Chapter 24: Operation Rescue
Shiraishi’s private lab was silent, save for the soft hum of the data lattice rotating in the air before him — a three-dimensional helix of Kyle’s genome, rendered in violet and silver light.
He stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed.
The anomaly pulsed at the center of the strand — a dormant sequence, buried deep in non-coding regions, invisible to standard scans. But Shiraishi had known where to look.
Because he’d seen it before.
He tapped a command into the console. The lattice expanded, cross-referencing archived black-site genomes. A moment later, the system chimed.
MATCH FOUND: SUBJECT KL‑3
CLASSIFICATION: TERMINATED
STATUS: DECEASED
Shiraishi’s breath caught.
“No,” he whispered. “That project was incinerated.”
He pulled up the metadata. The match was perfect. The same subject.
Alive.
Unchanged.
Unaware.
He turned to the side monitor, where surveillance footage from the pier played on loop. Frame by frame, he watched Kyle’s Chi ignite — not raw or wild like a typical magical outburst, but focused. Shaped. Refined.
The violet energy lashed out from his ruined arm, carving through the Akaname’s tongue with surgical precision.
Shiraishi leaned closer.
The creature had recoiled. Not from pain — but from recognition.
He rewound the footage. Watched again.
The Akaname had hesitated.
It had seen something in Kyle. Something it remembered.
Shiraishi’s fingers hovered over the console.
He opened a secondary file — Subject #108’s neural imprint logs. The creature’s Chi response patterns had shifted since the last encounter. More focused. Less erratic. It had begun to anticipate Kotomi’s aura signatures. It had learned.
Because of her.
Because of him.
Shiraishi’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “So that’s what you are.”
He turned toward the shadows.
“Hitomi.”
A figure stepped forward — a girl in her early 20s, dressed in black, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her movements were too smooth, too silent. A puppet with a pulse.
Shiraishi didn’t look at her.
“Prepare the jet. We’re going to New York.”
A pause.
Then, almost to himself: “That monster should’ve died with the others.”
He turned back to the console, eyes hardening.
“Nanashi,” he said into the comm. “Begin the extraction. Remove the girl’s heart ahead of schedule.”
Nanashi’s voice crackled with hesitation. “Sir? That wasn’t the timeline—”
“I’m altering it,” Shiraishi snapped. “We’ve gathered enough data. The Akaname is responding to her now. We no longer need her alive.”
He hesitated.
Then added, colder:
“If Subject KL‑3 resists… kill him on the spot.”
He cut the line.
The genome lattice continued to spin, the anomaly pulsing at its core like a buried star.
Shiraishi stared at it.
And for the first time in years, he felt something close to fear.
***
The corridor buzzed with static and tension.
Kyle stood at the junction, katana strapped across his back, the intercom in his ear crackling with Luna’s voice as she relayed schematics from the command post. The facility’s emergency lights pulsed red, casting long shadows across the walls. Every second counted.
“We split here,” Minami said, already tapping into a wall panel. “Kotaro, Kokoro — take Detective Doka and head for the extraction point. Sebastian’s cleared a path through the maintenance tunnels. You’ll have five minutes before the next patrol sweeps through.”
Kotaro nodded, looping Doka’s arm over his shoulder. “We’ve got him.”
Doka looked to Kyle, his face pale but steady. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve been the one to save her.”
Kyle shook his head. “You kept her alive. That’s more than enough.”
Doka’s eyes glistened. “Bring her back.”
“I will.”
Kokoro gave Kyle a quick hug — fierce and wordless — before turning to follow Kotaro down the corridor. Their footsteps faded into the hum of the vents.
Masayuki cracked his knuckles. “Guess that leaves the two of us.”
Kyle glanced at Minami. “And you?”
She didn’t look up from the panel. “I’ve got something to finish.”
Kyle frowned. “You’re going alone?”
Minami finally turned, her expression unreadable. “I always have.”
He wanted to argue. But this was Minami — the same girl who once walked into a dragon’s den alone because she “didn’t like waiting for backup.”
“Just don’t die,” he said.
She smirked. “You too.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into the shadows like a ghost.
Kyle exhaled, the silence settling around him like dust.
Masayuki clapped him on the back. “You ready?”
Kyle adjusted the grip on his sword. “Not even a little.”
“Perfect,” Masayuki said. “Let’s go ruin someone’s day.”
They turned toward the surgical wing.
And ran.
The corridor narrowed into a steel artery — dimly lit, lined with flickering panels and sealed doors. Kyle and Masayuki moved in sync, boots silent against the floor, intercoms crackling with Luna’s updates.
“Two more turns,” she said. “Then you’ll hit the surgical wing’s outer ring. No movement on thermal yet, but—”
Gunfire erupted.
Kyle dove left. Masayuki rolled right.
White-clad figures poured from hidden alcoves — a dozen, maybe more. Their faces were masked, their movements precise. Some carried rifles. Others drew blades that shimmered like magic.
“Scratch that,” Luna muttered. “You’ve got company.”
Kyle pressed his back to the wall, breath sharp. “How the hell did they flank us?”
“Does it matter?” Masayuki called from across the hall, already drawing his blade. “You take left. I’ll take right.”
Kyle nodded, unsheathing the reforged katana. The blade pulsed faintly in his grip — not as wild as before, but not calm either. Like it was waiting to see what he’d do.
The Men in White advanced.
The first volley of bullets screamed down the corridor.
Kyle deflected what he could, ducked the rest. Sparks flew as rounds ricocheted off the walls. He moved on instinct — slashing, dodging, pivoting — but he was slower than before. Off-balance. His missing arm threw off his rhythm.
Masayuki, meanwhile, danced.
He weaved through the chaos like a ghost, blade flashing in arcs of silver and blue. His Chi flared — not wild, but precise, like lightning braided into steel. He parried a sword, spun, and dropped three men in a single breath.
Kyle grunted, barely deflecting a strike. “You make it look easy.”
Masayuki didn’t look back. “That’s because it is.”
Another wave surged forward.
Kyle and Masayuki stood back to back now, surrounded.
Masayuki exhaled. “You’re breathing too hard.”
“I’m missing an arm.”
“Excuses.”
The Men in White raised their rifles.
A dozen muzzles locked on.
Masayuki didn’t flinch.
He raised his blade.
Electric Chi surged down the steel — crackling, coiling, humming with power.
The world slowed.
The bullets fired.
Masayuki moved.
One stroke.
One breath.
The bullets split midair — halved cleanly, harmlessly — falling to the floor in a rain of metal petals.
The Men in White froze.
Then collapsed.
Kyle stared, stunned.
Masayuki sheathed his sword with a click. “Tapping into Chi is child’s play,” he said. “Mastering it? That’s art.”
More footsteps echoed from deeper in the hall.
Masayuki turned. “Go.”
Kyle hesitated. “You sure?”
Masayuki grinned. “I’m not the one she’s waiting for.”
Kyle nodded, heart pounding.
He ran.
Kyle skidded to a halt.
The hallway ended in a blank wall — smooth, seamless, no doors, no panels, no vents. Just cold steel and silence.
He stared.
Then turned in a slow circle.
Nothing.
“Luna,” he said into the intercom, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “You said this was the right corridor.”
“It is,” she replied. “You should be standing in front of a reinforced access door.”
“There’s no door.”
A pause.
Then Renji’s voice cut in, exasperated. “What do you mean there’s no door? There’s always a door. That’s how secret labs work!”
Kyle pressed his hand to the wall. Solid. No give. No seams.
“Maybe it’s cloaked,” Luna muttered. “Or sealed from the inside.”
“Or,” Renji said, “it’s a classic manga setup. Final boss always hides behind a fake wall. Protagonist finds it by accident. It’s a trope.”
“This isn’t a manga,” Luna snapped.
“Tell that to the guy with the magic sword and missing arm.”
Kyle tuned them out.
There — a whisper of air, brushing his cheek. He leaned in, eyes narrowing. A hairline crack ran along the edge of the wall, barely visible. But the air was moving. Something was behind it.
He stepped back.
Gripped the katana.
His Chi flared — not wild, but focused, like a breath held steady.
He raised the blade.
And cut.
The steel hissed as the katana sliced through it, clean and silent. The wall split open, revealing a narrow passage bathed in sterile white light.
Kyle stepped through.
And stopped.
At the far end of the room, suspended in a vertical stasis cradle, was Kotomi.
Her eyes were closed. Her hair floated around her like ink in water. Electrodes traced her arms and spine. Her aura flickered faintly — jade and dim, like a dying ember.
Kyle’s breath caught.
“Kotomi…”
She didn’t stir.
But her aura pulsed — once, faintly — in response.
He stepped forward, sword lowering.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I kept my promise.”
The room was too quiet.
Kyle stepped closer, boots echoing against the sterile floor. The stasis cradle holding Kotomi was suspended in a column of light, her body floating in a nutrient solution that shimmered faintly with jade. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pale, peaceful — too peaceful.
He reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed his palm to the glass.
“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s me.”
No response.
He swallowed. “I’m sorry I took so long.”
The intercom crackled in his ear. Luna’s voice came through, hushed and urgent. “We’re reading a spike in energy—something is moving. Fast.”
Kyle ignored it.
He closed his eyes, focused on the tether between them — the invisible thread of Chi that had always hummed between their souls. He let his own aura rise, just enough to touch hers.
“Come back,” he whispered. “Please.”
A flicker.
Her fingers twitched.
Then her eyes opened.
Jade irises met his.
“Kyle…” Her voice was barely audible, but it was hers.
He smiled, relief crashing through him like a wave. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
She blinked slowly, disoriented. “Where…?”
“Shiraishi had you. But we’re getting out. Everyone’s here. Your dad—he’s alive. He’s waiting for you.”
Her eyes widened. “My dad…?”
Kyle reached for the release panel.
Then stopped.
A sound echoed behind him.
Wet. Familiar.
A dragging scrape across tile.
His blood ran cold.
He turned.
The Akaname stood in the doorway.
Its plating gleamed under the surgical lights, reinforced and restructured. Its tongue twitched, longer than before, tipped with a surgical needle. Its eyes locked onto Kotomi.
Then shifted to Kyle.
Kyle stepped in front of the cradle, drawing his katana.
Kotomi’s voice was weak but sharp. “That thing… it’s back?”
Kyle didn’t look away from the creature. “Yeah. But I’m not running this time.”
The Akaname lunged.
And the room erupted into light.
