The second morning at Ryukyu's Agency began with a now-familiar routine: physical training before dawn. I pushed myself in the agency's state-of-the-art training room, feeling every muscle in my body respond with a satisfying ache. Strangely, the pain felt cleaner and faded faster than it should have. The bruises from the festival that should still be blue were now just faint yellow smudges. This passive healing ability was one of the many mysteries of Incursio I had to solve, but for now, I accepted it with gratitude.
The atmosphere in the dining hall at breakfast was lively. Nejire Hado, with her boundless morning energy, was already there, devouring a bowl of rice at superhuman speed. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up.
"Tatsumi-kun! Good morning!" she exclaimed. "So, so, did you dream of being a dragon last night? Can you breathe fire in your sleep? I'm curious!"
I just smiled faintly as I got my breakfast. "Unfortunately not. Just the usual dream about a forgotten math test."
"Hado-senpai, it's too early for a hundred questions," Uraraka said with a yawn, joining us at the table, followed by Tsuyu.
"She's just curious, Uraraka-chan," Tsuyu said in her calm, croaky voice. "But she's right, kero. Your Quirk is the most mysterious among all of us, Tatsumi-chan."
I shrugged. "That's what I'm here to figure out."
Our light conversation was cut short when one of Ryukyu's assistants called my name. "Tatsumi-kun, Ryukyu-san is waiting for you in Training Room Gamma." The time had come. Uraraka and Tsuyu gave me encouraging looks as they prepared for their morning patrol. Nejire, on the other hand, jumped to her feet. "I'm coming! I want to see!" she exclaimed, and ran after me.
Training Room Gamma was a giant cube made of reinforced concrete and steel, designed to withstand even the most destructive Quirks. Ryukyu was already waiting in the center of the cold floor, wearing practical training clothes. She told me to sit in the middle of the floor.
"Your power, from what I've observed, responds to mortal threats and extreme emotions," she said, her voice echoing in the vast room. "It's a pure survival reaction. You'll never be able to control it if you keep relying on such triggers. A true hero doesn't wait for danger to be ready; he is ready long before danger arrives."
She looked at me with her sharp golden eyes. "So, your first lesson isn't about fighting. It's about control. I want you to sit here, close your eyes, and do nothing."
I was a little confused, but I complied. Nejire sat in a corner of the room, watching with great interest.
"Don't try to force your power out. Don't ask for it. Don't beg for it," Ryukyu continued. "Just listen. I am here. Feel the resonance between my power and yours. Feel its heartbeat. Know it as a part of you."
I did as she commanded. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my mind, something easier said than done. For what felt like hours, I just sat there, trying to feel that connection. The heat in my chest was still there, but it felt stubborn, an ember that refused to ignite. I was close to giving up in frustration.
"Enough with the meditation," Ryukyu said, as if sensing my deadlock. "Now, your first task. I don't want you to summon the full armor. I don't want you to explode in power. I want you to focus on a single point. I want you to summon the armor only on your right arm. Nothing more. Focus all your intent, all your energy, on just that one point."
It was an impossible command. How could I ask for a small piece of a hurricane? But I tried. I concentrated on my right arm. I imagined the black armor forming, imagined its power flowing. I felt the heat in my chest begin to churn. A sharp pain started to shoot up my arm. I gritted my teeth, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I could feel the power building up, ready to explode through my entire body like before. With great effort, I tried to suppress it, to force it only into my arm.
Fzzzt.
A spark of black energy shot out from my skin for a moment then vanished. Failure. I tried again, and again, and again. Each attempt ended in the same failure, leaving my arm feeling sore and tingly, and me increasingly exhausted.
Nejire, from her corner, muttered to herself. "So the trigger isn't just emotion, but also the concentration of intent. But his body is rejecting it? Or maybe the power is refusing to be limited? So interesting..."
After nearly an hour of trying, I slumped in exhaustion. I couldn't do it. This power was too wild.
Ryukyu walked over. "You're still trying to force it," she said gently. "You still see it as a tool you must command. That's your mistake." She knelt in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Stop commanding. Start partnering. A dragon won't obey an order, but it might respond to a request from a rider it respects."
The moment her hand touched me, I felt it clearly. The resonance. The deep, ancient vibration of power from within her seemed to call to my dragon. The heartbeat in my chest, which had been erratic, now began to pulse in sync with Ryukyu's calm aura. It was soothing. It was focusing.
"Now try again," she whispered. "Don't think about fighting or power. Think about purpose. You need a shield. That's all. Ask your partner for a shield."
I took a deep breath, emptying my mind of all frustration. I no longer thought about controlling the dragon. I thought about asking for its help. I imagined my right arm becoming an impenetrable shield. I focused on the feeling of partnership, on trust.
I felt the heat surge, and this time, I didn't fight it. I guided it. A sharp, focused pain shot up my right arm. With a soft tearing sound and a hiss of energy, the jet-black armor exploded from my skin. But this time, it stopped. It only covered my right arm, from shoulder to fingertips, forming a perfect, clawed gauntlet. It was stable. I could move my fingers. I could feel its power, contained and controlled.
I stared at my armored arm with bated breath. I had done it.
Ryukyu stood up, a faint, proud smile on her face. She hid her surprise well, but I knew she felt it too. 'He did it,' she thought. 'He's not just a vessel. He's truly a rider. His potential... is far greater than I estimated.'
I held the manifestation for about ten seconds before the strain became too much. With a conscious act of will, I released it. The armor receded back beneath my skin with a sharp but brief pain. I was panting, my entire body drenched in sweat, but a wide, triumphant grin was plastered on my face. I had taken the first real step.
That afternoon, after I had recovered a bit, the four of us—me, Nejire, Uraraka, and Tsuyu—were gathered in Ryukyu's office for a brief meeting. Suddenly, a notification chimed on her computer, marked as high priority from police headquarters. Ryukyu's calm expression turned serious as she read it.
"There's a new case," she said, her voice low. She brought up a file on the main screen on the wall. A series of photos appeared, and we all unconsciously leaned forward. The photos were from a crime scene.
"Over the past few weeks," Ryukyu explained, "three high-level villain gang leaders have been found dead in our territory. The M.O. is always the same. No witnesses. No signs of excessive Quirk use or a struggle."
She zoomed in on one of the photos, showing the victim's cause of death. My eyes narrowed as I studied the image. It wasn't a gunshot wound or an explosion wound. It was a single, incredibly clean, straight slash across the victim's chest, a wound so precise and deadly it could only have been made by the most skilled of swordsmen.