The door opened quietly.
For the first time in hours, the light felt normal—neither distorted nor painfully bright.
Faro stepped out of the room that had felt more like a cocoon for the self than a test chamber.
He wasn't sure if time had passed at all… or if he had only blinked.
A silent corridor awaited him. No background music, no automated instructions. No one to greet him.
Except for one elderly man, sitting on a wooden chair across from the door, watching without smiling.
Without looking directly at him, the man said:
"Third one to pass this trial in the last five years..."
Faro paused. His eyes held no fear, no questions—only awareness.
The man gestured to the chair across from him, and Faro sat.
"You know, most of them break inside. Not because the choice is hard... but because it reveals too much. For many, it's their first time truly seeing themselves. And they panic.
But you... you were calm. Chosen."
Faro said nothing. He owed no one an explanation for his path.
"I'll tell you something," the man continued, "we don't care which door you chose. What we care about is your ability to stand afterward. Many pick freedom, but crumble at the first taste of loneliness.
You… you are solid, yet not closed off."
A brief silence followed. Then the man pulled out a small black card from his pocket.
"This marks your success in the third trial. Take it to room C-17. You'll receive your rest schedule and a preliminary report on your mental structure."
Faro took the card, stood without a word.
Just as he turned, the man added quietly:
"Be careful not to turn your freedom into a new cage. The cruelest prisons are the ones we build ourselves."
Faro didn't reply. Didn't pause.
He walked down the corridor—steady, forward, toward the next phase.
---
Room C-17 resembled a basic infirmary.
Simple diagnostics. A quick physical check. Then, a document:
A one-day rest schedule, including:
A low-intensity body and aura assessment.
A short training session.
A confidential note: "Early traces of raw Nen ability detected—possibly linked to instant displacement or domain-like control. Unstable."
As the day neared its end, a message arrived:
"Trial Four begins at dawn. Prepare yourself. It will be... physical."