Chapter 1
July 21, 1992 – Suburbs of Tokyo
Inside a modern house… dim light filtered through distant windows, partially from the city lights and partially from passing car headlights. Inside, the house's own lights were off. Two figures—a man and a woman—gripped their guns in the shadows. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a loud crash; the hinges fell to the floor… A beam of laser light cut into the darkness.
Immediately, a barrage of gunfire erupted. Bullet holes riddled every surface as black-clad special forces stormed in. Their weapons were rigid, emotionless, and chillingly precise. The couple could do nothing but retreat into the kitchen, powerless against the overwhelming firepower.
From the bedroom, a fragile sound pierced the chaos: "Wah… wah… wah…" A small child cried, terrified and disoriented, unable to see its parents. Inside the bedroom, there was only a simple crib and a disordered bed, the room stripped down to its bare, exhausted essentials. Outside, as the gunfire ceased, the thud of bodies hitting the floor echoed. It was over. The child's parents… were dead.
A few minutes later… one kick… two kicks… The door wobbled as though it might fall. The child's cries grew louder, its tiny body curling in fear. On the third kick… the door fell with a heavy thud, amplifying the child's desperate wails of "Wah… wah… wah…" But then, a glimmer of hope appeared as the flashlights from the special forces illuminated the room. Their boots struck the floor with solid thuds. Faces obscured by gas masks, they moved with quiet precision.
Among them, a man slowly stepped forward. Even through the mask, his presence radiated authority. With rough, calloused hands, he removed his helmet, revealing messy black hair, coarse and unkempt, yet somehow oddly endearing. His hands removed the gas mask slowly, exposing piercing ocean-blue eyes and a prominent scar: a jagged line running from beneath his chin, slicing through the left eye, leaving a raw, intimidating mark. On his uniform was a rigid black name tag: Kenshin Suzuki.
He gently lifted the child. In his calloused hands, weapons still trained on the small figure. The surrounding soldiers remained silent but ready, prepared for the worst. Kenshin's left hand glided over a biometric scanner, bringing it close to the child. A soft blue light scanned the infant, still crying. Moments later, the screen flashed a warning: "Abnormal subject, requires neutralization." Yet he calmly covered the display and spoke to the soldiers around him, his face composed.
Kenshin:
> "The child shows no abnormal signs. All threats: zero."
The soldiers nodded slowly, lowering their guns in cautious relief, though their grip remained firm, prepared for any sudden threat. Some began searching the house for other anomalies—checking closets, bedside drawers, and piles of clothing. Kenshin, meanwhile, gently cradled the child, who gradually quieted and curled into his arms like a sleeping little angel.
The walls were pockmarked with bullet holes; the floor was streaked with blood, illuminated by the distant city lights. Forensic experts began removing the bodies of the child's parents and cleaning the scene. Then, without warning, the door creaked open. A helicopter's blades droned overhead, shining a spotlight through the room. A young female voice pierced the tension, drawing everyone's attention.
Sora:
> "Oh… good morning, Alpha 7. Seems you're all blind, aren't you? Anyone could have noticed that, right?"
A girl appeared, walking past the guns with an unbothered grace. She wore a crisp white blouse, brown vest, red tie, and a flowing white silk cloak. Her long, wavy blue hair floated like ocean waves. Amber eyes glimmered gently, porcelain skin making her appear angelic. Though barely 1.54 meters tall and appearing sixteen or seventeen, she was, in fact, over thirty.
Dr. Sora approached Kenshin, who still held the child. Her icy hands lifted the infant, sending a shiver through him. Her yellow eyes studied the child with unsettling curiosity, not affection. She lightly manipulated the child's hair and cheeks, making it blush from the pressure. The cries of "Wah… wah…" pierced the air, while soldiers exchanged weary looks, some rubbing temples, others sighing, used to such scenes.
Kenshin's deep, steel-like voice broke through:
Kenshin:
> "Cut it out, you lunatic… Remember, this is Alpha 7, not your Alpha 13. So don't mess around here…"
Sora tilted her head, smiling—not mockingly, but with a sinister, calculating smile that radiated danger.
Sora:
> "Oh? And now you're the boss? How dull… lacking in fun. By the way… that black hair streaked with silver… curious, isn't it?"
She examined the child's features, her cruel, deliberate smile intensifying. Kenshin looked away, caught off guard.
Sora:
> "And the eyes… heterochromatic. One gray, one deep ocean blue… almost blind on one side. Strange, isn't it? Or maybe… someone here is lying…"
Kenshin, irritated, took the crying child from Sora and handed it to another soldier. His hand rested heavily on her arm, his gaze sharp, filled with barely-contained fury.
Kenshin:
> "Yes, ma'am… You should step aside. And that blue hair of yours… hardly normal either."
Sora gently pushed his hand away, then traced the scar on his face with her delicate fingers, sliding up to cover his mouth. One finger pressed to her lips in a teasing "shush," her eyes dancing with provocative mischief. Her playful yet cruel smile unnerved everyone around.
Sora:
> "Apologies… little Alpha 7 recruits. Oh, so fragile… Your boss isn't here yet, so I suppose I'll be in charge for now… Farewell… I hold the highest authority here, so I won't steal your work… yet."
She took the child, blue hair shielding it from view, and walked toward the waiting helicopters. Soldiers stepped aside silently. Outside, black UH-60s with the EASRS Foundation logo waited. Alpha 13 helicopters, Alpha 7 convoy vehicles nearby. Sora boarded a helicopter; the rotors spun, scattering debris. The aircraft lifted into the starlit sky, revealing the widening rift between Alpha 7 and Alpha 13, both part of the same foundation, yet increasingly divided—two separate powers, never truly united.
---
Seasons passed… five years went by…
A small bird landed gently at a quiet orphanage, white walls with a black triangular roof. The building bore the Tokyo Humanitarian Support Corporation (THSC) logo, a subsidiary of the EASRS Foundation.
Inside the silent dormitory, sunlight poured through the windows. Children still slept on bunk beds. Slowly, one child awoke, sitting up, tired and fragile. Its hands rubbed its eyes. Hair was black, streaked with white, violet, and gold, shimmering like a field of stars, as if a miniature galaxy rested atop its head.
One eye gray as snow, almost blind; the other a deep ocean blue, unfathomable and vast. Skin was porcelain smooth, fragile, height only 96 cm. Its innocent face inspired an irresistible desire to protect and cherish. Morning light bathed the child, heralding a new warm day.
[To be continued]