Inside the cell, Araka was still wrapping up her review for the upcoming quiz.
"Araka, you're free now," a soft voice pass through the iron door, echoing inside the confined space. Araka turned her head and through a small window, a familiar face was on the other side - Huashin, with her long purple hair and smile.
Araka, now already in changed clothes - a light blue hoodie and a pair of shorts - approached the door while holding her notes for the upcoming quiz: "Instructor Huashin, I was sorry for what have done on Tuesday -"
"That's okay, Araka. Everyone in the complex understood your bravery, and now let's resume what we had left, or at least what was planned for today."
As Araka stepped out of the confinement cell with her belongings, Huashin guided her to a deeper part of the complex that seemingly had less guests than the lecture rooms. While finally regained freedom, Araka found the hallway in the Division 2 Training Complex of SAIR Central was colder than Araka expected - not by temperature, but by weight, the atmosphere. The floor's blue-gray tiles had the sheen of sterile order, and each door they passed bore no names—just etched sigils and sequence numbers. This wasn't the bustling training campus she'd gotten used to. It was something older, deeper. She wondered if even Jun and others had ever been here.
"Why here?" Araka finally asked, her voice low, still catching up with the atmosphere outside of her confinement cell.
Huashin walked ahead, her unzipped jacket swaying with clinical precision. She didn't answer immediately.
"You've used your Matake power twice, though unknowingly," Huashin said at last. "Once during the simulated combat session during the entrance exam. And once—during the highway incident."
"I didn't mean to and I had no idea what Matake actually was—"
"I know," Huashin cut in, gently. "That's not an assumption. It's a fact. Which means it's time we stop pretending you're just a high performing intern with good instincts."
They stopped at a sealed door marked Room D-12. Huashin placed her palm on the reader, and a low chime responded. The door slid open.
Inside was a quiet lab space, dimly lit by filtered ceiling panels. There were not many machines—only a table, a chair, a console with its screen turned off, and at the far end, a girl, with pale skin and long hair, dressed in white T-shirt and long pants, sitting in silence.
She looked two years older than Araka, with pale olive skin and short black hair that curled inwards near her jaw. She wore a white SAIR gown that looked more like a patient's robe than a uniform. Her eyes stared into the glass panel across the room—but her gaze was unfocused, as though she were looking past it. Past everything.
"Araka, do you want to learn what Matake really is?" Huashin asked.
Araka nodded.
"This is Ami," Huashin said softly. "She's been here almost a year now."
Araka glanced back. "Is she… okay?"
"She's recovering, or at least not harming anyone anymore," Huashin replied. "She's like you. She was born with an innate Matake-sense — except hers leans toward, let's say, information empathy. Too strong. Too fast. When her power awakened, she didn't know how to filter what she heard, saw, or felt."
"What happened?"
Huashin's voice lowered. "She overloaded her family. Never meant to. Every suppressed memory, every hidden emotion—she projected it into them. It was… too much. Her mother ended up in shock, almost paralyzed. Her father had a nervous collapse. She was hospitalized and restrained for two weeks before SAIR Central, especially Director Ninfo personally intercepted the case, annd me and Anawa brought her here."
Araka's throat tightened. She took a small breath.
"Does she talk?"
"Rarely. But I think she's ready now. And I think you're the one who should try to talk to her," Huashin turned to her, placing a hand gently on Araka's shoulder: "You have the same gift, Araka. But yours is echoed—filtered through memory, not thought. That makes it safer. But also… harder to understand."
Araka nodded, slowly: if this were the answer to what my Matake was about, the I may have a try. Then she stepped forward and grabbed the chair on her side of the room, sitting calmly.
Araka turned her face toward Ami and looked at her. For a moment, Araka didn't imagine herself talking to someone around her age, but stepping into a temple—not out of fear, but reverence.
Ami didn't look at her. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap.
Araka waited.
Ten seconds passed.
Then twenty.
Then—
"You're loud," Ami said, suddenly. Her voice was clear, but quiet.
Araka blinked. "Loud?"
"Your thoughts," Ami replied. Still not looking at her."They reach across. They're not sharp. Just… full. Like a hallway with too many doors."
Araka gave a tiny nervous smile. "That's the first time someone's told me my brain was overcrowded."
Ami finally turned her head. Her eyes met Araka's—not hostile. Just… cautious, curious about the surrounding.
"You've seen echoes, haven't you?" Ami asked. "Not of others, but yourself."
Araka hesitated. She felt her sense was indeed getting stronger, but she had no idea what Ami meant. However, seconds later, Araka picked up something inside her mind - a faint sound that resembled her voice, but it was unintelligible.
"And there's someone inside you that's not you. But not a stranger, either," Ami said calmly.
Araka's eyes widened.
"You do hear her," Ami said, her tone still light, almost dreamy. "You carry her shadow like a second spine."
Araka looked down at her hands.
"I thought it was just… memory, or some kind of instinct, and didn't know there is a name for this type of cognition."
"It is." Ami leaned in slightly. "That's why Huashin brought you to me. Because Matake isn't just voices or visions. It's what ties the unfinished threads between us."
There was a brief moment of silence between them.
"…Are you scared of me?" Ami finally asked, softly.
Araka met her gaze again. This time, with clarity.
"No," she said. "Because I didn't feel like I was threatened."
Ami tilted her head. Then, for the first time, she smiled - faintly, but slightly warmer.
"I think you'll be fine, Sara," Ami said.
Ami's smile faded, replaced by a subtle change in her eyebrows She looked down at her palms, studying the faint lines as thorough as they were cracks in porcelain.
"Your Matake," she said, "I could sense it. It isn't destructive. Not like mine. You don't project into people. You receive things. You trace them."
Araka tilted her head. "Like… I'm just an antenna?"
"No," Ami said. "Like you're the detector. You listen to things others have buried. You walk through the noise without sinking into it. That's why the echoes come to you."
She closed her eyes. "But that also means you're not strong enough to push them away. Not yet."
In the faint hum of the room's Matake suppressors, Araka could hear her own heartbeat against the soft synthetic mat.
Then Ami's voice cut through, gentle but urgent.
"There's something pulling me lately," she whispered. "Something under these echoes. Not from me. Not from the past. It's like a thread, but backwards. Like it's trying to… grow through me."
Araka leaned forward. "Can you feel where it's coming from?"
Ami shook her head slowly. "No. But I think you can."
The air changed, and it wasn't cold, but there was something that sharpened Araka's sense - Araka suddenly became aware of something beneath the atmosphere, like a layer behind glass. She shifted slightly in her seat, but her vision didn't blur. Instead, her perception twisted.
And then—she felt it.
Not a voice. Not a word. But a pull, like a magnetic field dragging her - not her body, but her mind.
It wasn't violent. But it was steady. Deep in the center of her chest, like a cord inside her was being gently drawn forward—not by force, but by recognition. A thread that hummed with half-formed intention. Not pain. Not fear. But - Curiosity. Hunger.
"I feel it," Araka said, her voice low.
Ami turned to her, eyes wide—but not surprised.
"Is it from me?" Ami asked.
Araka shook her head. "No. It's touching you. But it's not yours. It's… like it found a hole. A doorway. You were just open."
Ami's breathing slowed.
"Then it's real," she whispered.
Huashin's voice suddenly came from behind them—calm, but edged.
"What did you feel, Araka?"
Araka looked back over her shoulders. Huashin stood at the further side of the room, her usual stillness broken by a slight tightness in her gaze. She already knew something wasn't normal.
"It's not just cognition or memory," Araka replied. "There's… something new. Something alive, but something chaotic."
Huashin stepped closer, lowering her voice: "So Anawa's analysis was correct: it was inside Ami's mind all along."
Ami glanced toward the ceiling. "Like a root system. Or a parasite, right?"
Araka stood slowly while her minding was still racing - it also noticed what Ami had said. She took a careful step forward, her breath low, eyes fixed on Ami's frame.
She didn't know why—but something pulled her: Not the noise this time, but something more grounded, something inside Ami that was trying to reach out.
"You see it, don't you?" she said, voice gentle, not surprised. "The sadness. Behind me."
Araka's heart pulsed - it was not something physically in front of her, but her mind told her it was there in plain sight.
"I… I don't know what it is," she admitted. "But yes. I saw something. It was like a shadow—but it wasn't angry. It felt…"
She paused, then let the word out: "Lonely."
Ami nodded once, slowly: "Then you understand what I meant," she murmured. "It's not always violence. Sometimes Matake isn't in the form of rage or terror. It could also show pain that wants to be known."
Araka felt it again—just for a second. The pull. But this time, it wasn't inside her. It was just past Ami, like a second figure standing behind a curtain.
And then-
The sound of the door sliding open broke the moment.
Anawa stepped in—her lab coat swaying outside her grey sweater, while her short blonde bob hair swinging. She was holding a tablet in one hand, while observing Araka's reaction. Finally, she spoke, soft but attentive:
"Araka? I heard the Matake sensor react. Is something wrong?"
Araka turned to face her, eyes wide but calm.
"No," she said. "I just managed to see what's inside Ami's mind."
Anawa blinked, then closed the door behind her and stepped closer.
"What did you see?" Anawa said while pulling out her portable keyboard for her tablet.
Araka hesitated. After a moment, she said: "There was something… standing behind Ami. It didn't move. It didn't speak. But I could feel it. Like it was wrapped in fear… but not its own. Like it was made from fear. From someone else's."
Anawa's expression didn't change, but her grip on the clipboard tightened ever so slightly: "…Did it look like a person?" she asked.
"No," Araka said. "It was like a cloud of noise, but it's trying to become a human."
Anawa adjusted her glasses and looked at Ami—who now sat in silence again, eyes closed, unmoving.
"She's more stable than we expected," Anawa said softly. "But she's been… more active lately. If it's starting to show you things, then your resonance has grown faster than we expected."
Araka raised her eyebrows while still trying to process what just happened: "Is that dangerous?"
"At least not now," Anawa replied. "Matake, as you may have seen, is something that is easy to detect and suppress, but hard to map. I'm not sure if you could understand since you're still 14 turning 15, but to put simple, it connects layers of cognition or sensory. Memory, time, feeling… and sometimes things that were never meant to cross over."
Huashin, then came back from silence, said: "What you saw might not be part of Ami herself. It might be something Ami touched. And now, through her… it's touched you too."
Ami smiled again. It was small—barely a shift in her lips—but real. A moment of clarity through all the stillness.
"…So someone finally saw it," Ami whispered, as if releasing something she'd been holding for years. "I kept wondering if it was just in my head. Or if maybe the thing was clever enough to hide."
Araka didn't know what to say. Her fingers lightly touched the glass again, though she didn't press against it.
"Were you… always like this?" she asked quietly. "Did it happen to you? Or were you born with it?"
Ami's smile faded, but her tone remained calms "I was born with it. The Matake, I mean. But it was quiet. Dormant. Never causing any troubles." she said, her voice drifting like a breeze against the glass. "Then… around two years ago, it woke up. It was too much. I didn't know what it was. No one around me did."
Behind Araka, Anawa nodded, her voice stepping in with that same analytical softness she always used when processing emotion like data: "She's telling the truth. Amina is a civilian. No formal exposure to Matake theory. Just… raw reception. Her system had no filters. So when the power surfaced—"
"That's why everyone around me felt their mind overloaded when I tried to think," Ami said, her tone was as flat as a wood plank: "Like a floodgate opened."
Meanwhile, Araka found her mind slowly becoming dull and occupied as Ami's Matake field influenced Araka for longer. Yet on the other side of the glass barrier, Ami also leaned back slightly, while her eyes started flattering.
"…I'm… sorry," she said, barely audible. "Tired. Talking too much makes the lines blur…"
She slumped gently back into the padded chair. Her posture loosened, breath steady but slow.
Anawa immediately tapped the intercom on the wall: "This is Anawa. Research Branch medical requested in Room D-12 Subject Amina is experiencing fatigue."
Meanwhile, Huashin, upon seeing the scene, landed her eyes somewhere between both Araka and Ami. Not long after, she turned on the idle console and stepped forward, checked Ami's biometric reading on the monitor, then turned to Araka.
"She'll be fine. That's just how her nervous system handles Matake exposure. You, on the other hand," Huashin said, raising an eyebrow at Araka, "you're different."
Meanwhile, Araka, already stunned by what she had done, had been escorted by Anawa. The two stepped out into the hallway just as the soft whirr of a service unit echoed from deeper in the corridor. Once outside, with the door sealed behind them, Anawa exhaled and adjusted her clipboard: "That confirmed one thing."
Araka turned toward her.
"You have Matake resonance. Native. Unaltered. More stable than Amina's. But more important than that—you've already been using it."
Araka blinked. "Using it? But I've never—"
"You've channeled it," Anawa clarified. "Even if you weren't aware of it. That containment field emitted by the suppressors in there didn't react to any feedback. You were exposed, mentally linked, and didn't cause a single distortion. Most first-time resonants can't even control their facial tension, let alone filter their output."
Araka looked down, trying to remember everything from the entrance exam to the latest expressway mission. Was there ever a moment she felt something more than instinct? More than cognition? Was there a pattern?
"…I didn't know I had any of this," she admitted quietly. "Not before Huashin told me during confinement. Even then, I thought she was exaggerating."
Anawa smiled faintly. Not dismissive—just intrigued.
"Well, now we're certain. And that changes your classification. You're not just an intern anymore. You're a potential Matake-field candidate."
Araka frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
"For you, it doesn't mean anything until you receive proper training," Anawa said as they began walking slowly down the corridor, "but for us, that means we need to keep a closer eye on you."
She glanced sideways with a quiet smirk.
"…Hope you understand what I mean."
—-
Meanwhile, back to the Division 2 canteen, the other interns were still thinking about Araka's confinement for her involvement during the shard panther incident.
Tenka stabbed a chunk of rice omelet with her steel chopsticks and pouted faintly: "I get it," she mumbled. "Instructor Huashin had her reasons. And I'm not saying Sara-cha shouldn't have consequences after going off-script…"
She paused, looked up at the others.
"…But why hasn't she joined the main intern group yet? Wasn't today the end of her confinement?"
Across the table, Jun was drinking a can of soda: "Tenka, you remember what's different about Araka, right?"
Tenka blinked. "Besides being younger? She's still 14, sure. But that's it. We all made it through the entrance too."
Sukeo, upon finishing another bite of the rice omelet, said: "She's not like us, Tenka. If you remember, Instructor Huashin exclusively mentioned Araka had some special ability that couldn't really be tested during the entrance exam."
"That Matake thing?" Okuri raised his eyebrows.
Sukeo nodded: "Instructor Huashin said it was the ability that allowed Araka to communicate with supernatural beings. However, she also mentioned during the shard-infested panther mission that the SAIR also needed to use some suppressor to do some containment of Matake."
"I haven't even heard about the term Matake before, letting alone knowing Araka had one," Jun said, while taking another sip of the soda.
Tenka fell silent. "…I know," she said softly. "But that's why I'm worried. She has something that even Huashin wanted to hide, and that was bad."
Sukeo leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His tray, as always, was precisely organized—vegetables sorted by color, no sauce on the rice.
"Confinement isn't always punishment," he said casually. "It can be a test. A way to observe her response under isolation. How quickly she adapts to the SAIR environment."
Jun raised an eyebrow: "You're saying they're analyzing her as a subject?"
"I'm saying," Sukeo replied, "that the Matake thing must be vital for the SAIR at this point, or otherwise Araka wouldn't even have the candidacy for the entrance exam."
Okuri, who had been quietly eating vermicelli soup and listening, finally spoke, voice warm but firm: "She's still doing the quiz."
Tenka turned. "What?"
"The SAIR field guideline test," Okuri said. "It's this week. Last time I saw her, she's still studying. Even while confined."
"That's Araka for you," Jun said, "always works harder than anyone else and occasionally overthinks."
"She rewrote the classification tree in color-coded graphs," Okuri added, almost impressed. "With extra notes on environmental risk factors."
Tenka looked down at her food again. Somehow, as she took another bite, it tasted a little blander.
"I just hope she's okay," she said. "It's weird not hearing her voice."
The table fell quiet.
Outside, the wind moved across the glass dome like a whisper.
Jun finally finished his soda, eyes focused on nothing in particular.
"She'll be back, just like Araka I remembered - confident, energetic, but also calm.
"And then probably apologize for making us worry," Tenka muttered with a faint smile.
Sukeo nodded once: "With that weirdly formal tone."
"…And call me Tenka-sa again just to with me," she added.
Okuri chuckled softly: "I missed that already when she first met you."