Chapter 106

Deep beneath the earth, inside a military base, the lights were dim and the atmosphere thick with tension. Seated at the center of the room was a soldier wearing the uniform of a U.S. Lieutenant General, his face hidden behind dark glasses; his presence was both imposing and mysterious. To his left and right sat sixteen people, eight on each side, arranged in perfect symmetry. The individuals on the left were a mix of white and Black personnel, their expressions stern and their gazes sharp. Those on the right were exclusively Eastern. The Lieutenant General broke the silence, asking those on his right, "Is there still no word on Yagyu Ichie?" His voice was low and harsh, radiating an irresistible authority. The question dropped into the room like a stone into a still lake, drawing the attention and concern of everyone present. At the head of the right side sat a man of sixty, seventy, or perhaps eighty years—it was impossible to tell. He was short, his proportions jarring, as if he were a mannequin assembled at random. Sparse, disheveled hair clung to his scalp like withered grass on barren land, devoid of all vitality. His narrow forehead was etched with deep wrinkles, the marks of time’s ruthless chisel.