"A negotiation begins not with a handshake, but with the first truth that both sides agree is a lie."
– The Columbian Principles of Commerce, Vol. III
RIKU'S APARTMENT - SATURDAY MORNING, 8:00 AM
Riku's heart beat a cold, steady drum.
It was a rhythm of controlled anticipation.
The nervous anxiety from his previous encounters was gone. It had been burned away, replaced by the hyper-focused clarity of a strategist.
He hadn't slept. He had prepared.
His mind was used to dissecting complex financial markets. But he had spent the night war-gaming every possible conversational gambit. He outlined every objective. He anticipated every counter-argument.
His goal was not just to survive this meeting.
It was to leave with a partnership.
........
KOYAMA MARKETING TOWER - 9:55 AM
The glass doors of the tower slid open with a soft, expensive hiss.
The lobby was a cathedral of polished marble and brushed steel. It soared upwards towards a ceiling of recessed, invisible lights. The entire space was bathed in a cool, artificial glow.
This was a place designed to communicate power. Wealth. Unshakable control.
This was Arakawa's territory.
Riku announced himself at the reception desk, a floating slab of white marble. A young woman with an impeccably polite, yet utterly impassive, demeanor directed him to the twenty-third floor.
The elevator was a silent, rapid ascent. The city shrank below him.
When the doors opened, he stepped into the design department. It was a vast, quiet space, rendered in the same sleek, minimalist style as the lobby.
Arakawa's personal office was a glass-walled cube at the far corner. It looked out over the sprawling expanse of the city. He stood by the window, a lean silhouette against the bright sky.
He turned. He did not offer a greeting. He gestured toward one of two black leather chairs before his stark, empty desk.
The desk itself was a testament to his philosophy. No papers. No personal items. Just a single, sleek fountain pen on a polished stone coaster.
"Close the door," Arakawa said.
His voice was calm, measured. It held a formidable, controlled intensity.
Riku did as he was told. The heavy glass door clicked shut, sealing them inside.
........
"I read your brief, Hayashi-san," Arakawa began, taking his seat.
He steepled his fingers. His sharp eyes pinned Riku in place.
"It was very well-written. The language was… specific."
He paused. The silence felt heavier than words.
"The problem is, I don't believe a word of it."
Riku remained silent. His face was a neutral mask. He had anticipated this.
"You are not a hobbyist," Arakawa continued, his voice low and cutting. "Hobbyists are messy. You are precise. You are a professional pretending to be an amateur. And you are not as good at it as you think."
He leaned forward. "So, we will dispense with the story. I want the truth."
"Who are you? And how do you know about Prometheus?"
This was the moment.
Riku met Arakawa's gaze. He couldn't give him the real truth. The old lie was no longer an option. He chose a third path.
"You're right," Riku said softly. "The brochure is not the real project. It is a key. A key I had to build to get through this door."
Arakawa's expression didn't change. But Riku saw a flicker of genuine intrigue in his eyes. He was listening.
"Who I am is not important," Riku continued. "My past is irrelevant. What I am is a person with a unique perspective."
"I have access to analysis. I have information. It suggests the work you and Takeda Masaru started was not a failure. It was simply ahead of its time."
"I believe the core idea of Prometheus OS is about to become the single most valuable concept in the global economy. And the window to bring it back is closing fast."
He let the words settle. He was offering Arakawa a validation of his past. A chance to reclaim his lost dream.
Arakawa was silent for a long time, studying Riku's face. "You talk about a dead project with a lot of certainty," he said finally. "What is your stake in this?"
"Because I believe great ideas shouldn't be forgotten," Riku said. His voice carried a deeper conviction. "And because there is a fortune to be made for the people brave enough to resurrect it."
The mention of money was a deliberate anchor.
........
Arakawa leaned back. A slow, calculated smile touched his lips. It was the smile of a predator who had found a worthy opponent.
"Alright, Hayashi-san," he purred. "I'm interested. Not in your stories. In your proposition."
"But if we move forward, we do so on my terms. My rules."
Riku nodded. "I'm listening."
"Rule number one," Arakawa said, holding up a single finger. "No more lies. We speak directly, or we don't speak at all. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Rule number two," he continued. "I lead all aspects of design. My vision. My control. No compromises."
"That's why I came to you," Riku confirmed.
"And rule number three," Arakawa said, his voice quieter. The predatory glint in his eyes was replaced by something raw. "Takeda. He was my partner. My friend. If we find him, we do it my way. With respect. Understood?"
"Understood."
........
"Good."
Arakawa stood and pulled a thin folder from a filing cabinet. He slid a single, faded photograph across the desk.
It showed a younger Arakawa and another man with wild hair. The man had a brilliant fire in his eyes. Takeda Masaru.
"When Prometheus collapsed, Takeda took it hard," Arakawa said quietly. "He vanished. He said the corporate world was a cage."
He tapped the photo. "Takeda had one obsession outside of coding: classic Columbian arcade games. He loved their purity."
Arakawa's eyes grew sharp again. "It's a long shot. But if he's still in Torai, he might have surfaced in that world. There's only one district that still repairs those old boards: the backstreets of Nishi-Ogikubo."
He leaned against his desk. "So, here is your first test, Hayashi-san. Go to Nishi-Ogikubo. Show his picture around. See if anyone has seen this ghost."
"Let's see if you're any good at hunting."
The meeting was over.
Riku stood, taking the photograph. It was a test. It was also the first concrete step on the path he had fought so hard to find.
"I'll find him," Riku said. His voice was filled with a quiet certainty.
He left the office. The photograph was a warm weight in his inside pocket.
The game had new rules.
The hunt for the ghost had officially begun.