Pathro pulled out his phone, holding it up. "Hey, snitch," he addressed the AI, the nickname now sticking. "Can you run a fingerprint analysis on these gas grenades or darts? Find a match?"
"Absolutely," the AI replied instantly. "I can conduct a full forensic scan of the immediate environment, including the walls, if desired. However, a caveat: I do not possess a comprehensive database of Nigerian civilian biometrics. I can store any fingerprint data I collect and perform real-time comparison if you later encounter a potential subject, but I cannot provide an immediate identification."
Pathro let out a short, frustrated breath. "You're really useless sometimes. I thought Nigeria was under Japan's supervision. Figured their data would be shared. Oh well, not entirely useless, I guess. Do your thing."
He held the phone near the spent grenade canister and a fallen dart. A thin beam of bright, scanning light emitted from the device, sweeping over the objects. He then moved through the classrooms, allowing the light to wash over smudged walls and doorframes.
"Analysis complete. No viable fingerprints detected on the grenade canister or the darts. I have, however, cataloged multiple partial and full fingerprints from the classroom walls and desks."
"Hmm…" Pathro mused, pocketing the phone. The students could have touched the walls while fleeing or during class. But the fact that the weapons themselves are clean… "Sounds like they were careful. Wore gloves. They're not complete dumbasses."
"That is a logical deduction," the AI chimed in, unprompted. "The absence of prints on tactical equipment strongly suggests the operatives were wearing gloves during the operation."
Pathro sighed. "Ah, this is going to take a while, isn't it?" A new thought struck him. "But wait… those student fingerprints might still be useful for elimination later. Just store them securely."
"Most certainly, Sir Kitsimoyo."
Just then, Kasumi and Toshiro blurred into existence beside him in the moonlit hallway.
"Find anything useful?" Kasumi asked.
"Nothing conclusive," Pathro reported. "Just evidence of the method, knockout gas and tranq darts. They took everyone alive."
Toshiro nodded, his expression grim. "That narrows the motive. Either human trafficking for the slave trade or harvesting for the black-market organ trade. To target an entire school, they must have a significant distribution network or a very large buyer."
Kasumi held up a small evidence bag she'd produced from a pocket; inside was a combat knife, its blade stained with dark, dried blood. "I found this tucked under a bush near the perimeter wall. The blood looks a day old, max. I wonder why they needed this if their goal was taking people alive."
"Could be someone fought back," Pathro reasoned. "They had to use force to subdue them. You didn't find a body, right?"
"None," Kasumi confirmed. "If the person they stabbed died, they took the body. More likely, it was a non-fatal wound used to intimidate or disable."
Toshiro added his analysis, adjusting his glasses. "The level of equipment, military-grade explosives, chemical agents, specialized firearms, points to significant funding. This isn't a grassroots operation. They likely have a wealthy sponsor or are themselves part of a larger, resource-rich syndicate. Their tactics, while brutal, show a degree of training, though their post-operation clean-up is… sloppy. Overconfident."
"That's a good point," Pathro agreed. "Tomorrow, we should start looking into local elites. Anyone with the money and the moral flexibility to bankroll this."
He turned to Kasumi. "And just in case that blood belongs to one of the kidnappers, have your AI scan and store the DNA profile. Might give us a lead later."
Kasumi looked surprised. "It can do that, too?"
"Yeah, I guess it must," Pathro said. "It scanned for prints when I asked."
The AI's voice emerged clearly from Pathro's pocket. "Yes, that is correct. I am equipped with—"
"No one asked you, man," Pathro cut it off, tapping his pocket with an annoyed scowl. "Just mind your own business, Snoop."
Kasumi couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. "It's rare to see you so annoyed by something."
"I hate snoops," Pathro grumbled. "Anyway, we've seen enough. Let's get back. We'll meet up and start the real investigation in the morning."
"Right," Toshiro agreed.
With a final shared glance at the violated school, they became three blurs of motion once more, vanishing from the silent, moon-washed grounds and speeding back through the sleeping city toward their hotel. The night's reconnaissance was over. The hunt would begin at dawn.
– – –
Kiligaku and Kaile walked side-by-side down one of the facility's long, gleaming corridors, the soft hum of machinery a constant backdrop.
"By the way, Prez," Kiligaku began, glancing at her. "I didn't ask earlier. How was your first mission? Quite the experience, huh?"
Kaile kept her gaze forward, a slight frown on her face. "It was… something, I guess. But I was a bit let down. The Zunan we faced were weak. I didn't have to push myself at all."
Kiligaku chuckled. "Well, that's more a testament to your strength. Don't forget, some of our other classmates struggled against Rokude-level foes. You're in a different league."
"That's only if I compare myself to them," Kaile countered, her voice tightening. "I compare myself to you guys. Pathro, Toshiro, Kasumi, and you. Right now, I can tell only Kasumi is still on my level. You, Pathro, and Toshiro have clearly pulled ahead."
Kiligaku nodded thoughtfully. "So your drive to grow stronger comes from not wanting to be left behind. That's an interesting motivation."
Kaile's head snapped toward him, a flash of irritation in her eyes. "What do you mean by that? Are you mocking my reason?"
He held up a placating hand, a small, genuine smile on his face. "Nah, not at all. I'm just noting the contrast. Your reason is very different from mine, or Pathro's."
Kaile's curiosity piqued, overriding her annoyance. "I thought you just had this rivalry with Pathro. Isn't that pretty much the same as me wanting to keep up?"
"Not really," Kiligaku said, his tone turning more reflective. "Pathro is my rival mainly because he's my childhood best friend. The competition is fun, a way to measure ourselves. But I don't want to be strong just for the sake of beating him. Just like he isn't trying to become strong just for that rivalry." He stopped before a heavy, reinforced door. A polished plaque beside it read: TRAINING REALMS - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
"We're here," he said, gesturing with a flourish. "Ladies first."
Kaile pushed the door open, and her breath caught.
"Wow."
The room was vast, more like a grand concourse than a simple hall. The floor was a sleek, dark composite material, etched with intricate, glowing circuits of pale blue light. Arranged in precise rows were circular platforms, and on each stood a rectangular pillar of shimmering, opaque crystal that resembled a standing doorframe. Soft, ambient light pulsed within each one, hinting at the impossible spaces waiting beyond.
"It looks… beautiful," Kaile murmured, stepping inside, her eyes wide as she took in the high-tech sanctum.
To their immediate right was a small, elevated office with a wide glass window. Inside sat a civilian woman in a neat, professional uniform, a logistics administrator. Such roles were filled by regular citizens; it was considered a waste of a meta-soldier's potential to have them handle desk duty. For the civilians who landed these jobs, the pay was extraordinary.
The woman smiled warmly through the glass, then slid her window open. "Welcome, Soldiers. May I please have your ID cards?"
As they handed them over, Kiligaku asked, "What are the IDs for? It's not like some random person could just wander in here."
"Oh, it's not for security verification, Sir," the woman explained efficiently, scanning the cards. "Your presence here is confirmation enough. This is for mission logistics. When you enter a training realm, your bio-signature is logged as 'off-world.' If a critical mission arises that requires your specific skills, command can be alerted and, if necessary, retrieve you directly from the realm."
Kaile nodded. "That makes sense. What about our communicators? Should we leave them here? I mean, we can't receive calls from another universe, right?"
"While cross-dimensional communication is indeed blocked," the administrator replied, handing back their IDs, "there's no functional difference if you take them or not. Once I register your departure, your devices are automatically flagged as unreachable in the network. However, I'd recommend taking them. The onboard AI can still access its stored knowledge base and assist you inside the realm. It just won't have real-time data from our universe."
Kiligaku processed this. "So it won't know if we get a new mission alert while we're in there?"
"Unfortunately, no. For live updates, it requires a network connection to our base servers. But for everything else, analysis, simulations, stored data, it will function normally."
"Thanks," Kiligaku said. "That was helpful."
"My pleasure. Now, which training realm will you be accessing today? I need to activate the corresponding portal."
Kaile's eyes traveled over the rows of silent, glowing doorframes. "Are all of these… portals to different realms? All for training?"
"Yes, they are," the woman said, her voice holding a note of pride. "Each leads to a unique environment designed for specific types of combat, resistance, or metaphysical conditioning. If you'd like, I can give you a brief tour of the designations so you can choose."
"Maybe another time," Kiligaku said, glancing at Kaile. "We already have a realm in mind."
"Certainly. What's the name of the realm?"
Kaile answered clearly. "Hayashi's Paradise."
The administrator's eyebrows rose slightly in recognition. "Ah, I see. That one. One moment, please."
She turned to her console, fingers flying over holographic keys. She re-scanned their IDs, inputting the data. Across the hall, one of the rectangular crystal pillars on a central platform began to glow with a deep, amber light. A low, resonant hum filled the air, building until the space within the frame warped and shimmered, stabilizing into a serene, golden portal.
"Oh, I almost forgot," the woman said, looking up. "For how long do you plan to stay in the realm? There is an auto-recall function for safety."
Kiligaku looked to Kaile, letting her decide.
"Uh… four hours should be fine, I guess," Kaile said.
"I see." More keystrokes. "Alright. The recall is set for four hours. You will be automatically teleported back to this platform. You may proceed."
They walked across the luminous floor toward the waiting portal. The energy radiating from it was palpable, like a gentle, constant pressure against their skin.
Kiligaku stopped at the edge of the circular platform, gesturing toward the shimmering golden surface. A grin tugged at his lips. "Well, ladies first. As usual."
Kaile took a steadying breath, her determination hardening in her gaze. Without another word, she stepped through the portal, her form dissolving into the light. Kiligaku followed a heartbeat later, and the portal swallowed him whole.
The hum in the hall lowered to a quiet standby frequency. The administrator made a final entry in her log, and the vast room returned to its state of waiting silence, dotted with the soft, patient glow of countless other doors to countless other worlds. Their training had begun.
— — —
Kaori sat in the plush, silent interior of the luxury sedan, watching the neon-drenched streets of Tokyo blur past. Her personal driver navigated the daylight traffic with smooth, professional efficiency. Normally, she'd insist on driving herself, but after the incident, her father had put his foot down. A driver was non-negotiable.
Her gaze was distant, fixed on nothing. What did they call me for? They said it was about all the survivors of the Tokyo attack. I'd give anything to forget that day, but they just keep dragging me back into it. The memory, unwanted and sharp, flashed behind her eyes, the surreal horror, the chaotic noise, and then the impossible, gut-wrenching sight of Yoshika's head tumbling from her shoulders. A wave of cold grief tightened her chest. She sighed, a soft, pained sound, and shook her head as if to dislodge the image.
In the rearview mirror, the driver watched her discreetly. Yeah, he thought, his expression carefully neutral. Her father made the right call. She's in no state to be behind a wheel right now. Not even close.
The car glided to a stop in front of a modern, nondescript conference hall in Shinjuku. Kaori pushed the door open herself before the driver could move.
"Okay," she said, her voice flat. "You can head back now. Thanks for the lift."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mistress," he replied, his tone respectful but firm. "Your father was explicit. I am to wait right here for you. Whether it's an hour or five."
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face before settling back into weary resignation. "Fine. Whatever. He can be so overprotective sometimes." She turned and walked toward the building's entrance.
The driver watched her go, his professional mask slipping for a moment to reveal genuine concern. No, Mistress, he thought, answering her unspoken complaint. He just loves you. You're not the only one drowning in this loss. Losing you too would destroy him.
---
Inside the hall, the air was thick with a subdued, collective tension. Kaori's eyes scanned the room and quickly landed on a familiar, sorrowful face, Yoshika's mother. The woman approached, and they shared a gentle, wordless hug.
"You made it," Yoshika's mother whispered, her voice thick. "Thank you for coming."
Kaori returned the embrace, feeling the woman's fragile strength. "There's no way I would turn down your call." She looked past her, taking in the scene. The hall was set up like a somber conference, seats filled with nearly five hundred people. Their faces were a mosaic of grief, anger, and numb exhaustion. "So… what exactly is this about?"
"Take a seat here," Yoshika's mother said softly, guiding her to an aisle chair. "You'll see for yourself."
At the front, a man in a slightly rumpled suit stepped up to the podium. He didn't bother with greetings.
"Thank you all for coming here today," he began, his voice carrying a raw, gravelly edge. "We are here to talk about the Zunan attack on Tokyo. The one our government and military have since tried to sweep into the shadows."
A ripple of agreement moved through the crowd.
"Thousands died," he stated, the words hanging heavily in the quiet room. "I believe every single person here is affected. You lost someone. A child, a parent, a friend. Or perhaps you are a survivor, carrying the scars no one can see." He paused, letting the truth of it sink in. "And what has been the response from those in power? Condolences. Sympathy cards. Empty words."
His voice grew sharper, edged with a building fury. "We pay exorbitant taxes to fund their bloated budgets and their unreasonably lavish salaries. We understand they're on the front lines against these monsters, but they cannot possibly need all of that. And look what their 'protection' got us! They failed. They failed utterly, and thousands are dead because of it."
He leaned into the microphone, his eyes glistening. "I… I…" His composure cracked. He took a shaky breath, the sound amplified through the speakers. "My two sons were at that party." A tear finally traced a path down his cheek. He fumbled for a handkerchief, wiping it away roughly. "It was the first time I ever let them go to a party like that at night. I thought… I believed… with our soldiers watching over us, they would be safe. But no."
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, raw and pleading. "My boys are gone. I will never see them again. And for that, all I received was a formal letter of 'deepest condolences.'" His voice dropped to a pained whisper. "We trusted them with our lives, with everything we hold dear. And they have proven they are not reliable. If they cannot protect what we love… then they need to stop hoarding the means to do so. They must allow us to protect ourselves." His voice rose again, filled with a fiery conviction. "I am not about to just wash away the deaths of my sons as a tragic mistake. Are you?"
The response was immediate, a low, rolling murmur that built into a chorus. "No!" "Definitely not!" "He's right!"
Kaori watched, her own sorrow a cold stone in her stomach. She felt the collective anger, the desperate need for agency, but it was all muffled under the weight of her personal grief.
"I suggest we stop dwelling in our pain and take action!" the man declared, pounding a fist softly on the podium. "I believe we have a case. We can take this to the Supreme Court, and we can win! We are not livestock, waiting to be slaughtered. We have a right to fight back! Who's with me?"
The hall erupted in applause, not cheerful, but fierce and determined. Kaori simply watched, her face a mask of quiet agony.
The meeting stretched on for about four hours. Person after person took a turn, sharing stories of loss, a daughter, a brother, a fiancé. The air grew thick with shared trauma and simmering rage. By the end, a resolution was formed: they would appeal to the Supreme Court this coming Monday. Their demand was simple, audacious, and unprecedented: Grant civilians the legal right to access meta-energies and superhuman capabilities.
As the crowd began to disperse, Yoshika's mother turned to Kaori. "What do you think about all that?"
Kaori was silent for a long moment, her mind struggling to process the sheer scale of the proposal. "I… don't know," she finally admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It's too much for me right now. Let me think. I'll tell you what I think tomorrow."
Yoshika's mother placed a gentle hand on her arm. "It's fine. Don't force yourself. Just think about what you believe is right. You have a whole day."
Kaori managed a weak, grateful smile. "See you later, Aunt." The familial title came naturally; she and Yoshika had been so close, their families had blended.
She walked back to the waiting car in a daze. Sliding into the back seat, she said, "We can head back home now."
"Sure thing, Mistress," the driver replied, pulling smoothly into the traffic.
Kaori leaned her head against the cool glass. Her thoughts were a turbulent whirl. Granting superpowers to civilians… If it were that simple, wouldn't someone have done it by now? I've never heard of any nation allowing it. This… this feels like grasping at straws. A desperate scream into the void. A profound, weary sadness settled over her. As much as we might wish for it… this is not going to end well.