The battlefield—

  Watari’s body jerked upward.

  He wasn’t leaping.

  He wasn’t being pulled.

  He was rising.

  The squad barely had time to register it.

  His feet lifted from the ground, his body suspended, weightless, hovering in the air.

  His head tilted back slightly, his eyes wide—

  Not in shock.

  But in understanding.

  The wind swirled violently around him.

  But it wasn’t wind.

  It was Chūkan air.

  ?

  Kuroda felt it instantly.

  His entire body stiffened.

  His golden eyes snapped toward Watari—

  Not with amusement.

  Not with curiosity.

  With rage.

  A deep, visceral hatred.

  “How dare you—”

  His voice came sharp, venomous, but he didn’t finish.

  Because the moment that mist fully settled over Watari,

  He knew.

  This wasn’t just an interruption.

  This was an intervention.

  And Kuroda lost it.

  ?

  “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO INTERVENE HERE?!”

  His voice cracked across the battlefield—raw, livid.

  His Tamashkii energy surged violently, distorting the very air around him.

  “You cowards! You always hide behind your veil, watching from your throne, doing NOTHING!”

  He lifted his hands to the sky, his entire body trembling with rage.

  “If you want to interfere, then COME HERE IN PERSON!”

  His voice was nearly a roar now.

  “Or TAKE ME THERE YOURSELVES!”

  The ground beneath him shattered.

  The very sky around him rippled from his sheer power.

  His face twisted into something furious, something almost desperate.

  “You elders NEVER want to handle your own problems! You’re afraid of change! You’re afraid of POWER!”

  His voice dropped lower, more guttural.

  “I’ll be the change. I’ll be the one to end your stagnant little dynasty.”

  His fists clenched.

  “I’ll TEAR IT ALL DOWN!”

  And all the while—

  Watari was changing.

  The Chūkan air swirled around them, golden mist thick with weight, pulsing with something unseen.

  A force beyond mortal reach.

  And yet—

  Koharu’s brow furrowed.

  “We are inducting him… but we do not know if it will work.”

  Ayase let out a quiet breath, his gaze still fixated on the battlefield below.

  “That’s the nature of resonance. We guide the door open… but it is up to the soul to step through it.”

  Koharu’s fists clenched.

  She exhaled slowly, watching the mist descend toward Watari’s form.

  “If his soul is truly meant for the Chūkan…” she murmured.

  Ayase tilted his head slightly, thoughtful.

  “Then he will pass through.”

  Koharu’s gaze darkened.

  “And if it is not…”

  Silence.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  The mist coiled around Watari’s floating body, twisting, pulsing—but not settling.

  Koharu’s fingers twitched.

  “Come on…”

  And then—

  Something shifted.

  The mist pulsed once—

  And then flooded into him.

  A final breath.

  A final decision.

  And then—

  He passed through.

  Watari’s body pulsed with golden light, the mist wrapping around him, sinking into his very core.

  His form shifted.

  His old robes—torn and bloodstained—were stripped away, repced by a new mantle.

  A deep bck cloak, woven with the crest of the Chūkan.

  And then—

  A symbol.

  Burning into the back of his robe.

  The number “十”—Ten.

  The Jūmonban Crest.

  It marked him officially.

  Ayase smirked. “Well. I suppose that answers that.”

  Koharu’s expression softened. Just slightly.

  She closed her eyes, then exhaled.

  “Then it’s time we remind them what it truly means to resonate.”

  She lifted her hand.

  And for the briefest moment—

  Watari saw her.

  As he floated, the energy consuming him, his body burning with transformation—

  The world around him flickered.

  And then—

  He was standing.

  Not on the battlefield.

  Somewhere… between.

  And before him—

  Koharu.

  Her arms crossed, gaze sharp, but not unkind.

  “Do you understand now?” she asked.

  Watari blinked, still trying to process the sensation of weightlessness, of power, of change.

  “You have all already reached true resonation,” she continued.

  “Those cubes? Those cores? They were always meaningless to you.”

  Her words settled deep, cutting through the noise of the transformation.

  “You and your comrades… you have surpassed them. You always have.”

  Watari exhaled.

  Koharu stepped forward.

  “Your weapons are not granted to you. They are you. They have always been you.”

  She lifted a hand toward him, palm open.

  “Remember that, and this battle will be yours.”

  Watari nodded.

  And then—

  His body descended.

  Slowly. Controlled.

  No longer weightless, but grounded.

  The mist around him faded, the st embers of golden light disappearing into his skin.

  And then—

  The final manifestation.

  A flicker of light.

  A pulse of energy.

  A handle forming in his grip.

  The weight of the Reibaku settled in his hand.

  The purest form of his soul.

  His true weapon.

  Watari exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the hilt.

  The moment it was fully formed, the air around him stilled.

  The battlefield fell into silence.

  He lowered his gaze.

  His eyes—sharp. Focused. Unshaken.

  And then—

  CUT TO BLACK.