The city outside was restless. Ka-nar sat in the small, dimly lit safehouse, the hum of neon and the faint vibration of trains bleeding in through thin walls. He hadn't slept properly since the incident at the underground lab. His mind replayed every detail — the creatures, the machines, the whispers about experiments too monstrous to exist.
And through it all, the one constant had been him — the man in the hood. The Protector.
Now, that constant was about to vanish.
The Protector stood at the window, as still as a statue, his face hidden beneath the hood and half-mask. His voice was calm, but distant, when he finally spoke.
"Ka-nar. My time here is ending. I leave tomorrow."
Ka-nar's heart thudded, disbelief flashing across his face. "You're… leaving? After everything? What do you mean you're leaving?"
The man didn't turn. He only slipped a slim metallic card from his coat and set it on the table. The soft click echoed like a gunshot.
Ka-nar picked it up, frowning. A bank access card.
"There's one billion yen in that account," the Protector said. "It's yours."
The words hit harder than any blow. Ka-nar almost dropped the card. "One—what? One billion? Are you joking? How the hell do you even—"
The Protector's chuckle was low, almost sad. "You think too small. Money is the least of the weapons in this game. That sum is enough for you to live freely, to move without being hunted down by debts or the chains they'll try to wrap around you."
Ka-nar slammed the card on the table. "Don't do this. Don't give me riddles and walk away! Who are you, really? You said you worked for Sato Akira, but was that a lie too? Tell me the truth!"
At last, the Protector turned. In the half-light, his mask caught a dull glint. His voice softened.
"The truth isn't something you're ready for. Not yet. If I stay longer, I'll break rules that are far older and stricter than you imagine. My role was only to shield you until now. Beyond this… your choices must be your own."
Ka-nar's fists trembled. "So that's it? You dump money on me and vanish? Like I'm just—"
"Like you're someone who matters," the Protector interrupted. His tone carried an unfamiliar warmth, so fleeting Ka-nar almost thought he imagined it. "One day, you'll understand why I couldn't stay. Until then… live. Survive. Grow stronger."
Before Ka-nar could speak again, the man stepped toward the door. His silhouette lingered a second longer in the frame, then dissolved into the city night.
And just like that, Ka-nar was alone.
The silence pressed down on him. His eyes fell to the card, its weight suddenly unbearable. A billion yen. A fortune that could change everything. But at the same time, a farewell gift that felt like abandonment.
---
Two days later, as Ka-nar wrestled with uneasy thoughts in his small apartment, his lens interface chimed. A new holographic prompt shimmered in the air.
"Invitation: Neno System Corporation Headquarters. From: CEO Sato Akari."
Ka-nar's stomach tightened. Sato Akari. The son of Akira — the man whispered to be behind the exoskeleton projects, the experiments, the shadow empire.
Why would Akari, of all people, want to see him?
And yet, curiosity gnawed at him. The Protector was gone. If answers existed, perhaps they lay behind this invitation.
---
The Neno System headquarters loomed above Tokyo like a monument of glass and steel. Its polished walls reflected the city skyline, its sharp edges slicing into the clouds. The air itself seemed heavier as Ka-nar approached, the weight of hidden power pressing against him.
Inside, the lobby was a display of wealth and control — marble floors, chrome pillars, and a ceiling that soared like a cathedral. Holographic displays shifted across the walls, projecting images of cutting-edge technology: sleek exoskeleton prototypes, drones, and fragments of research data he barely understood.
"Mr. Ka-nar," a receptionist greeted with a rehearsed smile, bowing slightly. "CEO Akari is waiting for you."
Ka-nar followed a sleek elevator upward. His reflection stared back at him in the mirrored walls: the same tired eyes, but now with something harder beneath them.
When the elevator doors opened, Ka-nar stepped into an office that was less a workspace and more a throne room. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the entire sprawl of Tokyo, the city glittering like circuitry under nightfall.
And there, seated casually at a desk that seemed almost too small for the room, was Sato Akari.
Younger than Ka-nar expected, perhaps in his late twenties. His hair was dark and perfectly styled, his suit tailored to precision. But his eyes — sharp, calculating, and far too confident — betrayed a mind used to control.
"Ka-nar," Akari said warmly, standing and extending a hand. "Finally, we meet."
Ka-nar didn't move immediately. "You know my name."
Akari's smile widened. "Of course I do. You've stirred quite the storm recently. The kind of storm I… admire."
Reluctantly, Ka-nar stepped forward, shaking his hand. Akari's grip was firm, almost deliberately reassuring.
"Please, sit," Akari gestured. "We have much to discuss."
Ka-nar lowered himself into the chair, his eyes never leaving Akari's.
"You've been dragged into shadows most people will never even glimpse," Akari continued, pouring two glasses of wine. "You've seen the creatures, the labs, the technology that blurs the line between man and god. That's no accident, Ka-nar. It means you're already part of this world — whether you choose to be or not."
Ka-nar's voice was steady, though his pulse quickened. "And what world is that?"
Akari leaned forward, sliding one glass across the desk. His smile was disarmingly friendly.
"The world of tomorrow. My father laid the foundation, but his vision was… too rigid. I believe in something greater. A future where men like us don't just survive — we define what survival means."
Ka-nar didn't touch the glass. "And what do you want from me?"
Akari's smile softened, almost sincere. "Partnership. Friendship, even. You have a tool — the lens. You've already proven your resilience. With me, you'll have resources, protection, freedom. Imagine what we could achieve together."
Ka-nar's hand brushed unconsciously against his pocket, where the Protector's card still rested. One billion yen — a gift to walk away. And now Akari, offering more than money: power, belonging, answers.
It was a tempting illusion.
But somewhere in the back of Ka-nar's mind, a warning echoed: Not everything offered with a smile is meant to save you.
He forced himself to meet Akari's gaze.
"I'll listen," Ka-nar said slowly. "But I don't trust you."
Akari laughed lightly, as if he expected nothing less. "Good. Trust is earned, not given. And I intend to earn yours."
Outside, the city pulsed with light. Inside, the game had begun.