At the same time, opportunistic politicians began flooding the streets too—waving banners, chanting anti‑NERV slogans, and stirring up the crowd.
For the leaderless masses, this gave them a rallying point. The protests grew louder, more intense, more frenzied.
Even television networks began covering the events in full—this all felt eerily premeditated, monumental, unstoppable.
---
In a nearby office, a plastic teacup shattered against the floor into hundreds of fragments.
The person who threw it was Misato Katsuragi—her fury scorching.
"Damn it! These shameless politicians! Without NERV, humanity would've ceased to exist!"
She turned to a staffer nearby:
"Have you contacted Commander Ikari yet?!"
"No… not yet. The Eighth Angel's interference disrupted all transmissions. There's still no signal."
The staff member swallowed nervously.
"Commander Katsuragi… what do we do now?"
"What do I know?" Misato snapped back.
She hadn't been home for days—effectively trapped by protesters at her own doorstep. The crowd, like a parasitic infestation, only swelled in numbers. They stayed at NERV's entrance day and night, organized and relentless.
At the protest's forefront stood a middle-aged man carrying a banner, leading the chants. The crowd chanted after him in waves of anger.
After the chanting subsided, he stepped aside. A follower leaned forward:
"Speaker!"
The man wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
"What is it?"
It was none other than Chairman Kōjirō Hattori—clearly orchestrating this entire demonstration.
An aide replied with a bow:
"Sir, everything is in motion. We've bribed NERV staff. As soon as any internal info leaks, TV networks across Japan will broadcast it immediately."
Hattori nodded, satisfied.
"Very good. Notify me at once if NERV shows any movement."
The aide nodded discreetly and slipped away.
Hattori leaned back, a smile spreading across his face.
Everything was in place—he only needed NERV to make a mistake.
Once they did, media coverage would magnify the incident, and public opinion would cast NERV as reckless. His past vocal opposition to NERV would then lend him credibility and earn political capital.
With public outrage on his side, the Prime Minister's seat would be within reach.
---
Meanwhile, Misato's rage boiled over.
"How clueless are these people? If it weren't for NERV, they'd be dead a million times over! They're ignorant idiots!"
She thumped the table in frustration, but also knew things couldn't continue this way.
Turning to Maya:
"Have we identified the source of the flyers yet?"
Maya, Ritsuko's assistant and a MAGI operator, clearly felt uncomfortable.
"I… I'm sorry, Commander. I still haven't found a trace of who started them. I've been working on it, but—"
Misato shook her head.
"It's not on you. No one could have hidden this so well. Whoever orchestrated it wasn't ordinary."
A sinking feeling settled into her gut—a rising, almost instinctual dread.
---
In the days after, public sentiment rapidly worsened.
Rumors swirled. Rumors of NERV's wrongdoing reached every corner of Tokyo‑3. Citizen protests became daily events.
And NERV said nothing. Doors remained shut. No public statements. This silence only fueled the outrage.
Misato watched the spiraling chaos, a mixture of dread and determination in her eyes.
NERV was now leaderless. Ikari and Fuyutsuki still hadn't returned. Technically, Misato was the highest ranking officer—but only nominally. Her domain was tactical—not political.
Without guidance from higher, the organization was paralyzed.
Misato compared this to being in boiling water—every day brought new chaos.
And behind it all, an unseen force guided the protest, feeding it into a crescendo.
More protesters joined daily. Parades marched. Anger boiled into rebellion.
The government? It remained silent—seemingly complicit in ignoring it all.
This was unbearable.
---
Despite the uproar, Ryota Kitazawa remained calm and observant.
Even as colleagues urged him to stop Misato from storming out to the protests, he did not intercede. He understood Misato's need to shout back at mounting injustice.
Above all, he was curious—which force was really behind this chaos? His sights rested firmly on Kōjirō Hattori.
Ryota's silence—his measured composure—drawn from confidence.
He knew confronting the real puppet masters would take more than words.
He simply watched as Misato stormed toward the communications center, gripping a megaphone, ready to address the protest.
Because in this storm, someone had to lead—and for now, that someone was Misato.
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