They found him at the edge of the village, where the road thinned into packed dirt and the buildings gave way to old stone and moss.
His house looked older than the academy.
Older than most of the village, honestly.
"Why does it feel like we're about to get scolded by history itself?" Ryo muttered.
Kaito didn't answer. Dex had gone quiet, ears low.
The villager was already outside, seated on a low stool, carving thin lines into a piece of dark wood. He didn't look up when they approached.
"I was wondering how long it'd take you," the man said.
Ryo blinked. "Us?"
The carving stopped.
Slowly, the man lifted his head. His eyes were pale—not blind, but worn thin by years of watching things most people forgot.
"You," he said to Kaito. "Specifically."
Kaito felt that familiar tightening in his chest. "You know who I am."
"I know what you are now," the villager replied. "And I know what people are afraid you might be."
Ryo shifted, uncomfortable. "We're here to clear things up. About the academy. The rumors."
The old man snorted softly. "Rumors are for people without memory."
He set the carving aside and stood, joints cracking. "The fires didn't start naturally. Neither did the shots. They followed a pattern."
Kaito's gaze sharpened. "What kind of pattern?"
"Testing," the villager said simply. "Pressure points. Crowd response. How fast authority turns on its own protectors."
Ryo frowned. "That's… weirdly specific."
"I've seen it before."
That made both of them still.
"Before when?" Kaito asked.
The villager stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Different age. Different names. Same kind of enemy."
Kaito felt it then—a faint hum under his skin, like something old recognizing a familiar scar.
"You're saying this wasn't about destruction," Kaito said.
"No," the villager replied. "It was about reputation. Fires burn buildings. Lies burn people."
Dex growled low.
The man crouched, picking up the piece of wood again. Turned it so Kaito could see.
Carved into it was a symbol.
Incomplete. Rough. But unmistakable in its intent.
Kaito's breath caught.
Ryo looked between them. "You recognize it."
Kaito nodded slowly. "I've seen versions of it. In fragments. In places that shouldn't exist anymore."
The villager's eyes softened—not kindly, but knowingly."Then you understand why they're spreading rumors instead of attacking again."
"Because fighting me didn't work," Kaito said.
"And convincing others to fight you might."
Silence stretched.
Ryo finally spoke. "Why tell us this?"
The villager met Kaito's gaze fully now. "Because when history repeats, it's usually because the ones who survived stayed quiet."
He turned back toward his house. "The village will listen eventually. Truth has a way of resurfacing."
He paused at the door. "But be careful, boy."
Kaito stiffened.
"They aren't trying to ruin you," the man said. "They're trying to see what you'll become when everyone doubts you."
The door closed.
Ryo let out a breath he'd clearly been holding. "Well. That was… comforting in a terrifying way."
Kaito stared at the symbol burned into his mind.
Somewhere deep inside him, something old shifted.
Not anger.
Recognition.
And the unsettling feeling that the enemy wasn't guessing anymore.
They remembered him.