Shinjuku morning wore a sky the color of polished steel. Suncrest HQ had the hush of a dojo right before the first clap. Anastasia Shimizu checked strap tensions by feel, the Aegis shield humming faint approval along the bones of her forearm. Miyu stood close enough that Soft Armor already reached for her: Sanctuary Field wanted to be larger when they breathed the same measured count.
Kana jogged in, foam gauntlets slung over her shoulder like friendly anvils. “Today I would like to punch something expensive.”
Raina finished a bolt-cycle with the satisfied click that announces good choices. “Happily, the City just pinged us with something none of us can afford to fix if it breaks.”
Ootori’s voice came over the floor. “Briefing on the move. We’ve got a Carillon Gate complex forming around the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. Three gates, separate streets, one harmonic braid. If they synchronize: Bell-King Consonance—likely Mythic attempt. Cloud Ladder is back from Yokohama. Dragonspear en route. East-Ward already lining anchors. We hold central plaza.”
Anastasia nodded. “We’ll be the hinge. Everyone else gets to be the blade and the wind.”
Miyu tightened her pack straps and—without ceremony—touched Anastasia’s wrist. Consent accepted; Paired Breath glowed on both HUDs like a private, shared lamplight.
Kana bumped hips with Raina. “Friendly wager: if we stop a Mythic from happening, we name a smoothie after Nana.”
Raina: “It will be called ‘Behave.’”
“Approved,” Ootori said. “Move.”
Shinjuku government towers rose like twin tuning forks. Between them, the plaza spread flat and public: stone ribs, low planters, flagpoles chiming nervous metal. The three gates hung on different streets like luminous throats. Their rims shivered in time—one high note, one mid, one low. You didn’t hear it so much as stood inside it.
COALITION ALERT: CARILLON FORMATION.
HARMONIC BUILD: 11% → 16% → 21% …
TARGET RISK: Consonance (Mythic) at 80% build if bosses co-depress under dual thresholds.
Ootori’s command scaffold went up under a municipal awning. Coalition colors rippled: Dragonspear red, East-Ward steel, Cloud Ladder pale blue, Suncrest’s rising disk. A dozen drones arced overhead, their cameras politely nose-down.
Anastasia socketed the Aegis toe into a plaza anchor. “Suncrest anchor set. Dragonspear, your lane is two o’clock; East-Ward, five; Cloud Ladder, crossflow and dampers. Raina up top, northeast roofline. Miyu on me—within eight.”
“Copy,” said Dragonspear’s captain, hair pinned, eyes bright. “We slice the bars when you bend them.”
“Copy,” East-Ward’s commander rumbled. “Harpooners hungry for anything coil-shaped.”
“Copy,” Cloud Ladder chimed. “We’ll comb the air. Don’t eat the bell fog.”
Kana cracked her neck. “Money check?”
“Gold bosses suspected in each gate: base ¥240,000,000 apiece,” Ootori replied. “Conductor entity, if it manifests, estimated ¥320,000,000. Coalition split. Tier V civic multiplier if collateral minimal. If Mythic fully expresses, national assets trigger and the paytable goes purple. Try to keep us in red, not purple.”
“Red pays rent,” Raina said, already climbing a maintenance ladder with city-permitted illegality. “Purple buys funerals.”
Miyu set clean, neat circles just inside Anastasia’s extended field. “Hospital rules in a plaza,” she murmured. “Quiet feet. Clean hands.”
Anastasia breathed in for four, held, out for four. The Public Assurance ripple moved through passersby and city staff who should not be here and yet are the kind of people who show up to their own safety. “Civilians of Shinjuku, thank you for obeying barriers. We’ll bend this away from you. If you feel the bells in your ribs, put a hand there and count with me.”
You could watch panic bleed off: a real-time graph in a hundred bodies.
She glanced at her slate:
The high gate vomited a Gilt Belfry Ogre in bronze plates, shoulders draped with a yoke of bells. The mid gate ribboned out Clapper Wraiths, hanging like upside-down commas. The low gate birthed a Tidebound Elk with kelp filigree along its antlers—kin to yesterday’s Kirin, humming a lower note.
“Three Golds,” Ootori confirmed. “No conductor yet. East-Ward on elk. Dragonspear on ogre. Suncrest pins the wraith river. Cloud Ladder keeps tones from braiding.”
“On me,” Anastasia said, and Provocation pulsed. The Clapper Wraiths pivoted to her like she was gravity. Their cords reached—attempts to lasso attention away, literally ringing for it.
“Please,” she told them, polite as a bellhop. “No soliciting.”
Her shield took the first peel; Perfect Guard chimed; the counter lit three cords at once. Kana joined at the hip, foam palms shaping wraiths back into a manageable stream. Raina cut clappers like she was trimming a bonsai at 300 meters.
Cloud Ladder sang the air sideways; bell-sound smeared. East-Ward harpoons thunked the elk and kept it from circling a pillar. Dragonspear wrote confident red lines across the ogre’s knee architecture.
“City looks at you,” Raina observed over comms, voice steady in the high air. “You’re trending before the first boss dips under 80.”
“Trend the evacuation route,” Anastasia said, turning a lash with Breakwater Vow; sound hit the curtain and slid apart like silk. “Kana, pocket the wraiths. Miyu, keep me unfair.”
Miyu’s mend touched her shoulder. City’s Aegis ticked —5s. “Captain at 98% stamina. Shield core heat trivial.”
Kana palmed a wraith into a planter with almost tender precision. “This one is called Barry,” she informed no one. “Barry is taking a break.”
“Please do not name the enemy,” Miyu said.
“Barry is retired,” Kana said, solemn.
The elk tried a low-frequency breath that could have folded staged scaffolding. Anastasia canted the Aegis; Breakwater leaned its horizontal pane into the wave. Water-logic parted around stubborn geometry. “Plaza stays dry,” she said.
Raina pinged the ogre’s bell yoke. “Those aren’t decorative. Cutting them will desync the high tone.”
“Open it,” Anastasia said, catching an entire rope-skein of wraith cords on the lip of her shield. “Dragonspear, you have a window.”
Dragonspear’s captain slid under a ham fist, rose along the ogre’s shadow, and signed both swords through the yoke’s pins. Bells crashed, rolled, and went quiet against the base of a flagpole.
HARMONIC BUILD: 27% → 19%.
Cloud Ladder whooped in the wind channel. “One note down.”
“Keep it,” Ootori said. “Suncrest, prepare for conductor manifest. Pattern shows new tone at 40% from the low gate.”
“Copy,” Anastasia said.
Shinjuku listened. Commuters who’d been edging phones up lowered them; city staff did their jobs a little taller. You could almost see the Public Assurance buff annotate the plaza.
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