The silence was worse than the attack.
It followed Kurogane everywhere—down from the platform, through guarded corridors, into chambers warded so heavily that even sound felt filtered. No cheers. No condemnation. Just watchful quiet.
The kind that came before decisions were made without you in the room.
Blood had already been cleaned from his arm, a thin bandage wrapped tightly where lightning had reinforced bone instead of skin. Mizuki watched the healers work without comment.
"That injury shouldn't exist," one of them muttered. "The discharge never left his body."
"Because it wasn't allowed to," Mizuki replied.
Kurogane flexed his fingers. They felt… heavier. Not damaged. Anchored.
Raien broke the quiet. "The attacker?"
"Dead," Mizuki said flatly. "Before interrogation."
Raien swore under his breath. "Too clean."
Masako sat near the rear wall, her eyes closed. "He was never meant to talk. Whoever sent him wanted only one outcome."
Kurogane looked up. "A reaction."
Masako opened her eyes. "A recorded one."
Raien turned sharply. "Say that again."
Masako's voice remained calm. "This wasn't an assassination. It was a measurement. They wanted to see what would happen if you were forced to choose between release and restraint."
Mizuki nodded. "And they got their answer."
Kurogane swallowed. "I didn't release."
"No," Mizuki said. "You did something far more dangerous."
Raien looked confused. "He reinforced internally. That's control."
"Yes," Mizuki agreed. "And it changes the equation."
She turned to Kurogane. "Lightning responds to perception. Not threat."
That sentence landed harder than any blow.
Kurogane frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Masako said slowly, "that the more people watch you, the more pressure your element feels. Not fear. Not anger."
"Recognition."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Raien ran a hand through his hair. "That's bad."
"Yes," Mizuki said. "Because lightning that reacts to attention will eventually seek it."
Kurogane felt it then—a low, distant hum beneath his heartbeat. Not agitation.
Anticipation.
"So what now?" he asked.
Mizuki didn't answer immediately.
"Now," she said at last, "the factions will move carefully. Some will want to claim you. Others will want you gone. Most will pretend neutrality."
Raien scoffed. "Politics."
Masako's lips curved faintly. "Survival."
Mizuki stepped closer to Kurogane. "You succeeded today. You showed restraint under lethal pressure. That makes you valuable."
"And dangerous," Kurogane said.
"Yes."
Raien's voice hardened. "Then pull him back. Limit exposure."
Mizuki shook her head. "That window is closed."
Kurogane looked between them. "You're saying this gets worse."
"I'm saying," Masako replied, "that the world doesn't forgive being surprised."
A pause.
"There will be invitations," Mizuki continued. "Requests for joint exercises. Observation delegations. Diplomatic showcases."
"Excuses," Raien muttered.
"Opportunities," Mizuki corrected. "For them."
Kurogane clenched his wrapped fist. Lightning pulsed once, faint and unseen.
"And for me?" he asked quietly.
Mizuki met his gaze. "For you… there will be tests. Not like today."
Masako added, "Tests designed so restraint hurts more than release."
Silence settled again.
Raien turned to Kurogane. "Listen to me. Lightning isn't fire. It doesn't burn out—it learns. If it starts associating attention with response—"
"I know," Kurogane interrupted.
He stood slowly.
"I felt it," he said. "When they watched. When they waited."
Mizuki studied him closely. "And?"
"And it didn't want to strike," Kurogane said. "It wanted to be… acknowledged."
That alarmed everyone in the room.
Masako exhaled sharply. "That's new."
"It's evolving," Mizuki said softly.
Raien's jaw tightened. "Or awakening."
Kurogane looked down at his hands. For the first time, he wasn't afraid of losing control.
He was afraid of understanding it.
Outside the chamber, messengers moved rapidly. Seals were broken. Reports copied. Names whispered.
Far beyond the academy walls, people replayed the demonstration again and again—not the attack.
The restraint.
Some felt hope.
Others felt fear.
And somewhere, someone who had been waiting for lightning to look back finally smiled.