"Evaluation Chamber"
The room felt colder once the door shut.
Maybe it was the air conditioning, maybe it was the fact that Sora finally understood:
he was being judged.
Not as a person.
As a threat.
He exhaled slowly. I didn't even get my damn ice cream.
The woman in the blazer gestured to a circular platform in the center.
"Stand there. Don't move. Don't speak. Don't think about anything violent."
Sora frowned. "Why would you say that last part? Now I'm only thinking about—"
"Yes," she said flatly. "That happens."
She stepped to the monitors. Tarou hopped onto a filing cabinet like it was a throne and watched with mild curiosity.
Sora rubbed his temple. "This place is insane."
Tarou chuckled. "No, no. This is the *sane* part."
Pillars around the platform hummed, scanning Sora from every angle. Words appeared on the central screen:
FAULT SIGNATURE: ANOMALOUS
TYPE: IMPULSE MANIFESTATION
EMOTIONAL TRIGGER: ACUTE IRRITATION / MOMENTARY MALICE
STABILITY INDEX: ERRATIC
Sora squinted. "…Is that good?"
The woman didn't look away from her screen. "It's not the worst."
Tarou scratched his cheek. "Actually, it might be."
She shot him a glare. "Do not tell him that."
Sora raised a hand. "Tell me what exactly?"
The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. "Your Fault activates on irritation. That means your power triggers under low thresholds. Unpredictable. Unstable."
Tarou added: "Dangerous in crowds. Especially in lines."
Sora grimaced. "I know."
The memory of the crushed man flickered in his mind.
He didn't want to think about it, but the more he tried not to, the more it forced its way in.
The woman watched him carefully.
"Physical reaction detected," she murmured, tapping her tablet. "Heart rate spike. Anxiety indicator. Keep your hands visible."
"I'm not gonna do anything," Sora muttered.
"That's what everyone says."
There was no malice in her tone.
Just fatigue.
Her eyes softened a fraction.
"I'm not your enemy. I'm trying to make sure you walk out of here with employment instead of cuffs."
Sora blinked. "…That's an option?"
"Employment or cuffs? Yes. Both are very much on the table."
Tarou waved cheerfully from his perch. "She's being generous. The government prefers cuffs. Cheaper."
The woman glared again. "Stop educating him."
"You hired me to educate him."
"I hired you to keep him contained."
"Same thing."
Sora rubbed his eyes. "Can you two not argue while I'm being scanned like a discount UFO victim?"
Tarou gave him a thumbs-up.
The woman continued typing.
---
The woman pulled up a set of forms and handed Sora a stylus.
"You need to answer these honestly. They determine your classification."
Sora glanced at the questions:
'Have you experienced intrusive violent thoughts?'
'Do you experience chronic irritation?'
'Do you suppress emotions or express them impulsively?'
'Do you believe yourself capable of harming others without intent?'
He stared blankly. "…This is literally every teenager."
"Correct," she said. "And statistically, most teenagers trigger Faults."
Tarou added: "It's why youth curfews exist. And why therapy clinics are on every block."
Sora signed the first page. "This system sucks."
Tarou nodded solemnly. "Deeply."
The woman didn't deny it.
"This is your provisional ID. Keep it on you. If enforcement patrols stop you, show this."
Sora studied it. His face, his name, a classification stamp:
FAULT BEARER – PENDING CLEARANCE
"…Feels like a criminal badge."
"It's a protection. For now."
Tarou hopped off the cabinet and landed lightly beside him. "Congratulations. You're officially on my radar."
"That doesn't sound good."
"Oh, it's terrible," Tarou agreed. "But it means you get paid."
Sora pocketed the card, trying not to think about everything it implied.
Before they left, the woman spoke one last time.
Her voice wasn't harsh, or cold, or official.
Just tired.
"You're young. And you look functional. Try to stay that way. The world isn't kind to people like you."
Sora hesitated. "…People like me?"
"People who didn't ask for what they woke up with."
For a moment, she looked at him like a human being, not a case file.
Then she turned away.
---
They stepped back into the hallway.
Tarou shoved his hands into his pockets as the door clicked shut behind them.
Sora exhaled.
"So… what now?"
Tarou smirked. "Now? We get you a job."
Sora blinked. "What kind of job?"
Tarou grinned wide enough to show teeth.
"The kind where your irritation is a marketable skill."
Sora didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified.
Probably both.
And for better or worse… this was starting to feel like a real beginning.
---
The elevator ride down felt longer than the ride up, even though the numbers blinked by at the same lazy pace.
Maybe it was because Sora was beginning to realize how little control he had.
Or maybe it was because Tarou kept humming a song that definitely didn't exist.
Either way, he had a sinking feeling—not dread, exactly.
More like… mild regret.
The kind you get when you agree to help someone move and realize they own thirty crates of books.
Tarou tapped his foot. "You look tense."
"I wonder why," Sora muttered.
"Good. Tension is healthy. Means you still think things matter."
Sora narrowed his eyes. "…You say that like you don't."
Tarou smiled without showing teeth.
"That depends on the day."
The elevator dinged.
The doors opened to a floor that definitely didn't look government-approved.
Sora stepped out and instantly smelled metal, oil, and old smoke.
The hallway lights here flickered more often.
The concrete walls were darker, scratched, and layered with graffiti—some in languages he didn't recognize.
Tarou walked like this was the most natural thing in the world.
"So… this is the same building?"
"Technically," Tarou said. "Same government property. Different funding."
Sora raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning nobody comes down here unless they're useful or inconvenient."
"Great," Sora muttered. "I'm both."
Tarou clapped him on the back. "Exactly why I picked you."
They walked past a metal door with peeling paint. A sign read:
FAULT UTILIZATION PROGRAM
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Under it, someone scribbled in marker:
(we'll know if you're not.)
A mechanical whir echoed from deeper inside, followed by someone shouting,
"TURN IT OFF! TURN IT—NO NOT THAT SWITCH—"
Then an explosion-like pop, and sparks flickered under a doorway.
Sora stared. "Should I be worried?"
Tarou shrugged. "Probably."
Tables. Tools. Old couches. Makeshift desks. Coffee cups everywhere.
Scrap parts and containment gear stacked like someone played Tetris badly.
This was…
not an office.
It was a workshop run by people who didn't care about safety standards.
Tarou spread his arms. "Welcome to the bottom floor of the Fault Regulation Bureau. Or as we lovingly call it…"
He gestured dramatically.
**"The Talent Disposal Department."**
Sora blinked. "Disposal?"
"Mm," Tarou nodded. "Because this is where the government sends the people who are too useful to kill, and too unpredictable to put upstairs."
"…You mean Fault Bearers."
"Exactly."
"And me."
"Exactly."
Sora rubbed his face. "I knew I should've just gone home."
Tarou grinned. "You don't have a home."
Sora paused. "…That is not something you should say out loud."
"Tarou. If you're going to drag in strays, at least give me a warning."
Sora turned.
A man in a grease-stained lab coat leaned against a stack of metal crates.
His hair was tied back in a messy knot, and he wore thick gloves.
He looked like someone who studied dangerous machines for fun, and dangerous people for their personality flaws.
Tarou waved. "Yo, Ranka."
Ranka's eyes slid to Sora. "So this is the rookie."
Sora nodded politely. "Sora."
Ranka stared for a moment, then deadpanned:
"You look normal. That's unfortunate. The normal ones break the worst."
Sora opened his mouth. "Thanks, I guess?"
"Not a compliment," Ranka added.
Tarou elbowed Sora lightly. "He sounds mean but he's friendly inside."
"I am not," Ranka said.
"He's terrible at introductions," Tarou whispered.
"I can hear you."
Sora pinched the bridge of his nose.
*This is my life now. Hilarious.*
Ranka tossed a small metal device to Sora.
Sora caught it clumsily.
"What's this?"
"Fault Dampener. Prototype. Keeps your power from misfiring if someone irritates you."
Sora stared at it.
"…Does it actually work?"
Ranka shrugged. "Sometimes."
Tarou added, "It depends on your definition of 'work.'"
Sora gave them both an incredulous look. "You're giving me unstable equipment? Why?"
"Because it's company policy," Ranka said.
Tarou nodded sagely. "And because you made a man explode into goo at an ice cream stall."
Sora grimaced. "Please stop bringing that up."
"No," both Tarou and Ranka said at once.
Tarou stretched lazily.
"Alright, kid. Time for your official assignment."
"Already?" Sora asked.
"Better now than later. And besides—"
Tarou grinned, sharp in a way that didn't match his ragged hoodie and worn-out shoes.
"Something's stirring in the city. And you're going to help us poke it."
Sora's stomach twisted.
Not fear exactly.
Something else.
Curiosity.
Resignation.
Maybe the slightest thrill.
He didn't know if he was ready.
But he did know this:
Whatever path he'd stepped onto by crushing that man in line, he wasn't walking off it anytime soon.