Kuro avoided Maya for three days. He changed his study habits, took different routes to class, and communicated with his project group only through the main chat, using curt, one-word replies. He was treating a potential social complication like a hostile digital entity: by isolating it, cutting off its access, and hoping it would go dormant.
It didn't work.
He found her waiting for him outside his trickiest class, Quantum Computing. She wasn't blocking his path or trying to corner him. She was just there, leaning against a wall, a tablet in her hands. As he approached, she looked up, her expression not accusatory, but calm and direct.
"I finished our part of the presentation," she said, holding out the tablet. "I took your DSIMS document and treated it as a serious theoretical framework. I analyzed the energy requirements for the Black Hole Harvester and cross-referenced them with current estimates of Hawking radiation for a mid-mass Kerr black hole. Your numbers are… plausible."
Kuro froze. He was caught. He had expected accusations, fear, maybe even a threat to expose him. He had not expected a peer review.
"I also expanded on my solution for the QTM's decoherence problem," she continued, completely unfazed by his stony silence. "The micro-singularity repeaters. I ran a simulation. By buffering the classical data through the node's gravity well, you can perfectly synchronize the data streams upon arrival. It eliminates the latency issue."
She was not just critiquing his work. She was improving it. She had taken his theoretical problem and solved it.
Kuro's mind, which had been in full tactical retreat, ground to a halt and began to reverse course. The instinct to flee was being overridden by a far more powerful one: the intellectual imperative to engage with a valid, fascinating new dataset. He had already acknowledged the flaw in her previous point about latency, but she had gone further and fixed it.
They stood there in the crowded university hallway, surrounded by oblivious students, having a conversation that would have been classified as a national security threat in any other context.
Kuro looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. He saw the brilliant, restless energy in her eyes, the mind that moved at the same impossible speed as his own. Hikari's reports had classified her as a potential asset. Renji's protocols for the Syndicate were clear: identify, assess, and acquire unique talents. His own social awkwardness was an inefficient variable that was compromising a clear strategic directive.
"You are correct," he said, his voice returning to its usual analytical tone. "Your solution is logically sound. Your intellectual capacity is… significant." He paused, taking a calculated leap. "The work I am involved in requires individuals with your specific skill set. The remuneration is substantial, and the ethical framework is… complex but robust. Are you interested in a practical application for your theories?"
He had just offered her a job. He was recruiting her into the Kyro Syndicate, right in the middle of their university campus. It was the most reckless, illogical, and yet strategically sound decision he had made all week.