People spoke about Rikishu Kairo the way they spoke about storms.

Quietly.

Carefully.

As if saying the name too loudly might make something return.

Royushi heard it first near the water station.

“…I’m telling you, the timing is strange.”

“That’s impossible. Echo’s been gone for years.”

“So? Legends don’t just end. They disappear.”

Royushi filled his bottle slowly, eyes fixed on the clear stream. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

Another voice lowered. “You think it’s related to the cadet?”

“Which one?”

“…Kairo.”

The name landed heavier than it should have.

Royushi capped the bottle and walked away before his presence bent the conversation into something awkward. His steps stayed even. His breath stayed calm. Inside, circulation hummed softly, like it always did now—quiet, present, controlled.

Don’t react, he told himself.

You’re good at this.

“You’re getting better at pretending,” Rikishu said from beside him.

Royushi didn’t turn. “That was not pretending. That was leaving.”

“A subtle distinction,” Rikishu replied.

Royushi sighed. “They’re talking about you.”

“They always do,” Rikishu said calmly.

“No,” Royushi said. “Different. Less heroic. More… curious.”

Rikishu was quiet for a moment.

“That means the Citadel is uncomfortable,” he said. “Good.”

Royushi frowned. “How is that good?”

“Institutions don’t investigate myths,” Rikishu replied. “They investigate patterns.”

Royushi muttered, “I hate patterns.”

“I know.”

They passed a training hall where older cadets were resting between drills. Someone laughed—a sharp, nervous sound.

“I heard Echo didn’t lose,” one cadet said. “I heard he chose to vanish.”

“That’s stupid.”

“So is pretending people like him don’t exist.”

Royushi’s jaw tightened.

Rikishu’s voice softened. “Ignore it.”

“I am.”

“You’re listening.”

“…Okay, I’m listening a little.”

“That’s human.”

Royushi snorted. “Low bar.”

Scout — Maris

Maris liked listening to rumors.

Rumors were honest in ways reports never were. They slipped between facts and told you where people felt the truth lived.

She sat near the upper corridor, pretending to calibrate a sensor panel that didn’t need calibrating. Around her, cadets passed in clusters, voices bouncing softly off stone.

“—Rikishu Kairo—”

Her fingers paused.

“… nobody. That alone is suspicious.”

“Yeah, but the Citadel declared him dead.”

“They declared a lot of things.”

Maris smiled faintly.

Good, she thought. The echo is loud enough.

She shifted position and let her senses widen—not Shuryoku, not fully. Just awareness. Patterns of movement. Breathing. The way people slowed when they said certain names.

Kairo.

Royushi.

Echo.

She’d watched Royushi for three days now. Not closely. Never directly. Close watching made people react.

He was different today.

Not stronger. Not faster.

Settled.

That was the word.

Most cadets carried themselves like coiled springs. Royushi moved like a weight that had finally found its center. His mistakes were still there, but they didn’t feel defensive anymore. They felt… intentional.

Interesting, Maris thought.

She tapped her comm-link once—no voice, just data.

Scout Report:

Subject Royushi Kairo — behavior stabilizing.

Public chatter is increasing around Rikishu Kairo.

Correlation likely.

The reply came quickly.

Acknowledged. Continue. Do not interfere.

Maris leaned back against the wall and watched Royushi disappear down a corridor.

You’re being watched, she thought—not unkindly.

Let’s see what you do when you notice.

Royushi felt it a moment later.

Not a presence.

An absence.

The strange sense that something had stopped ignoring him.

He slowed his steps slightly.

“You feel that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rikishu said.

“…Is that bad?”

Rikishu considered it. “Not yet.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s accurate.”

Royushi glanced around. People moved as usual. Nothing looked wrong. And yet—

“Someone’s paying attention,” Royushi said.

“Yes.”

“Not you.”

Rikishu didn’t answer immediately.

“No,” he said at last. “Not me.”

Royushi swallowed. “So what do I do?”

Rikishu’s hologram stepped closer, expression calm.

“Nothing,” he said. “Short chapters are for waiting.”

Royushi blinked. “That’s the worst advice you’ve given me.”

“And yet,” Rikishu added, “you’ll follow it.”

Royushi sighed. “…Yeah.”

They reached the stairs leading up toward the rooftops. Royushi paused.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “When people talk about you…”

Rikishu looked at him.

“…Does it bother you?”

Rikishu stared at the far wall, at a past that refused to stay buried.

“No,” he said. “It reminds me I mattered.”

Royushi nodded slowly.

“Cool,” he said. “Just checking.”

They climbed the stairs together—one visible, one not.

Above them, the Citadel continued to whisper.

And somewhere in those whispers, a scout listened.