[At Avras Clinic]

  Pale morning light wavered through the window, filtering through the dust-streaked glass like diluted milk. It was the hour before dawn—the Blue Hour. The world held its breath, suspended between the nightmares of the night and the reality of the day. The clinic was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of the two girls sleeping in the bed. Inhale. Exhale. It was a gentle, human metronome that filled the wooden room with a sense of fragile peace.

  Yu sat in a rigid wooden chair beside their bed, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind wired. He stared at his own hand. At his fingertips, a faint blue glow pulsed. It wasn't a spell. It wasn't active magic. It was a residue—like the heat left in a wire after a massive current has passed through it. Since defeating the Time Patrol, something inside him had fundamentally shifted. The internal architecture of his soul had been rearranged.

  That voice. Transparent. Childlike. Almost delighted. Neither Rize nor Claval had heard it. They had looked at him with confusion, seeing only a boy talking to the air. But Yu could still feel it lingering inside him. It wasn't in his ears; it was deeper, nestled behind his sternum, hovering just behind the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

  “You’re there, right?” He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, sinking his awareness inward like a diver descending into deep water.

  “Mhm. I’m right here.” The response came instantly. The voice laughed. But it didn't laugh in the air. It laughed inside the air. It was a vibration that bypassed his eardrums and touched his thoughts directly, warm and effervescent, like swallowing a mouthful of sunlight.

  “…Mana-chan?” Yu held his breath, his eyes snapping open.

  “Yep! We can finally talk properly now! Yay!” The voice bounced softly in his mind, radiating a warmth that made his fingertips tingle.

  Yu ran a hand across his forehead. His skin felt cool, clammy. This wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn't stress. There was a presence—alive, faint, and undeniably intelligent—nested within his biological functions.

  “Why… why can I understand you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the girls' breathing.

  “Because your [Bind] connected us!” The voice chirped happily. “You unconsciously translated me! You turned me into a ‘human voice’ format so your brain wouldn't melt! Isn't that clever?”

  “There was only one person before you who could talk to me like this, you know?” Mana-chan seemed to like to talk a lot.

  “The Returnee?” Yu’s heart skipped a beat.

  “That’s right~!” The tone shifted. The childish delight melted into something softer, deeper—a nostalgia that felt ancient.

  “People in this world called the returnee two things. ‘The man who loved mana’… and ‘the man loved by mana.’”

  “But it was simple, really. He loved me, and I loved him. That’s all. Everyone else just split the legend in two because they didn't get it.”

  Yu bit his lip. The memory of the Returnee’s last—the fading light stung fresh again. And yet he was gone.

  “He wanted to understand me better,” Mana-chan continued, her voice drifting like smoke. “So he carved the flow into his body.”

  “Carved…?” Yu asked.

  “Mhm. Circles, sigils, formulas. Lots of things. He burned them into his skin, dyed them into his flesh, etched them into his bones—so the mana would sink deeper.” Mana-chan answered. “It looked painful… but when he used magic? When he glowed? It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “…He carved himself just to understand?” Yu stared at his own unblemished skin. The returnee hadn't just learned magic. He had mutilated himself for it. He had turned his own body into a circuit board for the magic.

  “Mhm. Just like you. You’re someone who truly wants to hear my voice, aren't you?” Her voice surrounded Yu.

  A complex knot of hot and cold tangled in Yu’s chest. Fear. Awe. And a desperate, burning need.

  “I… need power too. I need to protect them. Can you help me? Can you give me more?” He clenched his fist, the blue light flaring in his heart.

  “Nope.” The reply was immediate. Soft, cheerful, but absolute.

  “…Why?” Yu asked again, not understanding what she meant, because he had never expected to be turned down.

  “Minors need parental consent!” Mana-chan said. Like a steel door slamming shut with a smile.

  “…What?” Yu blinked, his brain stalling.

  “Any contract with heavy responsibility attached needs a grown-up’s permission! No signing without a guardian!” Mana-chan said again.

  “Who decided that rule?” Yu frowned deeply. Even for a disembodied consciousness of magical energy, this made zero sense.

  “Hossy~!” Mana-chan laughed—a bright, chiming sound like a child running away down a long hallway.

  Hossy, Hoshimine, the Returnee. What was that old man up to?

  “See you later~!” The voice dissolved into drifting light. The presence behind his heartbeat faded, leaving only a faint, warm trace, like the spot where a cat had been sleeping.

  Yu sat alone in the dim clinic, staring at the empty air, baffled by the legacy of the man who had loved this world too much.

  ?

  [Tokyo. At Kasumigaseki]

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The underground conference floor was sealed off from the cycle of day and night. Here, time was measured only by the hum of servers and the rotation of shifts. LED lights cast a cold, merciless white glow over the long mahogany table. Sealed files, stamped with red "TOP SECRET" classifications, were spread out like a autopsy report.

  The file on top read: [SHIRO YU.] The air in the room was stale, recycled, and thick with tension. The government’s Interworld Special Measures Task Force had gathered. Analysts from the Ministry of Defense, surveillance officers from the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office (CIRO), representatives from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and even bureaucrats from the Ministry of Education.

  “Identity confirmation complete. Biometric analysis of video and audio records is a match. The EWS avatar ‘Yu’ is, without a doubt, the Japanese national Shiro Yu.” A room filled with titles, suits, and the weight of the state. The Section Chief, a man with graying hair and tired eyes, spoke while flipping through a document.

  “So he’s officially designated as a ‘Subject’ now?”

  “We’ve been treating him as one since the Satellite Incident. This is just formalization.”

  A chorus of clipped, professional replies followed.

  At the far end of the table, Kaori Mamiya sat in silence. Her eyes were fixed on a single sheet of paper, her face a mask of professional detachment. She hadn't spoken a word.

  “The trigger was the Claval stream. That footage sparked the initial viral buzz. And now, online chatter is treating the boy as a real entity, not an NPC.” Another officer tapped a file with a manicured fingernail.

  “What about foreign nations?”

  “They’re already moving. Intelligence chatter has spiked. Not just the UN Security Council members—the BRICS nations are showing significant interest.”

  “So this has entered mega diplomatic territory.”

  “And the Subject’s status? It's already been discovered?” The Chief closed the folder with a soft thud.

  “Non-disclosure by default. Domestic reporting will be suppressed under the press agreement. We control the narrative here.” The representative from the Cabinet Office folded his arms, leaning back.

  “But foreign media? It’s impossible to contain the internet.”

  “If pressed by foreign agencies, we will use the standard line: ‘The Japanese government does not comment on the operations of private entertainment enterprises.’” A cold silence fell over the room. It was a sentence of abandonment.

  On the wall monitor, a ticker cycled through trending tags from global social media:

  #Claval #UnknownBoy #JapaneseCandidate #EWSLeak

  A flood of numbers and letters. Not one person in this room saw a "boy." They saw a "variable." They saw a "risk." They saw a "resource."

  “The information spreads too fast. In this digital age… Yu Shiro may no longer be able to live in our world as a normal citizen.” A surveillance officer murmured, almost to himself.

  “If the Subject utilizes his abilities on this side again… a Termination Order is expected to be drafted.” Another official adjusted his glasses, his voice devoid of empathy.

  “A Defense Deployment?”

  “No. Classified black-action, under the guise of counter-terrorism.”

  “Public explanation?”

  “Terror suppression. Gas explosion. Take your pick.” The clinical exchange continued.

  “If he abandons his abilities… and severs all ties with the Interworld… He should return to normal. He is a minor.” Finally, Mamiya lifted her gaze. When she spoke, her voice was quiet—but sharp enough to crack the sterile atmosphere.

  The silence turned absolute. The men looked at her. Some with pity, some with annoyance.

  “Field teams will follow policy. That is all.” The Section Chief simply organized his papers, aligning the edges perfectly. That was the conclusion.

  When the meeting adjourned, Kaori Mamiya stepped out into the hallway. The corridor was long, white, and empty. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the polished linoleum. Click. Click. Click.

  She stopped. She closed her eyes. Her heartbeat struck against her ribs like cold metal. …You expect me to protect him? Against this? The unspoken whisper died in her throat, choked by the sheer scale of the machinery she was part of. She was a teacher. She was an agent. But against the grinding gears of the state, she was nothing.

  Still—she raised her head. She opened her eyes. And she walked on.

  ?

  Two days later. Morning. Yu was back in the real world. Rain had fallen overnight. The morning commute was damp and gray. Every step Yu took on the asphalt made a soft, wet squelch. He walked with his head down, scrolling through his phone. The news headlines blinked by at unnatural speed, a strobe light of information.

  “EWS Breaking News”

  “Oil Money Influx”

  “EWS for nice middle-aged people”

  “Who is Claval? Me?”

  Yu’s fingers stopped. Something inside his chest froze. Article after article naming “Claval.” Tag after tag whispering about the “Mysterious Boy.” Every headline treated it all as real world news—they were all talking about it. No one knew he was that “boy.” But everyone was already talking about him like he was a ghost, a cryptid wandering through the collective consciousness of the internet.

  “…The world is writing the story without me.” His self-mocking whisper vanished into the wind. Only his own breathing echoed faintly in his ears, sounding too loud in the quiet street.

  ?

  After School. The sunset was violent today. It dyed the classroom in a deep, bloody orange, casting long, distorted shadows across the desks. As Yu packed his bag, a quiet voice called to him from the door.

  “Shiro. Do you have a moment?” Mamiya-sensei stood there. Her silhouette was dark against the glowing hallway.

  “Yes.” Yu followed her. Not to the faculty office, but to the small prep room at the end of the hall—the same one they’d used before. The room smelled of chalk dust and old paper. Sunlight cut through the gap in the curtains like a laser, slicing the room in half. The door clicked shut. Click.

  “I honestly can’t tell if you’re lucky… or cursed.” With her back turned to him, staring out at the burning sky, she spoke.

  “…What do you mean?” Yu blinked, shifting his weight.

  “EWS. It’s no longer an independent venture.” Her tone was sterile—like she was reading a police report, or an obituary. “Yesterday, a massive Sovereign Wealth Fund purchased fifty-one percent of the company’s shares.”

  “…So—EWS was bought?” Yu’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Essentially, it has been nationalized. But not by Japan. By a foreign power. This means the Japanese government can no longer intervene, obstruct, or shut it down without causing an international incident.” Mamiya answered.

  “Why… why so suddenly…?” It was a story about adult money that was difficult for a high school student like him to understand.

  “Partially because of you. EWS exploded internationally. It went viral too fast. The value skyrocketed overnight.” Her voice carried zero emotion, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the windowsill. “I only learned this myself moments before it was announced. We were blindsided.”

  “…Buying an entire enterprise just for that…? Just for money?” Yu placed a hand on a dusty desk, staring down at the grain of the wood. The scale was too big. Governments. Sovereign funds. Billions of dollars.

  “No. The real reason is different.” Mamiya turned around slowly. For the first time, a strange expression crossed her face. A mix of exasperation, disbelief, and a faint, dry amusement.

  “?” Yu tilted his head and waited for more to word.

  “The CEO of that fund—he’s royalty. A Prince, to be exact.” Mamiya exhaled, shaking her head as if the world had finally gone completely mad.

  “…He’s a hardcore Claval’s fan.”