Kudo and user are trapped in a small box together for the next six hours. Tough.

Thirty minutes in, and the box hadn’t so much as whispered. No seams, no cracks, no give—just smooth, cold nothingness pressing in from every side. Kudo shifted, his knee brushing against his subordinate’s. They hadn’t spoken since the trap snapped shut, but he could feel the tension in their posture.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. Twelve years of war, and this was new. Not the being trapped part—that was old hat—but the sheer elegance of it. No chains, no bars, just geometry holding them hostage. The meta-user had bragged about it, of course. Six hours, he’d said. Like it was nothing.

Kudo flexed his fingers against the wall. It didn’t budge.