The ancient terminal flared to life in a flicker, its screen glowing softly in the muted depths of the underground safehouse. Dust swirled around it, disturbed only by the soft thrum of the pod beside Kaito. But none of those things mattered. Not the cold. Not the quiet. Not even Rin's silent presence beside him.
None of it mattered except the face on the screen.
His father.
Not a dream. Not a memory. But a message—a fragment of a man whose death had created a space in a corner of Kaito's heart. He looked older than Kaito had known. Tired. Worn. Guilty.
"Kaito," the voice was smooth and deep, though time had drained its warmth. "If you're seeing this… then I've failed you."
Kaito's throat constricted.
"I should have been there with you. I should have protected you. Not only from the world—but from what I created."
The room was completely quiet except for the soft hum of electricity.
"I designed the EXO-Ω system to tap into the true potential of mankind. To bond mind and body in a concordance higher than our limits. A living alloy second skin, held together by neural harmonics—adjustable, controllable, healing. A piece of clothing that could learn, adapt, grow with its owner."
Schematics began blinking on the display: intricate plans of the EXO-Ω skeleton, spinal sync-node, biometric pulse fibers, and something labeled GENELOCK PROTOCOL: KAITO.
"It wasn't meant to be a weapon," his father continued. "But Sakoji. he saw power. Soldiers—ideal, obedient, programmable. And I was stupid enough to not see. Not until then, did it even occur to my conscience what it can actually do. Now it was too late."
The screen turned over to recorded video—Sakoji giving a lecture to a session at a conference.
"These suits will not merely make our so-called humanity greater or prevent wars," he told him icily. "They will put an end to wars. And then remake the world in our image, WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT."
Kaito felt sick to his stomach. That was not just betrayal. That was dictatorial calculation.
"I attempted to shut down the program," his father's voice went on. "But Sakoji had marked me unstable. He took my research, my prototypes. and rendered me a liability. I don't know how long I have recording this. But I did know one thing: if I couldn't stop him, you would have to."
Kaito clenched his fists. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"This can't be happening," he snarled. "You're saying all this now? After you abandoned me there and that jerk twisted everything you'd worked so hard to do?"
The other half of the recording was not practiced. It was not a declaration.
It was an apology.
"I didn't want this for you, Kaito," his father said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I missed your birthdays. Your first fights. I missed watching you grow because I thought I was doing something important. I thought… if I made the world safer, maybe you'd forgive me for not being a father."
Kaito looked away. His eyes brimming with tears.
"I don't care about the suit. I just wanted to know why you went away." His voice shaking with sadness.
"I never stopped loving you," his father whispered. "But I failed you. And now. the burden of all that I've done is on your shoulders."
Rin's words pierced the quiet, gentle but firm. "You don't need to be alone. He made sure you'd have others. There is a group—scientists, engineers, former soldiers—they opposed Sakoji's coup. They are in hiding. Waiting for you."
Kaito did not answer. He turned around, his eyes on the screen. On the man who had created the world he now had to survive.
"You're the only one who can re-activate the core of EXO-Ω," his father told him. "It was built from your DNA. That was my insurance—so Sakoji could never really control it."
More files came on line: encrypted information, coordinates for location, schematics for cores.
"But time is short," the message continued. "If Sakoji completes his modified units, the world will plunge into an era of mechanized dictatorship. He won't stop at soldiers. He'll remake humans in his own ideal of a image. And everything I feared… will become reality."
The screen dimmed.
END OF SEQUENCE.
No goodbyes. No final words of wisdom. Just a heavy silence left in his father's absence—again.
Kaito panted, holding his chest, as if he'd just come out of a nightmare. He stared at the screen for a sometime before he spoke.
"I wasted half my life thinking you'd abandoned me," he said. "It turns out you were attempting to save me. Now I have to save everyone else."
He turned to Rin. "You said that rebel group will help me right?"
She nodded. "If they believe you are ready. They've been fighting, but they need a sign of hope. Not a warrior."
Kaito sighed, then gave a weak smile. "I guess I better get into role-playing."
"Are you thinking you're prepared?" Rin inquired.
"No," he acknowledged. "But I've seen my inspiration."
He glanced one final time back at the screen.
"Appreciate it, old dude," he spoke softly. "I'll sort out your mess."
As dawn crept over the warehouse, a soft light cast over the rusty floor, Kaito stood tall—not just as a young boy searching for answers, but as a man stepping into a legacy of invention, betrayal, and revolution.
He was no longer Kaito Myojin.
He was the key.
And the war for the future had begun.