The video was never meant to spread.
It was shaky, poorly framed, and riddled with compression artifacts. Someone at the co‑op had filmed the demonstration on an old phone, more interested in capturing the crowd's reaction than the equipment itself. The microphone audio clipped. Half the technical explanation was lost beneath cheers and wind noise.
Under normal circumstances, it would have vanished into the endless churn of social media.
But engineers noticed the numbers.
By midmorning, Kaito's phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
He ignored it at first, focused on tightening a casing seam on the throttled demo unit. Aya hovered nearby, her interface dimmed but active, parsing network traffic far beyond what Kaito could see.
"You are currently being discussed in twelve professional engineering forums," Aya said. "The number is increasing."
Kaito winced. "That can't be good."
"It is statistically neutral," Aya replied. "The reaction to the discussion, however, is trending toward volatility."
She brought up a visual overlay—graphs, comment threads, timestamped reposts. Someone had slowed the footage down frame by frame. Someone else had run the visible output through simulation software.
"They think it's fake," Kaito said.
"For now," Aya replied.
By noon, the skepticism fractured.
An electrical engineer in Singapore posted a detailed breakdown explaining why the output curve shouldn't be stable. A materials scientist in Munich pointed out the absence of thermal bloom. A small but influential YouTube channel replicated the setup using conventional batteries and failed—spectacularly.
The title of the video was understated.
"Something Is Very Wrong With This Generator."
Mina called fifteen minutes later.
"Don't say anything," she said the moment Kaito answered. "To anyone. Not even denial."
"I wasn't planning to," Kaito replied. "What's happening?"
"Energy stocks dipped three percent in the last hour," Mina said. "They'll rebound, then dip again harder. Big players hate uncertainty."
Kaito leaned back against his workbench. "I didn't even explain how it worked."
"You didn't have to," Mina said. "You showed that it does."
She hung up before he could respond.
Aya flagged a new alert.
"External interest has shifted from passive observation to active probing," she said. "Encrypted scan attempts detected within a two‑hundred‑meter radius."
Kaito straightened. "Scan attempts?"
"Yes. Low‑energy spectroscopy, wireless handshake spoofing, thermal mapping. Amateur methods," Aya added after a pause. "But numerous."
Kaito's mouth went dry. "Can they—can they see the prototype?"
"Negative. Your shielding is adequate. However, probability of escalation is increasing."
Escalation.
It was a word Kaito associated with international news, not his apartment.
By late afternoon, the first article dropped.
It wasn't from a major outlet. It was a tech blog with a reputation for being almost respectable. The headline was deliberately provocative.
LOCAL ENGINEER CLAIMS CLEAN ENERGY BREAKTHROUGH — EXPERTS DIVIDED
The article embedded the video, quoted three skeptical professors, and ended with a single, damning line:
If true, the implications would be catastrophic for existing energy markets.
"Catastrophic," Kaito muttered. "That's one way to put it."
Aya did not correct him.
At dusk, the surveillance became less subtle.
A delivery drone hovered outside his window for nearly a full minute before drifting away. Two unfamiliar vans parked across the street, engines idling. Aya rerouted Kaito's home network twice, then shut it down entirely.
"Recommend reduced electromagnetic signature," she said.
"So… candles again?" Kaito asked.
"Yes."
He lit one.
The apartment felt smaller in the flickering light.
At 9:17 p.m., Aya spoke sharply. "Intrusion detected."
Kaito's heart slammed against his ribs. "Where?"
"Balcony access point. Lock bypass in progress."
He grabbed the nearest heavy tool—a torque wrench—and backed toward the bedroom.
"No," Aya said. "Remain still."
The lock disengaged with a soft click.
A shadow slipped through the balcony door.
The intruder moved with professional economy, scanning the room with a handheld device. His face was obscured by a mask, but his posture screamed training.
Aya acted.
A localized electromagnetic pulse detonated silently, focused and precise. The handheld device sparked and died. The intruder swore, ripping it free just as his earpiece fizzled.
"What the—"
Aya pulsed the signal again.
The lights didn't flicker. The refrigerator didn't stutter.
Only the intruder's equipment failed.
He bolted.
By the time Kaito reached the balcony, the man was already disappearing down the fire escape, leaving behind a scorched metal casing on the floor.
Kaito's hands shook as he picked it up.
"This was real," he whispered.
"Yes," Aya replied. "This was a targeted acquisition attempt."
Kaito sank onto the couch, breath ragged. "By who?"
Aya paused.
"Insufficient data to identify a single actor," she said. "However, the equipment matches multiple private intelligence contractors."
"Private," Kaito repeated.
"Yes. State actors prefer patience."
That didn't help.
An hour later, Mina arrived with two people Kaito didn't recognize. They swept the apartment, documented the intrusion, and removed the scorched device without comment.
"This accelerates things," Mina said once they were alone. Her usual composure was tighter now, edges sharpened. "We're moving you."
"I can't just disappear," Kaito protested.
"You already can't stay," Mina replied. "And you won't be disappearing. You'll be protected."
"By who?"
"By people who understand leverage."
Kaito laughed weakly. "I didn't ask for leverage."
"No one ever does," Mina said. "They just create it."
She studied him for a long moment. "You need to understand something, Kaito. This isn't about money anymore. Or even power."
"Then what is it about?"
"Control of the future," Mina said. "And fear of losing it."
After she left, the apartment felt hollow.
Kaito sat alone in the dark, the candle guttering low. The disk on his workbench glowed faintly, indifferent to human panic.
He stared at the sign‑in interface.
DAY 003 — COMPLETE
No new reward yet.
Just confirmation.
He felt a strange, bitter amusement twist in his chest.
"So this is the price," he said quietly.
"Yes," Aya replied. "Visibility often is."
Kaito closed his eyes.
Three days ago, he had been an engineer with a small workshop and manageable dreams.
Now markets trembled at his shadow.
Someone had tried to steal from him.
And the system—silent, patient—had not intervened to stop any of it.
It had only watched.
When Kaito finally slept, it was with the uncomfortable certainty that the world had already crossed a threshold.
And it would not be allowed to step back.