The wind over the Dover Strait still carried the bitter scent of smoke.
Half an hour had passed since the battle ended, yet the bridge of the EUC flagship Leviathan remained eerily silent. Only a few damaged consoles continued to spit futile sparks, their short circuits whining softly like wounded machines.
Mark Reyes stood before the vast observation window, unmoving.
He looked like a statue frozen by defeat.
The chessboard he had so carefully prepared—the Siren's Net, woven from humanity's finest technology and immense resources—had ultimately become the enemy's weapon and stage.
That silent gaze from across the sea.
That final, deliberate nod.
They struck his pride like an invisible slap.
It hadn't been provocation.
It had felt closer to… pity.
A quiet declaration of how small humanity's current strength truly was.
"Sir…"
A young adjutant cautiously broke the silence. His voice sounded painfully loud in the empty bridge.
"The Global Council emergency session is about to begin."
"We need your final confirmation regarding the target's threat classification."
"Should we designate it as the highest-level hostile entity?"
Mark did not turn.
He stared at the distant engineering ships recovering fragments of the monster from the sea.
For a long time he said nothing—so long the adjutant wondered if he had heard at all.
Finally, Mark slowly shook his head.
"Change the codename from 'Unknown Giant Lifeform'… to G."
His voice was hoarse.
"Threat level… undetermined."
The adjutant froze.
"Undetermined."
That word almost never appeared in EUC military doctrine.
It represented hesitation.
And uncertainty.
At the other end of the bridge, Ellie Solen was completely absorbed in her scientific console.
On the screen, a complex energy spectrum resembling a galaxy rotated repeatedly through analysis algorithms.
It was the most complete data fragment she had captured—seconds before G teleported away.
The results made her body go cold.
Then excitement surged through her.
The energy fluctuations did not match any known physical model.
They were neither mechanical nor purely energetic.
Instead…
They resembled something eerily organic.
Like the breathing.
The heartbeat.
Of an unimaginably large lifeform.
She instantly understood what this meant.
If the hawks on the council obtained this data, they would stop at nothing to capture G—pin him down like a rare butterfly and dissect every secret he possessed.
Her scientific instinct—and her conscience as a human being—made the decision for her.
Her fingers moved rapidly across the console.
She copied the core data into a private encrypted archive.
Then she activated triple-layer physical isolation.
Only after that did she edit the official combat report, removing the crucial spectral information.
All that remained were vague anomalies.
Nothing conclusive.
During the emergency global conference that followed, the council chairman questioned her directly.
Ellie calmly adjusted her glasses.
"G's energy system is extremely unusual."
"It cannot be explained by any existing theory."
"His teleportation mechanism also exceeds our current understanding."
"We require significantly more time to analyze the data."
Her carefully neutral response weakened the doves' arguments.
In the end, the hawks pushed through a resolution by overwhelming majority:
Continue accelerating the Titan Project.
And elevate the global surveillance network for G to the highest level.
After the meeting, Ellie returned alone to her mobile laboratory.
She opened a new encrypted research project.
In the title bar she typed slowly:
"Searching for G's Human Connection Point."
Outside the cold machinery of the war machine, she would pursue the truth alone.
Meanwhile, the shockwaves of the Siren operation spread across the world at the speed of light.
The internet exploded.
Fanaticism and fear tore public opinion into two extremes.
Several religious groups and occult communities even founded something called the Church of the Giant of Light.
Images of the giant lifting the Leviathan were turned into digital icons.
Within twelve hours, the movement gathered over a million followers.
At the same time, politicians and elite scholars led the opposing narrative.
The editorial page of Global Focus displayed a bold headline:
"The Sword of Damocles Now Hangs Over Humanity."
"Our fate must not depend on a capricious god."
Beneath the chaos, another voice quietly emerged.
On tokusatsu fan forums and military simulation communities, a group of enthusiasts—nicknamed "Lore Analysts"—began dissecting every frame of the battle footage.
One post went viral:
[Technical Analysis] Stop arguing. That wasn't brute-force wrestling.
"Ultraman executed a textbook double-leg takedown followed by a shoulder throw."
"The weight transfer and center-of-gravity control clearly indicate training in jiu-jitsu or MMA."
"This proves his combat techniques originate from human martial arts."
Another analysis:
[Detail Investigation] Ultraman absolutely knows monster weak points.
"In London he only drove Gesura away—because he was exhausted."
"But in Dover, with more stamina, he targeted the dorsal fin immediately."
"He either knew the weakness beforehand or possesses extremely high tactical learning ability."
A third thread examined his body structure.
[Body Comparison Study]
"He's not identical to Lipiah from Shin Ultraman."
"My modeling analysis shows his proportions resemble the original Ultraman much more closely—though more muscular."
"However, he shares one trait with Lipiah."
No color timer.
"If that means he has no time limit… that's terrifying."
These detailed discussions spread across the internet like wildfire.
They made Ultraman less mythical—
But far more real.
And therefore far more awe-inspiring.
Even EUC intelligence departments archived the discussions.
One conclusion stood out:
Codename G's human host is likely a tokusatsu enthusiast skilled in human combat techniques and knowledgeable about monster weaknesses.
In Yangjibang, the atmosphere inside the temporary headquarters of YAC Group Asia was as cold as the waters of Dover.
Sara Kim pushed a holographic proposal onto the conference table.
Her voice trembled with emotion.
"Father, we must speak out."
"The Dawn Mutual Aid Association should publicly support Ultraman."
"He saved Yangjibang. We owe him that much."
At the head of the table sat Kim Min-jun, YAC chairman.
He didn't even glance at the proposal.
He calmly lifted his tea cup and blew on it.
"Sara."
His voice was steady.
But absolute.
"We are merchants. Not politicians."
"YAC's strength lies in neutrality and logistics efficiency."
"That 'Ultraman' is currently the most unstable political factor in the world."
"The EUC wants to control him. The public wants to worship him."
"If we involve ourselves, does it benefit the company?"
"This is about morality!" Sara argued.
"Humanity!"
"We can't enjoy the peace he brings while ignoring the criticism he faces!"
"Morality doesn't keep our cargo ships afloat in storms."
"Humanity doesn't raise stock prices."
Kim Min-jun placed the cup down.
His gaze turned icy.
"Your task is disaster relief and reconstruction."
"Those are our products."
"They bring reputation, tax reductions, and government contracts."
"But supporting a figure even the EUC fears?"
"That's gambling."
"And foolish."
"Proposal rejected."
"Do not bring it up again."
Sara looked at her father's emotionless face.
For the first time, she truly understood something.
The Dawn banner she proudly carried was still bound by cold corporate logic.
Shen Yong woke with a splitting headache.
He didn't know how long he had been unconscious.
The last thing he remembered was teleporting back to his apartment before the darkness swallowed him whole.
He struggled to his feet.
His body felt hollow.
This wasn't ordinary fatigue.
It felt like something had been drained from the core of his existence.
Standing before the mirror, he froze.
His face was pale.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
He looked years older.
He blamed it on the strain of intercontinental teleportation and intense combat.
But deep down, unease lingered.
When he opened his terminal, the world flooded in.
Hero worship.
Fear.
Debates.
Even videos of his Dawn coworkers cheering on construction sites.
But what chilled him most were the analytical posts by tokusatsu fans.
They had reconstructed his techniques.
His body type.
His tactics.
They meant no harm.
He knew that.
He would have done the same.
But now—
He was the Ultraman being dissected frame by frame.
He felt like an actor wearing a mask before a global audience.
And the audience had begun recognizing the face beneath it.
The hero identity had become a cage.
If he were caught, Shen Yong knew exactly what awaited him.
"Should I even transform again next time…?"
The excitement he once felt had cooled.
Now there was only risk.
He stood at the window, staring at the slowly rebuilding skyline.
Lost in thought.
Several hundred meters away, atop a skyscraper across the street—
A tall figure in a perfectly tailored black suit stood silently.
He looked elegant.
Almost timeless.
As if he had been waiting there for centuries.
His gaze pierced through walls and distance.
Directly into Shen Yong's weary soul.
He saw the weakening cells.
The fading vitality.
A faint smile curved across his lips.
Part pity.
Part mockery.
In a voice only he could hear, he murmured like a doctor delivering a final diagnosis.
"A prototype that barely works…"
"And yet such an extraordinary Spacium particle conversion efficiency."
"What a shame."
"The fuel source is life itself."
He chuckled softly.
"What a magnificent…"
"…and tragically brief firework."
"Let's see, human."
"Before you burn out…"
"How brightly can you still shine?"
"This play is becoming far more entertaining."