The infirmary's white-washed walls seemed to press closer with each passing hour. Shion lay propped against thin pillows, his silver-blue hair disheveled and his teal eyes fixed on a water stain in the ceiling plaster that resembled a twisted face. The healer had declared him physically stable hours ago, but the ache in his chest had nothing to do with Nayen's flames.
Spectral Refrain flickered unbidden—fragments of the fight playing out in translucent echoes around his bed. Nayen's confident stride. The moment his own essence failed him. The sickening impact of her final blow. The ghostly images dissolved as quickly as they formed, but the shame lingered.
He'd replayed every second a dozen times, analyzing each mistake, each hesitation, each moment where he could have been faster, stronger, better. The conclusion was always the same: he simply wasn't good enough.
The soft scrape of the infirmary door interrupted his brooding. Shion turned his head to see four familiar figures filing into the room, their expressions carefully arranged into masks of concern and encouragement.
Itsuki led the way, his ice-blue eyes bright with forced optimism. Behind him came Kairo, moving with his usual fluid grace, followed by Takumi whose crimson hair seemed slightly dimmed by worry. Last was Sayaka Veyra, the trial's victor, her violet eyes unreadable as she surveyed the scene.
"About time you woke up properly," Takumi announced, dropping into the chair beside Shion's bed with his characteristic lack of ceremony. "We were starting to think Nayen had knocked you into next week."
Shion managed a weak chuckle. "Just... needed some rest."
"How are you feeling?" Itsuki asked, settling on the bed's edge. There was something in his voice—a careful gentleness that made Shion's stomach clench with dread.
"Like I got hit by a molten hammer," Shion replied, trying to inject some lightness into his tone. "But I'll live. So... how did the rest of the trials go? Did you all—" He stopped, suddenly aware of the weight of their silence.
Kairo cleared his throat. "The results were announced yesterday evening."
Yesterday evening. The words hit Shion like a physical blow. He'd been unconscious for nearly a full day, lost to the world while everything he'd worked toward was decided without him.
"And?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
Itsuki exchanged a glance with the others. "Sayaka placed first. I got second. Kairo fourth, Takumi sixth."
Shion's heart hammered against his ribs as he processed the information. His three closest friends had all made it. All of them would be going to the Zenkai Dojo together. All of them except—
"Congratulations," he said, and was proud that his voice didn't crack. "You all deserved it."
Takumi leaned forward in his chair, his golden eyes intense. "Shion, listen. The rankings don't mean everything. You fought incredibly well. That move with all the echoes at once—I've never seen anything like it."
"Takumi's right," Kairo added quietly. "You pushed your ability further than anyone expected. Further than most Tier 3s could manage."
Sayaka spoke for the first time since entering, her voice carrying a note of genuine respect. "Your tactical use of Spectral Refrain was impressive. Against a less experienced opponent, those techniques would have secured victory."
Against a less experienced opponent. The words stung, though Shion knew they weren't meant to. He forced his expression into something resembling gratitude.
"Thank you," he said. "Really. That... means a lot."
But inside, their praise felt hollow. Impressive technique meant nothing without results. Pushing his ability to its limits had only demonstrated how pathetically low those limits were. He was Tier 1, playing in a Tier 3 world, and everyone had seen exactly what that meant.
Itsuki seemed to sense his internal struggle. "This isn't the end, you know. There will be other opportunities. Other dojos, other trials—"
"Other chances to fail," Shion interrupted, then immediately regretted the bitterness in his voice. "Sorry. I'm just... tired."
"You're not a failure," Itsuki said firmly. "One loss doesn't define—"
"Doesn't it?" Shion's carefully maintained composure began to crack. "I trained for years. Years, Itsuki. I studied every technique, memorized every strategy, pushed myself until I bled. And when it mattered most, when everything was on the line, I wasn't strong enough." He laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "Hell, I couldn't even stay conscious long enough to lose properly. You had to jump in and save me like some helpless child."
"That's not how it happened," Kairo protested.
"Isn't it?" Shion's teal eyes blazed with self-directed fury. "Be honest. If you hadn't intervened, what would have happened? Nayen would have finished me while I was unconscious on the ground. That's the level I'm really at—so weak I can't even take my beating with dignity."
The room fell silent. Takumi's usual quick wit seemed to have deserted him. Even Sayaka looked uncomfortable, her violet gaze fixed on some point beyond Shion's shoulder.
"We were protecting our friend," Itsuki said finally. "That's what friends do."
"Friends." Shion tested the word like it was foreign to his tongue. "Right. Friends who are all moving on to greater things while I..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
While I what? Stay behind in Silverstone, watching from the sidelines as they grow stronger, faster, better? While I remain exactly what I've always been—a clever boy with a parlor trick masquerading as a real ability?
The healer chose that moment to enter, her kind face creased with professional concern. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are ending soon. The patient needs rest."
"Of course," Itsuki said, standing. "We should let you recover."
As his friends filed toward the door, Sayaka paused. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "you earned my respect yesterday. Not many would have kept fighting after taking that kind of punishment."
After they left, Shion stared at the ceiling until the water stain began to blur. The tears came slowly at first, then in a rush that left him gasping. He buried his face in the thin pillow to muffle the sound, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.
Respect. The word tasted like ashes. He didn't want respect for losing beautifully. He wanted victory. He wanted strength. He wanted to matter.
Hours passed in restless half-sleep. Shion drifted in and out of consciousness, his dreams filled with flames and laughter—Nayen's flames, his friends' laughter as they shared adventures he would never be part of. Every time he woke, the reality crashed over him anew: they were leaving, and he was staying behind.
Near midnight, the healer returned for a final check. Her essence-enhanced touch soothed the lingering burns on his chest and shoulder, but she couldn't heal the deeper wounds.
"You're cleared for discharge," she said softly. "The physical injuries have mostly healed, but..." She hesitated, studying his hollow expression. "Perhaps you should speak with someone. A counselor, or—"
"I'm fine," Shion lied.
She didn't press the issue, but her concerned gaze followed him as he slowly dressed in the clothes someone had brought from his home. His dark gray robes felt loose on his frame, as if he'd somehow grown smaller during his time in the infirmary bed.
The night air was cool against his skin as he stepped outside. Silverstone slept peacefully around him, the familiar streets bathed in soft moonlight. Everything looked exactly as it had two days ago, yet something fundamental had shifted. The world felt different when you knew your place in it had changed forever.
Shion walked slowly through the empty streets, his footsteps echoing off the stone buildings. Part of him hoped one of his friends might still be awake, might see him and invite him over to talk. But their houses remained dark and silent, their occupants no doubt dreaming of the adventures that awaited them at the Zenkai Dojo.
He found himself at the training grounds where they'd spent countless hours preparing for the trials. The practice dummies stood in neat rows, their straw stuffing spilling from cuts and burns left by ambitious students. Shion approached his usual target—the one with the most damage, worn down by his desperate attempts to push his Spectral Refrain beyond its natural limits.
All for nothing.
The thought came unbidden, carrying with it a wave of exhaustion that went bone-deep. He'd given everything he had, sacrificed sleep and social connections and simple pleasures, all in service of a dream that had crumbled the moment Nayen's flames found their mark.
"Pathetic," he whispered to the empty air.
"I wouldn't say pathetic."
Shion spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. A figure stepped out from the shadows between two training posts—tall, draped in a gray cloak that seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. The stranger's face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but his voice carried clearly across the still night air.
"Who are you?" Shion demanded, instinctively taking a step backward.
"A friend," the stranger replied, moving closer with measured steps. "Someone who understands disappointment. Who knows what it feels like to reach for greatness and find only emptiness."
There was something unsettling about the man's calm tone, but also oddly compelling. Shion found himself listening despite his better judgment.
"I watched your fight," the stranger continued. "You have potential. Raw, untapped potential that those fools were too blind to see."
"Potential?" Shion laughed bitterly. "I lost. Badly. My friends had to save me from being beaten unconscious."
"You lost because you were fighting with half measures." The stranger's voice carried a note of certainty that was strangely comforting. "Holding back. Afraid to truly embrace what you could become."
Shion's hands clenched into fists. "I gave everything I had."
"Did you?" The stranger tilted his hooded head. "Or did you give everything you thought was acceptable? Everything that fit within the neat little boxes they've built around what power should look like?"
The words hit closer to home than Shion wanted to admit. He'd always been careful with his ability, always held something in reserve, always worried about the consequences of pushing too far. Even in the trial, even with everything on the line, some part of him had hesitated.
"What are you suggesting?" he asked quietly.
"That there are other paths to strength. Darker paths, perhaps, but infinitely more rewarding." The stranger extended one gloved hand toward Shion. "I can show you power beyond anything those children at their precious dojo will ever comprehend."
Shion stared at the offered hand. Every rational part of his mind screamed warnings—this was dangerous, this was wrong, this was exactly the kind of temptation that led good people down terrible roads.
But the rational part of his mind was growing quieter, drowned out by the howling need for something more than consolation prizes and respectful defeats.
"What would you want in return?" he asked.
"Nothing you wouldn't willingly give." The stranger's voice carried what might have been a smile. "Just an open mind and the courage to seize what should be yours by right."
Shion's gaze drifted back toward the sleeping town, toward the houses where his friends dreamed of their bright futures. When they woke tomorrow, they would begin preparing for their journey to the Zenkai Dojo. They would grow stronger, achieve greatness, become legends.
And he would be here, left behind with his broken dreams and hollow consolations.
"I..." he began, then stopped. The word hung in the air between them like a bridge he could either cross or burn.
The stranger waited with infinite patience, his hooded figure perfectly still in the moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called—a lonely, mournful sound that seemed to echo the ache in Shion's chest.
What did he have left to lose?