is furious but refuses to show it completely.
Alex turned his head.
Reiji Kisaragi stood with his pyramid already activated, electric blue light crackling between his fingers, his eyes fixed on the creatures and his teeth clenched.
"Shut your mouth," he repeated without looking at him. "And if you're going to stay here, at least stop getting in the way."
Alex watched him for a moment.
Then he looked at Renkai, who still stood facing the three creatures — wounded, exhausted, not retreating.
Then he looked at the three Shinju.
Then he put his hands back in his pockets.
"Interesting," he murmured, almost to himself.
And for the first time since he had crossed the academy gates, something in his expression shifted — so slightly that probably no one noticed.
Probably.