The world around John was a warped, hellish reflection of reality. The sky above churned with oppressive black clouds, streaked with crimson light that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ground beneath him was jagged and fractured, as though it had been shattered by unimaginable force. Scattered across the landscape were the frozen forms of the Counters—Rapi, Anis, and Neon—distorted into grotesque statues.

Each figure bore the horrifying marks of Mahito's Idle Transfiguration, their bodies warped into impossible shapes that defied nature. Rapi's arms twisted into jagged, spear-like appendages, her face locked in a scream of anguish. Anis's torso spiraled grotesquely, her limbs stretched and splintered as though made of brittle glass. Neon's form was hunched, her head sunk into her chest, with one of her eyes bulging unnaturally.

Standing amidst them was Mahito, his patchwork face splitting into a sadistic grin as he inspected his handiwork. His fingers glided along Rapi's frozen form, her statue trembling as if her soul were still alive within it.

"Humans and Nikkes," Mahito mused, his voice like silk laced with poison. "Such fragile souls. So easy to mold, to break."

John tried to move, to scream, to fight back—but his body refused to respond. His legs felt as if they were anchored to the ground, his arms heavy and lifeless. He was a helpless spectator, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.

"John…" The faint voice made him turn sharply, his heart lurching as he saw them.

Cinder and Echo stood nearby, their figures shadowed and indistinct, their eyes glowing faintly like dying embers. The two Nikkes he had failed to save. Their voices were cold and sharp, filled with mockery that cut deeper than any blade.

"You couldn't save us," Cinder whispered, her tone filled with venom.

"And you won't save them either," Echo added, her voice overlapping with Cinder's like a haunting harmony. "That's all you are, isn't it? A tool that breaks when it's needed most."

Mahito laughed, the sound a chilling mix of delight and cruelty. "They're not wrong, you know," he said, stepping toward Neon's distorted form. "You like to think you're a hero, but deep down, you know the truth. You destroy more than you save."

John's chest heaved as he fought against the paralysis, his voice barely escaping his throat. "No… I won't let this happen."

Mahito tilted his head, his grin widening. "Won't let it happen? It already has."

With a flick of Mahito's fingers, Rapi's warped body cracked and splintered, pieces of her crumbling away like shattered stone. The cacophony of her breaking echoed in John's ears, drowning out his desperate scream.

The mocking voices of Cinder and Echo grew louder, a cruel symphony of guilt. The twisted statues of the Counters loomed closer, as if closing in on him. Their frozen expressions of pain burned into his mind, a vivid reminder of everything he feared he would lose.

John jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness of his quarters surrounded him, but the oppressive weight of the nightmare lingered. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to steady the pounding in his chest. The faces of his team, twisted and broken, still lingered in his mind's eye.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands trembling as he reached for his comm device on the bedside table. His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed out a quick message to Takumi

He hit send and stared at the glowing screen, his chest still tight as he fought to push the nightmare to the back of his mind. The fear, the guilt—it all felt too real, too heavy to face.

Not again.

The Ark's cold, early morning streets stretched endlessly ahead as Takumi Gojo, tall and lean with his signature gray hair slightly disheveled, adjusted the collar of his coat. His pulled his phone from his pocket, the faint light from the screen casting a glow as he re-read the message from John:

"Outpost. Elevator. We need to talk."

John's message was brief but direct, as always. Takumi slipped the phone back into his pocket, a faint frown tugging at his lips. Something about this felt wrong. John rarely reached out unless something was pressing, and the unspoken urgency in the text lingered in Takumi's mind. He quickened his pace, heading toward the outpost elevator.

As he approached, Takumi slowed, his eyes narrowing slightly. A faint ripple of energy brushed against his senses—a detection barrier, subtle but unmistakable. He paused, his sharp gaze tracing the space around the elevator.

"John," he muttered under his breath, his voice low, "what are you playing at?"

The barrier was expertly crafted, woven with care and precision. It wasn't intrusive, but its presence was almost imperceptible—a net designed to catch the faintest disturbances. Takumi recognized the craftsmanship immediately; it had John's touch all over it.

"Why would he bother with this here?" Takumi wondered aloud, his frown deepening. He considered the possibilities and sighed, stepping into the elevator. "It's probably tied to his latest mess."

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, the elevator humming as it began its ascent. But before the first floor passed, the doors abruptly opened again. Three men stepped in, their military-grade uniforms and weapons marking them as professionals. Their movements were controlled, their gazes cold as they sized up Takumi.

One of them gestured sharply. "Against the wall. Now."

Takumi's face betrayed no emotion. His hands remained at his sides as he slowly turned to face the speaker. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," the man snapped. "Hands where we can see them. Move."

Takumi's eyes swept over the group, his expression calm but calculating. He made no effort to move, his voice quiet and measured. "None of you are official Ark military personnel, are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the leader replied, stepping closer, pointing his rifle at Takumi's head. "You'll do as you're told, or this gets ugly."

Takumi didn't answer. His posture remained relaxed, his hands still at his sides. The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the view as the tension in the enclosed space rose.

John leaned against the wall near the elevator, arms crossed, his slouched posture betraying his exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, a testament to nights without rest. He tapped the railing absently, his focus fixed on the glowing elevator numbers ticking upward.

The elevator chimed softly, the doors sliding open.

John raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. Three mercenaries were slumped unconscious on the floor of the elevator, their weapons scattered haphazardly around them. Takumi stepped over one of them with deliberate calm, adjusting his coat as though he'd merely brushed off some dust.

"Care to explain this?" John asked, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor as he gestured to the mercenaries.

Takumi's sharp gaze flicked to John, his brow furrowing slightly. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

John let out a tired chuckle, pushing off the wall. "Welcome to the party," he said lightly. "You should've RSVP'd."

Takumi stepped out of the elevator, his attention lingering briefly on John's face. "You look like hell," he said bluntly. "When was the last time you slept?"

John shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Sleep's overrated. I hear it's bad for sanity."

Takumi's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a joke, John."

"Who's joking?" John countered, spreading his arms slightly. "You're looking at the result of hard work and caffeine dependency."

Takumi crossed his arms, his voice hardening. "What's going on?"

John's smirk faded, and he let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. "For the past few days, groups like this have been trying to infiltrate the outpost. Mercs, bounty hunters—take your pick. Their target's Marian."

Takumi's jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing, letting John continue.

"Since Nikkes can't harm humans, dealing with these guys falls on me. I've been using detection barriers to track them and taking them out before they get too far."

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Takumi asked, his voice sharp.

John shook his head. "What would be the point? If the others knew, it'd just make things worse. They're not able to handle this, and I'm not about to let them get tangled up in it."

"So instead, you've been running yourself into the ground," Takumi said flatly. "How many days has this been going on?"

John hesitated for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. "Three. Four, maybe?" He shrugged. "Honestly, time's a blur."

Takumi's frown deepened. "Andersen doesn't know about this either?"

John gave him a dry smirk, though it lacked his usual energy. "Oh, he knows. He's been helping as much as he can, keeping things quiet and clearing what little red tape he's allowed to. But even Andersen's reach has limits. The situation's... tricky."

"Tricky," Takumi repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism. "That's your word for this?"

John rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "It's accurate."

Takumi studied him for a moment, noting the exhaustion etched into his features and the faint slump in his usually confident posture. He opened his mouth to say something more but stopped when John leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting toward the sky.

John leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. "And it's not just the mercs keeping me up," he muttered. "The outpost expansion's brought in some... interesting characters. Enough to make me want to start smoking again."

Takumi, in the middle of lifting one of the unconscious mercenaries, froze. His sharp gaze snapped to John. "Start what again?"

John stiffened slightly, realizing his slip. "Uh... nothing."

Takumi stood up straight, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "John," he said, his tone carrying the unmistakable weight of disappointment. "Smoking?"

John let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, it's not what you think. I used to smoke a little... back when I was assigned to the Outer Rim. It was a thing. Everyone was doing it."

Takumi's brow furrowed further. "And you thought that was a good idea?"

"I quit!" John said quickly, his ears reddening. "Turns out nicotine and I don't mix. Made me jittery as hell. It was awful."

Takumi let out a slow sigh, his disappointment palpable. "Let me get this straight. You were out there, surrounded by death and chaos, and you thought, 'Hey, you know what I need? Something to add to the stress.'"

John winced, his embarrassment growing. "It was a dumb phase, okay? I gave it up years ago."

"And now you're thinking about picking it up again?" Takumi asked, his tone sharper.

"I didn't say I was going to," John said defensively. "I just... thought about it. For a second."

Takumi shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable."

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Smoking's bad, I'm an idiot. Can we move on now and deal with these idiots?"

Takumi's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "For now. But if I catch you lighting up, you're getting the full lecture."

"Noted," John muttered, grabbing one of the mercenaries. "Remind me to never share anything with you again."

The two worked in silence, dragging the unconscious mercenaries to a discreet corner near a service hatch. Takumi's movements were precise and efficient, his expression cool and unreadable, while John's exhaustion showed in his slower pace and the occasional frustrated sigh.

Once the last of the mercs was stacked neatly out of sight, John pulled out his comms device. He quickly dialed in a report to the ACPU.

"Patrol team en route," came the clipped response from the other end.

John stuffed the device into his pocket and turned to Takumi. "We're done. Let's go."

Takumi raised an eyebrow. "You're not waiting for them?"

John shot him a dry look. "Do I look like I've got the energy for handover paperwork? I'm sure the ACPU have got it handled."

Takumi didn't press, simply falling into step beside John as they walked down the dimly lit corridor. After a few moments of quiet, he cast a sidelong glance at John. "You mentioned 'interesting characters' earlier. Care to elaborate?"

John let out a long, weary sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "You'll meet them soon enough. Let's just say... they've been keeping me sharp."

Takumi raised an eyebrow. "Sharp how?"

John opened his mouth to answer, but his sharp gaze caught something glinting on the floor ahead. His hand shot out, gripping Takumi's arm. "Wait—stop!"

But Takumi had already stepped forward, his boot landing squarely on the hidden mechanism. A soft click echoed through the corridor.

Both men froze as a small sphere launched into the air with a faint hiss. Takumi's spectral chains lashed out instinctively, attempting to wrap around the device. The orb burst before the chains could fully enclose it, releasing a cloud of fine white powder. Flour billowed everywhere, coating them both in a pale haze.

Takumi coughed, swiping at his face as he glared at the remains of the device. "What in the world—?"

"Gotcha!" A cheerful voice rang out, followed by muffled laughter.

Two Nikkes stepped out from behind a nearby stack of crates. The first, with silver hair and an impossibly smug grin, gave a mock salute. "Old timer, you're slipping," Belorta quipped, her voice dripping with playful mockery.

Behind her, Mica peered out nervously, her hands fidgeting. "I told you this was too much," she whispered, glancing anxiously at Takumi.

John groaned, brushing flour from his jacket. "Belorta. Mica. Should've known."

"Old timer!" Belorta said brightly, her grin widening. "Just testing your reflexes. Gotta make sure you're still sharp, you know."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Belorta, one of these days..."

Mica shuffled forward hesitantly, her voice soft. "We didn't mean to scare you... um, really." She glanced at Takumi, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty. "Who's, uh, your friend?"

Belorta elbowed her, grinning. "Oh, that guy's a super old timer. Probably even rustier than John."

Takumi's eyes narrowed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned his gaze to Belorta. "Belorta, was it? If this is how you introduce yourselves, I'm impressed you're still standing."

Belorta's grin faltered for a second before returning full force. "We like to keep things exciting around here. Keeps the Commander young."

John muttered something unintelligible under his breath, wiping flour from his hair. "She's been doubling my blood pressure since she got here."

Belorta threw him a mock offended look. "Come on, you know you love it. Admit it, we've been keeping your sixth sense sharp."

Through gritted teeth, John muttered, "It has been improving my sense for traps, but that's the only compliment you're getting."

Takumi let out a low chuckle. "I can see why you're stressed. But you've got to admit, this kind of chaos has its charm."

John shot him a look as the Carronades disappeared down the corridor, still giggling. Takumi brushed flour off his coat. "I'm surprised you haven't sent them packing yet."

John sighed, shaking his head. "I've thought about it. But they're practically kids. And, annoying as they are, they've kept me on my toes."

Takumi clapped him on the shoulder, his expression softening. "Good to know you haven't completely lost your patience."

"Patience? I'm running on fumes," John replied, rubbing his temple. "Let's get out of here before something else explodes."

The dim lighting of John's commander room cast long shadows across the walls, the only sound the faint hum of the outpost's systems. Takumi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on John, who stood by his desk, visibly exhausted. His face was pale, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed just how little rest he'd been getting.

John let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. "Even the little sleep I've been managing to get has been... less than restful." He hesitated before continuing, his voice quieter. "Nightmares. Mahito."

Takumi's expression darkened. "I figured as much," he said softly. "What kind of nightmares?"

John's hands clenched slightly at his sides. "The kind where I watch everyone I care about get turned into... things. The Counters, the team, all twisted into something they're not. And I can't stop it." He exhaled, forcing himself to meet Takumi's gaze. "It's not going to stop until I do something about it."

Takumi frowned but didn't interrupt, waiting for John to elaborate.

"I've been thinking," John continued, leaning against the desk. "We can't keep dancing around this. If Mahito's out there, he's not going to stop. We have to be proactive. I want to train the Counters in rudimentary sorcery techniques—just enough for them to survive in a worst-case scenario while I'm away."

Takumi sat forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "Sorcery techniques? John, I've only met the Counters briefly, but from what I saw, none of them had enough cursed energy to suggest any sorcerer potential."

John nodded, acknowledging the point. "You're right. Outside of combat, they don't show much. But I've noticed something during missions: when they're in the thick of a fight, it's like their cursed energy spikes. It's not consistent, but it's there. It reminds me of how some humans can sense cursed energy when they're on the verge of death."

Takumi's frown deepened. "That's... unusual, but not impossible. And your plan is to train them to draw out that energy intentionally?"

John straightened, his determination clear despite the weariness in his posture. "If we can. Worst-case scenario, we arm them with cursed tools to even the playing field."

At that, Takumi raised an eyebrow. "Cursed tools?" He shook his head, sitting back. "That's not going to be as simple as you think. If they need cursed tools, we'll have to make them ourselves."

John blinked, surprised. "Make them? The Jujutsu Society's always been lax when it comes to cursed tools. There's usually a surplus."

Takumi let out a bitter laugh. "Not anymore. Over the past year, there's been a massive spike in stolen or undocumented sales of cursed tools. Entire family caches have gone missing, and what's left is being hoarded. The big families aren't taking any chances now."

John's brow furrowed. "What's driving that? I mean, cursed tools aren't exactly the hottest commodity."

Takumi's expression darkened. "No one knows for sure, but it's bad enough that the families have cracked down on distribution. If we want cursed tools, we'll have to forge them ourselves—or barter directly, and that's not a road we want to go down."

John rubbed his jaw, processing the new information. "Great," he muttered. "One more thing to add to the list."

Takumi studied him for a moment before his tone softened. "John, I can't let you do this."

John's gaze snapped to him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do what?"

"Fight Mahito," Takumi said firmly, leaning forward. "You're not in the right state of mind for this. He's already in your head, and going after him will only make things worse."

Takumi leaned forward, his sharp gaze locking onto John. "Do you remember what happened the last time you fought Mahito?" His voice was measured but carried an undeniable edge. "You barely walked away. If that fight had gone on for another second, you'd be dead. And that's not hyperbole, John."

John's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately.

"I know," John said finally, his tone low. "I remember."

"Good," Takumi said sharply. "Because let me remind you of something else—you haven't been able to replicate whatever it was you pulled off in that fight. You landed a few hits that dealt proper damage to his soul, and you have no idea how or why it worked."

John exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "It wasn't just a few hits or some weird technique. It was something deeper. A phenomenon. But yeah, I haven't figured out how to replicate it."

"And until you do," Takumi continued, leaning back slightly, "you're a liability in that fight. Without that technique, you can't touch him."

Takumi continued, his voice firm but tinged with concern. "Out of the two of us, I'm the only one who's managed to unlock reversed cursed technique. That alone puts me in a better position against Mahito. And neither of us has a domain, which means we're fighting him on his terms from the start. The only reason I even stand a chance is because my spectral chains have minor effects on the soul."

John's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not planning on going after him now," he said firmly. "But we can work on that. We can figure out how to deal soul damage while we're training the Counters."

Takumi studied him carefully, his expression unreadable. "You're serious about this, aren't you? Even if I say no, you'll go after him."

John's gaze didn't waver. "I have to. You know I do."

Takumi let out a long breath, rubbing his temple. "You're a stubborn idiot, you know that?"

"So I've been told," John replied, his tone dry.

Takumi sat in silence for a moment before leaning forward again. "Alright. Two weeks. If, in two weeks, we can figure out a reliable way for you to deal soul damage, I'll go with you. But if we can't, we drop this. Agreed?"

John extended his hand, his expression resolute. "Agreed."

The soft hum of the outpost's systems filled the room as Marian stirred, the faint, artificial morning light seeping through the blinds. For a moment, she lay still, staring at the ceiling. Waking up in her own mind still felt surreal, as though Modernia's chains might snap back into place the second she let her guard down.

Slowly, she sat up, her movements deliberate. Each motion was a test—a reassurance that she was still herself. Her legs brushed against the sleek armor she wore, its unfamiliar texture sending a faint shiver through her. She stood, her gaze drifting toward the mirror on the far side of the room. She paused, steeling herself, before taking slow steps forward.

When her reflection came into view, she froze. Her crimson eyes stared back, faintly glowing, an unearthly reminder of the monster she had been. Her hand rose instinctively to her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. The red eyes unsettled her; they seemed to accuse her silently, contrasting painfully with the gentle blue she remembered from before the corruption.

Her gaze dropped to her armor—dark, segmented plates with vibrant orange highlights. It was powerful, functional, but utterly foreign. Every strap she fastened felt like a binding chain, a reminder of what she had been forced to become. Her old uniform was gone, destroyed during her transformation, and now she had no choice but to wear this.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. You don't have time for this, she told herself, dragging her gaze from the mirror. You're here now. That's all that matters. Yet no matter how much she rationalized it, the armor clung to her psyche like a second skin. She wasn't Modernia anymore—but she wasn't the Marian she once was, either.

A sharp beep broke the silence, pulling her attention to the comm device on her bedside table. She grabbed it, flipping the screen on to see a message from John.

"Team meeting later today. Special training. Be ready. Coordinates to follow."

Her fingers tightened around the device. Training. The word filled her with a strange mix of dread and resolve. Training meant battle preparation—danger. She couldn't afford to falter, not after everything her team had done to save her.

"You're not Modernia anymore," she whispered aloud. "You've been given another chance. Don't waste it."

She tightened the straps of her armor, each movement more purposeful than the last. Despite her distaste for it, she couldn't deny its functionality. It was a tool—just as she had been. But now, it would serve her, not the other way around.

Before leaving, she glanced at the mirror one last time. Her red eyes glinted, fierce and unsettling. They were a reminder of her past, yes, but also of her survival. The woman staring back wasn't who she had been, but she was still standing. She was still fighting.

"Second chances don't come often," she murmured. "I won't waste mine."

Marian stepped out into the pavement of the outpost, the hum of activity rising around her. Nikkes moved in small groups, their conversations a blend of camaraderie and tension. She kept her head down, focusing on the path ahead. But as she passed, she felt their gazes—curious, cautious, and in some cases, cold.

"She came back from it," one Nikke whispered near a storage bay. Her voice carried a mix of awe and disbelief. "Corruption's supposed to be the end. But Marian... maybe there's hope after all."

Marian's pace faltered. Hope. The word felt heavy, almost suffocating. Could she truly be a symbol of something so fragile?

Another voice reached her farther down, this one trembling with regret. "I had to do it. My squadmate turned right in front of me. If I'd been faster, smarter... maybe I could've saved her." The voice cracked. "She showed it isn't permanent. Maybe they wouldn't have—"

The guilt in those words mirrored her own, sharp and cutting. Marian quickened her pace, her boots striking the floor harder as she fought to keep her composure.

Near the training ground, another voice froze her in place. "She's walking around like she belongs here," a Nikke muttered, her tone biting. "You know UH-G137? My friend's squad? They went missing in the north—where she was. Coincidence?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

"She's a ticking time bomb," the first continued. "The second she steps out of line, I'll finish the job myself."

Marian's breath hitched. Their anger, their distrust—it wasn't hers to carry. Straightening her back, she pushed forward. She couldn't erase what she had done, but she could decide who she would become. And she wasn't about to let them—or herself—forget it.

The training ground was a patch of uneven dirt and gravel just beyond the outpost, hastily repurposed for its new role. Rusted shipping containers formed a crude perimeter, their metal sides marked with dents and peeling paint. A few makeshift targets stood crookedly at one end, their surfaces riddled with scorch marks and bullet holes. Overhead, a tarp swayed gently in the artificial breeze generated by the outpost's ventilation systems, offering scant protection from the harsh light that illuminated the area.

Takumi stood at the center of the space, his sharp eyes scanning the group before him. Rapi, Anis, Neon, and Marian stood in a loose semi-circle, their postures ranging from tense to curious. Nearby, John leaned against one of the containers, his arms crossed and his usual confidence dampened by fatigue.

Takumi cleared his throat, drawing the group's attention. "Alright," he began, his voice steady but edged with a note of caution. "What we're doing here isn't conventional. Sorcery isn't something you can pick up like a new combat technique or a fancy gadget. It's rooted in cursed energy—a force tied to negative emotions like fear, anger, and regret. Most people don't have enough cursed energy to use it effectively. And from what I've seen so far... you're in that category."

Anis raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "So, what you're saying is, we're hopeless?"

"Not hopeless," Takumi replied, his tone flat. "Just unlikely."

Rapi's arms remained crossed as she nodded slightly. "We've heard about sorcery before. The Commander gave us a summary—enough to know it's not common."

Neon tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "But Commander Smith uses it, right? And he's human. If he can do it, why can't we?"

Takumi glanced at John, raising an eyebrow as if silently asking, Really? John smirked and shrugged, clearly unbothered.

"That's where it gets interesting," Takumi said, his expression darkening with thought. "Under normal circumstances, cursed energy levels are fixed. What you're born with is what you get—no exceptions. But John says he's noticed something unusual about you."

"Unusual how?" Rapi asked, her voice steady.

John stepped forward, his hands resting on his hips. "Your cursed energy spikes during combat. When the pressure's on, it's like a switch flips. It's not consistent, and it's not something I've seen in humans."

"Great," Anis said, throwing up her hands. "So we're freaks. Good to know."

"Not freaks," John said, his tone calm but firm. "An anomaly. One I think we can use."

Takumi crossed his arms, skepticism plain on his face. "Even if that's true, spikes alone won't cut it. Cursed energy needs to be controlled, refined. If they can't sustain it, it's useless."

"That's why we're training," John countered, his voice carrying a note of impatience. "If we can stabilize those spikes or teach them to control it, we might have something."

"And if we can't?" Takumi asked, though the answer was already clear.

John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Plan B is cursed tools. But with everything going on—"

Takumi finished the thought, his tone dark. "With the families cracking down, tools aren't a reliable option."

"Exactly," John said. "So we start here. It's not perfect, but it's all we've got."

Takumi exhaled, his skepticism softening into reluctant acceptance. "Alright. Let's see what they can do. But I wouldn't expect miracles."

He turned back to the group, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. "We're starting with something simple. Sorcery isn't about brute force—it's about control. Close your eyes. Focus inward. Fear, anger, regret—these are the fuels of cursed energy. Let go of everything else and try to feel it."

The Nikkes exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from skeptical to uncertain. Anis let out a loud sigh but complied, sitting cross-legged on the uneven ground. Neon mirrored her with an excited grin, while Rapi's posture remained rigid as she closed her eyes. Marian hesitated but followed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

As the training began in earnest, the makeshift training ground became a quiet, focused space. The Nikkes worked to sense the faint, elusive flicker of cursed energy within themselves. Nearby, Takumi observed with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, his sharp eyes watching for any sign of progress. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The training continued under the pale light filtering through the makeshift tarp, the air filled with the occasional shuffle of movement and the low murmur of Takumi's instructions. Despite their focus, progress was painfully slow. Takumi moved among the Counters, his sharp gaze scanning for any sign of cursed energy.

"Focus," Takumi said for the third time, his tone calm but firm. "You're looking for something that feels... foreign. Different from your usual sensations. It's subtle, but it's there."

"I've been focusing so hard my brain's about to implode," Anis muttered, her eyes squeezed shut. "And I still feel nothing."

Neon let out a groan, tilting her head back. "Same. I don't think this cursed energy stuff is for me."

Rapi remained silent, her posture rigid as she concentrated, but the faint furrow of her brow betrayed her frustration.

John, standing a short distance away with Marian, folded his arms and watched them, his own expression a mix of exhaustion and contemplation. He could sense Marian's cursed energy fluctuating, but she struggled to sustain it. Every time she got close, her focus would falter, and the faint spark would vanish.

Marian wiped sweat from her brow, her red eyes narrowing in frustration. "I don't get it," she said softly. "I can feel something, but it's like... it slips away the moment I try to grab it."

"It's not easy," John said, his tone patient. "It's like flexing a muscle you didn't know you had."

Sighing, Takumi called for a short break, stepping back and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, take five," he said, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "Grab some water and reset. We'll try again."

The Nikkes didn't need to be told twice. They moved toward the water bottles lined up on a nearby crate, their faces a mixture of relief and weariness. Marian lingered for a moment before following them, her steps slow and deliberate.

Takumi approached John, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from his brow. "Are you absolutely sure you felt their cursed energy fluctuate? Because from where I'm standing, it's a dead end. I haven't sensed anything remotely usable. Apart from Marian, Anis is the only one who posses levels slightly above what's normal for a civilian"

John leaned back against a rusted shipping container, his arms crossed. "I'm sure," he said, though his tone carried a hint of weariness. "During combat, it's there. It spikes. It's subtle, but I can feel it."

Takumi frowned. "John, let's not kid ourselves—your ability to sense cursed energy is decent at best. If it's as faint as you're saying, it might just be background noise."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe. But I don't think so. This isn't noise. It's real, and I think the only way to bring it out is in the heat of combat."

Takumi tilted his head, skeptical. "You're suggesting a spar?"

John straightened, his posture firm. "Not just a spar. A proper fight. They need pressure—real pressure. If combat is what triggers the spikes, then combat is how we'll draw it out."

Takumi crossed his arms, studying him carefully. "It's risky. If you're wrong, you'll just be pushing them for no reason."

Pushing off the container, John turned to the group. "Alright, change of plans. We're going to try something different. Anis."

Anis, mid-sip from her water bottle, looked up with a start. "Uh... yeah, Commander?"

"You're sparring with me," John said simply, motioning her to step forward.

Anis blinked, lowering her bottle as a nervous chuckle escaped her. "Wait, what? Me? Why not Neon? She's the one always bouncing around."

"Hey!" Neon interjected, clearly offended. "I'm just energetic, thank you very much."

John ignored her, keeping his gaze on Anis. "Takumi says you've got the most potential. If anyone's going to break through, it's you."

Anis shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Rapi and Neon for support. "I mean... sure. But it's just a spar, right? You're not going full Commander-mode on me, are you?"

John's lips curved into a faint smirk. "We'll see."

Anis let out a sigh, her posture loosening slightly as she stepped into the makeshift ring. "Alright, fine. Let's do this. Just promise you won't go too hard on me. I still need my face intact for—"

"It's not just a spar," John interrupted, his tone turning cold. "We're fighting like it's life or death."

Anis froze mid-step, her eyes widening. "Wait, what?"

The other Nikkes exchanged alarmed glances. Neon's usual grin faltered. "Uh, Commander... you're joking, right?"

Rapi's gaze narrowed as she studied him, her voice calm but edged with concern. "Commander, what exactly do you mean by 'life or death'?"

John crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. "Cursed energy only surfaces under extreme pressure. That means fear, desperation, survival instincts. If we're going to trigger it, I have to make Anis believe she's in real danger."

Anis's face paled as she took a step back. "Wait, hold on! Real danger? You're the Commander! You can't actually—"

"As long as your head stays intact," John said matter-of-factly, "you'll be fine. And if not, we can bring you back."

The air grew heavy with his words, the weight of the situation sinking in. Neon's jaw dropped. "You're... not serious, are you?"

John's gaze didn't waver. "Completely serious. Out there, curses aren't going to hold back. If you don't learn to fight under pressure, you're dead. I'm not going to let that happen."

Anis turned to Takumi, her voice tinged with panic. "You're just going to let this happen? Aren't you supposed to be the reasonable one?"

Takumi, who had been watching quietly, shrugged. "He's not wrong. Fear and desperation can trigger cursed energy. But this is risky, even for you."

"That's not helping!" Anis snapped, her voice cracking slightly.

Rapi folded her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on John. "Commander, this is... extreme. Are you sure this is necessary?"

John glanced at her, his tone softening slightly. "Rapi, you've seen what's out there. Curses don't give second chances. If Anis can't handle this here, she won't survive out there."

Rapi hesitated, her expression conflicted. Finally, she gave a small nod. "Fine. But don't overdo it."

Anis groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Great. Guess I'm just signing up to be a punching bag now."

Neon piped up, her grin returning nervously. "You've got this, Anis! Think of it like an action movie! You're the scrappy underdog about to unlock your hidden powers!"

"Scrappy underdog?" Anis muttered, rolling her shoulders as she reluctantly stepped into the ring. "I'm more like the sacrificial lamb."

John smirked faintly, settling into a loose stance. "Come on, Anis. Show me what you've got."

Anis hesitated for a moment longer, her fists clenching at her sides. "Fine," she said, squaring her shoulders.

The makeshift training ground buzzed with tension as John and Anis squared off. The weight of John's earlier words—"as long as your head stays intact"—hung in the air, an unspoken reminder of what was at stake. Anis stood across from him, her posture stiff and uncertain, her eyes darting to her teammates for reassurance.

"Commander," she began nervously, her voice cracking. "You're not really going to—"

"Begin," Takumi interrupted sharply.

Before the word had fully left his mouth, John moved. He surged forward like a predator, closing the distance between them in an instant. Anis barely had time to register the blur of his movement before his boot connected with her stomach. The force of the kick was punishing, sending her flying backward. She landed hard on the uneven ground, skidding to a stop as the breath was knocked from her lungs.

She gasped, clutching her abdomen as she tried to push herself upright. Her head jerked up just in time to see John already looming over her, his boot descending toward her face. A bolt of panic shot through her, and she rolled to the side with a desperate grunt. The stomp hit the ground next to her with enough force to send a small cloud of dust into the air.

From the sidelines, the others watched in stunned silence. Neon's eyes were wide, her hands clutching the edge of a crate. "He's... serious," she whispered.

Takumi remained quiet, his gaze narrowing as he studied John's movements. Marian shifted uncomfortably, her red eyes flicking between the two figures in the ring. Rapi's jaw tightened, her sharp gaze fixed on every detail of the fight.

Anis staggered to her feet, her breathing labored as she wiped dirt from her face. Her glare locked onto John, frustration flickering in her eyes. She barely had time to reorient herself before John was on her again, his fist flying toward her face. She raised her arms instinctively, catching the blow on her forearms, but the force still sent her stumbling back.

She tried to counter with a wild swing, but John sidestepped effortlessly, his body moving with a fluidity that made her look clumsy by comparison. His knee shot up toward her midsection, but instead of driving it into her solar plexus, he shifted at the last moment, letting it glance off her side with enough force to send her reeling but not enough to incapacitate.

The strikes came faster now, each one precise and punishing. A kick aimed at her head arced downward at the last second, slamming into her shoulder instead. A jab that should have knocked her flat stopped just short, the air pressure alone enough to ruffle her hair. But not all his hits were softened—some landed squarely, leaving her gasping and stumbling to keep her footing.

From the sidelines, Neon winced with every impact. "What is he doing? He's going to kill her!"

Takumi finally spoke, his tone calm but firm. "No, he's not."

Neon spun toward him, incredulous. "How can you say that? Did you see that kick?"

Takumi's sharp eyes never left the fight. "He's holding back. Look closely."

Rapi, who had been silent until now, nodded slowly. "He's right. If the Commander weren't holding back, Anis wouldn't still be standing. He's not targeting weak points—joints, the throat, anything that would incapacitate her completely. He's... pushing her."

Neon's gaze snapped back to the sparring pair. "Testing her? By turning her into a punching bag?"

Marian watched quietly, her red eyes narrowing. "Rapi's right," she said softly. "It's brutal but it's controlled."

Anis groaned, clutching her stomach as she forced herself upright. Her legs trembled, and her glare wavered, but she didn't back down. "You're really not playing, huh?" she muttered through gritted teeth.

John tilted his head slightly, his posture relaxed but his presence intimidating. The message was clear: Get up, or stay down.

Anis wiped sweat from her brow, her jaw tightening. "Fine," she growled, her voice low. "But don't think I'm done yet."

Anis let out a frustrated growl, throwing a series of wild punches. John deflected each one with ease, his movements calm and deliberate. He slipped inside her guard and swept her legs out from under her with a low kick. She hit the ground hard, groaning as she tried to scramble away.

"Think," John said, his tone calm but firm. "You're letting your emotions take over. Use them, but don't let them control you. Find your focus."

Anis groaned, rubbing her shoulder as she got back to her feet. This time, her movements were slower, more measured. She took a step back, her breathing steadying as she studied him.

Anis dodged another kick aimed at her midsection, barely managing to sidestep before countering with a swift jab. "Nice try," John said, catching her fist with a deft block. Before she could react, he swept her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling to the ground once more.

Anis groaned, rolling to her knees as she spat dirt from her mouth. "You've got a funny definition of sparring, Commander," she muttered, pushing herself upright.

John smirked, his stance relaxed but ready. "Sparring's about learning. You're learning, aren't you?"

Before she could recover, John stepped behind her and locked his arms around her neck in a triangle choke, his legs wrapping tightly around her torso. Anis gasped, clawing at his forearm as the hold tightened. She struggled as much as she could, but John's grip was like iron.

Anis's struggles began to weaken. Her vision blurred as the lack of oxygen started to take its toll, and her movements became sluggish. John adjusted his hold slightly, preparing to release her before she passed out completely.

Then it happened.

Anis let out a guttural yell, her body surging with a strength that defied her earlier exhaustion. Her fingers clamped around John's leg with a grip that nearly unbalanced him. Before he could react, she twisted violently, breaking his hold and forcing him to release her. She scrambled to her feet, panting heavily, her chest heaving as she glared at him with wild eyes.

From the sidelines, Neon gasped, practically jumping to her feet. "Did she just—?"

"She did," Takumi said, his voice low but edged with interest. "Her cursed energy spiked. Brief, but it was there."

Anis stood, fists clenched and trembling as she stared at John. Despite the sweat dripping down her face, her expression was alight with a new energy. Her earlier exhaustion seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced with a burning determination.

John straightened, brushing dirt off his shirt as he watched her. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "There it is."

Anis blinked, her breath slowing as realization dawned on her. "That... that was cursed energy?"

John nodded, but his expression remained measured. "It was. And you used it without thinking."

From the sidelines, Neon clapped her hands together, beaming. "That was awesome, Anis! You looked like a total badass out there!"

Anis staggered slightly, the adrenaline fading and the full weight of her exertion hitting her. "Yeah, well... next time, maybe he could try not choking me half to death."

John chuckled softly, his smirk returning. "If I didn't push you, you wouldn't have gotten there. You'll thank me later."

Takumi stepped closer, his expression thoughtful, his sharp gaze assessing Anis like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "Interesting," he murmured. "The spike was brief, but the intensity was higher than expected. If we can figure out how to replicate that consistently..."

Anis gave him a weak thumbs-up before collapsing onto the ground, groaning as she lay flat on her back. "Fantastic. Can we call it a day now? I've earned a nap. And snacks. Lots of snacks."

John crouched beside her, handing her a water bottle. "No naps yet. We've got more work to do."

Anis groaned dramatically, though the faint smirk on her lips betrayed her pride. "You're relentless, Commander."

"Guilty," John replied, standing and turning back to the group.

As John stepped away, Takumi knelt beside Anis, his sharp eyes narrowing as though studying a complex diagram. "What you experienced, Anis, wasn't just raw emotion. It was instinct paired with energy, a surge responding to your desperation. In certain ancient traditions, this would be seen as a manifestation of internal power—like chi, flowing through the body and ignited by intense focus and emotion."

Anis groaned, lifting her head slightly to glare at him. "Great. I'm a living firework. Can someone light me up again without the choking part?"

Takumi ignored her sarcasm, rising to his feet. "This energy, or flow, isn't constant. It relies on the connection between your physical and mental states. Balance is critical—too much strain, and the flow fractures. Too little effort, and it remains dormant."

Nearby, John motioned for Anis to stand. "Enough theory, Takumi. She'll learn it by doing."

"Oh, joy," Anis muttered, dragging herself upright with the enthusiasm of someone facing a firing squad. "Let me guess, more grapples?"

John's smirk was answer enough. Within moments, Anis found herself twisted into another awkward hold, her arms pinned tightly behind her back.

"You're holding back your strength," Takumi observed calmly, pacing around them. "That's why the energy won't surface. When the mind fears, the body hesitates. When the body hesitates, the flow stops."

Anis winced, twisting against John's grip. "You know what'd help? Not being turned into a pretzel."

John tightened his hold slightly, his voice low. "Focus. Where did you feel it last time?"

"My chest," she gasped, her breathing labored. "But I can't feel it now. I'm too busy dying."

Takumi frowned, his head tilting slightly as though trying to reconcile her words. "The chest? That's... unexpected. The stomach is traditionally considered the source of power and balance. Energy radiates outward from there, not upward. If yours is different..." He trailed off, lost in thought.

Anis let her head flop back to the ground as John released his hold, throwing her hands up. "Great. I'm broken. I can't even have my energy in the right spot."

Takumi stood, brushing off his hands as he began pacing. "It's not a matter of being broken. Perhaps it's tied to your construction as a Nikke. If the flow is altered by your physiology, it could explain why traditional methods aren't working."

"Cool," Anis said, dragging herself to her feet. "So, what now? You fold me into another pretzel and hope for the best?"

John smirked faintly. "That's the plan."

Before she could protest, John locked her into another grapple, pinning her arms behind her back with ease. Anis groaned, squirming as she tried to gain leverage.

"Stop flailing," John said sharply. "Breathe. Deep into your stomach, not your chest."

Takumi circled them, his tone calm. "Energy responds to control. Without focus, it dissipates. Find your center. Feel it gather in your stomach."

Anis gritted her teeth, trying to steady her breath, but the frustration bubbling under the surface refused to subside. "I'm trying, but all I feel is dirt in my face and regret."

"Then you're not trying hard enough," John said, tightening his hold slightly before releasing her.

Anis stumbled forward, catching herself on her knees. She sat back, glaring up at the two men. "Nothing. It's gone."

Takumi nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Because it wasn't real focus. You relied on instinct earlier, not intent. Without understanding, you won't find it again."

John crossed his arms, his smirk fading. "Then we keep working until she does."

Anis groaned loudly, flopping onto her back. "You're both insane."

Takumi glanced at John. "She's not wrong."

John shrugged, already motioning for her to get up. "No naps. We're not done."

Several hours passed, and despite the initial success they were not able to get Anis or any of the others to draw on their cursed energy. The makeshift training ground was thick with tension, the sunless artificial light casting long shadows over the scattered group of exhausted Nikkes. Marian sat hunched on a crate, her red eyes narrowed in frustration as faint flickers of cursed energy danced at her fingertips, only to vanish before she could grasp them. Anis lay sprawled on the ground, her breathing heavy, while Neon sat cross-legged beside her, trying to cheer her up with a stream of lighthearted chatter. Rapi leaned silently against a container, her arms crossed, her gaze distant.

Takumi paced near the edge of the training area, his sharp eyes flicking between the Nikkes as if their lack of progress might suddenly make sense. "This defies every principle of cursed energy I've ever studied," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "Capacity doesn't behave like this. It's supposed to be fixed. What you're born with is what you have. This behavior... it's unnatural. If it were innate, they'd be able to access it now. This kind of instinctive surge shouldn't require life-or-death circumstances."

John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "And yet, here we are. Anis couldn't pull it out until she thought I was about to kill her."

"That makes it a survival mechanism," Takumi said grimly. "Pure reflex. You can't build a reliable technique on something so volatile, and now that they know you won't actually try to kill them we won't be able to reliably draw it out."

Takumi's voice lowered, his tone careful. "Do you think this has anything to do with Project Genesis?"

John stiffened, his jaw clenching. "Most likely. Whatever Genesis was, it's left its fingerprints on everything."

Takumi crossed his arms, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. "It would explain a lot. But without proof, it's just conjecture."

John's frustration boiled over, his voice hard. "Why is it always secrets, Takumi? Always half-truths and whispers while the rest of us are left to clean up the mess? These girls deserve answers. We deserve answers."

Takumi turned to him, his voice calm but firm. "And you know the Society and the Ark's system as well as I do. They don't share information unless it serves their interests. Genesis is a buried relic for a reason."

"That doesn't make it right," John shot back, his hands clenching into fists. "Whatever Genesis was, it's tied to this. I can feel it."

Takumi exhaled heavily, his sharp gaze softening slightly as he glanced at Anis. She was still lying on the ground, her arms spread wide as she groaned dramatically while Neon babbled encouragingly beside her. "Maybe. But we can't act on guesses. For now, we know one thing for sure: their cursed energy spikes under stress. If we can figure out why, we might be able to help them control it."

John's gaze shifted to Marian, who was staring at her hands with an intensity that bordered on desperation. Faint sparks of cursed energy flickered and faded, her determination etched in every line of her face. "They're trying," he said quietly. "More than I can say for the people keeping all the answers hidden."

Takumi nodded slowly. "That's something to work with. For now."