I’ve seen a thousand faces in Neo-Tokyo’s shadow district, Shinsai—some real, some seemingly carved straight from neon and dreamstuff—but nothing quite like the spectacle spread out before me now. The streets seethe with people from every walk of life, illuminated by pulsing flashes of electric color. There’s a kind of harmony to it all, even as it overwhelms my senses.

I clutch my handheld device closer, its semi-translucent screen feeding me constant updates from Hidari. “Careful, Tatsuya,” it says in that almost-soothing, almost-instructive voice. “You’re heading toward a major Breaker trading hub. Things can get…unpredictable.”

“Unpredictable,” I mutter under my breath. “Sure. Because my life isn’t unpredictable enough.”

Still, there’s a trickle of nostalgia creeping under my skin. It’s odd to crave a past I can’t even recall, yet some spark of recognition flickers with each step I take into these crowded, neon alleys. The atmosphere bustles with possibility—vendors shout about the latest cybernetic augmentations, black-market stalls beckon from the corners, and all the while, a faint buzz of tension hums under it all.

“Find Gamakaruu,” Hidari prompts, pinging a small map display on my screen. A single red dot pulses in a knot of twisting lanes.

I sigh, weaving through the throngs of shoppers and lurkers. “Gamakaruu,” I repeat, shaking my head. “A frog-masked informant in a robe? Feels like I’ve stepped into someone else’s dream.”

The device doesn’t bother replying—maybe I’m too sarcastic for AI taste. But then I see him: a broad-shouldered figure wearing a smooth, full-head frog mask with those weirdly bright orange eyes, leaning by a stall and watching the crowd pass with eerie calm.

My heart kicks a little. So this is the guy.

“You seek, yet must not speak,” the masked figure intones, voice gravelly yet somehow musical. His stare feels like it bores straight through me.

I clear my throat. “Gamakaruu, right?”

He offers an exaggerated bow, the strange contrast of a toga-like robe draping around that amphibian visage. “The one and only. What secrets do you fancy, young seeker?”

I eye him carefully, debating how much to spill. “I’m looking for answers about the Limit Breaker chips…and Professor Akira.”

The wide frog eyes on his mask seem to glint, though there’s no telling what kind of expression lurks behind it. “Ah, yes. Echoes of the past, whispers of the future. Perhaps I have some idea…though information comes at a price.”

My chest tightens. Rose gave me something… Right, the Guardian insignia. I fish it out—a small, holographic badge pulsing with faint lines of code. I hold it out cautiously, watching Gamakaruu’s reaction.

He peers at the trinket, his mask giving nothing away. “A token of trust. The Guardians don’t gift these lightly,” he murmurs, voice thoughtful.

A swirl of nerves animates my gut. “Is it enough?”

He cants his head, then turns on his heel. “Come with me, young seeker. Let us step beyond the noise, where shadows speak more honestly.”

I follow him away from the teeming central market, past stalls that hawk everything from illicit augmentations to questionable street food. We slip into twisting side pathways, the thick crowds thinning out until we’re in a dim alcove lit only by the faint glow of distant neon.

Gamakaruu leans against a concrete wall, crossing his arms with languid grace. “Professor Akira’s legacy still haunts the city, you know,” he begins, voice lower now. “You can’t speak of Breaker technology without someone invoking his name. And his disappearance left a vacuum ripe with speculation.”

I hold my breath, waiting for more. “Hidari says Akira’s work echoes in every Breaker’s mind. How do I fit into all that?”

A soft chuckle slips from behind the mask. “You’re the one that should answer that question, Tatsuya. Do you not seek clarity in your own reflection?”

“Yeah,” I admit, “but the mirror’s kinda smudged.”

He seems amused by my retort. “Truth can liberate, or it can imprison. All depends on how tightly you cling to it.”

That might be the most straightforward thing he’s said so far, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing out the real question: “Why me? What’s my connection to Akira?”

For a moment, Gamakaruu is silent, as though weighing exactly how cryptic to be. Finally, he shrugs, and his tone dips to a near-whisper. “Professor Akira…perhaps a visionary, or perhaps a devil. Could be both. His mind gave shape to the Limit Breaker chips, a gift or a curse depending on who wields them. And you—” He lifts a finger, pointing squarely at my chest. “—you walk a very thin edge. Perhaps even Akira’s own hands shaped you. But in the end, you hold the loom of your fate.”

Goose bumps flicker along my arms. My heart thrums. I don’t want to let myself believe I’m some designer puppet. And yet…why else would I have no memories?

Gamakaruu continues, voice echoing in the hush. “If you want to know more, you’ll chase the story. But tread carefully. Sharp edges lie in every shadow.”

Nodding, I force myself to exhale. I sense a hum of determination, like an engine revving under the surface of my thoughts. “I have to keep looking—no matter what.”

He lifts a hand, as if offering a final, theatrical warning. “Among shadows, the smallest spark can illuminate the path forward. Don’t let your light be snuffed out, young seeker.”

I catch a glimpse of his frog mask dipping in a nod before he steps back into a corridor so dark I almost lose sight of him entirely. Then he’s gone, like a ghost woven into the city’s tapestry.

I retrace my steps to the main thoroughfare, mind abuzz with Gamakaruu’s cryptic hints. As if it senses my roiling thoughts, the device in my palm vibrates.

Hidari’s voice trickles through. “Any new leads?”

Leads. More like riddles. “He confirmed Akira’s disappearance and said I might be part of Akira’s grand design. Not exactly comforting.”

Hidari processes my words quietly. “The data’s too vague to draw conclusions. But if you truly believe you may be linked to Akira by more than circumstance, we should gather additional sources. My logic cores suggest—”

I manage a soft laugh. “Suggest we carry on carefully, right?”

“It’s…statistically wise,” Hidari answers, a hint of wryness sneaking in.

The night air envelops me as I merge back into the throng of people. Every face here hides a story. Mine feels like a page torn out of a larger book—ink still drying, context missing. But if Gamakaruu’s right, I hold the loom to my own tapestry, shaped or not.

I push on through the crowd, energy coursing in my veins. Gamakaruu’s cryptic words still dance in my head—about visions of the future, echoes of the past, and how light and shadow constantly shift. I might be stumbling blind, but I’m more resolved than ever to discover what’s buried behind my amnesia.

And if I’m Akira’s creation?

Then I’ll decide who that makes me.