THE DAY THE STARS FELL

Location: Lower Sovereign States — Sector 7 Command Hub

Fluorescent lights buzz low, sterile. The air carries the scent of iron, old polish, and something older still — pressure.

General Raidan Hoshino moved like a loaded weapon through the corridor, boots slamming the floor with the cadence of fury barely held in check. His long coat swung with purpose. One hand — flesh — clenched tight at his side. The other, cybernetic and braced with combat steel, flexed reflexively.

Eight years since his wife was taken by a Killing Star. Eight years of waiting. Of bleeding. Of watching his troops return as numbers instead of names. And now he wanted to return.

At the door to the strategy chamber stood General Mireya Otsuru — tall, statuesque, perfectly calm as always. A datapad rested in her palm, her eyes never leaving the feed as Rendo approached.

Without glancing up, she spoke:

Mireya (dryly):

"Early. Huh. Didn't expect that from you, Rendo."

Raidan Hoshino (biting):

"I'm not here for ceremony. I'm here because the man we left in the dark has suddenly remembered where we are."

Mireya finally looked up, her expression unreadable — calm, deliberate, and sharp.

Mireya:

"He asked for this meeting. That counts for something."

Raidan Hoshino:(scowling):

"Does it? Taro disappeared with black funds, sealed files, and three years' worth of our best scientists. That man has ghosts trailing him."

Before Mireya could reply, the air shifted.

A presence arrived like a seismic shift.

General Daichi Goma — broad as a tank and twice as loud — strode in, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders and cracking knuckles like bones being reset.

Daichi (gruff):

"Hope you two are done gossiping. I didn't drag myself out of the field for pettiness. If Taro's back and he's got something that can rip those sky demons apart, I don't care where he's been — give the bastard a medal."

With nothing left to say, the three generals filed into the secure chamber.

At the far end of the table stood Chairman Daizen Kurotani, dressed in state black, silver trim sharp as his posture. His face bore the calm of practiced optimism — but beneath it sat the coiled steel of a man who'd made impossible choices.

As the generals took their seats, Daizen rose.

Chairman Daizen (measured):

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I understand there's... tension in this room. Justified, even."

His eyes met Rendo's, steady and unblinking.

Chairman Daizen:

"But Dr. Taro's request was explicit. He believes he has something to alter the course of this war."

Raidan Hoshino leaned forward, knuckles pale against the tabletop.

Raidan Hoshino:

"He believes? He believed in our unity before he ghosted us. While we buried soldiers. While supply lines collapsed. While the last of the East Sector fell without a damn whisper."

Daizen didn't flinch. His voice was softer now — but firmer, deeper.

Chairman Daizen:

"And yet... here we are. Still standing. Still fighting. Maybe — just maybe — this is the turn we've been hoping for."

A pause.

Then: the hiss of airlocks opening.

All eyes turned.

Out of the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in black and glinting silver — leaner, older, and far colder than the last time they saw him. Dr. Taro Kaizure. Eyes like shattered lenses. Behind him hovered silent drones and ghost-blue holofeeds trailing classified data.

He stepped to the head of the table. Paused. Let silence take root.

Then he spoke — voice clean, surgical, and utterly unapologetic.

Taro:

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Forgive the delay."

He set a glowing data core down.

Taro:

"I return not with apologies — but with a weapon. Not forged in metal... but in mind. One that demands your trust, your fear, and your full obedience."