The dread felt tangible, like a cold stone firmly settled in my gut, resistant to any warm food or cheerful conversation that tried to push it away.
The "thread" I had felt surrounding Akihiko was no longer just vibrating; it was now a loud, silent wail of impending doom, a high-pitched sound that only I could perceive. It influenced every aspect.
The bright yellow of the dorm walls appeared somewhat subdued. The flavor of Yukari's cooking became like ash on my tongue. Each laugh from Junpei seemed to mark the passage of time, like a countdown unfolding in the air.
I attempted to hide it away, concentrating instead on the ordinary routines of school life. It seemed utterly impossible. My senses, sharpened by the Entity's awareness, were now aligned with a frequency of destiny, and the signal was overwhelming.
As I walked through the hallway during the break between classes, I noticed Akihiko engaged in conversation with Shinjiro once more.
The ideas surrounding them were in a tumultuous conflict. Akihiko's protectiveness was fragile and filled with desperation, resembling a shield crafted from glass.
Shinjiro's experience was marked by that same, overwhelming sense of FINALITY, yet now it carried a tone of sorrowful, resigned ACCEPTANCE. They were a tragedy poised for its concluding chapter.
I felt compelled to take action.
"Sanada," I called out, quickening my pace to reach him as Shinjiro moved off in the opposite direction. "We need to have a conversation right now."
He fixed me with a fierce glare, the shadows beneath his eyes standing out sharply. "I asked you to let it go, Tanaka."
"I'm here to tell you that whatever you have in mind, it's not the right choice! I am able to see it! The form of it is completely off! It takes you right to the edge of a cliff!"
"You really have no idea what you're saying!" he retorted, his tone deep and cutting. He took hold of my arm, drawing me into a vacant classroom. The door clicked shut, enclosing us in a heavy silence that felt almost palpable.
"Do you really believe that your limited power allows you to perceive everything?"
"Shinji and I have gone through experiences that are beyond your imagination, facing decisions that have tested us deeply and mourning the people we have lost along the way."
"Then help me understand!" I begged, raising my hands in exasperation. "From my perspective, all I observe is you getting ready to throw yourself on a grenade, while he simply allows it to unfold. Why is that?"
Akihiko rested against the desk, the energy of the fight fading away, leaving behind a profound weariness that I had never witnessed in him until now. "It's complicated."
"Try me."
He remained quiet for a considerable time, gazing at the chalk dust scattered across the floor. "There's... a girl. Fuuka. She possesses great potential. However, she is delicate. The Dark Hour... it poses a threat to her safety. Shinji... he lacks stability.
"His persona is slowly destroying him. He is entangled in all of this. If anything were to happen to her as a result of him... He began to lose his words, his fists tightening in frustration."
"I cannot allow that to occur. I must find the strength within myself to put an end to it. To ensure the safety of both of them."
The pieces fell into place with a haunting, unsettling clarity. His unwavering determination for strength, his intense loyalty, and his underlying fear were all merging into a single, disastrous moment.
"You cannot shield everyone on your own," I spoke gently. "That doesn't represent true strength."
"That's a trap. We're here to help you. I'd be delighted to assist you. Perhaps I have the ability to take action. Let us create a sense of stability in his condition. Something."
He shook his head, expressing bitterness and hopelessness. "You cannot fix this, Tanaka. Some things are just broken. And you simply have to live with the pieces."
He walked away, leaving me alone in the vacant classroom, the heaviness of his sorrow enveloping me like a thick blanket. I had never experienced such a sense of helplessness. My skill in dismantling Shadows and reshaping ideas proved ineffective against the relentless, crushing mechanisms of a foreordained tragedy.
That night, in Tartarus, the sensation was even more intense. The atmosphere within the tower was heavy with a profound sense of sadness. We found ourselves battling a group of Shadows, yet my heart simply wasn't in the fight. My movements felt heavy, and my concentration was broken.
"Behind you, Kaito!" Yukari's voice rang out.
I turned with a hesitant slowness. A Shadow, a delicate, bell-like entity, released a psychic wail that struck me with force. It wasn't the pain that overwhelmed me; it was the surge of DESPAIR that accompanied it, so intense and recognizable it felt like a part of me.
I have not nurtured my Evoker. I found no reason to. The Entity, confronted by the direct attack on its vessel, reacted with an instinctive wave of utter denial. A profound stillness surged within me, banishing the Shadow and its crippling enchantment from reality.
The battle came to an abrupt halt. The silence that ensued was more profound than any I had ever conjured.
"Whoa," Junpei exhaled, a sense of wonder washing over him. "You okay, man? You just... zapped it."
There I was, kneeling, breathless and overwhelmed. It wasn't due to any physical strain. It stemmed from the chilling understanding that the Entity's detached, calculated resolution was, in its own way, a response to despair as well. Simply let it go. The sheer simplicity was utterly terrifying.
Mitsuru was by my side in a heartbeat, her hand gently resting on my back. "Kaito? Your vital signs are on the rise. What transpired?
"I... I sensed it," I managed to articulate, my voice trembling. "The profound sense of despair." It was... insatiable. My initial impulse was to erase its existence. To refrain from resisting it. To remain in ignorance of it. Simply... remove it. I gazed up at her, my eyes filled with trepidation. "What am I transforming into, Mitsuru?"
Her expression conveyed a profound sense of anguish. She assisted me in rising, her hold resolute. "You are evolving into the person you must become to endure this."
"Yet, it is crucial that you never permit that instinct to eclipse the wisdom of your heart. Your empathy serves as the bedrock upon which your mastery is constructed. Always keep this in mind."
Upon returning to the dormitory, the atmosphere was charged with an almost palpable tension. Akihiko was a quiet tempest, emanating a palpable frustration that unsettled those around him. My father, ever insightful, took me aside.
"Son," he said, his voice tinged with a deep sense of worry. "It seems like you're shouldering a heavy burden. Is that... what you are capable of? Is it deteriorating?"
"It's not the power, Dad," I said, sinking down onto the couch. "It's the understanding. I can foresee a disaster approaching, and I feel powerless to prevent it. It feels as though it's meant to occur, and that's what frightens me the most."
He sat next to me, a reassuring and steady presence. "I dedicated my life to evading the harsh realities of the Kirijo Group. I believed I was safeguarding you. Yet, certain truths... they pursue you.
"They are inescapable. You can only confront them. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Remember, you're not facing this one alone?"
I nodded, finding strength in his words. However, later that night, as I lay in bed, the sensation came back, more intense than before. The thread was unraveling more quickly now. The conclusion was approaching.
I rose and strolled into the common room. I found Mitsuru there, sitting in the dim light, a single lamp casting a glow over the stack of books in her lap. She was consistently present, maintaining the connection while the rest of us rested.
She glanced up as I drew near. "It would be wise for you to take some time to rest."
"I can't," I confessed, taking a seat next to her. "The noise is overwhelming. The error. That's all I can hear."
She shut her book. "Please, go ahead."
I certainly did. I shared with her the details of the screaming thread, Akihiko's desperate determination, Shinjiro's unsettling acceptance, and my own frightening instinct to just wipe away the pain. I shared all my thoughts with her.
She listened, her expression inscrutable until I had completed my words. Then, she spoke, her voice gentle yet resolute.
"You are observing a sequence of cause and effect, Kaito."
"This is a sequence of occurrences that culminates in an unavoidable conclusion." Your strength reveals the solution to the equation. However, you are overlooking one essential factor."
"Which variable?"
"Us," she said plainly. SEES. "Us, We are the unexpected factor."
"Your perception may suggest that the outcome is predetermined, yet our reaction to it remains flexible. We cannot always avert the tragedy."
"However, we are empowered to determine how it shapes our identity moving forward. We can either allow it to break us, or we can decide to let it shape us into something more resilient."
Her words served as a lifeline. She was correct. I had concentrated so much on avoiding the collapse that I hadn't thought about what we would create from the ruins.
"I'm scared," I whispered, the confession weighing heavily on me.
She extended her hand, her fingers weaving together with mine. Her hand felt cool and steady. "I feel the same way," she admitted, her own vulnerability a precious offering. "Yet we will face our fears side by side."
"When the time comes, we will confront it together. As a cohesive unit."
We sat in the stillness of the dark, our hands intertwined, two anchors bracing for the impending storm. The tragedy was bound to happen.
I felt its icy breath against the nape of my neck. However, I was no longer merely a passive observer. I played a role in the equation. I would not allow it to tear us apart.
The pinnacle of our existence was on the verge of being marred.
As I grasped Mitsuru's hand in the darkness, I realized that the scars were not a mark of weakness.
They would stand as a testament to our endurance and the preservation of what we held dear.