Instructor Specter was in full monologue mode at the front of the room, chalk-drawing complex rift-vector math that looked suspiciously like eldritch spaghetti. A hush hung over the semicircle of tiered desks—at least, the official hush.

  My holo-tablet buzzed.

  Rei: Pay attention. You’ll need this for Friday’s quiz.

  Me: I am paying attention.

  Rei: To the board, not your comedy career.

  Me: But this is IMPORTANT CULTURE.

  I slid the meme into the thread—a low-res GIF of a chubby garden fox repeatedly popping out of a shadow portal, stealing snacks, then dabbing before vanishing. Caption: “Me exiting every rift mission as the MVP.”

  Across the aisle, Rei’s stoic profile twitched—just a millimetre at the corner of her mouth.

  Rei: …That fox has your smug face.

  Me: Artistic self-portrait.

  Rei: You’re insufferable.

  Me: And yet, you haven’t blocked me.

  Rei: Not worth the paperwork.

  A tiny cough escaped her—so soft no one else noticed.

  Progress.

  Specter paused mid-formula, eyes sweeping the rows like a hawk that sensed mice texting. All tablets dutifully snapped to lecture mode. Except Kyra’s—she was two rows up with her screen dark, arms folded, gaze flicking between Specter’s equations and… me.

  Cold blue eyes, razor-calm.

  Message received: Focus up, Shadow King.

  Later in Lynn’s Dorm

  My dorm was supposed to be a place of peace.

  No yelling instructors. No Rift emergencies. No leadership evaluations or cryptic glances from cold-eyed Apex elites.

  Just a plain desk, a folded blanket, and a single synth-lamp that flickered when the heater kicked in.

  Rei sat at the edge of my bed, tablet balanced on her knees, one brow raised as she skimmed the day’s notes on essential energy fracturing during high-output Rift bursts.

  “You forgot to label this diagram,” she said, tapping the screen.

  “I didn’t forget,” I said, leaning back in my desk chair. “I was giving it… interpretive freedom.”

  “That’s not how strategy works.”

  “It is if you have enough charisma.”

  She rolled her eyes—no smile, but a slight pause in her breath. The Rei version of a laugh.

  She was starting to come around.

  I was about to make another dumb joke when the door burst open like a low-budget explosion jutsu had gone off outside.

  “LYNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  The shout nearly blew my eyebrows off.

  Before I could react, my mom slammed into me in a tornado of hugs, hair, and perfume that smelled like mangoes and home. She tackled me back into the chair, arms wrapped so tight I forgot what breathing felt like.

  “Ohmygoshlookathisroom! You actually made your bed! Did they teach you that or was it a miracle?!”

  “Hi Mom,” I wheezed. “Nice to see you too.”

  “Are you eating enough? Are they feeding you military rations? You look skinny.”

  “I look the same as I did last week.”

  “Lies! Lies and lighting filters!”

  I was still being crushed when I saw Rei slowly stand up—stone-faced but clearly frozen in confusion.

  And right behind Mom came my older brother, Marcus.

  He was taller than me by a good four inches, arms crossed, dressed in clean urban-casual: black zip-up jacket, T-shirt with a minimalist fox print (classic), and a calm smile that always felt about 30% amused by everything.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said, glancing at Rei. “KISA actually lets girls hang out in the guy dorms?”

  “We’re literally talking about class notes,” I groaned.

  “Didn’t sound like that when we knocked.”

  “You didn’t knock.”

  My mom finally released me, then spun toward Rei with dramatic flair.

  “And you must be one of Lynn’s squadmates! I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’m Yumi Kurosaki, retired headache generator and full-time proud mother. And this is my actual grown son, Marcus.”

  Marcus gave a small wave. “Nice to meet you.”

  Rei, somehow keeping a straight face through the chaos, offered a small bow. “Rei Minahara. I’m Lynn’s teammate.”

  “She’s also our team’s strategy brain,” I said, standing and smoothing my shirt. “And the reason I didn’t get vaporized in the last simulation.”

  “Ohhhhhh!” Mom beamed. “Smart and calm under pressure! Lynn, why didn’t you tell me she was this composed? You usually attract troublemakers.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No offense, honey. You’re just so dramatic sometimes.”

  Rei blinked. Then looked at me. “I see it now.”

  We all ended up sitting around the dorm table—my mom breaking out snacks like she’d smuggled them through airport security, Marcus asking Rei low-key questions about how I was doing in class (“Is he still late? Still reckless?”), and me trying to avoid dying of embarrassment.

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  But weirdly?

  It felt good.

  Like home had briefly dropped into my world of Rift drills and leadership pressure.

  My mom was already reorganizing my snack shelf like it offended her sensibilities. Marcus sat on my desk chair with one leg crossed over the other, glancing occasionally at Rei like he couldn’t decide if she was secretly my girlfriend or a living kunai trap.

  Rei Minahara—stoic, brilliant, and currently sipping green tea like this was all perfectly normal—sat at the edge of my bed, watching the madness unfold with unreadable eyes.

  “So,” Marcus said, finally turning to her, “you guys… close?”

  Rei blinked. “We’re teammates.”

  “Uh-huh. Just teammates?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right,” he said, clearly not buying it, then glanced at me. “Does she always talk like that?”

  “She talks,” I said. “Just not when you want her to.”

  “He talks too much,” Rei muttered into her cup.

  “Okay,” my mom cut in, flopping onto the floor with the grace of a cartoon ninja, “what’s this I hear about Lynn surviving a Rift simulation that ‘even upperclassmen have trouble with’? You didn’t text me that!”

  “Because I knew you’d show up with balloons or confetti or something.”

  “You wound me.” She held her heart. “Do you think I carry confetti in my purse?”

  I opened my mouth.

  She held up a finger and produced confetti from her purse like a magic trick.

  “…Why am I surprised.”

  “Because you doubt my power,” she said gravely, sprinkling a handful on my floor.

  “That’s not biodegradable.”

  “Neither is your ego, but we’re all dealing with it.”

  Rei actually snorted. She tried to hide it behind her cup, but the sound was real.

  After a while, my mom pulled out a small wrapped box and placed it on my desk.

  “From home. No peeking until we leave.”

  “Why do you always say that like it’s a cursed object?”

  “Because it builds character,” she said, patting my head.

  Marcus, surprisingly, stood and gave me a proper hug.

  “You’re doing good,” he said quietly. “Better than I expected.”

  “Gee. Thanks, bro.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He glanced toward Rei again.

  “She’s got your back?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you’ll be fine.”

  As they were leaving, Mom gave Rei one more quick once-over.

  “You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said, eyes suddenly a little softer. “Smart. Sharp. Too serious for her own good.”

  Rei tilted her head slightly. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

  “It is,” she smiled. “Just make sure my son eats. He forgets when he’s brooding.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Wonderful! We’ll come bother you again soon!”

  And then they were gone. A whirlwind. A spark.

  And the room was… weirdly quiet.

  I turned toward Rei, rubbing the back of my neck.

  “Sorry about that. They kind of hijack reality when they show up.”

  She stood, brushing off imaginary lint.

  “It was… nice.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your mom is terrifying,” she added. “In a good way.”

  I laughed.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  She paused, then looked at the box on the desk.

  “You’re going to open that now, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re totally opening it now.”

  I opened it.

  Inside was a hand-stitched patch with a small flame emblem. An old family symbol. And a note:

  “Keep going, Shadowheart. We’re proud of you.” — Mom

  I didn’t say anything.

  But Rei’s silence said enough for both of us.

  Later that night, the dorm halls quieted to a gentle hum—no yelling, no simulations, no ghost-rank whispers… just stillness.

  The kind that feels rare in a place like KISA.

  I found myself back on the north rooftop.

  The same one Rei had dragged me to the other day when she needed to “talk privately” but spent most of the time staring into the sky like it had answers she couldn’t get in a classroom.

  Tonight, she was already there when I arrived.

  Hood up. Knees drawn to her chest. The wind pulling at the loose strands of her hair.

  “You’re early,” she said without turning.

  “Or you’re just late.”

  “I’ve been here fifteen minutes.”

  “Then you’re just dramatically early.”

  She didn’t argue, which I considered a moral victory.

  I sat beside her—close, but not too close. The stars above Seoul glittered faintly through the city’s low haze, blinking like far-off memories. The kind you weren’t sure were real.

  “You okay?” I asked after a long pause.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. You came up here alone.”

  She sighed, then finally glanced at me.

  “Your family’s nice.”

  “You sure you weren’t traumatized by the glitter ambush?”

  “Emotionally scarred, but I’ll recover.”

  She looked away again, expression softening.

  “They’re… warm,” she added, almost like it hurt to say it. “Not used to that.”

  I didn’t push. I knew better.

  We sat in silence a while longer, the kind that doesn’t demand conversation but still means something.

  Then she said:

  “Do you think you belong here?”

  “At KISA?”

  “Yeah.”

  I thought about that. The simulations. The ranks. The eyes on me.

  And Kyra’s voice in the back of my head:

  “The faster you rise, the harder the system pushes back.”

  “I didn’t at first,” I admitted. “But I think I’m getting closer.”

  Rei nodded, slow and thoughtful.

  “You’ve changed since the first week.”

  “In a good way?”

  “You still send stupid memes during class.”

  “That’s never changing.”

  “But yeah,” she said, “in a good way.”

  The rooftop lights flickered once—then a shadow passed near the stairwell entrance.

  Aki Jang.

  She didn’t say anything at first. Just approached calmly, hands in her pockets.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said.

  “You’re not,” Rei replied, surprisingly.

  Aki turned her gaze to me.

  “They’re increasing tactical pressure next week. Mixed-division pairing drills. You’ll likely get assigned a Red partner again.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Kyra?”

  “Probably,” she said flatly. “She requested it.”

  I blinked. “She what?”

  “Said you need ‘tempering.’” Aki’s lips twitched faintly. “Take that how you will.”

  “Should I be honored or worried?”

  “Both.”

  She turned to leave, but paused.

  “Your Rift instincts are unusual,” she added. “You think sideways. It’s good. Just… watch your back.”

  And with that, she vanished back into the shadows.

  Rei waited until the stairwell door closed.

  “You attract strange women.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

  “That’s probably a problem.”

  “I’m pretending it’s character development.”

  She gave me a faint side-eye. “Keep pretending.”

  The next morning came quietly.

  No alarms. No simulated explosions. Just the sound of the dorm heater sputtering like it needed emotional support.

  I padded down the hallway in a hoodie and socks, half-asleep, and barely noticed when Ren passed by with his usual thermos of tea and five different anxiety packets strapped to his belt. Riku, of course, was upside down on the common room couch watching a highlight reel of yesterday’s combat simulations while narrating over himself like a livestreamer.

  “Boom—look at that! Did you see my form?! Bro, you could’ve timed an orchestra to that spin-kick.”

  “Riku,” I groaned, “it’s 7:14 in the morning.”

  “The grind doesn’t sleep, brother.”

  “Maybe it should.”

  Rei walked in moments later, hair tied back in a neat braid, her tablet tucked under one arm.

  “You look alive,” she said.

  “Barely,” I replied. “No pop quizzes today, right?”

  “Only emotional ones.”

  “Even worse.”

  We didn’t have any drills or field exercises scheduled, so most squads took the chance to breathe. The lounge outside the simulation bay had been transformed into a casual hangout space for the day—ping-pong tables, card games, and a vending machine that always seemed to be out of whatever you wanted most.

  “Day off, huh?” I said as I grabbed a seat beside Rei.

  “Don’t let it fool you,” she replied, scanning her tablet. “Half the instructors are still watching us.”

  “Let them. Maybe they’ll finally appreciate my high-level snacking ability.”

  She didn’t even look up. “If you trip during a recon drill because you ate six protein bars, I’m not reviving you.”

  “Fair.”

  Around midday, we headed out as a squad into town.

  Downtown Seoul was a welcome change of pace—neon lights, food stalls, actual noise that didn’t come from training modules. We wandered through back alleys, checked out a few cafes, and even saw two upperclassmen trying to one-up each other in a rooftop race that ended with one of them crashing through a noodle sign.

  “I’m almost jealous,” Ren muttered.

  “Of the guy who hit the sign?” I asked.

  “No, of the fact he had time to make a bet first.”

  Rei, to everyone’s surprise, actually agreed to split a sweet taiyaki with me at one point. Riku snapped a picture like it was proof of a cryptid sighting.

  “Rei willingly sharing a dessert? This is going on the wall.”

  “Do it and I melt your phone,” Rei said, without looking up.

  Later, as the sun dipped below the city skyline, our squad stood quietly at a scenic overlook near the Han River.

  No chatter.

  No noise.

  Just us. Friends, finally.

  Or close enough.

  I didn’t know what was waiting for us in the coming weeks. I didn’t know why Aki and Kyra had both started watching me more closely, or why Specter always paused longer on my name during roll call.

  But right now? This moment?

  This was peace.