Kazuki stood alone in front of a door with no handle.
It loomed like a riddle carved into the wall, humming faintly with latent power. Above it, a plaque read:HEADMASTER'S STUDY – AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY
He raised a fist to knock, unsure if it would even work.
Before he could make contact, the door dissolved into mist.
"Enter," said a voice from within—smooth, composed, and inhumanly aware.
Kazuki hesitated, then stepped inside.
The room was silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence, but the tense, waiting kind. Like the moment before a gunshot. Or the breath before a scream.
Floor-to-ceiling screens lined the walls, displaying security footage from all over the academy: the coliseum, dorm corridors, training rooms, even the Lounge of Left-Behinds. In the corner, glowing symbols spun slowly in a stasis field—complex arcane diagrams overlaid with digital code.
At the center sat Professor Akashi, calm as ever, sipping tea.
"Have a seat, Kazuki."
Kazuki eyed the black leather chair across from him like it might bite, but sat without complaint.
"I… didn't mean to cause trouble," he said.
"You didn't."
Akashi turned one monitor with a flick of his fingers. It played back Luna's frenzy from Combat Theory class—blood swirling, aura cracking, Kazuki stepping in.
"You acted decisively," he said. "Recklessly. But correctly."
Kazuki stared at the footage. "She could've hurt someone. Or herself."
"She nearly did," Akashi said. "Frenzy states aren't rare at Midnight Academy—but containment is. Most can't break through to the student inside."
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
"You did. Without formal training. Without a bond mark. Without fear."
"I didn't have time to be scared."
Akashi smiled faintly. "That's the part that concerns me."
Kazuki shifted in his seat. "You called me here for that?"
"No."
Akashi waved a hand.
A file appeared in the air. Paper, despite everything. Old, frayed, with burned edges.
TANAKA, KAZUKI – SUBJECT: NULL-POTENTIAL CLASS
Lines of data scrolled beneath the name—birth certificate fragments, academy rejection notes, bloodwork.
Kazuki's blood ran cold.
"You've been classified as Null your entire life," Akashi said. "No magical affinity. No active aura. Standard diagnostics."
He paused.
"But that's not the full picture."
He tapped a panel on the table. The monitor behind him shifted to a black-and-white security feed, timestamped April 7th, nine years ago.
A much younger Kazuki—maybe eight years old—stood in the center of a shattered playground. Everything around him was leveled. Slides melted. Trees split. Ground cratered.
No other children in sight.
Just Kazuki, unconscious. And glowing.
He shook his head slowly. "That can't be me."
"You don't remember," Akashi said. "No one does. The file was sealed. Even your public record was wiped."
Kazuki's stomach twisted. "Why?"
Akashi stood.
"You weren't born with no magic, Kazuki. You were born with too much. An unstable signature. Something incompatible with the known affinity spectrum. We call it…"
He turned, expression dark.
"Origin Null."
Kazuki blinked. "I thought 'Null' meant powerless."
"In your case, it means unreadable. Undecipherable. You're a blank canvas the System doesn't reject. It molds."
He let the words hang for a moment, heavy.
"That's why the Adaptation System bonded to you. It saw not a lack of power—but an absence of limits."
The air felt thin.
Kazuki looked down at his arms, where the glowing runes still pulsed faintly beneath the skin.
He remembered the pain of copying Plasma Thread. The hunger that came with Luna's magic. The voice in his head that whispered when he used it.
"What happens… if I keep adapting?"
Akashi didn't smile this time.
"You'll grow stronger. But you'll also grow less you. That's the danger of being moldable. Every ability reshapes your soul—if you aren't anchored, you'll be overwritten."
Kazuki exhaled slowly. "And what happens if I stop?"
Akashi looked at him—really looked. For the first time, the immortal headmaster seemed... tired.
"Then you'll never become what you were born to be."
As Kazuki stood to leave, Akashi held out a small vial.
Inside swirled silver liquid with specks of black. It shimmered like stardust.
"What's this?"
"A stabilizer. Made from the blood of a retired Adaptor."
Kazuki hesitated. "Yours?"
Akashi didn't answer.
"Use it only when the pain becomes unbearable," he said. "But know that every time you rely on it… it'll cost you a piece of something else."
The door closed behind Kazuki with a quiet click.
Out in the hallway, students laughed in the distance. Midnight still stretched long and strange.
Kazuki looked down at the vial in his hand.
Small.
Silent.
Deadly.
He slipped it into his pocket and walked away—wondering which would crack first:
His limits…
Or himself.