Death. Death. A genocide on his skin, millions of crying out blood cells wishing to an end to all the agony as the alcohol on his damaged flesh stung deep, sinking into his veins and blood cells. Wandering in a haze on auto.

His knuckles were clenched, more rigid than black spruce. White. No blood running through them. His skin is only a thin membrane blocking bone from touching bone, muscle the only divider.

He basically felt nothing, every time something sharp came the grip dug into the plastic, he sat on exerting himself more in effort of dispersion than recognizing something so skin-deep. It'd just be another thing he'd be thankful to get out of alive.

His grip loosens, the gradual regeneration of his cohesion of mind is still underway, but for now Ichika Orimura asked himself a rare question that wasn't misspelled or rhetorical. Concussions usually tended to make him more introspective than usual.

Concussions probably don't work like that.

Well, they do to him.

And in that, in this. This place, this void, a land without any detail, just awareness. He genuinely questioned himself.

What was he doing here?

Getting Fukuro fixed before the next match.

Alright, but what was he doing here, really?

Well, just trying to, just trying to…. Just trying. He got the order, didn't he?

"Win The Tournament." Handed to him by the diplomat's courier when he first met Charlotte. It had a very neat font.

He didn't need an explanation, he just needed instructions. Objectives, things to do. Detailed instructions. Generalistics were the reason why he was never assigned to these sorts of operations, and yet there those three words were.

Alright, but what even is The Tournament?

Something he has to win.

That's already acknowledged and expected. But he was just put on the roster. Given a partner…

The Frenchie. Charlotte. Charles. She's really divided with herself. "You don't know everything about me." Along with being a crumbling mess, that seemed to scream "I don't know everything about me."

Yes. But she isn't mean. She sort of gave up on that "Covert inspection and reporting to a military corporation." A long while ago.

Also, wouldn't his oh so beloved big sister Chifuyu try to stop him from joining though?

But, she did?

Wait, really?

Heck if he knew.

Well, if the fact is that he can't remember then that means that she probably didn't exactly try too hard.

Don't be like that.

Get off his back.

It's very hard in his heart to find hate for her.

Yes, but there certainly weren't any tears shed when seeing her again. Or when she met him. Or what she did to Summer. Now that, that is something he remembered.

The void shifted into a mirage painting the sky cloudy and the ground grey.

Summer. His sister. Always happy, always experiencing. A knife the length of a table piercing through her Aires shield, penetrating deep into her organs as she was rushed away by Monika leaving him alone to face the mounting assault.

Ichika Orimura raised his arm and slammed it down onto a nearby surface, ignoring the pain. Just wanting to inflict it on something, even if it was himself.

It's… still… true... He certainly can tolerate her presence, even… regrettably enjoy it. Whenever he looks at her, he sees the inky darkness of honest guilt transparently hiding the computation that ever surrounds her.

Say that again?

Well, who's ever fought another person to the death and shared a burger with them afterwards?

Ah.

And at that moment, she was relaxed and whole. Not needing to focus on a newspaper, or fidgeting with a puzzle. Just talking with full interest in him.

Another mirage. The heat of the world turning air conditioned inside of a quaint apartment.

His sister was enjoying the rare free time she had, and he was enjoying the rare time he was with her.

There were multiple books of different varieties being placed onto the floor in a circle around her. Dictionaries, manuals, other smart people books that he never took interest in when they went to the library.

After he was done helping her make this circle of hardcovers she would step over the towers and piles of books and sit down in the middle. Play a cheap speaker that would belch out random assortments of music, jazz, rock and roll, heavy metal in different languages, Arabic, Japanese, German, Swedish.

This is when it started.

She'd pick a book up and flip through its pages for a few seconds and switch to another one. Introduction to calculus replaced with the history of railroads, in conjunction with the basics of coding.

And then. He'd seen it. The constant static in her head, with different bouncing ideas synchronize and focus themselves into one. And she'd have an actual conversation with him.

So, is she different now?

Again, heck if he knew.

Well, then what the heck did he know?

The tournament is… well, he didn't start it. This wasn't his idea or plan. He didn't come up with those often.

So, he often told himself. But right now, he's making a very good effort at it.

Well, the last match is coming up and everything is going to change once it's over, it feels like it's all building up to something. Hopefully, he'll at least be shown a better idea of what to do.

Also, what was up with those drones.

What?

Those drones. They've been glossed over, haven't they?

He was still firing blanks.

He didn't really mention those often enough to himself.

Well, it was kept under wraps he assumed.

Yes, but they weren't exactly subtle having penetrated the defenses of an international military school devoted to the exact purpose of a good offense being a great defense.

Hey, if someone sent them. They'll send more, probably.

They will or hopefully would've.

He could use a refresher.

There can't be a continuation of this without at least talking about them.

Fine… Roll it.

He needed a second. Where is it…

He meets the Frenchie, he seems to be inquisitive on Fukuro's abilities, trying to establish a rapport in a forced casual attitude that is obviously grating for him to experience, and her to inflict.

Please skip to the actual part? A bit past that.

He's trying right now.

Counters and dodges, in the large open practice arena. Charlotte practicing shot after shot, while he avoided. It was a basic match. And yet she is terrified to the core of her being whenever he forces her to move position. Wasn't she the star heir to an entire lineage of-

Skip.

He found it. Here it went.

In the tired aftermath of something close to a semblance of practice, the rush of adrenaline goes down, then the ever, relieving sound of a Vienna shield being popped is heard. Something in between popping a balloon with a jackhammer. But he was willingly trapped now.

He reflexively turns and gazes up the obsidian black metallic knives in humanoid form. Cutting through the air with sharp stalactite weaponry. Firing flechettes made of their own material or sharpening their limbs to stab and cut.

Ah, that did clear up a lot.

In retrospect their fighting style was to avoid, and create damage, but this was a contained area. A massive civilian zone, like the public areas, would be a better placement for them. It was a relatively simple fight.

It was almost as if they came to lose. Or target him specifically.

Afterward, he was interrogated endlessly for whatever was that. And then… they actual decided to continue the tournament, after the knowledge that the perimeter was breached and everyone was liable to get frakking murdered.

This was helping. But, now he was wondering. What else did he know?

Summarize. He'd try to help.

Here is what he knew.

-Sister did very violent things to Monika and Summer and Him.

-He's back at the academy waking up in a medical bed. And told to expect to live here.

-The Blonde girl asked to fight him, he won too easily. He shouldn't have done that.

Cecelia, yelling in genuine fear for her life as he reaches the near limit to her shielding. Tearing through it like paper on fire. In that moment where he was used to going to the limit.

He showed his hand.

Yep.

-Signed up for tournament, he didn't want to enter but then got a message telling him do it.

A small envelope, with a piece of paper enclosed inside of it.

-He's living at this pompous academy, where really, how much money is being spent on-

This was already mentioned.

Oh, uh, where-

Tournament.

And then. Then.

Met Charlotte, knew she was she. Turns out she didn't know he knew she was she instead of a he, she-

Oh. Uh.

Weird, stuff. He knew something she didn't know about him, now she knows they know stuff.

He was not built for this sort of introspection.

No, but that didn't mean he couldn't. Or isn't right now. Again.

What's the fancy word York used when Monika distracts her? Di-Diegress-Digression! They were digressing.

Ah. Yes.

-Tournament.

-Tried meeting up with Blonde girl and refreshing himself with people he knew in the past she is… she is the equivalent to um…

A testament to superficiality diminishing potential?

Yea. But not that bad of a person.

-Met other people during that time, Houki, Lingying, British girl. Charlotte.

Laura isn't bad either.

She's like, how to put this, it's stupid and not fully thought out.

Go ahead.

York is strategy, the big plays that win in the long term right? That's why she's Chief.

Right.

Laura is Tactics. She's kind of short term, but in the current now.

It makes sense. She's effective right now, but she doesn't think about the later.

Then he did his matches. Against British girl again, then against Lingyin. Then, uh, now he's here.

Hey, it… exists as a timeline, but he'd say he was out of time.

Why?

Oh, it's nothing. It's just that.

Just what?

Ichika Orimura was then punched in the face. And it hurt, a lot.