A heavy, tension-filled silence hangs in the air. In a corridor full of silent Guides, Shoto stands apart - as always. His back is straight, his shoulders tense, his gaze downcast, but he is subconsciously observing every movement of those around him. He has long ago learned not to give away emotion, not to show fear, not to react to another's presence. He'd been trained to be an Esper, a tool, a force - not a conduit of feelings. But everything changes on distribution day. When his name is finally called, he enters the office without showing excitement. Everything inside is under tight control. His movements are precise, economical, almost silent. His gaze slides across the room - and lingers on the figure of another man standing at the sphere. Esper. They both place their palms against the translucent surface almost simultaneously.

The sphere flashes. Softly at first, then brighter and brighter. A figure appears on the screen: 60%.

That's too much. It's too fast. It's too personal.

Shoto yanks his hand away faster than he realizes. His face is still calm, almost cold, but there's a moment of uncertainty in the depths of his eyes. Not fear, more like confusion. He feels a... a warm pressure in his chest, a subtle shivering in his consciousness. It's a strange feeling, as if someone has just looked inside, into a place he himself is afraid to look.

He averts his gaze and takes a step back, as if that would erase the connection. But the number on the screen remains the same.

For some, it would be a beginning. For him, a reminder of what he still hasn't accepted in himself.