The days stopped being hours and started being angles.
By morning the Elite Room would be a nest of boards and projectors showing lanes that changed as you blinked. By afternoon the Petal Hall shifted into a maze of corridors and doors with springs that smacked your mistakes back at you. By evening, chalk ghosts of formations still clung to their sleeves like they had been hugged by geometry. Kori called it progress. Esen called it bullying with rulers and compasses.
They learned that a line was not a line - it was a promise about who moved when. If a path winked left by a meter, Raizen had to feel it before Hikari did. If Arashi planted himself on a tile, the tile was now a statement about pressure and everyone owed it respect. Angles weren't drawings. Angles were the way fear failed to get a foothold.
