Following Shuji Ikutsuki's introduction, there was complete silence, as if a vacuum had sucked all sound and warmth from the room.
He stood just inside our doorway, a picture of unwavering calm, while we were frozen, wide-eyed statues.
The only movement was the slow, deliberate closing of the door behind him with his own hand, and the click of the latch sounded like a final seal on the tomb.
My thoughts were racing, a frantic contrast to the Entity's cool, analytical focus.
Chairman of the Board, Gekkoukan High School. He is aware. He is familiar with the Dark Hour. He is aware of our existence. And he called me an "anomaly."
The word echoed in my head, a clinical, dehumanizing label that stripped away my identity and reduced me to a problem.
Mitsuru was the first person to break the tie. Even though she didn't move back, her posture changed from that of a defender to that of a diplomat under attack.
Her chin went up, and her voice was so cold it could have frozen hell. She called him "Ikutsuki-san," which is a sharp, formal sword.
"This is a private residence. Your presence here, unannounced and having bypassed our security, is a gross violation. Explain yourself. Immediately."
Ikutsuki's placid smile didn't waver. He placed his briefcase on the floor beside him with a soft thud and clasped his hands in front of him.
"A necessary breach of protocol, I assure you, Kirijo-san. The matters at hand are too sensitive for official channels, and time, I fear, is a luxury we no longer possess."
His wintery eyes swept over us again, pausing for a fraction of a second on each face—Yukari's bow, Junpei's clenched fists, Akihiko's predatory stillness, and Makoto's unnerving calm.
"I must say, it is… impressive to see the SEES team in person. Your operational efficiency is remarkable for a group of… students."
Junpei couldn't contain himself any longer.
"Hey, who the hell do you think you are, busting in here and talking like that?" he blurted out, taking a half-step forward before Yukari grabbed his arm, her knuckles white.
Ikutsuki's gaze slid to Junpei, utterly unimpressed.
"I am the man who has been authorizing the budget for this dormitory's… unique utilities, Iori-kun. I am the one who has ensured that your absences remain unquestioned and that the rather energetic phenomenon surrounding your activities remains off the official record."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You could say I am your benefactor. And now, your situation requires my more… direct involvement."
My blood ran cold. He wasn't just an outsider who knew.
He was in the system.
He was part of the architecture that had allowed us to exist. The Entity processed this new data, the web of connections and implications expanding in my mind's eye.
This man was a key node, a hidden variable we had never accounted for.
"Benefactor?" Akihiko's voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
He hadn't moved an inch, but the air around him crackled with suppressed violence.
"We don't need or want a 'benefactor.' We handle our own problems."
"Ah, Sanada-kun. Your file mentioned this… admirable self-reliance."
Ikutsuki's tone was patronizing, like a teacher addressing a stubborn child.
"But some problems are too large for a single fist to solve. The incident with Strega, for instance. A messy, public affair. And the recent, tragic loss of Aragaki-kun… a terrible blow. My condolences."
He said Shinjiro's name with the same detached tone he might use to comment on a stock market dip. A hot, sharp fury, entirely my own, flared in my chest. I saw Akihiko flinch as if struck.
"That's enough," Mitsuru cut in, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "You will not speak of him. You will state your business clearly and concisely, or you will leave."
Ikutsuki finally let his smile fade, replacing it with an expression of grave seriousness. It was no more genuine than the smile had been.
"Very well. There are two primary issues. First, the Kirijo Group's board of directors is growing… restless. With so few tangible, monetizable results, the project's resources are raising questions. Your father's position is becoming… tenuous, Kirijo-san."
I felt Mitsuru stiffen beside me. This was a direct blow, aimed at her most vulnerable point—her family, her legacy.
"And the second issue?" she asked, her voice tight.
His pale eyes landed squarely on me. They were like two chips of ice, dissecting and categorizing me.
"The second issue concerns the anomalous energy signature generated by this team. An unpredictable, conceptually based power that operates outside all known paradigms. A power that, according to my sources, nearly unraveled a section of reality in a warehouse last month."
He took a single step closer, and I felt the entire team tense as one.
"That power, Tanaka Kaito, is a threat. Not just to Shadows, but to the stability of the cognitive world itself. And by extension, to our world."
The air left my lungs. He knew about the warehouse. He knew what I had done.
The shame and fear of that loss of control came rushing back, amplified by his cold, accusing gaze.
The Entity within me stirred, not in defense, but in recognition of a threat to its vessel. It saw Ikutsuki not as a person, but as a dangerous, unpredictable variable.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice quieter than I intended, betraying the tremor I felt inside.
"Don't I?" Ikutsuki raised a single, gloved finger. "I understand that your abilities are unpredictable." This variable was never included in the Kirijo Group's original calculations."
"You are a question mark, Tanaka-kun. And in a delicate equation like the one we are trying to solve, a question mark can be as dangerous as a definitive negative." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, his gaze never leaving mine.
"The board sees you as a liability that must be contained. Studied. Neutralized, if necessary."
The word hung in the air, ugly and final.
Neutralized.
A protective fury, cold and absolute, swept through me. It wasn't just my own. It was Mitsuru's, it was Akihiko's, it was the entire team's unified front of defiance.
I felt my power rise in response, not as a wild surge, but as a controlled, humming pressure in the room. The lights flickered slightly.
"You will not touch him." Mitsuru's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the force of a decree. She took a step forward, placing herself slightly in front of me.
"Kaito is a valued member of this team. He is under my protection. And the protection of SEES."
Ikutsuki observed her, a flicker of something—amusement? interest?—in his cold eyes.
"Your loyalty is commendable. And predictable." He sighed, a theatrical sound of regret. "Which is why I am here, against the board's wishes, to offer you an alternative."
He reached down and picked up his briefcase, clicking it open. He pulled out a single, sealed manila envelope and held it out to Mitsuru. She didn't take it.
"This," he said, "contains the location and access codes to a Kirijo Group black-site research facility. Abandoned, but still functional. Its systems are isolated, its shielding is substantial."
His eyes flicked to me again. "It is a place where Tanaka-kun's abilities can be tested, understood, and brought under control, away from prying eyes and the board's… overzealous security teams."
He was offering us a cage. A gilded, private cage, but a cage nonetheless.
"You want us to hand him over to you for experimentation?" Akihiko snarled, his fists clenched so tight I thought his knuckles would break.
"Not to me," Ikutsuki corrected smoothly. "To you. I am merely providing the laboratory. SEES would remain his custodian. You would conduct the research on your terms. Prove to the board that he is an asset, not a threat. Prove that his power can be harnessed, controlled, and perhaps even… replicated."
The audacity of his cold, manipulative genius left me breathless.
He was pitting us against ourselves, using our desire to protect me to make us complicit in my imprisonment.
He was offering Mitsuru a way to save her father's position and protect me, at the cost of my freedom.
Mitsuru stared at the envelope in his hand as if it were a venomous snake. Her face was a pale, beautiful mask, but I could see the war raging behind her eyes—duty, family, love, all colliding.
Ikutsuki's lips curved back into that empty, polite smile.
"You don't have to decide now. Consider it. The fate of the Kirijo Group's support, the future of your team, and the… disposition… of your friend all rest on your choice." He placed the envelope on a small table by the door.
He gave a slight, formal bow. "I will be in touch."
And with that, he turned, opened the door, and stepped back out into the night, closing it softly behind him. The sound was somehow more terrifying than any slam could have been.
The silence he left behind was thick and heavy, poisoned by his words. We were no longer just a team fighting Shadows.
We were pawns in a much larger, much colder game. And the first move had just been made.
The envelope sat on the table, innocuous and terrifying, a single piece of paper that held the key to a gilded cage, and the weight of it threatened to crush us all.