Chapter 22. Into The Livehouse (II)

Jun ducked into the dim side corridor of the venue, the Matake sensor flickering red in his hand. He pulled the issued walkie talkie from his pocket - the one Huashin also issued for him earlier on Monday before the event. He tapped the center button.

"This is Jun. Incident confirmed. Unauthorized Matake use. Crowd exposure risk is high. One civilian was wounded. Unknown middle-aged male is applying psychic-level coercion. Escalation is probable."

There was a moment of static—then Huashin's voice cut through, crisp and neutral: "Copy that. I'll rely on oversight. I'll send someone down and she will coordinate the lockdown with the police."

Her voice shifted, just slightly, to urgency. "You and Araka, if you can reach her now, should focus on crowd evacuation. That's the number one priority. Do not engage the target unless civilian safety requires it."

Jun's voice remained level. "Understood."

"Keep your sensor active. If a resonance burst happens again, disable the node or isolate it if possible."

"Acknowledged. We'll hold until containment," Jun clipped the device back to his side and turned, just in time to see a group of confused attendees pushing toward the exit, clashing with another group trying to back away from the fight zone.

It's already starting, Jun thought. 

He switched to the mic on his phone case: "Araka. We have clearance. Huashin authorized limited intervention. Priority is evacuation. You're closest to the center—can you disrupt the stage to direct crowd flow?"

Yet, it was silence on the other end.

On the other side of the room, further away from the scene between the two men and Araka, Anikara grabbed Leana's arm as the tension grew.

"What do we do? Should we just start yelling at people?"

Leana didn't move—eyes still locked on the crowd patterns: "We need to make an exit for the crowd. One direction. Keep them moving in order. If they start bottlenecking, it'll break wide open."

Anikara blinked. "Wait—how do you know that? You're just as old as me and Araka."

Leana gave a half-shrug, eyes sharp beneath her composed expression.

"My dad works for the RBC, the public broadcaster. I've heard all kinds of crowd disaster breakdowns on our dinner table. Stampedes. Stadium fires. Panic collapses. You learn the warning signs."

Anikara looked at her, impressed and a little nervous. "You never mentioned that."

"You never asked," Leana said calmly with her typical sweet voice. 

The two repositioned themselves in the crowd. Anikara nodded once, already heading toward the side of the stage: "So if that's the case, I'll grab Aqua if it breaks open." She vanished into the press of half-panicked bodies.

Meanwhile, at the epicenter of the chaos, the young man, pinned, bleeding, tried again to resist. His scream cut through the air as he gripped the knife still lodged in his own thigh—and yanked it free.

A second swing.

Someone screamed again.

Another bystander—a teenage boy this time—caught a shallow cut to the arm as he stumbled sideways, knocking over a table. Chaos rippled outward.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" the middle-aged man snarled, voice rising, "I've never seen someone this stupidly stubborn—"

Then, Araka sensed it: Matake pulsed, but unlike before, it wasn't just manipulation; it was sheer dominance.

Araka felt it like a pulse in her ribs—her vision shimmering at the edges. She staggered slightly, one hand against the pillar, eyes wide: He's not controlling it anymore…

The middle-aged man was forcing the resonance so hard, Araka sensed the thrust was looping back into himself—coiling into his mind, blurring the boundary between his own will and the Matake field.

His eyes were no longer sharp.

They were glazed. His fingers twitched unnaturally. 

The middle-aged man extended his arm toward the wounded young man, voice lower now, distorted, like something else was speaking through him: "Come. Now. No more running."

The younger man's legs moved involuntarily—dragged forward, one slow step at a time.

Araka's stomach turned: This isn't coercion anymore. This is a takeover in plain sight. She started to think something far worse: if that happened—containment protocols would be the least of her worries.

The crowd, unaware of the escalation, was a ripple of confusion and unease—some trying to leave, some too frozen to move, a few still pretending the show hadn't ended. Then—a staff member, headset still hanging from one ear, stepped forward and put a hand on the middle-aged man's arm.

"Sir. That's enough. You need to back off—people are getting hurt—"

He didn't finish.

The man turned with a sudden, jarring twist—eyes vacant, pupils tight, glowing faint with that resonance hue that only Araka could sense. His hand shot out, unnaturally fast, and grabbed the staffer by the collar, lifting him partially off the ground. 

A murmur turned to a scream: "How about this?"

The staffer gasped, kicking against the floor.

Araka gasped without a word: he's gone. His consciousness is submerged, much worse than what Ami had gone through. This isn't coercion anymore—this is hostile.

She felt it everywhere now—the field wasn't directed. It was leaking. Pressurizing the space around them. A Matake storm contained a human body—barely. It was nothing like Ami's chaotic Matake field, but something entirely different. Even though Araka had no idea how Matake actually works,underneath she understood one thing: if someone didn't stop it now, people would die. Maybe not from the man himself, but from the chaos he would unleash.

Araka pulled out her phone, pretending to start a livestream, but in reality she was showering to the mic again: "Jun. It was - it's not like anything I've seen before. The Matake, if it's still the same thing, is leaking and taking over the middle-aged man, and he's like - acting on behalf of his field rather than himself."

Jun, upon hearing this, didn't respond immediately. After letting his breath settled, he responded: "Understood, I'm breaking in, wait one more second as the entrance is blocked by the crowd."

After putting away her phone, Araka looked away from the confusing scene and shifted toward the other side —at Leana, still holding people back, at Anikara, raised her arm high toward Aqua, trying to shield her from the rising panic.

I have to tell Leana about it, Araka told herself. 

—— 

As the scene continued to escalate, Leana reached Araka, who just escaped from the heart of the crowd, as another scream broke through the noise.

She didn't speak loudly—but her voice cut through, firm: "Something's wrong with him. It's spreading."

Araka nodded once, quickly.

"I know. That's why you need to start getting the crowd out. Don't mention him, any of the two men. Just say people should leave slowly. Controlled."

Leana nodded: "Got it. I'll use my voice."

Araka glanced around: "But I couldn't find a mic nearby."

Then, within the outskirt of the crowd buildup, Araka spotted a panicked technician crouched behind the side table, headset tangled in cables. Araka knelt beside him, her tone direct but even.

"Microphone. Wireless. Now."

The man blinked but handed one over instinctively, still shaking.

Araka stood and pressed it into Leana's hand: "It's yours."

Leana tested the grip, nodded once, then walked toward somewhere closer to the stage —confident, composed, her shoes echoing faintly against the wooden floor.

She raised the mic to her lips just as another surge of energy tugged at the air. 

It didn't take long for Leana's voice rang out over the speakers—firm, composed, threaded with reassurance.

"Everyone—there's been a minor incident near the back. We ask that you begin exiting calmly through the left corridor. No rush. Event staff will help direct you. Just move slowly, row by row."

There was hesitation—but no panic. The crowd, already unstable, listened. One cluster at a time, they began to turn, feet shifting on the scuffed floorboards, hands guiding one another toward the marked exits.

From the other side of the venue, Jun moved through the crowd, calm but focused, resonance sensor clipped to his wrist. Then, he pulled out the thing from his pouch: the Matake field suppressor, a compact device with a glass front glowing dim magenta lights. As soon as he got the visual of the two men, he activated a localized neutralizer pulse. Jun learned from Huashin that unlike more advanced suppressor, it won't erase the Matake field, but it'd buy time, suppressing the wildest surges.

He whispered into his walkie talkie: "Matake field suppressor activated. Waiting for reinforcement."

On the stage itself, Aqua stood near the center, still in her swimsuit, guitar loosely in hand, her eyes scanning the half-emptied crowd. One of the older band members had taken half a step toward the back curtain—but froze: "Should we… should we just go?"

Aqua asked, quietly, "Shouldn't we?"

The frontwoman, slightly younger, bit her lip, looking at the slowly evacuating audience; "If we run now… it'll trigger something. They're already unsettled. One wrong move, and someone's gonna fall."

She looked at Aqua: "You okay to hold here just a minute?"

Aqua hesitated, but then nodded, just once.

Meanwhile, below the stage, despite Leana's voice still echoing calmly over the speakers, the crowd nearest the scene hadn't moved.

They were frozen: not by music, not even by fear - but uncertainty.

All eyes were locked on the epicenter of the chaos—where the middle-aged man stood over the restrained staffer, still pinned against the wall.

"Punch yourself," the middle-aged man ordered, voice dissonant, wrong, like overlapping frequencies.

"Do it. Now. Break your nose."

The staffer trembled, both hands clenched, but one fist was twitching upward. Slowly. Against his own will.

— 

Just as the scene unfolded, Araka was already moving through the edge of the venue when she heard it. She turned sharply toward Jun, who had just stepped out of the shadows behind the amp rig.

"How long until SAIR arrives?"

Jun's eyes stayed fixed on his scanner. It was pulsing deep crimson now—active override signature detected.

"Minutes. They're close. Faster than expected."

"That's too slow," Araka said.

She looked at the restrained staffer's eyes—tears forming as his arm twitched upward again.

There was no more time, Araka thought. 

The psychic tension in the air was nearly unbearable now—the Matake pressure warped the edges of sound and space. It was like being underwater, yet hyper-aware of every breath. The staffer's fist hovered inches from his own face, shaking.

Behind the wall of the crowd, Araka stood just meters away, hands clenched, every instinct screaming at her to do something—but she got no weapon, no training, no backup.

We can't kill him, she told herself, we can't even touch him without risk of triggering the field.

"Jun." she said, "did you have that thing, the thing Huashin carried during the expressway crisis, that suppressor thingy?"

Jun stepped beside her, crouched low behind the edge of a monitor rack. His sensor was bright red. "I've got one," he said. "Not as advanced as the one Instructor Huashin carried through. Old model. Meant to keep Matake from spreading to bystanders."

"How much damage could it do?"

He shook his head. "Won't stop the field effect. Just stops it from radiating outward."

The crowd around the two men was still watching. The staffer was about to be broken. The young man collapsed on the ground. The middle-aged man was losing control of himself.

Araka looked toward Jun; "Then we use it. And I'll go in, distract him. You cover for me."

Jun blinked. "Araka—"

"I'll block him. Not with force. With presence."

The suppressor pulse from Jun's device sent a soft hum through the air—like static being slowly drained. The Matake field thinned around the perimeter, stabilizing just enough to protect the outer crowd.

But the core storm at the center of the field? Still raging.

Araka moved forward—past the crowd, past the sights of the confused band members, past the scattered chairs and broken lights.

She stepped in front of the injured civilians— the two teenagers caught in the fight—and placed herself between them and the man.

The middle-aged man turned slowly—eyes glowing faintly, voice jagged at the edges. His hand twitched, while the staffer was still barely conscious at his feet.

"Interesting," Araka said evenly, her tone sharp as steel. "Debt collectors used to have a little more discipline."

She narrowed her eyes: "Now you're hurting people who have nothing to do with the debt. Sloppy."

The man's head twitched—like a puppet catching a bad string pull. His eyes locked on her.

Araka, now with her eyes aligned with the middle-aged man, sensed Matake clearly—a thrust of Matake, like a sudden gust of heat. While the field was not as confrontational as before, she could still sense the hostility yet curiosity behind - he was testing her. .

After a brief pause, he spoke: "Why does a little girl stand in front of grown men…who didn't even know what to do?"

The voice didn't flow. It jerked. Tones misaligned. Words too spaced.

"You… are… pa… the… tic."

Araka froze. Not in fear, but in realization.

Those words… they aren't structured. Not formed. They're not spoken by consciousness— They're being assembled by the Matake field itself.

And that meant, Araka talked to herself, The man himself might not even be aware anymore.

Meanwhile, Jun pushed through the edge of the scattered crowd, the suppressor tool glowing faintly in his hand.

"Everyone," he called out, firm but not panicked, "the west emergency exit is clear. Please head there—calmly. Now."

Some still stared at the stage. Others turned—finally moving.

As the crowd began to grow thinner, Jun passed Anikara and leapt onto the stage, landing around the center of the five band members. He found an Aqua frozen mid-shift, guitar still slung across her shoulder.

"Jun?" she asked, voice sharp. "What—what's going on? Why are you here?"

Jun didn't stop moving. His voice was quick, controlled: "The man down there—he's more dangerous than he looks. Araka's holding him back until the cop arrives."

Behind Aqua, the frontwoman furrowed her brow. "Who's that Araka girl even?"

Aqua turned slightly, her voice low but certain: "She's… a friend of mine. Someone I trust."

Jun gave her a brief nod. "Right now, she's the one keeping this place from going down. Which means we have to leave before Matake field went violent -"

He motioned toward the service exit behind the stage.

Aqua took a breath—but then hesitated.

"You said Matake," she said. "Just now. That's… real? Appeared here in plain sight?"

Jun looked at her— eyes remained serious: "…Does it matter?"

A beat.

Then he added, quieter: "He's dangerous. That's what you need to know."

Aqua looked down at her guitar.

Then nodded.

"Okay. Let's go."

—-

Just as Araka's confrontation continued, the Matake field of the middle-aged man, once dominating the whole scene, now shimmered.

For many, it was subtle at first—like a distant headache lifting.

Jun's suppressor was finally stabilizing the Matake perimeter. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to dull the edge—enough to give people back their minds.

Still, the crowd near the fight remained frozen—eyes wide, breath held, waiting for someone else to act first.

Then—

Anikara, now moved away from the stage, stepped into the open, arms out slightly, voice raised—not panicked, but frustrated.

"Why are you just standing there?!" She turned, sweeping her eyes across the group: "Go! West side is clear! If you stay here you're just in the way!"

A murmur—then a shift. One by one, the frozen shapes broke—like ice thawing under morning light. Feet started to shuffle. Hands grabbed jackets. People moved. It was still slow, but parts of the crowds weavered.

Araka, while at the center, saw it happen.

She felt the Matake tension dip—Jun's suppressor doing its job—but that wasn't all.

It was Anikara - her voice, her presence, her humane expression was cutting through where Matake had filled the space with pressure and fear.

Araka smiled, as just for a moment, the storm was fading. Not gone—but flickering.

The Matake resonance, once pulsing like a living thing, now wavered in the air—fractured, distorted, losing cohesion. At the center, the middle-aged man stood unevenly—his hand still half-raised, but his eyes became dimmer now, blinking too slowly.

He was losing focus. Araka thought as she stepped forward..

She sensed it—the moment the crowd thinned, when the energy stopped feeding to the crowd.

"Nin-cha," she said, voice steady but sharp. "I need some cable. Anything strong."

Anikara blinked from the edge of the stage, sweat on her brow: "Cable?!"

"He's off-balance. If we can tie him down now—without fighting—we can end this."

Anikara nodded, eyes scanning the floor. "On it."

She ducked behind the amp rack, ripping out a stage rig cable—thick, coiled, just enough slack. She threw one end to Araka.

"Ready when you are!"

The middle-aged man's grip twitched— he turned his head back and continued mumbling toward the injured staffer: "Break it... break your nose…"

However, Araka noticed the voice was faint now, like a radio signal losing frequency. It's my chance, she thought.

The Matake energy pulsing around him shimmered faintly, then faltered—frayed at the edges, like a storm winding down.

Now!

Araka moved swiftly, now with the cable on her hand and her eyes locked on the moment.

She waited—just until his weight shifted, just until his hand dropped half an inch lower— she struck.

A clean kick to the back of the man's knee. 

The man collapsed, the resonance field shattered like glass. His hands hit the ground with a thud, breath knocked from him.

Araka didn't hesitate. She dropped her weight onto his back—one foot planted firmly between his shoulder blades—and swept the cable around his arms in a fast, tight motion.

The man groaned—but didn't fight.

She felt it: the Matake field collapsed entirely. What was once thick and oppressive had now shrunk to a flicker of residue—weak, grounded. 

Araka's hands trembled slightly—but she didn't let go.

Behind her, Anikara and Jun stood frozen for a beat.

Then Jun stepped forward, checking the man, and then turned on his walkie talkie: "The man is now restrained. Field suppressed. He's down." Meanwhile, the sensor on Jun's waist started flickering yellow light; the Matake field was gone now. Araka sensed that too: the field dispersed into air like fog burned off by morning sun.

—- 

As the man collapsed, the crowd had mostly cleared. Sirens echoed faintly in the distance. Police barriers were already forming near the entrance.

Jun stood guard by the restrained man, who had fallen half-conscious. Anikara, still breathing hard, leaned against the wall, eyes wide but focused.

Then the side door clicked open.

First, it was Leana leading a group of three police officers. Following them, a single figure stepped in—calm, collected, light pink hair tied in a right-sided ponytail, wearing the black SAIR zipped hoodie, sharp eyes scanning the room.

"Shikayumi Hiraka (西雲 喜樂), P-2 Intern, SAIR Central Division 2." The girl displayed her badge.

"SAIR containment support, " she said, nodding at Jun. "Huashin sent me. Said this was a minor incident and I could handle the final lock."

She pulled a sleek Matake suppressor from her case—sleek, compact, humming faintly with controlled field output.

She approached the restrained man without hesitation, planting the suppressor just near his side.

Hiraka looked around, casually brushing dust from her shoulder: "Not bad for a late shift."

Then she looked at Araka, still standing there, her foot slightly braced, hands raw from the cable grip. She gave a small, polite smile. "Thanks for holding him."

Araka exhaled, voice low but firm: "It wasn't that minor."

Hiraka paused, then offered a subtle nod—not mocking this time, but real: "No. I guess it wasn't."

As the scene calmed down, the injured were being tended to by medics, and the crowd was long gone.The suppressed man was already loaded into a black SAIR van.

Aqua, emerging from the back stage corner, shifted her weight awkwardly. Her competitive swimsuit, perfectly normal an hour ago, now felt exposed under sterile floodlights and uniformed presence.

Hiraka turned toward her.

"…Are you with the band?"

Aqua blinked. "Y-yeah."

Hiraka tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly: "Interesting, why are you still wearing that?"

Araka, standing just a few feet behind, awkwardly scratched her cheek: "That was, uh… this was a concert. For her band. It's like, a whole underground aesthetic thing. Unconventional rock or something."

Aqua's face turned bright red.

She couldn't even muster a response—just stared at the floor, still clutching her guitar case like a shield.

Hiraka raised an eyebrow—then gave a faint, amused smile.

"I see."

She glanced at Aqua again, more gently this time.

"…Honestly, it kind of suits you. But good thing Huashin sent me. If it were someone else—especially a male officer? They'd probably have more questions."

Aqua looked up, stunned—and not sure whether to thank her or hide.

"…Thanks?"

—- 

As the remaining law enforcements were gone, inside the now emptied venue, Jun approached Hiraka

"So by the way, I was helping wrap things up. But may I ask what's your name."

"Shikayumi Hiraka (西雲 喜樂), P-2 Intern, SAIR Central Division 2. You can just call me Hiraka," Hiraka smiled, "don't worry, I'm just one year older than you, and you may see me more often if you hang out in Division 2 for longer."