He intentionally let a beat pass.
The sentence landed sharp and undeniable. A single phrase lingered in the room. Chewed at the seams of their composure.
From Nagitsu's side, a voice broke the quiet.
"I told you—they're just here to wipe us out!"
The boy stepped forward as he spoke. Seventeen, maybe.
His shoulder had already been rolled in takton. A shard of slate curved down to his hand, barely shaped.
He lunged, but he didn't finish the step.
Kamo moved once.
Flat. Forward.
An elbow caught the boy's face with the sound of bone giving up.
And a sweep took his legs.
His skull hugged concrete on the way down, the grey, earthen spike in his hand shattering into sharp, glasslike noise.
He didn't get up.
Kamo straightened. His cloak shifted with him, catching the low torchlight—briefly revealing the red beneath.
"That isn't necessarily true either," he said.
No one moved.
The room inhaled—but concurrently forgot to exhale.
From the back, someone shifted. A blade rasped against its sheath.
Multiple movements took place under the consensus of preparation.
Nagitsu raised his chin slightly. He'd flinched when the boy went down. A chuckle escaped him, a flimsy barricade that did little to soothe the tightening knot in his stomach.
"But let's not pretend it's complicated," Kamo said.
"You were previously abducted. And now that can be behind you."
He began to walk closer to the middle.
Slowly. Calmly. His steps carved a line through the room, and no one crossed it.
He moved like fire in a dry field—slow and in control until it wasn't.
"I can't tell you much," he said. "But understand this— you can come with me… or die with all of them."
The pause that followed wasn't for drama.
It was space. A space for decisions to be born.
A girl near the right wall stepped forward.
Half a step. Hands open. No weapon.
"I'll go," she said.
A few heads turned. Fast. Sharp.
"Coward," someone hissed.
She didn't flinch.
Her eyes never left Kamo.
"I'd rather be alive," she said.
"It's not like The Foundation has my loyalty."
Behind her, two more shifted. Watching him now. Like he'd already decided their future and they were trying to catch up.
That was enough.
Someone snapped.
"Traitors."
Another girl stepped forward from the back. Taller.
She held twin staves, both ends already glowing—
raw heat coiled at her wrists like it had been waiting to be used.
"You think they're here to save you?" she barked.
"They probably already killed our teachers."
Kamo stopped pacing.
Turned to her like she'd called his name, though she hadn't.
"They weren't even teachers," the girl said. "At best they were handlers."
Then, calmly Kamo chimed in, "If you'd like to die in their place, I'm sure there is room."
Another girl's staff spun once—fast.
Too fast for most eyes.
She lunged.
Kamo moved without tension.
No rush. No flourish.
Her staff came down in a clean arc, searing hot at the edge.
He stepped just left of center, letting it pass close enough to feel the heat on his cheek.
His left hand caught the second swing mid-motion, redirecting it downward, and in the same instant, his right came up—short elbow to the chin.
She stumbled.
Only then did her face show surprise.
Not pain.
Just the flicker of understanding—that this wouldn't go how she imagined.
Kamo pressed in. Not aggressive.
A quiet suffocation of her stance.
One hand gripped the center of the staff.
He twisted.
It tore from her grip with enough force to dislocate a finger or two.
The heat died with the weapon, both ends flickering out as it clattered across the floor.
She threw a punch out of instinct.
He let it connect.
Didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Then, flat-palmed, he struck her throat.
A clean hit.
Not theatrical—precise.
Her posture was gone. Air gone with it. She dropped to her knees, retching dryly. Her fingers scraped at the floor— not for balance, but for meaning.
She didn't find it.
Kamo leaned in slightly.
Closer than needed.
His voice was quieter now—almost distant.
"If you're all this weak, then honestly… we have no use for you."
He wasn't taunting her. He genuinely meant all that he'd said.
Nagitsu straightened in the back.
Half-expecting someone else to step in.
Unsurprised no one had.
The girl's face, even from her knees, still held the ghost of pride. Not strength. Just… unfinished collapse. Ego breaking apart by inches, held together by a refusal to fold in front of the others.
No one moved.
No one helped.
They weren't comrades.
Just a room full of competitors sharing the same cage.
And she knew it. They all watched. Everyone. Not even horrified—just taking stock. She was supposed to be one of the stronger kynenns in Sector 5. She hadn't lasted three seconds. She'd hardly got to exercise the full extent of her power. Rage reeled in her mind. But it didn't matter. Five more seconds passed. It felt like a lifetime, stretched thin by humiliation and shallow breath. So she did the only thing left to her.
She spat.
Blood and saliva hit Kamo's cheek—dark, bitter, wet. A silence cracked through the room like glass underfoot. Kamo straightened. He didn't look down. He didn't react. His gaze swept the room like it had already forgotten her.
Then, quiet as breath:
"Those who test boundaries," he said,
"find cliffs."
And with that,
His fist slammed into her nose, almost in the same motion, he gripped her shirt, the impact barely preceding the next, rendering her semiconscious. Kamo then tossed her aside—limp, paralyzed, breath barely holding.
The girl hit the floor with a dull thud.
Her body folded awkwardly.
The sound wasn't loud.
It was just final.
The silence didn't break.
It deepened.
Kamo wiped his face with the corner of his sleeve, then flicked the cloth off to the side.
He began walking across the room.
Like he was giving them time to make a decision they'd already made.
Some had.
A few stepped back.
Lowered their weapons.
Moved to stand behind him—quietly, without eye contact.
Like gravity had decided for them.