In the stillness of midnight, the metropolis shimmered like an inverted sea of stars. From the top floor of the tallest building in the business district, a man stood before a vast glass window. The office lights were deliberately kept off; only the city's glow reflected across his face.
His silhouette was tall and composed, clad neatly in a black suit. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock was the only sound reminding him that time still moved.
The door creaked open. Another man stepped in, a file in hand. "We've completed the assessment, Sir," he reported cautiously.
"Hm." The man at the window didn't turn. "So… it's all gone?"
"Not entirely, Sir. One subject managed to escape."
The subordinate lowered his head, waiting for a reaction. But the only sound was a faint exhale from his superior.
"I see… That chip has its own defense protocol. It can shield its host from satellite tracking and electromagnetic scans. Remarkably… human design."
"Yes, Sir. The same goes for the rest—every trace of Helix Corp's data was destroyed with the facility."
A silence lingered. Then, slowly, the man at the window turned around. His eyes glowed faintly, a spiraling pattern rippling within them—eyes no ordinary human could possess.
"Execute Purification Protocol," he said flatly.
The subordinate straightened, almost rigid. "Understood, Sir. We'll begin preparations for Compound V. Do you have a priority location?"
The man with the spiral eyes stepped closer to the window, gazing out at the vibrant expanse of the city. Streets alive with light, rivers of traffic, and—far in the distance—the great red tower piercing the Tokyo night.
"Start there," he murmured. "Beneath that light… a new world will be born."
The subordinate bowed. "Yes, Sir. I'll take my leave." Once the door closed, silence reclaimed the room—broken only by the low whisper of the ventilation.
"Not yet…" the man muttered, eyes fixed on his reflection in the glass. "It's not time to harvest a fruit that's still unripe…"
...
It had been a week since Hikaru first woke up on that beach. Now, he lived quietly on a small island in Okinawa Prefecture—a warm, sunlit place filled with kind smiles, far removed from the noise of the world. To repay the villagers who had helped him, he worked at a local inn, carrying supplies and repairing fishing boats during the day.
At night, he spoke with Kai, the calm voice residing in his mind.
"So... my body really is the result of an experiment?"
[Correct, Host. But it has now fully synchronized with your consciousness.]
Kai wasn't just an AI—he felt like a companion who never slept. Hikaru was beginning to understand his abilities: he could calculate the trajectory of moving objects instantly, detect wireless signals in the air, and process complex data with a single thought.
But those powers came with a cost. When he once tried to hack an ATM in town out of curiosity, a searing pain pierced his skull, like thousands of needles stabbing into his brain. He collapsed in the street, blood dripping from his nose.
[Warning: neural activity exceeding tolerance limit. System stability compromised.]
Since then, he'd stopped experimenting—but the curiosity never left.If he could train his body, perhaps his mind could evolve too… beyond its current limits.
That night, Hikaru sat at the edge of the pier, gazing at the dark ocean glimmering under the moonlight.
"If I'm no longer human…" he whispered, "then what am I supposed to do, Kai?"
[That answer will come on its own, Host. But sooner or later, the world will come looking for you.]
It's been a month since I washed up on Okinawa's shore.Time moves too quickly—maybe because every day, I discover something new about myself.
This body... it's not mine anymore. I can work from dawn to dusk without exhaustion, lift twice as much as an average man, and heal from wounds that should've taken weeks—in mere hours. Only when I eat or sleep does my body pause, as if the system inside me is performing a restart.
The villagers who saved me gather by the dock, waving and smiling.
"Come back soon, Hikaru-kun," says the middle-aged woman who first found me unconscious.I smile and bow deeply. "Thank you... for everything. I owe you my life."
The boat departs, cutting through the waves toward Honshu. nMy journey begins again.
Tokyo.
The city that never sleeps. Neon lights pulse like veins through a giant of steel and glass. From the airplane window, the Tokyo Tower stands proud amid a sea of light. A warmth stirs in my chest—mixed with a chill I can't explain.
I'm home.
But… is there still a home waiting for me?
When I step off the plane at Haneda International Airport, the world feels faster than I remember. People rush past, screens flash everywhere, and the chorus of footsteps, announcements, and digital beeps merges into a single hum of modern life.
And there I stand—still, silent—an outsider in the world I once called home.
[Host, shall I locate your previous residence?]
"Yeah, Kai. Try using my memory."
[Understood. Accessing left-brain memory—synchronization complete.]
Within a second, Kai replies:
[Location found. Shibuya District, Block 8-3-17. Estimated distance: 12.4 kilometers from current position.]
"That fast…" I breathe out softly.
[Naturally. I am not limited by human search speeds.]
I let out a faint smile. "Fair point."
With light steps, I make my way through the terminal.This world that once felt vast now seems… small. Every answer, every secret, lies within the reach of my thoughts.
I find the nearest bus stop—
and begin my way home.
...
The air in front of the house felt different—heavier, as if it carried a secret. The narrow street in Shibuya buzzed with traffic and the glow of distant neon lights, yet here, before the small gate bearing the nameplate "INOUE", everything was silent. My heart pounded harder than usual—not from exhaustion, but because something I had long left behind was now only a breath away.
The two-story house looked exactly as I remembered it: paint peeling at the corners, the wooden fence tilting, wilted plants by the porch—a sign that time had moved on, but little had changed. I pressed the doorbell once. Silence. Again. No answer. A creeping unease began to crawl under my skin.
"Kai—" I whispered, pressing my palm against my cheek to stay calm. [Host, anomaly detected. Shall I access the house's CCTV?] Kai's voice echoed through my mind—cool, precise, steady.
Hacking into cameras—something I once thought only existed in manga—now took no more than a breath. In a split second, the inner display of my vision filled with flickering black-and-white feeds: the porch, the living room, the upstairs hallway. Then one frame froze—the living room, overturned furniture, shattered glass, and in the corner, two figures tied up: a young woman with disheveled hair and an older woman bleeding as she shielded her. Before them stood a large man—rough, wild-eyed—his filthy hands reaching for the girl.
A wave of nausea hit me. It was the culmination of every shard of anger and humiliation I'd buried years ago—when Takeshi and his gang had broken me until I wanted to end it all. And now, seeing this, something deep within me—something I thought I had lost—snapped.
"Don't move," Kai warned. [I can send a decoy signal to the neighbors' phones to draw attention away—or do you wish to act now?]
I didn't need time to think. Reflex took over. The gate opened—not carefully, but with strength I didn't fully understand. Metal and wood shattered like paper under my touch. The night air rushed across my face, carrying the city's scent of gasoline and waste—ordinary, yet now it felt like the backdrop to something irreversible.
I hit the front door. The thin wood splintered, exploding inward as I burst through like a storm.
The big man barely had time to react before I lunged at him. My hand clamped around his neck, fingers digging into his flesh until his breath broke. His back slammed against the wall with a deafening crack—a framed photo crashed to the floor. He struggled, growling, but the strength surging through me was beyond human. One more strike—and he went limp, eyes glassy.
The young woman sobbed, her cries sharp like shattering glass. The older woman clutched her chest, tears falling as she tried to calm her. I looked at them—searching for something familiar. The lines on the older woman's face, the tremor in her voice... were they my family? Someone I once knew? There was no time to ask. All that mattered now was saving them.
The living room was chaos—broken glass scattered everywhere, a hanging lamp swaying gently above the wreckage, and in the center, only our ragged breaths remained. The man lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious. A purple bruise darkened his neck, his breathing shallow. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.
I stared down at him without emotion. Once, the sight of such violence would have terrified me. But now… there was no fear, no guilt. Only cold stillness.
[Suspect identified: prior criminal record—sexual assault and attempted rape. Released on parole six months ago.]
"I see…" I muttered, my voice low.I tightened my grip on his throat again. His eyes bulged, desperate, mouthing words that never came out.
"Hey…" I leaned close, my voice a whisper. "Are you working for someone?"
Cold sweat poured down his face. He shook his head frantically—terrified, begging. Probably just another street predator.
"Fine." I released his neck—but before he could draw a breath of relief, my fist crashed into his jaw.The sound of cracking bone echoed. He went down instantly, unconscious, collapsing like a sack of meat.
The young woman whimpered; the older one straightened herself, trembling. I knelt beside them, untying the cloth that gagged their mouths. Their hands shook violently, eyes still wet with fear.
"You're safe now," I said softly, forcing warmth into my tone even as my pulse still thundered.
The older woman looked at me—long and hard. Her pupils trembled. "W-who... are you?" she asked in a hoarse voice.
The question hit harder than expected. My chest tightened. I looked around—the cracked walls, the bookshelves, the dust-covered photo frames. One picture stood out: a husband, a wife, and a small boy smiling between them. The boy's grin was so pure, so painfully familiar.
With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a worn paper I'd found days ago, posted on a street corner in Shibuya:
"Missing Person – Inoue Hikaru, age 17."
I stared at it for a moment, then held it up for them to see, forcing a smile—the same smile I once wore in those family photos, before the world tore everything apart.
"It's me... Mom," I said quietly.
The woman froze. Her eyes widened, searching my face—so changed, sharper jawline, broader shoulders, colder eyes—but something within, in the way I spoke, the way I looked at her, awakened a memory.
Her trembling hand reached out, brushing my cheek. "...H-Hikaru?"
I nodded, my throat tightening.
In an instant, tears streamed down her face as she threw her arms around me, sobbing uncontrollably.
"My son... I thought you were dead... Hikaru!"
I froze. A strange warmth surged through my chest, colliding with a flood of memories and pain.
For the first time since I awoke on that beach—
I felt like I was home.