CHAPTER TWO: STATUS

  Katsuragi's words lingered like frostbite, numbing Xander's enthusiasm into wary silence. The Director nodded curtly to a waiting officer.

  "Escort Catalyst Reed to Processing."

  The officer guided Xander through sterile corridors, each echoing footstep amplifying the dread in his chest. No explanations came—only clipped instructions as his cracked datapad disappeared into a containment field.

  Katsuragi's warning twisted deeper with every pristine hallway, until the antiseptic sting of an examination chamber jolted him to awareness.

  "Sit," ordered the technician, pointing to a metal chair centered under harsh lights. Xander complied, the cold surface seeping through his clothes.

  "Arm." The technician's eyes slid past him as if he were mere equipment, gloved fingers gesturing impatiently.

  Xander extended his arm. Pain flared where it pinched skin against bone. His blood gleamed unnaturally bright against the clinical white—too alive for such a sterile place.

  "Other arm." A second technician's cold fingers wrapped around his wrist.

  He complied, jaw tight. He'd endured Grid Enforcement checks in Sector 7, but never with such dehumanizing precision.

  "What's all this for?" His voice echoed strangely in the filtered air.

  The first technician's fingers paused over her datapad. "Standard processing." She resumed her work, the soft tapping creating a rhythm that countered the unsettling buzz.

  A third masked figure wheeled a machine toward Xander's face. The device hummed to life, metal arms extending with precision. "Retinal scan initiated," announced a synthesized voice. Cold light bathed his eye, making his eyelid twitch involuntarily.

  "Retinal scan complete," the machine announced. The hum of the device beside him stopped as it was wheeled away.

  "Your intake file mentions mana surge redirection." The lead technician's voice remained neutral. "Frequency?"

  "Weekly," he answered, fingertips drumming against the metal chair. "More during grid fluctuations."

  "Methodology?" Her fingers hovered over the screen.

  Images of Sector 7's street market flashed behind Xander's eyes—metal dust coating his tongue, insulation burn filling his nostrils, screams echoing. Three dead, twelve injured. Too slow that time.

  Xander paused, a half-smile forming before he could stop it. "You either catch it or count body bags."

  She nodded, making a note. "Physical symptoms during redirection?"

  The heat flooding through him upon contact. Vision sharpening until he could count dust motes in the market air. That hollow hunger that—

  Xander lightly shook his head, unconsciously tracing the star-shaped scar on his palm.

  "Burns sometimes."

  "Euphoric response?" The technician's voice sharpened, her eyes finally focusing on his face.

  His fingers stilled. "What?"

  For the first time, she met his gaze directly, clinical intensity in her stare. "Do you experience pleasure during mana contact? A sensory high during channeling?"

  Heat crawled up his neck. The blue-white energy burned in his memory—Yuki’s reluctant touch, the quiet violence of their bond. Nothing like the wild surges he’d fought in Sector 7. This one gripped back.

  "Sorry, why am I here again?"

  Before Xander could get a response, the door hissed open. A security officer entered, uniform creases knife-sharp. "0920 hours. Reed. Processing complete." He checked his wrist display.

  "We're not—" the lead technician began, irritation edging her voice.

  "Director's timetable accelerated." The officer's tone brooked no argument.

  Xander slid off the chair, relief mixing with apprehension as circulation returned to his legs. The officer turned and walked, expecting compliance without question—just like Enforcers in Sector 7.

  "Where are we going?" Xander quickened his pace, boots squeaking against the polished floor.

  No answer. Just the stiff back of a uniform and measured footfalls.

  "Is Hayakawa going to be there?" The question burst from him, the scar on his palm tingling with the same energy that had connected them during the test.

  The officer's step faltered—almost imperceptibly. "Meister Hayakawa was summoned to her family compound at 0830 hours, after your compatibility test."

  "Summoned?" The word hung in the air. "Not by choice?"

  The officer stopped, turned. Disdain tightened the skin around his eyes as he assessed Xander's worn jacket and unregulated haircut. "The hierarchy here isn't something you understand yet. Learn quickly." He resumed walking. "And save questions for those with clearance to answer them."

  At precisely 0830 hours—minutes after the compatibility test concluded—the Skyridge transport settled onto the Hayakawa landing pad. The luxury vehicle's descent contrasted with the turmoil churning inside Yuki. She pressed her nails into her palms beneath her uniform sleeves, using pain to maintain focus.

  Cherry blossoms scattered across manicured paths as she approached the compound entrance. Their pink softness contrasted with the cold blue light emanating from stone lanterns lining the walkway. Each ancient-looking fixture housed a state-of-the-art mana core that pulsed as she passed, ancestral aesthetics blended with cutting-edge technology. Iris scanners embedded in the entrance arch tracked her movement, recognition systems humming beneath wood beams that predated the Great Surge.

  Two guards stood at the entrance, traditional hakama concealing latest-model mana amplifiers. Their gazes dropped as she passed—a breach of protocol that confirmed her suspicions. News had traveled quickly.

  The sliding doors parted, releasing incense mingled with the metallic scent of ozone. The discordant combination made Yuki's nose twitch slightly. Beneath the compound's serene appearance, defense protocols had been activated, mana flow patterns heightened.

  Aunt Keiko waited inside, silk kimono rustling with each measured breath. New lines had formed around her eyes since morning.

  "Yuki-chan." Keiko's voice carried forced warmth. "Your father awaits in the Ceremonial Garden." She paused, gaze flickering to Yuki's collar where energy residue still shimmered faintly. "With representatives from the Amamiya family."

  Blood welled where Yuki's nails dug deeper. "Amamiya-sama is here already?" Her tone remained neutral despite her racing pulse.

  Keiko's fingertips whitened against her kimono. "The compatibility breach required immediate intervention." Her eyes fixed above Yuki's shoulder. "Perhaps you should change. Your uniform appears... compromised."

  Yuki glanced down. Energy residue shimmered across her collar—evidence of the bond, unmistakable and impossible to hide. Her hand lifted halfway before stopping. No point trying to remove what had become part of her.

  "There isn't time," Keiko said, voice almost a whisper. "Your father insisted on immediate attendance."

  Yuki inclined her head exactly seventeen degrees—acknowledgment without submission. "Of course." She straightened her shoulders slightly, a subtle rebellion any Hayakawa would recognize.

  The Ceremonial Garden sprawled across the eastern wing. Stone, water, and plants arranged in perfect balance embodied the five mana principles. The reflection pool mirrored the overcast sky, its surface unnaturally still—maintained by hidden technology that prevented even wind from creating ripples.

  Shinji Hayakawa stood beside the pool, formal robes bearing the family crest. A muscle in his jaw pulsed rhythmically, the scent of controlled anger sharp and metallic like pre-storm air.

  The Council of Elders formed a semicircle behind him. Grandmother Himiko's eyes narrowed as they catalogued Yuki's disheveled appearance and the residue clinging to her uniform. Her disapproval created a subtle distortion in the garden's mana field, like static against Yuki's skin.

  Across the garden stood the Amamiyas—three silver-haired figures whose presence constricted the air in Yuki's lungs. Takeshi Amamiya, family head and RIRW Governance Council Chairman, stood at their center. Beside him, Hiroshi studied her with fascination mixed with affront, his gaze lingering on the energy residue. The man who should have been her partner, had today gone as planned.

  The koi in the meditation pond froze as Yuki entered, sensing the disturbance in the garden's mana field.

  "Daughter." Shinji's voice carried across the garden, pitched to reach the Amamiyas without appearing to project. The word contained both acknowledgment and warning. "We were discussing your exceptional achievement at RIRW this morning."

  Yuki recognized her cue in this performance of damage control. "Thank you, Father." She kept her voice modulated despite her concealed trembling. She moved slightly left of center—not where tradition dictated, but where she would face Hiroshi directly rather than appearing subordinate.

  The repositioning drew a sharp glance from her grandmother. Yuki held her ground, feet firm against the smooth stone.

  "The Hayakawa family has always—" Shinji began, then noticed her position. His eyes narrowed before he continued, smoothly adjusting. "—pioneered advancements in resonance technology. Yuki's unprecedented compatibility results further our understanding of mana dynamics."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Takeshi Amamiya's mouth curved upward, eyes cold as winter frost. "Most remarkable timing." His melodic voice belied the venom beneath. "Just as our families were finalizing arrangements between Yuki-sama and my son."

  Hiroshi stared at the energy residue on her uniform, the physical evidence of an intimacy that should have been his by family decree. His personal mana field rippled with jealousy.

  "The Resonance Institute produces unexpected outcomes," Shinji replied, his diplomatic tone masking fury Yuki could sense beneath his composed exterior. "As founding families, we adapt to new discoveries."

  The reception stretched for seventy-three minutes by Yuki's count. Every word carried double meanings, every gesture calculated.

  While diplomatic tensions unfolded at the Hayakawa compound, Xander entered the RIRW atrium. Filtered air hit his lungs, devoid of Sector 7's metallic tang but somehow less alive. His boots announced his outsider status against polished stone. The vast space made his neck ache as he looked up at arched glass panels filtering sunlight into geometric patterns. Light struck the central sculpture—twisted metal forms like frozen lightning—sending fractured reflections across the walls.

  A low-frequency hum vibrated through the floor, setting his teeth on edge. Announcement systems occasionally crackled, the only imperfection in the immaculate environment.

  Sweat dampened Xander's collar as hundreds of eyes darted toward him, then away. Whispers and shifting fabric surrounded him in a wave of judgment. He quickly registered the pattern of bodies, their implicit hierarchy.

  Blue-trimmed uniforms huddled at the edges, shifting nervously like market vendors during grid inspections—people with just enough authority to be useful but not enough to feel secure.

  Silver-trimmed personnel stood in the middle ground, their whispers creating a constant hiss of controlled information. They moved with efficiency, every gesture conveying authority without wasted motion.

  At the center, gold-trimmed officials stood apart, chins raised, watching with half-lidded eyes that missed nothing. They didn't cluster; their positions secure enough to stand alone.

  Xander wiped his palms as Director Katsuragi mounted a raised platform. The murmuring died instantly. Katsuragi raised his hands, gold trim catching light in a calculated display.

  "Resonance Institute personnel—" Katsuragi's voice bounced off stone walls, making Xander's ears ring. A woman in blue trim flinched beside him, quickly straightening.

  "—compatibility assessments have yielded unprecedented results—"

  Holographic displays flashed to life. Brilliant numerals blazed overhead: "96% COMPATIBILITY." The digits burned into Xander's retinas. His face appeared beside Yuki's above the central sculpture, captured during their resonance field stabilization.

  A collective gasp sucked oxygen from the room. "Impossible," breathed a woman behind him, her cinnamon-scented disbelief hot against his neck.

  "Hayakawa Yuki—" Katsuragi lingered on the name.

  Xander's stomach tightened at the memory of their connection—her fear, her resignation, her calculation. The scar on his palm prickled in response.

  "—with newly inducted Catalyst Xander Reed—"

  Katsuragi's hand swept toward him. Hundreds of heads swiveled in unison. Xander stiffened, suddenly unable to breathe the filtered air. He focused on a point above the crowd rather than meeting individual gazes.

  A gold-trimmed woman's nose wrinkled as she assessed him, from scuffed boots to unregulated haircut. Silver-trimmed men whispered behind hands. A blue-trimmed trainee stared openly until a colleague jabbed him, hissing about protocol.

  "—mana surge redirection capabilities in Sector 7—"

  Heat flushed Xander's neck as his history became a spectacle.

  "—synergistic potential of our integration initiative—"

  Katsuragi's speech took on a rhythmic quality reminiscent of religious chanters outside Sector 7 processing plants, designed to bypass critical thinking. What had he stepped into? What had their bond truly initiated?

  The crowd scattered when Katsuragi finished, breaking into urgent clusters. No one approached Xander directly, though he remained their obvious subject. Tension knotted his shoulders as he scanned for Yuki, finding nothing.

  "Xander Reed?"

  He startled at the voice. A silver-trimmed man stood before him, hand extended. His practiced smile never reached his analytical eyes.

  "I'm Ren Takeda, Adept rank," the man said, adjusting his silver-trimmed collar. "Director Katsuragi assigned me as your guide."

  Xander's damp palm met Ren's dry one. The Meister's grip was calibrated, like everything else in this place.

  "This way," Ren said, pivoting precisely.

  "Reed." Katsuragi materialized beside them, commanding even without amplification. He stood close enough for Xander to catch expensive soap mixed with a bitter undertone like burnt circuits. "A word of advice as you settle in."

  Xander's teeth clenched as Katsuragi invaded his space with practiced authority.

  "Discretion," Katsuragi murmured, "serves everyone's interests."

  Xander's chin dipped automatically, a reflex from Sector 7. His eyes searched the atrium once more for Yuki, the phantom connection humming beneath his skin.

  "The primary training facilities," Ren interrupted, "occupy the eastern quadrant. We'll start there."

  Xander swallowed his question and followed Ren through a doorway that sealed behind them with finality.

  The training hall doors parted with a pneumatic hiss. Heat struck Xander first—a wall of warmth unlike the sterile corridors—followed by sharp ozone and the salt-metal scent of exertion. This space hummed with raw energy and barely contained danger.

  "Training Hall Delta," Ren announced, gesturing to the viewing platform. "Intermediate resonance exercises."

  Eight pairs occupied the circular chamber below. Xander leaned against the railing, feigning casualness while studying the closest pair—a young woman glowing with faint luminescence and a silver-trimmed Meister tracing geometric patterns in the air.

  "The Catalyst channels raw mana," Ren explained. "The energy exists everywhere but flows most readily through those with genetic predisposition to absorb it. The Meister shapes this energy into practical applications using specialized mental techniques."

  The woman's pupils had dilated until black consumed her irises. Sweat tracked down her temple, yet her lips curved in a half-smile despite trembling hands. The energy flowing between the partners matched what had surrounded Xander and Yuki during their test.

  "Why's she smiling?" Xander asked, noting the contrast between her strain and expression. "She looks like she's hurting."

  Ren shifted his weight. "Mana channeling produces... sensations. Especially for Catalysts."

  "Sensations?"

  "A kind of sensory rush," Ren lowered his voice conspiratorially. "The more mana they draw, the more intense the feeling. Like the technician asked about during processing—euphoric response. That's why proper conditioning is essential."

  He indicated the struggling Catalyst. "Untrained Catalysts can't resist pulling in more than they or their Meisters can safely handle. The sensation becomes... addictive without mental barriers."

  Xander's throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry.

  "What's he making?" Xander asked, changing the subject to mask his discomfort.

  The Meister completed a sequence of hand movements. The energy coalesced into a translucent barrier dome that shimmered around them. Projectiles from automated launchers struck the barrier, creating ripples without penetrating.

  "Standard defensive construct," Ren explained with professional pride. "Barrier configurations are foundational. The hand movements shape mana into specific geometries that determine function." His fingers twitched subtly, mimicking the techniques. "Advanced applications include offensive capability."

  Across the chamber, another Meister demonstrated precisely that—transforming channeled energy into a focused beam that sliced through a training dummy. The supplying Catalyst swayed, eyes half-closed, chest heaving with exertion. Each breath carried a sound between gasp and moan.

  "That's enough, Rodriguez," called an instructor. "Disconnect."

  The Catalyst didn't respond immediately, his expression caught between ecstasy and pain. His Meister had to physically lower his arms, breaking the connection. The young man blinked rapidly, disoriented, momentary loss flashing across his face.

  A sharp tone cut through the air—three ascending notes. Red lights pulsed along the corridor walls.

  "Response alert," Ren said, guiding Xander to another window. "Level Two."

  Below, a five-person team assembled with practiced efficiency. Three wore silver-trimmed tactical uniforms; two wore standard attire with distinctive gloves marked with circuit patterns—Catalysts.

  "Grid instability detected in Sector Four residential zone," announced a gold-trimmed woman. "Potential cascade risk to adjacent infrastructure. Transport in thirty seconds."

  The team arranged themselves in practiced formation, no words needed. Blue energy bloomed across the Catalysts' skin, arcing toward their Meisters in luminous tendrils that wove together beneath the group's feet, solidifying into a hovering platform.

  "Mana-based rapid transport," Ren explained.

  They continued through corridors that grew progressively wider and more ornate. The subtle material upgrades—from functional to fine—marked transitions between spaces for different ranks. The lighting softened, air freshened, and sounds muted as they entered areas for higher-ranked personnel.

  "What about Meister Hayakawa?" Xander asked, the question bursting forth after building since the announcement. "What's her deal?"

  Ren's shoulders tensed slightly. "Senior Meister Hayakawa completed the program at twenty-two—youngest in her class. She specializes in precision construct formation—creating multi-layered mana applications simultaneously. She's been instructing Elite candidates for three years."

  "She's an instructor? Not a student?"

  "One of the most respected," Ren replied, glancing sideways. "She remained unbonded by choice. Until now."

  "By choice?"

  "There were... expectations regarding her pairing." Ren lowered his voice as they passed a meditation chamber. "Family considerations."

  A memory flashed—Yuki's controlled panic as their compatibility registered. "The Hayakawas arranged a match for her," Xander realized aloud.

  Ren inhaled sharply before his expression smoothed. "Such matters are... complicated for founding families. Resonance bloodlines represent both power and politics."

  They rounded a corner, nearly colliding with a gold-trimmed woman with piercing blue eyes. Ren immediately stepped aside, eyes lowering. "Apologies, Elite Meister Kowalski."

  Xander remained where he stood until the woman's eyes narrowed.

  "Your Catalyst lacks basic courtesies, Adept Takeda,"

  "I'm standing right here," Xander said, head tilted.

  The temperature seemed to drop. Ren paled visibly.

  "First day," Xander added, belatedly stepping aside. "Still figuring out the traffic patterns."

  Kowalski's jaw tightened, surprise flashing at being addressed directly. Without acknowledgment, she continued past, expensive floral perfume lingering with chemical undertones.

  When she was out of earshot, Ren exhaled shakily. "Elite Meisters expect deference from all lower ranks. Especially Catalysts. You're not in Sector 7 anymore."

  "That's ridiculous—"

  "It's how things work here," Ren snapped. "Learn the hierarchy quickly or face consequences. Some Elites can make your life extremely difficult."

  They passed a display screen showing a map with flashing indicators along a curve labeled "Southern Perimeter." The words "CONTAINMENT BREACH—SECTOR 12" blinked in red, accompanied by scrolling data.

  "What's happening there?" Xander pointed to the agitated display.

  Ren positioned himself between Xander and the screen. "Border security. The Southern Dominion has been probing our defenses lately. They're particularly interested in high-compatibility pairs." His voice dropped.

  They continued through several more corridors until reaching a residential section. The hallway here was wider, with fewer people and softer lighting.

  "I'll come by at 1800 hours," Ren said, checking his wrist display. "Show you to the dining hall."

  A flash of interest broke through Xander's guarded expression. Food in Sector 7 meant protein supplements and whatever could be salvaged from hydroponics failures. The thought of an actual meal—

  "You'll want to be on time," Ren added. "The good options disappear quickly."

  "Your quarters," Ren said, stopping before a door marked "Orientation Suite C." He gestured to the access panel. "Try your palm. The system has been keyed to your biometrics."

  Xander pressed his hand against the panel, which glowed briefly in response. A small thrill ran through him as the door slid open at his touch—the first thing in this place that recognized him as belonging. Though modest by RIRW standards, it dwarfed his Sector 7 apartment. Clean lines, soft lighting, actual sheets instead of salvaged fabric. No metallic tang or mold. On the desk sat his personal items, including his cracked datapad, now fully charged.

  "Basic amenities," Ren said with the barest hint of humor. "Training schedules and facility maps are loaded on your datapad. First session tomorrow at 0800."

  Xander stepped inside, his boots sinking into pristine carpet. The door began closing until Ren's hand stopped it.

  "One final note," Ren said quietly. "Meister Hayakawa's family is... influential. And not particularly welcoming of unexpected developments." His gaze dropped to Xander's scarred hand. "Discretion would be wise. For both your sakes."

  Before Xander could respond, Ren withdrew, letting the door close with a definitive click.

  At 1045 hours, Xander picked up his datapad while across the city, Yuki reached for her family crest. He scrolled through orientation materials: diagrams of "optimal mana channeling pathways" and clinical descriptions of "resonance transfer protocols." The sterile language reduced their profound connection to flowcharts and efficiency metrics.

  He tapped to the next section: "Managing Catalyst-Meister Communication During Field Operations." Nothing about kisses or souls connecting. Nothing about her panic or absence from Katsuragi's announcement. Nothing about "family considerations" for someone of her status.

  His finger hovered over the next section when it hit him—sudden, violent, overwhelming. His lungs seized as if all oxygen had vanished. His hand clutched his chest, searching for a nonexistent injury.

  The datapad clattered to the floor. Wood polish and incense filled his nostrils though his room contained neither. Water trickled over stones somewhere nearby, the sound impossible in his quarters. Silk pressed against skin that wasn't his—smooth against a shoulder, tight across a chest unlike his own. Bitter tea lingered on a tongue that wasn't his.

  "Yuki"