Sorry-not-sorry Emet, but you shouldn't have asked an inconsiderate, impatient teenager about the conjurations unless you were offering your services right in that moment??? Rookie move, honestly.

At least he gets to know that his dramatic flair remains impressive regardless of his exhaustion; Gen gives a small start when light begins bubbling out of the pond's surface, ears flicking nervously until those brilliant motes start settling into shapes he can better recognize.

The light solidifies into trees, tall grasses, old half-rusted street signs. The air smells clean and warm with afternoon sun. And as those shimmers cluster together, one particular figure begins to solidify and gain clarity -- a young, scruffy-looking boy with a head of soft, shaggy hair. He looks happy, even if he looks to have gotten into a scuffle.

Reiji's voice is chipper in the way that most children's are, and he talks about some new trick in a racing game he overheard the kids from the other class talking about. But Emet-Selch might notice that Gen gazes at that figure with a quiet, forlorn intensity, silent for long enough that that phantom gives a confused blink, then pipes up, off-script -- "Gen?"