The invitation was public.
That alone made it dangerous.
It arrived as an open announcement from the city council, wrapped in civic optimism and pastel graphics: a technology and sustainability festival celebrating innovation, resilience, and community. The timing was impeccable. Just late enough after the recent "industrial incident" to look brave. Just early enough to reclaim the narrative.
Mina stared at the announcement in silence.
"They want you on a stage," she said finally.
Kaito leaned back in his chair. "They want a symbol."
"Yes," Mina agreed. "Preferably one they can frame."
Aya projected a risk overlay above the table: crowd density, signal interference zones, surveillance blind spots. Red bloomed everywhere.
"Probability of information leakage: high," Aya said. "Probability of hostile provocation: moderate. Probability of reputational damage if attendance is refused: very high."
Liang folded his arms. "So we're going."
Kaito nodded slowly. "But not the way they expect."
The festival took place in the city's old harbor district, a renovated sprawl of warehouses and open-air stages. Solar canopies glinted in the sun. Children ran between booths. Drones buzzed overhead, broadcasting cheerful footage to every screen in the city.
Kaito stood behind the main stage curtain, listening to the hum of the crowd.
"They're nervous," he said.
"Yes," Aya replied. "Crowds are sensitive to narrative instability."
Mina adjusted her earpiece. "Remember. Simple. No speculation. No future promises."
Kaito smiled faintly. "You make it sound easy."
When he stepped onto the stage, the applause surprised him.
It wasn't thunderous. It wasn't hostile either.
It was… hopeful.
Kaito took a breath and began.
"I'm not here to announce a breakthrough," he said, voice carrying clearly across the plaza. "And I'm not here to explain rumors."
The crowd quieted.
"I'm here to demonstrate something very small."
Behind him, a compact generator unit was wheeled onto the stage. It looked unremarkable—no glowing cores, no dramatic effects. Just a clean, sealed box.
"This powers a block," Kaito continued. "Not a city. Not a nation. A block."
Aya fed real-time metrics to the public display: stable output, zero emissions, constant load.
"No smoke," Kaito said. "No fuel. No noise."
He gestured toward a row of food stalls nearby. One by one, their power feeds switched over. Lights steadied. Refrigeration units hummed smoothly.
"This is what reliability looks like," Kaito said. "Not spectacle."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Kaito didn't mention Arcadia.
He didn't mention anchors or fabricators.
He talked about maintenance. About resilience. About how systems should fail safely instead of catastrophically.
In the crowd, Aya flagged anomalies.
"Signal jamming attempt detected," she whispered. "Low intensity."
Kaito didn't break stride.
"If this fails," he said, tapping the generator casing, "it shuts down. It doesn't explode. It doesn't poison anything. It just… stops."
At that exact moment, the unit flickered.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Aya reacted instantly, isolating the interference source and rerouting internal buffers.
"Stability restored," she said calmly.
The lights steadied.
Kaito didn't acknowledge the interruption.
"That," he said evenly, "is what safety looks like."
Applause broke out—stronger this time.
Backstage, Mina exhaled sharply. "That was close."
"They wanted a failure," Liang said. "They didn't get one."
Aya highlighted the source of the interference: a portable emitter hidden among media equipment.
"Identification inconclusive," Aya said. "However, behavioral signature matches prior sabotage attempts."
Kaito glanced toward the crowd, now smiling, relaxed.
"They tried to turn the festival into a warning," he said. "Instead, it became a proof."
That evening, footage from the event spread rapidly.
Not sensational clips.
Calm ones.
Families eating under steady lights. Kids laughing as drones traced patterns overhead. A city functioning smoothly.
The headlines reflected it.
LOCAL TECH DEMO DRAWS PRAISE FOR QUIET RELIABILITY
The opposition adjusted.
They always did.
The disk chimed softly as Kaito returned to the safehouse.
DAY 014 — SIGN-IN COMPLETE
No reward appeared.
But the system lingered.
Public perception had shifted.
And for the first time since the sabotage began, the pressure eased—not because the threat was gone, but because the crowd had chosen a side.
Kaito stood by the window, watching the harbor lights shimmer.
Festivals ended.
Narratives did not.