It was Ren, the family's young, perpetually stressed butler. Ren, despite being only a few years Ryouta's senior, carried the weight of the entire household on his shoulders, because the Ashikaga family, with their roots in ancient martial arts and a ruthless pragmatism, had built their empire on technological weapons, including Atomic Nanoforge Combat System, Quantum Field Manipulation - QFM, or Quantum Blade: Singularity Edge... They also control over vital infrastructure. They held patents on cutting-edge energy sources, controlled vast communication networks, and even had a hand in developing advanced weaponryor so it seemed. Today, his brow was furrowed into a deep V, and his usually impeccable hair was slightly askew – a sure sign of extreme vexation.
Ryouta just grunted, tossing his backpack onto a nearby antique chaise lounge. "What's the big deal, Ren? I just got back."
Ren practically vibrated with indignation. "The big deal, young master, is that I had to beg, beg your grandfather for hours to even let you step foot outside this morning! I painted a picture of you enjoying a scholarly outing, perhaps visiting a museum, or... or engaging in some other suitably refined activity. And what do I find out? You've been cavorting with those gangsters! Street thugs, Ryouta! How am I supposed to explain this to your mother when she returns?"
Ryouta waved a dismissive hand. "Chill, Ren. They're not 'gangsters.' Just some... acquaintances. I wasn't doing anything stupid to blow my cover, if that's what you're worried about." He leaned against a polished marble pillar, a smirk playing on his lips. "You really think I'd be that careless?"
Ren let out a long, theatrical sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Careless or not, it's a risk we can't afford. The family's reputation, your safety... everything is at stake." He fixed Ryouta with a piercing stare, a silent plea for him to understand the gravity of the situation. "Just... try to be more mindful, Ryouta. Please."
Ryouta merely shrugged, a picture of insouciance. "Yeah, yeah, got it."
As Ryouta casually strolled towards his room, Ren's gaze lingered on his retreating back. A subtle nod to one of the nearby maids, seemingly dusting a vase, conveyed an unspoken command. The maid gave an almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, a tiny earpiece barely visible. Ryouta, of course, noticed. He always did. The "casual stroll" was just an act, a way to gauge Ren's reaction.
He smirked to himself as he entered his room, the door clicking shut behind him. Rookies. They thought they were so discreet. He knew exactly how many eyes were on him at any given moment. But they didn't know about his little secret.
Reaching under his bed, Ryouta pulled out a small, sleek device, no bigger than a smartphone. It was a marvel of his family's clandestine technology, a prototype he'd "borrowed" without permission. The "Null-Field Emitter," as it was codenamed, was designed to do one thing: make you disappear from the senses. Not literally, but effectively. It generated a localized interference field, scrambling not just electronic surveillance but also, remarkably, even heightened human senses and low-level supernatural abilities. Within a one-mile radius, it was like stepping into a personal void. No one could pinpoint your location, track your movements, or even sense your presence. It was the ultimate stealth tool.
The two figures, clad in practical dark clothing, moved with practiced ease through the estate grounds. They were Ren's best, trained in observation and discreet pursuit. For the first ten minutes, it was almost too easy. Ryouta's shadow, long and lanky in the moonlight, was clearly visible as he skirted the rose garden, then cut across the sprawling back lawn towards the outer wall. They communicated in hushed whispers through their earpieces, a constant stream of "He's by the old oak," and "Now heading towards the east gate." Their confidence was palpable. Ryouta was good, but they were better. They thought.
Then, things started to get weird.
"He's... near the greenhouse," the first operative, a woman named Akari, murmured into her mic, her brow furrowing. "Wait, no. He was just there. Now... he's gone."
Her partner, Kenji, frowned. "Gone? What do you mean 'gone'? My heat signature still shows him by the fountain. Just a faint reading, but it's there."
"Mine's flickered out completely," Akari replied, her voice tingeing with confusion. "And the motion sensors just went dead in that sector. Faulty, maybe?"
A beat of silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets. They moved closer, their steps more cautious now. The air felt... odd. Not cold, not warm, just subtly off. Like a hum you couldn't quite hear, but you could feel in your teeth.
"My night vision is getting fuzzy," Kenji reported, squinting into the darkness. "Almost like... static? But there's no interference." He tapped his high-tech goggles, but the image remained distorted, a shimmering haze where Ryouta should have been.
Akari, relying on her heightened senses, usually sharper than any tech, felt a growing unease. The faint scent of Ryouta's expensive cologne, which she'd been tracking, had simply evaporated. The subtle rustle of leaves that indicated his movement had vanished. It wasn't just that she couldn't see him; she couldn't sense him. His very presence seemed to have been erased. It was like he'd stepped into a pocket of non-existence.
"He's not there, Kenji," Akari said, her voice low and tense. "He's just... not. Check your comms. Are we being jammed?"
Kenji cycled through frequencies, but everything was clear on their end. "No jamming. No signal disruption. It's like... he just phased out of reality." He sounded genuinely baffled, a rare occurrence for the stoic operative.
They fanned out, their movements now less about pursuit and more about frantic searching. They swept the area with every piece of detection equipment they had, from infrared to sonic sensors. Nothing. The ground was clear, the bushes still, the air empty. It was as if Ryouta had never been there. Their internal tracking systems, which had been linked to a discreet chip they believed Ryouta carried (a failsafe Ren had insisted upon), were now registering nothing but an erratic, meaningless blip, as if the chip itself had ceased to exist.
A cold dread began to settle over them....