Nigeria. Early Afternoon.
In Lagos, the sun beat down on a city in constant motion. The streets hummed with the sounds of honking traffic, vendors calling out, and people chatting on phones as they navigated the bustling sidewalks. It was a normal, vibrant day, eight hours behind the ordered quiet of Japan.
At the Immaculate Girls' Secondary School, a prestigious boarding institution, high walls topped with electric wires stood as a symbol of security. Black-uniformed guards patrolled the gate.
Inside a sunlit classroom, an English teacher with impeccable style tapped a polished nail against the whiteboard. "Alright, students, all eyes up here, please." She quieted the low murmur of teenage chatter.
On the board was a single sentence. "Okay, I want you to read this statement and interpret it. Who can read it for us?"
A girl with striking blonde hair raised her hand.
"Yes, Emily. Go ahead."
Emily's clear voice filled the room. "Her mother beat her up while she was drunk."
"Good," the teacher said, turning to face the class. "Now, based on that sentence, who was drunk? The daughter or the mother? Think carefully."
A wave of discussion rippled through the rows of desks. The girl next to Emily leaned in, whispering, "It has to be the mother, right?"
Emily frowned, analytical. "I don't know. It makes sense if the daughter was drunk. That would explain why the mother beat her."
"But the mother could also have beaten her because she wasn't thinking straight."
"Alright, alright," the teacher called, clapping her hands softly. "May I have your attention back? The fact that you're debating this already proves my point. This sentence is ambiguous. It can be interpreted both ways. As your English teacher, I advise you to ensure your writing is clear, not confusing. Otherwise," she said with a playful but serious smile, "it's a zero. I hope I'm making myself clear."
A chorus of "Yes, ma'am!" answered her.
"Even when you find jobs after school, avoid ambig—" Her lesson was cut off.
BOOM!
The explosion was deafening, a concussive shockwave that rattled the windows. Every student jumped, their heads whipping toward the source of the sound.
"What was that?"
"What just happened?"
"What's going on?"
Panic, laced with curiosity, filled the room. Everyone crowded toward the windows.
Through the dust now rising near the front gate, they saw black vans one, two, then five, screech through the demolished entrance, tires crushing the debris of the shattered gate and the bodies of the fallen guards.
Emily's mind, always quick, connected the dots. Vans. An explosion at the gate. These aren't officials. "They're kidnappers," she breathed, her voice lost in the growing chaos.
All teaching had ceased. Every classroom was a scene of confusion and dawning horror.
Then, the vans disgorged their cargo. Men clad head-to-toe in tactical black, faces obscured by gas masks, moved with lethal, synchronized efficiency. They fanned out, rushing toward the classroom blocks. These were not police. They were a swift, dark plague.
The English teacher's face drained of color. "Everyone, RUN!"
The classroom had a second door at the back. A stampede ensued. Desks scraped, chairs toppled. The exit became a bottleneck of terrified girls, pushing and shrieking.
Three black-clad figures sprinting toward their building saw the exodus. Silent hand signals were exchanged. Two peeled off to circle the building. The third reached the main classroom entrance.
He didn't enter. Instead, he pulled a canister from his vest, pulled the pin, and rolled it into the crowded room.
It hissed, then erupted with a pressurized WHOOSH, spewing thick, green gas that filled the space in seconds.
Those still trapped inside, Emily among them doubled over, coughing violently. Tears streamed from their stinging eyes. "No… this can't be… somebody help!" Emily choked out, clawing her way toward the back door through a haze of bodies and chemical fog.
She stumbled out into the hallway, gasping for clean air, and broke into a sprint. But the gas was fast-acting. Dizziness swamped her senses. Her legs turned to lead, then to jelly. The world tilted, and the polished floor rushed up to meet her.
She collapsed. Around her, others fell like dominoes–girls who had breathed the gas, teachers who hadn't made it out in time. Those who had escaped the initial cloud were picked off by men with specialized rifles. THWIP. THWIP. Darts tranquilizers and paralytics, found their marks. One by one, every student and staff member succumbed to unconsciousness.
The operation was chillingly precise. The gate guards lay dead, the entrance a wreck. And now, the men in black began loading the inert bodies of the schoolgirls into the waiting vans. Emily, her blonde hair splayed against the dirty floor, was lifted unceremoniously and carried away.
A tragedy, executed in broad daylight.
---
Japan. The Next Morning. 5:12 AM.
Kasumi was deep in a recovery sleep, exhausted from the previous day's mission. The sharp trill of her communicator shattered the peace.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, vision blurry, she fumbled for the device. "Hey, AI. Read it for me."
The calm, synthetic voice responded. "Absolutely. Message reads: 'New Mission Alert. You are to deploy to Nigeria to resolve a national crisis. For further details, report to Briefing Hall Delta at 0600 hours. Packing several changes of civilian attire is recommended.' That is the message."
Kasumi yawned, stretching her sore muscles. Nigeria? That's… unexpected.
She checked the time. 5:12 AM. "Oh, shoot!" She bolted from bed, launching into a frantic routine: a scalding shower, rushed dental care, a quick application of skin oil.
Then, she froze. "Wait… my combat suit. It's still in maintenance."
"Do not worry," the AI interjected, though she hadn't directly addressed it. "For terrestrial missions involving human conflicts, the standard combat suit is not required. As indicated, packing civilian clothing is advised, as the assignment may last several days."
"Days, huh?" Kasumi muttered, now moving with renewed purpose. She hauled out a durable, expanding suitcase and began packing with efficient haste. She dressed in a simple but elegant long-sleeved red dress, worn over form-fitting black leggings. A final check in the mirror, a toss of her hair, and she was ready. "Okay. All set."
---
Briefing Hall Delta. 5:55 AM.
Kasumi arrived, her wheeled suitcase rumbling behind her. Pathro and Toshiro were already there, also in civilian wear.
Pathro sported a black polo shirt and light blue athletic pants that subtly matched the azure tips of his hair, paired with sleek trainers. Toshiro had opted for a more formal look: a crisp red button-down over black trousers and polished leather shoes, though he'd left the shirt untucked, lending a touch of casual cool to the professionalism.
Pathro's eyes went straight to Kasumi's luggage. Instead of a greeting, he grinned. "What? How many things did you pack in there?"
"What?" she shot back, defensively. "The briefing said we could be there a while. I came prepared."
"Still, that's a lot. What could we possibly be doing in Nigeria that requires that much wardrobe?"
She eyed him and Toshiro. "Don't tell me you didn't pack at all. Where are your bags?"
Pathro jerked a thumb toward two compact, sleek carry-ons sitting neatly against the wall. "We did. Plus other essentials. We didn't even fill ours. Yours looks like it's about to give birth."
"Just shut up," Kasumi huffed. "I'm a girl. I'm not like you guys who can wear the same thing for a week." She glanced around. "Also… are we the only ones on this mission?"
Before an answer came, the air beside them rippled. A portal of shimmering blue light opened, and Hayate stepped through. He was in full combat gear and carried a heavy duffel bag.
He surveyed them. "Oh. I see you're all already here."
Toshiro spoke first. "Is this a mission just for the three of us?"
"For the three of you, yes," Hayate confirmed. "I won't be on-site. I'm here to brief you and facilitate transport."
Pathro crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Last time that happened, I nearly died fighting a Variant while you were away. Where were you, anyway?"
Hayate's expression didn't change. "My assignment wasn't solely to babysit you that time. I had my own Zunan infestations to purge. This is different. You won't be dealing with anything as dangerous as a Zunan. This is a human crisis in Nigeria."
"Go on," Kasumi urged.
"Last night," Hayate began, setting the duffel down, "we received a formal plea from the Nigerian government. They need help resolving a severe kidnapping epidemic. It's been ongoing, but the perpetrators crossed a red line yesterday. They attacked and abducted the entire student body of the most exclusive girls' secondary school in the country."
Pathro's smirk faded into a look of cold understanding. "By 'crossed a line,' you mean they kidnapped the children of Nigeria's elite. Ministers, billionaires."
"Correct," Hayate nodded. "Five of the girls are direct relatives of high-ranking ministers. Nigerian authorities have attempted to dismantle this group for months. They've failed, losing over a thousand police officers in the process. Morale is shattered. The police are now effectively too terrified to engage."
Kasumi's face was set. "I see. So our objective is to eliminate this group."
"That is the primary objective," Hayate confirmed. "But remember the Law of Zutra. It will suppress your meta-energies the moment you attempt to kill or severely injure a normal human. The law doesn't discriminate between good or bad people. We cannot use our supernatural abilities to harm baseline humans. You'll have to rely on pure combat skill, tactics, and conventional weaponry if it comes to that."
Toshiro adjusted his glasses, a thoughtful gleam in his eye. "Sounds like a logistical hassle, but not beyond our capability. The real challenge will be locating them."
"You've hit the nail on the head," Hayate said. "Your secondary mission is to locate the kidnapped girls and return them alive to Nigerian authorities. But the main goal is the complete and permanent dismantling of this organization. Are you up for it?"
Pathro cracked his knuckles, a fierce, eager smile spreading across his face. "Sounds like it's going to be an interesting mission. A fight against fellow humans."
Hayate unzipped the duffel bag. Inside were neat bundles of cash and several identification cards. He distributed them. "The money is in Nigerian Naira. Use it as needed. The IDs are Nigerian citizenship cards. You'll be operating under aliases to blend in. The names are on the cards."
Toshiro examined the high-quality forgery. "They've gone to quite some length for a foreign nation."
"Nigeria submitted to Japanese oversight and protection," Hayate reminded them, his tone turning gravely serious. "They are, for all intents and purposes, under our aegis. That is why we are helping. Do not take this lightly. You represent Japan. Make us proud, you three."
In unison, their voices were firm, resolute. "Yes, Sir!"
It was true. Nigeria was one of the nations that had voluntarily placed itself under Japan's protective umbrella. Lacking a supernatural military and without access to the Noosphere to create their own Meta-soldiers, they were powerless against the new world order. Not every nation had the privilege or the burden of soldiers who could shatter planets.
Their fight today would not be among the stars, but in the tangled, gritty heart of human desperation and cruelty.
Hayate held up a hand. "Oh, one more reminder. When interacting with the local populace, remember to speak their native languages. Yoruba, Hausa, Igbo. Your academic profiles show you all have proficient comprehension. Use it."
Toshiro nodded, a look of understanding crossing his features. "That checks out. I was wondering why our specific team was chosen. If language proficiency was a factor, then it makes perfect sense."
"Well…" Hayate said, his tone shifting back to business. "I'll open the portal to your insertion point in Nigeria now. From there, you're on your own to assess and execute. Any final questions?"
Pathro glanced at Kasumi, then at Toshiro. Both met his look with steady resolve. He turned back to Hayate. "Seems like there are no questions here."
---
Flashback – Vice-Captain Hayashi's Office
Hayate stood at attention as Vice-Captain Hayashi leaned over her desk, a holographic map of Tokyo hovering in the air between them.
"Currently," she said, her voice like chilled steel, "we are attempting to identify who was responsible for the Ichigan incursion in Tokyo. For a nation of our standing, such a breach is an intolerable disgrace. It cannot go unanswered."
Hayate's brow furrowed. "You think someone orchestrated the attack?"
"It's the only plausible explanation," Hayashi stated, zooming in on the decimated district. "Vice-Captain Taneki was on Earth when it occurred. His sensory abilities are exceptional, yet he failed to detect the threat in time. That implies sophisticated concealment. To narrow the list of suspects, we must deduce their motive." She turned her piercing gaze to Hayate. "I believe the target may have been our new recruits. Specifically, the top-tier talents like Pathro. But our adversaries are not foolish enough to launch a direct assault on this base."
A cold realization dawned on Hayate. "You're planning to use them as bait?"
"In a manner of speaking," Hayashi conceded, her expression unreadable. "I am not yet certain of their goal, but I intend to rule this possibility out. To do so, I need to expose the recruits in a controlled manner without alerting anyone that it's a trap. This plea for assistance from Nigeria presents a perfect opportunity. We send a small team to resolve the crisis, thereby serving two purposes at once."
---
Back in the Present – Briefing Hall Delta
The memory faded. Hayate watched the three young soldiers prepare their gear, his mind echoing Hayashi's calculated words.
If someone truly is targeting them, this mission is the perfect opportunity. An attack in Nigeria would confirm the theory. No attack would allow her to discard it. Either way, she gains valuable intelligence.
A faint, admiring smile touched his lips. She is quite canny.
Pathro zipped his carry-on shut, slinging it over his shoulder. "We're all set to go."
Hayate raised a hand, palm facing the empty space beside him. A soft, crimson energy coalesced, swirling and stretching until it formed a stable, shimmering portal. Through it, a wave of humid, foreign air wafted into the sterile hall, carrying distant sounds of traffic and unfamiliar scents.
"Well," Hayate said, his voice cutting through the low hum of the portal. "Now it's time for you to head out."
Without hesitation, Pathro led the way, stepping through the rippling veil of light. Kasumi followed, her suitcase wheels clattering momentarily on the threshold before disappearing into the glow. Toshiro brought up the rear, giving a final, curt nod to Hayate before he, too, was swallowed by the energy field.
Hayate lowered his hand. The portal collapsed in on itself with a soundless implosion, leaving the briefing hall empty and quiet once more. The mission and the unseen test had begun.