The days began to blur, with more and more bad dreams.
Kouji couldn't tell when he'd last seen the sun — or when he'd last cared. His sleep patterns flipped sideways
He drifted off in the afternoon and lay awake at night, eyes locked to the ceiling while the silence pressed on his ribs.
He still trained.
Sort of.
The Plus didn't cooperate anymore.
He'd reach for material — pipe, wall scrap, rusted steel — and channel Kyokai through it like before. But it bent wrong. Cracked mid-form. Sometimes the shaping just… stopped, as if the energy lost interest halfway through the process.
The weapons he did create came out lopsided, jagged, unstable.
He tried to force the structure once, poured too much Kyokai into a blade — and it shattered in his hand, slicing into his palm.
Kouji didn't flinch.
He just stared at the broken edges, blood slipping between his fingers.
Then he threw the entire thing at the wall.
The next day wasn't better.
His notebook — the one with clean weapon sketches, energy-efficient shaping designs — now had pages torn out and redrawn over and over. He couldn't recreate anything the way he intended. His lines got worse every time.
It was like his brain remembered weapons his hands didn't believe in anymore.
It wasn't until the third night that someone knocked.
Light. Hesitant.
He opened the door, half-dressed, hair a mess, expression hollow.
Yumi stood there — clipboard-free, jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes soft.
"You've been gone," she said.
Kouji leaned against the frame. "I've been busy."
"You've been hiding."
He didn't argue.
Her gaze lingered — tracing the bruises under his eyes, the bandage around his hand.
She took his hand, with a warm, slow touch.
"...Are you okay?"
Kouji looked at her.
He almost said something honest.
But what came out was:
"I'm fine."
Yumi's expression didn't change.
Not quite.
But something in her eyes dimmed — just a little.
She nodded once, quietly.
"Okay," she said.
And left.
Later that night, Kouji stood in the bathroom, staring into the sink. Water dripped from his hands. His breathing was steady, but something felt... off.
He looked up.
The mirror caught his reflection.
And for just a second — barely a blink —
His eyes were yellow.
Bright. Watching him from his own face.
He didn't move.
Then he blinked — and they were brown again. Normal. Like it never happened.
He kept staring anyway.
Then a knock.
A real one. Firm.
Kouji turned, exhaling once.
When he opened the door, Ryo was already halfway into the room. No preamble.
"They're sending you out."
Kouji blinked. "What?"
"One mission. Local containment. To see if you're stable again."
"I'm not."
"I know."
Ryo didn't look angry.
He just looked tired.
"We'll see what you are," he said.
Then turned and left.
Kouji stood there for a long time.
Staring at nothing.