The office of the president, located in the deepest part of the headquarters in the uppermost advanced floor of the building—infamously the hardest place to reach—had a corridor leading to it that was surprisingly spacious and radiant.
If only it wasn’t occupied by these suffocating human weapons, the atmosphere might have been livelier.
The lack of conversation between the two sides was palpable, and the subtle distance maintained solely by the oppressive silence represented their mutual standoff.
Or… maybe it was all my misunderstanding. Could this all be part of the plan?
Even as my rationality screamed that it likely wasn’t, seeing Masanari walk forward so calmly—I wasn’t sure if it was because one would have to break the window from outside to launch an ambush—seemed to imply that everything was deliberately orchestrated.
Since nothing was confirmed, all we could do was hope the situation would swing in our favor, while anxiously waiting. I silently made a plea.
“Hey, you guys, can someone say something? Anything? Let a person know what the hell’s going on!”
…Clomp.
I wasn’t sure how much my earnestness influenced the situation, but nonetheless—
Like a stone being thrown into calm water, Masanari took a step forward and spoke first.
“Hello esteemed predecessors. This humble one is Masanari Gamma, identification code NG-HN00183. I humbly beg for your forgiveness for interrupting you.”
“…An NG Type rookie, huh? Your early deployment as operational is surprising.”
Up until now, the conversation seemed somewhat ordinary. In fact, it gave off a familiarity akin to bus drivers giving each other a friendly wave while driving in opposite lanes.
But for him to start with such proper formalities—it was surprising.
Though the formality seemed more out of respect rather than strict military discipline, there was no denying the decorum.
So, what comes next? An ambush, perhaps?
Naturally, an image formed in my mind—him pretending to attempt more conversation, using that moment to close the distance before eliminating the opposition with overwhelming speed. Since he wasn’t on our side, it seemed that was the only option.
But true to form for the pursuers, whose biological traits and historical alignment didn’t resonate with me, Masanari betrayed my expectations entirely.
“Then, esteemed predecessors, could you kindly step aside if it’s not too much trouble? I am on an important mission and under time constraints.”
“…Huh?”
Wait, is this something that can be resolved with a polite request? With none of the events aligning with my expectations, I began to wonder if there might be an order of priority influencing the situation. However, as I tried to suppress my breathing to listen further—
“……”
The four trackers exchanged glances.
Instead of expressing bewilderment or proceeding with some internal voting process, they quietly reconfirmed something among themselves. It appeared they’d arrived at an undesirable conclusion.
“…Sorry. Unfortunately, we’re also executing official duties, so such a request must be disregarded. Especially today since it’s been decreed no one shall pass.”
“So… it’s not happening anyway!!”
Too extreme of a gesture could give us away, so behind the corner, I quietly covered my face and screamed into my hands in silent frustration. For some reason, I felt embarrassed and couldn’t bear it.
Of course, Kasane has trackers under her employ since she’s one of Enema’s executives.
This potential threat of four trackers poses a considerable obstacle to our operations. Even considering them, the original plan was crafted with only a Field Engineer and Masanari to handle it.
Primarily due to her safety, the first mistake was underestimating the number of trackers, assuming one or two would suffice. The next error was likely noticed during the introduction with Show back at the meeting.
If they had already detected us, it would’ve been imprudent for us to move. Despite minor suspicions, now at this impasse stage—all complaints felt redundant.
And yet, how can I not allocate blame for failing to predict or prepare when Kasane’s decisions up to this point have been stellar? Honestly, who could’ve foreseen such a bold move—clearing her surroundings and focusing her entire security onto that room? The power struggle among entrenched interest groups truly isn’t an easy feat.
Regardless, enough regrets for now. Seeing the foolhardy “request” rejected so thoroughly, it was clear Masanari would soon become a beehive waiting to collapse. Now, the pressing concern was how I should respond.
“That’s… regrettable.”
“Yeah, it’s regrettable.”
Thus, the mutual sighs of disappointment crossed between the representative tracker and Masanari.
“How about this: due to my current position, I can only use my dagger sparingly. Would that be acceptable?”
“…What a coincidence. We didn’t want to disrupt Ms. Kasane’s event either…”
Unclear conversations went back and forth, and with no clear first-move trigger, the guns tumbled to the floor with a click.
Even the minute advantage in this frontline standoff was decided in mere moments.
Clunk. Pahhh—Masanari’s figure suddenly lowered—
Crackle! A thrown projectile—what appeared to be a disc-like blade—sliced through the air and struck the wall.
Through sheer violent acceleration and a concise movement, Masanari slammed his dark suitcase to the ground even before the enemy’s projectile could strike him.
As the handle of the seemingly unremarkable high-end bag depress like a switch, a pulse wave was emitted.
A fleeting flash of light barely missed both the president’s office and my position. A storm swept through a small radius of about 4-5 meters, eliciting groans and cries of annoyance from Kasane’s trackers, victims of this unauthorized electronic interference.
“You mangy mutt…”
“What a waste of time…”
“Forgive me for my precaution. With the possibility of reinforcements being called in, such measures were necessary. Furthermore, this serves as a reminder for those using subpar implants to reflect. Was it satisfactory?”
Is this a miniaturized version of an EMP bomb I’ve seen before? Blocking the presence of a hacker like me and simultaneously provoking them with a slight jab of dignity.
Even without the air pressure that could lift someone off the ground, the scattered firearms being pushed to the corner reduced the variables significantly.
Despite witnessing it firsthand, it was hard to believe.
Did they just agree to a firefight without using firearms? Right?!
Although in a certain level of combat, predicting and preemptively moving based on the flicker of an eye or firearm, or dividing a second into hundreds of frames to respond is assumed.
They must be fully aware of the advantage gained by showering death from a distance and the overwhelming tactical edge it gives. Even I, who have only my body to lose, felt considerable stress just imagining it.
Hence, regardless of how bizarre the process seems, the conclusion is straightforward: they have willingly accepted this ridiculous handicap to avoid ruining the party hosted by their master.
The tracker’s fundamental principle—prioritizing Enema’s authority and interests in all circumstances—remained steadfast on both sides.
Yet the answer to how to make decisions when faced with conflicting choices that macro-level perspective can’t easily resolve has led to this bizarre questioning and combat.
If both sides carry the heavy burdens of duty, they settle cleanly among peers. Without bringing shame.
“Don’t get too comfortable, rookie!”
“Sorry. Guess this body’s been designed to handle that.”
Bang—!!
Four shadows rushed Masanari, who in turn spun into a whirlwind to meet them.
Just as interlocking gears stubbornly attempt to rotate the same way, refusing to give way and ultimately shatter, a suitable response came from Kajun at that moment.
[Currently, are there really four trackers under her command?]
“Relaxing and questioning so calmly?”
In the midst of an urgent situation where every second counts, dealing with armchair strategists like that is infuriating. What would truly express the urgency I feel? I almost wrapped my head in despair when—
[It’s rather ambiguous. If we trust the combat evaluation reports and test results, then handling that number shouldn’t be an issue. However, the scenario might diverge slightly afterward.]
“…”
Though I didn’t fully understand the latter part—handling four opponents, Masanari could manage it just fine. That reassurance brought my contracted senses back to normal.
Come to think of it, the sound of impacts I thought would soon cease kept continuing, uninterrupted.
The vibrations rippling through the air didn’t carry the scent of death… Well, at least from my perspective, though those receiving it might feel otherwise.
Peering out carefully, I saw a chaotic vortex.
Faster, even faster, until someone couldn’t hold on and slipped away—leaving an opening.
“Whoa… wow…?”
Without a feasible method to amplify my strength, at least watching the situation unfold seemed like a decent option.
Considering my inability to engage in frontline fights with any significant special preparation due to the inability to enhance my abilities via implants, avoiding such collisions with monster-like opponents repeatedly isn’t likely.
If we’re bound to clash without anyone else to fight for us eventually, wouldn’t observing high-level combat like this be an invaluable learning experience?
Too chaotic, disorientingly fast, making it difficult for someone at my level to follow the specifics, but apart from that, it felt almost perfect!
“Ugh…”
“…”
Seemingly from the slower winds, a groan escaped the enemy.
Please forgive me for not giving proper commentary and inserting subjective guesses instead.
Right now, all I can discern is the unusual type of blades being wielded during their impact—straight swords and chakrams—though my lack of understanding stems more from my dependence on the output from my cyberware.
Crack!
“Your strikes… are sharp! Junior!”
“…Can I take that as a compliment? I’ve heard a lot of remarks related to it on my journey here.”
On the other hand, Masanari, equipped only with basic forearm guards, was deflecting all of them barehanded.
How? By preemptively striking the joints before the intended targets could reach him.
The defense is utterly perfect—blocked before the attacks could materialize, leaving not a scratch. But what about the offense?
Bang!
Creeeeek…!
Just moments ago, Masanari’s wooden floor was shattered by a short jumonji yari, followed closely by a straight sword and a蕨-handled curved blade tearing through his retreat trajectory.
Four sets of arms and legs mean a multiplier of strategies to contend with. It seemed unlikely that he’d manage to keep up a purely defensive stance indefinitely.
A lasting battle? A war of endurance? The hope that relying purely on defense would wear them down seemed unlikely.
So was he ready to fail, having already requested backup?
Surely if he’d anticipated failure, he’d have directly mentioned the plan’s failure, rather than making vague ambiguous requests shifting responsibility.
No, rather, a mischievous thought came to mind—”Isn’t fighting so noisily like this essentially the same as using guns?”
The moment they realized their dignity would allow no such leniency toward an equal tracker, their pride must’ve kept them from targeting a spectator.
“Huff… Huff…!”
Gradually, their exchanges dwindled until they couldn’t even jest or engage in small talk.
The limits were apparent—barely managing the necessary breaths during sporadic movements and attacks, enduring to the utmost limit, even when muscles must’ve been screaming in pain and lips bleeding from being clamped shut. Why?
It’s obvious.
All parties involved know: whoever drops out first might as well already be dead.
At this point, I judged a reassessment of the advantage of speed would be appropriate.
Mere coexistence within the same space doesn’t equate to an equal fight.
Similar to when Zero effortlessly toyed with amateur mercenaries or thieves due to superior speed—without an appropriate countermeasure, even existing in the same battlefield is unacceptable.
Recognizing this, the four-person formation trying to corner the solitary Masanari began to resemble preyed-upon prey running for dear life.
Whoosh—…
Masanari’s physical presence, with smoke curling from his uniform seams, blurred like a ninja wielding ninjutsu.
Highly probable—someone on the opposite side must’ve realized the result would likely lead to disappointment to their superior. A tracker wielding a straight sword with relatively short range suddenly abandoned his assault and attempted to retreat.
“Arghh!!”
Enduring the pain akin to ripping flesh, he leaped forward.
The goal—though only a guess—must’ve been one of the retreated rifles in the corner. Regardless of pride, it seemed the conclusion had been reached to restrict his movements and eliminate him by binding his path.
With four barely managing to contain the beast, reducing to three would inevitably create openings.
Based on my casual estimation, they’d decide to minimize numbers utilizing those gaps…
But the individual’s decisiveness exceeded my predictions.
“Huff, I got it!”
“Finally… how urgent!”
“!!”
Attempting to prevent the resurrected variable, a blunt sound ‘Plock’ echoed as a jumonji yari embedded itself into the shoulder of the individual trying to prevent the straight sword’s withdrawal.
Caught in a similar position to a fish hooked by a needle, the situation was confirmed by the chakram, curved blade, and straight sword, who then reversed their stance and dashed lightning fast.
Although the shoulder wound would significantly reduce combat capabilities, it was evident there was a greater determination not to allow the lost momentum to return to zero.
So, what would result from recklessly charging with moves so obvious even a noncombatant like me could predict?
Whooooosh—!!
All sorts of blades tore through the air, slashing toward him.
However, due to their sheer superiority…
Regardless of the apparent feinting to deceive and the rapid assault execution, the ultimate intended targets would inevitably be vital points.
Operating under the judgment that dodging cutting lines would be problematic but dodging point targets feasible, the person orchestrating the trap believed it natural to draw the opponent in.
“Wha…?!”
The straight blade pierced the chest, though it seemed an unfamiliar sensation halted the man’s movements briefly.
Thrusting from beneath the thick chest armor upward toward the heart—though it seemed to have passed through contracted lungs and heart chambers—damage to such organs should render such movements impossible.
The descending curved blade? Accepted its force and absorbed it with the side.
The spinning chakram? Blood fountained from the ankles, yet he swung his leg forcefully into their arm.
The embedded jumonji yari had already been cast off when Masanari’s body spun.
The final outcome of the hunt in the mist, transformed from certainty into uncertainty, was all too clear.
“Wow…”
What a futile end.
The straight blade, having escaped its locked hand, shattered the throat and passed through, transferring the weapon’s momentum into breaking another curved swordsman’s neck. The centrifugal force was then utilized to horizontally decapitate the spearman—oh my.
Even though the judgments and executions followed a precise sequence, they sounded like a singular conglomerate of screams. My adrenaline surged, and all I could grasp were residual echoes.
“…You’ve all worked hard.”
“…”
In the blood-soaked aftermath, the chilling announcement of generational change went unanswered by either the chakram wielder or the spearman who had lost his weapon.
But they didn’t give up. Expecting his speed to have decreased due to the severe injury to his ankle, they charged again. Only, Masanari unleashed an equally deadly finale, turning the area into pools of blood.
“Haaa… What was that all about?”
That was a stiflingly intense battle.
Though I’ve certainly learned that preparation against speed is essential, it feels like I didn’t gain much more than that from this high-tier combat.
Ah, but at least I’ll keep “haste leads to death” engrained in my memory forever.
…Crash!
Furthermore, culminating in mutual annihilation amid the chaos—watching him collapse, seemingly drowning in his blood, invoked an inexplicable pang of melancholy.
Perhaps because it was already evident their ultimate sacrifice would be treated as an expected result, and no small sacrifice would be properly remembered.
Unable to simply leave him, I grabbed his ankle and dragged him, then hastily flipped him onto his side.
“Ugh…”
With the first-aid clotting agent, I squeezed it into the chest wound visible through the torn skin.
Again, aiming it at the upper part of the injured ankle, trying my best to ignore the grotesque wound that looked like an almost-severed limb.
Considering the severity, would this generic clotting agent be effective? Shouldn’t I more actively intervene if I truly wish to help?
[… The situation’s over. The enemy’s wiped out, but our operative is critically wounded. I’ve administered the clotting agent, but the outcome remains uncertain.]
[Unfortunately, there’s no time left to witness this aftermath. The sooner you retrieve the data, the better. So… good luck, Ms. Anastasia.]
“…”
I chewed him out for ignoring our efforts, then deleted his message.
Pointless empathy was understandable, but considering the need to focus on future capabilities, I strongly argue for a bit of self-gratification.
Though bittersweet, it was indeed the best outcome, widening my operational scope significantly.
Shaking my head, traversing over the pools of blood, I finally reached Kasane’s room.
As for luck…? It seems the stress of being so close to a goal made him spout nonsense. Where’s the element of chance in an engineer’s work, anyway?
—
And that concludes the translation.
