The corridor outside the administration wing breathed like a living thing.
Ancient stone walls pulsed faintly with embedded runes, their dull crimson glow rising and falling as if synced to a distant heartbeat.
The air carried a metallic tang—magic, old and disciplined—woven into every inch of the academy.
Tsuramo stood near the arched window, boots planted firmly against the cold marble floor.
Beyond the barrier, storm clouds drifted lazily across a bruised sky, their edges crackling faintly where the academy's wards pressed back against the world.
His arms were folded. His posture relaxed.
His senses were not.
A pressure brushed against the back of his neck.
Not hostile.
Playful.
A whisper of wind slid past his ear, cool and sharp, carrying a familiar presence.
"Well, well," a voice sang softly, amused. "If it isn't the CM-class enigma himself."
Tsuramo didn't turn.
"You're late," he said calmly.
The air rippled.
Yamata Kijin stepped out of the distortion as if reality itself had politely made room for him.
Silver hair shimmered like moonlit steel, a grin tugging effortlessly at his lips. A lazy gust curled around his boots, never quite touching the ground.
"Late?" Kijin echoed, feigning offense. "I prefer fashionably aligned with fate."
Tsuramo glanced at him sidelong. "You volunteered."
Kijin shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. "Didn't have to. She already decided."
That made Tsuramo look at him fully.
Before he could ask—
Click.
Footsteps.
Measured. Unhurried. Absolute.
The corridor shifted.
The runes along the walls dimmed, as if yielding. The air tightened—not heavy, not oppressive—but precise, like the moment before a blade cut.
Takara Ayame emerged from the far end of the hall.
Her violet eyes were calm pools of certainty. Her presence didn't announce itself loudly—it erased doubt quietly. Each step echoed with controlled intent, heels striking stone in perfect rhythm.
She stopped several paces from them.
"Kijin," she said.
Then, her gaze settled on Tsuramo.
"Tsuramo."
His name landed like a seal being pressed into wax.
"You're coming with me."
Kijin's grin widened just a fraction. He dipped his head theatrically. "An honor, Leader."
Tsuramo said nothing. He met her gaze directly—unflinching.
Ayame noticed.
Good.
"The Yokoshima Tunnel is not a battlefield," she continued, voice level. "It is a mistake people walk into believing they're strong."
Kijin tilted his head. "And if we disagree?"
Her eyes flicked to him—sharp, assessing.
"Then you die faster."
Silence followed. Thick. Honest.
Tsuramo broke it. "If combat becomes unavoidable?"
Ayame stepped closer.
The faint scent of cold metal and shadow followed her. Up close, her presence was sharper—edges hidden beneath calm. Her gaze locked onto Tsuramo's, unwavering.
"Then you move when I tell you," she said quietly. "Not before. Not after."
Her eyes searched him—not for fear, but for restraint.
"You hesitate," she added, softer still, "and people don't get second chances."
Tsuramo inhaled slowly.
"Understood."
Kijin clicked his tongue, impressed. "Straightforward. Efficient. I'm starting to see why everyone's nervous."
Ayame turned away.
"Gear up," she said. "Departure in one hour."
She took two steps—
Then stopped.
Without turning, she spoke again.
"Tsuramo."
His eyes lifted.
"Do not underestimate yourself," she said. "But never assume you're in control."
A pause.
Then she walked on, violet hair swaying once before disappearing around the bend.
The corridor exhaled.
The runes brightened again.
Kijin let out a low whistle. "That woman doesn't lead teams," he murmured. "She cuts paths."
Tsuramo stared at the empty hallway.
"She knows," he said.
Kijin's grin sharpened. "Oh, she knows everything that matters."
Wind coiled around Kijin's feet as he turned, beginning to fade.
"Try not to get yourself killed, red-haired anomaly," he added lightly. "I'd hate to lose my favorite statistical error."
Tsuramo's lips curved faintly.
"Don't slow me down."
The lanterns flickered once.
Far beneath the academy, something vast shifted inside the Yokoshima Tunnel—scales scraping stone, breath echoing through forgotten veins of the earth.
The expedition hadn't begun yet.
But the danger already had.
-
The entrance to the Yokoshima Tunnel was narrower than expected.
Not towering. Not grand.
Just a long, slanted opening carved into the rock, its walls darkened by age and something else—old magic that had soaked into the stone like a stain. A faint mist clung low to the ground, curling lazily around boots as the group approached.
Ayame stopped just before the threshold.
"Alright," she said calmly, turning to face them. "We go in slow. No rushing, no heroics."
Kurojin stood to her right, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. "You say that like it'll actually stop anyone."
Ayame shot him a sideways glance. "You're my assistant, not my conscience. Help, don't heckle."
He clicked his tongue. "Tch. Bossy."
Still, he stepped closer to her side.
Behind them, the rest of the group adjusted.
The A-ranker guide, Rei, lifted his hand again. A steady orb of pale-gold light formed above his palm, not bright—controlled. Thin strands of light extended outward, tracing the tunnel's curve like cautious fingers.
"Light's stable," Rei said. "It'll dim if terrain shifts or if something messes with perception."
Kijin leaned forward slightly, peering into the tunnel. "So basically, if it freaks out, we should too?"
Rei smirked. "Pretty much."
Tsuramo stood quietly behind them.
The mask hid his mouth and nose, smooth and dark, while the ninja hat cast his crimson eyes in shadow. He looked smaller like this—less noticeable. Exactly how he preferred it.
Kijin glanced back at him. "Still creepy, even with half your face covered."
Tsuramo replied flatly, "You're loud even without a mouth filter."
Ayame turned slightly. "Both of you—backup positions. If something slips past the front, you respond. Not before."
Kijin raised two fingers lazily. "Got it. Last line of 'oh no.'"
Tsuramo nodded once.
They stepped inside.
The tunnel bent almost immediately, forcing everyone to angle their shoulders slightly as they walked. The ceiling dipped low enough that even Kurojin had to tilt his head.
"Great," Kurojin muttered. "I hate cramped spaces."
Ayame walked ahead of him, unbothered. "Then focus on the walls instead of your comfort."
He dragged his fingers along the stone as they moved.
A faint red shimmer traced behind his touch—subtle markings burned into the rock, spaced evenly.
"Trail marks," he said. "So when this place tries to twist us around, we know where we've been."
"Good," Ayame replied without slowing. "Keep it light. I don't want to advertise us."
The tunnel air was cool, damp, but breathable. Water dripped occasionally from above, splashing softly against the uneven floor.
Rei's light shifted slightly, reacting to something deeper ahead.
"Pressure's building," he said. "Nothing hostile. Just… old."
Kijin tilted his head, eyes half-closed. A faint breeze stirred around him, barely noticeable. "Wind's acting funny," he said. "Echoes don't bounce right."
Ayame slowed her pace. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Kijin replied, "distance lies here. Sounds farther than they are. Or closer."
Ayame nodded. "Then we stay visual."
She glanced back briefly.
"Tsuramo."
"Yes."
"If Rei's light dims suddenly, you cover the blind side."
Tsuramo adjusted his stance. "Understood."
Kurojin looked over his shoulder. "CM kid. If something grabs me, stab it."
Tsuramo replied evenly, "If something grabs you, it's already dead."
Kijin snorted. "Wow. Romantic."
They continued deeper.
The tunnel curved again, tighter this time. The walls seemed closer now, bending inward just enough to make everyone more aware of their breathing, their footsteps, the scrape of armor.
No monsters.
No roars.
Just the steady feeling that the tunnel was… listening.
Ayame raised her hand slightly—not a stop. Just a warning.
"Stay sharp," she said quietly. "This place doesn't attack first."
Her eyes flicked to Kurojin. Then to Kijin. Then to Tsuramo.
"And neither do we."
The light ahead pulsed once.
Not danger.
Not yet.
Just the tunnel acknowledging their presence.
And allowing them to pass.