The visit did not feel heroic.

  It felt official.

  Two uniformed officers sat across from Nozu at the low table in his grandparents’ living room. A third man in a darker coat observed quietly, hands folded, eyes sharp.

  His grandmother poured tea with careful hands.

  His grandfather stood behind Nozu’s shoulder, posture straight despite his age.

  “You acted bravely,” one officer said. “But we strongly advise that you avoid direct engagement in situations like that.”

  Nozu nodded.

  “I understand.”

  The man in the darker coat spoke next.

  “You sustained injuries.”

  “They were minor.”

  “You were fortunate.”

  A pause followed.

  Not awkward.

  Measured.

  “There is something else,” the man continued. “The individuals involved showed unstable mana reinforcement patterns.”

  His grandfather frowned. “Unstable in what way?”

  “Inconsistent output. Artificial amplification. As if their cores were forced beyond safe thresholds.”

  Nozu’s fingers tightened slightly on his knees.

  The second officer added, quieter this time, “We’ve seen something like this a few times before.”

  The words lingered in the room.

  His grandmother looked up sharply. “A few times?”

  “Yes.”

  No elaboration came.

  His grandfather’s jaw tightened. “Is this becoming common?”

  “We are investigating.”

  Again, not an answer.

  They stood soon after.

  Formal thanks were offered again. A small commendation slip was handed to Nozu. Civilian bravery.

  It felt heavier than paper should.

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  When the door closed behind them, the house exhaled.

  His grandmother rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “We are proud of you.”

  His grandfather nodded once.

  “But do not gamble your life so easily.”

  Nozu lowered his gaze.

  “I won’t.”

  That night sleep did not come easily.

  Not because of pain.

  Not because of fear.

  Because of the rooftop.

  He saw it clearly.

  Miro standing there.

  Hands in his pockets.

  Watching.

  The air around him slightly distorted.

  The feeling beneath Nozu’s ribs.

  He had not imagined that.

  He knew what he saw.

  Which meant there was only one question left.

  Why?

  Training resumed the next day as if nothing had happened.

  Students complained about weighted bands attached to their ankles. Someone tripped during a reflex drill. Laughter returned easily.

  Miro moved through it all calmly.

  Correcting posture.

  Adjusting density of practice strikes.

  Smiling faintly.

  Nozu did not smile back.

  He waited until the field emptied.

  Until the noise thinned.

  Until only wind remained.

  Then he stepped forward.

  “You were there!”

  Miro turned his head slightly.

  “Where?”

  “On the rooftop! During the robbery!”

  Silence settled between them.

  Miro blinked once.

  “I believe you are mistaken.”

  “No! I saw you!”

  “You were injured. Mana depletion affects perception. Visual distortion is common.”

  “That wasn’t distortion!”

  “And what exactly did you see?”

  “You were watching! You didn’t move! You just stood there!”

  “Why would I watch and do nothing?” Miro asked quietly.

  The question pressed harder than denial.

  Nozu clenched his fists.

  “I know what I saw!”

  Miro stepped closer, calm as ever.

  “If I had been present and believed you were in danger beyond your capability, would I have allowed harm to come to you?”

  The answer formed automatically.

  No.

  That certainty irritated him more than doubt.

  “You’re hiding something,” Nozu said.

  “Everyone hides something,” Miro replied.

  The wind shifted across the empty field.

  Nozu searched his face for a crack.

  For guilt.

  For amusement.

  For anything.

  There was nothing.

  Just steady eyes.

  Calm breathing.

  Infuriating composure.

  “You’re wrong,” Nozu muttered.

  “Perhaps,” Miro said lightly.

  Nozu turned away first.

  He hated that.

  As he walked off the field, anger slowly tangled with uncertainty.

  He had seen it.

  He knew he had.

  Yet the calm denial kept echoing in his mind.

  Mana depletion affects perception.

  Visual distortion is common.

  He shook his head sharply.

  No.

  He was not mistaken.

  Night falls.

  I stand on the same rooftop, overlooking the quiet street.

  Traffic lights blink red to green to red again.

  Cars pass.

  Wind moves gently against my face.

  The memory is still there.

  A shattered storefront.

  Smoke.

  Three unstable signatures.

  A boy stepping forward without hesitation.

  Not for praise.

  Not for recognition.

  Anger.

  For someone else.

  I breathe it in.

  A small smile forms.

  Then wider.

  Almost too wide.

  The air tightens faintly around me, as if space itself draws closer.

  My pupils shimmer blue.

  For a fraction of a second, thin red fractures flicker within them.

  The energy hums beneath my skin: cold and acrid, like metal left in rain, like the edge of something that could end everything in an instant.

  Gone just as quickly.

  I curl my fingers inside my pockets.

  The smile almost grows further.

  I restrain it.

  Almost.

  “Oh… you’re perfect,” I whisper, barely containing the edge of it.

  “You truly are everything I ever hoped for. A good person who doesn’t give up. Who gets angry on behalf of others.”

  The wind brushes past me.

  “How rare.”

  The blue fades.

  The red disappears.

  The pressure dissolves.

  The smile softens.

  Contained.

  Below, the city continues unaware.

  On a distant government monitor, reports scroll by.

  Unstable mana amplification.

  Repeated incidents.

  Pattern unresolved.

  I keep my gaze on the street.

  “Yes,” I murmur quietly.

  “This will work.”

  The night remains calm.