The first light of dawn was still far from piercing the dark skies, but the sinister green hue that engulfed the city of Iwatodai started to wane as the Dark Hour was already drawing to a close.
Racing through the eerie streets, the white self-driving motorcycle glided silently into a cavernous underground garage. The hum of its engine ceased the moment it crossed the threshold, and it came to rest with mechanical precision in its designated spot. The garage, lit by stark fluorescent lights, buzzed with the activity of uniformed mechanics who immediately swarmed the machine. Their movements were quick and efficient, practiced from countless nights like this one, as they inspected the motorcycle for damage and collected data from its systems.
Above, in a secure computer room lined with monitors and complex machinery, a shift in perspective revealed the true orchestrator of the motorcycle's nocturnal escapade: a young girl with striking dark red hair. With a composure beyond her years, she removed her hands from the control interface. Her gaze lingered on the screens, replaying the night's events—a symphony of battles orchestrated from her command center.
The room around her bustled with operators—adults, who were wrapping up their duties. They cast occasional, furtive glances at the girl, their expressions a mixture of reverence and mild discomfort. She was, after all, not only an exceptionally young operator, but the scion of the Kirijo Group, the empire that funded this shadowy facility they called their workplace and its myriad projects.
The girl’s focus was unyielding as she reviewed the data, dissecting the unexpected display of power she witnessed and all details she could gather from its author.
Akihiko Sanada, the “rising star” of Kansai boxing.… She recalled the name of the boy she met during that shift as she read an online article about him. Her mind, always analytical, pondered the implications of his involvement. He is not just another teenage athlete caught in the Dark Hour. There's potential there. Untapped. Untrained. But... raw. Potent.
The adults in the room began to filter out, their workday concluded with the end of the Dark Hour.
"Kirijo-san," They left with bows and murmurs. Their deference to her status clear in their hurried exits. Yet, despite their respect, they did not understand the weight that rested on her young shoulders—the duty to her family legacy, the relentless pursuit of her goals, and the looming threat of the Shadows.
‘Heiress. Puppeteer. Executioner.' She reflected as she silently addressed the departing operators. The titles for her were many, but they understood none of the burden. They see the Kirijo family name, the poised exterior. But do they see the chains that come with it?
Kirijo remained seated, apparently indifferent to the movement around her, until her brown eyes finally broke away from the monitors to glance at the clock. Realization dawned that she, too, must depart. She had to see her father; they had much to discuss.
With a graceful motion, she stood and smoothed the folds of her Kirijo Group uniform, her thoughts still echoing with the night's revelations.
Our technology is formidable, but the Shadows are adapting, becoming more resilient, and dangerous. We need more than machines; we need those who can summon the strength from within...Her mind danced around a concept that had been forming, like a puzzle piece waiting to fit into place. If others like me exist, those with my same “gift”... we could assemble a force of exceptional individuals. A vanguard to confront this threat directly.
The room emptied, the last of the operators giving her a wide berth. There was an unspoken understanding that she was not just a peer or a superior; she was the future of the corporation, the mind that would steer their efforts into the next generation.
The young operator stepped out of the computer room, her red hair a stark contrast against the sterile hallway, a solitary figure burdened and enigmatic. As she made her way through the facility, the reality of her double life weighed on her. By day, a model student of prestigious pedigree; by night, the puppeteer of machines and a sentinel against darkness.
Yes, it is time. I will share this proposal to him. With each step she took towards her father's office, her resolve solidified. The Kirijo Group had always operated behind the curtains, manipulating events from a safe distance. But she didn’t want to be a mere heiress to be sheltered and protected away from the world forever. We need something more than our Unmanned Anti-Shadow Vehicles if we want to make a real difference.
She arrived at the office door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked it a couple of times.
“You may come in.”
The girl opened the door and stepped into the spacious office, her posture impeccable.
Her father, stood by the window, the skyline of Iwatodai framing him.
Another man leaned slightly forward over a sprawl of papers on the desk. His glasses reinforced his calm and thoughtful demeanor.
Both of them turned, almost in unison, acknowledging the presence of the Heiress.
"Father, Ikutsuki-san," The girl greeted, nodding to each in turn. "I hope I'm not interrupting.”
"Of course not, Mitsuru," Her father said, a warm note in his voice belying the stern and intimidating set of his features, being the black eyepatch over his right eye the most notorious. "What brings you here? I assumed you were already on your way home."
Mitsuru Kirijo inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts. "I have… an important proposal to discuss with you."
"We're listening," The head of the Kirijo Group said, his left eye reflecting a mix of affection for his daughter and the ever-present weight of corporate responsibility.78Please respect copyright.PENANAyPXmeycIXD
Mitsuru approached the desk. "This Dark Hour iteration revealed a major development. I encountered a teenager about my same age, Akihiko Sanada. He was under attack by Shadows, and what I witnessed confirms a theory I've long harbored."
His father and Ikutsuki, the man accompanying him, exchanged a glance, their attention wholly on Mitsuru now.
"Go on," prompted Ikutsuki, the scientist in him piqued by her tone.
Mitsuru's hands clasped in front of her, not so much out of nervousness but to gather her resolve for what she was about to propose. "Sanada displayed the potential we've been searching for. Amidst the battle, a Persona began to manifest. It was incomplete, imperfect, but it was enough to turn the tide. Had he not awakened it, my intervention with the motorcycle would have proven... insufficient. Only my own Persona would have saved him."
The room felt charged with the gravity of her words.
“Is he safe now? Was he hurt?,” asked her father.
“He’s unscathed. I took him to safety once all was over.” Mitsuru held her father's gaze, willing him to be persuaded. "My point is that he's not alone. There have to be others out there with this “gift” waiting to be discovered. If we recruit them, and train them, we can form a force far more adaptable and effective than our current Anti-Shadow Vehicles."
His father paced away, his hands clasped behind his back, a sign Mitsuru recognized as contemplative concern. "You're talking about forming a combat unit of child soldiers, Mitsuru. This is not a game, and you know it well. Our drones keep our hands clean and our people safe.”
"They are not just ‘children’, they are latent Persona users who should learn how to protect themselves and those who cannot. Is safety not a temporary sanctuary if the threat grows ever stronger?” Mitsuru countered, her voice impassioned. “Our enemy is not static. Every night, this evil grows bolder, more cunning. Sanada’s victory tonight proves there is another way. We need sentient fighters who can adapt, who can think and act with the unpredictability that a machine lacks.”
Her father faced her, his expression grave. “You speak of risk, of exposing you—our future—to danger. That, I cannot accept.”
Mitsuru’s stance remained firm, though inside, a tumult of emotions warred. “I am not merely the future, Father. I am here, now, and I see a path forward—a path that includes Sanada and others like us.”
The Kirijo chairman’s hand came down firmly on the desk. “No, Mitsuru. The answer is no. We will not pursue this. It is my final decision.”
The air seemed to still around them. Overwhelmed with unvoiced objections and disappointment. Mitsuru bowed her head, conceding defeat.
“I understand… Father. I apologize for my indiscretion. Good night”
As she turned to leave, Ikutsuki’s calm voice interjected, “Takeharu-sama, may I?”
Takeharu nodded stiffly, and Ikutsuki stepped forward.
“Mitsuru’s plan, while bold, could be the evolution we need. As I’ve discussed with you lately, the Apathy Syndrome cases are still alarmingly high despite our efforts in containing the Shadows. We must adapt, come up with a new strategy. And if we guide Mitsuru, support her, we can mitigate the risks you fear.”
Mitsuru paused in the doorway, her heart quickening at that support she didn’t ask for or expect.
Takeharu's silhouette against the vast windows was a monolith of resistance, a testament to the cautious stewardship he had long practiced since he took up the torch of the Kirijo legacy. The words of his trusted advisor seemed to hang momentarily in the air, like particles waiting to settle.
"Adaptation is a natural response to challenge, Takeharu-sama," Ikutsuki pressed gently. "The Shadows are changing, and our response must be more than reactive. We need proactive measures."
Takeharu turned, his face a landscape of paternal concern etched with the creases of many hard-won battles in boardrooms and beyond. "Ikutsuki-san," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his years, "I have seen too much lost to the whims of fate. My daughter is not a gamble I am willing to place on an uncertain strategy."
Mitsuru's resolve flickered in her chest, bright and unwavering, even as her father's doubt cast a long shadow. She turned around and interjected, her tone a careful blend of respect and certitude, "Father, the threat we face does not bargain with us."
Her father’s gaze hardened like the steel that framed the towering skyscrapers beyond the windows. "Mitsuru, the answer is still no. I will not have you march to the front lines of this invisible war."
Ever the voice of tempered reason, Ikutsuki stepped closer. "With all due respect, Takeharu-sama, we might not have the luxury of choice. The Shadows won't abate for our reluctance. Mitsuru's idea offers us a chance to master a power that we still not fully comprehend."
There was a prolonged silence, the sort that spoke volumes of the struggles waged in the hearts and minds of those present. Takeharu's eye was locked onto Mitsuru's, a silent conversation passing between them—a dialogue of concerns and unspoken pride.
Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry the burdens of his position, Takeharu conceded, though not without firm conditions.
"Ikutsuki, you will oversee this... endeavor. Ensure it is contained, ensure it is controlled. And most of all," he said, turning to Mitsuru, "ensure that no harm comes to her."
Mitsuru bowed, her heart thrumming with a mix of triumph and gratitude. "Thank you. I promise I will proceed with caution. I will not disappoint you."
Ikutsuki took a few steeps to approach the daughter of his boss. He wanted to start fulfilling his new role from the very first instant.
"Mitsuru, a moment, if I may. What exactly do we know about this Akihiko Sanada?"
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