Chapter 8: Shadows Above the Heroes

The day after Saiga visited the animal clinic, Tokyo remained deceptively quiet—
a calm surface hiding the machinery of politics beginning to churn beneath it.

In her small but meticulously organized apartment, Natsumi Kanzaki lay on her bed, tablet floating above her face as multiple holographic charts flickered around her.

She replayed one scene over and over:

Saiga Noburu, during the Rat-Man operation.

More specifically—
the moment Saiga’s emotions spiked and a dark shimmer flickered around his body.

Something no Astral Core user had ever displayed.

Natsumi zoomed in, enhancing the frame until pixel artifacts appeared.

“…This isn’t corruption. Not viral residue. Not any known Astral output.”

She sat up, now fully awake.

Her brows furrowed.

“Saiga Noburu… what are you?”

Data showed irregular spikes—
patterns identical to someone long believed impossible to replicate.

Someone who should not exist.

Natsumi tightened her grip on the tablet.

“If I’m wrong, I’m delusional.”
“If I’m right… he’s dangerous.”

But then her expression softened.

“…Or just someone who’s been hurting for a very long time.”

At noon, every major broadcast network interrupted programming for an emergency announcement.

The conference hall was draped in national flags and the crest of the Sentinel Oversight Authority—SOA.

The Director stepped onto the stage with a perfectly calm, rehearsed posture.

His voice was steady enough to feel unnatural.

“In the interest of public safety and national stability,” he began,
“the Sentinel Oversight Authority has decided to temporarily restrict all independent Sentai activities.”

The room erupted with murmurs.

He raised a hand, gently silencing the chaos.

“We understand the concerns of our citizens.”
“We honor the legacy of every Sentai who has sacrificed for humanity.”
“But power of this magnitude cannot operate without proper oversight.”

Behind him, the screen lit up with a new slogan:

A reporter quickly stood.

“Is this decision related to the recent rise in civilian casualties?”

The Director nodded slowly.

“Every life matters. And for that very reason… power must obey regulation.”

Not a single mention of Red Sentai.

Not a mention of sabotage.

Not a mention of forced silencing.

When the speech ended, the applause that followed was hollow—
the kind given because the cameras were still rolling.

Not because anyone agreed.

Within minutes, every digital platform across the country ignited.

“They’re tying the Sentai’s hands!”
“SOA doesn’t care about people—this is control!”
“We need heroes, not bureaucrats!”

Commentaries spread like wildfire.

The people remembered the Sentai as hope.
Now SOA painted them as potential threats.

Others whispered:

“SOA was made to prevent Sentai from becoming dangerous.”
“Now it exists to prevent Sentai from being free.”

And with that, distrust began to bloom.

Hours later, another broadcast appeared—uncensored, unscheduled.

Alexia Valenroth stood before the cameras.

No podium.
No rehearsed smile.
No script.

Her blue-white hair draped neatly over her shoulders, but her crimson eyes were fierce—unapologetically direct.

She inhaled deeply, tension visible in her chest.

“I am not speaking today as a representative of SOA.”
“Nor as a member of the Elite.”

Her tone sharpened.

“I am speaking as someone who has witnessed what power becomes… when it convinces itself that it is holy.”

Reporters clamored, but she raised a hand.

“Restricting the Sentai in the name of safety is an easy decision—especially for those who have never stood on the front lines.”

A journalist uttered SOA’s name.

Alexia did not flinch.

“If oversight becomes silencing…”
“If regulation becomes erasing initiative…”
“Then that is no longer protection.”

She leaned closer to the camera.

“That is fear.”

Her fingers curled—a barely contained tremor of anger.

“Sentai are not property.”
“They are not weapons.”
“They are human beings.”

She concluded with a voice quieter, but heavier than steel.

“I reject this policy.
And I will stand with those who are denied a voice.”

The screen cut to black.

Public reaction erupted again.

“Finally! Someone powerful is speaking up!”
“Alexia’s the only one brave enough to confront SOA!”

For many, she became a new symbol of hope.

Yet beneath the cheers… quieter discussions began.

“How did she know the policy before the full release?”
“Her timing is too perfect.”
“And the whistleblower who leaked the draft… died mysteriously.”

Some posts vanished seconds after being published.

Some accounts locked.
Some deleted.
Some banned permanently.

One message survived only long enough to be screenshotted:

“I’m not saying she’s wrong.
I’m saying… be careful.”

Then another appeared—short, vicious, and immediately banned:

“Don’t trust that snake.
She orchestrated Red’s death.”

And just like that—
that user, their profile, and every trace of their comment disappeared.

Saiga Noburu had no idea.

No awareness of political warfare.

No knowledge of media manipulation.

He was simply walking home, plastic grocery bag in hand—

unaware that the world above him had begun shifting violently.

And that he was standing at the center of the storm.