Royoshi woke up feeling sore.

Change never announced itself loudly.

It announced itself quietly and calmly.

He got near a mirror and said to himself—

"Royoshi, it's time to stop playing around and actually lock in."

He got ready.

He sat at the edge of his bed and started circulating. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

The Shuryoku didn't bloom for him. It didn't answer him as it did to others. It moved calmly, cautiously, and stealthily.

Like a nervous animal.

After some time, Royoshi stood up and left his dorm.

As he arrived at the training hall, he saw that it was already active.

Groups were spread across the hall, instructors pacing forward and backward, checking on everybody. The Shuryoku in the room felt like a huge ball of fire and was too loud for Royoshi.

An instructor came up to him and said, "Pair up."

"I will," Royoshi replied, even though he knew the feeling of being unchosen.

"Royoshi."

He looked behind.

Ishara Veyl stood a few feet away from him. Eyes sharp. She didn't look annoyed or curious.

"You," she said. "With me."

A few heads turned to see them.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Uhh… okay." He nodded and joined her.

They took positions marked opposite on the floor. The instructor paced past them, watching. His gaze lingered on Ishara first, then it lingered half a second long on Royoshi.

"Controlled engagement," the instructor announced. "Focus on output rather than Shuryoku dominance."

That felt like an insult to Royoshi. He exhaled.

"You're different," Ishara said calmly.

"Me?" he blinked. "How?"

"You don't leak Shuryoku like the others," she replied.

"Most of the people bleed Shuryoku," she kept her voice low enough so only he could hear her. "It spills through your posture. Breathing. Intent."

Royoshi said nothing.

"You don't," Ishara finished. "You never did, but now it feels… intentionally."

The instructor raised his hand.

"Begin."

Ishara moved first.

Not fast. Just precisely.

Royoshi shifted instinctively, stepping aside as her Shuryoku-laced strike passed where his shoulder should have been. He didn't counter. Didn't push. Just moved.

"She is holding back." "No—he's just not engaging." "What is he doing?"

Murmurs rippled outwards.

Her next strike carried more intent—not more power, but more focus. Royoshi felt it approach like a pressure rather than a force. His body reacted before his thoughts could catch up. He shifted subtly—just avoiding contact.

Ishara froze mid-motion.

The instructor stopped pacing.

"That…," Ishara said softly. "wasn't instinct."

Royoshi met her gaze.

"Maybe I just got lucky with my guessing."

"Guessing…?" she replied.

The instructor stepped closer. "Again."

This time, Ishara didn't hold back.

Her Shuryoku flared—not explosively, but with sharp clarity. Refined and sharpened by years of discipline. Royoshi felt it like a blade cutting the air.

For the first time, he chose to engage.

The faint electricity in his chest looped faster—smoother. He didn't push outward. He didn't pull inward.

He let the movement exist.

Ishara's strike met something unseen.

Not a shield.

A refusal.

Her Shuryoku slid off his center, dispersing harmlessly to either side.

The room went quiet.

Royoshi stumbled back half a step—not from pressure, but from surprise.

"Enough," the instructor snapped, stepping between them. "That's sufficient."

Ishara didn't look away from Royoshi.

Neither did the others.

By midday, the whispers had teeth.

"He just got lucky the instructor stepped in." 

"Ishara would have absolutely obliterated him if it weren't for the instructor."

Royoshi was tired of hearing these comments.

Attention gathered like pressure behind his eyes. He moved through the Citadel halls with his head down, but it didn't help.

Royoshi ducked into a side alley and leaned against the wall, breathing slowly.

"I didn't do anything," he told himself.

Then the air shifted again.

"You're attracting attention faster than I expected."

The hologram formed beside him, faint but stable.

"I didn't mean to," Royoshi said.

"I know," the hologram replied. "That's the problem."

Royoshi clenched his teeth. "I thought this was just circulation."

"It is," the translucent man said. "But circulation reveals what was hidden."

He gestured towards Royoshi's chest. "You're no longer sealed."

Royoshi looked him in the eyes and swallowed.

"So what now?"

"Now," the hologram said calmly, "The Citadel will try to name what they don't understand."

"And what would they do?" Royoshi asked.

"They'll try to own it."

The hologram flickered.

"Which is why we add friction."

Royoshi frowned. "Friction?"

"Yes," the hologram said. "Discomfort. Inefficiency. Failure.

"That doesn't sound helpful."

"It may not sound helpful,l but it is," he replied. "Because it slows you down."

The idea sank in slowly.

"So basically you don't want me to grow fast?" Royoshi realized.

"No," Rikishu corrected. "I don't want you to grow loud."

The translucent man turned slightly. "There is someone who listens to resonance. Someone who believes potential exists to be claimed."

Royoshi felt a chill down his spine.

"Who?" he asked.

The hologram didn't answer directly.

"He stayed," he replied. "When I left."

"And when he notices you," he continued. "You will feel it."

"Until then," he added. "I want you to be inconsistent—publicly.

The hologram began to fade.

Royoshi stared. "You want me to fail?"

"Yes."

The word was absolute.

"Because," the hologram said, voice thinning with distance, "nothing discourages predators like inconsistency."

Then the hologram vanished.

The air shifted back to normal again.

That night, far beyond the Citadel's reach, something lurked.

A presence long accustomed to silence, attention sliding across invisible thresholds.

Resonance—not complete, not awakened, but attempted.

Sevran Axiom opened his eyes.

"So," he murmured, sensing something unfinished, "You finally made your move, Rikishu."

The pressure settled

The world got quiet and leaned closer.