The freight maintenance tunnels were narrower than Takeshi had expected. His shoulders brushed corroded pipes on both sides as he navigated the claustrophobic corridor, emergency lighting casting harsh shadows that made every junction look like a dead end. His Network Authority showed him the path forward—200 meters through service passages that hadn't seen maintenance in decades—but the fragmenting synchronization meant the map flickered in and out like a dying monitor.
His MP sat at 31/100. Rising, but not fast enough.
The control terminal behind him was still processing the emergency lockdown command, its progress bar frozen at 94% while the system struggled with infrastructure protocols that predated the apocalypse by decades. Takeshi had discovered the hard way that sealing the freight network required more than digital commands—it needed physical overrides at three separate control nodes, manual switches that enforced the lockdown through mechanical redundancy.
Old-world engineering meeting System architecture. Neither trusted the other enough to work independently.
"Yamada." Matsumoto's voice crackled through his communication device. "Status update. The strike force just split—three markers heading for the Core chamber, one diverting toward your position."
Takeshi's fragmenting Network Authority confirmed it. Three red markers converging on the killbox where Kenji and the others waited. But the fourth—brighter, more intense—was moving through the freight tunnels with the kind of speed that suggested someone who knew exactly where they were going.
Level 12. Had to be Ishikawa Riku himself.
"How long until the first control node?" Takeshi asked, his voice coming out steadier than he felt.
"Forty meters ahead, junction seven. But Takeshi—Ishikawa is closing fast. You have maybe three minutes before he reaches your position."
Three minutes to cover forty meters, activate the override, and move on to the second node. Doable, if his legs would stop shaking and his vision would stop splitting between physical reality and network maps that refused to stabilize.
Takeshi pushed forward, his briefcase feeling like dead weight in his hand. His Corporate Drone class wasn't built for running through hostile territory with depleted MP and active debuffs. But it was built for endurance, for pushing through impossible situations with nothing but determination and the knowledge that giving up meant worse consequences than failure.
The first control node appeared exactly where his Network Authority said it would be—a reinforced junction chamber where three maintenance corridors converged around a central control terminal. The terminal was older than the others, its interface a mix of physical switches and corroded digital displays that flickered with pre-apocalypse power management data.
Takeshi's fingers found the override sequence through muscle memory he didn't know he possessed. His Corporate Drone class apparently included bureaucratic expertise that extended to interpreting decades-old maintenance protocols. Flip switch seven. Enter code 4-4-7-2. Confirm physical lockdown authorization.
The terminal responded with grinding mechanical sounds as ancient systems engaged. His Network Authority showed the freight network's architecture shifting, access points in this sector sealing with the finality of vault doors.
[CONTROL NODE 1: ACTIVATED]
Freight System Lockdown: 33% Complete
MP: 34/100
One down. Two to go.
Matsumoto's voice cut through his brief moment of relief. "Ishikawa just accelerated. Two minutes to your position. You need to move."
Takeshi ran.
The second control node was 80 meters away through a maintenance corridor that his Network Authority showed as "structurally compromised." He understood what that meant when he rounded the corner and found a section of ceiling that had partially collapsed, leaving a gap barely wide enough to squeeze through.
His MP hit 37/100 as he forced himself through the gap, corroded metal scraping against his suit. The Corporate Drone uniform's self-repair enchantments kicked in automatically, the fabric reweaving itself even as fresh tears appeared. Behind him, he could hear footsteps—measured, unhurried, the sound of someone who knew their quarry was trapped.
The second control node was in worse shape than the first. Its terminal had suffered water damage at some point, the displays cracked and the physical switches corroded. But Takeshi's Network Authority showed him the override sequence was still functional, buried beneath layers of system degradation.
His fingers found the switches. Flip. Enter code. Confirm.
Nothing happened.
Takeshi tried again, his hands shaking as system feedback carved white-hot lines through his skull. The incomplete Network Authority synchronization was struggling to process the freight network's architecture while simultaneously tracking enemy positions, and the cognitive load was pushing him toward another debilitating headache.
The terminal flickered. Responded. Died.
"No." Takeshi slammed his hand against the corroded metal. "No, no, no—"
His Monopoly skill's passive awareness kicked in, showing him the problem. The terminal's power supply had degraded below operational threshold. It needed a jump-start, some kind of external power source to activate the override sequence.
His MP bar showed 40/100. Not much, but maybe enough.
Takeshi placed his hand on the terminal's power input port and pushed MP into it directly. Not through any skill or ability—those were still locked in cooldown—but through pure desperation and the vague hope that his Corporate Drone class's synergy with infrastructure systems might translate into something useful.
The terminal sparked. Flickered. Came to life with a whine that suggested it was very unhappy about being forced to function.
Takeshi executed the override sequence before it could die again.
[CONTROL NODE 2: ACTIVATED]
Freight System Lockdown: 67% Complete
MP: 31/100
[WARNING: Cognitive Overload increasing]
[System feedback approaching critical levels]
The footsteps behind him stopped. Takeshi's fragmenting Network Authority showed Ishikawa Riku's marker now less than twenty meters away, positioned at the collapsed ceiling section. Watching. Waiting.
Not attacking.
Why wasn't he attacking?
Takeshi didn't have time to analyze it. The third control node was 120 meters away through a maintenance shaft that descended three levels deeper into the freight system. His MP was regenerating—43/100 now—but his cognitive overload debuff was getting worse, the system feedback creating visual distortions that made the tunnel walls appear to pulse with corrupted data.
He ran anyway.
The maintenance shaft was a vertical ladder bolted to crumbling concrete, emergency lighting creating pools of harsh illumination between stretches of absolute darkness. Takeshi descended as fast as his shaking legs allowed, his briefcase banging against the ladder with each movement.
His Network Authority showed Ishikawa following at a measured pace. Still not attacking. Still just... observing.
The third control node was the deepest, buried in a junction chamber where the freight network's primary power distribution systems converged. The terminal here was newer than the others, clearly installed post-apocalypse by someone who'd tried to maintain the infrastructure before the Black Company claimed it.
Takeshi's fingers flew across the interface. This override sequence was different—longer, more complex, requiring administrative authorization codes that his Corporate Drone class somehow provided through bureaucratic expertise that bordered on supernatural.
His MP hit 47/100 as he worked, the regeneration finally catching up to his expenditures. His abilities would be off cooldown in another four minutes. Not that it mattered—by then, Ishikawa would either be killing him or the freight system would be sealed.
The terminal accepted his authorization codes. Displayed the final override sequence. Required physical confirmation through three simultaneous switch activations that would have needed two people under normal circumstances.
Takeshi used his briefcase to hold down one switch while his hands managed the other two.
[CONTROL NODE 3: ACTIVATED]
Freight System Lockdown: 100% Complete
All access points sealed
Override requires physical authorization at individual terminals
The freight network map in his Network Authority went dark, every access point showing locked status. Ishikawa Riku's fourth approach vector had just collapsed, forcing his strike force into a single chokepoint where Kenji and the others waited.
Footsteps on the ladder above.
Takeshi turned to find Ishikawa Riku descending into the junction chamber with the casual confidence of someone who'd never been in any real danger. The Level 12 Corporate Samurai was everything the stories suggested—expensive equipment that radiated power, a sword that pulsed with System enhancements, and an aura of professional competence that made Takeshi feel like a child playing at corporate warfare.
"Impressive work," Ishikawa said, his voice carrying the neutral tone of someone delivering a performance review. "Sealing the freight network with minimal MP, no active abilities, and a partially-synchronized Network Authority. Your instructors at the Black Company must be very proud."
Takeshi's hand tightened on his briefcase. His MP was at 51/100. His abilities still had three minutes of cooldown remaining. And Ishikawa Riku could probably kill him in less than three seconds if he wanted to.
"You're not going to attack," Takeshi said, reading the situation through his Monopoly skill's awareness of corporate dynamics. "This was never about capturing the hub. It was about making me reveal my capabilities."
Ishikawa's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes suggested approval. "Very good. You understand tactical intelligence gathering. The Seikatsu Consortium doesn't waste resources on battles we can't win. But we invest heavily in understanding our competition's strengths and limitations."
"So this entire assault—"
"Was reconnaissance in force." Ishikawa gestured to the sealed freight network with professional appreciation. "We needed to see how your Network Authority functions under pressure. Your MP limitations. Your team's cooldown timers. The infrastructure gaps in your territorial control. And most importantly, how you respond when your supernatural abilities are unavailable."
Takeshi's fragmenting Network Authority showed the strike force's other three markers withdrawing from the Core chamber. No combat. No casualties. Just a tactical retreat executed with the precision of professionals who'd accomplished their objective.
"You got what you wanted," Takeshi said, his voice tight.
"We did." Ishikawa triggered a tactical withdrawal beacon, his marker on the network map shifting from hostile red to neutral yellow. "Your Network Authority has a 34% synchronization rate, which means it provides real-time intelligence but suffers from severe system feedback during deep infrastructure access. Your MP regeneration is slow enough that sustained ability usage leaves you vulnerable. And your team's coordination, while impressive, relies heavily on synchronized cooldowns that create predictable windows of weakness."
Every word was a knife, cutting away the strategic advantages Takeshi had thought he possessed.
"You could have killed me," Takeshi said. "Why didn't you?"
"Because you're more valuable alive." Ishikawa's professional assessment was brutally honest. "The Black Company will promote you rapidly now that you've demonstrated Network Authority capabilities. You'll gain access to higher-tier dungeons, more strategic infrastructure, better equipment. And every step of your advancement will provide the Seikatsu Consortium with additional intelligence about how your unique skill develops."
"You're using me as a long-term intelligence asset."
"We're treating you as the strategic resource you are." Ishikawa started back up the ladder, then paused. "One more thing, Yamada-san. Your decision to sacrifice the monitoring stations and consolidate at the Core chamber—that was tactically sound but strategically problematic. The Black Company values results over survival. By abandoning your primary objective to win a defensive engagement, you've demonstrated that you prioritize your team's lives over corporate goals. Your executives will note that in your evaluation."
The words hung in the air like a contract clause Takeshi should have read more carefully.
"Impressive work for a Level 4," Ishikawa continued, ascending the ladder with practiced ease. "We'll be seeing each other again—when you're actually ready."
Then he was gone, his marker disappearing from Takeshi's Network Authority as the Seikatsu strike force executed a complete tactical withdrawal.
Takeshi stood alone in the junction chamber, his MP at 54/100 and his abilities coming off cooldown in ninety seconds. The freight network was sealed. The hub was secure. His team had survived.
But Ishikawa was right. The Seikatsu Consortium now possessed complete intelligence on his capabilities, his limitations, and his decision-making patterns under pressure. They'd traded a tactical defeat for strategic information that would let them counter his Network Authority the next time they met.
And there would be a next time.
Takeshi's communication device crackled. "Yamada, status?" Matsumoto's voice carried relief and concern in equal measure. "The strike force just withdrew. Did you complete the freight system override?"
"Completed," Takeshi confirmed, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. "All access points sealed. The hub is secure."
"Excellent work. Return to the Core chamber for debriefing and—" Matsumoto paused. "Takeshi, did you encounter Ishikawa Riku during the override sequence?"
"Yes."
"Did he engage?"
"No. He observed. Gathered intelligence. Then withdrew."
The silence on the other end of the communication device lasted three seconds too long. When Matsumoto spoke again, her tone had shifted from relief to professional concern.
"I see. That... complicates things. We'll discuss the strategic implications during debriefing. For now, get back here. Your team is waiting."
Takeshi started the long climb back up the maintenance shaft, his MP regenerating to 58/100 as his abilities finally came off cooldown. His status window updated with new notifications:
[MISSION COMPLETE: Defend Shinjuku Hub]
Objective: Repel Seikatsu Consortium assault - SUCCESS
Secondary Objective: Maintain territorial claim - PARTIAL SUCCESS
Tertiary Objective: Preserve monitoring equipment - FAILURE
Evaluation: MIXED RESULTS
Note: Strategic intelligence compromised during engagement
Mixed results. The phrase felt like a performance review written by someone who'd watched him succeed at the wrong things.
The climb back through the freight tunnels gave Takeshi too much time to think. About Ishikawa's professional assessment. About the monitoring stations they'd abandoned. About the strategic information the Seikatsu Consortium now possessed. About Matsumoto's carefully neutral tone when she'd said "complicates things."
He'd won the battle. Secured the hub. Saved his team.
But in corporate warfare, winning battles while losing strategic positioning was just another form of failure.
The main platform came into view as Takeshi emerged from the freight access shaft. The abandoned monitoring stations pulsed with faint blue light, their surveillance feeds still active but their territorial claim value compromised by the team's tactical withdrawal. Black Company security forces were already beginning cleanup operations, cataloging equipment and filing incident reports with the kind of bureaucratic efficiency that suggested this wasn't their first contested hub defense.
Kenji, Yuna, and Hideo waited near the Core chamber entrance. They looked exhausted but intact, their equipment showing signs of combat readiness that had never been tested. The killbox they'd prepared sat empty, its defensive positions never needed because Ishikawa had withdrawn before reaching the chokepoint.
"You sealed it," Kenji said, studying Takeshi with renewed professional respect. "The freight network. We watched the access points lock down across the entire system."
"Manual overrides at three control nodes," Takeshi confirmed, his MP now at 63/100 and climbing. "Physical lockdown sequence. The old-world engineers didn't trust digital systems enough to make it purely electronic."
"Smart of them." Yuna pulled up a tactical analysis on her status window. "The Seikatsu strike force withdrew the moment you completed the final override. No combat engagement at our position. They just... left."
"It was reconnaissance," Takeshi said, the words tasting like defeat despite their tactical success. "Ishikawa told me directly. The entire assault was designed to make me reveal my Network Authority's capabilities and limitations."
Hideo's expression shifted to professional concern. "That's worse than losing a fight. They now have complete intelligence on your abilities, your MP constraints, your synchronization rate—"
"And our team's coordination patterns," Yuna added, her analytical mind already working the implications. "They watched us execute a synchronized infrastructure play. They know our cooldown timers, our ability synergies, our tactical decision-making under pressure."
"Which means next time they come, they'll have counters prepared for everything we just demonstrated," Kenji finished grimly.
Matsumoto's voice cut through their tactical analysis. "All of which we'll address in the formal debriefing. For now, I need damage assessment and equipment inventory. The monitoring stations are still functional despite being temporarily abandoned, which means our territorial claim remains valid. Barely."
She emerged from the Core chamber, her professional demeanor showing cracks of exhaustion that suggested the last hour had aged her considerably. Behind her, Black Company technicians were already working on the System Terminal, reinforcing its security and upgrading its defensive protocols.
"Yamada," Matsumoto said, her tone carrying layers of meaning that Takeshi couldn't quite parse. "Walk with me."
They moved away from the others, heading toward one of the abandoned monitoring stations. Matsumoto studied its pulsing blue light with the expression of someone calculating contract values and strategic losses.
"You saved the hub," she said finally. "Sealed the freight network, forced the enemy withdrawal, preserved the Core chamber's integrity. From a tactical perspective, you executed brilliantly under impossible constraints."
"But strategically, I failed," Takeshi said, reading the subtext.
"Strategically, you made a choice." Matsumoto's correction was precise. "You prioritized your team's survival over the monitoring equipment. You sacrificed our primary objective to win a defensive engagement. And in doing so, you revealed to our executives—and our competitors—that you value people over corporate goals."
"Is that a problem?"
"That depends on whether you want to survive in the Black Company's upper management." Matsumoto pulled up a contract notification on her status window. "The CEO is... displeased. Division Director Tanaka is reconsidering his offer. VP Operations Sato wants a full tactical review before committing additional resources to your development."
Takeshi's stomach sank. "And you?"
"I think you made the right choice for the wrong reasons." Matsumoto's assessment was brutally honest. "The monitoring stations were secondary objectives. The real value was always the Network Authority and the System Terminal integration. You secured both. But you did it by abandoning equipment that represented significant corporate investment, and that sends a message about your priorities."
"My priority was not getting my team killed."
"I know. And that's exactly what concerns the executives." Matsumoto gestured to the monitoring station. "The Black Company doesn't promote people who prioritize survival over results. We promote people who achieve results regardless of survival rates. You're demonstrating the former when we need the latter."
The words settled like lead in Takeshi's chest. He'd survived corporate Japan's most brutal work culture by learning to exceed expectations while preserving himself. But the Black Company operated on different rules—rules where personal preservation was a liability rather than a survival skill.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"Now we debrief, file reports, and wait for executive decisions about your Management Track candidacy." Matsumoto's professional mask was firmly in place. "You've demonstrated exceptional tactical capabilities and unique strategic value. But you've also revealed decision-making patterns that suggest you'll prioritize team welfare over corporate objectives when forced to choose."
"And that's unacceptable."
"That's... complicated." Matsumoto pulled up another notification. "Your Network Authority is still synchronizing. 34% and climbing. The System Terminal integration is permanent, which means you're now a strategic infrastructure asset whether the executives like your decision-making or not. They can't fire you without losing territorial control of Tokyo's subway network. But they can make your advancement conditional on demonstrating more... appropriate priorities."
Translation: prove you're willing to sacrifice people for results, or stay stuck at your current level forever.
Takeshi's MP hit 71/100 as his abilities fully recovered from cooldown. His status window showed the debuffs from cognitive overload fading, his Network Authority stabilizing as the freight system integration completed. He'd gained power, secured territory, and survived an assault by forces twice his level.
But he'd also painted a target on himself that went beyond corporate competition. The Seikatsu Consortium now knew his capabilities. The Black Company executives questioned his priorities. And Ishikawa Riku's parting words echoed with the weight of future confrontations.
"We'll be seeing each other again—when you're actually ready."
Takeshi looked at the monitoring station, its blue light pulsing with territorial claim data that represented both his success and his strategic exposure. He'd won the battle. But the war—the real corporate war for control of Tokyo's dungeon network—was just beginning.
And he was starting to realize that survival and advancement might be mutually exclusive goals.