Chapter 10: The Quiet Truth Beneath the Noise

The small bell above the clinic door jingled softly as Natsumi Kanzaki stepped inside.

The animal clinic was modest, warm, and faintly scented with antiseptic mixed with pet shampoo—
a sanctuary carved out of a relentless world that never seemed to stop moving.

On the examination table, a white cat lay curled up, purring weakly.
A young woman with soft pink hair stroked its back with practiced tenderness.

“Just a moment,” she said without looking up.
“The medicine will settle soon. Easy now…”

Natsumi waited, silent and composed.

When the woman finally lifted her gaze, Natsumi spoke calmly:

“Yumesaki Chisa?”

The woman paused, eyes sharpening with polite alertness.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“My name is Natsumi Kanzaki. I apologize for coming without an appointment.”

Chisa nodded and gestured for Natsumi to sit.
The white cat in her lap purred softly, as if the clinic itself was designed to shelter fragile things.

A few seconds of silence passed—
not uncomfortable, but heavy.

Then Natsumi opened her bag and pulled out a thin file.
She didn’t push it forward.
She simply revealed enough for Chisa to understand this was no casual visit.

“I’m investigating several past incidents related to Sentai activity,” she began softly.
“One name keeps appearing. Not as a suspect. Not as a victim.”

Her eyes lifted.

“Saiga Noburu.”

Chisa’s reaction was immediate.
Her hand stopped petting the cat.

Her voice was careful when she asked:

“Why are you asking about Saiga-kun?”
“Did he… do something wrong?”

The concern wasn’t accusatory.
It was the instinct of someone who had seen too many good people punished for things they never chose.

Natsumi shook her head gently.

“No. I’m simply trying to understand him.”

She reached into her coat and briefly flashed a small badge.

FBI — Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Chisa did not fully believe it—
but she didn’t reject it either.

“What do you want to know?”

“What he was like,” Natsumi replied.
“Before everything. Before he became… who he is now.”

Chisa inhaled slowly and began stroking the cat again, as though finding stability in the soft fur beneath her fingers.

“Saiga has always been like that,” Chisa said quietly.
“Since middle school.”

A small, fragile smile tugged at her lips.

“Quiet. Modest. Not someone who tried to stand out.”
“But somehow… he was always there.”

She explained how Saiga would help others without expecting thanks.
How he would disappear before gratitude could catch up to him.

Then she added softly:

“I knew Saiga-kun liked me.”

Natsumi did not interrupt.

“He never said anything. He didn’t need to.”

Her smile faded.

“But he also knew… Arakawa-san was his best friend.”

Her voice wavered.

“So Saiga stepped back. Not because he didn’t care…”
“…but because he cared too much.”

She described how Minato treated Saiga: kind, calm, respectful—
yet never truly believing Saiga would become a Sentai.

“Saiga-kun was jealous,” Chisa admitted.
“Not of Arakawa-san… but of himself.”

Natsumi raised a brow.

Chisa explained:

“He wanted to prove he could become someone worthy.
Worthy of being a Sentai.
Worthy… of me.”

It hurt to say aloud.
But she didn’t stop.

When she and Minato were selected—
while Saiga was not—

“Arakawa-san confessed to me,” Chisa whispered.
“And proposed.”

A bittersweet smile touched her lips.

“I said yes. I truly was happy.”

But that happiness fractured the same week.

“On the day we celebrated the engagement,” Chisa said,
“I saw Saiga… completely soaked.”

He had saved a drowning child.

The next day he climbed an electric pole to retrieve a lost balloon.

The day after that he rescued a cat stuck on a tree.
Then another stray dog.
Then another frightened kid.

“He wasn’t a Sentai,” Chisa whispered.
“But he lived like one.”

She laughed quietly—
but the laugh was laced with pain.

“Back then… I was jealous of him.”
“He could live peacefully. Without the blood. Without the pressure. Without the spotlight.”

Her hand trembled slightly.

“If I could turn back time… I would refuse becoming a Sentai.”

Natsumi did not comment.
Empathy was often best expressed through silence.

“After trying to move on,” Chisa continued,
“I realized Saiga-kun was the only one who ever truly understood me.”

Her amber eyes lifted, meeting Natsumi’s.

“And that’s when I knew… Red wasn’t as pure as everyone believed.”

Natsumi stiffened.

Chisa pressed on.

“Arakawa-san…
and Alexia Valenroth.”

Natsumi blinked—surprised, but not dismissive.

Chisa nodded.

“I didn’t want to believe it.
But I saw them. Together.
Too often. Too secretly.”

Her voice cracked.

“I was heartbroken. Jealous. Falling apart.”

She wanted to tell Saiga.
Because Saiga always listened.

“But he wasn’t there.”

He had returned to his hometown to mourn his father’s death.

Later, she saw Saiga again—

“Smiling behind a supermarket counter.”

That smile broke her.

“From him… I learned how to accept things. How to breathe again.”

And then came the day the world ended for her.

“General Dragon Lord killed Arakawa Minato.”

Her breath shook.

“But what haunts me most… is that his Astral Device didn’t respond.”

No emergency function.
No fail-safe.

He died instantly.
The Sentai unit crumbled soon after.

Natsumi rose to her feet.

“Thank you,” she said, sincere and soft.

Chisa wiped her eyes and nodded.

“Saiga-kun may not be romantic,” she whispered,
“but he has always been… someone you can rely on.”

Natsumi offered a small nod.

The bell above the clinic door chimed again as she stepped outside.

The night air felt colder now.
Streetlights stretched long across the pavement, like lines that refused to meet.

The world continued—unbothered, unaware—
while the truth quietly rearranged itself beneath the surface.

Natsumi’s phone vibrated.

A new message.

Cat-Eye:
“I just acquired something I shouldn’t have.”

Natsumi’s pulse tightened.

“What is it?”

Three files arrived.
Then more.

Their titles were sterile, clinical, sinister.

THE ELITE — INTERNAL OVERSIGHT
PROJECT: CLEAN RED
SUBJECT: ARAKAWA MINATO

Natsumi stopped walking.

She opened the first file.

It detailed a shadow organization operating above the Sentai—
not to guide them,
not to protect the public,
but to control them.

And one name appeared repeatedly:

Alexia Valenroth

The second file contained communications logs.
Private meetings.
Unrecorded operations.

Photos.

Minato Arakawa and Alexia Valenroth.

Not once.
Not twice.

A pattern too consistent to be coincidence.
Too hidden to be innocent.

Another message arrived.

Cat-Eye:
“Arakawa refused to obey completely.”
“He rejected being their tool.”
“Alexia wanted to control him—or erase him.”

Natsumi typed, fingers cold.

“So his death…”

A pause.

Then:

“Not an accident.”
“Not a system failure.”
“A decision.”

Her grip on the phone tightened.

“Who are you really?”

This time, the reply came slowly.

“It’s better if you don’t know.”
“I won’t exist much longer.”

A spike of dread cut through her.

“What do you mean?”

Typing indicators appeared.
Stopped.
Returned.

“They’re almost here.”
“This account will be erased.”
“The files I gave you… are everything.”

One final message:

“Never trust anyone who calls themselves holy.”

Then silence.

When Natsumi checked the account again the next morning—

Cat-Eye no longer existed.
Chat history vanished.
Like a ghost erased from the machine.

But the files remained.

Real. Heavy. Condemning.

Natsumi sat before her laptop, opening each document, cross-checking names, timestamps, and footage.

The Elite.
Alexia.
Minato’s death.
The silent failure of the Astral Device.

The picture finally crystallized.

This was never about monsters.
Never about heroes failing.

It was about humans—
and the atrocities they justify…
when the truth threatens their power.

Natsumi exhaled slowly, eyes hardening.

If Saiga Noburu was always the kind of person to step back—

then this time,
someone else had to step forward.

And no lie, no matter how divinely wrapped,
can remain unbroken forever.