"Traitor!" "This is outright betrayal—treason against the state! He must be executed without mercy!"
A pair of glasses was violently hurled against the control console, shattering into a spray of shards. Inside the Special Operations Command Room, a suffocating silence blanketed the space. Every pair of eyes was glued to the screen before them, as if willing it to reveal a miracle.
"D-Director, the Prime Minister is calling."
A trembling officer handed over a secure phone line—an internal government-only connection, impervious to eavesdropping.
"It's me, Takegami Haruhide!"
On any normal day, even the Director of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department would never speak so brashly to the Prime Minister. But now, collar loosened and tie undone, Director Takegami had no patience left for formalities.
"Takegami-kun, calm yourself," came the Prime Minister's composed voice from the receiver. "Anger solves nothing. This is a situation we were always going to face sooner or later."
"I understand, Prime Minister," muttered Takegami, massaging his temples. Of course he knew. Japan might nominally be a sovereign state, but what sovereign nation houses 140 foreign military bases within its borders? Whose capital is under foreign military occupation?
From the moment the existence of supernatural entities came to light, it was only a matter of time before America found out.
"But I didn't expect it to happen this fast!"
What frustrated Takegami the most was how swiftly America had reacted. Clearly, someone with high-level access had leaked the information. Without insider knowledge, not even the United States would have believed such a thing at face value.
"We'll deal with the traitor later," said the Prime Minister coldly. "Right now, can the target be eliminated?"
Takegami froze for a moment, then quickly understood. If Japan couldn't have it, then America certainly mustn't either.
Despite propaganda painting America as a benevolent protector, the truth was less flattering. Many in Japan's elite viewed America with deep resentment. Why? Because no one wants to be a dog when they could be a man.
And America had been leeching off Japan for decades.
Even if not for national pride, the financial losses alone were unacceptable.
"Sorry... it's too late."
Takegami glanced at the surveillance monitor and sighed.
Ratatatatata—
Classic UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters thundered through the night sky, circling above Kita-Senju Town. Machine guns glinted ominously from their open doors.
"Those are... American Black Hawks?"
The streets below had already been discreetly evacuated. The remaining figures were undercover officers from the Metropolitan Police.
"Why are they here?" "Wait... is the U.S. military deploying troops here?"
As the helicopters hovered and ropes unfurled, the expressions of the undercover officers turned from confusion to dread.
Thud, thud, thud—
Fully armed American soldiers rappelled down in perfect formation, quickly establishing a tactical perimeter. Their weapons covered every Japanese officer present. The scene reeked of imminent bloodshed.
"May I ask who—"
The on-site police commander stepped forward, trying to negotiate in English.
"Military operation. No comment," barked the leading white American major, cutting off the conversation cold.
He wasn't exaggerating. Legally, U.S. forces did have jurisdiction to carry out military operations here. Why?
Because Tokyo's airspace belonged to America.
Yes, there exists a zone known as the Yokota Airspace, controlled entirely by the United States. The Yokota Air Base was the command center of the U.S. Forces in Japan. Within this zone, Japanese aircraft needed explicit U.S. permission to fly—otherwise, they'd face consequences for interfering with U.S. operations.
This forced Japanese planes to detour long routes, burning extra fuel—costs conveniently passed on to consumers.
The airspace included nearly all of Tokyo and seven surrounding prefectures. U.S. aircraft had unrestricted access to take off and land—privileges denied even to Japan's Self-Defense Forces.
"You—"
Before the police commander could protest, an American soldier thrust a gun in his face.
"OK, OK..."
He had no choice but to raise his hands and retreat. What else could he do—block an American bullet with his forehead?
"Damn it!"
From a nearby ramen shop, Iori Ichika stepped out, immediately confronted by a wall of gun barrels. She clenched her fists—but slowly let them go.
Yes, she had medaled in international karate tournaments. Yes, she had placed highly in police shooting competitions. But against a barrage of rifles, her flesh and bone would be shredded instantly.
If only I had supernatural powers...
"Move!"
The American major barked, forcing Ichika to step aside. Behind her stood a grim-faced Wataru Tanimura.
"Fire!"
Without another word, the Americans opened fire.
Pop-pop-pop-pop—
Before Tanimura could react, over a dozen tranquilizer darts had already pierced his body. The powerful sedatives coursed through him. Even for someone with supernatural abilities, his knees began to buckle.
Whish, whish, whish—
Next came the nets—metal mesh launched from net-guns, strong enough to restrain lions or tigers.
Thud.
Encased in netting and full of darts, Tanimura finally collapsed.
"Hah. Supernatural?"
The American major sneered and motioned to his men. Heavily armed soldiers surrounded the fallen figure.
"Grrr... GRAWR...!"
Despite being shot and captured, Tanimura was still conscious, teeth bared in a savage snarl.
"Take him."
He still struggled, but the major nodded in satisfaction.
Werewolves actually existed.
But somehow, this one looked more like a dog—
RIP!
Just as the Americans prepared to haul him away and the Japanese officers watched helplessly—chaos erupted.
A Shiba Inu leapt forward, its claws slicing through the American major's throat like paper. Flesh and bone were nothing before those talons.
His head flew, blood fountained.
The dog's form swelled grotesquely, morphing into a half-human, half-beast monstrosity.
"Damn American pigs—!"
Fluent and furious Japanese echoed as the creature—revealed to be Tanimura—charged at the stunned soldiers.
"Within seven steps, the gun wins. Beyond that, it's the knife."
But those rules didn't apply to monsters.
With supernatural speed that would make a cheetah jealous, Tanimura became a blur and tore through the enemy ranks.
Splat! Splat! Splat!
Claws raked through arms, sending rifles and hands into the air. Fangs clamped down on necks, leaving gaping, bowl-sized holes.
With his monstrous physique, Tanimura unleashed a storm of carnage among the troops.
Limbs flew, blood sprayed, screams echoed.
He might've accepted working under the Japanese government. But falling into American hands—famous for their obsession with dissection and experimentation? Never. Not when their first response was to open fire.
He had to risk it all.
Using a Beast Clone Technique, he'd swapped places with a Shiba Inu while disguising himself as the decoy. Now, the real Tanimura had erupted into a frenzy.
"Open fire! Open fire! Open fire!"
The Americans weren't helpless. They retaliated quickly—but most of their weapons were non-lethal. Though some had live rounds, by the time they drew them, the street was already strewn with guts and body parts.
From afar, the commanding U.S. general—monitoring via Black Hawk drones—raged.
"Gunship crews, prepare to engage!"
If they couldn't retrieve a live specimen, a corpse would do.
If Tanimura escaped, even a general like him would have to face consequences back home.
As the helicopters turned, aiming their heavy weapons downward—
Fog.
A thick white mist suddenly surged like boiling steam from underground, blanketing all of Kita-Senju's 1-chome district. It spread with terrifying speed: 10 meters, 100 meters, 1000 meters. Within seconds, visibility dropped to nothing.
What the hell?
The fog had appeared too suddenly, too intensely. It swallowed the circling helicopters whole.
"Oh, fuck!" "Shit..."
Swish—
Just as the pilots tried to ascend—
Sheets of white paper glided up from the mist, slipping silently through open hatches.
A flash of silver passed beneath helmets.
Throat-slash.
Paper shuriken.