The Fading Chant

Katsumi Ishida didn't believe in luck.

She believed in training. In order. In knowing every step before she took it. Her world was forged from early morning sword drills and rules stricter than steel. So when she found herself assigned to "observe" Kenshin Hoshimiya—the boy who summoned a human-shaped spirit without warning or control—she almost laughed.

Almost.

"Why me?" she had asked Headmaster Orimoto just hours earlier, arms folded, jaw tight.

"Because you don't get caught up in spectacle," the old man had said. "You see things. We need someone like that watching him."

Now, she stood outside Training Hall C, arms crossed, watching Kenshin fail to dodge a minor attack spell in sparring class.

He landed flat on his back, letting out a long groan. "Can we pretend that was part of a strategy?"

"Sure," Hiro called from the sidelines. "If your strategy was to get hit hard!"

Ayame stifled a giggle as Yoshino floated nearby, visibly concerned.

Katsumi rolled her eyes and walked over. "You're too slow."

Kenshin looked up from the ground. "Thanks for the support. That helps."

She offered him a hand. "You're overthinking every move. Magic or not, battle starts with instinct."

Kenshin hesitated, then took her hand.

She pulled him to his feet without effort.

As they walked to the lockers after class, Kenshin threw Katsumi a curious glance. "You're not like the others."

"I'd hope not."

"No, I mean… most of the third-years act like we don't exist. You're the first one to give me advice without trying to scare or threaten me."

Katsumi shrugged. "Maybe I'm just better at hiding the threats."

He chuckled, but her expression remained serious.

Kenshin tilted his head. "Why are you watching me?"

She stopped walking. "Because I know what it's like to lose control."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was heavy. Intentional.

Katsumi sat on a bench, her eyes fixed on the row of trees outside the window. "When I was twelve, I almost burned down a shrine. Lost control during a channeling test. I was supposed to be top of my class. Instead, I ended up in a six-month recovery program."

Kenshin blinked. "You? You're like… the most in-control person here."

Katsumi gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, you learn fast when everyone treats you like a walking disaster. The second time I messed up, they weren't going to send me to recovery. They were going to erase my magic altogether."

Kenshin sat beside her slowly. "So now you walk the line."

"I draw the line," she corrected, voice sharp. "And if you cross it, I'll stop you. Friend or not."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

***

Later that evening, they sat around a quiet table in the common room. Hiro was doing dramatic re-enactments of their sparring failures with exaggerated hand gestures. Ayame threw popcorn at him between sips of tea. Yoshino, amused, hovered beside Kenshin, her form glowing softly.

Katsumi stayed quiet—until Hiro asked her, "Hey, serious question: do you even have a familiar?"

She looked up slowly. "I used to."

Ayame blinked. "Used to?"

"I let it go," Katsumi said flatly.

Kenshin frowned. "Why would anyone let their familiar go?"

Katsumi hesitated. "Because some spirits are better free than chained to your pain."

The room went quiet.

Hiro looked awkward. "...Okay. Cool. So uh—anyone want more tea?"

Later, as Kenshin walked Katsumi back toward the east dorms, he finally asked the question that had been weighing on him all day.

"Are you scared of me?"

Katsumi didn't answer right away. The wind rustled the trees above them, scattering loose petals across the cobbled path.

"No," she said finally. "I'm scared of what the academy will do if you mess up."

Kenshin exhaled slowly. "So I'm a walking time bomb?"

"Maybe," she admitted. "But you're trying. That counts for something."

He glanced at her, surprised. "You're… not so cold, y'know."

"Don't ruin it," she muttered.

That night, Kenshin returned to his dorm more tired than usual—not physically, but mentally. The weight of everything hung just behind his eyes: the rumors, Shin's challenge, Katsumi's scars, his spirit's warning. He lay on his bed, hands folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

Yoshino floated down beside him, her voice soft.

"She carries pain well."

"Yeah," he said. "Too well."

"You trust her?"

"I don't know. But I think… she understands me better than I understand myself right now."

***

Katsumi, back in her room, sat alone by her desk, staring at an old photo: a younger version of herself, smiling with her former familiar—an eagle-shaped spirit named Kaoru—perched on her shoulder. Her eyes lingered on it, then she tucked it away in the drawer.

"Don't screw this up, Hoshimiya," she whispered to no one. "I can't go through that again."

***

Her dorm room was spotless—military-level neat. Every book aligned, her uniform pressed and hanging with terrifying precision, even her sword rack dusted and glinting like it belonged in a museum. Katsumi Ishida wasn't the kind of girl who let chaos through the door.

Which made Kenshin Hoshimiya the human equivalent of a wrecking ball tied to a magical bomb.

She stood by the window a moment longer, watching the glow from the west tower fade as dorm lights blinked out one by one. The spires of Astral Academy loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the moon. They looked peaceful from this high up, like something out of a painting.

But peace at the academy was always a lie.

Katsumi had grown up here. Not just studied—grown up. Her parents were both combat instructors. She had eaten her first meal in the academy's mess hall, broken her first bone during a fire elemental lesson gone wrong, and once got detention for calling a summoning professor a "fraud magician with a comb-over."

She'd been eight.

By the time she was twelve, she was already being scouted by the Elite Track—until her breakdown.

The memory still lurked like smoke behind her ribs.

Her spirit familiar, Kaoru, had been a proud, hawk-like creature—majestic, sharp-eyed, protective. Too protective. When her emotions spiraled out of control during a duel with a senior, Kaoru had reacted not with caution but with feral loyalty.

The senior had been hospitalized. Kaoru had vanished days later—whether released or afraid, Katsumi never figured out.

No one looked at her the same after that.

Not until now.

The next morning, the academy campus buzzed like a beehive injected with espresso. Word had spread—again. Not about Kenshin's summoning, or Shin's threats this time. No, this time, the latest drama was that Katsumi Ishida had voluntarily spent time with other humans.

"They said she was laughing," one first-year whispered in disbelief."Maybe he cursed her," someone replied."Maybe she's the curse! Have you ever thought about that?"

Kenshin walked into the dining hall mid-whisperstorm, holding a tray of eggs, bread, and what he hoped was juice. Hiro was already at their usual table, stacking butter packets into a miniature fortress.

"Morning, Chosen One," Hiro called cheerfully. "The peasants await your latest prophecy."

Kenshin slumped into his chair. "If one more person calls me 'mystical,' I'm eating my timetable."

Ayame appeared behind him, dropping a cup of tea in front of him like an offering. "Heads up. You're trending again."

"I'm not even on magic-net!"

"You don't have to be," she said. "You're the walking definition of 'main character energy.'" She pointed to the far wall, where a badly drawn caricature of Kenshin riding Yoshino like a flying horse had been pinned to the bulletin board.

"I—what—WHY DO I HAVE A TAIL IN THAT?!"

Katsumi entered a few minutes later, hair pulled back, sword slung over her shoulder. The hall went dead quiet. She paused, narrowed her eyes at the drawing, and plucked it off the board.

Without breaking stride, she walked to their table, folded the paper precisely in quarters, and set it on fire with a casual flick of flame magic. The ashes floated away as she sat beside Kenshin.

"I have questions," she said flatly.

Ayame sipped her tea. "Do you always start conversations like that?"

"Yes."

Kenshin cleared his throat. "What kind of questions?"

"Why is your spirit always floating around windows like a ghost bride?"

Yoshino, who had been casually levitating beside the toast rack, let out a huff. "I am not a ghost bride. I'm a battle-class support spirit born of crystallized mana and disciplined purpose."

"Still floats like a ghost bride," Hiro whispered.

Yoshino threw a butter knife at him. It was embedded in the table next to his hand with a delicate thunk.

Katsumi didn't even flinch. "Second question: Do you intend to train seriously or just keep falling on your face until someone else solves your problems?"

"That's the third time someone's said that this week," Kenshin muttered.

Hiro raised a hand. "Was it Shin?"

"Twice."

Katsumi leaned forward, all sharp eyes and cool focus. "Look, I don't care about the rumors. I don't care if you're a chosen one, or a curse, or if your spirit turns into a fire-breathing house cat at night. But I'm not going to watch another student burn out just because they didn't take themselves seriously."

Kenshin blinked. "Was that... concern?"

"Don't push it," she replied.

After breakfast, they made their way to the practice grounds, where instructors were preparing for team combat trials.

"Great," Kenshin muttered. "What now?"

"You and me," Katsumi said, already tightening her gloves. Pair training. If we're going to keep crossing paths, I need to know how you fight."

"Uh... poorly?"

Ayame clapped her hands. "This I gotta see."

Hiro waved from a bench. "Don't die! Or do—either way, I'm filming it in my head."

Katsumi tossed him a practice blade. "Catch. You're the third member of the team."

"Wait—what?! I don't even like cardio!"

Kenshin stared at the field, dread pooling in his stomach. But despite himself, a grin tugged at his lips.

Maybe things weren't normal. Maybe they never would be again.

But between sarcastic friends, emotionally repressed sword-wielders, and a very protective floating spirit girl… maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.