Beep—beep—beep.
The sound of a Holter monitor echoed throughout the room.
"Ugh…"
Kentaro slowly tried to open his eyes. Everything around him was hazy.
"My head… it hurts…"
He murmured as he sat up in bed, still half-asleep and nursing an intense headache. He looked around; everything seemed normal. He slowly tried to open his left eye, and he could finally see.
"What was all that before?"
He was still confused about what had happened earlier. He noticed bloodstains on his clothes. He realized he wasn't dreaming — it was real. But what had actually happened? He couldn't understand that.
"So, you finally woke up. How are you feeling now?"
Kentaro tilted his head toward the voice. It was Dr. Rika, standing in the doorway. She approached and sat in the chair nearby. She repeated, "How are you feeling now?"
"I'm okay, I guess. Just a bit fatigued."
Hearing this, she relaxed a little. "Any pain in your left eye?"
At the question, Kentaro remembered the first time he opened it. His head started to hurt and his heartbeat rose like a roller coaster. He clenched his fist. "It's alright."
The smile on his face looked almost too natural.
"So, you are alright."
Kyler interrupted from the doorway. He stood there, looking directly at Kentaro. Kentaro didn't flinch; he stared back like a wolf. The scars around his left eye made him look even scarier, and the pressure in the room thickened.
"Very well. After you refresh, meet me in my office. The people we hired are here, and I have something important to tell you. Don't be late, Kentaro."
With that, he left. Kentaro said nothing.
"What a bastard!"
Kentaro flinched and glanced at Rika; she looked pissed.
"All he cares about is using people for his own gain."
"Pfft."
Kentaro couldn't hold back a laugh at the sight of Rika's face.
"What are you laughing at, you son of a bitch?" she snapped.
He laughed again. He hadn't seen anyone talk back to General Kyler like that before.
"Anyway, I have to get ready to meet him."
She nodded, though it was clear she didn't want him to go.
Kentaro stood and went to his room. People seemed more rushed than before, but he couldn't care less. He opened his door; no one was there. The old man and Mira were probably in the mess hall.
He stripped and took a hot shower. Afterward, he looked at himself in the mirror. The scars on his face were terrible: a network from his neck to his left hand, across his back and left chest, down to his stomach. They looked like the aftermath of a world war fought alone.
"No more bandages, huh?"
Relief ran through him.
He dressed — undergarments, black cargo pants, a white T-shirt, and a long black coat — and pulled on his boots. Mira and the old man returned just then. Mira saw Kentaro's face and started crying. Kentaro froze, thinking maybe he looked scary.
"You made a kid cry, you punk," the old man grinned.
Kentaro felt awkward. "Uh… Mira, calm down. It's me."
There was hesitation in his voice. He bent down on one knee to reach eye level with Mira. She touched the scars on his face.
"Does it hurt?"
Kentaro realized she wasn't crying because he looked frightening; she was crying because he had been hurt. He hugged her tightly.
"No, it doesn't hurt at all."
She sobbed softly, and Kentaro felt moved that his daughter cared so much.
"Now, be a good girl." He patted her head. "For the time being, stay with Aunt Lily, okay?"
She wiped her tears, forced a small smile, and said, "Okay."
"Hey, what do you mean, stay with Li—"
"Don't ask. Just be ready."
His gaze sharpened; the old man simply nodded. No one argued when Kentaro looked like that. Kentaro left and moved toward Kyler's office. His walk had changed — it was like a reincarnated wolf stalking.
He knocked.
"Come in," the voice replied.
Kyler sat behind his desk, sipping from a cup of tea.
"Sit, Kentaro."
Kentaro took the hard chair opposite him.
"You know why I called you here?"
"Cut the crap, Kyler. Just tell me." Kentaro's eyes were fearless.
"Tch. Impatient." Kyler set his cup down. "Things are moving faster than we anticipated."
"What do you mean?"
"They're going to present Compound S in four months."
"What?" Kentaro's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?" he asked, suspicious how Kyler could know their timeline.
"I planted a mole inside their facility," Kyler said. "That was his last message. He's probably dead by now."
Kentaro couldn't deny the possibility, even if he didn't want to trust Kyler. The man didn't sound like a liar.
"I see."
"Train those fuckers."
"Eh?" Kentaro blinked.
"Those mercenaries we hired — savage, uncivilized. Train them to death."
"Yeah, yeah, calm down," Kentaro replied with a shrug.
As their talk ended, Kentaro paused at the door. "Is it okay if some of them die during training?"
Kyler flinched — he hadn't expected the question.
"Well, sure. If it's during training, it doesn't matter."
Kentaro left silently, a notorious smile tugging at his lips.
A big hall — more like a training ground between the isolation chambers and the main floor — buzzed with lights and loudspeakers. A stage sat in the corner. Mercenaries hired by Futaba Company filled the area, chatting. Many looked like beginners; a few were clearly dangerous.
"Hello — hello."
A voice blared through the speakers. The old man stepped into view: white hair, deep wrinkles, hands clasped behind his back, dead calm.
"Hello, all of you who gathered here." Kentaro climbed onto the stage, mic in hand.
"You all know why you're here?"
Silence answered him.
"It's simple: to crush our enemies." His voice dropped like iron.
"But our enemies are strong — much stronger than you."
"You will train here for four months and reach a new level. And the one who will train you —" Kentaro pointed — "is this man."
A mercenary snorted. Laughter spread. The old man didn't flinch.
"What's so funny?" The room's air changed.
"Do you really want us trained by that gramps?" the same merc sneered.
"Very well," Kentaro said. "Here's the deal: if anyone can scratch him, I'll replace him and train you myself. Whoever thinks they can beat this old bag of bones, step forward."
One mercenary swaggered up. He was bulky, muscles taught. He drew a knife and lunged.
"Die!" he screamed.
He was too close; one swing might finish the old man.
Then the old man moved his left arm.
In an instant, a fountain of blood erupted from the mercenary's neck. He collapsed.
Silence swallowed the hall.
"This is your commander: ex-Colonel Haizaki Shin."