The walk back from the training ground felt longer than usual.
Kouji moved slowly, the ache in his arms dulled only by the breeze cutting between buildings. His jacket clung damp to his back. Gravel crunched underfoot. And still, that same question echoed in his skull like dripping water.
If it's not a Plus... then what is it?
The lobby was quiet. Most of the staff had switched shifts already.
He passed through without thinking — but paused when he heard a familiar voice behind the desk.
"Well, if it isn't the boy genius."
Kouji turned.
The receptionist sat half-curled behind the counter, a half-drunk can of something citrusy beside her. Her green-dyed bangs were messier than usual.
"Rough day?" she asked, with a cocky look.
"Got slammed into the dirt a few times," Kouji muttered.
"Ryo again?"
"Yeah."
She smirked. "That man doesn't believe in warmups. Or breaks. Or sympathy."
"I noticed."
Her eyes flicked over him, mildly amused. "You're heavier than you were last week."
Kouji blinked. "...What?"
"Your aura." She pointed to him, "It's like you're dragging something invisible behind you."
He stiffened.
She didn't press.
"Anyway," she added, picking up her drink, "don't get too dramatic about it. Everyone's aura shifts under stress. You're just… adjusting."
He gave a vague nod.
"Hi, I'm Yumi, by the way," she said casually, lifting her can in mock-toast. "Since you keep showing up like a stray cat."
Kouji allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "Kouji."
"I know."
His room was dim when he stepped in.
The other bed was still unused. A box of unopened uniform parts sat untouched in the corner. The walls were bare — aside from the small poster Yuusuke had taped above Kouji's desk last week: a stylized drawing of a sword stuck in a cake, with the words "Victory is Dessert" underneath.
Kouji dropped onto the bed with a soft grunt.
"Back already?" came a voice from the window.
Yuusuke swung one leg through and stepped down inside like he did every night.
Kouji didn't even look surprised. "You're not even trying to use the door anymore?"
"Doors are for people with restraint," Yuusuke said, plopping down at the desk. "You fought Ryo, huh?"
Kouji nodded. "Got wiped."
"Welcome to the club."
He kicked back, hands folded behind his head.
"You're still breathing, though. That's more than I can say for my last spar."
"Never seen him use his ability, I don't even know, if he has a plus or minus," Yuusuke added.
Kouji hesitated. "...He said my ability might not be a Plus."
There was a long pause.
Then Yuusuke sat up a little straighter.
"You know I checked that pole again, right? The streetlamp."
Kouji blinked. "You went back?"
"Yeah. It's not just warped. There's actual mass missing. Like a clean chunk just got... absorbed."
Kouji didn't answer.
"Look," Yuusuke said, softer now, "you're strong. And I trust you. But don't ignore weird signs just because you want something to be true."
Kouji nodded slowly.
"I know."
They talked a little longer — about training, about the rumors of a new instructor who used iron sand, about nothing important.
Eventually, Yuusuke stood up and stretched.
"Alright, I'm out. Got an early patrol tomorrow."
He stepped back toward the window. "Try not to let Ryo mind-game you too hard. He does that to everyone."
"Even you?"
"Especially me."
Then he was gone — vanishing into the hall with a grin and a casual wave.
That night, Kouji dreamed again.
But this time, it didn't feel like a dream.
He stood in a hall of mirrors, stretching endlessly in every direction.
Each reflection showed him — same clothes, same posture, same gaze.
Except for one.
One reflection wore a black crown, crooked like broken teeth, eyes hollowed out into pits of ink. It didn't move like the others. It didn't mimic. It watched.
Kouji stared at it.
And when it opened its mouth to speak—
He woke up.
Breathing hard. Room still. Window open. Night silent.
But the weight in his chest remained.
And it wasn't from the dream.