The morning sun washed the small kitchen in pale light. Ryotaro's uncle sat at the table, humming off-key while he buttered his toast. The man chuckled at something in the newspaper before shaking his head.
"Blüdhaven," he muttered. "This city has more scandals than soap operas."
Ryotaro came downstairs, hair damp from his shower, looking every bit like an ordinary college-aged kid. His uncle glanced up.
"Oh, look at that—awake before noon. Should I call the news? 'Local teen defeats bed, shocking development.'"
Ryotaro gave him a flat look. "It's eight a.m., not noon."
"That's early in Blüdhaven time," his uncle said with a wink. "Don't worry, kid, one day you'll understand the sacred art of sleeping through all the city's nonsense."
Ryotaro sat, taking a sip of tea. His uncle's words were light, joking, but Ryotaro noticed how the man's shoulders sagged when he thought no one was looking. He wanted to move away, start fresh—but he didn't know Ryotaro was tied to the city now.
To his uncle, Ryotaro was just… Ryotaro. A stubborn, quiet nephew. And Ryotaro intended to keep it that way.
Back in his room, the curtains drawn, Ryotaro's face hardened. His laptop glowed faintly as the Frog Pod uploaded its recordings. The screen displayed waveforms of Chief Lorrick's voice:
"We'll blame Joker. Monsters don't exist—only vigilantes who destroy property."
Ryotaro leaned back, arms crossed.
"…So predictable. They think they can rewrite reality with a press conference."
[Host's assessment correct. Police chief intends to bury incidents. Recommend counter-narrative.]
"I know," Ryotaro said. "The only way to beat liars is not fists—it's proof. Evidence they can't bury."
He opened a small notebook, scribbling out his next move.
Step 1: Leak false intel to gangs.
Step 2: Leak matching intel to the cops.
Step 3: Stage the 'trade' with fake goods.
Step 4: Record the chaos.
Step 5: Leak it to independent press.
A trap not of brute force, but of trust. Whoever believed the lie first would step into his maze.
Ryotaro's lips curved into a faint smile.
"This city thinks it's playing checkers. I'm about to introduce them to chess."
Downstairs, his uncle was watching TV with his dinner plate on his lap.
"Hey," his uncle said between bites, "if the toaster breaks again, I'm blaming you."
Ryotaro raised a brow. "Why me?"
"Because last time you touched it, it nearly shot sparks at me. If I die, my ghost is haunting you forever."
Ryotaro chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Noted."
They laughed together, the sound filling the small living room. To his uncle, it was just another quiet night. But Ryotaro's mind was already elsewhere—on the abandoned warehouse he had marked, on the players he was about to move like pieces on a board.
The Granville Warehouse was cold and empty. Perfect for games.
Ryotaro, dressed in black, crouched among the rafters as his gadgets went to work: Spider Memory created holographic crates, stacked with "weapons."
The Bat Memory scanned the area, tracking arrivals.
The Frog Pod nestled above, its mic glowing faintly.
Then came the calls. Anonymous tips to the Dark Silent Gang. A hushed whisper to the Russian Mafia. And a disguised voice message to the police.
"Warehouse 17. Tonight. Don't be late."
The bait was cast. The first headlights appeared—SUVs brimming with armed gangsters. Minutes later, unmarked police cars rolled in, sirens off. Out stepped Chief Lorrick, face smug, hands in his coat pockets.
"Relax," he told the gangs, "we're here to make sure business goes smoothly."
Ryotaro smirked from above. And there it is. They showed their hand.
The gang leader scowled. "These crates don't look right."
"Then someone misinformed you," Lorrick said coolly. "But you'll still pay. Protection doesn't come free."
Every word recorded. Every word damning.
[Recording: 72% complete. Evidence solid.]
Ryotaro whispered, "Check."
But one gangster wasn't convinced. He fired at a crate—holograms fizzled.
"WHAT IS THIS?!"
Guns raised instantly. Panic. Shouting.
"Did you set us up, Lorrick?!"
"Stand down, idiots! We—"
Bullets tore the silence. Gangsters fired. Cops fired back. The fragile alliance shattered in seconds.
Ryotaro clicked his Spider Memory again, unleashing illusions of masked figures surrounding them.
"Ambush! It's a trap!"
Now they weren't just fighting each other—they were fighting shadows. Lorrick shouted himself hoarse, but no one listened.
And above, Ryotaro crouched, whispering, "Checkmate."
~~~~~
By morning, every small news outlet had the audio.
"Police and Mafia Trade Exposed!"
"Voices of Corruption: Leaked Recording Confirms Blüdhaven's Worst Fears."
On TV, Chief Lorrick stammered at a podium. "These… these recordings are fake! Lies! Fabrications!"
But no one believed him. The city buzzed, suspicion boiling over.
And in the shadows, Ryotaro watched quietly. His uncle flipped through channels downstairs, shaking his head.
"Damn city… full of clowns," his uncle muttered, never suspecting his nephew was the ringmaster of the entire circus.
Ryotaro allowed himself a small smile.
"…Phase Two complete. Time to raise the stakes."
[Host's IQ play successful. Public trust leaning toward Black Armored Man.]
Ryotaro closed his notebook, the pieces already moving for the next game.
Because in Blüdhaven, where everyone played dirty—he intended to be the one writing the rules.
Blüdhaven was restless.
The leaked recordings had hit the city like a thunderclap. For once, citizens weren't whispering about gangs in dark alleys—they were shouting about corruption in the streets.
Chief Lorrick tried to calm the storm, calling the evidence "fabrications," but even his own officers began looking at him with narrowed eyes. The gangs fumed, convinced they had been betrayed.
And high above it all, Ryotaro sat on the rooftop of an old apartment, watching with calm eyes.
"Like rats in a cage," he muttered.
[Host has successfully destabilized trust between gangs and police.]
"Good. But they'll start sniffing around soon, looking for the leak. If I don't stay ahead, they'll trace the false trade back." He smirked. "Time for another layer of the game."
That night, Ryotaro donned his black hoodie and mask once more. He wasn't hunting criminals tonight—he was planting illusions.
At the docks, he left a burned piece of paper hidden under a crate, smeared with oil: a fake ledger naming "Detective Ramos" as the mole who leaked information to reporters.
In a gang safehouse, he slipped a forged message—written in the style of Lorrick's handwriting—hinting that the Russians were planning to cut ties and blame everything on the Dark Silent Gang.
And in the police department itself, the Frog Pod transmitted snippets of edited conversations—voices subtly altered to sound like certain officers, whispering about "splitting the profits."
After all human are filled with greed. So, there is no one who doesn't want to take something free if you give the chances.
By morning, the city would no longer be two groups—cops and gangs. It would be fragments, suspicious of each other, gnawing themselves apart.
*********
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