The studio lights burned harsh, unforgiving, as I stepped onto the set. I was greeted by my chair with its familiar creak-the greeting an old friend would give. Sinking into it, heart pounding beneath my crisp shirt, this was no ordinary broadcast. In a few moments, my team would connect that video call to the President of Japan. My first time live on air with the nation's leader. Taking a long, deep breath, holding it for an entire second, exhaling slowly, forcing calm down into my veins. The red light went on. We were on air.
"I'm the CEO of Osaka News," I began, my voice firm, though adrenaline was surging through my body. "And today, the President of Japan joins us." I paused to allow this weighty moment to sink in, then injected vigor into my tone. "So, how are you, sir? It is an absolute honour to have you for this interview on our humble channel."
The screen flickered and pulsed, until he was there-solemn, collected, his eyes whittled from polished steel. But instead of a greeting from him, a deep, sonorous voice chilled the air:
"I am not here for any interview," he replied candidly. "I came to deliver a message to the public. Osaka News is. connected with the mayor's murder incident. That's precisely why I chose your station to broadcast it."
My blood ran cold. The words hit like a physical blow, and I felt my composure fracture. My voice shook as I forced out a reply. "W-well. thank you for joining us. You're free to deliver your message."
He leaned forward, his eyes cutting through the screen as he spoke low and even. "Whoever you are, Akira—and whatever it is you want." A pause, purposeful and filled with hostility. "You have one hour to surrender. Otherwise, we will be forced to use power against you. This is not a request. It's a warning."
The studio erupted into chaos behind me-muffled shouts from the control room, staff scrambling in panic. Before I could process it, the door burst open. Lint Saito strode in, presence commanding, dangerous. I shot to my feet, mouth opening in protest, but he ignored me utterly. He strode right to the camera, shouldered me aside with casual authority, and dropped into my chair like it had always been his.
"Mr President," Lint snarled, in a low, even voice, each word weighted and heavy with unspoken fury. "What do you think you are? Do you even know who you're challenging on live broadcast?"
An ironic smile curled the President's lips. "Lint Saito. I know the name." He darkly chuckled. "First, you fake your own death, now you stand in my way?" Anger edged his voice sharp. "And who do you think you are-
"SHUT UP!"
Lint's roar cut him off like a blade, echoing through the studio. Goosebumps prickled across my skin; I could feel the terror rippling through the room. What the hell was happening on my channel?
Lint got up slowly, towering in frame, his eyes ablaze.
"All that is happening now-it's because of people like you. You're all slaves to the evil that's upon you." He leaned into the camera, his voice drizzled with venom. "Akira is stopping that evil. And if anyone stands in his path, he'll have to kill them too. You're just adding more blood to this mess."
The only sound from the President's side was silence. His eyes were on fire, his face beet-red on national television. He disconnected, spitting out in a prideful drawl,
"I don't fear a high school kid."
The line went dead. The studio was as silent as death itself. I whirled on Lint, my outrage outshouting my shock. "Are you nuts? He's the President of the country where you are resident! What rubbish tone was that to use with him?"
Lint said nothing. He merely turned, face thunderous, and stormed toward the exit. I followed, hot on his heels, demanding answers as we pushed through corridors and out onto the street where his car waited under the orange-sodium glow of streetlights.
"Explain yourself!" I shouted, matching his stride. "You owe me that much!"
He halted at the driver's door, swinging to me with a deep, taunting smirk. "Just make sure you don't have any bad scandals in your history," he said in that gravel-like voice. "Otherwise, you're as good as dead." With that, he slid into the car and gunned the engine; tyres screeching, he roared away into the night. The echo of his words seemed to linger long after the roar faded.
It skipped a beat within my heart. Not only mine, throughout the city, across this nation, every soul with any darkness within their history felt it throb with terror.
It was as if God Himself had spoken judgment for all. And time was running out.