That evening, at Kairi's group's safehouse.
A suffocating, painfully silent atmosphere hung over the cramped room. The horrifying aftershocks of tonight's events were still etched into every face.
Kairi slammed his fist hard against the wall, gritting his teeth in a rasping whisper: "Damn it! He knew you two were following outside from the very beginning. You both almost lost your lives!"
Yume hurried to comfort him, her voice still trembling slightly: "It's alright... It was our own stubbornness in following you that got us spotted..."
Ginji flopped onto the sofa, running both hands violently through his hair, his voice choked with fear mixed with outrage: "Those officials earlier... I saw their badges. They were from the Intelligence Agency and the Ministry of Defense. They intended to use the National Security Act to steal Links Star outright. And yet... Itsuki used just a few words, backed by the shadow of the Shiraishi Fund, to chase them out like low-level clerks!"
Yume curled up in an armchair, her pale face hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. The horror had not yet faded from her eyes: "Even though I've worked in law enforcement for a long time, I never imagined a day when we'd face figures like that. Itsuki's manipulative power... it exceeds every worst-case scenario we could have imagined."
"Actually, I still have one doubt," Kairi turned around, his brows knit tight. "During the negotiation, he deliberately used several loop-related keywords to test me. There are two possibilities: either he isn't completely certain I'm a Time Breaker, or he was just throwing stones to see where they land based on my reaction. But judging by that attitude, I dare say he is definitely connected to the Time Breakers."
"Kairi..." Yume spoke in a shaky voice. "Do you think Itsuki himself is a Time Breaker? Or is he actually... just a puppet, with some far more terrifying force pulling the strings from the shadows?"
"But he helped us tonight," Ginji looked up, trying to cling to a fragile sliver of hope to salvage something. "He poured in investment money, protecting the company from the government's hands. Is there any chance... Itsuki actually has good intentions?"
In the dark corner of the room, Kairi had remained motionless all this time. He shared neither their panic nor indulged in the naive hopes of his friends. His gaze was sharp as a blade, drilling deep into the analysis board crisscrossed with red string.
"Good intentions?" Kairi let out a cold laugh, shaking his head as he stepped up to the board. Pulling out a marker, he drew a decisive diagonal line, completely striking out that hypothesis. "Everyone snap out of it and piece together the logic. If he really had good intentions, he wouldn't have pushed me into a corner to face those officials in the first place. He did that to drive me into a dead end, forcing me to sign that blood contract."
Kairi tapped the tip of the marker hard against the board. "Furthermore, if Itsuki—or whoever stands behind him—really is a Time Breaker, beings who can warp causality and live through endless time loops... then what value does my Links Star technology have to them? Compared to the power of manipulating time, a machine that reads and copies memories is no different from a tedious toy."
Ginji froze, his breathing coming to a halt: "You mean... Links Star itself has no practical value to them?"
"Precisely." Kairi rested both hands on the table, his razor-sharp gaze sweeping across his two friends. "But that is the core of it. If this technology is insignificant in his eyes, what has stopped Itsuki from outright slaughtering our entire group and stealing it clean long ago? He has more than enough power to do so without leaving a single drop of blood."
Yume replied tremulously: "Because... we are doing something he needs, but cannot do with his own hands?"
Kairi nodded, swinging his marker to draw a heavy circle around the words Shiraishi Funding on the board.
"He is forcing me to finalize Links Star and launch it into the global market in the shortest time possible. He threw money around not to protect our company, but to have me personally build a grand stage. He wants Links Star to launch with maximum fanfare, turning MIND into the epicenter of a colossal public uproar."
Kairi tossed the marker onto the table, the dry click echoing sharply. His words sank into a cold, dark gloom: "My product is merely a piece of bait. And his true objective... is undoubtedly far grander and more ruthless than stealing a technological blueprint."
The following night, deep beneath the solid foundations of the Shiraishi estate.
The top-secret safe room was submerged in a cold blue glow cast by dozens of surveillance monitors. The space was completely soundproofed, like a quiet realm entirely severed from the turbulence of the outside world. Standing before the central console, Itsuki slowly opened an ebony box lined with deep red velvet. Resting inside was the Lion mask crafted from exquisitely silver-plated metal. Every carved contour exuded the stern, brutal, and arrogant demeanor of an apex predator sitting atop the food chain.
His extreme paranoia did not allow Itsuki to set foot in the fanatics' den in person. He lifted the mask and pressed it to his face. A crisp click rang out as the magnetic lock system activated, gripping his skull tightly. His slender fingers tapped rapidly across the keyboard, setting up a multi-layered encrypted transmission link.
The largest central monitor flickered to life, streaming the perspective from the micro-camera mounted on his subordinate's lapel. The game had officially begun.
At the same time, over sixty kilometers from the city center, an old brick kiln at the foot of Mount Takao lay submerged in a thick layer of fog, accompanied by a chilling stench of damp decay.
The jet-black SUV had just turned into the wasteland when it slammed on its brakes. From the dense thickets and ruined wall crevices, dozens of dark figures swathed in heavy hooded cloaks stepped out silently, sealing off the entire passage. They wielded sharp daggers and iron rods, their murderous, bloodshot eyes fixed immovably upon the vehicle.
Itsuki's subordinate did not flinch in the slightest. He rolled down the window and calmly tossed out a round metal badge with a dented corner—the gnawed-sun emblem that Shiraishi's faction had seized from the charred corpse of the brainwashed cultist earlier.
The surrounding ring of assassins instantly paused. One stepped forward, carefully scrutinizing the piece of metal under the blinding headlights, then gave a silent nod. The dark wall of bodies parted to both sides like a ritual, yielding a path for the SUV to drive deeper into the heart of the brick kiln.
The further in they went, the lower the temperature dropped, giving way to a bone-chilling cold. Dozens of cultists were kneeling on the filthy ground. Deep, fractured passages of scripture murmured from their mouths, blending together into a haunting, suffocating acoustic wave.
From the deepest realm of shadow, slow, measured footsteps echoed. A young man parted the mist and stepped out. He sported dark navy-purple hair flowing past his shoulders, a handsome yet pale face, and deep black eyes as still as a lifeless corpse. His sharp-cut dark attire fluttered in the night breeze, subtly bearing gloomy purple sun motifs. His right hand tightly gripped a long black metal staff, its top dangling an ancient lantern that emitted a pale blue halo.
The subordinate stepped forward, placing a metal briefcase onto a block of crushed brick, and decisively flicked the latch. The computer screen lit up, revealing Itsuki's imposing figure behind the silver Lion mask.
The young man halted, resting the base of his staff lightly on the barren ground. The blue light cast onto the side of his face as he bowed slightly in a greeting so polite it bordered on demonic:
"What an honor to meet the master standing behind the massive cash flows of this metropolis. Even though we converse across a cold screen, your presence remains immensely overwhelming."
On the other end of the line, Itsuki's analytical skill silently triggered, scanning the behavior and peculiar aura of the man opposite him: 70% probability the individual before him is the Cult Leader.
Maintaining a deep tone altered through a voice-scrambling filter, Itsuki spoke to probe: "You who bear this sinister aura before me... are you the High Cult Leader who heads the Church of the Primordial Dawn?"
The young man smiled faintly, placing a hand over his left chest, his posture remaining absolute in its composure: "Pray forgive this misconception. I am not the High Cult Leader; I am Shinri, High Priest of the Church. Tonight, I am present here under direct authorization from the High Cult Leader to receive our guest. He sends his apologies for being unable to appear in person due to being occupied with an important ritual. But rest assured—every judgment I render in this place carries the exact same weight as His holy decree."
That Cult Leader is cautious too, Itsuki evaluated inwardly. He replied with a social smile hidden behind the mask, maintaining a courteous and measured demeanor: "High Priest Shinri... Very well then. I prefer working with those who know how to delegate power to the right people."
Shinri tilted his head slightly, the dangling lantern casting a weird streak of light. He asked leisurely, his voice carrying a finely veiled provocation: "Before we proceed to main business, I am quite curious... I wonder if Mr. Shiraishi here is satisfied with the 'return gift' our Church sent you last time?"
The bodyguards accompanying the SUV all paled simultaneously. They instantly understood that Shinri was referring to the trusted subordinate who had been brainwashed—the one who had transformed himself into a living torch right before Itsuki's eyes.
Yet Itsuki did not waver in the slightest. He leisurely took a sip of tea inside the safe room, the voice issuing from the speaker remaining placid and refined: "A most impressive performance demonstrating the ability to manipulate minds. It is precisely that absolute 'fanaticism' of yours that is the reason I am sitting here negotiating tonight. I consider it a very persuasive portfolio."
Shinri narrowed his eyes slightly. Though well hidden, a brief flicker of astonishment crossed his face at the terrifying ruthless composure of the manipulator. He bowed his head slightly: "You truly possess a most magnanimous mindset. So, how may the Church serve your ideal?"
"Expansion." Itsuki cut straight to the point, his tone calm yet carrying immense weight. "I know the Church is currently forced to hide in the shadows. I will sponsor you with unlimited financial resources, provide facilities, a subterranean media network, and establish a secure legal corridor for you to publicly recruit believers."
Shinri's somber blue eyes flashed with a sinister gleam. He said softly: "A most exquisite and generous gift, sir. But in this world, unconditional grace exists only within the Divine. So, what do you wish the Church to offer in return?"
"I want you to become the detonator." The Lion mask on the screen leaned closer to the camera. "MIND Company is about to release Links Star—an implant technology that can read brainwaves and recreate memories of the deceased. The moment it debuts, I need the Church to use its entire sphere of influence to condemn it. Mobilize your followers to riot; turn that technology into the ultimate symbol of blasphemy against the Divine."
Listening to this, a deep, dark smile bloomed across Shinri's pale face: "A machine daring to swap the boundaries between life and death... You wish for us to spark a war of public opinion, turning that company into an enemy of all society. Your intention is ruthless, but the fire you bring... happens to be precisely what the Church craves."
Shinri gave his staff a gentle wave. The blue flame inside the lantern abruptly flared up violently, officially sealing a bloody alliance.
The computer screen at the brick kiln went dark. Inside the safe room, Itsuki removed the Lion mask, tossing it carelessly onto the table. He leisurely poured himself a glass of red wine as dark as blood, smiling as he looked at the simulated graph of the riot wave about to be triggered.
The chessboard was set. He only awaited Kairi to pull back the velvet curtain with his own hands, so that he could unleash the wild beasts to tear everything to shreds.
Meanwhile, at another end of the night, Shinri was stepping into a bizarre, sinister cathedral dyed in darkness. He respectfully dropped to one knee onto the cold stone floor.
Beneath the flickering, greasy red candlelight, Shinri's shadow stretched out unnaturally across the matrix floor carved with ancient forbidden runes. The space reeked of burnt wax mingled with the chilling, mossy decay of a ruin forgotten for centuries. Upon a towering sacrificial altar, a hooded figure in black stood with his back turned, silent and still as if merged with the dense darkness.
"My Lord," Shinri's voice sounded deep, breaking the suffocating stillness. "The man wearing the Lion mask has offered to sponsor us. But in return, he demands that we spark outrage to condemn an upcoming technology."
From the darkness enveloping the altar, a raspy, spine-chilling laugh erupted, sounding like rusted metal grinding together. The figure turned slightly. The thud of his heels against the stone created slow beats that exerted a heavy, suffocating pressure.
"Very good..." The eerie voice spoke, its terrifying aura unconsciously forcing Shinri to press his face even deeper into the stone floor wet with cold frost. "That arrogant lion still thinks he holds the power over life and death, that the fire from that exhausted brick kiln can reforge the order of the entire world. He craves to stand above all things, yet forgets the most fundamental principle of hunters..."
The figure slowly descended the steps one by one. The hem of his cloak swept across stagnant puddles, reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the cracks of a shattered stained-glass window.
"The true puppet master... never steps onto the stage himself."
Shinri smirked faintly, a look of extreme ruthlessness and ultimate devotion lighting up his eyes: "Itsuki is far too self-satisfied with the script crafted by his own hands. He has no idea that he himself is merely a disposable pawn paving the way for Your advent."
Hearing those words of exaltation, the one standing above bestowed a satisfied smile, issuing a casual command: "You may withdraw."
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance. The Cult Leader stepped up to his majestic throne, continuing to reign in the darkness, looking down with a majestic, profound gaze upon the followers screaming his praises below.