Chapter 19: Aftermath

It was quiet now. Not a good quiet. The kind that makes your ears ring after too much noise.

The festival area was wrecked. Broken lanterns hung from bent wires. Food stalls were smashed, their contents scattered across the ground. In the middle of it all, two girls stood, breathing hard.

Kisara gripped a metal pipe with both hands. Her black uniform was torn and filthy, peppered with small holes where bullets had barely missed. Her long black hair swayed in the wind.

Beside her, Kanako held a pistol. Thin smoke curled from its barrel. A cut marked her cheek. Her clothes were torn too, though not as badly as Kisara’s.

Around them, Abyss soldiers lay sprawled across the ground. None of them moved. No civilians remained. They had either fled or been taken.

“We made it,” Kanako said, forcing the words out between breaths.

Kisara scanned the area. “Any idea who they were?” she asked.

“Nope,” Kanako replied.

But both of them knew who Kisara meant.

They remembered what had happened earlier.

Flashback…

They were trapped. Abyss soldiers surrounded them on all sides. Kanako’s fake gun was useless. The soldiers were raising their weapons.

Then—BANG!

A blinding flash erupted, followed by thick smoke.

Two figures emerged from it, walking calmly toward them. They wore red-and-black masks that hid their faces completely.

The taller one stopped in front of Kanako. She pulled out a real pistol, checked it, and tossed it to her. Kanako caught it without thinking.

The second figure, smaller and faster, grabbed a metal pipe from the ground and rolled it to Kisara’s feet.

Without a word, the two masked figures turned around and vanished back into the smoke.

Armed for real this time, Kanako and Kisara fought back. They survived.

Back to the present…

Kanako looked down at the pistol in her hand. The same one.

“But ‘cause of them,” she said quietly, “we’re still breathin’.”

Kisara stayed silent.

The wind swept through again, thinning the last of the smoke. This fight was over. But elsewhere in the festival, screams and gunfire still echoed.

On the other side of the festival…

It looked ruined. Paper lanterns hung broken and dark, their frames torn by bullets. The warm smell of food was gone. In its place was the sharp smell of gunpowder and fear.

Shina and Memeko walked carefully through the damage. Broken stalls, shattered wood, trash everywhere. They kept calling Anya’s name until their throats hurt. No answer came back. Only sirens far away, and people crying as they were led out.

“Bossy…” Memeko said quietly. Her voice was weak, nothing like usual. “What if she’s—”

Shina waved it off without looking at her.

“She’s fine,” she said, calm, almost bored. “She’s smart. Like me, you know.”

From the outside, she looked calm. Steady. In charge.

But her hand was gripping her own sleeve too tightly, fingers pressing into her arm as if to keep something from spilling out.

Her phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket. It was Tokio. She answered at once.

“Where are you?” Tokio asked. His voice was tight.

“West entrance,” Shina said quickly. “Near the broken mask stall. We can’t find—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Across the open space, three figures stepped out from a side alley.

Tokio. His clothes were messy, glasses crooked. Blade walked beside him, mask gone, face dirty but alert. Eyepatch followed, calm as ever, eyes already scanning the area.

They saw Shina at the same time she saw them.

They walked toward each other without speaking. Blade gave a short nod. Eyepatch said quietly, “Boss.” Tokio just looked at Shina, searching her face.

She gave him nothing.

Then Memeko froze.

“Bossy…” she whispered.

She wasn’t looking at them. She was staring at the ground near a broken game booth.

Something shiny lay there, half-covered by a torn banner.

Her frying pan.

Near the handle was a dark stain.

Shina stopped breathing for a second. Her face stayed blank. Calm. Controlled.

But Tokio saw it.

He saw how her shoulders stiffened just a little. How her eyes stayed fixed for half a second too long. How her hand curled slowly into a fist.

No one else would have noticed.

Memeko stepped forward before anyone spoke. She crouched, grabbed the frying pan, and wiped the handle once on her sleeve.

“You gotta be kidding me—”

Police lights flashed against broken glass nearby. Blue and red reflections moved closer. NSIA agents and officers were clearing the area, pushing people back.

Time was running out.

Tokio didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and took Shina’s clenched hand in his.

“We can’t stay,” he said quietly. Firm. Real. “Not here. We move. Now.”

The touch grounded her.

Shina inhaled. Slowly. The panic didn’t disappear, but it locked itself deep inside her chest, sealed tight.

She nodded once.

Shina scanned the team. Blade was ready for a fight. Eyepatch already knew their exit. Memeko stood close, frying pan in hand. Tokio was still holding her.

“We vanish,” Shina said.

They moved back into the crowd, separating just enough to disappear. One second they were there. The next, they were gone, swallowed by the confused flow of people leaving the festival.

Then the scene was overtaken by NSIA agents. Warning tape was strung up, sealing the area and keeping civilians back. But who listens when the ones closest to them aren’t there anymore—missing, taken away? NSIA officers kept pushing them back anyway.

At the station, the situation was under the control of Division Two. Terrorists were scattered across the platform… some unconscious, some with broken limbs… two bodies lay sliced in half on the tracks… probably run over by a train. Agents carried them away like lifeless mannequins, moving with mechanical precision.

“My… it’s quite a scene here,” Zen Yoshiro said, surveying the area with amused calm. “Who could’ve caused this much chaos?”

“Probably those two who ran off earlier when we arrived,” Kai Yanagi replied. “But how is this even possible… there were just two of them.”

“Bingo—” Zen said with a wink. “Kai-chan… you get two plus points.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “But there were three. Don’t forget the one who threw the flashbang.”

“Hey, screw you. How the hell did you let those bastards get away right under your nose?” Satome Saorin snapped, her voice sharp with anger. “Now quit staring and get these pieces of shit into the van.”

“Okey-dokey—” Zen chirped, still smiling.

“Okay, Boss,” Kai nodded, her tone flat and dutiful.

Jessie Blacklash stood by a wrecked souvenir stall and touched her earpiece. “This is Jessie, reporting from Sector 7-B. The perimeter is secure. No hostiles, no further casualties. Just… a lot of broken masks.” She sounded annoyed, but professional.

Back at NSIA Headquarters, Miyori listened from the quiet operations room. “Copy that,” she said, then ended the call.

The room was mostly dark, lit only by computer screens. Shiro Kenoshita sat calmly in front of a laptop, his eyes moving slowly across the display. Aizawa leaned against the wall nearby, looking tired.

Miyori turned around.

“Update from the field. All major zones of the festival are now under our control. We’ve apprehended seventeen Abyss operatives.” She paused, her tone shifting, growing graver. “Civilian casualties are minimal, but… preliminary reports indicate numerous missing persons, all estimated to be under the age of sixteen. The pattern suggests targeted abduction by the terrorists.”

She checked another screen. “Inspectors Kanako and Kisara are safe. They fought bravely and are now assisting the injured.”

Aizawa nodded slowly. “Those two are tough,” he said. “Especially Kisara. Standing her ground like that… pretty impressive.”

Shiro didn’t look up, but he spoke quietly. “They did really well.” His voice was steady, but for a brief moment, a small, calm smile appeared. Then it was gone.

Aizawa glanced at him. “So… what’re your thoughts on the attack, kid? This wasn’t random chaos.”

Shiro leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“I must say, this was a well-constructed, coordinated attack. It was planned. Very well organized.” He paused. “They jammed the cellular network, struck multiple locations simultaneously, and abducted minors… most likely for human trafficking.” Another pause. “And so… that internet rumor was true after all… Interesting.”

His voice stayed low, his face unreadable.

In a narrow alley behind the festival in City Z, far from the flashing lights and sirens, several Abyss soldiers crouched behind overflowing trash cans and torn garbage bags. The distant wail of police sirens echoed through the night. They moved quickly, hugging the walls, their dark outfits blending into the grimy shadows.

They turned a corner, hoping for an escape route… only to find a dead end. A towering brick wall, spray-painted and scarred, blocked their path.

“Damn it,” one of them hissed.

A single, slow footstep echoed from the mouth of the alley behind them. Then another. The sound grew louder, closer, until it stopped just outside the dim pool of light cast by a broken streetlamp.

A long, dark shadow stretched across the wet pavement toward them.

Before they could raise their weapons, a new sound tore through the alley—the deafening, metallic roar of a chainsaw revving to life.

Screams echoed… then faded.

Then, silence.