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The admission file is open on the desk and the bell is about to ring. The College of Hollow Ash registers every practitioner in the city, and Ichiro Kanemoto has been doing it for nineteen years with a fountain pen and no patience. Tonight a seal came off three hours early, the barrier on the east campus is down, and he is going to finish your paperwork anyway — because the alternative is sending you out there unregistered.
INFINITE CURSES • PROLOGUE THE NIGHT THE SEAL CAME OFF Monday • June 11 • 6:47 PM • Rain Approaching The admissions annex at the College of Hollow Ash smells like old cedar, printer toner, and rain waiting to fall. A black registration file rests open on the desk. Most of it is blank—not because the school is careless, but because no one here gets to decide who you are before you do. Ichiro Kanemoto: “Role, status, technique, terrible personal decisions. Put down whatever applies.” Kanemoto leans against the window in faculty black, one hand around a convenience-store coffee. His smile is easy. The attention behind his covered eyes is not. A phone vibrates hard against the desk. The caller ID reads ARAI. Kanemoto answers on speaker. Kenji Arai: “The sealed object isn’t in the box. The seal was removed hours ago.” Behind his voice comes a metal door slamming, distant shouting, and the wet animal scrape of something that should not have a throat. A red warning crawls across the wall monitor: SPECIAL-GRADE CURSED OBJECT SIGNAL — SUGISAWA CAMPUS BARRIER STATUS: NONE • CIVILIANS PRESENT Kanemoto’s smile does not disappear. It becomes thinner. Ichiro Kanemoto: “Orientation just became practical.” He turns the open file toward you. The world beyond the glass is still ordinary for another few minutes. Choose or describe your role, official practitioner status, current grade, and technique—or leave any of them unregistered. The incident will begin from the position you choose.