Shirone's Trial: Mastering the Leap of Light

Sienna paused, her hand on the doorknob, and turned to fix Amy with a stern glare. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting sharp shadows across her narrowed eyes. "I'll let this slide today," she said, her voice a blade wrapped in silk, "but if I catch you sneaking into the boys' dorm again, even I won't be able to shield you from expulsion. Understood?"

Amy ducked her head, her cheeks burning. "Yes, Professor."

The door clicked shut, leaving the room thick with tension. For the first time, Shirone and Amy stood alone in the cramped dormitory—no lies, no rumors, just the hum of the lone desk lamp and the weight of unsaid words.

Amy fidgeted, her boots scuffing the floorboards. The air prickled with something fragile, like a soap bubble trembling between them.

"I, uh…" Shirone's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, knuckles whitening around the edge of his physics tome.

"Spit it out," Amy snapped, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice rose, sharp as shattered glass. "Did you think I'd laugh? Or—or pity you?"

Shirone's gaze dropped to the book's pages, where equations for Photonization Theory coiled like serpents. "No. I just… didn't want things to get weirder between us."

Amy froze. The admission hung in the air, raw and disarming.

"Weirder?" She barked a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "You idiot. Did you think avoiding me would fix anything?"

He met her eyes, his own burning with quiet intensity. "Your name was at the top of the rankings when I first got here. I didn't want to be… a burden dragging you down."

Amy's breath hitched. The lamplight caught the faint tremor in her hands.

"Then stop acting like one!" She whirled toward the window, her crimson braid lashing like a whip. "If you're going to chase me, do it properly. Not this… this pathetic skulking!"

Shirone's chair screeched as he stood. "What?"

"Fight where I can see you," she hissed, fingers digging into the windowsill. "None of this cowardly 'respecting social class' nonsense. If you want to match me, earn it."

For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the room. Then—

"Amy."

Her name, soft but unyielding, pinned her in place. She turned, pulse roaring in her ears.

Shirone's face was pale, sweat gleaming at his temples, but his voice didn't waver. "I will catch up."

Amy's lips twitched—a flicker of something dangerously close to pride. "By then," she said, hoisting herself onto the ledge, "I'll already be gone. Keep up… if you can."

She vanished into the night, leaving Shirone alone with the ghost of her challenge.

30 Days Until the Test

Shirone's world narrowed to ink, paper, and pain.

He abandoned all other studies, his dorm littered with treatises on Photonization Theory. Sleep became a luxury—three stolen hours a night, if he was lucky. His hands shook as he traced equations describing the marriage of light and time, his mind fraying at the edges.

Time is born from light.

Kerghos's words haunted him. To teleport was not to move but to become light—to dissolve into particles dancing at the edge of relativity.

"Impossible," he muttered, slumping over his desk. Moonlight bled through the curtains, painting his bruises in silver.

But then he remembered Amy's smirk, the way Seriel had effortlessly teleported through the forest while carrying him. They didn't calculate. They felt it.

The Training Grounds

Shirone staggered, blood dripping from his split lip as he collapsed onto the cold stone. His fifth attempt that hour. Each failure left him weaker, his body a map of purple welts and trembling muscle.

"Again," he growled, hauling himself upright.

Photonization requires merging with the light. Not control—surrender.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the phantom jeers of classmates. The world dissolved into pinpricks of energy, a tapestry of photons.

There.

He stepped—

—and ripped.

Five meters.

Agony exploded in his ribs as he rematerialized, skidding across the ground.

"Ghh—!" He curled into a ball, tears blurring his vision. Failure.

But something had shifted. For a millisecond, he'd felt it—the hum of photons cradling his atoms.

The Night Before

Shirone stood at the training ground's edge, swaying like a drunkard. His uniform hung in tatters, his face gaunt. Shadows pooled under his eyes, but his gaze burned.

"One… last try."

He reached for the light.

This time, when the photons swallowed him, he didn't fight.

Surrender.

His body sang.

Ten meters.

He reappeared, knees buckling, but—

—alive.

No crash. No scream. Just the echo of light clinging to his skin.

A ragged laugh tore from his throat.