A heavy silence settled over the Setai headquarters, the weight of recent events still thick in the air. The dim glow of holographic dispys and briefing monitors cast long shadows across the steel table where Ren, Yumi, Akira, Ryuko, and Watari sat.
At the head of the room, Commander Samberg stood with arms crossed, his posture rigid with authority.
Ren was the first to speak. “Sorry about Sato.”
Samberg barely reacted, only shifting his gaze to meet Ren’s. His expression remained unreadable, but after a moment, he exhaled through his nose. “At the Setai, we always prepare for these kinds of things. Sato knew what type of job this was. Plus, the health potions we used on you guys were the st in his stash so he didn’t have long. He also knew what he was getting into by betraying us and feeding info to Kuroda.”
Ren clenched his fist under the table, frustration simmering beneath his skin—anger at himself, at the situation, at the inevitability of it all. “At least… he went out with a smile,” he muttered. “He said he finally made one correct choice.”
That line hung in the air. Samberg’s brows furrowed slightly before his mind drifted back—to that day in the Oval Office, to Sato’s voice, weary yet determined: “I just… I just want to make one correct choice as president.”
A small, almost imperceptible smile crossed Samberg’s face. He gave a single nod. “He went out as the man I knew him. And for that, I’ll always respect him.”
The moment passed. Before it could sink any deeper, Ryuko leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Enough reminiscing. What’s our next move?”
Samberg straightened, shifting back into commander mode. His presence alone set the room on edge, bringing everyone to attention. “Kuroda pns to activate multiple Tamashkii cores in New York on New Year’s Day. If we don’t stop him, he could level the entire city.”
A beat. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
That got everyone’s attention. Samberg pced both hands on the table. “We now know he possesses a vial of Ancient’s blood.”
The room tensed.
“We have no idea what he pns to do with it. He could be trying to enhance himself, or worse—integrate it into one of his cores. Either way, that vial is our biggest problem.”
Yumi exchanged a gnce with Akira. A dark thought crept into her mind.
“Tenzan,” she murmured.
Akira exhaled sharply, catching on immediately. “He was that strong with just a drop of Ancient blood.”His voice was grim. “If Kuroda has an entire vial…”
The implication settled in.
Nobody needed to say it—if Kuroda took that blood for himself, there wouldn’t be a force on Earth that could stop him.
Watari leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Guess we’ll find out in New York,” he muttered. “What happens when you swap out fireworks for cores?”
Samberg’s gaze flickered to him for a moment before addressing the group again. “I won’t downpy what you’ve already accomplished. The fact that you took down Tenzan is proof of your strength.”
A compliment—but Ren barely registered it.
His mind was elsewhere.
“Honestly,” Ren admitted, “we couldn’t have done any of that without the Chūkan.”
The moment he said it, the entire room shifted.
Setai advisors who had remained silent up until now stiffened. One of them—an older man, face lined with tension—hurried forward.
“What do you mean, the Chūkan?” he demanded. “There’s no way you entered that pce.”
Ren frowned, confused. “That’s where we trained before coming back,” he said slowly.
The advisor’s face paled. “Not even we can enter the Chūkan.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
The weight of that statement sent a ripple through the room.
Samberg, who had remained silent through the exchange, narrowed his eyes slightly, the pieces finally clicking into pce.
“I see.”
A small smirk pyed at the corner of his lips, as if everything suddenly made sense.
“If they reached the Chūkan,” he muttered to himself, “then maybe they truly can do this.”
He straightened, cutting off further discussion with a sharp gesture.
“Enough.”
His voice carried authority, refocusing the conversation. “Here’s the pn.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
“I can put in a good word with the President of the United States. We might be able to put all of New York into their maximum security shelter. But in case that doesn’t work—or even if it does—you’ll still be heading there.”
A silence.
“Huh?” Ren blinked.
“You heard me,” Samberg said. “You’re the only force we have that can possibly contend with Kuroda. If he takes that Ancient blood, we’ll have to deal with it when the time comes.”
The atmosphere was heavy. No one spoke right away, the weight of the mission settling over them.
Then—A knock at the door.
A Setai officer entered briskly, saluting. “Sir, we have a call.”
Samberg gnced at him. “From who?”
The officer hesitated. “Commander, it’s not for you.”
He turned his head.
“It’s for… tari.”
?
Watari’s brows furrowed. He rarely received calls—especially not in the middle of a war briefing.
“Who is it for?”
The officer hesitated again, then spoke his full name—
Watari Hayashi.
The room stilled. It was the first time the others had ever heard his full name spoken aloud.
Watari’s expression darkened. He rose from his seat, following the officer into a separate room where a secure line awaited him.
He picked up the receiver.
On the other end, a familiar voice—eerily composed, unsettlingly soft.
“Mary is in critical condition,” Chizuru’s voice whispered through the line.
Watari’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“Doctors say she has a few days at best.”
A pause.
“Her st request… was to see you one st time.”
Watari’s grip sckened slightly.
The weight of those words sank into his chest, slow and suffocating.
In the other room, his team continued their discussion—about New York, about stopping Kuroda, about preventing catastrophe.
And here he was, standing at the crossroads.
“You wouldn’t ignore a dying woman’s request, would you?”
Chizuru’s voice was teasing, but with that ever-present undertone of knowing malice.
Watari closed his eyes. The room, the briefing, the mission—all faded.
Then, his voice—low, certain.
“I’ll be there.”
