The scene shifted to the dawn of a new day. The early morning sun rose quietly over South Ryehem, its soft golden light spilling across rooftops and cobbled streets. The air was cool and crisp, with a faint mist clinging to the shaded alleys.
Kazuki Ayanami walked alone toward the Royal Academy, his pace steady, his expression unreadable. The streets were beginning to stir as shopkeepers opened their stalls and carriages rolled lazily by. Yet, the boy paid no attention to the world around him.
He passed through the academy gates, the guards offering their respectful nods, though their eyes lingered on him — as did everyone else's these days.
The eligibility exam incident from the day before still hung thick in the air like an unspoken ghost. Every corner, every corridor, every glance between students was marked by hushed whispers and darting eyes, all aimed at one name.
Kazuki Ayanami.
But to Kazuki, it was just noise. Empty, meaningless noise.
He walked into his classroom, slid the door open, and made his way to his seat at the far window. The moment he sat down, he rested his head against his desk, his face half-buried in the crook of his arm.
A faint smile touched his lips, not of amusement — but of knowing.
The class around him was alive with chatter. The students couldn't stop talking about him, voices a mixture of awe, suspicion, and fear. Yet Kazuki lay there, unmoved by it all, his eyes closed as though the world itself had ceased to matter.
Fifteen minutes remained before the morning prayer would begin.
But strangely, before that could happen, the door slid open once more — and their homeroom teacher entered the classroom far earlier than expected.
The students fell silent, confused glances exchanged across the room. It wasn't time for lessons yet. Whispers rose like ripples on a pond.
"Why is the teacher here so early?""Did something happen?""Maybe another announcement…"
The teacher's face betrayed no emotion as he stepped to the front of the room. His presence seemed heavier than usual, though no one could quite explain why.
And then he made the announcement.
An announcement that would change everything.
But the contents of that announcement… were not revealed to the readers.
Kazuki, however, smiled.
His lips curved ever so slightly, as though this was precisely what he had been waiting for. He raised his head from the desk, his eyes half-lidded, sharp as blades, gazing straight ahead at nothing in particular.
Yet in that moment, he saw something no one else could.
Across the room, leaning casually against the far wall, stood an older version of himself — taller, colder, and far more dangerous. A Kazuki of the future.
The older Kazuki wore a faint smirk, his gaze locked onto his younger self. Neither of them spoke a word.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the world shifted again.
The classroom dissolved, replaced by a vast, serene grassland under a soft, amber sky. The sun hung low, casting warm hues over the endless fields. A gentle breeze rustled the tall grass.
Both versions of Kazuki now sat side by side on the gentle slope of a hill, their eyes following the path of the sun as it slowly climbed the sky.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Then, as if sharing the same thought, they turned to look at each other — and smiled.
A quiet, knowing smile.
One filled with understanding.
With promise.
With foreshadowed inevitability.
And just as quickly as it came, the vision ended.
Kazuki found himself once again in the classroom, his head resting on the desk, his lips still curled in that faint, satisfied smile.
The game had begun again.
And this time, the pieces were moving exactly as he wanted them to.