Captain Takumi, having just received the Supreme Commander’s irrevocable command not to interfere with the presence of Felzein aboard the vessel, entered the control room with measured urgency.
His voice, low and weighted with authority, cut through the stillness as he relayed the order.
For a moment, silence held the chamber in its grip. Not a soul stirred.
Then, like a breath released all at once, whispers of disbelief began to ripple through the air.
Some lowered their gazes, others glanced at one another, their faces drained of colour, as if death itself had passed by the room.
They were fortunate, unspeakably so, that the torpedoes had missed their target.
Had they struck true, their remains might already be scattered across the cold steel floor, victims not of war, but of the Supreme Commander’s wrath, merciless, absolute, and swift.
The revelation of the name struck like a bell tolling in a storm, Vuradisuta.
A shadowed figure, now unmasked as the dearest companion of Master Kaito Ryu, and the sole fragile thread upon which the boy’s recovery now hung.
Sweat gathered on brows and temples, none more so than on Sergeant Keita.
He who had most vocally urged for the destruction of the unknown intruder.
He had been spared, not by foresight, nor by reason, but by the sheer, miraculous restraint of Captain Takumi.
Had it been otherwise… the mere thought of the consequences twisted his stomach with such force, he feared he might be sick then and there.
The name Vuradisuta was, in fact, a distinctly Japanese inflection of the original Vradistza, a name far more foreign than the local tongue found comfortable.
Vradistza Adrian Felzein, such was his full name, regal in tone and foreign in syllable.
Yet to Japanese ears, those Latinate sounds twisted like brambles through the mouth.
It had been Ryu who first attempted it who first stumbled upon the solution.
The original pronunciation, he declared with a frustrated grin, was like trying to swallow one’s own tongue.
The day Ryu first uttered 'Vuradisuta', Felzein had laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed down the marble corridors.
“You could just call me Felzein,” he had offered, between chuckles.
But Ryu, ever sincere in his mischief, gave it a try and what emerged was, “Feruzain.”
Felzein had sighed, long and theatrical, his head shaking in a gesture half amused, half defeated.
“At this point,” he murmured, his smile softening, “call me whatever your heart desires, Ryu. I no longer fight fate or phonetics.”
Meanwhile, within the vaulted halls of the Japanese Maritime Command, Captain Takumi’s message had landed with the weight of an imperial decree.
His directive, that the passage of one man, Felzein, was not to be hindered, spread through the ranks like wildfire, swift and uncompromising.
The order was immediately transmitted to all regional naval installations, including the esteemed Hirotaka Sea Command, whose vigilant watch had first identified the mysterious submersible now at the heart of so much unease.
There, officers and crew fell into stunned silence. The gravity of the revelation struck like a thunderclap.
Panic stirred beneath their uniforms as whispered orders became hurried shouts, and the grim realisation set in.
They had come dangerously close to provoking a catastrophe.
Without delay, communications flared across the sea-lanes.
Every vessel deployed across Japanese waters, be it destroyer, patrol ship, or stealth submersible, was instructed to withdraw.
Engines were reversed, sonar pulses ceased, and targeting systems powered down.
The hunt was over before it had begun.
Even the Seryu Maru, the submarine that had first registered the anomaly, was commanded to retreat in silence, as though erasing its presence from the ocean entirely.
All of it, this grand, sudden retraction, was done in service of a single, unspoken truth that the vessel carrying Felzein must glide through Japanese waters as though carried by divine winds, untouched, unchallenged, and unseen.
On the other side of the sea, wholly unaware that the entire Japanese naval fleet had been discreetly withdrawn, Felzein began to feel a creeping sense of unease.
One by one, the blips on the radar screen, each marking the presence of an enemy vessel just moments earlier, vanished into nothingness.
“How peculiar,” Felzein muttered, his brows knitting in suspicion. “Why have they suddenly disappeared from the radar?”
“Swift70, expand the detection range,” he commanded, his voice taut with quiet suspicion. “Where are they? Have they retreated?”
“As you wish, love. I shall scan for their whereabouts,” replied Swift70 in her composed, ever-poised voice, though even she seemed faintly alert beneath her calmness.
Without delay, Swift70 engaged both her active and passive sonar systems, pushing the detection radius to its absolute limit and activating full-spectrum three-dimensional imaging.
Sound waves pulsed outwards in silent precision, weaving through the depths, while her onboard supercomputer parsed every echo and distortion, analysing the sea’s whispered replies.
Within seconds, the main screen lit up with real-time projections.
A field of luminous points began to emerge, steadily revealing themselves near the shoreline, dozens of them, clustered together like a silent audience awaiting a spectacle.
Swift70 projected the data onto the central command display, enhancing the clarity of the formation.
The sight that met Felzein’s eyes made him pause.
The ships had repositioned into two flawless lines, arrayed in long symmetrical columns that flanked a single, open corridor leading directly towards the dock.
It was unmistakable, a ceremonial formation.
As though, without a word spoken, the entire maritime force of Japan had drawn back, not in fear, nor in defeat, but in reverence.
As if they were preparing a corridor of honour, a silent salute to the man whose passage through their waters they would no longer obstruct.
“Darling… it appears they haven’t withdrawn in surrender. Quite the contrary, they’re receiving you,” Swift70 murmured softly, her voice shaded with a hint of wonder.
“Receiving me?” Felzein repeated, incredulous, his eyes widening as though struck by some ludicrous revelation.
“Why would they be receiving me?” he added, more to himself than anyone else.
“Perhaps they already know why we’ve come to Japan,” Cherlyn suggested, her voice calm, though touched with an air of unease.
Felzein turned to face her, brow furrowed, “Yes… I am here to see Ryu. I hope... No, I intend to help him heal. But this?” He gestured vaguely towards the projection before them. “This feels like a parade. Is this… some kind of Japanese tradition?”
“Possibly…” Cherlyn replied, though her tone betrayed doubt.
“I suspect not, darling,” Swift70 interjected, her usual flirtatious lilt replaced by a rare gravity.
Felzein and Cherlyn exchanged glances.
“Well then,” Felzein said, folding his arms. “Let’s hear it. What are you thinking?”
Swift70 made a soft, deliberate clearing of the throat, an almost theatrical imitation of human mannerism before responding.
“In Japanese culture, such gestures tend to carry layered significance. What you’re seeing may imply one of two things.”
She paused just long enough to create tension.
“First, they may be honouring you as an onijin, a distinguished guest. What they’re displaying is reigi tadashii, a strict code of propriety and ritual meant to convey deep respect.”
Felzein said nothing, though his eyes remained fixed on her virtual display.
“And the second?” he asked quietly, his voice tighter now.
Swift70 continued, her words measured and deliberate, “The second possibility is that Ryu, your intended patient is not an ordinary man. Within the framework of shikata, such ceremonial reception is usually reserved for those entwined with the kazoku, the noble houses."
"This includes children of high-ranking officials, military leaders of exceptional rank… or, in rare cases, those descended from the Imperial line itself.”
A hush fell over the room, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the vessel’s systems.
Felzein stared at the radar once more, though his thoughts had clearly drifted far from the blinking lights on screen.
“So I’m not just carrying a cure,” he murmured. “I may be approaching someone protected by the full weight of this nation.”
“Precisely, my love!” Swift70 declared, her voice regaining its buoyant warmth. “My darling is ever so clever!”
Cherlyn snorted, “Unbelievable. The bloody bucket thinks it’s Casanova now.”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU VILE HARPY?!” Swift70 shrieked suddenly, her tone rising like a fire alarm.
Cherlyn’s expression hardened, “How many times must I tell you?! DON’T CALL ME A HARPY!!” she bellowed, fists clenched at her sides.
“YOU MOST CERTAINLY ARE ONE!!!” Swift70 snapped back without mercy.
“You obnoxious circuit! You flirt with my fiancé right in front of me, and I’m the hussy?!”
“YOUR fiancé?!” Swift70 gasped as though scandalised. “You dare claim my beloved? PREPOSTEROUS!”
“This is madness!” Cherlyn howled, the command chamber ringing with her outrage. “At least I’m made of flesh and blood, not a glorified speaker box with delusions of grandeur!”
“AT LEAST I CAN THINK!” Swift70 thundered in reply, voice echoing through the vessel’s core.
Felzein could take no more. He pressed his palms tightly against his ears, his temples throbbing as though trapped between clashing cymbals.
Two voices. One name. One tone. One endless quarrel.
To any outside observer, it would have seemed that Cherlyn had descended into lunacy, locked in an unrelenting war of words with a voice that mirrored her own, but came from nowhere.
*****
In another corner of the world, cloaked in dimness and heavy with silence, stood a man worn by time and burdened by command, the Supreme Commander, no longer the invincible pillar of power, but a father stripped bare by grief.
Before him lay Ryu, the boy who had once been his pride, now reduced to a fragile husk, scarcely breathing, his skin marred with the cruel traces of fire.
"Ryu…" the Commander breathed, his voice fracturing like glass beneath the weight of sorrow.
Tears, unbefitting a man of war, yet utterly human, carved silent paths down his cheeks.
"Since your mother’s passing, you have been all that anchors me to this earth," he murmured, his voice trembling with the ache of long-buried emotion.
"Just hold on a little longer, Ryu! Vuradisuta, your oldest friend, your brother in all but name, he is coming. He will not fail you."
At the sound of that name, Vuradisuta, something stirred in the stillness.
Though Ryu’s body remained immobile, ravaged by trauma and cloaked in silence, his chest began to rise and fall with renewed urgency.
It was as though the name alone had reached some deep and sacred chamber within him, something memory itself refused to surrender.
And then, in a voice no stronger than a sigh and yet more powerful than any cry, he whispered into the dimness.
"Vuradisuta… Vuradisuta…"