The air in the observation bunker hummed with a palpable, dangerous energy, each vibration a testament to the raw, untamed power going haywire just beyond the thick, transparent wall. On the other side, in the stark, white-lit containment cell, he was shackled to the central platform, heavy psionic-dampening chains glowing a vicious, strained red as he struggled against their bindings. Wild, uncontrolled bursts of energy—crimson and violent—erupted from his form like a dying star, each detonation crashing against the reinforced glass with a sound that was less a noise and more a physical blow, making the entire observation deck shudder violently underfoot.

Yosef stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat. This wasn't the fearsome S+ Rank esper from the reports, the weapon the government so desperately needed. This was a ghost from his past, a person he had once known better than anyone, now being torn apart from the inside out. His chest tightened with a familiar, aching concern, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to feel for years. He could see the agony etched on his former friend's face, a mask of pure anguish beneath the storm of power. This wasn't strength; it was suicide.

A grim-faced agent, his own knuckles white where he gripped a data-slate, spoke over the deafening roar. "He's refused every Guide. His resonance is critical. At this rate, he'll either vaporize himself or breach containment entirely." The agent’s voice was cold, clinical, but his eyes held a flicker of desperation as he turned to Yosef. "You have a history. You're an S-Rank. You're the only shot we have left."

A cold, grim resolve settled over Yosef’s features, hardening the concern in his eyes into something steely and determined. He didn't look at the agent as he gave a single, sharp nod. "Open the door."

The heavy blast door hissed open, and the sound that spilled out was a physical force—a deafening roar of raw power and a scream of pure, unadulterated agony that was horrifyingly human beneath the chaos. Every instinct told him to shield himself, but Yosef stepped through, the door sealing shut behind him with a final, ominous thud.

He stood just inside, the maelstrom of energy whipping at his clothes and hair.

"It's me." His voice, amplified by a calm yet forceful projection of his guiding ability, cut through the noise not as a shout, but as a clear, resonant tone, like a bell in a storm.

Another violent burst of crimson energy lashed out directly at him. Yosef didn't flinch. He raised a hand, and a shimmering, crystalline barrier of pure psychic energy—a manifestation of his will—sprang to life before him, deflecting the blast with a sound like shattering diamonds. The effort was immense, a strain that jarred his teeth, but he held firm.

"Look at me!" he cried out, his voice unwavering. "It's Yosef!"