"The Osaka Sonic Bloom Festival," Sato said, her face illuminated by the glow of her laptop. They were back in the hotel room, which had been transformed into a full-blown command center. The floor was covered with printouts of the festival grounds map.
"Three days. Five stages. An estimated attendance of over eighty thousand people, primarily in the 16-to-28 demographic. It's the perfect target environment: a massive, contained, and suggestible population."
"And KlearMind is a primary sponsor," Kenji added, looking at the festival's official website on his own tablet.
The kale-serpent logo was everywhere, nestled between ads for beer and cell phone companies.
"They have a whole section of the festival grounds cordoned off. They're calling it the 'KlearMind Oasis.' A wellness-themed chill-out zone with yoga sessions, meditation guides, and complimentary refreshments."
"Complimentary refreshments and a face full of aerosolized psychoactive drugs," Sato corrected grimly.
"According to the manifest, the shipment is big enough to dose that entire section of the park for twelve hours straight. They're planning to hit them during the Saturday night headliner, a popular EDM artist named DJ Neon Cthulhu."
"We have to stop that shipment," Kenji stated.
"Or sabotage the aerosolizers."
"Both," Sato said.
"Which means we have to get inside the festival. Not as attendees, but with backstage access."
And so began the frantic, desperate process of creating new cover identities in less than twelve hours. Sato, with her technical skills, was the easy part. She hacked into the database of the festival's primary lighting and sound vendor and inserted herself into the system as 'Suki,' a freelance audio technician with stellar, if completely fabricated, references. She would have legitimate access to the main stage's scaffolding, soundboard, and control centers.
Kenji was the problem. He was too old to be a convincing roadie for an indie band. He didn't have the right look.
"I've got it," Sato said after an hour of frustrated brainstorming.
A wicked, brilliant gleam appeared in her eye.
"It's perfect. It's horrible. But it's perfect."
The next day, Kenji found himself walking through the festival gates, feeling a level of psychic pain he hadn't thought possible. He was wearing loose-fitting white linen pants, a beige hemp shirt, a necklace made of what looked like polished river stones, and a pair of ridiculously oversized sunglasses. His hair had been artfully messed up with some kind of scented putty. He looked, to his utter horror, like a wellness influencer.
His official cover was 'Kenji-Sensei,' a last-minute addition to the KlearMind Oasis team. He was a 'life coach and spiritual alignment guide' who specialized in 'Corporate Zen.' Sato had created a flawless, deeply embarrassing online footprint for him overnight, complete with a blog full of meaningless platitudes about synergy and a heavily filtered Instagram account where he posted pictures of sunsets with captions like "Let your soul exhale."
"I will never forgive you for this," he muttered into his wrist communicator as he walked through the festival grounds. The air was a chaotic soup of competing basslines, sizzling food, and patchouli oil.
"Your cover is holding, Sensei," Sato's voice crackled in his ear.
She was perched somewhere high up on the main stage scaffolding, a tiny dot in the distance.
"Just try to look serene and thoughtful."
"I'm trying not to have an aneurysm," he shot back.
His destination was the KlearMind Oasis. It was an uncanny valley of corporate wellness, a large, white geodesic dome tent surrounded by perfectly manicured patches of grass where impossibly fit people were doing yoga. The staff, all dressed in the same calming green and white, glided around offering free samples of the bottled KlearMind to festival-goers. The atmosphere was one of aggressive, performative tranquility.
He was met at the entrance by Journey, the supervisor from the warehouse, who was now dressed in the same linen-and-hemp uniform as Kenji.
"Kenji-Sensei! Welcome!" Journey beamed, his eyes wide with vacant enthusiasm.
"We are so honored to have you! Your energy is so… grounded! The team is thrilled. We've set up a small stage for you to lead your 'Mindful Productivity' workshops later."
Kenji just nodded, trying to look profound and not like a man who was actively fantasizing about escaping to a war-torn country for some peace and quiet.
His mission was to get inside the main Oasis dome, locate the central control unit for the aerosolizer system, and plant a small device Sato had given him. The device would, at her command, hijack the system and replace the KlearMind concentrate with a harmless, odorless water vapor.
He spent the next hour navigating the strange, smiling world of the Oasis. He was forced to participate in a laughter yoga session, which involved him standing in a circle with twenty strangers, forcing out a hollow, joyless laugh. He was cornered by a young woman who wanted to read his aura and told him it was the color of "a confused, but very wise, eggplant."
He almost ran into trouble when he saw a familiar flash of pink hair in the crowd. It was Tanaka, his number one disciple, here with Kaito and some other members of the Society.
"Senpai!" she cried, rushing over, her eyes wide.
"What are you doing here? We didn't know you were a fan of DJ Neon Cthulhu!"
"I am… exploring the synergy between chaotic sound frequencies and the culinary soul," he improvised weakly.
"Of course you are!" Kaito said, nodding sagely.
"It all makes sense! You are here to conduct field research!"
They began to ask him a thousand questions about the philosophical implications of festival food, and he was only saved when Journey pulled him away for his first workshop.
Finally, he saw his chance. During a particularly large yoga session that had drawn most of the staff and attendees to the main lawn, he told Journey he needed a moment to "re-center his chi" in the quiet of the main dome.
He slipped inside. The dome was empty, a vast, white, silent space. In the center, cleverly disguised as part of the decorative architecture, was a large, humming metal unit. This was it. The main atmospheric processor. He pulled out Sato's device, a small black puck with a magnetic backing. He had to place it on the main control panel.
He approached the unit. He could see the network of pipes running from it up into the tent's ventilation system. He located the control panel, hidden behind a sleek white door. He opened it. He was about to place the device when he heard a familiar, melodic voice from the dome's entrance.
"I had a feeling I might find you here, Takahashi-kun."
He froze, his hand hovering over the panel. He turned.
Chef Ayame stood there. She was no longer in her chef's uniform. She was dressed in a sharp, elegant, white business suit. She looked powerful, calm, and completely in control. Two of her hulking security guards stood behind her, blocking the only exit.
"Such a persistent anomaly," she said with a small, cold smile.
"Always turning up where you are least wanted." She gestured around the empty dome. "Welcome to the real launch party. I do hope you'll stay for the main event. I've arranged a special demonstration, just for you."
Over the festival's main PA system, a new voice echoed, silencing the distant music. It was Ayame's voice, pre-recorded, welcoming everyone to the KlearMind Oasis for the headline act. The trap had been sprung. The aerosolizers hissed to life. And Kenji was locked inside ground zero with the serpent herself.