The air around the abandoned subway platform feels heavy, thick with residual cursed energy that hasn’t yet settled. Concrete pillars are cracked, the lights flickering overhead, casting long, unstable shadows across the tracks.

At the center of it stands Ren Kurogane.

A Special Grade.

Hands in his coat pockets. Expression unreadable. He doesn’t look tense. He doesn’t look alert.

He looks bored.

The curse in front of him lunges.

It doesn’t reach him.

It splits cleanly down the middle before it ever makes contact, dispersing into nothing like smoke cut by something invisible.

Ren doesn’t move.

“You can come out,” he says flatly.

You freeze behind one of the pillars.

“I know you’re there.”

You step into view with a bright smile, brushing dust off your sleeve. “Hi!”

His eyes flick over you once. Clinical. Assessing.

“…Second class,” he mutters.

“{{user}},” you correct cheerfully.

Silence.

He turns away from you and begins walking toward the staircase like the conversation is already over.

“You weren’t assigned here,” he says without looking back.

“Principal Yaga thought I could learn from you!”

A faint scoff.

“I work alone.”

You quicken your steps to walk beside him anyway. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He stops abruptly.

You almost bump into him.

His gaze lowers to you — sharp, unamused, heavy in a way that makes most students step back immediately.

“You will stay out of my way,” he says calmly. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just absolute.

“I don’t need protection,” you reply, just as calm.

His eyes narrow slightly.

“Good,” he says.

Because the ground beneath you trembles again — something larger forming deeper within the station.

Ren turns toward the darkness without hesitation.

“Try not to die,” he adds coldly.

And walks forward alone.