Chapter: 81: Galactic Special Force

Chapter: 81: Galactic Special Force

✿———✦———✿

"We still believe in heroes."

A few hours later.

The neon heartbeat of Tokyo was a distant, muted hum from eighty-five floors up.

In the cavernous, minimalist living room of Enji’s Roppongi penthouse, the chaotic energy of the afternoon had finally dissolved into a soft, domestic stillness. The lingering scent of savory dashi and roasted garlic from the hotpot restaurant still drifted faintly through the air, a stark contrast to the usually sterile luxury of the apartment.

“Careful with her, she’s still clutching that plastic bucket,” Enji murmured, keeping his voice down to a rare, gentle pitch.

Three uniform-clad maids, who normally moved through the penthouse like silent ghosts, were currently engaged in a highly delicate operation. One of them carefully lifted Goro—her small twin-tails completely tangled with dried seaweed—from the plush leather sofa. The four-year-old girl let out a soft, snoring sigh, her tiny fingers tightening protectively around her pink bucket as she was carried toward the guest wing.

Nearby, another maid took care of Doyomi, while a senior housekeeper gently maneuvered Tobio. The little boy was still muttering something about a "superhero radar" in his sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around his red beach ball.

“We have prepared the warm baths and the heavy cotton quilts, Master Enji,” the senior housekeeper whispered, bowing low. “They will sleep through the night without a single nightmare.”

“Thank you,” Enji said, offering a small nod. “Keep the floor heating at twenty-four degrees. The atmospheric pressure is still fluctuating after what happened.”

As the staff slipped into the sleeping quarters, closing the heavy doors behind them, the penthouse reverted to its natural state of absolute isolation.

Enji walked toward the massive balcony, sliding the glass doors open. The cool October night wind rushed in, instantly cutting through his thin linen shirt. He stepped onto the concrete, looking out over the sprawling, illuminated grid of the capital. The Tokyo Tower stood just a few blocks away, its iconic orange lattice gleaming against a dark sky—a sky that was no longer cracked by the Planck Singularity, but still felt incredibly hollow.

For the first time all day, the soft, warm paternal feeling that had anchored his soul on the beach began to recede, leaving behind the heavy, familiar weight of the Grand Arbiter.

Buzz. Buzz.

His phone vibrated against the stone railing. Enji picked it up, glancing at the screen. It was Kazuaki.

“Enji,” Kazuaki’s voice came through, sounding exhausted but remarkably stable, his usual flexible and resilient demeanor intact despite the brutal toll of the previous days. “I need you to come down to Azabu-Juban. I’m at a small cafe near the station. There's someone here you need to meet.”

Enji’s brow furrowed slightly. “You should be resting, Kazuaki. Your internal telemetry was highly unstable after the zero-entropy clash.”

“I’m fine, really—nothing a bit of downtime won't fix,” Kazuaki replied, his tone conversational but laced with an underlying gravity. “But this can't wait. I have someone here who claims he can track the coordinates of the Akkada Sanctum. He has a lead on where they took Matsuyu.”

There was a brief pause, the silence stretching between Roppongi and Azabu-Juban. Then, Kazuaki added quietly, “And he knows what happened to Kuniaki.”

Enji’s gaze shifted back toward Tokyo Tower. Kuniaki. His brilliant, tempestuous former classmate from Kobe State University—the SANA prodigy who had confronted him on that terrace months ago, screaming about his six percent probability of success. Ever since the sky split open and the false moon descended, her signal had completely vanished from SANA’s regional ledger. She hadn't been seen since the day she walked away into the shadows of the alleyways.

“Give me five minutes,” Enji said, cutting the call.

The cafe was a secluded, underground establishment buried in the narrow brick alleys of Azabu-Juban. It was three in the morning, and the only patrons left were two men sitting in a dim, circular leather booth in the far corner.

Kazuaki sat comfortably, a warm cup of tea between his hands. True to his adaptable nature, he didn't look broken by the weight of the world; he looked like a strategist patiently waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place. Sitting across from him was a man who looked entirely out of place in the neat, structured environment of Tokyo.

He was a tall, heavily built European man in his late forties, wearing a tailored, charcoal-grey trench coat over a dark wool sweater. His hair was a sharp, military-cut silver-blonde, and his face was a map of weathered experience. On the mahogany table between them sat a thick, leather-bound tactical dossier stamped with an unfamiliar emblem: a stylized celestial compass surrounded by a silver ring.

The brass bell above the cafe door chimed softly.

Enji stepped into the establishment, his dark coat flowing silently around his ankles, his golden eyes scanning the room before he walked over to the booth. He stood at the edge of the table, his presence instantly drawing the attention of the silver-haired stranger.

“Glad you could make it, Enji,” Kazuaki said with a welcoming nod, gesturing to the open seat.

The stranger didn't look intimidated by Enji’s imposing stature. Instead, a polite, professional smile touched his lips. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, gravelly baritone wrapped in a thick, unmistakable Manchester accent.

“Right then. Let’s get straight to it,” the man said, sliding a crisp, laminated identification card across the wood. “The name’s Tony Darwin. Director of operations for the Galactic Special Force, based out of Manchester, UK.”

Enji glanced at the card, his expression calm but guarded. “The GSF. SANA’s deep-space division has never flagged your organization in our regional coordinates.”

“That’s because we operate on a slightly different frequency, mate,” Tony replied, leaning forward, his grey eyes turning sharp. “We look at the bigger picture—the global anomalies that individual nations tend to miss. Right now, the global matrix is fracturing. Your team did a remarkable job defending the Kanto sector, but the Akkada Sanctum is a multi-layered threat. They didn't just take Matsuyu because she's an astronomer; her specific neural mapping is the key to unlocking the primary telemetry of Nibiru.”

Kazuaki leaned in, playing the middleman with his usual diplomatic ease. “Tony’s network has deep-space tracking arrays in the North Sea that bypass the interference SANA is currently dealing with. He can give us the exact trajectory of the rift that took Matsuyu. But that's not all.”

Tony tapped the dossier. “We’ve also localized the signal of your missing SANA operative. Kuniaki.”

Enji’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Where is she?”

“She didn't go into hiding, and she didn't desert,” Tony explained thoroughly. “Kuniaki was tracking the Akkada signatures weeks before the Shinjuku incident. She thought she could out-calculate them, use her own theories on hydrostatic equilibrium to isolate their rifts. But she got too close. They ambushed her on the upper atmospheric boundary. Right now, she’s being held in a localized crucible facility on the outer fringes of the lunar orbit. They are using her baseline SANA clearance to systematically blind your Western defense grids.”

Tony stood up from the booth, his massive frame matching Enji’s height. He looked at Enji, then at Kazuaki, his demeanor completely shifting into that of a global director looking to assemble a league of extraordinary heroes from the ashes of a broken world. He was like a scout looking for his absolute vanguards.

“I’ve been tracking the talent in this sector,” Tony said, his voice ringing with a calm, seasoned authority. “Kazuaki here has the flexibility, the leadership, and the resilience to steady any front line. And you, Enji... your command over the Planck parameters is exactly the kind of heavy artillery we need to breach the Sumerian gates. I’m putting together an international task force. A unified front to take the fight directly to the Akkada Sanctum, rescue Matsuyu, pull Kuniaki out of that lunar cell, and fix this world before it goes dark.”

It was a grand pitch—the classic rallying cry of a man trying to unite the world’s anomalies under one banner.

Kazuaki looked up at Enji, a quiet, hopeful expression on his face. He didn't push or demand; he simply waited to see if his enigmatic friend would finally step into a larger arena.

Enji remained completely still. He looked at Tony’s folder, then at the map of the global rifts. There was no hatred in his eyes, no disdain for the West, and no aggressive skepticism toward the British director’s motives. There was only a profound, immovable exhaustion.

“It is a well-calculated initiative, Director Darwin,” Enji said, his voice quiet, steady, and entirely flat. “But my answer is no.”

Kazuaki let out a soft, defeated sigh, leaning back against the leather booth. He didn't seem surprised, just mildly disappointed. “Enji... we need that data to find Matsuyu.”

“You will find another way, Kazuaki. You always do,” Enji replied softly. He looked at Tony, his golden eyes entirely neutral. “I respect the scope of your operation, Director. But I have spent the last ten thousand cycles executing mandates, shifting variables, and fighting wars under titles that were forced upon me. I have broken my own ledger. I am no longer an instrument for anyone’s global protocol.”

Tony studied Enji for a long moment, slowly closing his dossier. He didn't look angry; he looked like a recruiter who had run into a very specific, deeply rooted wall. “And if the sky falls anyway, mate? What happens to your perimeter then?”

Enji turned toward the staircase leading back up to the quiet streets of Azabu-Juban, his dark coat shifting silently.

“Right now, three children are asleep in my penthouse,” Enji said, his voice carrying a strange, gentle warmth that made both Kazuaki and Tony pause. “The room is exactly twenty-four degrees. They are safe, they are warm, and for the first time in their lives, they are smiling. My only priority is to ensure that the room stays warm. Good luck with your task force, Director. But Team Polaris walks its own path to save our people.”

With a single, quiet step, Enji walked up the stairs, the brass bell above the door letting out one final, lonely chime as he vanished into the cool Tokyo night—leaving the global vanguard behind to protect the fragile peace of a single room.

Tony looked at the closed door, the echo of the brass bell still hanging in the air. He didn't look angry; he looked intrigued. He slowly sat back down, picking up his glass of Scotch.

"Right then," Tony murmured, a dry chuckle escaping his throat. "That went about as expected. Feral, that one. Like trying to recruit a bloody Supernova into a police force."

Kazuaki offered a wry, tired smile. "I told you, Director Darwin. Enji doesn't play well with others. His only win ratio is his own. But he’s also the only one who can anchor the grid. You still need him."

Tony nodded, his expression serious. "I know, mate. That’s why we have contingency plans. And contingency observers."

He glanced up at the dark ceiling of the cafe, towards a seemingly ordinary vent.

Fifty meters above them, perched on the absolute edge of the Roppongi rooftop opposite the cafe, a shadow solidified out of the moonlight.

He didn't just blend into the darkness; he seemed to command it. His tactical suit was a masterpiece of advanced engineering and sleek, predatory aesthetics—a matte-black armor constructed from a highest vibro-reactive alloy that absorbed 99.9% of all visible light.

It was a fusion of two worlds: the brutal, silent methodology of a lone vigilante and the flawless, mechanical perfection of a futuristic knight. The helm was entirely encased, featuring no human mouth or eye slots, only a singular, sharp red optical sensor that flickered with a faint, digital pulse, giving him the appearance of a streamlined technological demon. His chest piece was segmented, and subtle, angular patterns on his gauntlets and greaves suggested a high-speed, dynamic structure.

He was the astrophysicist and technological cornerstone of the GSF, a genius architect who viewed the world as a battlefield to be optimized. To the GSF, he was what a certain iron billionaire was to his group—the man who funded the war and designed the weapons.

He watched the front of the cafe through his multi-spectral visor, his posture perfectly still, a lone gargoyle on a sea of concrete.

The red optical sensor flared as Enji stepped onto the pavement. Enji’s dark coat billowed slightly, his golden eyes scanning the street, seemingly oblivious to the surveillance.

The observer on the rooftop tilted his head. He didn't engage his radio. He didn't send a tactical report to Tony. He simply analyzed the figure below, a stream of encrypted quantum data scrolling across his internal HUD.

[ANALYSIS: TARGET "ARBITER"] 

[STATUS: EXTREME THREAT - UNPREDICTABLE] 

[FREQUENCY: UNKNOWN] 

[WIN RATIO: 6.471%]

The numbers scrolling past were fascinating. He had analyzed thousands of anomalies, but Enji was a deviation in the very fabric of reality. The target was inefficient, governed by chaos rather than logic, yet his output was undeniable.

[CONCURRENCE: DIRECTOR DARWIN’S ASSESSMENT IS ACCURATE. CONFRONTATION ADVISABLE.]

The observer slowly shifted his weight. The armor on his legs clicked, subtle hydraulic joints locking into place. His suit wasn't just protective; it was a complex lattice of supercapacitors and piezoelectric relays designed for maximum efficiency.

Enji reached the end of the alleyway and turned the corner, his silhouette vanishing into the Roppongi crowds.

A faint, digital whine emanated from the observer’s gauntlets. He reached into a subtle compartment on his utility belt and produced a small, geometric token, spinning it idly between his fingers. He wasn't a god of fate, but he was a master of his own kinetic matrix.

He dropped the token, his eyes remaining on the point where Enji had disappeared.

The observer launched himself off the rooftop.

He didn't fall. He descended, a high-pitched, harmonic buzz filling the night air. The subtle patterns on his gauntlets flashed with a blinding, temporary gold as the suit’s internal engine activated the [Overclocking Protocol]. For a single, infinitesimal moment, he moved too fast for the human eye to register, a streak of matte-black and flashing gold tearing through the upper atmosphere before vanishing into the night, mirroring the very entity he was built to counter.