Chapter Sixty-Two: Lotus Blossoms Upon the Earth

The rise of shut-in lifestyles and online nihilism in the Reiwa era had turned even military channels into something resembling 5ch, with the participants bickering without a trace of military discipline. This left Second Lieutenant Yuichi Yoshida, a rare soul in these times with a powerful sense of national honor and duty, clutching his aching head in exasperation. Unable to contain himself, he shouted into the channel, “Enough! Stop arguing!”

Unsurprisingly, no one paid him any mind, and chaos reigned on the communications channel.

Flared nostrils betraying his fury, Yoshida was ready to shout a stern warning: “Any further disorder will be met with court-martial!” He would then launch into a rousing speech about the spirit of Yamato, instilling pride and honor in these hundreds of captains and officers, silencing them with his words. He pictured thousands of soldiers rallying under his temporary command, reorganizing and preparing for battle, successfully fending off the crisis. This would earn him the admiration of the Ministry of Defense and the brass, propelling him onto the fast track—Major, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, and someday even General—leading the Japanese people to a Yamato renaissance in future global conflicts, a real-life “Japanese version of the Accidental Hero.”

But before this fantasy could even begin, a female sergeant’s scream pierced the channel: “Look—up in the sky—what is that?!”

Yoshida jerked his head upward in shock. He was not alone. All the others—sergeants, warrant officers, lieutenants alike—instinctively looked up, their gazes drawn to the vast sky kilometers above.

Red threads.

Red threads.

Countless red threads radiated outward from the body of Mio Ito, weaving together into a gigantic net spanning thousands of meters.

The fighter jets that had been attempting to break out in four directions now looked like insects caught in a web, fixed in place despite their afterburners still blazing. The planes were utterly immobilized.

Dense, innumerable red threads billowed in midair, filtering the pale moonlight. The formerly white moonlight, refracted through that web, turned an eerie crimson.

For a moment, beneath that blood-red net that blotted out sun and sky, it was as if the heavens had become a sea of blood, and the moon at the horizon a red orb, coldly gazing down like the eye of a malevolent god.

Everyone who looked up at the overwhelming power of the red web above them was struck dumb, unable to speak.

Even though they had seen video footage and partial analysis reports about Mio Ito’s powers before the operation, nothing could have prepared them for this—far more astonishing than anything at Mokumachi, her power now surged on a scale that defied comprehension. Even those with the firmest resolve could not help but be awed into silence, their minds numbed.

—And it was always those with the greatest bravado, the ones most convinced of their own unwavering faith, who broke first.

Yuichi Yoshida collapsed to his knees with a thud, his body convulsing, all strength gone. He could only stare at the red lines in the sky, his face contorted, muttering, “Amaterasu… Could this be your avatar?!”

On the ground, the first to scream—the female sergeant—retained her composure longer than most. She was the first to recover, snatching up her communicator and shouting into the public channel, “Retreat—everyone, retreat immediately!”

But it was too late.

At that instant, the red net in the sky trembled. In a split second, the fighter jets ensnared in the web shattered into pieces, debris falling earthward. From the cockpits, four streams of bright blood reversed their flow, surging back into Mio Ito at the center.

The next instant, as the wreckage, drawn by gravity, cascaded to the ground, the entire red net descended upon the ground forces with a speed several times, even dozens of times, faster. In mere seconds, it enveloped them.

Neither resilient combat suits nor sturdy armor could block the net for even a second. In the blink of an eye, thousands of red threads wove through the ranks, the living net writhing as if alive, enfolding every living soul on the field within its body.

And then—

—Perhaps only a few seconds passed.
—Or perhaps an entire century.

The red threads suddenly fused together. The net twisted, clung, swelled, tangled, and churned—

At last, like a blossom unfurling, rivers of blood piled up, layer upon layer of petals opening.

Upon the nighttime earth, a lotus of flesh and blood hundreds of meters in diameter bloomed in magnificent splendor.

Atop the lotus throne, a girl stood, her appearance now so perfect it surpassed the limits of human beauty.

She looked like a goddess descended to earth.

She gazed up at the hovering drone cameras that had been watching the battlefield from above.

The very next moment, as if unable to bear the weight of her gaze, the drones began to tremble in the air, shattering into fiery fragments that fell to earth.

…

In Tokyo, in the intelligence building at Shinjuku, the “Special Operations Meeting” was still underway.

An hour earlier, when the drone feed suddenly split into dozens of screens, showing ground troops advancing and fighter jets bombing their target, the Governor of Tokyo, Keiichi Minamoto, did not rejoice at the prospect of this “threat to public safety” being neutralized. Instead, he slammed his hands on the table and roared, “Who authorized this ‘special operation’?!”

He was not alone. The others in the room, including Sosuke Goiin, stared daggers at the meeting’s host, Nobu Yanagihara. With the exception of Kan Ishikawa, who represented the Prime Minister’s views, nearly everyone wore expressions of outrage.

“This was a secret operation, urgently authorized by the Prime Minister…” Yanagihara began.

But Minamoto cut him off, spittle flying: “Damn it, launching a military operation without government or parliamentary approval is a betrayal of the will of the people! I swear I’ll fight this to the end—as a member of the Diet, I’ll file for impeachment—!”

The other officials nodded grimly, not out of any great concern for “the will of the people,” but because the Prime Minister had bypassed the usual channels and the leadership of other security agencies. This unilateral military action threatened their own power, and so they found themselves, almost unconsciously, aligning with Minamoto’s indignation.

—Besides, the girl with extraordinary powers just might hold the key to surpassing the limits of life itself. Was she really to be killed here…?

But before they could finish their thoughts, Yanagihara’s next words drained the anger from the room.

“The report for this operation came from Yokota Air Base. The principle of ‘eliminate the target at all costs’ was set by the U.S. headquarters in Japan. They provided five fighter jets and sent Colonel Smith as an operational advisor. To ensure secrecy, they requested the Prime Minister issue the order directly, without going through regular channels.”

“Even if the Americans demanded it, this kind of arbitrary action—” Minamoto’s bluster faded immediately at Yanagihara’s reply. He hesitated, grumbling, and slumped back into his seat.

The other officials, too, lost their appetite for confrontation. They all knew that “request” was just a more polite word for “demand.”

So it was the Americans after all…

Even the Emperor did not wield as much power in Japan as the U.S. command, let alone the Prime Minister.

With this realization, their bravado gave way to dejection, but they also saw through the Americans’ cunning scheme:

—As the world’s only known extraordinary being, and one with self-awareness and independent thought, the girl would be almost impossible to restrain. The risk of transporting her alive to America was too great.

Thus, to prevent interference, the U.S. command in Japan had clearly chosen the safest and most self-serving course—kill the “Blood Angel,” bring her corpse back to America, and monopolize all possibilities she represented.

Such a cunning and ruthless move was perfectly in line with America’s usual policies.

The high-ranking officials looked at one another, drained of energy, slumping in their chairs, watching the drone feed with resignation.

They watched round after round of explosives rain down, the girl’s silhouette vanishing in the smoke, all signs of life erased from that spot. Yet their faces showed no joy, only gloom.

Even Sosuke Goiin lost interest and slumped in his seat.

Only Yanagihara and Ishikawa remained upright, eyes glued to the screens.

But when the command center was obliterated by missiles—

In that instant, every lethargic official sat bolt upright, their eyes wide with shock.

“Are the Americans insane?!”

All eyes in the room reflected the same emotion.

Soon, as the red web spread across the sky, their questions were answered, and the officials sat straighter and straighter, jaws dropping wider and wider.

And in the end, when thousands of ground troops were dissolved by the red net, when the blood-red lotus blossomed, and the girl smiled serenely at the camera, they, too, lost the ability to think, staring blankly at one another as if turned to stone.

—Although this final scene made it clear that the Americans’ scheme had been utterly crushed… wasn’t the spectacle itself a bit too terrifying?

As the drone feed faded into darkness, silence descended upon the meeting room.

Several minutes passed before a trembling male voice finally broke the hush.

Kan Ishikawa’s face was flushed from shock, the calm of moments before completely vanished. A single earpiece now hung from his right ear. Rising abruptly from the table, he declared,

“By order of the Prime Minister: the drone footage is now classified as a state secret! No leaks of any kind are permitted! All footage must be stored on a single local hard drive—any other copies are to be destroyed immediately!

“And—transfer the sole copy of the footage to me at once. I am to deliver it personally to the Prime Minister!”