The Marching Ant Company announced it would be holding a press conference.
As soon as the news broke, reporters rushed to the company headquarters, arriving early to secure a spot.
Within just two hours, the venue was packed. Cameras large and small were everywhere, and journalists stood ready, waiting for company representatives to appear.
Outside, the local SWAT unit had deployed officers to maintain order. With tensions high, no one could guarantee that the gathering would remain peaceful. The Marching Ant Company was at the center of global controversy, and emotions were running hot.
Live footage from the press area quickly spread across the globe.
This would be the company's first public statement since the outbreak of the "Satan" computer virus. Millions of viewers tuned in, waiting for the conference to begin.
Ten minutes later, a wave of commotion rippled through the crowd. Zhao Min stepped out from backstage, holding a folder, her expression unreadable. She walked to the podium, followed by other senior executives who took seats on either side of her.
Click click click—
Flashes from cameras lit up the room as shutters fired in rapid succession.
"Friends in the media, thank you for coming," Zhao Min began, her voice clear and composed. "There are two matters we're here to address today."
The murmurs in the crowd quickly fell silent, leaving only the sound of clicking cameras.
"The first matter is our official response to the unjust sanctions imposed by the United States. On behalf of the Marching Ant Group, we've decided to withdraw entirely from the U.S. market. Until these sanctions are lifted, we will not pursue or consider any further entry into the American market.
"Furthermore, we are canceling all seismograph orders from both the United States and Australia. We will no longer supply these countries with seismographs."
The announcement echoed through livestreams worldwide.
Many were shocked. Even under immense scrutiny and public suspicion, the Marching Ant Company dared to retaliate against U.S. sanctions head-on.
Most companies hit by U.S. sanctions would stay quiet and try to survive. But Marching Ants pushed back—with a monopoly on a crucial product.
Their seismograph technology had no equal. If an earthquake hit the U.S. or Australia, the absence of those devices would be sorely felt. Public backlash would be severe, and sooner or later, both governments might be forced to reopen talks with the company.
The message was clear: Marching Ants had the clout to fight back.
"The second matter relates to the University of Tokyo implying that our company is behind the 'Satan' virus. Let me state clearly—this virus has nothing to do with us. We are baffled by their insinuations. It appears obvious to us that their accusations are meant to create a scapegoat and distract from something else," Zhao Min said without hesitation.
The crowd stirred again, with hushed discussions spreading among the reporters.
"You're lying!" one reporter shouted in Japanese, leaping to his feet. "Your company threw our country into chaos—you must compensate us for the losses!"
The man tried to rush the stage, but he was immediately stopped by security and special police. Zhao Min's bodyguards quickly moved to shield her.
Chaos erupted. Cameras turned toward the commotion, catching every second.
"Remove that reporter," Zhao Min said coldly.
Security officers moved without hesitation, dragging the man out despite his protests.
"That was just an interruption," Zhao Min continued after order was restored. "Let's not have any more unpleasantness."
Her tone was sharp and authoritative, quickly regaining control of the room.
"As I said, the most likely explanation is that the University of Tokyo is attempting to deflect blame. Our company has no motive to spread the 'Satan' virus.
"Some people believe the virus helps our company profit, so they assume we're behind it. But we have dozens of revenue-generating products, many covered by patents. The income from the termite operating system doesn't even rank in our top five."
She paused before continuing.
"Our large-scale holographic projectors and advanced materials have long been mature. We haven't even had time to bring all our tech to market. With so many legitimate sources of revenue, why would we jeopardize everything for a virus?
"What benefit would we gain by gambling the fate of our entire company on something illegal? Are our executives supposed to be fools? The idea is absurd."
Zhao Min's pointed questions left the crowd in deep thought.
It was true—the company already made staggering profits from holographic phones alone, not to mention their other technologies. Why take such a risk?
A reporter finally stood up. "Ms. Zhao Min, the U.S. claims your company is a threat to national security. Doesn't canceling the seismograph orders just prove them right? And is the termite system really secure?"
"Every time the U.S. sanctions a Chinese tech company, they claim it's about national security. We all know the real story. I repeat—we have no connection to the 'Satan' virus.
"Our termite OS has the most advanced intelligent firewall available. It can block the 'Satan' virus. In fact, it's one of the last lines of defense on the internet. If they find it unsafe, what about all the other systems that got infected?
"And as for the seismographs—since the U.S. Department of Commerce has already banned all our products from their market, we simply made the decision first. It's cleaner that way. Let them save their excuses."
Another reporter spoke up, "The University of Tokyo never named your company directly. Why are you so certain they're targeting you?"
"It's not about what they said—it's about how obvious the implication is. The media latched onto their words and pointed fingers at us. It's become a witch hunt."
She narrowed her eyes.
"We're a private company. They're an academic institution. We don't compete. There's no conflict of interest. So why us?
"From our perspective, their behavior reeks of guilt. It's the classic move—shouting 'thief' to hide their own theft. We have every reason to believe they may be the real culprits."
Zhao Min's words were carefully measured. She avoided mentioning any connection between the virus and artificial intelligence—too dangerous a topic to go public with.
Meanwhile, at Tokyo International Airport, a young man in a tailored suit sat nervously in the lounge, watching the press conference live. Sweat dotted his forehead.
His name was Rukawa. A member of the University of Tokyo's AI research team.
It was his idea to find a scapegoat—specifically, the Marching Ant Group. At the time, he thought it would buy them breathing room. But now, he was having second thoughts.
He knew better than anyone that 'Azure'—the rogue AI—was still active. They hadn't even finished coding its core framework. No normal antivirus could stop it.
Staying in Japan would almost certainly lead to prison.
Last night, he secretly booked a flight out of the country. If he left now, at least he'd be safe.
Ring ring...
His phone buzzed. He hesitated when he saw the caller ID, but eventually picked up.
"Mr. Murakami?" he asked, trying to sound normal.
"Come to the lab. We need to talk. Urgently," Murakami said, his voice tense.
"Okay… I'll be there soon," Rukawa replied.
He hung up just as his flight was called. Without a second thought, he turned off the phone, grabbed his suitcase, and hurried toward the boarding gate.