Chapter 172: Dare to Bet Your Nation’s Fate?
Kimura Kouhei sat at the head of the conference room, a laptop before him streaming an international meeting. The video call included numerous anomaly agencies, with participants—men and women—holding equal rank to Kimura, each leading their nation’s anomaly division.
“Per monitor White Cat’s report, the Kisaragi Train’s first stop is Japan,” one said. “Japan’s Special Division should form an urgent task force to restrict it immediately.”
“Agreed. We can’t let the Kisaragi Train start another cycle,” another added.
“I’ve received reports that Detroit’s Plague Source has entered our capital, Baghdad,” a third interjected. “On my authority, I demand the U.S. send monitors to retrieve and re-restrict it!”
“You’re blaming us?” the U.S. representative snapped. “Plague Source was confined in Detroit’s maze, secured by a rule item. We did our best. It escaped because of the Kisaragi Train. And don’t order me—it only makes me glad Plague Source slipped out.”
“Besides, the Kisaragi Train is Japan’s anomaly. Japan should bear the brunt,” they added.
Kimura bristled, responding coolly, “Since Minister Cotton called this meeting, you must see the Kisaragi Train as a global issue. Why should Japan handle it alone? That’s unfair.”
“Enough bickering,” Minister Cotton interjected, his face stern. “The Kisaragi Train attracts anomalies aboard, and per current intel, they don’t stay—it disembarks them randomly. We must restrict it swiftly.”
“How do you restrict a vehicle?” someone asked.
“Trains are vital globally. A temporary halt is feasible, but not forever.”
“Our country can’t manage it,” another admitted. “I can’t think of a rule item to counter it. If you have solutions, act fast. We’re struggling with local anomalies—I don’t want foreign ones popping up.”
Cotton’s expression remained neutral. As head of the international anomaly agency, he nominally led global efforts, but the attendees prioritized their nations, rendering meetings a farce of compliance. “I’ll say it again: since the train starts in Japan, Japan should resolve it,” a blond, blue-eyed leader said coldly. “It’s protocol—each nation handles its anomalies. This meeting is pointless.”
“Agreed.”
“Seconded.”
“I concur.”
Kimura’s brow twitched with suppressed anger, his face icing over. Then, a thought struck him, and he spoke calmly. “Our Special Division’s think tank has a method. Since you won’t assist, we’ll proceed with it.”
“What method?” Cotton asked, unease creeping in.
“Let Kami board the train.”
Silence fell. All eyes turned to Kimura, stunned. The international anomaly agency ranked Kami, Japan’s anomaly, as the world’s most dangerous. If it boarded the Kisaragi Train and, per White Cat’s data, disembarked randomly, it’d be a gamble with national survival.
“Don’t make sick jokes,” a leader scoffed. “Kami can’t move. How would you get it aboard? Approaching it within a hundred meters is death—for anomalies too. Your think tank thought with their backsides?”
Relieved laughter followed. Kimura, unfazed by the mockery, smiled. “Why not? We’ve restricted Kami’s location. The Special Division has a rule item, the Shrinking Flashlight. Place it on a train, and we can send it into the Kisaragi Train.”
“White Cat said anomalies coexist peacefully on the train,” he continued. “It has a rule suppressing their conflicts. If Kami boards, our troubles might end.”
“How do you transport it? Approaching Kami kills within a hundred meters. The train would die too.”
Kimura chuckled. “Your thinking’s too narrow. The Kisaragi Train carries anomalies, likely bypassing their rules. Kami would be no exception. White Cat’s data shows city-bound anomalies are drawn aboard. The train’s unique rule attracts them, ensures peace, and avoids their killing rules. It’s symbiotic with anomalies. Would Kami destroy it? Perhaps it’s just a vehicle to Kami, their rules complementary.”
“This is our think tank’s hypothesis,” he added. “We’d need to test it. Oh, and a reminder: Tokyo’s recent minor quake? We traced its source to Kami. One of its rules may have completed.”
His words darkened every face—a blatant threat. If Kami boarded and didn’t destroy the train, its random disembarkation could spell catastrophe. Most doubted it, but none dared gamble.
“Chief Kimura, no jests,” Cotton mediated. “Let’s do this: each nation sends a monitor to form a task force. We’ll investigate the train’s killing rules thoroughly, then discuss restriction. If a confined anomaly boards and travels abroad, its home nation must assist.”
Untracked anomalies traveling via the train? Bad luck. After a pause, agreements followed:
“I agree.”
“Seconded.”
“Concur.”
“No objections.”
Kimura said nothing, only smiling faintly. Satou Hikari’s idea wasn’t bad.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 173: Boarding
“An old, eerie steam train appeared at Shinjuku Station, now cordoned off. Our reporter learned it’s a prop built by Burning Project Agency for $10 million, for their horror film Ghost Train.”
“The entertainment giant booked Shinjuku Station for a shoot? Unreal.”
“What? Closing Shinjuku for a movie? Go to hell!”
“Today’s absurdity award.”
“The government’s this stupid? Shinjuku’s packed—an agency can just take it? We citizens are nothing?”
“Can’t they film at a studio?”
“Fake news, right? What about us commuters?”
“How long’s Shinjuku closed? Anyone know?”
The next morning, Kamihara Shinji ate breakfast, headed to Sakuraaki High, and during class, scrolled his phone in the back row. A headline caught his eye: “Ghost Train Appears at Tokyo’s Shinjuku Station.” Reposted widely, it led to a viral, blurry video. In it, a hoodie-clad youth stumbled into a grimy steam train, unwashed for decades, coated in dust. Its black body, scorched as if post-fire, bore crimson streaks. Broken windows revealed a pitch-black interior. A tattered sign by the door read, in blood-red, faded characters: Kisaragi Train.
Kamihara frowned. How? He’d designed the Kisaragi Train to exist between reality and illusion, never manifesting physically—a notebook rule. Sinners boarding a train would pass through fog, entering the Kisaragi Train. It stopped hourly at major stations, announced by broadcasts, with smaller, unannounced stops for grudges or anomalies. Each minor stop covered multiple city stations, but the train remained in fog, hidden from reality, for secrecy.
Yet, it had pulled in White Cat, a monitor, on day one. He survived and reported it, exposing the train in a single day. Kamihara sighed—lousy luck. The video suggested something was wrong. Had the Special Division found a restriction method? The train’s physical appearance implied it.
Uncertain, he emailed Aokiji after class: “Did you restrict the Kisaragi Train? Can I ride trains again?”
“No,” Aokiji replied quickly. “The Special Division’s clueless.”
The train’s sudden real-world appearance shocked them. Normally, when it ran, Tokyo’s tracks gained a fog; passing through, some passengers vanished. Today was different. To maintain order, the film shoot cover story emerged, but public backlash forced the government to lift Shinjuku’s lockdown after the train vanished.
Not the Special Division’s doing? Kamihara pondered, recalling Aokiji’s mention of months-old station disappearances, likely the train’s work. He hadn’t probed, avoiding suspicion. Now, he suspected another anomaly’s influence caused the train’s manifestation. Aokiji sent a video, similar to the viral one but longer. After the youth entered, the train faded, disappearing with a whistle and the sound of departure.
Something had affected it. Kamihara, planning to investigate over the weekend, realized he needed to act sooner. The next day, he rose early, ate, and checked the time—7:30 a.m. No rush; the Kisaragi Train began at 8:00. He reached the station, bought a ticket, and boarded a train. At 8:00, he focused, and his vision blackened. Standing, he surveyed his surroundings: inside the Kisaragi Train.
He glanced around with mild interest, then ignored the unconscious passengers at his feet—sinners, unworthy of sympathy. As the starting station, the train had few cars, so he wandered to a passageway between cars, entering the crew room. Thick fog enveloped him, and he emerged in the driver’s cabin, linked to all crew rooms. Empty, it housed monitors displaying every car. Sitting, Kamihara stared at the screens, eager to identify the anomaly affecting his train.
Thanks to [Axing Ao] for another generous reward! Much appreciated!
(End of Chapter)
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