Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Special Security Council

In the fully enclosed conference room, men in suits and ties sat on either side of the long table. Fewer than ten people were present, every one of them appearing to be over thirty, with many seemingly in their fifties or sixties. The incandescent lamps burned arrogantly above, illuminating their faces—lips tightly pressed, expressions grave and solemn.

If someone familiar with Japanese political news were to stumble into this room, they would surely be struck speechless, for every person present was a notable figure in Japan’s political arena.

—Tokyo Metropolitan Police Superintendent, Sosuke Miyaura.
—Vice Minister of the Ministry of Defense, Shinichiro Tanaka.
—Chief of the Joint Staff, Sakaaki Kawano.
—Cabinet Secretary for General Affairs and Safety, San Fuchii.
—Deputy Director of the Special Security Department, Munetaka Fujiwara.
—Governor of Tokyo, Keiichi Minamoto.
…

Yet no matter their status, at this moment all present were uniformly focused on the far end of the table, where the projector displayed a video:

At the center of the screen, a crimson meteor crashed to earth, a solitary girl standing as if lost—a visitor from another world in the heart of the modern metropolis. The protagonist of the footage, a young man holding a mobile phone, let out a hearty laugh as he stealthily approached her, but halfway there he seemed to trip over something unseen.

Then—amidst the shaky camera and the streamer’s frenzied shouts, the scene revealed what looked like living blood flowing, wrapping itself tightly around the filmer’s legs. In the next moment, as the phone slipped from his grasp, the footage spun rapidly, finally freezing on a view awash in red, blood swirling in waves. Offscreen, screams echoed:

“Help me, help me!”
“Monster… that girl is a monster!”
“Please save me!”

The screams finally ceased, and the crimson tide seemed to recede. Through the phone’s lens, only a narrow crosswalk and the flat ground were visible, as if nothing had happened at all.

The footage ended. It resembled a high-budget movie scene or a CGI production, yet not one person at the table voiced doubt. Instead, all furrowed their brows, faces heavy with thought.

A middle-aged man stood before the projector, using a pointer to rewind the footage to the opening moment—the red meteor falling from the sky—facing the assembled.

His name badge proclaimed his identity:

He was the host of this meeting.
—Minister of Special Intelligence, Ministry of Defense: Shin Yanagihara.

“That,” he began, “is the online footage of the ‘Mokamachi Incident’ from October 6th. As luck would have it, a streamer was present at the scene, broadcasting the event live.”

“After the incident, we issued an emergency directive to the company’s local operator, ordering them to immediately cut the broadcast and extract the internal footage for evidence. However, the livestream had already spread, becoming a hot topic online. Views of related videos have now exceeded two hundred million, and there are more than fifty thousand threads discussing it. The girl at the center of the footage—the core figure of the ‘Mokamachi Incident’—has acquired a moniker on the internet: ‘The Blood Angel of Mokamachi.’”

“Although many believe the footage is genuine, thanks to the intelligence department’s public relations efforts—interviews, compensation for victims’ families, and other urgent measures—public opinion now largely holds that the ‘Mokamachi Incident’ was a staged scene for a movie, all CGI, and that the government sealed off Mokamachi due to a film-related safety accident. ‘The Blood Angel of Mokamachi’ does not exist.”

Yanagihara paused, breathing softly, and swept his gaze across the powerful figures at the table, then spoke in a cold voice:

“Nevertheless, I believe everyone here is aware—

“The ‘Mokamachi Incident’ is real. The ‘Blood Angel of Mokamachi’ truly exists.”

Indeed.

All the high-ranking officials instinctively held their breath.

This was the subject of today’s meeting.

The “Mokamachi Incident.”

Sosuke Miyaura, Superintendent of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, narrowed his eyes slightly.

Even though several days had passed since the incident, recalling the moment when his subordinates stammered through their report, he still could not forget the disbelief and anger that had overtaken him.

“Dammit—how dare you hand in a report like this? Do you take me for a fool!

“Over a thousand people disappeared from the streets of Mokamachi, with no survivors, no leads, no trace. You might as well tell me America secretly abducted them for human experiments—that would be more believable! But look at what you wrote—this mass disappearance was all the work of a single person! A girl descended from the sky and swallowed everyone? Idiot! Don’t turn your light novels into police reports!”

He was still seething, ready to berate his subordinates further, when he received a top-secret call.

—It was from the Prime Minister.

Dismissed his staff with a wave, Miyaura took the call alone in his office. His expression faded from anger to shock and incomprehension.

…It was all true!

…A girl descended from the sky, “swallowed” the people of Mokamachi!

…The Prime Minister was convening a National Special Security Council to address this extraordinary event!

The memories surfaced, prompting him to shake his head inwardly, though a new confusion gnawed at his mind.

He surveyed the room—the senior officials connected to the event were all present: Metropolitan Police, Ministry of Defense, Special Security, Cabinet, Tokyo government…

But strangely, the top leaders were absent—the Prime Minister, Police Commissioner, and Defense Minister had all sent representatives instead, with San Fuchii attending as the Cabinet’s delegate… Why?

Such doubts flashed through his mind and vanished, overshadowed by the shock he felt towards the “Blood Angel of Mokamachi.”

Miyaura touched his nose, suppressing any outward sign of his astonishment.

Yet, glancing from the corner of his eye at those around him, he saw that their strained, tense faces betrayed their own efforts to conceal their inner turmoil.

He felt no urge to mock them.

For he could fully understand their shock.

After all, this was—

“A transcendent being…”

Who could have imagined, in the twenty-first century metropolis, where human power seems ever weaker against modern firearms and technology, that such a presence would descend?

Transcendent beings…

Symbols of immense strength, enviable vitality, abilities beyond reality… perhaps even the possibility of breaking the limits of mortality.

If one were ignorant, it would matter little—but now that they knew, how could they not be shaken? How could they not yearn?

Casting an imperceptible glance to his right, Miyaura saw the Governor, Keiichi Minamoto, openly gazing at the red meteor on the screen, lips parted, eyes filled with longing and greed.

It was understandable.

Governor Minamoto was now over seventy, and rumor had it he suffered from chronic ailments—he could almost hear death’s footsteps. The older one grows, the more one fears death. For him, a genuine transcendent being was infinitely more desirable than a mountain of gold.

With this realization, Miyaura understood why the Prime Minister, Defense Minister, and Police Commissioner had not attended.

—These foremost leaders were all elderly; they must have feared exposing their own greedy longing, just as Minamoto had.

Turning over thoughts that were equal parts ironic and something else, Miyaura straightened, dismissed his distractions, and continued listening to Yanagihara’s voice as he led the meeting.