(Kei's perspective)
The audience was louder than I expected.
Personally, I didn't understand the appeal.
Two groups of students hitting each other with wooden swords while teachers pretended it was educational. The crowd seemed invested. I wasn't.
I sat quietly near the edge of the competitors' section while the announcer explained the rules for the third time.
The black mat in the center of the auditorium almost looked like an execution platform.
A fitting comparison.
The first match began.
Ryōichi vs Iron
The moment the whistle sounded, Ryōichi smiled.
Iron didn't.
Neither of them bothered with strategy.
Neither of them bothered with subtlety.
They simply charged.
Their wooden swords collided with enough force that several students in the audience flinched.
A loud crack echoed through the auditorium.
Iron pushed forward through brute force.
Ryōichi pushed back through even greater brute force.
It was like watching two freight trains crash into each other repeatedly.
No tricks.
No deception.
Just strength.
Iron swung downward.
Ryōichi blocked with one hand.
The impact actually pushed him backward several meters.
Interesting.
Most people would have lost their grip entirely.
Instead, Ryōichi laughed.
"Now we're talking!"
Iron's expression darkened.
The senior clearly wasn't used to being challenged physically.
For the next several minutes the match became a contest of endurance.
Eventually Ryōichi adapted.
He stopped meeting Iron's attacks directly and began redirecting them.
A small adjustment.
A simple one.
But enough.
Iron stumbled.
Ryōichi swept his legs.
The senior crashed onto the mat.
The whistle blew.
Freshman victory.
The audience erupted.
Ryōichi simply grinned.
As expected.
---
Ichika vs Scarlet
This one wasn't a battle.
It was a competition to determine who thought more highly of themselves.
Scarlet walked onto the mat as if she already won.
Ichika walked onto the mat as if everyone else was beneath him.
An unfortunate combination.
The moment the match began they started talking.
Not fighting.
Talking.
"Try not to embarrass yourself."
"Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
The crowd seemed entertained.
I wasn't.
Their swords clashed.
Neither committed fully.
Every strike felt like an attempt to prove superiority rather than score points.
Scarlet relied heavily on aggression.
Ichika relied heavily on precision.
Eventually Scarlet became frustrated.
That was her mistake.
Emotion creates openings.
Ichika exploited one immediately.
A clean strike landed against her shoulder.
Point.
Another.
Point.
Then another.
Point.
By the end Scarlet looked ready to explode.
Ichika looked pleased with himself.
Freshman victory.
Again.
---
Naoki Shirayuki vs Senior Representative
Naoki stepped forward lazily.
At least that was the impression he gave.
I barely paid attention.
Naoki wasn't someone I'd spent much time analyzing.
He seemed intelligent enough.
Nothing special.
Or so I thought.
The match began.
The senior charged.
Naoki retreated.
The senior attacked.
Naoki retreated again.
For several minutes he simply avoided direct confrontation.
The audience started booing.
The senior became irritated.
Exactly what Naoki wanted.
A few times I noticed opportunities where Naoki could have scored.
He deliberately ignored them.
Strange.
Almost like he wanted to lose.
Eventually the senior landed a hit.
The whistle sounded.
Senior victory.
Naoki scratched his cheek.
"Oops."
No frustration.
No disappointment.
Just mild amusement.
I made a mental note.
Nothing more.
At the time, I still underestimated him.
---
Kei vs Dusk
Finally.
My turn.
I stepped onto the mat.
Dusk was already waiting.
Unlike Scarlet and Iron, he wasn't emotional.
That immediately made him more dangerous.
His eyes constantly moved.
Observing.
Calculating.
Analyzing.
A strategist.
The whistle blew.
Neither of us moved.
The audience quickly became restless.
Dusk smiled.
"So you're the mysterious freshman."
I didn't answer.
He continued.
"People talk about you."
Unfortunate.
The less attention I attracted, the better.
He attacked first.
Testing.
Not committing.
I blocked.
He adjusted.
I adjusted.
Neither of us scored.
Several minutes passed.
The audience probably thought the match was boring.
For me, it was the most interesting match so far.
Every movement contained information.
Every hesitation revealed intent.
Dusk wasn't trying to beat me physically.
He was trying to predict me.
And unfortunately for him, I was doing the same.
A few exchanges later I scored.
Then he scored.
Then I scored again.
Then he adapted.
The match remained even.
Yet something felt wrong.
Not with Dusk.
Not with the match.
Something else.
A strange feeling lingered in the back of my mind.
The same feeling I'd experienced during the flashbacks.
As if I was looking at a small puzzle while a much larger one sat behind it.
The Sports Festival.
The school.
The student government.
The things my father discussed years ago.
The memories refused to leave me alone.
I suddenly realized something.
This match didn't matter.
Not really.
There were larger pieces moving.
Larger players.
Larger games.
Dusk attacked.
I intentionally reacted a fraction too slowly.
His sword touched my shoulder.
Point.
The audience cheered.
A few minutes later I repeated the mistake.
Another point.
Then another.
By the end of the match, Dusk technically won.
The crowd seemed surprised.
Ichika wasn't.
He watched from the sidelines with an amused smile.
As if he already knew I wasn't taking this seriously.
The whistle blew.
Match over.
Senior victory.
I stepped off the mat without caring about the result.
The tournament continued.
When all scores were calculated, the final outcome appeared on the large screen.
Freshmen Victory.
The crowd erupted.
Students celebrated.
Teachers applauded.
I simply stared at the scoreboard.
The freshmen had won.
Yet for some reason it felt irrelevant.
Because somewhere behind this school...
Something much bigger was already moving.
(Natalie's Perspective)
Washington D.C.
FBI Headquarters.
I hated government buildings.
Everything felt sterile.
The walls were sterile.
The lighting was sterile.
Even the people felt sterile.
Everyone walked around carrying files as if they were carrying the weight of the world.
Maybe they were.
I followed the senior officer through several hallways before we entered a small office.
The moment I sat down, he placed a file on the desk.
I looked at him.
"Why am I here?"
The older man folded his hands.
"We need your assistance."
I almost laughed.
"With what?"
He opened the file.
"We understand you're under twenty-three."
"Very observant."
He ignored the comment.
"We also understand you've helped solve several investigations in your hometown."
I remained silent.
He continued.
"You were valedictorian. You're proficient in Japanese. Your psychological profiling abilities are exceptional."
Psychological profiling.
That was one way to describe it.
I preferred another.
Understanding people.
Seeing the world through someone else's eyes.
Sometimes it felt less like a skill and more like a curse.
I crossed my arms.
"Get to the point."
The senior officer sighed.
"We sent two agents to Japan."
"And?"
"One has a habit of disregarding emotional factors."
"Tetsuya."
The officer nodded.
"The other follows his lead."
"Kenzo."
Another nod.
I looked at the file.
"So you want a babysitter."
The officer rubbed his forehead.
"We want oversight."
"That's just a fancy word for babysitting."
The officer decided not to argue.
"What are they investigating?"
His expression became serious.
"A source gave us information."
"What source?"
"A man known only as A."
Interesting.
The officer continued.
"He reported suspicious activity connected to an institution in Japan."
"Which institution?"
"They already figured that out."
I frowned.
"And they didn't tell you?"
"No."
That alone was concerning.
If FBI agents were withholding information from their own superiors, something strange was happening.
I sighed.
"When do I leave?"
The officer answered immediately.
"Right now."
I blinked.
"What?"
The office door opened.
Several agents entered carrying luggage.
My luggage.
I stared at them.
Then back at the officer.
"You can't be serious."
"We already informed everyone important in your life."
I paused.
"My friends?"
"Yes."
"My grandmother?"
"Yes."
"My boyfriend?"
"Yes."
I buried my face in my hands.
Unbelievable.
As another officer arrived to escort me away, I stopped.
"One more thing."
The senior officer looked up.
"What exactly is the Serpent of Tokyo?"
For a moment the room became quiet.
The officer's expression changed.
"It isn't who he is."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It's what he is inside."
That wasn't an answer.
It sounded more like a warning.
---
The drive to the airport was silent.
Eventually I broke it.
"What aren't you telling me?"
The escorting officer glanced at me.
"A lot."
"Helpful."
He handed me another file.
"Whatever happens, cover your tracks."
I opened it.
Three photographs.
Three names.
Tetsuya.
Kenzo.
Ren.
The first photo showed a tired young man with long dark hair and exhausted blue eyes.
The second looked relaxed.
Almost carefree.
The third—
I stopped.
The young man in the photograph was sticking his tongue out at the camera.
His eyes looked wrong.
Predatory.
Like an animal trying to imitate a human being.
Under the image was a label.
SERPENT OF TOKYO
"Ew."
The officer looked at me.
"Ew?"
"He looks feral."
The officer didn't laugh.
That immediately worried me.
After several seconds he finally spoke.
"Be careful around him."
I studied the photograph again.
For some reason I couldn't stop looking at his eyes.
Not because they were intimidating.
Because they looked empty.
Not dead.
Not emotionless.
Empty.
As if something had hollowed him out long ago.
The officer interrupted my thoughts.
"You may have to confront a psychopath."
I looked out the window.
"You didn't choose me because of my skills."
The officer stayed silent.
I already knew I was right.
"You chose me because I've been inside that kind of mind before."
A long pause followed.
Finally he nodded.
"Yes."
The honesty surprised me.
The airport came into view.
The officer stopped the vehicle.
Before leaving, he said one final thing.
"You understand people in ways most agents don't."
I grabbed my luggage.
"That's not always a good thing."
"No."
His voice was quieter now.
"It usually isn't."
---
Several hours later I sat alone on the flight to Japan.
The files rested on my lap.
Three names.
Three strangers.
A mission I barely understood.
And a feeling I couldn't shake.
For some reason...
I felt like I was flying toward something much bigger than an investigation.
--------
PARP FILE [ERROR]
CLEARANCE LEVEL: Founder Access Only
CODE NAME: Subject X Incident
Date Logged: June 8, 2024
The incident itself occurred during 2023 within the United States.
The origins of Subject X trace back to late 2021.
Subject X was discovered by several affiliated assets in an alleyway after suffering repeated physical abuse. The adolescent displayed exceptional adaptability despite prolonged social isolation and psychological neglect.
Rather than offering assistance out of compassion, the assets transferred the adolescent to Facility-01 for observation.
Subject X became the first direct human experiment associated with the emerging PARP initiative.
The objective was simple:
Create a visionary.Create an individual capable of reshaping society regardless of ethical limitations.
For approximately eighteen months Subject X underwent extensive conditioning.
Results initially exceeded expectations.
Subject X demonstrated elevated intelligence, manipulative capabilities, strategic foresight, and emotional suppression.
To evaluate external adaptation, Subject X was relocated to an ordinary American educational environment for six months.
The outcome was catastrophic.
Subject X developed an unhealthy fixation on a sixteen-year-old female designated:
Subject N
Real Name: [REDACTED] Unlike previous interactions, Subject N demonstrated consistent empathy toward Subject X.
Analysis suggests Subject X rapidly became dependent upon this validation.
When Subject N rejected his advances, Subject X experienced severe psychological destabilization.
Within weeks:
Subject X began stalking Subject N.
Subject X repeatedly appeared near locations frequented by Subject N.
Subject X assaulted two individuals associated with Subject N.
Subject X displayed increasingly erratic behavior.
Ultimately Subject N and several associates manipulated Subject X into exposing himself.
Arrest followed shortly afterward.At that point Subject X possessed knowledge that posed a direct threat to PARP operations.
Containment protocols were considered.
Evidence destruction procedures were prepared.
However, one founding member intervened.
Before interrogation could occur, Subject X had [REDACTED].
Subject X was declared deceased at age sixteen.
Official classification:
FAILED PROTOTYPE
Subject X represented an attempt to artificially recreate conditions associated with Subject 00.
The attempt failed.Researcher's Note
Author: Paul
For once, I'm not writing a joke.
I wish I was.
Everyone keeps asking how Subject X failed.
The answer is simple.
He was never stable.
The others looked at a traumatized child and saw potential.
I looked at a traumatized child and saw exactly what would happen.
You cannot starve someone of affection and then act surprised when they become obsessed with the first person who gives it to them.
That isn't genius.
That's predictable.
I warned [REDACTED] repeatedly.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said "this is Necessary "
Necessary.
Interesting word.
People love using it when someone else pays the price.
The part that still bothers me isn't Subject X's death.
It's what happened afterward.
Another researcher and I examined the reports.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The results showed no evidence supporting the official conclusion.
None.
Not even a little.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
We simply stared at the documents.
Then we burned them.
Every page.
Every copy.
No discussion.
No debate.
No argument.
Just mutual understanding.
Some truths aren't worth finding.
I don't know what happened to Subject X.
I don't want to know.
And if anyone reading this thinks that sounds cowardly—
You're absolutely right.
Because whatever happened to that boy...
I have a feeling the answer would be worse than the lie. :::