The hallway lights dimmed slightly as they passed the motion sensor.Anawa led Araka down the residential wing of SAIR Central Bakju Compex —clean, modular dorms marked with small silver nameplates. Each room was identical from the outside, but behind every door was a different life beginning to take shape.
They stopped at Room 212. The panel beeped softly as Anawa tapped her staff ID.
"Here we are, Araka," she said. "This will be your new temporary quarters."
Inside, the dorm was minimalist but not unpleasant: a desk by the window, a twin bed, surrounded by shelves and draws that were waiting to be filled. At the foot of the bed: a small stack of cardboard boxes, each marked in Jun's handwriting. Araka instantly recognized her family's packaging tape. Her name was scribbled across the top in three languages.
"Jun brought these earlier," Anawa said. "You missed the scheduled move-in while in confinement, so he volunteered. He didn't open them—just dropped them off."
Araka blinked, then walked slowly to the bed. She placed a hand on the top box and whispered more to herself than to Anawa: "Did he bring… those things too?"
Anawa raised an eyebrow: "Those things?"
"You know. My clothes. My woninsy (manga) collections. My, um, video game disks…" She peeked into the top box and sighed when she saw only a few folded T-shirts, a jacket, and a disorganized pile of study materials.
"Not much," Anawa said with a faint smile. "You'll be allowed a personal trip home tomorrow if you want to bring more."
Araka let herself plop down onto the edge of the bed.
"At least Mom sent over changing clothes and underwear," she muttered, while looking at the ceiling: "Honestly, even if Jun had brought those… I wouldn't have cared. I mean, he's already seen them."
She stared at the ceiling, arms half-flopped across her lap: "Not that I want him to, obviously. But you know, sibling stuff."
Anawa blinked again. Then chuckled, softly: "Well. I suppose that makes my job easier. Not many Matake candidates are that relaxed after their first week."
"I think I burned through all my anxiety already," Araka said, "to even understand my own quirk."
She sat in silence for a few moments longer. Then leaned over and opened the second box: a small photo frame was inside, wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it slowly—revealing a picture of her, Jun, and Moraka, Araka's mom, taken just before she'd left for the intern selection exam.
It looked like a different lifetime, even though it was just two weeks before.
"…Thanks for bringing me here," she said while looking at the face of Moraka.
Anawa nodded and handed the room keycard to Araka: "You'll do fine. Just… remember this is your space now. And the next time something feels wrong, you don't have to wait for permission to say it."
Araka smiled faintly. "That's a very specific rule for an organization that loves its protocols."
Anawa didn't answer. She just turned to leave, tapping the door controls.
As the door slid shut behind her, Araka looked back at the boxes. Then, slowly, began unpacking. Box after box, item after item, the dormitory began to feel lively piece by piece.
After unpacking her towels and toiletry set, Araka took off her hoodie, revealing her grey sports bra, and changed into slippers - the first time she could change into something more comfortable. She wrapped her towel around her neck and grabbed her toiletry bag - knowing that it was time for a shower.
Meanwhile, along the corridor, Tenka, wearing a hot pink top and denim high rise shorts, rang the doorbell. "Sa~ra-cha!" she called, her voice playful but with a hint of worry tucked inside.
Upon hearing the chime of the doorbell, Araka walked toward the exit and opened the door. However, upon seeing Araka in person, Tenka realized that Araka was not in her best form yet: her long blue hair was a bit messy, and she looked like someone who had been thinking very hard for the past several hours—and was only now realizing how much she needed a hot shower.
"Oh," Araka said, surprised but not startled. "Hey, Tenka-sa. Sorry for my rough appearance."
Tenka made a show of puffing up. "Hey! Are you calling me that again?"
Araka smiled faintly. "I thought you missed it. Plus, you're older than me, so it's the proper way to call you."
Tenka rolled her eyes, then stepped closer, hands behind her back, rocking a little on her heels: "…I'm glad you're back," she said, a little more softly this time. "The canteen's been weird without you."
"Really?" Araka raised an eyebrow. "I would've thought Sukeo and Jun kept everything in perfect order."
"He tried," Tenka shrugged. "But it's not the same. Also, Jun got moodier."
Araka laughed under her breath. "That makes sense," she said in her typical playful tone, "for being an older brother."
Tenka glanced at the towel and bag. "So, you're heading to shower?"
"Yes. Finally." Araka groaned. "I was stuck in confinement with a sink and cold water. Had to use deodorant just to feel human again."
Tenka blinked. "Wait, that deodorant?"
Araka raised her bag slightly with mock pride. "Yeah, the same one I had during the entrance exam. Still in the backpack despite forgetting to bring my ID. Saved my life - socially."
Tenka snorted. "Well, that's Araka of Sakashi branch, I guess."
They stood in silence for a second, the air between them relaxed but still edged with curiosity.
"Hey, Sara-cha," Tenka said more carefully this time. "Back there, inside the confinement, did Instructor Huashin and Anawa treat you like a… subject?"
Araka tilted her head thoughtfully. "…Not exactly," she said. "They weren't cruel or anything. Just… clinical. Focused. Like I was an answer they hadn't figured out yet."
Tenka looked uncomfortable. "That still sounds a little creepy."
"I mean, they also did explain what Matake is. Properly this time," Araka added. "Actual resonance. Memory echoes. Emotional contamination."
Tenka frowned, her brows drawing together: "Is it really that special? Every during the introduction lecture, Huashin only said Matake was related to cognition or something"
"…Yes," Araka said, more firmly this time. "Tenka, you've heard those urban rumors, right? Stories about people going mad out of nowhere, or suddenly speaking in voices that aren't theirs?"
"Yeah, like that girl in that prep school dorm last year. They said she started talking like her old teacher, even though he died, right?"
"I didn't know if that's related to Matake, but at least it was something related. But I saw it first hand, and some of these instances aren't just ghost stories or breakdowns. It's… residue. Echoes bleeding through the mind. Sometimes the people they latch onto can't handle it."
Tenka's eyes widened slightly: "That's confusing."
Araka shrugged, adjusting her towel over her shoulder. "It is. And I don't fully get it either. I'm just 14, remember?"
Tenka puffed her cheeks. "I'm older than you, you know."
"That's why I'm saying I shouldn't be the one explaining this," Araka replied. "Anyway, I'm going back to the lecture room later today, hope I didn't miss too much."
Tenka gave her a long look, then stepped forward and pulled Araka into a light, one-armed hug: "Don't get possessed on me, Sara-cha?"
"No promises," Araka said playfully. "But I'll use extra deodorant just in case."
Tenka groaned. "That's not how Matake works!"
Araka was already laughing as she walked toward the communal shower room, towel slung like a badge of honor, ready to return—not just as a survivor of confinement, but as someone who'd seen what lay beneath the curtain.
And still chose to walk forward.
—
The classroom lights dimmed slightly as the holoscreen flickered on.
Huashin stood at the lectern—not in her usual instructor uniform, but in a light tactical coat. Her purple hair dangled along her shoulders as usual, while wearing her iconic purple-golden striped bandana. Her expression was composed, but less strict than hers during the mission. A few strands of fringe drifted across her brow as she looked over the class.
"…First," she said, her voice clear, "I owe all of you an apology."
The class grew still: Tenka and Okuri sat straighter; Jun, arms folded, kept his gaze locked forward; Sukeo leaned back in his seat with a faint arch to his brow; Araka quietly slipped into her seat near the back, her presence unnoticed by most—except Tenka, who gave a small, quiet smile.
Huashin continued.
"What happened three days ago on the expressway was not part of your curriculum. It was supposed to be a remote analysis mission, strictly observational. But circumstances escalated faster than protocol could follow."
She tapped the screen.
A grainy video played—recorded from a highway camera. It showed the moment the freight truck lurched to a stop, the rear container tearing open, the panther-like beast bursting out and leaping onto the road. The distortion around its limbs was unnatural—flickering, almost unstable.
A murmur passed through the room.
"This was not a native animal, nor a trained bio-weapon," Huashin said, "This was the result of illegal hunting activity near a restricted ecological zone in Tao Republic. The smugglers had no idea what they were transporting."
Another slide came up—a translucent crystal, barely the size of a coin, gleaming faint blue under lab light.
"This," she said, "was found inside the creature's stomach lining."
A silence settled. Then Jun raised his hand: "Is that the 'shard' you were referring to?" he asked.
Sukeo exhaled lightly, arms still folded. "The 'Shard' isn't a proven entity. It's an inconsistent myth. If it were real, we'd have dozens of cases by now—hundreds, even."
Huashin didn't answer immediately. Her eyes scanned both of them before she replied.
"…One of the theories says that the Shard is not a thing, but a classification. A phenomenon. Not all Matake events involve the Shard—but the most volatile ones might. That's what Anawa and Haseku's teams are looking into."
She paused. The holoscreen dimmed.
"And just to clarify—this crystal was not Matake-active. At least, not by current standards. That's what makes it more concerning."
The words sank in slowly.
Araka, sitting quietly with her arms on her desk, felt something cold twist inside her: it wasn't fear, and it wasn't shock. It was the quiet realization that the world was far more complicated than she'd ever imagined.
Before, it had been training manuals. Guidelines. Even the entrance exam didn't mention anything similar.
Now there were mutated creatures, rogue echoes, forbidden crystals that shouldn't exist.
Matake wasn't just a spiritual sense or an inherited anomaly, she thought, was it related to something deeper, or even older, than what the SAIR's PR could explain.
Huashin clicked off the projector and looked directly at the class.
"From today onward, our focus will shift," she said. "Not just on handling paperworks or assisting field controls, but on unpredictability, specifically supernatural irregularity. You are not only interns—you are observers of the unexplained. The unknown."
Her eyes flicked to Araka—just for a heartbeat, with a nod, a silent welcome back.
"Let's begin our lecture now."
During the lecture, Huashin didn't mention anything special other than talking about basic field protocol etiquette. For Araka, who had checked all the materials during the confinement period, it was straightforward. However, as Huashin started to talk about weapons, Okuri raised his hand.
His voice was calm, but there was a clear weight behind it: "Instructor Huashin," he said, "when are we allowed to get our hands on actual equipment?"
A few heads turned.
Okuri continued: "That incident with the panther… if Sukeo and Jun weren't already trained in handling the crowd, and if you hadn't been there, people would've died. If we always wait for full-time agents, we're just liabilities standing at the edge of a disaster zone."
It wasn't a challenge. It was a reality.
Huashin looked at him for a moment—then nodded, just once.
"You're right," she said.
That surprised a few in the room.
Huashin stepped away from the lectern, folding her arms loosely: "I was going to wait until next week to introduce that module," she said, "but in light of recent events, it's getting already pushed forward. After the Division 2 mid-phase evaluation test, you'll begin adaptive tools training. That's sooner than originally scheduled."
Tenka tilted her head. "So… we're going to learn weapons?"
"More like containment and field interfacing," Huashin replied. "Remember, the SAIR isn't the military. We don't train for lethal engagement first—we train for containment, assessment, and stabilization."
She stepped back to the screen, tapping in a new set of files. A series of maps appeared—city districts, security zones, and organizational schematics.
"Which brings us to today's adjusted topic: the role of SAIR's regional branches."
Araka sat up slightly.
Huashin continued, now in full instructor tone.
"As you've already known, you all belong to SAIR Central, Division 2. We're based out of the Bakju training complex, which is the main training complex of SAIR Central for new agents."
Everyone nodded.
"Despite what people assume," Huashin said, "SAIR Central is not designed for supernatural incident resolution. That responsibility falls to the SAIR North Research and Rescue branches, particularly SAIR North Division 2, which was more specialized in that matter."
She paused, let the room take that in.
"Our division's specialty is containment infrastructure, cyber-defense, and emergency deterrence—especially around national facilities, like those in Zenju."
Tenka raised her hand, frowning.
"But… that's not what I saw in the recruitment packet," she said. "There were all those images of SAIR agents helping evacuate citizens, investigating major incidents, even surveying geological risks—"
Huashin smiled. Just a little.
"And you think we're going to ask high school students to run into burning fields on day one?"
Tenka opened her mouth, then closed it.
Huashin softened her tone, stepping toward the center of the room: "The reality is this: we don't have enough trained adults to handle supernatural threats. Incidents involving Matake or unidentified resonance events are rising, and response teams are stretched thin."
She glanced toward Araka, then Sukeo. Then back to Okuri.
"Which is precisely why you're here. Not just to train, but to be assessed. Some of you will go into field work. Some will transfer to research or intelligence. A few of you—maybe just one—might specialize in Matake field investigations."
There was a pause. A subtle gravity fell over the room.
"But first," she said, "you'll pass the test. You'll learn containment protocol. And you'll learn how to survive without a weapon in your hand."
Huashin looked directly at Okuri again.
"Because if you need a weapon to protect someone—you've already waited too long."
Huashin tapped the next slide.
A regional map lit up, showing the division map with SAIR emblems: the snake on sword shield.
"SAIR Central Division 1," she said, "operates directly within Zenju, the capital region. Naturally, they have their own internal intern system, focused more on cyber operations, diplomatic logistics, and high-level predictive security."
She crossed her arms.
"But Director Kuu Ninfo—head of our division, Division 2—has been increasingly vocal about their lack of investment in supernatural event coverage."
Jun raised an eyebrow.
"Because it's not their priority?"
"Because," Huashin said, "they believe Matake-related events and resonance incidents should fall under specialized rural units or research branches. Zenju's model is based on clean containment, not field adaptability."
She gestured toward Bakju on the map.
"But Bakju is geographically close to Zenju. Same state—Chuubo. That means we're often the fallback response team when something spills over."
Okuri shifted slightly in his chair.
Huashin looked toward him.
"You were originally assigned to Division 5, correct? In the Laese region."
Okuri nodded once. "That's right. But they didn't have a training protocol. No instructors. No drills."
"They still don't," Huashin confirmed. "Division 5 is in administrative reorganization. They're years behind in organizational readiness."
She turned to the class.
"That's why all of you are here. Division 2 is the only Central division with a working training complex, with both containment and Matake exposure infrastructure."
Sukeo let out a short breath, leaning forward with hands clasped. "That explains a lot," he said. "I always felt the institution wasn't ready. Like it was catching up to a problem it didn't fully acknowledge yet."
Huashin gave him a rare approving nod.
"It still is. And unfortunately, so are we."
She returned to the center of the room, voice quieter now.
"That's why the entrance exam, the irregular schedules, the sudden shifts in focus—they're not arbitrary. You're not just trainees. You're a proof of concept. Division 2 is trying to build a system from the ground up. And whether we like it or not… we, even including myself, are the experiment."
There was silence. All five interns in the room were still grasping the situation they were facing: they were the only ones who could see the crisis unfolding.
Then, softly from the back, Araka muttered to herself, "…And they call us students."
The projector powered down with a quiet click, and the room dimmed slightly, leaving only the soft hum of air vents and the faintest creak of a shifting chair. Huashin rested one hand on the edge of the lectern, her gaze sweeping over the class.
"…As you've seen, the severity of our operations has shifted," she said. "And that changes how we structure your roles."
She paused, letting the tension settle like dust.
"You are no longer simply interns assigned to observation or document processing. You are now considered field support, effective immediately. That means mission presence. That means situational adaptability. And that… unfortunately, also means we must discuss your civilian lives."
A silence fell.
Tenka, seated beside Araka, blinked. Her hand shot halfway up.
"Wait- Instructor Huashin, does that mean we have to give up school? Like, actual high school life? And—and what about my dancing videos? I still have two upcoming sponsorship collabs pending on Videoflax!"
Some snickers broke out in the back. Sukeo rolled his eyes. Okuri just blinked.
Huashin looked at Tenka with the kind of expression that meant she both understood… and couldn't offer easy comfort.
"I've been thinking about that," Huashin said, voice soft but firm. "There's no policy yet, since the terms about SAIR Central intern now become pretty much obsolete. But if things escalate, we may need to restrict your public-facing activities."
Tenka's eyes widened: "Wait, seriously?"
"It's a publicity risk, Tenka," Huashin continued. "SAIR doesn't operate openly unless being fully sanctioned by the federal government. Our connection to civilian institutions is… delicate. If something you post goes viral at the wrong time—during a containment mission, for instance—it could expose our protocols, or worse, attract attention to those you're trying to protect."
She turned from the lectern, folding her arms.
"That said," she added, her tone cooling, "this is not conscription."
She looked at each of the five, one by one: "You can leave."
"You may request reassignment to Division 3 or 6, where operations are domestic-only, mostly research or paper work. You may choose to resume a normal high school schedule. You will not be penalized."
Araka watched Huashin, eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but clarity. She could feel the room turning, something quiet fracturing.
"You're saying," Jun murmured, "we either become full participants in something not meant to be public… or we walk away."
Huashin nodded. "Exactly."
Tenka looked down at her hands.
"I just thought… the whole SAIR intern was like training. You know? Like a cool elective."
Huashin offered her a faint, tired smile.
"It was. But the world didn't cooperate."
The tension in the room had started to settle—but not in comfort. It was the stillness that followed uncertainty, when no one wanted to be the first to say I'll stay or I'll leave.
That's when Jun spoke up.
He leaned forward slightly, fingers laced together atop his desk.
"Instructor Huashin, if I may offer a suggestion," he said, his voice quiet but certain.
Huashin glanced at him. "Go ahead."
Jun's eyes swept the class briefly before landing back on her.
"If the main concern is public traceability, then maybe the issue isn't full withdrawal from civilian life—but segregation of identity."
Huashin raised an eyebrow.
Jun continued. "In most military or intelligence structures, operatives still maintain civilian lives off-duty. The key is separation. So why not assign mission-registered devices under distinct aliases?"
Tenka blinked. "Like… fake names?"
Jun nodded. "Not necessarily for deception. Just separation of identities. Use SAIR-registered devices and comms under codenames. Keep your civilian devices for normal school life, content creation, messaging—just… don't cross the streams."
Huashin tapped her fingers lightly on the desk.
"That's… a valid proposal."
She looked briefly toward the board, then back to the class.
"We've already seen it in practice. Araka, for instance—she's already listed as 'Sara' in her field profile. Her social media and school registration remain untouched."
Araka straightened slightly in her seat. A few students turned toward her. She shrugged: "It just… made sense. I didn't want to delete everything just to be here."
Huashin nodded. "So long as operational details and Matake resonance aren't mentioned or implied, and location tagging is disabled on field devices, this dual-identity model can work—with caveats."
Sukeo, arms crossed, added, "Caveats like strict internal audits and people not being complete idiots."
"Exactly," Huashin said. "If you slip up—post a containment suit selfie or leak coordinates—the fallout becomes massive - to the level of the federal government."
Tenka raised her hand halfway. "So… I can keep my dancing videos?"
"As long as they aren't filmed within ten kilometers of a hot zone," Huashin said, almost smirking, "yes."
Tenka slumped forward in relief.
Jun leaned back again, arms folded now. "It's not perfect. But it gives people room to breathe."
Huashin nodded with more weight this time.
"Then it's settled. We'll begin assigning field comms with compartmented IDs. Codename system will be adapted from Division 1 protocol established earlier, but that will not alter how you will be called normally, just internal documentation wise."
She paused. "But you all still need to choose. This flexibility isn't permission to ignore risk. If you continue with Division 2, you walk the line between shadow and civilian. Choose knowing that."
And this time, the silence that followed felt… resolved. Not lighter. But understood.
The classroom light shifted as the afternoon sun bled through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across the desks. Most of the students had leaned back now—tense anticipation had turned into quiet processing.
Huashin took a breath, then stepped to the front again—less commander now, more facilitator.
"Given everything," she said, "I've spoken with Director Ninfo a bit earlier during lunch time."
She clicked her tablet. A chart appeared on the holo-board: a three-day cycle marked with color codes.
"We've come up with a hybrid schedule. Starting next week, your SAIR activity days will be: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday."
A few surprised murmurs broke out.
"Field missions, containment drills, and all intern-level lectures will happen on those days."
She paused, letting the structure settle in.
"For the remaining days—Monday, Friday, and the weekends -- unless there were a mission, you will return to civilian school, resume club activities, and maintain academic engagement. Meaniwole, while on training complex, you're also expected to take courses taught by actual licensed high school teachers."
Tenka's hand popped up. "Wait, actual teachers?"
Huashin smirked slightly. "Yes. We've contracted licensed educators—math, science, and language—who've been cleared for SAIR-adjacent environments. You will not fall behind your peers."
Sukeo raised an eyebrow. "And extracurriculars?"
"Handled case-by-case," Huashin replied. "Araka, for example—your track and field schedule is already on file. You'll be cleared to join training during off-duty school days."
Araka blinked, then nodded. "Thank you."
"Sukeo, as a student council executive, your meeting hours will be tracked. SAIR-related delays will be noted in school logs, but excessive absences will not be tolerated."
He nodded, unsurprised.
Huashin turned back to the class: "You're not children anymore. But you're also not full agents. This structure assumes trust. You balance it well, you keep both lives. Fail to adapt, and we reassign you to non-operational roles."
A soft silence followed—this time filled not with hesitation, but acceptance.
"As being said, this is still experimental, and Director Ninfo will try his best to accommodate all your demands, since he's a pragmatic person."
Tenka gave a small, theatrical sigh of relief.
Huashin allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction. They were scared—but not defeated. And now, they had a rhythm.
Half shadow. Half sunlight.
The work would go one she thought.
The holo-chart of the hybrid schedule faded from the board, replaced by the soft digital glow of SAIR's insignia.
The class was quiet—some already taking mental notes, others letting the new balance settle in.
Sukeo raised his hand.
He didn't look anxious. Just thoughtful, eyes narrowed slightly, fingers steepled against his chin.
"I have a procedural question."
Huashin gave a slight nod. "Go ahead."
"If something happens—on a civilian school day," he said, "what's our protocol?"
She waited.
"Let's say a Matake incident or a resonance-related disturbance occurs at or near our school," Sukeo continued. "Do we intervene? Or do we stand by?"
The room shifted again—every student was now listening closely.
Huashin met Sukeo's gaze evenly.
"In that case," she said, "your classification defaults to civilian informant. You do not act as SAIR operatives unless explicitly authorized by an instructive agent like me on site."
Jun gave a faint nod. Tenka looked a little confused.
"So basically… spy mode?"
"Observation mode," Huashin corrected. "You observe. You gather detail. You avoid exposure. If and only if SAIR agents arrive and assess that your skills are necessary, you may be granted limited operational clearance."
"And if no agents are around?" Sukeo pressed.
"Then your only responsibility is to contact HQ and secure the safety of nearby civilians, as a trained observer—not as a combatant."
A subtle seriousness returned to her voice.
"This is not fiction. You're not vigilantes. If you act without clearance and cause escalation, the consequences affect everyone—especially those you try to protect."
Araka lowered her gaze slightly. She remembered the beast. The child in the wrecked car. She had acted before protocol.
Tenka exhaled. "Got it. So if something goes weird at school, we just play dumb until we get the signal."
Huashin's mouth twitched. "Not dumb. Just careful."
She turned off the projector completely.
"That's all for today. Check your new hybrid schedules by 1800 hours. Your clearance chips will be updated before your next mission."
The room slowly began to shift, chairs scraping gently, murmurs returning as the students stood.
Sukeo remained seated a moment longer, processing.
And Huashin, arms behind her back, gave one last reminder before leaving:
"Sometimes knowing when not to act is what keeps you alive."