New detective

In the dimly lit, sterile room, the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Chinese officials gathered around the conference table, each face shadowed by the faint glow of the map on the screen. An island was displayed—an island that was not on any public map, but one known only to those in power. It was a place of immense value, a hidden facility where weapons were developed that could tip the balance of global power. Now, it seemed that the rest of the world was closing in on it, and the time for secrecy was running out.

"We can't keep this under wraps forever," the detective's voice broke the silence. Calm, yet carrying an unsettling weight, he leaned over the table, his finger pointing at the blinking red dot on the map. "The Americans and Russians will make a move soon. They're watching, waiting. If they get wind of what's on that island, they'll come for it."

The room stiffened. The leader, a woman with sharp features and a commanding presence, broke the silence first. "So, you're saying we're sitting on a ticking time bomb?"

The detective's gaze was unwavering. "Exactly. They'll try to take it from us. It's too valuable, too dangerous. They won't let China hold such power. It's a matter of when, not if. And when they strike, we have to be ready."

A murmur rippled through the officials. The hidden operations that China had been nurturing for years were now vulnerable to outside threats. The realization settled over them—war was inevitable.

"I don't like this," another official grumbled, nervously tapping the table. "We need to act first. They won't wait until we're ready."

The detective's eyes hardened like steel. "They'll wait for the perfect moment to strike—when they think we're vulnerable. Our job is to make sure they don't see it coming." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. "But we can't be afraid. We must show them that China will rise. That we won't be pushed around anymore."

The others exchanged uneasy glances before the woman in charge gave a determined nod. "Agreed. We'll prepare. But we must make sure they know—our response will be swift. We'll let them think they're in control, and then we'll strike when they least expect it."

The detective straightened, a calculated look in his eyes. "Exactly. If they want to play a game of risk, we'll give them a lesson they won't forget."

"Then let's get ready," the leader said firmly, and the room fell into a heavy silence as they all began mentally preparing for the looming confrontation.

Elsewhere, far from the high-stakes strategy meeting, Keitaro sat in the quiet confines of a therapy room. His fingers gripped the armrests, his mind swirling with the memories of the horrors he had seen. His therapist's voice was soft but firm, trying to reach through the fog of his thoughts.

"You don't have to carry this burden alone, Keitaro," she said gently. "There's always a choice."

Keitaro stared blankly ahead, his jaw clenched, as the weight of the past few days pressed down on him. His eyes, haunted by the nightmarish visions of cities burning and lives being lost, betrayed his internal struggle. "I don't want to kill anyone," he murmured, barely audible. "But I don't have a choice. It's all I can do."

The therapist watched him closely, noting the shift in his demeanor. "No one wants to be in this kind of situation. But you're right. Sometimes, the circumstances you find yourself in are beyond your control."

Keitaro's eyes closed, blocking out the dark memories that had become inescapable. "It's not that simple. I can't just stop. There's a bigger picture—war is coming. If I don't follow through, what happens? More people die."

She sighed softly, her expression filled with a sorrowful understanding. "You can't save everyone, Keitaro. But you can choose how you respond. The choices you make now don't define you forever."

Keitaro's breath hitched as he processed her words, the weight of his choices suffocating him. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"You're trying to do what's best, but sometimes the right choice isn't clear. One step at a time, Keitaro. One step at a time."

Keitaro remained silent, lost in the whirlpool of his thoughts. He didn't know if there was an answer, but for now, all he could do was keep moving forward.

Meanwhile, in the United States, Isagi sat hunched over a laptop, the flickering screen casting a pale glow over his face. He carefully analyzed the grainy footage sent to him by a hacker. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, his focus intense as his eyes narrowed on the footage.

In the middle of the chaos, there was one constant—someone always there, their face blurry, obscured in every shot. Isagi zoomed in, his pulse quickening as he studied the image. "It's him... again."

He paused the video, his frustration evident as he leaned in closer. The blurry figure. Always there. Always at the center of the chaos. But why?

"Why is his face always blurry?" Isagi muttered to himself, frustration creeping into his voice. "What does this mean? Why is he always there?"

The hacker's voice crackled through the speakers, answering his unspoken thoughts. "It's like he's deliberately hidden. Maybe he's part of this in a way we don't understand yet. Or maybe he's being framed. But something's off, Isagi. Something's not right."

Isagi rubbed his temples, the frustration mounting. "I feel like we're missing something. Something huge."

And then, in the depths of the U.S. intelligence network, a new detective was about to join the squad—a replacement for Isagi. The team had heard rumors, but no one knew exactly what to expect.

"This dude is one of the craziest detectives we have," one of the officers said, his voice filled with a mix of skepticism and awe. "I've heard he so fucking smart and fucking strong at the same time, and also crazy too".

The door to the conference room opened, and all eyes turned toward the newcomer.

A tall man stepped in, his expression unreadable, his eyes sharp and calculating. His clothes were dark, and his movements were deliberate, almost too calm for the situation. He surveyed the room, taking in the tension hanging in the air, before speaking in a low, almost disinterested tone.

"Let's get to work."