The memory came back without warning.
School had just let out.
Arlen had swung by Yui's classroom the way he always did. Found her where she always was — in the corner, alone, a book open on the desk but her eyes somewhere else. Staring out the window.
When she saw him, something shifted in her face.
A smile. Small. The kind that said she'd been waiting without wanting to admit it.
She gathered her things fast. Too fast. Like she was afraid he'd leave before she made it to the door.
As Yui stepped into the hallway, Arlen caught something from behind.
"Look how fast she moves when her boyfriend shows up."
Low laughter.
Yui dropped her gaze.
Arlen heard it.
And said nothing.
It wasn't his problem. It never was. He'd gotten good at ignoring anything that didn't directly involve him. It was easier that way.
They walked to her place the usual way. Yui talked. He answered when it felt right.
She told him there was a new album out. That he never gave anything new a real chance. That he should at least hear one song before deciding he didn't like it.
He eventually gave in.
"One song," he said.
"The whole thing."
"One."
"Three."
"One."
Yui smiled.
"Fine. One."
They stopped at her front door.
She turned to face him. Looked at him for a moment. Then reached up and fixed his hair — carefully, without asking. The way she sometimes did.
"You should take better care of yourself."
Arlen didn't answer.
But he saw it.
When she raised her hand, her sleeve slipped. Just a little. Just enough.
He caught her wrist.
Yui flinched.
He turned her hand over slowly.
The marks were fresh. Poorly healed. Some still scabbing.
"Again, Yui?"
She didn't answer right away.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. Quiet. Like she'd said it before. Like she'd said it many times.
Arlen looked at her for a moment longer.
Then went inside without another word.
Yui followed. She lay down on the couch, eyes on the ceiling, while he dug through the kitchen drawer for the first aid kit. It was right where it always was.
He sat beside her.
Started cleaning the marks without speaking.
"Are they bothering you again?"
Yui took a moment.
"Same as always."
He kept working.
"You want me to do something about it?"
She laughed. Soft. A little sad.
"That's not really like you."
"What isn't?"
"Getting involved in things that don't affect you." She looked at the ceiling. "Things that don't matter to you."
Arlen finished wrapping her wrist.
He looked at her.
"You matter to me."
Yui said nothing.
"Tomorrow we talk to the teacher. Lunch."
"I've tried that before," Yui said. "It didn't work."
"This time I'm going with you."
She looked at him for a moment. Then looked back at the ceiling.
"You don't have to." A pause. "Really, Arlen. None of that stuff matters to me."
"How does it not matter?"
"It just doesn't." Yui glanced down at her bandaged wrist. "The only thing I need is for you to be here. That's enough."
Arlen didn't answer.
He put the kit away in silence.
"I'm going anyway."
Yui didn't argue.
He went home.
That night he slept badly.
The next day dragged.
At lunch, Arlen headed to Yui's classroom.
Not looking for a fight. He wanted to talk to the teacher — do this the right way, the clean way, the way that didn't make things worse.
He opened the door.
And stopped cold.
Yui was in the middle of the room.
Soaked.
Food splattered across her, milk pooling at her feet. Two girls and a guy standing around her. One of them had his phone up, taking pictures. All three were laughing.
The rest of the class watched. A few with that small, uncomfortable smile of people who'd rather not get involved. Most just silent.
Yui had her head down.
Arlen didn't move.
He thought about the teacher. That was the whole point of coming — find him, bring him in, handle this the right way. No scene. No fallout.
He thought about how stepping in would probably make it worse.
He thought about how there were proper ways to deal with this.
Then Yui looked up.
She saw him standing in the doorway.
And a tear fell.
Just one.
Arlen stopped thinking.
He crossed the room.
The guy never saw him coming.
Arlen grabbed him from behind and took him down in one motion. The phone hit the floor. The laughter cut out.
Silence.
He got on top of him and started hitting.
Once.
Again.
Again.
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
Just the sound of impact, and the guy trying to cover up without managing it.
Arlen wasn't thinking about Yui. Wasn't thinking about the guy. He could feel something that had been building long before that day — rage at the guy, at the girls with the phone, at everyone standing there doing nothing. At every time he himself had looked away because it wasn't his problem.
At his own weakness.
His knuckles split.
He kept going.
"Stop."
Yui's voice.
He didn't.
"Please."
Still nothing.
A kid from the class tried to pull him off. Couldn't.
"STOP!"
The teacher appeared in the doorway.
Arlen went still.
He came back to himself slowly.
His knuckles. The guy on the floor. Yui crying.
And floating in front of him, white and silent, a system window.
NEW TITLE OBTAINED: NOVICE STRATEGIST Condition: You demonstrated the ability to assess a situation, identify an objective, and move toward it through a chain of decisions — even under emotional pressure. Benefit: Increased mental clarity when making decisions in moments of crisis or danger.
The memory dissolved.
Arlen was in his room. In bed.
The system window was still there in front of him.
He reached out and accepted it.
He lay still, throat dry.
He rubbed his fingers together like his knuckles still hurt.
They didn't. But his body remembered.
He thought about the title.
Novice Strategist.
That came from Cyrus's class. The simulation. The moment he gave a different answer than everyone else — thought in terms of what he could gain instead of how he could win. The system had been watching before he even knew it was.
The memory of Yui had nothing to do with strategy. Just rage. The inability to stop once he'd already started.
That was the problem.
He'd always reacted. Never moved first.
With Yui it was the same. He'd ignored everything until he couldn't anymore — and then he exploded. And it changed nothing.
Yui was still there. Alone. Telling him that having him around was enough.
And he wasn't around.
He was in another world with no idea how to get back.
He clenched his jaw.
Looked at the system.
Three titles. Coward. Weak Link. Novice Strategist.
They didn't make him stronger. They didn't bring him closer to home.
But Cyrus's words came back on their own.
The victorious warrior wins first, then goes to war.
And Kaedor's.
Walking in blind has a price.
He didn't need to be the strongest in the room.
He needed to understand how everything around him worked. The energies. The limits. The failure signals. What happened when someone lost control — or ran out of time.
Aura. Magic. Divinity. Spirituality.
He couldn't use any of them.
But nobody had told him he couldn't study them.
The director's words came back to him.
Power isn't a cage. You can study other disciplines. That choice belongs to each of you.
He closed his eyes.
He wasn't going home as the weakest one in the Academy.
He was going home as someone who didn't get in the way. Someone who held when everything fell apart.
And he was going home to Yui.
He fell asleep with that certainty sitting in his chest — cold and solid, like something that had always been there.
For the first time in days, he didn't dream about his bloody knuckles.