u/Puzzled-Spray7075

5:31 p.m.
Shibuya Scramble Crossing

The usual chaos of the crossing had been replaced by flashing blue lights and a tight police cordon. Officers moved with practiced urgency, guiding civilians away from a black sedan parked near the edge of the scramble.

A middle-aged man in a wrinkled shirt was being handcuffed. Tears streamed down his face as he shook his head repeatedly.

“I didn’t do anything! Please, I swear—I don’t even know how that thing got under my car!”

Beside him, a young woman tried to keep her voice steady while the officers pushed them forward.

“He’s telling the truth. We just finished work. We were only going home. We have no idea what this is about—”

“You’ll say whatever you want at the station,” one of the officers replied flatly, guiding them toward a waiting police van.

A short distance away, a small team of specialists knelt beside the sedan. Their movements were careful and precise as they worked on the device attached beneath the vehicle. Soft metallic clicks and quiet radio chatter drifted through the air.

Officer Kuriowa stood a few meters back, arms crossed, watching the scene. He turned to a younger officer beside him.

“Is this everything?”

The younger officer checked his notes and nodded. “Yes, sir. No other devices found in the immediate area. The crossing is clear... for now”

Kuroiwa exhaled slowly. “Good. Situation’s under control here.”

Behind him, the two detainees continued their justification of innocence as they were led away. A small crowd of onlookers and reporters had already gathered beyond the tape. Cameras flashed. Microphones were thrust forward.

“Officer! Officer Kuriowa! Why weren’t the Permans involved in this operation?”
“Is it true the police are distancing themselves from the Perman team?”
“Do you think the increase in incidents is connected to—”

Kuriowa didn’t slow down. He walked past the microphones without answering, his expression unreadable, and disappeared into the waiting police car.

The crowd remained behind, still confused, still shouting questions that went unanswered.

-------------

5:41 p.m.
Sensō-ji Temple

The usual evening calm of the temple grounds had been broken. Three young men sat on the stone steps near the main gate, breathing hard, shoulders slumped. Bruises were already forming on their faces and arms. In front of them stood Payan, holding three confiscated handguns and a single folding knife.

He looked down at them with a tired expression.

“Why try to force the gate open?” he asked. “What were you planning to do inside?”

One of the men—roughly Payan’s age—glared up at him.

“Like hell we’d tell you.”

Booby, perched on a nearby stone lantern, immediately hopped down and delivered a sharp slap across the back of the man’s head.

“Wiki ki ki! Wiki!”

Payan raised a hand. “Leave them. They’ll have plenty of time to explain everything once they’re in lockup.”

He looked at the three again, voice quieter but firm.

“You could have seriously hurt people here. Do you even understand the consequences of what you were about to do?”

None of them answered.

"Well.. who am I explaining?... they are criminals for a reason."

An elderly woman in temple attire approached slowly, hands clasped. She bowed deeply to both of them.

“Thank you… both of you. Because of you, no one was seriously hurt.”

Payan shook his head. “There’s no need to thank us. It’s our job.”

The old woman smiled gently. “No. I know it’s not that simple. You two have been going through a lot lately… trying so hard to prove you’re still the good ones.”

Payan’s expression softened.

She held out a small bag filled with seasonal fruits and sweets, then handed a pair of bananas directly to Booby. The monkey accepted them with an excited bounce.

“This is our way of saying thank you,” the woman said.

Payan accepted the bag with a small bow. “We appreciate it.”

Payan glanced down at his wristwatch.

5:44 p.m.

His brow furrowed.

"He should have finished by now…"

He looked over at Booby.

“Didn’t he say he’d keep his badge tracker on?”

Booby tilted his head. “Weee…”

Payan sighed. “He didn’t turn it on.”

A quiet unease settled in his chest.

“Wonder what happened to him…”

-----------

5:17 p.m.

Mitsuo stepped past the temporary wire fence and into the construction site, the soles of his shoes pressing into the dry, uneven ground. He glanced at his watch and immediately felt a sharp twist of irritation in his chest.

"Five-seventeen."

His fingers curled against his face as he muttered under his breath, voice tight with frustration.

“I needed to check this place before anything else… I ended up wasting time.”

He had wanted to walk the ground first — to understand the layout while it was still empty — but the university had pulled him in longer than he meant to stay. Now the light was already shifting, the sun sitting lower in the sky.

He lifted his eyes.

The building rose in front of him, unfinished and skeletal. Six floors of concrete platforms stacked unevenly into the air, held up by thick pillars. No outer walls had been raised yet; the structure stood open on every side, some sections of the floors still missing entirely, leaving gaps that looked down into the levels below. Half-exposed steel rods jutted out from the edges of the concrete like unfinished bones. A set of temporary stairs climbed along one side, and beside the building a single functioning elevator shaft clung to the outer frame, its metal cage quiet and still.

Scattered across the ground were the usual signs of work left behind: mounds of sand and dust, bags of cement, broken stones, hammer, screw, and the faint grey film that settled over everything.

Mitsuo’s gaze moved across it all in a few short seconds —

"This place isn’t even fully done yet…"

He stood still for a moment, the thought hanging unfinished.

"Are they really gonna target this place?"

There was nothing here that looked worth the risk. No occupied rooms. No equipment valuable enough to justify the attention. Nothing obvious to gain.

"There’s nothing to gain."

Doubt crept in. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the real target was the university after all — the place full of people, noise, and attention.

He lowered himself slightly and, without thinking, scooped a little sand into his palm. The grains slipped slowly through his fingers, falling back to the ground in a thin stream while his mind kept turning.

After a few seconds he brushed his hand clean and straightened.

“Nah… let’s move. I should keep an eye on the university.”

He turned to leave.

Then he heard it — footsteps.

He stopped.

More footsteps followed, closer this time, the sound of several people moving across the unfinished ground.

Without another second of hesitation, Mitsuo slipped behind the nearest pillar and pressed himself into the shadow of the concrete, listening.

Mitsuo kept his back pressed against the pillar, breathing as quietly as he could. The footsteps grew clearer, then slowed. Voices drifted across the open construction ground — low, casual, and already in the middle of an argument.

“…this place isn’t even worth it.”

“Yeah, I know. Boss is stupid. We should’ve hit the university instead. At least there’d be something to show for it.”

“Don’t start giving lectures. Just do what they told us.”

“You think you know better than the boss now?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying this is a waste of time and resources.”

“Then shut up and plant the damn things. Let’s just get this over with.”

Mitsuo stayed completely still. He couldn’t see how many of them there were — the thick concrete pillar blocked most of his view — but he could hear at least four or five distinct voices moving around the unfinished floors.

One of them crouched near a support column a short distance away. There was a soft metallic click, followed by the sound of something being fixed into place.

“We’ve got about twenty minutes once these are set,” the same voice said. “We need to be gone before anyone shows up.”

Another figure shifted somewhere to the left. Then a younger-sounding voice rose, almost excited.

“Hey, look. I took this when the boss wasn’t watching.”

A short silence followed.

“Is that a gun?”

“Yeah. Real one.”

“Give it here.”

“Why should I? I found it.”

“You’re gonna get us killed waving that thing around. Hand it over.”

“No way. It’s mine now.”

“Idiot. You don’t even know how to use it properly.”

“Neither do you.”

“Just put it away before someone sees it.”

Mitsuo’s brow furrowed in the shadows.
"Are they new to this…? Arguing over a gun like that?"

While the two continued bickering, another voice cut through.

“I’m going up for a minute.”

Footsteps moved toward the functioning elevator attached to the side of the building. The metal cage rattled faintly as two people stepped inside. One of the others called after them.

“Where are you going?”

“Need some air, y'all are damn loud for me to handle” he answered. The elevator began to rise with a low mechanical hum.

By then Mitsuo had counted exactly four separate places where something had been planted against the pillars.

A different voice — thinner, nervous — spoke up.

“I don’t feel good about this… Can we just finish and leave?”

“Stop being such a scared pussy cat.”

The group started moving again. Their footsteps slowly drifted closer to the pillar Mitsuo was using for cover. He could hear the scrape of shoes on concrete, the soft shift of clothing, the quiet clink of something metallic.

He lowered his hand to the Perman set in his pockets.

"Time to end this."

He took one careful step backward, preparing to pull the set free—

—and his heel came down hard on something soft and warm.

A sharp, bark exploded right behind him.

Mitsuo’s whole body jerked.
Shit—! They have dogs here—

His foot slipped on the loose sand. He hit the ground hard, palms scraping against concrete. The dog, startled by its own noise and the sudden movement, yelped once and ran away.

In that single second of exposure, someone’s eyes locked onto his.

A man near the nearest support column froze, staring straight at him.

Their gazes met.

Mitsuo scrambled up instantly and threw himself back into the shadows, pulling the hood lower and yanking a piece of cloth from his pocket to cover the lower half of his face.

“Hey! Who’s there?!” the man shouted. “Someone’s there!”

Another voice answered immediately, louder.
“He saw us! Catch him!”

“Dark circles under his eyes—I saw his face!”

Mitsuo pressed himself against another pillar, heart hammering.
"SHITTT!! He saw my face… I can’t use the Perman set."

Two of them were already running toward the spot where he had fallen, snatching up whatever they could find— a length of rebar, a heavy wrench.

Behind them the rest of the group started to panic.

“Did he really see us?”
“What if he calls the police?!”
"What if he is from the police?"
“We should just leave the bombs and run—”
“Shut up and find him first!”

The two pursuers reached the empty pillar and skidded to a stop.

“Where the hell did he go?”

“He was right here!”

The fading sunset light made everything murky. Shadows stretched long between the unfinished floors, swallowing shapes and movement. Mitsuo stayed low and moved quickly, keeping pillars between himself and their line of sight.

While the others began spreading out, calling to each other, the nervous one from earlier stayed near one of the already-planted bombs, shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t like this… maybe we should just—”

A hand slammed hardly into his back.

He stumbled forward and hit the ground. Before he could shout, Mitsuo was already over him, a heavy construction hammer raised and pointed straight at his face.

“Don’t try anything,” Mitsuo said in a low, menacing voice, “or I’ll blow your face open.”

The man’s eyes squeezed shut. He turned his head away, body shaking.

Mitsuo kept the hammer steady with one hand while his other hand moved to the device fixed against the pillar. His fingers worked quickly, guided by knowledge he had never expected to use on Earth.

"Huh… Bird Planet’s knowledge came in handy after all."

In less than a minute the bomb was disabled. He pulled the main component free and slipped it into his hoodie pocket.

“There he is!”

The shout cut through the open air. Mitsuo’s head snapped up. In one quick glance he counted them.

Two went up earlier… one still down here… five left.

The unfinished building offered almost no cover between floors — only bare pillars and the thick iron rods sticking out of the concrete edges. Without hesitation Mitsuo sprinted toward the nearest exposed rods, planted his foot, and leapt. His hands caught the cold metal. Using pure momentum and the strength in his arms and shoulders, he hauled himself upward in two powerful pulls until he rolled onto the first unfinished floor.

Below, the men who had been running after him skidded to a stop, staring upward in disbelief.

“How the hell did he do that?!”

“Shut up and take the stairs! He shouldn’t get away!”

Five of them immediately turned and charged toward the temporary staircase.

Mitsuo was already moving. He raced along the open floor toward the top of the stairs, scooped a handful of dry sand from a nearby pile as he ran, and reached the landing just as the first two men came pounding up.

He flung the sand straight into their faces.

Both men cried out, hands flying to their eyes. Mitsuo didn’t give them time to recover. He launched himself forward and drove a hard kick into the nearest one’s chest. The man toppled backward into the one behind him. The sudden tangle of bodies sent all five cascading down the stairs in a chaotic heap of limbs and shouts.

Mitsuo twisted in mid-air, caught the edge of the concrete with one hand, and dropped cleanly back to the ground floor. He landed in a low crouch, already glancing over his shoulder.

The five were still tangled and groaning at the bottom of the stairs.

"That should buy me some time."

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind as he looked at them again.
"Did I do too much…? Nah I don't have time for this. . . ."

He pushed the thought aside and sprinted toward the next pillar that still held a bomb. Dropping to one knee, he began examining the mechanism, fingers moving quickly over the device.

A long, dark shadow stretched across the concrete in front of him.

Mitsuo’s head jerked up.

The same man who had the gun stood several meters away, arm extended, the stolen gun pointed straight at him. He pulled the trigger. The shot cracked through the open site.

Mitsuo threw himself sideways behind the pillar where the bomb was planted. The bullet still slightly touched him — a burning line of pain tore across the outside of his thigh.

"Why did I forget the gun guy"

He hit the ground hard, back pressed against the concrete, and immediately clamped a hand over the wound. Warm blood seeped between his fingers.

He sat there for a second, jaw clenched, breathing through the sharp pulse of pain.

The man with the gun stood frozen, arm still half-raised. His eyes were locked on the blood stains on the floor and the pillar. It was the first time he had ever pulled a trigger on another person — the first time he had seen blood that he himself had caused. His hands began to tremble violently.

One of the five men who had been struggling to their feet at the base of the stairs suddenly shouted, voice cracking with panic.

“What do you think you’re doing, dumbfuck?! There’s a bomb planted on that pillar! You’re gonna kill all of us if you shoot it by mistake!”

The gunman’s face went pale. The weapon in his hands shook even harder.

Mitsuo used the moment.

A metal bucket sat near his feet. He snatched it up and hurled it hard to the side. It clanged loudly against another pillar, the sudden noise jerking the gunman’s attention away. In that split second Mitsuo closed the distance, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted. The gun came free. A sharp kick to the chest sent the man sprawling onto the concrete.

Mitsuo removed the bullets from the gun and threw it away. Then he dropped back to the pillar and finished disabling the second bomb. four of those five men somehow regained their balance and went towards mitsuo at the same time. It caught Mitsuo off guard as he was focused on disabling the bomb.

One pair of arms locked around his neck from behind. Two others seized his wrists. A fourth hand clawed at the cloth covering the lower half of his face, trying to rip it away.

Mitsuo kicked hard into the solar plexus of the man in front of him. The man folded with a choked cry and collapsed. Without pausing, Mitsuo snapped his head backward, the back of his skull cracking against the face of the one choking him. At the same time his free elbow smashed into the ribs of the man still gripping his arm.

Mitsuo snatched up a discarded wooden plank and swung it in short hits, striking the hands and forearms of anyone trying to rise again. The sharp cracks of wood against bone echoed across the open floor.

"This should do it."

He didn’t wait to check. Turning, he sprinted toward the next pillar that still held an active bomb.

Behind him, the battered group was already arguing among themselves, voices raw with pain and frustration.

“How the hell are we getting played by just one guy?”
“Because you froze like an idiot!”
“Shut your mouth— you’re the one who got sand in your eyes!”
“I can’t even feel my arm properly…”

Mitsuo ignored them and finished disabling the third bomb, slipping the core into his pocket with the others.

"Maybe they don’t understand I’m going after the bombs…"

Most of them were already too hurt to stand properly. One man tried to push himself up, then collapsed again with a groan.

“I can’t move anymore…”

“Then stay down,” another muttered through clenched teeth, “unless you want another kick in the ass.”

Mitsuo moved toward the fourth pillar.

Halfway there he slowed.

The construction site had gone strangely quiet. The sun had dropped lower; the last orange light was fading fast, leaving long shadows and almost full dusk. His eyes lifted toward the upper floors.

"What happened to the two who went up…?"

He saw that same guy slowly coming down from the elevator, gun aiming at him. A gunshot cracked through the open air.

Mitsuo noticed the flame of the gun's muzzle, and he involuntarily dodged the bullet, almost too close, the bullet hissed past his shoulder and punched into a cement bag behind him. Mitsuo threw himself sideways and rolled behind a neat stack of bricks that had been left near one of the support columns.

Two figures came down the stairs, one of them holding the gun. They stopped short when they saw the state of the others — bodies sprawled, weapons scattered, faces bruised and bloodied.

For a second they just stared in utter disbelief and fear.

Then their eyes found Mitsuo’s position. They raised their weapons, one with guns, another with a broken glass bottle, arms not entirely steady — a mixture of confidence from the guns and clear nervousness at what one person had already done to the rest of the group.

Mitsuo didn’t give them time to settle.

He snatched a brick from the pile and hurled it with full force. It struck the nearer man’s knee with a hard, ugly crack. The man screamed and went down, clutching his leg.

The second person flinched so hard at the sudden scream that the bottle slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the concrete and broke into further pieces. Both hands shot up immediately.

“I-I surrender! Don’t—!”

Mitsuo stepped out from behind the bricks, collected the gun, and ejected the magazines in two quick motions before tossing them far out of reach. Then he walked straight to the fourth pillar and began disabling the last device, fingers moving with practiced speed even, the pain in his thighs still irritating him..

A few minutes later the entire group was secured. Mitsuo had used leftover construction rope and torn pieces of cloth to bind their wrists and ankles to the nearest pillars and rebar. Most of them were in no condition to run even if they had been free.

He walked over to the man whose knee had been injured by the brick. The man glared up at him with pure hatred.

“Just because you caught us,” the man spat, “doesn’t mean you won this.”

Mitsuo looked down at him, voice flat.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. The one who loses always talks like that.”

He crouched a little closer.
“By the way… I want your help. Mind telling me why you’re doing such things with these shitheads? What do you want?”

The man let out a short, bitter laugh.
“I may have lost… but you didn’t win this shit either.”

Mitsuo’s eyes narrowed.

The man’s laughter grew louder, almost hysterical.
“Oh, masked guy… you don’t even know why I went up there, do you?”

A cold jolt ran through Mitsuo’s chest. He spun and sprinted toward the stairs. He took them three at a time to the first floor, then yanked the Perman set from under his hoodie and pulled it on in one fluid motion. The cape snapped open as he launched upward, flying straight to the sixth floor.

There it was — another device fixed against a support column near the edge of the unfinished floor.

Too late.

The digital counter was already flashing single digits.

5…
4…
3…

Mitsuo turned and threw himself backward with everything he had.

2…
1…

The explosion tore through the corner of the sixth floor in a violent burst of fire and concrete. The shockwave slammed into him mid-air, spinning him hard before he managed to stabilize. Birds that had been nesting in the surrounding darkness scattered into the night sky with panicked cries.

Below, the bound men stared up at the burning upper floor, faces pale with genuine shock. pieces of concrete and some clothes from above fell down which were already caught on fire. None of them had realized the bombs carried that much force. They were terrified to their core too..

The man with the ruined knee started laughing again, louder this time.

“We didn’t know you planted that one!” someone asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered between laughs, “that’s why you guys are absolute assholes.”

Another voice, still staring at the flames, muttered, “If our bombs had gone off too… the whole building would’ve come down.”

The laughing man only laughed harder.
“That’s why you guys are worth nothing. Absolute sons of bitches. Couldn’t even handle one guy when there were six of you — and you had the GUNS!”

High above them, Mitsuo landed heavily on the edge of the third floor. He sat down hard, head bowed, the helmet still on. Shame and sharp disappointment settled over him like a weight.

He glanced at his watch.

5:39 p.m.

"If I hadn’t been such an idiot… if they hadn’t seen my face… I could have ended this cleanly."

His eyes dropped to his thigh. The bleeding had finally slowed, the dark stain on his pants no longer spreading.

He stayed there for a long moment, listening to the distant crackle of the fire above and the low, bitter laughter rising from the ground floor.

6:33 p.m.

By the time the last of the daylight had completely faded, a small crowd had already gathered beyond the temporary fencing. Blue police lights flashed across the unfinished concrete and the dark smoke still drifting from the damaged sixth floor.

A young officer stood near the edge of the site, notebook open, taking statements from witnesses.

“I heard gunshots,” one woman said. “Several of them.”

Others nearby nodded in agreement.

Further inside, officers were carefully moving the bound and injured men onto stretchers. Four disabled bomb cores had been laid out on a plastic sheet under portable lights. The fifth device — or what remained of it — was still being examined by the specialized team near the scorched upper floor.

One officer crouched beside the man whose knee had been shattered.

“What happened here?”

The man gave a weak, bitter smile.
“We don’t know. Some motherfucker did this… He had dark circles under his eyes. That’s all I could see.”

“Where did he go?”

The man started laughing again, the same uneven, almost hysterical sound from earlier.
“Maybe he’s dead. He tried to disable the bomb that went off.”

The officer frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t see him after the explosion.”

High above them, on one of the unfinished middle floors where the darkness and remaining structure completely hid him from view, Mitsuo listened in silence. The Perman helmet was still on. He stayed perfectly still, back against a pillar, thigh throbbing dully.

Nearby, a junior officer picked up one of the discarded guns and turned it over in his hands, brow furrowed.

“It feels… oddly familiar,” he muttered under his breath.

A senior officer’s voice snapped across the site.
“Hey! Idiot, what are you doing? Are you new at this? Don’t touch that. The specialized team will take it for further investigation.”

The junior officer immediately dropped the weapon as if it had burned him.
“Sorry, sir! Extremely sorry for my incompetence. I completely forgot—”

Mitsuo had heard enough.

The situation was now fully in the hands of the police. He pushed away from the pillar, stepped off the edge of the floor, and let the cape catch the night air as he rose silently into the dark sky, leaving the flashing lights and voices behind.

End of chapter 7

Three to four days had passed since Mitsuo started staying at Payan’s apartment. The small living room had turned into a complete mess. Police reports, maps, empty cups, and scattered notes covered almost every surface. The two friends had been working non-stop, trying to find any clue that could lead them to the people behind the recent crime wave.

Payan leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. “The guns and other materials recovered?”

Mitsuo, who was flipping through another file, nodded without looking up. “Yeah?”

Payan sighed. “As far as I know, they are still out for investigation. Still no updates yet.”

Mitsuo frowned. “Who handles them?”

Payan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe an officer named Kuriowa. They have recovered very few guns. Kuriowa sent whatever they recovered to the forensic lab… or ballistics, or whatever those guys call it.”

Mitsuo leaned back, looking annoyed. “Why no new information till now?”

Payan let out a tired laugh. “Who knows? They are very slow at this… maybe paperwork, permissions, all of that.”

Mitsuo made an annoyed face. “Of course they are more burdened with permission, categorization, and all instead of giving clues. It’s like we are in some heroic story where they are not helping and we need to do everything ourselves.”

Payan laughed. “Well, what can we do? Let’s pull this off and get our names written in history books! Three flying idiots saved the city!”

Payan added with a grin, “Just don’t say things like this in front of that rude pile of shit.”

Mitsuo raised an eyebrow. “Who? Kuriowa?”

Payan shook his head. “No. Kurose. That guy is just waiting with a knife to cut our throat when he gets the chance.”

Mitsuo sighed. “I thought I would like to take some more things from the police station for—”

Payan cut him off immediately. “No way. Kurose ain’t gonna do that.”

Mitsuo sighed again. “Alright then.”

He spread his hands and smiled a little. “The curry we both made was so good. A little raw, but still… I was craving for it. Something from Earth.”

There was a small silence. Then Mitsuo continued, “The spice was totally worth my burnt tongue.”

Payan laughed. “You nearly cut your finger off while chopping vegetables!”

Mitsuo chuckled. “Yeah… that was embarrassing.”

They both laughed for a moment, the tension easing slightly. After the small joke, they shifted back to the reports.

A few hours later, Payan stood up. “I’m going outside to buy some groceries. We’re almost out of rice.”

Mitsuo nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep looking through these.”

Payan left the apartment. The moment the door closed, Mitsuo’s smile faded. He held his head with both hands, staring at the mess of papers in front of him.

"How are they pulling this off? he thought. No way they are doing this without any planning…"

He looked at the empty space in the room where Payan had been sitting. The silence felt heavier now.

"I need more perspective…
"If.. If only Pako was here… maybe she could have.. "

Mitsuo closed his eyes, letting out a long, tired breath.

"There has to be something here… I just haven’t found it yet."

Mitsuo sat cross-legged on the floor of Payan’s apartment, surrounded by a sea of scattered police reports, crumpled sticky notes, and several transparent sheets he had borrowed from a nearby stationery shop. The low table had long been abandoned; instead, he had spread a large map of Tokyo across the floors, anchoring the corners with half-empty coffee mugs and pens.

His eyes moved slowly across the marked locations of past attacks. Something about them felt... familiar. Not in the details, but in the shape they formed when viewed together.

He stopped thinking for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. "They’re still studying the evidence... when are they going to—"

The thought broke off. That nagging sense of recognition returned, stronger this time. Mitsuo leaned forward and began rearranging the maps. He slid one sheet over another, aligning districts until the full sprawl of Tokyo lay clearly visible before him. With a black marker, he started circling certain spots, drawing faint lines between them, then crossing some out with quick, frustrated strokes. Transparent overlays followed — he traced imaginary paths, connecting high points, open areas, and clusters of buildings.

"Where have I seen this pattern before?" he thought. "They’re not doing it for any obvious cause... or maybe they are?"

He paused, staring at two particular circled locations. "If they were following normal crowd movement..." The thought fractured. "When following a group toward a target... diagonal lines from both sides on the back..."

Mitsuo’s hand moved almost on its own, drawing light diagonal marks across the map.

"Higher place. Clean view."

But immediately the counter-thought hit him. "It would mean—" He froze. "Wait... did they attack buildings in those two locations?"

He rifled through the reports, papers rustling loudly in the quiet room. To his surprise, the records confirmed it: both previous attacks had focused on elevated positions — rooftops, high floors, places with commanding views of the surrounding area.

A small spark of certainty ignited in his chest.

Just then, the sound of the apartment door opening pulled him back. Payan stepped inside, carrying a plastic bag of vegetables, only to stop dead in the doorway.

“What... are you doing?” Payan asked, blinking at the chaos. The floor was covered in maps, threads connecting points, sticky notes with scribbled times, and half-drawn diagrams. Even his bed had become a secondary workspace, covered in more papers and pens. “Are you playing some kind of match-the-column game with the entire city?”

Mitsuo looked up, eyes slightly unfocused from hours of concentration. “I... got some leads.”

Payan’s eyes widened. He dropped the bag of rice and vegetables onto the kitchen table with a thud and hurried over, carefully stepping around the mess. “Wait, seriously?” He tried to sit on the bed, only to find it occupied. “Oi, Mitsuo... you could have at least left my bed alone!”

Payan cleared a small space and sat down anyway, looking at the maps with growing curiosity. “What happened? Tell me.”

Mitsuo hesitated, still staring at the three circled locations. “I think I figured out where they might attack next.”

Payan leaned in closer. “How? What did you see?”

Mitsuo opened his mouth, then closed it again. His mind was still racing, trying to connect the final pieces. "But what does—"

“Mitsuo?” Payan called his name gently.

He snapped back to reality. “Nothing. I’ll explain the full reasoning later. For now...” He picked up the pen and crossed out four locations with firm strokes, then circled three others more deliberately. “These three places. Maybe. I don't know but maybe”

Payan studied the map. “Which ones?”

Mitsuo rubbed his head. The names had slipped his mind in the exhaustion. “What are these areas called again?”

Payan pointed them out one by one. “Shibuya Scramble Crossing... Sensō-ji Temple... and this one near Tokyo Fuji University. There’s an under-construction building there.”

Mitsuo’s expression shifted slightly. “Mitsuo told me that he studies there...”

Payan raised an eyebrow. “You mean your robot double?”

“Oh, right. Yeah... whatever,” Mitsuo muttered, waving it off.

Payan thought for a moment. “Logically, targeting the university area makes sense if they want attention. But an under-construction building? What would they even gain from that?”

Mitsuo stared at the map, a strange unease settling in his gut. “Maybe... or maybe not. I don’t know for sure yet. It could be the university, or the building, or something else entirely in that zone. Honestly if you ask me I even haven't figured out yet”

He leaned back, suddenly doubting himself.
"That was... fast.. "

Payan noticed the change in his friend’s expression. “What do you mean?”

Payan pointed vaguely at the mess covering the floor. “You’ve barely slept for four days. My apartment looks like a police archive. And you call this ‘fast’?”

Despite the exhaustion weighing on him, Mitsuo managed a small, tired smile. But the unease remained — a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispering that something still didn’t add up.

The apartment had fallen unusually quiet.

Maps still covered half the floor, reports lay scattered across the bed, and empty coffee cans had somehow become part of the furniture.

Mitsuo stared at the three circled locations for a long time before finally breaking the silence.

"According to me..." he said quietly, tapping the map with his pen, "...the next series of attacks should happen tomorrow."

Payan nodded.

Neither of them looked particularly excited. If anything, the prediction only made the room feel heavier.

After a moment, Mitsuo spoke again.

"You know..." He paused, his eyes remaining fixed on the map. "Logically... the university would make the most sense. What would they even get by targeting a construction building??"

Payan looked at him, waiting for the rest.

"...But..."

Mitsuo frowned.

"They've been moving almost... unexpectedly."

He rested the pen on the table.

"I'll follow my instinct this time."

"...Just this once."

Payan leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

Mitsuo let out a slow breath.

"...What if I'm wrong?"

Payan shrugged.

"Then you're wrong."

Mitsuo blinked.

"It's still better than sitting around and waiting for an emergency call," Payan continued. "If there's even a chance you're right, we should act on it."

A faint smile appeared on Mitsuo's face.

"...Yeah."

He looked back at the map.

"You and Booby should investigate Sensō-ji Temple. The police may ruin the environment there.. you guys would better there..."

Payan nodded.

"And the police?"

"Warn them about..." He tried to remember the name, "Shibuya Scramble Crossing. Ha! I remember it!"

Payan frowned.

"Do you think we should tell the other locations too?"

"For now..." Mitsuo replied, "...don't tell them."

Payan raised an eyebrow.

"It's only a prediction," Mitsuo explained. "Besides... you told me the police aren't exactly on good terms with you anymore."

"...Kurose."

"Right. Kurose."

"He already suspects us."

Payan sighed.

"...Yeah."

"Then let's not involve them more than necessary."

After a brief silence, Payan folded the map and stood up.

"One more thing."

"Hm?"

"Keep your Perman badge tracker switched on."

Mitsuo looked at him.

"If either of us runs into trouble, we'll be able to track each other."

Mitsuo smiled.

"...That's actually a great idea."

With the plan finally settled, both of them looked around the apartment.

It resembled less of a home and more of an abandoned investigation room.

"Guess we should clean this up," Payan muttered.

For the next several minutes, neither of them spoke much. Papers were stacked into neat piles, maps folded away, pens collected from every corner of the room.

Mitsuo picked up one particularly thick bundle of reports.

"So..."

He held them above the trash bin.

"...Should we throw these away?"

Payan nearly dropped the box he was carrying.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Mitsuo couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Kurose would blow my head off if I don't return those in a few days!"

Mitsuo laughed and lowered the reports.

"Relax."

"I was kidding."

"I'm not touching these precious nothing to do reports."

Payan sighed dramatically.

"...For a second, I actually believed you."

A moment later, Mitsuo looked at him again.

"...Wait."

"What?"

"You said Kurose would blow your head off."

"...Yeah?"

"But..."

Mitsuo tilted his head.

"...You'll be wearing the Perman helmet."

Payan stared blankly.

The room went silent.

"...Oh."

Mitsuo burst into laughter.

Payan rubbed the back of his neck, looking mildly embarrassed.

"...Fine."

"He'll shoot me in the chest instead."

Mitsuo nodded solemnly.

"...Fair enough."

The two of them laughed, their voices briefly filling the apartment.

Tomorrow, they would have to trust a prediction that neither of them could fully explain.

--------------------------------

The street was unusually quiet.

Mitsuo slowed to a stop on a footpath and glanced around once before unclasping the Perman Set concealed beneath his clothes, making sure no one was there. In one smooth motion, he tucked it away and pulled an oversized gray hoodie over himself. The familiar weight of the fabric settled across his shoulders, and for a brief moment, Perman No. 1 disappeared. He was simply another nineteen-year-old standing on a Tokyo sidewalk.

Across the street stood Tokyo Fuji University.

The afternoon lectures had just ended. Streams of students poured through the gates, filling the once-empty street with conversation and laughter. Some walked with headphones on, others hurried toward the station with backpacks slung over one shoulder.

"...If Professor Sato gives another assignment this week, I'm dropping his class."

"You say that every Monday."

"Yeah, and every Friday I'm still alive somehow."

A group of girls walked past him, laughing.

"So... are you finally going to tell him?"

"What? No! Absolutely not."

"You've liked him for six months."

"Keep your voice down!"

The noise wasn't loud. Mitsuo watched in silence. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be. Someone to meet. Something to complain about. Something to look forward to.

His eyes wandered through the crowd—

—and then stopped.

Robot Mitsuo stepped out through the university gates.

Two friends walked beside him, talking over one another. One of them nudged him with an elbow, saying something Mitsuo couldn't hear. The robot rolled his eyes before laughing, the three of them continuing down the street together as naturally as if they had known each other for years.

They stopped at a small ice cream stand.

"You're paying," Robot Mitsuo declared.

"What? Why me?"

"You scored highest on the quiz."

"So?"

"So congratulations. Buy us ice cream."

"That's robbery."

"It's friendship."

The three of them burst into laughter.

A faint smile appeared on Mitsuo's face.

"...Looks like..."

His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"...you found your own people."

The words carried no jealousy.

Only relief.

The group continued walking, weaving through the crowd. Without thinking, Mitsuo found himself following at a distance, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He never called out. Never tried to get closer. He simply watched them disappear and reappear between passing pedestrians, listening to fragments of laughter carried by the afternoon breeze.

For a few quiet minutes...

...he allowed himself to imagine what life might have been like.

A lecture.

Friends.

Arguments over assignments.

Ice cream after class.

A life where tomorrow's biggest concern was an exam instead of another attack.

Mitsuo froze.

"...Oh, shit."

He had already half an hour. He looked toward the construction site. Then, almost instinctively, he turned back in the direction Robot Mitsuo and his friends had gone. They had already disappeared into the crowd of students.

He stood there for another second before turning away.

Just beyond the next intersection, surrounded by steel beams and unfinished concrete, the construction site waited in complete silence.

Without another glance behind him, Mitsuo adjusted the hood over his head and walked toward it.

End of chapter 6

Sumire Hoshino walked through the hospital corridor, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small box of chocolates in the other. A nurse had just informed her that most of the patients from the fire incident were on the second and third floors.

“Thank you,” Sumire said softly, bowing her head slightly before continuing upstairs.

Outside the hospital building, a crowd of reporters had gathered. Cameras flashed nonstop as they waited for her to appear. Their voices overlapped in a chaotic mess — shouting questions, pushing against security barriers, trying to get the best angle. The noise was loud enough to disturb the quiet atmosphere inside.

A senior doctor in a white coat finally stepped outside, looking furious. He raised his hand and shouted over the crowd.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” he yelled. “This is a hospital! People are recovering inside. Have some respect instead of causing chaos like this and calling yourselves journalists!”

The reporters quieted down for a moment, but the moment the doctor went back inside, the noise slowly started rising again.

Sumire ignored all of the questions and somehow managed to enter the building.

She took the elevator to the third floor and started visiting the rooms one by one. The first family she met was a young couple whose son had suffered minor burns and smoke inhalation.

The mother stood up immediately when she saw Sumire. “Miss Sumire… thank you for coming.”

Sumire bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry for what happened. I organized that event… the safety of the children was my responsibility.”

The father shook his head gently. “You’ve already helped us so much with the medical expenses. I'm really fortunate that my kid didn't have any serious issues.. That’s more than enough. We don’t blame you personally. The criminals are still out there… it’s not entirely your fault.”

Sumire’s eyes softened. “Still… I’m truly sorry. If there’s anything else your family needs, please tell me.”

The mother smiled weakly. “Just… get well soon yourself. We saw the news. You were inside too.”

Sumire nodded, chatting with them for a few more minutes before moving to the next room.

In the next room, a mother was sitting beside her daughter, whose right hand was heavily bandaged. The little girl was sleeping. The mother’s eyes were red from crying.

Sumire approached slowly. “I’m so sorry…”

The mother looked up, tears still fresh. “She keeps waking up crying… saying her hand hurts…”

Sumire knelt down beside the bed, her voice gentle. “I can’t imagine how scared she must have been. I’m truly sorry this happened during my event. I know it's nothing compared to how much you are going through..”

The father, who had been standing quietly by the window, spoke in a neutral but firm tone. “I didn't expect you would actually come here.”

Sumire bowed again. “It’s the least I can do. I know money can’t fix the pain or fear, but I want to do whatever I can.”

The father sighed and looked at her. “You’ve always been close to the people here. They know you from when you were a child. They trust you.” He paused, then continued carefully. “But… people are getting divided now. If you keep openly supporting the Permans… the media might turn you into a scapegoat. You should be careful. I don't know if that was an accident or done deliberately.”

Sumire stayed quiet for a moment, she simply nodded. “Thank you for your advice.”

She continued visiting a few more families. Some thanked her warmly. Others were polite but worried and frustrated. One father even said, “We don’t blame you… but the Permans… they should have been faster.”

By the time she finished the last visit, Sumire felt drained. She stood near a window on the third floor, looking out at the city. The reporters were still waiting downstairs like vultures.

Her phone buzzed. A message from her manager: “Press is getting restless. Please come down soon. And remember — stay neutral on the Perman topic.”

Sumire stared at the message for a long time.

----

Sumire quietly pushed open the door to Dr. Yana’s office, a Clinical Psychologist. The familiar smell of old books and faint lavender hit her immediately. Dr. Yana, a man in his mid-forties with kind eyes and neatly combed graying hair, was sitting behind his desk, scrolling through his phone. The moment he noticed her, he quickly slipped the phone into his pocket and stood up with a warm smile.

“Sumire, come in. It’s good to finally see you again.”

She gave a small bow and closed the door behind her. “Thank you for making time, Doctor.”

Dr. Yana gestured toward the comfortable armchair across from his desk. “Please, sit. How have you been since last month?”

Sumire sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “I… don’t quite know myself.”

Dr. Yana nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “That’s what I thought.".. He looked at the reports in his hands, adjusted his glasses, "You know, I’ve been suggesting weekly sessions for a while now, but you barely manage to come once a month.”

Sumire looked down at her hands. “I’m really not getting enough time. The schedule is packed — shoots, interviews, endorsements…”

“I understand, I.. understand” Dr. Yana said gently, “but for the sake of your health, you should try to come at least once a week. Even if it’s just thirty minutes.”

Sumire didn’t respond. The silence stretched for a few seconds.

Dr. Yana leaned back slightly and smiled. “By the way, thank you again for the autograph you gave my son last time. He was over the moon. He keeps it on his desk.”

Sumire returned a small, genuine smile. “It was no problem at all.”

Dr. Yana’s expression became a little more serious. “I saw the news this morning. The reporters were gathered outside the hospital too. It looked quite chaotic.”

Sumire nodded. “I refused to answer any questions and left quickly. I didn’t want to make things worse for the patients.”

Dr. Yana studied her for a moment. “So… have you considered starting that hobby we talked about?”

Sumire’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “You remember it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dr. Yana said with a soft chuckle. “You mentioned it after maybe our tenth or twelfth session. But honestly, Sumire… if you keep hiding parts of the story, I won’t be able to help you properly. We’re only seeing half the picture here.”

Sumire stayed quiet. "If only I could tell you.. doctor.."

Dr. Yana continued gently. “Alright. Let’s go through the usual questions first. How has your sleep been lately?”

“Kind of… better,” she replied.

“And your appetite?”

“It’s okay.”

“Have you tried reconnecting with your old friends?”

Sumire hesitated. “It’s… complicated.”

Dr. Yana nodded slowly. “I see.” He leaned forward a little. “Well, it's a good amount of time we have spent on your condition, If I have to conclude based on the half-picture you’ve given me… you’re spending most of your time working, right? Shooting, interviews, endorsements, then repeating the cycle.”

Sumire gave a small nod.

Dr. Yana sighed. “You’ve already earned more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And yet you keep pushing yourself. You’re not even enjoying the work fully anymore, are you?”

He paused, then added with a small, tired laugh, “It seems like you’re overworking yourself just to stay distracted.”

The words hit her harder than she expected. Sumire looked down, her throat tightening. Her eyes couldn't look anywhere but the book shelf where numerous books are present.

Dr. Yana’s voice softened. “What can be the solution, then?”

Sumire stayed silent for a long moment. The weight in her chest grew heavier. She finally whispered, “I… I don’t know.”

Dr. Yana watched her carefully. “If you’re still not comfortable telling me everything… I can only repeat the same advice I’ve been giving you. Slowly try to return to that hobby. Or reconnect with your friends. Or best.. please do both.”

Sumire felt her eyes stinging. The emotions she had been pushing down for months were rising too fast. She stood up abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. I have work. Thank you for today.”

Dr. Yana looked at her with quiet disappointment. “Sumire… you’ve used this excuse several times before.”

She paused at the door but didn’t turn around.

Dr. Yana spoke gently but firmly. “You need to make a choice before yor condition deteriorate.”

Sumire nodded once, then quietly left the room.

Dr. Yana glanced at the clock on his wall and sighed.

“Huh… only twenty-three minutes. I still had a whole hour.”

----

Later that evening, Sumire sat across from Kenji Arai in a quiet corner of a high-end café. The soft lighting and gentle jazz music created a calm atmosphere, but Sumire’s mind was anything but calm. Kenji, the Head of Product Development at ShinaDesign..

He took a sip of his coffee and asked gently, “Why did you call me Miss Sumire?”

Sumire stirred her tea slowly, trying to appear casual. She had rehearsed this conversation in her head multiple times on the way here.

“Well.. the thing is.. I’ve been thinking…” she began carefully, “Shouldn't the company look for another person to become the brand ambassador?”

Kenji for a moment got worried. “Why?”

Sumire kept her voice steady. “I don’t know… it’s just that staying as part of this company right now might affect your brand value. With all the recent controversies around me…”

Kenji set his cup down. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and sighed.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Sumire looked at him. “But what about the recent controversies? The fire incident, the questions about Permans… people are talking a lot.”

Kenji leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “That’s not a problem. Your personal opinions — whether about the Permans or anything else — can stay as they are. As long as they don’t interfere with your contractual responsibilities, the company has no issue with it.”

Sumire stayed quiet for a moment. Kenji’s answer was exactly what she had expected… and yet it still felt heavy.

Kenji’s voice softened. “Do you remember when our products barely sold?”

Sumire nodded slowly.

“You agreed to advertise them anyway,” Kenji continued. “People noticed because you believed in the quality. The company hasn’t forgotten that.”

Sumire felt a small sting in her chest. “Oh… th-thanks.”

Internally, her thoughts were a storm. "I wanted some rest… I wanted to step back… but I can’t break their trust."

Kenji smiled gently. “It’s okay, Sumire. This is just a phase. Time will change things, just like how it changed for our company earlier. We’ll figure it out somehow.”

Sumire forced a small smile. “I hope so.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics — upcoming campaigns, new shoe designs, and schedule adjustments.

When they finally parted ways outside the café, Sumire watched Kenji’s car drive away. She stood there for a long moment, the evening breeze brushing against her face.

"Am I overthinking this?"

She turned and started walking toward her own car, but the unease refused to leave her.

----

Mitsuo sat on the small couch in Payan’s modest apartment, staring at the floor. The room was noticeably smaller than his own house. Payan stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking at him with a mix of confusion and concern.

“So… you didn’t tell me,” Payan said. “Why here? I mean, this room is smaller than yours. Why suddenly? Also did you inform your robot double?”

Mitsuo stayed quiet for a moment. The memory of the robot sitting at the dinner table, laughing with his family, flashed in front of his eyes again. It hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“Yes I informed him.. please… just for a few days,” Mitsuo said softly. “Till this situation gets a bit better.”

Payan waited. When Mitsuo didn’t continue, he pressed gently. “Okay.. What’s really going on?”

Mitsuo rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t work freely if my mom keeps wandering around the house. She would not like to see her son along with a Perman and police reports..”

Payan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. You can stay. But then you’ll have to help me with the cooking. Since food needs are gonna double, it’s better to eat homemade food rather than spending too much money on restaurants.”

Mitsuo gave a small, tired smile. “Roger that, sir.”

Payan looked slightly embarrassed. “I can’t cook curry to be honest…”

Mitsuo let out a short laugh. “Then we will be in trouble.”

Payan chuckled too. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Mitsuo looked at him. The atmosphere between them felt warm, yet heavy at the same time.

Payan continued softly, “Together. Like how we used to.”

Both of them fell silent for a moment. The name “Pako” hung unspoken in the air. The absence of their third teammate felt suddenly sharper.

Mitsuo raised his fist. Payan did the same.

They bumped fists firmly.

----

Mitsuo sat at the floor of Payan’s apartment, surrounded by dozens of police reports spread across the surface. The papers were messy, overlapping, some with coffee stains. Payan sat opposite him, flipping through another thick file.

At first, Mitsuo simply read.

One report.

Then another.

Then another.

After reading only a handful, he suddenly stopped. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t explain why. The reports didn’t contain any obvious clue, yet he already felt as though something was fundamentally wrong.

Payan noticed him staring at the papers. “Did you find something?”

Mitsuo slowly shook his head. “No… that’s what’s bothering me.”

Unable to explain the feeling, Mitsuo decided to approach the problem logically.

“If something feels wrong,” he said, “then one of my assumptions must be wrong.”

He began systematically testing every possible explanation. First, he checked whether the attacks were financially motivated.

The theory immediately fell apart.

Some attacks targeted banks. Others occurred near bridges. Some happened around hospitals. Others took place inside warehouses, apartment buildings, or public areas. There was no consistent financial objective.

Payan suggested looking at the victims instead of the locations.

Mitsuo explained that he had already considered that possibility.

The victims were equally random. Sometimes ordinary civilians. Sometimes business owners. Sometimes police officers. Sometimes no one at all.

There was no common target.

The two continued exploring every possibility they could think of.

Perhaps the criminals were trying to maximize casualties.

No.

Sometimes people were killed.

Sometimes nobody was harmed.

Perhaps they always stole something valuable.

Again, no.

Sometimes they stole jewelry, cash or anything... Other times they ignored enormous amounts of money entirely and simply left after causing destruction.

Weapon analysis proved impossible as well. Very few reports included recovered weapons. Most only mentioned cartridge casings or bullets collected afterward, making meaningful comparison difficult.

Even the size of each criminal group constantly changed. Sometimes a single offender appeared. Sometimes four or five worked together.

Nothing stayed consistent.

As more and more possibilities collapsed, Mitsuo’s frustration began to grow. But then another problem caught his attention.

The reports themselves were incomplete.

Some reports lacked timestamps.

Others didn’t even specify which exact building or room was attacked.

Mitsuo threw another report onto the table harshly.

“How am I supposed to find anything in this?”

“The more I read… the less sense it makes.”

Mitsuo asked about the captured criminals. Did they reveal who was giving them orders?

Mitsuo said that if there really was an organized group behind all this, someone must be supplying weapons, explosives, money, and instructions.

Payan recalled what Officer Kuriowa mentioned after recent interrogations. Every captured criminal claimed they genuinely didn’t know who their leader was. They simply received instructions and carried them out.

Payan believed they were lying. To him, the organization was simply too chaotic to have a mastermind.

Mitsuo disagreed. He quietly explained that if there truly wasn’t a central planner, then some natural pattern should eventually appear. Collective people work for a common goal.. Instead, every time he thought he’d found one… another report immediately contradicted it.

“They’re… consistently inconsistent.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Mitsuo wasn’t saying they’d found the answer.

The idea sounded absurd.

Yet nothing else explained why every possible pattern immediately collapsed.

Unfortunately, intuition alone wasn’t evidence.

They still had nothing concrete.

Seeing Mitsuo becoming increasingly frustrated, Payan suggested "Can't you use whatever advanced investigative techniques Bird Planet must have taught you during training?"

Mitsuo couldn’t help laughing.

Payan clearly imagined Bird Planet as some futuristic detective academy where heroes solved impossible mysteries every day.

Mitsuo explained that reality was completely different. Bird Planet was an incredibly peaceful civilization. Crime was almost nonexistent because its legal system and technology were centuries ahead of Earth’s. Most training missions involved observing distant civilizations, responding to small-scale incidents, and maintaining peace rather than chasing dangerous criminals or solving murders.

The training itself was incredibly difficult, but detective work wasn’t its primary focus.

Payan jokingly complained that movies made alien planet sound much cooler.

Mitsuo said jokingly "I had to learn Bird Planet's geography do you believe it? It's hilarious.. "

Mitsuo laughed briefly before apologizing for getting distracted.

They returned to the reports.

Nothing new emerged.

After several more minutes of staring at the papers, Mitsuo finally leaned back in his chair.

“I need a break.”

Payan quietly agreed.

The two left the apartment and began walking through a nearby park. For a while, neither spoke.

Eventually Mitsuo wondered why the police didn’t simply increase security in vulnerable areas until the attacks stopped.

Payan explained that such a solution only worked in theory. There simply weren’t enough officers anymore. Before the recent crime wave, Japan rarely needed large police deployments. Now multiple attacks occurred simultaneously across different locations. Both the police and the remaining Permans were stretched beyond their limits.

Payan added, “By the way… didn’t Bird Planet have all kinds of advanced equipment? You were there for nine years. Couldn’t you have brought something back to help us?”

Mitsuo was quiet for a few seconds. He stared at the ground without really seeing it.

“…I could have.”

Payan looked surprised. “You could?”

Mitsuo nodded.

“…But I chose not to.”

Silence.

“I thought…”

He stopped.

“…I’d come back as a normal person.”

“…At least for a while.”

His thoughts drifted. Again..

His mother smiling.

His father laughing.

Ganko talking excitedly.

The robot…

His mind replied.. "They’re happy. That’s enough."

He quietly returned to the reports.

The conversation slowly faded.

As they continued walking, both noticed a group of children happily playing ball together in the park.

Neither said anything.

They simply watched.

For a brief moment, both remembered a simpler time — when there were four Permans, when protecting people didn’t feel impossible, and when life wasn’t dominated by unanswered questions.

The scene ends with Mitsuo silently staring at the children, his mind still trapped on one thought:

"If there really is no pattern… then why did the reports start feeling wrong after only a few pages?"

I'm working on the next chapter 5, it'll be completed in about next 2-3 days.. I know it's taking time, due to my studies.. I'm in my last school year(class 12th).. so it's pretty hard to maintain things.. also I have been diagnosed with fever too few days ago, I'm fine for now, my grandma was admitted to the hospital 2-3 weeks ago, so yeah.. the month of June wasn't good for me.. even my studies took a bad hit.. not asking for any sympathy.. it's just that yall deserve an explanation for me getting late hehe 😅😅.. just wait a bit, I'm trying my best. Love you for the support