On matters like this, he never cut corners.
"Keep everyone safe?"
Enju blinked at him, thrown. The confusion on her face only deepened. She couldn't work out how one person kept a hundred people alive out there.
Then he slid his sunglasses down, revealing those brilliant blue eyes, and winked at her with a crooked, mischievous grin.
And rose into the air, in full view of everyone.
The motion came light and fluid, a bird lifting off a branch. He climbed until he hung directly above the camp, looking down on all of them.
"Everyone."
He clapped his hands together, and Cursed Energy carried the sound outward, amplified until it reached every corner of the staging ground.
He'd already been impossible to ignore. Floating overhead, he pulled every eye in the place back to him at once.
The chatter cut off. The camp went dead silent.
A hundred faces tipped upward, filled with curiosity and doubt and something like anticipation, waiting to hear what he'd say.
He met all of it smiling, confidence burning in those blue eyes, and spoke without a shred of hesitation.
"From what I understand, once you're past the Monolith, this operation has no clear command. Everybody fights their own fight. That's how people get isolated, and that's how Gastrea pick you off one at a time."
"So I'm volunteering. As of now, I'm running this operation. Everyone follows my orders. Nobody moves on their own, nobody disobeys. Understood?"
Silence dropped over the camp. Disbelief spread across face after face. Nobody had expected a white-haired stranger out of nowhere to nominate himself as commander.
A few seconds passed before the crowd stirred and the noise came back, sharper now, aimed at him.
"Who the hell is he? What makes him our commander? Why should we listen?"
"Right. We're experienced operators. We've got more combat time than he does. Some guy nobody knows giving us orders? The arrogance."
"He's grandstanding. Wants the spotlight. When things go bad he won't protect anyone, he'll be dead weight."
A tall blond shouldered his way out of the crowd, a massive sword slung across his back.
He stood a full head above the soldiers around him, broad through the shoulders, thick with muscle, black combat gear caked in dust and dried blood from more fights than most men survived.
A dark grey cloth covered the lower half of his face, leaving only a pair of hard eyes fixed skyward, contempt and doubt in equal measure.
The blade on his back was enormous, the grip wrapped in black cord, heavy enough that no ordinary man could lift it.
His chest rose and fell as he stared up, and when he spoke his voice came out low and flat with challenge.
"You want to command?"
"Why should any of us listen to you?"
"You'd better have something to show for it. What's your IP rank?"
Three questions, one after another, all of them fair, all of them exactly what the crowd was thinking. Heads nodded across the camp, and the eyes turned upward hardened.
Everyone here was a veteran. Each had their own way of moving and fighting, each worked alone, and none of them took orders from strangers.
Rank gaps didn't translate cleanly into strength gaps either. Plenty of low-ranked operators had years of survival behind them and could outfight men listed well above them.
Which meant that short of someone sitting near the very top, convincing this crowd was close to impossible.
Especially a white-haired stranger who looked like he'd wandered in off a beach.
"Rank?"
He paused at the question, brow furrowing, and scratched at his hair. "Hmm. What was it again?"
"Sorry, there are a lot of numbers involved and I've never paid attention to mine. If I remember right, somewhere around a hundred and something thousand. Might be further down. Couldn't tell you."
He shrugged, entirely untroubled, the way a man discusses a stranger's business.
Strength had never been measured by a leaderboard, in his view. Rank was a label. Real ability showed up in a fight, in whether you walked out and whether the people beside you did too.
"A hundred thousand? Is this a joke to you? Or are you trying to get every one of us killed?"
The blond's temper went off like a struck match. His fists clenched, and his shout rang loud enough to leave ears ringing as he jabbed a finger upward.
A rank that low was the bottom of the barrel. A man like that had no business directing seasoned operators, and putting him in charge meant burying everyone in Gastrea territory.
"This mission decides whether Tokyo survives. It's not your playground!"
"Tch. Settle down, would you."
He scratched his head, not a trace of anger anywhere, the same easy smile in place, as though the shouting had passed straight through him.
"Personally, I think I'm pretty strong. Having me call the shots makes all of you safer. At minimum, I can promise none of you die easy out there."
He paused, and certainty came into his voice, his blue eyes steady. Promises weren't something he handed out often, but he kept the ones he made.
Looking down at the doubt and anger still churning below, he sighed and rolled his shoulders. "You don't seem convinced. Fine. Let me prove it a little, and you can decide whether I've earned the right to give you orders."
He extended both arms, palms down, and pressed them gently toward the earth.
A small gesture. No spectacle, no thunder, nothing to look at.
The result was something none of them would forget.
Every person in that camp felt an invisible weight slam down onto their shoulders, crushing, absolute, driving the breath out of their lungs.
He hadn't used Blue. He hadn't reached for anything serious. A sliver of gravity, enough to make the gap between them legible.
Before anyone understood what was happening, spines were bending. Bodies folded toward the ground on their own.
They fought it. Every one of them strained to stay upright, and every one of them lost. The force was simply beyond anything they could push against.
"What... what is this?!"
A soldier went white, breath sawing, palms flat in the dirt as sweat beaded along his hairline. His voice shook with terror. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this.
"I can't hold it, it's crushing me!" Another soldier's legs gave out and he dropped to his knees, trembling.
The operators held up better than the regular troops. Years of fighting Gastrea had given them harder bodies and harder minds.
Teeth clenched, hands braced on their knees, faces flushed dark red, they refused to fold.
It bought them seconds and nothing more. However hard they fought, however stubborn they were, their bodies kept sinking toward the ground.
The last to bend were the Cursed Children, the Initiators standing beside their partners.
The Gastrea Virus had built them stronger than any adult operator, and their will held longer. While grown men buckled and dropped flat, a good number of the girls were still on their feet, still straining.
He wasn't there to torture anyone. He only wanted the lesson understood, wanted them to know he had the strength to lead them and to keep them breathing.
Once the point had landed, once enough of them were close to collapse, he took in the shock and fear and awe on their upturned faces, smiled, and let the weight go.
Relief hit like a wave. Men sagged onto the ground, hauling in air.
Silence took the camp again. Nobody spoke. Nobody argued.
Every face stayed tilted upward, and the doubt was gone from all of them, replaced by something much closer to fear.
They understood now. The white-haired man wasn't grandstanding and he wasn't bluffing. The strength was real, past anything they could resist, and more than enough to shield them.
"Everyone."
His voice carried again, still relaxed, but the certainty underneath left no room to argue.
"How about now? Have I earned the right to run this operation?"
He beckoned to one of the soldiers below, then pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward the man.
The soldier hesitated, hurried forward, and leaned in carefully. Whatever he saw on that screen changed his posture instantly. Every trace of doubt drained out of him, replaced by awe.
He looked up once, bowed deeply, then took off at a fast walk, urgency written all over him, clearly intent on confirming it.
The crowd followed him with their eyes, then looked back up, burning with curiosity about what could turn a soldier that respectful in a single glance.
He returned quickly, snapped a textbook salute, and spoke loud enough for the whole camp. "Mr. Gojo, it's confirmed. This operation is under your full command. All personnel are to follow your orders without exception."
Satisfied, he nodded and turned the phone slowly toward the crowd below, screen out. "Take a good look. This came from Seitenshi herself."
"Civil Security personnel. This is Seitenshi."
On the screen stood a girl in a white formal dress, poised, her expression gentle and grave at once. Her voice carried clearly to every ear.
"This operation carries enormous weight and many lives depend on it. Mr. Satoru Gojo possesses the strength to protect all of you. Therefore I am placing this operation under his full command. All personnel are to obey his orders precisely. No independent action, no disobedience. Anyone who refuses will be treated as a deserter."
The screen went dark.