For days, Suko had done nothing. It wasn't even a matter of suppressing his power, for there was nothing there to suppress. He was, to all appearances, truly an ordinary student. No aura, no pressure, no anomaly. For the first time, the Academy labeled his existence as "normal."
This, however, caught the attention of one person in class.
A girl in the back rows. Her hair was dark, and her eyes constantly drifted toward Suko, though she tried to avoid being caught. She didn't look at him with the usual "weird kid" judgment; it was more… curiosity.
As the class dispersed after the bell, the girl deliberately slowed her pace. Suko walked out into the corridor with an indifferent air. Just as she passed by him, she spoke:
"Um… your name is Suko, right?"
Suko stopped. He turned. "Yes."
The girl hesitated for a moment. "The fact that your power readings were zero… it was strange. But not in a bad way."
Suko shrugged. "It was a surprise to me, too."
It wasn't a lie. He truly didn't care.
The girl smiled. "I'm Lyria. We're in the same class, but you're always by yourself."
Suko didn't answer. Most people would have been unsettled by this silence. Lyria was not.
"We could go to the cafeteria together, if you want," she said. "It's not mandatory, of course."
Suko thought for a moment. His powers were locked away. He wasn't seeing the future. He wasn't playing with time. For the first time, he was truly making a decision.
"Sure," he said.
This single word caused something unseen in the Academy to shift. No one noticed. And it was meant to stay that way.
They stood in line at the cafeteria. Lyria talked; Suko listened. What was strange was this: it was a normal conversation. No destiny, no universe, no indefinable weight.
As they were about to sit, Kaneki watched from afar. That familiar, nameless feeling settled within him again. His head ached slightly as he looked at Suko.
"I know you," he whispered to himself. "But from where…?"
Suko felt it. But he didn't intervene.
Because for once, he wanted to interfere with nothing.
And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thing he had ever done.