The Kyoto Future Science Museum had been evacuated in under six minutes.
That alone told Yutsumi how seriously the adults were taking this.
The glass atrium—once filled with children, holograms of extinct animals, and cheerful tour guides—was now sealed behind multilayered barriers. Emergency lights cast everything in sterile blue. Soldiers stood at every entrance, rifles lowered but fingers tense. Sorcerers occupied the shadows between columns, cursed energy suppressed but ready.
At the center of it all stood the Simurians.
Jaba Roma smiled like this was a pleasant inconvenience.
Cross did not.
"They're calm," Tsurugi muttered under his breath. "Too calm."
Yutsumi agreed—but for a different reason.
They weren't just calm.
They were comfortable.
As if they had expected this environment.
As if they had been here before.
Yutsumi's cursed energy stirred again, thin threads of perception extending outward without conscious effort. He didn't force it. Didn't name it. He simply observed.
And the world responded.
The barriers around the hall weren't just reinforced with cursed energy—they were layered with something else. Human-made fields. Frequencies. Intent.
The Simurians were reading them effortlessly.
"They understand the barriers," Yutsumi whispered.
Yuka heard him.
Her shoulders tightened immediately. She shifted half a step closer, placing herself between him and the center of the hall. It was subtle. Automatic. Instinctive.
Tsurugi noticed—and frowned.
At the far end of the hall, Usami cleared his throat.
"We will begin," he said.
The air changed.
Jaba Roma inclined his head politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."
His Japanese was flawless. Not rehearsed. Not translated. Natural.
Several officials exchanged uneasy looks.
"You speak our language fluently," one of them said. "How long have you been studying Earth?"
Jaba Roma's smile did not waver. "Since before your Culling Games."
Silence fell like a blade.
Yutsumi felt it—an emotional spike, sharp and collective. Fear. Anger. Suspicion.
Cross's gaze drifted lazily across the room, lingering on the sorcerers, the soldiers… and then Yutsumi.
His eyes narrowed.
Not with hostility.
With interest.
Yutsumi's breath caught.
Something in Cross's presence felt… reflective. Like staring into distorted glass.
Yuka's hand snapped around Yutsumi's sleeve.
"Don't look back," she whispered urgently.
Too late.
Cross tilted his head. "That one," he said calmly. "The youngest."
Every barrier in the room flared.
Tsurugi's cursed energy spiked violently. "Step away from my brother."
Cross raised both hands. "An observation only."
Usami's voice cut through the tension. "Explain."
Jaba Roma exhaled softly. "We recognize potential. That boy carries a lineage we understand well."
Yuka's heart dropped into her stomach.
"No," she said flatly.
Everyone turned toward her.
She didn't care.
"He's not part of this," Yuka continued, stepping forward now, eyes blazing. "He's a minor. He's off-limits."
Cross studied her, expression unreadable. "You fear what he will become."
"I fear what you will do to him."
Yutsumi stared at her, stunned.
This wasn't strategy.
This was panic.
Usami raised a hand. "Enough. This is a diplomatic meeting."
Cross's gaze shifted back to Yutsumi one last time. "Your species fears outsiders," he said. "But it is always your own who suffer most."
Then he looked away.
---
The revelation came like a delayed explosion.
The mothership—cloaked, massive, and impossibly close—was not above Nevada alone.
It was above Japan.
Fifty thousand Simurians, hidden just beyond conventional perception, waiting.
Not invading.
Waiting.
"They claim refugee status," one official said shakily. "They say their world is dying."
"And we're supposed to trust that?" another snapped.
Yutsumi listened quietly, absorbing everything.
Politics. Fear. Lies dressed as caution.
Maru stood apart from the envoys, hands folded, gaze lowered. He hadn't spoken yet.
Usami finally turned to him. "Inspector Maru. You will work directly with a human team. Your purpose?"
Maru looked up—and for a moment, his eyes met Yutsumi's.
"To determine whether coexistence is possible," Maru said. "Without war."
Yutsumi felt it again.
That subtle tug.
Maru wasn't lying.
But he wasn't whole either.
The sealed third eye pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
A limiter.
Yutsumi's fingers twitched.
For a split second—less than a heartbeat—his perception aligned with Maru's restrained energy.
Not a copy.
An adjustment.
His cursed energy reshaped itself instinctively, understanding how Maru suppressed his power.
Yutsumi gasped quietly.
Yuka felt it immediately.
She spun on him. "What did you do?"
"I—I don't know," he whispered. "I just… understood something."
Her face went pale.
That night, back at their temporary quarters, Yuka didn't let Yutsumi out of her sight.
She insisted he eat first. Sleep early. Sit next to her on the couch while Tsurugi paced like a caged animal.
"You're acting weird," Tsurugi said finally.
Yuka didn't respond.
Yutsumi watched her from the corner of his eye.
She hadn't stopped shaking since the meeting.
Later, when Tsurugi stepped out to speak with Usami, Yuka locked the door.
Then she knelt in front of Yutsumi and grabbed his shoulders—hard.
"You cannot show them," she said.
"Show them what?"
"Anything," Yuka snapped. Her eyes were wet now. "Your technique. Your thoughts. Your curiosity. Nothing."
Yutsumi frowned. "Yuka, you're hurting me."
She froze.
Her grip loosened immediately.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her hands back as if burned. "I'm sorry. I just—"
She swallowed hard.
"They will take you," she said quietly. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day. They'll say it's necessary. For balance. For peace."
Yutsumi felt something twist in his chest.
"I don't want to be hidden," he said softly.
Yuka laughed—a broken sound. "Neither did Grandpa."
That shut him up.
She stood abruptly, turning away. "Promise me something."
He hesitated. "What?"
"If the world ever asks you to choose," she said, voice barely steady, "choose yourself. Not humanity. Not aliens. Yourself."
Yutsumi didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew—
His power wouldn't allow him to choose only one.
Far above Kyoto, hidden beyond sight, the mothership adjusted its position.
Cross stood alone in a dark chamber, staring at a holographic projection of Earth.
"The youngest Okkotsu," he murmured.
Behind him, Maru lay unconscious, his third eye twitching beneath closed skin.
Cross's expression hardened.
"If humanity breaks first," he said quietly, "you will be the reason."