Chapter Fourteen: Inspector

  S.T.A.R.S BASE – HOUSTON, TEXAS – TRAINING HALL – MORNING

  Dim light filters through the reinforced glass of the underground training facility. The air hums with the faint resonance of two clashing weapons, rhythmically slicing through the tension. Yozora, clad in a black training uniform with the insignia of S.T.A.R.S stitched near the collar, moves with fluid grace Sutā Geizā in hand—his gaze distant, unfocused. Across from him stands Captain Raiven Solisis, a towering woman wielding a massive claymore with effortless ease. Her movements are sharp, deliberate meant to provoke, to shake Yozora from his fog.

  CLANG!!!. Their blades lock. Sparks scatter.

  Raiven gritting her teeth. “Focus, dammit! You keep spacing out. That’s the third time you dropped your guard.”

  Yozora doesn’t respond. His blade trembles slightly in his grip before he pulls away, stepping back. His voice low, almost to himself, eyes drift toward nothing. “Six months ago… Mara was murdered. And T... vanished not long after.” He lowers his katana. The training room falls into a heavy silence.

  The sound of a TV playing in the corner cuts through the quiet—a news anchor reporting the aftermath of the explosion that rocked Houston’s Third Ward District the night before.

  "Authorities continue to investigate the cause of the explosion. No casualties have been confirmed, but dozens are missing—many presumed dead. Officials claim it was a gas leak. Sources, however, suggest something... stranger."

  Yozora murmuring. “Another lie for the public. Another secret swept away. His fingers tighten around Sutā Geizā. His chest aches, as if something hollowed out the center of him and never filled it back in. Guilt curls in his gut. If I had been faster... smarter... Maybe they both still—

  Raiven cutting him off. “She’s gone, Yozora. T. is gone. Whatever guilt you’re carrying, it won’t help you now. And this... brooding? It’s not helping anyone.”

  Yozora looks up, a flicker of pain behind his cool demeanor. For a moment, something sharp and angry pierces through the numb, with a stern voice he says. “You think I don’t know that?”

  Raiven exhales sharply, lowering her blade. “You’ve been acting like a ghost for months. I don’t need a ghost. I need a Tuner. Someone who’ll fight back when it counts—not just swing his sword like he’s half-asleep.”

  A comm frequency cut Raiven off. “Tuner Yozora, report to Briefing Room B. Mission deployment in ten minutes.”

  Raiven with a grim look. “Looks like they’re sending you out again. Try not to lose yourself out there.”

  Yozora walks past her, Sutā Geizā dematerializing in his hand a smooth motion. His voice low, determined. “I already did.” He stops briefly at the doorway, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Nothing left to lose.”

  Moments later, S.T.A.R.S Base – Briefing Room B.

  The sliding doors hiss open as Yozora enters. The room is dimly lit, a sharp contrast to the sterile brightness of the halls. A large holographic display flickers at the front, casting pale blue light across the faces of those inside. At the head of the room stands Field Agent Alex Reyes, lean and sharp-eyed, dressed in tactical black. Beside him sits Communication Officer Lena Martinez. eyes glued to a floating tablet that streams real-time data across her lenses. Yozora enters silently, his eyes low, expression unreadable.

  Alex tilting his head. “Nice of you to join us, Yozora. We’ve got a mess on our hands.”

  Yozora doesn’t reply, simply takes a seat at the corner of the table. His presence is quiet but heavy, like a storm looming on the edge of thought.

  Lena shrugs her shoulders straight to business. “At 23:12 last night, there was an explosion at Trinity Holdings, one of our largest private investors. The blast originated from the 37th floor—corporate executive level.” She swipes her fingers across the holo-display, and the room is illuminated by a rotating 3D model of a skyscraper, the 37th floor blinking red.

  Alex nods. “The odd part? That floor had anti-surveillance protocols nothing should get in or out without us knowing. But when our sweeper team arrived...” He taps his tablet, shifting the display. “See that dense Hindo radiation signatures, glowing like blue fire over the wreckage. No way around it. We’ve got Tuner involvement.”

  Yozora finally speaks, his voice rough but calm. “Any survivors?

  Lena quietly. “No. Just... ash. We don’t know how, but something—or someone—used a high-grade Forbidden Hindo Art: Vector implosion. It didn't just detonate—it collapsed everything inward. Then the pressure burst it out. We’ve seen similar tactics before, but not at this scale. Which means the Tuner involved has to be high B rank possibly higher.”

  Yozora's jaw tightens. “And the catalyst?”

  Alex crosses his arms. “That’s the real kicker.” He pauses, eyeing Yozora carefully. “The epicenter was an executive. A normal human. No records of Tuning ability, no modifications, nothing. But something triggered him—or used him.”

  Lena taking a deep breathe. “He combusted from the inside, Yozora. Like a live grenade... laced with Hindo.”

  Yozora’s fingers twitch slightly at the edge of the table, his mind racing. “No known faction has claimed responsibility?”

  Alex shakes his head. “Nothing yet. No callsigns, no symbols, no messages. Whoever did this—if it was a faction—they’re keeping quiet. And that makes this worse.

  Lena swaps over her pad. “Right after you reemerged. A portal breached opened. Showing two massive Hindo signatures coming through.” Lena pauses. “Allys from have reported that one prisoner has escaped to earth and believe he and another with him is the cause of the breach.”

  Lena looks at Yozora. We’re deploying you. You’ll sweep the remains, scan for traces, and if possible—track the Hindo signature. We need to know who and why. S.T.A.R.S is on edge, and we can’t let this spiral.

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  Yozora slowly stands, his eyes now sharp—storm-cloud focused. “Understood.”

  Alex approaches Yozora. “Teams are already deployed to silence witnesses and sanitize the narrative. We’re placing false truths across all media outlets. Meet Lena at the Mission Deck in five. We’re warping you straight into the wreckage—37th floor of Trinity Holdings, New Third Ward. And Yozora? Whatever you find up there—don’t do anything reckless.”

  Yozora nods slightly. “I’ll do what is necessary.” He walks out. The door hisses shut behind him.

  INT. S.T.A.R.S BASE – MISSION DECK – FIVE MINUTES LATER

  The Mission Deck glows with warp rings—circular Hindo-fueled sigils embedded in the floor, humming with unstable energy. Lena stands by the control terminal, fingers dancing across the holographic keys. “Coordinates locked. You’ll be dropped straight into the executive office.

  Yozora looks at Lena and nods. A pulse of blue energy flares beneath his feet—and in a blink—

  Flash…

  TRINITY HOLDINGS – 37TH FLOOR – NIGHT’S AFTERMATH

  Yozora reappears mid-step inside the charred, twisted ruins of what was once a sleek corporate office. Everything is blackened—glass shattered, metal melted, walls warped and torn like paper. A toxic, acrid stench hangs in the air. Outside, through a gaping hole in the office wall, he sees the destruction stretching for blocks. Three entire streets lie in ruin—collapsed buildings, fire teams still scrambling below. A scar burned into the city.

  Yozora low, steady. “This Hindo signature is dense... but filled with malice.” He slowly walks through the rubble. The floor crunches beneath his boots—ash, bone, and glass. Charred handprints are smeared across the walls, frozen in final moments. What few scraps remain—shards of furniture, shattered desks—tell a story of instant annihilation. Yozora reaches the center of the blast zone. The epicenter, he kneels and breaths in. “Chūseshi no Gyōshi (Neutron’s Gaze) Fumi: Retrospectra.” Glowing clockwork-like pupils appear in Yozora’s eyes. Faint circuit-like veins branch across his sclera. Dense hindo particles began swirling around him then disperse covering the room. Yozora pulls his hand out of his pocket, shifting his finger to his right. As if rewinding time, the room seemingly came back together. The office is pristine.

  Yozora could see a man about 6’1, lean, with black hair about shoulder length with streaks of deep red in a sleek gray suit standing in the center. His face shifts unnaturally, warping as if cloaked by a veil of refracted reality.

  Yozora pondering to himself. “A concealment technique? He must be at least high B rank.” He noticed the man speaking to the executive though the words are muffled. His hands twitch unnaturally before he grabs the executive's wrist—and in an instant, the executive's body glows blue from the inside, so bright it completely illuminates the room before detonating.

  Yozora exhales sharply, “This black-haired guy weaponized him...” He stares at the floor, his voice bitter. “Turned a man into a bomb. And cloaked his identity while doing it.” He glances back at the burning skyline. “This wasn’t random. Whoever he is, is obviously sending a message to S.T.A.R.S.

  Yozora opens communications. “Martinez, come in… No responds, frequencies must be jammed.” His gaze shifts. His head turns just slightly. A faint pressure brushes against his senses—like a whisper without a voice. “So, this was an ambush then?” he said out loud.

  From the far end of the charred floor, four figures emerge from shadow—as if the darkness itself vomits them out. Cloaked in inky black cloth, the fabric moves with an unnatural fluidity, slithering around their bodies despite the still air. Faces obscured, presence venomous.

  One steps forward. A smile can almost be heard in the tilt of his voice.

  Yozora voice is level, bored even. “You’ve got one chance.” He scans their positions with a sideways glance, noting their formation. “Tell me who’s behind this.”

  A chorus of dry laughter echoes in the half-ruined chamber. The tallest figure speaks next, arrogance bleeding from every syllable. “You’re just one operative. Making demands when you should be begging for your life.” He chuckles again, stepping forward with malicious glee. “Arrogance… at its finest. But… we’ll humor you. The Hand sent us.”

  Yozora raises a hand from his pocket, pressing his fingers lightly to his forehead. He shifts his stance just slightly, and the atmosphere tightens, growing heavier with tension. His Hindo pulses beneath his skin like a living current, flaring outward in rhythmic waves. “Dummy,” he mutters. His head tilts to the side, and beneath the drape of his locs, one eye glows faintly. A strange resonance begins to build within the fractured walls around them—a vibration, subtle yet unnatural. "Hindo Acceleration Art: Mu no Ido (Movement of Nothingness)."

  In the blink of an eye, Yozora vanishes. A split-second later, his katana is already sheathed, and the three surrounding figures collapse into shredded pieces, lifeless before their minds even register the strike. “You said there was only one of me,” Yozora says coldly, eyes locked on the lone remaining figure. “Now it’s just you and I.” His gaze sharpens into a glare. “I’ll take you back to S.T.A.R.S. Let them siphon the information straight from your bones.” He shakes his head, voice tinged with quiet disdain. “You’d have been better off dying with your team.”

  The tall figure still hasn’t moved—hasn’t even processed what just happened. The technique was too fast, too incomprehensible. His mind scrambles to catch up. “This guy’s insane…” he mutters, glancing to the side to seek confirmation from his comrades. But there’s only darkness.

  Where his allies once stood are now vacant blackened stairways—lifeless. Soulless. The realization claws at him. He stumbles slightly, raising a hand in shaky surrender. “Wait… Who are you? How did you—?” Then his eyes widen with recognition. He looks again, this time truly seeing Yozora. “No… No… You’re that kid. They hey zero you?”

  Yozora’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m back,” he replies simply. “That’s all that matters.”

  Panic takes hold. The figure turns, desperate to flee. “If I had known… I would’ve never joined this mission. I have to warn them—Kamiotoshi has returned!”

  But before he can take a step, Yozora is already there, materializing in front of him like a shadow given form. “I’ll make sure you suffer as I have. ”His hand lifts, calm and cruel. “Keijo Ars Imprintum Fumi: Imprint of Sealing – Level Three.” The man gasps as his body begins to shrink, his form condensing, compressing, compacting—his limbs folding inward, his screams fading into silence. In moments, his body is no longer human but a small, inert mass. Yozora calmly lifts him and slides the sealed figure into a small box. He exhales once.

  “Time to head back and report.”

  S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters

  Yozora stands loosely inside the massive office, hands tucked into his pockets like he has nowhere better to be. The floor-to-ceiling windows loom ahead, the city sprawling beneath them in a pale, steel-blue haze. The air feels stretched thin, heavy with silence and expectation.

  At the far end of the room, a figure stands motionless by the glass—Captain Sarah "Viper" O'Hara, Field Operations Commander. Her very presence twists the atmosphere, coiling it tight like a drawn bow. Next to Yozora, Field Agent Reyes stands stiff, jaw clenched, arms crossed like a soldier waiting for the axe to fall.

  The silence lingers a little too long. Yozora exhales through his nose, lazily glancing around the room. "You think they pipe in this tension artificially, or is she just that talented?" he mutters, tone as dry as sandpaper.

  Reyes doesn’t look at him. His mouth tightens. "Shut up before you make it worse," he hisses under his breath. "You always pull this crap."

  Before Yozora can grace him with a response, the figure at the window moves. Captain O'Hara turns sharply, boots clicking like gunfire across the floor. Her glare could melt steel. A small twitch dances at the corner of her right eye. "Reyes," she snaps, voice booming, "you got something to say?!"

  Reyes throws Yozora a betrayed look, then sighs and drops his head. "Bruh… every time," he grumbles.

  O'Hara advances toward them like a loaded weapon, the storm bottled up just beneath her skin. Yozora watches her approach without flinching, bored and vaguely amused, like he’s waiting for her to pull a party trick. "The explosion," she begins, voice sharp enough to cut glass, "wasn't random. It was a message directed at S.T.A.R.S. You confirmed the involvement of an unknown figure, and during an ambush, you managed to secure a high-value informant." She pauses just slightly. Her eyes narrow. "Hell of a night, Yozora. Good job."

  Yozora tilts his head, blinking slowly. "Wow. Praise from the legendary Viper herself. Should I frame this moment, or...?How long until Intel pulls data from his Toro?" he asks, voice dry, like he's ordering coffee.

  O'Hara’s jaw tightens, but she pushes on. Folding her arms. "Extraction was fast. The problem’s what little we pulled. First—'The Hand.' Sounds like some half-baked cult that couldn’t even hack a middle school field trip."

  Yozora hums softly, unimpressed. "Terrifying."

  O’Hara’s lips twitch slightly, but she presses on. "And we only got two names—Akashi and Augustine." She lets the weight of the names hang, watching for a reaction. She gets none.

  Instead, Yozora just yawns silently behind his hand, then casually weaves his fingers together.

  "Let me guess. Director wants plausible deniability. We go dark, we don't exist. Blah blah, life sentence if we screw up. Did I miss anything?"

  O’Hara smirks grimly. "You hit the highlights." She steps closer, voice dropping.

  "You're authorized to run solo. No leash. But Reyes stays on standby if—and when—you inevitably blow something up."

  Yozora’s brow lifts slightly. "Wow. You do care."

  O’Hara shakes her head slowly, half in exasperation, half in resignation. "You screw this up, there’s no rescue." The silence that follows is taut, cold, final.

  Yozora shrugs like she's told him he’s got homework due next week. He turns toward the door, movements unhurried, like none of this matters nearly as much as getting a nap in.

  O'Hara calls after him, her voice a razor. "Stay frosty, Yozora."

  Without breaking stride, Yozora lifts a lazy hand in farewell, speaking over his shoulder: "practically an iceberg."

  The door hisses open, and he steps through, swallowed by the cold fluorescence of the hallway. “Guess I’ll head over to Enolas.”

  Hi everyone, Noctis Flame here!

  this story is not dying. I've been working behind the scenes, backlogging chapters when I can, so that in the future, there won’t be any more big gaps between updates.

  Presence Zero, and there’s so much more to come.

  — Noctis Flame