Three days had passed since the trial.
Menma slowly opened his eyes. Morning light filtered softly but blindingly through the pale curtains of the infirmary. His arms still burned; his muscles ached, but he was conscious. Alive.
"YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE!!"
Lina jumped up from her chair, eyes shining with relief. William chuckled, crossing his arms.
"We thought you'd sleep for a week, dude."
"Three days, Menma. Three days with no sign…" Lina's voice trembled a little. "We were really worried."
Still dazed, Menma struggled to speak:
"The trial… Zarek… Did I hold on?"
William burst out laughing.
"You scared the hell out of him, yeah. Even the Novas in the stands went quiet. It was like you refused to fall, even unconscious."
Lina smiled.
"You know, ever since then, everyone's been looking at you differently."
When he finally returned to class, the atmosphere had changed.
Curious glances had turned into looks of admiration. Some classmates from Orion, usually indifferent or distant, approached with smirks.
"That was crazy, what you took…"
"Never thought an Orion guy could stand up to Zarek like that."
"He hit you like a madman, and you stayed standing…"
Menma, a little embarrassed, answered briefly. He wasn't looking for recognition. But he understood he had gained something else: respect.
The following days were a nightmare of catch-up. Endless theory classes. Flux handling, alchemy diagrams, laws of amplification on living and inert matter…
Three days absent = three days of hell. Menma endured, but he had only one desire: to train again.
When he finally returned to the training grounds, Calem was already waiting.
"There's our survivor at last," he said with a wink.
Menma returned the smile, a little teasing too.
"Survivor, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."
This time Calem approached without reservation.
"You held on where others would have fled. You took hits without giving up. What you showed in the arena wasn't just courage… it was willpower. And that, Menma, is what forges the greatest."
Those words stayed with him. They anchored somewhere deep in his chest, at the place of that invisible wound he'd carried forever: the feeling of always being behind the others.
Training resumed.
Menma threw himself into it completely. But something was wrong.
He distanced himself from the training group.
He took up his daggers out of habit. Threw them, amplified them, caught them. But something was off. Each throw felt hollow, meaningless.
He saw Zarek again, unmoved by his attacks. He saw his own ineffective blows. The despair in his own eyes.
He dropped the daggers to the ground. His gaze lost itself in the void for a moment. Then an idea imposed itself. A word scribbled in his notebook, circled multiple times.
Organic amplification.
He frowned.
"What if I amplify… my own body…"
He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Tried to channel the Flux—not toward a dagger, not toward an object, but toward his muscles. His skin. His bones.
A shiver ran through him. A sudden pressure in his stomach. He forced it, trying to guide the energy within him… but it scattered immediately.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes, tense. Tried again.
He took position. Breathed slowly. Imagined himself as a vessel, a catalyst. He circulated the Flux, directed it to his arms… but again, he felt it slip away, dissipate like water through his fingers.
Nothing.
He clenched his fists. His jaw tightened. He dropped to his knees, closed his eyes harder. This time, he poured all his will, all his focus. He thought only of this: feel. Channel. Amplify.
A spark.
Just one. But it disappeared immediately. The Flux slipped out of him again, resistant. Unstable. Out of control.
He slammed his fist on the ground, panting.
"Why won't it work…"
His arms trembled. Sweat drenched his neck. He stayed there, motionless, heart pounding wildly. But he refused to give up.
Again. He resumed. Sat cross-legged. Cleared his mind. Channeled. Failed. Tried again.
Again. And again. And again.
He felt his limit approach. His body burned. His mind screamed.
But he kept going.
And suddenly… a vibration.
Light. Fleeting. But real. A pale, bluish glow, like a living pulse, flickered on his forearms. A single second.
But that second was worth everything.
He froze, eyes wide.
"I think…"
A soft sound interrupted him. A slight clap-clap.
He turned his head.
Ayame.
She was there, leaning against the training wall. She said nothing, but her smile said it all.
"Not bad," she said. "You're finally opening up to something else."
Menma was surprised.
"You… were watching me?"
"Always," she replied with a teasing tone. Then softer:
"You've grasped something essential. It's not the weapon that matters. It's the vector. And sometimes, the best vector… is you."
She stepped closer. For the first time, she didn't keep her distance. She didn't climb on her usual little wall to look down at him. No. She sat beside him. Calmly. As if it was normal.
"Do you think it's possible?" Menma asked.
Ayame shrugged.
"That's for you to prove."
A quiet complicity settled. Then she added, almost whispering:
"But I like this version of you."
Menma didn't answer, but his heart beat faster. He had found something more precious than power or shield.
He had found a path.
And he was no longer alone in following it.