They were ten.
The first flames of power.
The Guardians of Magic.
Each bore a trait unlike any other — light, shadow, balance, dream, beast, mirror, silence, bloom, phantom… and flame.
Together, they shaped the blueprint of every gift that came after.
But unity did not last.
One rose against the rest.
The Flame Sovereign, once a beacon, burned with pride and fury. His fire sought not to protect, but to consume.
The war shattered the earth.
The nine stood against the one.
And though they sealed him, the price was everything — their names buried, their power scattered through bloodlines.
The world remembers them as myth.
But chains do not last forever.
And what was sealed in fire… always waits to burn again.
"Name's Nesshou Genta.
Funny, right? I used to say it loud, like it meant something.
Like I mattered.
Like I was free.
But after that night… I don't even know who's speaking when I open my mouth.
Me… or him.
They look at me different now.
Not like a classmate. Not like a friend.
Like I'm carrying something I was never meant to touch.
A curse.
A monster.
A fire that isn't mine, burning me from the inside.
And maybe they're right.
Maybe I was never supposed to exist.
Because every time I close my eyes, I hear him.
That laugh.
That roar.
That promise…
"Next time… no chains.'
And when I wake up… I don't feel like a boy anymore.
I feel like a weapon waiting to be used.
Or worse… unleashed."
PREVIOUSLY ON CLASS 24
The dungeon groaned with chains and whispers of fire. Nesshou Genta—once just a boy—stood at the center of it all, caught between two worlds: his own fragile body… and the cursed inferno of Kagutsuchi raging within.
The Knights of SSUB had come to seal him. Their mission was clear, but when Nesshou's eyes opened—one burning red, the other shadowed black—their courage faltered. Even Daichi, the unshakable captain, felt his resolve crack as the boy's very presence twisted the air with dread.
In the darkness, a war erupted—not of blades, but of wills. Kagutsuchi, the ancient flame, sneered at the vessel meant to hold him. His laughter shook Nesshou's spirit, promising destruction. Yet Nesshou, battered and mocked as weak, found something Kagutsuchi never expected—resolve.
And so, crimson fire answered his call. For the first time, the cursed boy was no longer a vessel, but a challenger.
The clash tore the world apart. Black flames coiled into spears, crimson fire struck back like lightning. Each blow shattered ground and split the sky. Sparks rained like meteors, the battlefield trembling beneath their fury.
Then came the moment that changed everything. Their fists collided, red against black, and the explosion that followed shook reality itself. The earth split, the heavens burned, and when the smoke cleared—Nesshou stood tall, his fire no longer borrowed, no longer chained. It was his.
"My body… is mine."
But even in victory, the shadow lingered. Kagutsuchi's voice hissed in the depths of his mind:
"You've won… for now. But you can't survive without me."
Nesshou's answer was steady, his gaze unbroken:
"We'll see about that."
Now, the battle may be over… but the war has only begun.
The clang of fists striking against pads rang through the training hall, echoing across the iron-plated floor. Each step, each stumble, carried a sharp metallic note, as if the very room demanded discipline.
"Keep your guard up!" Kenzo's voice cut through the air, steady and commanding. His stance was unshakable, every movement measured, his gaze sharp enough to pin down even the most restless student.
Pairs of trainees moved in rhythm, trading strikes and blocks under his watchful eye. The cold iron beneath their feet grounded them, a constant reminder that this was no playground.
"Self-defense isn't about strength," Kenzo reminded, stepping in to adjust a student's arms. "It's about control. Control of yourself… and of the situation."
For a moment, the hall pulsed with nothing but breath and the slap of strikes. Then—
BRRRRNNNNNG!
The bell blared, loud and metallic, bouncing off the iron walls like a gong. The students froze, then slowly lowered their hands, relief washing over them.
Kenzo's expression softened, just slightly. He folded his arms.
"Class dismissed."
The bell's echo still lingered as students shuffled toward the doors, the iron floor clanging beneath their weary steps. Laughter and chatter spilled into the hall, but the air inside the training room hadn't lightened—it stayed heavy, like unfinished business.
Kenzo stood unmoving, arms crossed, his gaze tracking the crowd. His eyes, sharp as steel, flicked from face to face until they landed on four figures who thought they were free to go.
"Hanari. Reiji. Ibuki. Kurai."
The names struck like hammer blows. The four stopped mid-step, the iron beneath them ringing faintly with the shift of their weight. A few students turned to look, curiosity tugging at them, but Kenzo's presence was command enough—they filed out without a word, leaving silence in their wake.
Only the chosen four remained, the emptiness of the hall pressing down on them. Kenzo's voice followed, lower this time, but no less sharp:
"I need a word with you."
The last echoes of departing footsteps faded into the iron hall. Only four remained. Kenzo's arms were folded, his gaze cutting through the silence.
Kenzo looked at them with a serious gaze and said.
"There's something important you need to hear."
The weight in his voice tightened their stances. No one dared speak.
He let the moment hang before continuing.
"SSUB has decided… it is time to bring in someone long kept from the outside world."
The four exchanged uneasy looks. Kept from the world? The words carried a gravity none of them missed.
Hanari frowned, curiosity lacing her voice.
"Someone hidden? Why now?"
Kenzo's eyes narrowed.
"Because he is… extraordinary."
Their attention sharpened, every breath caught in the silence.
Finally, Kenzo spoke the name.
"Tensei Arakawa."
The iron floor seemed to ring with the weight of it.
Reiji stiffened, eyes widening.
"Tensei…? You mean the councilman—the one in the white robes?"
Kurai murmured, almost to herself, though the words were heavy.
"They say he hasn't left the council chamber in decades. And now… his son is here?"
Kenzo's voice cut through, calm but absolute.
"Yes. His son. The one they sheltered, kept apart because of what he carries within him. And now… he will be among you."
The silence cracked when Ibuki scoffed, irritation breaking his composure.
"So that's it? We're supposed to babysit some golden child they've been hoarding away?"
Kenzo didn't answer. His silence pressed harder than any reprimand. He turned slightly, his tone final.
"You four proved yourselves in the battle of Kagutsuchi. That is why this task falls to you. Watch over him."
And with that, he dismissed them, leaving only the echo of his words—and the heavy weight of the name—burning in their minds.
The four gathered their things in silence, Kenzo's words still pressing on their shoulders. As they stepped out into the corridor, the iron echoed beneath them with each uncertain step.
Hanari broke the silence first, her voice hushed.
"If he's really the councilman's son… what do you think he's like?"
Reiji adjusted his gloves, his tone sharper.
"Arakawa Tensei… they must've hidden him for a reason. People don't get sheltered like that unless they're dangerous."
Kurai's gaze drifted forward, her words soft, almost wary.
"Or maybe… too powerful."
Ibuki scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Hmph. Doesn't matter. If he thinks we're here to babysit him, he'll find out quick I'm not anyone's guard dog."
Just as the words left his mouth—
THUD.
Someone brushed past him. Not a hard push, not even a shove—just a simple bump of a shoulder. Yet Ibuki stumbled back and hit the wall with a grunt, as if all the strength had been knocked out of him.
The figure didn't stop, only whispered under his breath:
"…Sorry."
The voice was low, calm, almost apologetic. But it carried a weight that froze the four in place.
By the time they turned to get a proper look, all they caught was a glimpse—long strands of silver hair catching the dim light as the boy's figure slipped silently into the council chamber.
The door closed behind him without a sound, leaving the four staring after him in stunned silence.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. The echo of the silver-haired figure's footsteps still lingered in the hall, heavy in their chests.
Finally, Reiji broke the silence, his voice low and uneasy.
"...Who was that?"
Kurai's eyes remained fixed on the council door, her tone calm but thoughtful.
"I think… we'll find out soon enough."
Beside them, Ibuki clenched his fists, his jaw tight with anger. He shoved himself halfway up from the floor, but his legs still felt unsteady. Reiji stepped forward, extending a hand to him.
"Ibuki, here—"
But Ibuki slapped it aside, scowling as he forced himself up. His voice cracked with frustration.
"I don't need your help."
He turned on his heel and stormed off down the corridor, the iron beneath his boots ringing with every furious step.
A silence followed until Hanari tilted her head, a sly grin slipping onto her face.
"You know… he looks even scarier when he's mad. If looks could kill, we'd all be ash right now."
Reiji blinked, then chuckled despite himself. Kurai's lips curved faintly too, the tension breaking like a thin sheet of ice.
Together, they followed the hall out into the open air, the shadow of silver hair still lingering in their minds. Their footsteps faded, swallowed by the hum of the council chamber above.
And beneath it all… the air grew colder.
Down spiraling stairwells of iron and stone, past doors barred with chains and torches that sputtered in stale air, the silence grew heavy. At the very bottom—buried away from the world—was the cell that held Nesshou Genta.
The iron door groaned open. A hooded figure stepped inside, the torchlight catching the glint of heavy chains that bound Nesshou to the wall. Without a word, the figure knelt, unlocking one of his hands just long enough to drop a tray of rice and broth at his side.
The chain rattled as his wrist was bound again, tighter this time.
The figure stepped back, the door slamming shut with a thunderous echo.
Alone again, Nesshou sat in the dim light. His freed hand twitched faintly, but his eyes—which was finally glowing in normal eyeball colors—remained locked on the untouched food.
The iron door shut with a deep clang, and the hooded attendant pulled the keys from his belt as he stepped back into the corridor. The air outside was cooler, but no lighter—Daichi was already there, waiting, his arms folded across his chest.
"How is he?" Daichi's voice was low, steady.
The man gave a small shake of his head.
"Better than before. He doesn't look like he's losing himself again… but he's still refusing to eat."
Daichi's eyes narrowed, unreadable in the torchlight. After a pause, he gave a short nod.
"…Thanks. You can go."
The man bowed slightly, then turned down the hall, his footsteps fading into the silence.
Daichi stayed a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the heavy door ahead. Then, without hesitation, he took the keys and stepped inside.
The cell closed behind him, sealing the two of them in with the weight of chains and shadows.
Daichi stepped into the cell, the door clanging shut behind him. The air inside was thick—damp stone, rusted chains, and the faint steam rising from the untouched food at Nesshou's side.
For a long time, Daichi said nothing. He simply stood there, his arms loose at his sides, his eyes fixed on the boy chained to the wall. Nesshou did not move, the faint ember-glow in his gaze dimmed but not extinguished.
Seconds stretched into minutes, the silence pressing heavier with each passing breath.
Finally, Daichi spoke. His voice was firm, steady, leaving no room for argument.
"Eat… before you die."
The words cut through the stillness like a blade.
For a moment, Nesshou didn't move. He sat there, his gaze fixed on the tray, the ember-light in his eyes faint and far away, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Then, slowly, his head turned. The glow sharpened, pulling him back from whatever shadowed thoughts had held him.
His voice broke the silence, low and rough.
"When did you get in…?"
The chain at his wrist rattled as he shifted, his eyes narrowing on Daichi.
"And what are you doing here?"
Daichi didn't answer right away. He just looked at Nesshou, really looked at him.
The boy's shoulders were slumped, chains biting into his wrists, his face pale beneath the flicker of ember-light. He was breathing, yes—but it wasn't the kind of breath that spoke of living.
Daichi's expression shifted, the steel in his eyes softening, though only for a moment. Pity crept in, uninvited, tightening his jaw.
"You're in poor shape," he said finally, his tone low but steady.
Yet even as the words left him, a shadow tugged at the back of his mind. That fire—Kagutsuchi—still lurked inside this boy. Daichi could feel it, like standing too close to a forge that could roar back to life at any second. He pitied Nesshou… but part of him still feared what he carried.
Nesshou's eyes narrowed, his voice breaking the silence with a bitter edge.
"How long do you expect me to stay cramped up in here?"
Daichi held his gaze, his expression unreadable at first. Then he sighed, the sound heavy in the still air.
"That isn't my decision to make." His tone was calm, but firm, carrying both truth and restraint.
He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking to the chains that bound Nesshou.
"As things stand… with how unstable you are—how unstable he is inside you—they can't risk Kagutsuchi slipping free again. Not after last time."
The words hung between them, sharp and inescapable, like the iron chains themselves.
Nesshou's eyes lifted, burning faintly in the half-light. His voice was low, but it carried a raw conviction.
"But I'm in control of my own body."
Daichi frowned, his arms tightening across his chest. For a moment, he said nothing. The boy's words sounded certain, but Daichi had seen enough to know certainty could be a mask.
"You say that," he answered slowly, "but how can I be certain? How can anyone?" His gaze hardened, though beneath it, doubt flickered. "You've lost control before. I was there, Nesshou. I saw it with my own eyes—the fire consuming you, Kagutsuchi laughing through your mouth. If it happens again… do you really understand what's at stake?"
The chains rattled as Nesshou shifted. His jaw clenched, his ember-lit eyes locking with Daichi's without flinching.
"You think I don't know what happened? You think I don't remember?" His voice rose, sharp with anger but steadied by resolve. "Every scream, every flame, every ounce of pain—I felt it all. And I still wrestled him down. Not you. Not the council. Me."
Daichi's breath caught in his throat. The defiance in the boy's words was unshakable, but it was what came next that truly unsettled him.
Nesshou raised his one free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened his palm. For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then—
Fwoom.
A small flame bloomed at his fingertips, crimson and steady, not wild or consuming. It burned quietly, like a fire tamed, its light reflecting in his eyes.
"Look," Nesshou said, his voice quieter now, but heavy with meaning. "This is mine. Not his. Not borrowed. Not chained. Mine."
The flame crackled softly, refusing to waver. Daichi stared at it, the line between fear and belief pulling tight inside him. For the first time, he hesitated—not as a soldier weighing a threat, but as a man trying to decide if what he saw was proof… or another illusion.
For a long moment, Daichi said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the little flame flickering at Nesshou's fingertips. It wasn't wild. It wasn't devouring. It was calm, steady, alive. For the first time, Nesshou looked less like a cursed vessel… and more like a boy learning to breathe again.
Daichi's chest tightened. A part of him wanted to believe—to take this as proof, to let the weight of fear slip from his shoulders. But the memory of black fire swallowing the battlefield came rushing back, and Kagutsuchi's mocking laughter echoed in his mind.
Slowly, he exhaled, his voice low, almost reluctant.
"...A flame doesn't prove the absence of a firestorm."
Nesshou's eyes narrowed, the flame wavering as anger surged beneath his calm.
"So no matter what I show you, it'll never be enough? You'll keep seeing him instead of me?"
Daichi didn't answer immediately. His jaw worked as he studied the boy—no, the young man—sitting in chains before him. The pity was there, yes, but so was the fear. A balance he hadn't yet decided how to break.
The flame still burned between them, caught in the silence like a question neither could fully answer.
The flame lingered between them, casting faint shadows on the iron walls. Neither spoke again. Nesshou's gaze held stubborn fire, Daichi's a storm of doubt. Then, with a final exhale, Daichi turned and stepped back toward the barred door.
The sound of the lock sliding shut echoed through the basement, heavy and final. Darkness swallowed the last flicker of light as Daichi's footsteps faded into the hall above.
And somewhere far above the dungeon, past twisting stairways and iron-lined corridors, another set of doors opened with a low groan—broad and towering, etched with the crest of SSUB.
The council chamber.
Within its high walls, the air was colder, thick with judgment. Black-robed figures lined the crescent table, their hoods shadowing their faces. Silent. Watching. Listening.
But at the far end—raised slightly above the rest—sat one figure who did not blend in. His robe was white, stark against the darkness, his long silver hair spilling like a river over his shoulders. His eyes, sharp and knowing, swept the chamber.
The murmurs died.
The council was ready to begin.
The chamber was silent, every eye fixed on the lone figure at the far end of the crescent table. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the lantern light, his white robe stark against the sea of black around him.
At last, his voice broke the stillness—calm, but carrying the weight of command.
"Bring Tensei Arakawa in."
The great doors opened once more, their iron hinges groaning. Footsteps echoed across the stone floor as a boy entered, his long silver hair swaying with each step, his presence drawing every gaze in the room.
He stopped at the center of the chamber. His eyes lifted, sharp and unflinching, to meet the white-robed man at the head of the council.
"Hello, Father."
NESSGEEORIGINAL