Chapter 7: An Unlikely Alliance

Finally, they entered a small, circular room, its walls lined with terminals and interfaces that flickered with coded streams of data. The hum of machinery was louder here, almost rhythmic, as if the space itself were alive. Tujo moved to the center, tossing his helmet onto a nearby console and motioning for Kiryu to sit.

“Take a moment,” Tujo said, his tone lighter now, though his piercing gaze remained intense. “You’re going to need your strength.”

Kiryu slumped onto a low bench, his breath still uneven. He watched as Tujo began manipulating one of the terminals, its holographic interface responding to his deft commands. Despite his fatigue, Kiryu couldn’t help but marvel at the fluidity with which Tujo navigated the system, as though he were a part of it.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re helping me,” Kiryu said, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse, but the question carried weight. “You don’t even know me.”

Tujo didn’t look up from the terminal. “I know enough. You’ve got a data crystal that could expose the System’s darkest secrets, and you’ve shown the kind of reckless determination that’s hard to come by. That’s all I need to know for now.”

Kiryu frowned. “That doesn’t explain why you care.”

This time, Tujo paused. He turned to face Kiryu, his expression unreadable. “Because I’ve been where you are,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen what happens when you dig too deep. I’ve lost people to it. If I can keep you from making the same mistakes I did, maybe it’ll be worth it.”

The weight of Tujo’s words settled heavily in the air. Kiryu studied him, searching for a hint of deceit, but found none. Instead, he saw the weariness of someone who had fought too many battles and carried too many scars.

“What happened?” Kiryu asked, his voice softer now.

Tujo hesitated, then turned back to the terminal. “Another time. For now, we’ve got work to do.”

As Tujo continued working, the room’s ambient hum seemed to grow louder, as if the space itself were responding to their presence. Kiryu leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The past few days had been a whirlwind of danger and revelations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of something far bigger than himself.

“Alright,” Tujo said suddenly, breaking Kiryu’s thoughts. “Let’s get one thing straight. If we’re going to do this, we need to work together. That means you listen, you follow the plan, and you don’t chase every lead without thinking it through. Clear?”

Kiryu opened his eyes, meeting Tujo’s intense gaze. “Clear.”

Tujo nodded, satisfied. “Good. Because the System isn’t just going to sit back and let us play detective. If we’re not careful, they’ll erase us before we can make a dent.”

Kiryu’s stomach tightened at the thought. He had already seen what the System was capable of, and the idea of being “erased” sent a shiver down his spine. But he also knew he couldn’t back down now. Too much was at stake.

Tujo leaned against the console, crossing his arms. “Here’s the deal. I’ve been tracking the System’s activities for years. They’re not just maintaining Paradoxium; they’re rewriting it, piece by piece. Every decision, every anomaly, it all gets adjusted to fit their version of perfection. They’re erasing anything that doesn’t fit their narrative, as if it never existed. Your crystal—it’s got fragments of the old world, pieces they thought they’d buried for good.”

“Why would they hide it?” Kiryu asked.

“Control,” Tujo said simply. “If people knew the truth about what happened—about what we lost—they might start asking questions. And questions are dangerous in a place like this.”

Kiryu nodded slowly, his mind racing to connect the pieces. “So what do we do?”

Tujo’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual humor. “First, we figure out exactly what’s on that crystal. Then we use it to hit the System where it hurts.”

The hours that followed were a blur of activity. Tujo guided Kiryu through the process of decrypting the data, explaining the intricacies of Paradoxium’s architecture with a patience Kiryu hadn’t expected. Despite his gruff exterior, Tujo was a skilled teacher, his instructions clear and precise.

As they worked, fragments of the crystal’s contents began to emerge. Images of the old world—forests, cities, oceans—flashed across the terminal, their beauty both haunting and alien in Paradoxium’s sterile perfection. Kiryu couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fragment stirring something deep within him.

“There,” Tujo said, pointing to a line of corrupted text that scrolled across the screen. “That’s a reference to the original servers. If we can trace it, we might be able to access the root code.”

“And what happens if we do?” Kiryu asked.

Tujo’s expression hardened. “We find out what the System doesn’t want us to see. And then we decide what to do about it.”

By the time they finished, Kiryu’s exhaustion was overwhelming. But as he looked at the decrypted fragments on the screen, a sense of purpose began to take root. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he knew he couldn’t turn back now.

Tujo clapped a hand on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts. “Get some rest, kid. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”

Kiryu nodded, too tired to argue. As he settled onto the bench, the faint hum of the room lulling him toward sleep, he realized something that both comforted and unsettled him.

For the first time in this journey, he wasn’t alone. The presence of an ally was both a comfort and a burden, stirring a mix of gratitude and dread within him. Kiryu knew that every step forward now carried a greater weight—not just the risk to himself, but to the fragile connection he had found in Tujo. And that also meant he had more to lose.