The world rushed back in.

Royushi woke up to the sound of a gasp that wasn't his.

It took him a moment to realize that it was his.

The med-bay ceiling lingered above him—white, smooth, and faintly glowing. The air smelled like something artificial, something clean. Tubes arranged near the walls. Soft pulses of light showed vitals that he didn't remember losing.

He tried to get up.

But pain answered first.

Not sharp. Not overwhelming. Just deep—it settled into his bones like it had always been there.

"So you're awake finally?"

Royushi turned his head slowly.

Ishara Veyl stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed and posture composed as ever. There was no reassurance on her face. Just observation.

"How long was I out?" Royushi asked.

"Six hours," she replied.

Her arms tightened slightly.

"Six hours? Guess I slept."

Ishara did not laugh. No emotions. Just a plain blank face.

That reaction landed heavier than it should have.

"The instructors reviewed the footage," she said after a minute of silence.

"Footage?" Royushi frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Ishara said carefully, "that something intervened."

Royushi froze.

He remembered the pressure folding inward. The stillness. The man made of light. The hologram.

It doesn't matter who I am.

"Even the instructors don't know what it was," she continued. "The only thing is that the hostiles stopped behaving normally. As if—" She searched for words "—as if reality had corrected itself.

Royushi squeezed his eyes shut.

"What do they think?" he asked. "That I did it?"

"No," Ishara replied. "They think you got through."

That was way worse.

She stepped closer. "Your Shuryoku readings don't support the result. They're inconsistent. Fractured. Almost nonexistent."

Royushi opened his eyes. "Then why am I still here?"

Ishara examined him carefully.

"Because," she said, "someone in the higher-ups thinks that mistakes don't happen without a reason."

After some time, Ishara was called away, and the med-bay lights softened; the room fell silent.

Royushi lay still, listening to the hum of the Citadel. He should have slept more. His body demanded rest.

Instead, he waited as if something was calling him.

He didn't know the reason.

Suddenly, the air changed.

The same sensation he'd felt before he fainted.

Not suddenly—just enough to be noticed.

The lights flickered.

Then the pressure returned.

Reality began to bend again.

The hologram appeared at the foot of the bed.

"You survived," the hologram said. "I'm glad."

Royushi didn't sit up.

"Did you save me?" Royushi asked. "If so, then why?"

"Because you didn't choose to fall," he said. "I saw it in your eyes."

Royushi frowned. "That doesn't explain anything."

"It wasn't supposed to."

The hologram stepped closer. The distance folded in on itself.

"Tell me," he said. "When you were about to die… what did you feel?"

"I felt conflicted…" Royushi said slowly. "I didn't think about winning. Or losing."

"But answer me first," Royushi said. "Why did you choose me? There were better candidates. People stronger than me."

The hologram answered after a few seconds. "I didn't choose you because you wanted more. I chose you because you didn't."

Royushi said after a moment. "It would've been over for me, though. No effort. No expectations."

Silence stretched between them for a few seconds.

Then the man nodded once.

"That's where your Shuryoku hides."

Royushi tightened his jaw. "So what—you're saying I'm capable of even being compared with others?"

"Yes," the hologram replied. "I'm saying you're unfinished."

He turned slightly, as if listening to someone or something far away.

"My time here is limited," he said. "So I'll ask you only once."

The room felt lighter.

"If I teach you how to circulate your Shuryoku,” the man continued, “not to impress… but to simply be aware. To be better than your past self."

He met Royushi's gaze.

"Will you stop wasting what you have?"

Royushi's heart began to hammer fast.

This was it.

Not destiny but a choice.

He swallowed.

"…What happens if I say no?"

The hologram smiled— not kindly, not ferociously.

"Nothing," he said. "Your life will go on as an average man."

The hologram began to fade slightly.

"And I'll stop coming."

The pressure vanished.

Reality settled back into place.

Royushi stared at the empty space long after the hologram vanished.

He didn't answer.

Not yet.