Chapter 122: Live Connection (Part One)

Tokyo, the National Diet Building.

The Prime Minister’s "declaration," broadcast in real-time across various television networks and the internet, continued. Though the television signal emanating from the National Diet Building sent shockwaves through the staff at major stations across Japan, none dared to cut the feed, opting instead to continue transmitting the live event to the public.

It was not merely because the online stream would persist even if television stations cut their signals; it was because this was the Prime Minister’s public declaration. Japan’s archaic and rigid information management system played a role here; whether state-run or private, the networks were ultimately beholden to the highest authority. Since this speech originated from that very authority, the Prime Minister’s address was transmitted to the public without filter or interruption.

"At this critical juncture, I call upon all citizens to stand with sincere resolve against the atrocities of the United States..."

"As Mr. Yukichi Fukuzawa once said, 'Heaven creates no man above another, nor man below another.' Looking at this global community, our nation should likewise not be a 'nation below a nation'..."

From the beginning until now, the Prime Minister’s live declaration had reached a national viewership rating exceeding 80%, racing toward the 81.4% record set by the 14th Kōhaku Uta Gassen in 1963. Given the sheer saturation of information media in the 21st century, this achievement was all the more extraordinary.

Beyond television, the number of people watching the stream online was staggering. Even within the first ten minutes of the Prime Minister’s speech, the domestic online audience had neared ten million, while the number of overseas viewers had rapidly climbed into the millions. By now, the domestic audience had surpassed thirty million, and the number of international viewers watching via platforms like Y-Station and T-Station had broken through the hundred-million mark, surging toward the billion-viewer threshold.

The administrators of T-Station and Y-Station reacted with remarkable agility, not only inviting political experts for remote commentary but also providing real-time translation for the Prime Minister’s speech—in English, French, Korean, Spanish, Chinese, and more. Chinese, in particular, was deemed highly necessary. Although the IP addresses of the comments and scrolling text did not trace back to within China, at least thirty percent of the tens of thousands of comments flooding the screen every second were written in Chinese characters.

Fusa Ishisan’s face was flushed with a faint crimson. As he watched the live feed and listened to the real-time feedback relayed by his colleagues, he couldn't help but clench his fists. In fact, shortly after the Prime Minister began his speech, he and the back-office staff had immediately begun collecting external information, submitting it for comprehensive analysis.

Of course, no one thought to cut the broadcast or stop the Prime Minister. The staff present were all members of the Social Democratic Party and followers of the Prime Minister. To them, he was an existence beyond reproach; whatever action he took, they would follow, marching toward the established goal. Fusa Ishisan was no exception.

He gripped his fists tightly, watching the broadcast. Although a strange sensation lingered in his mind—a vague feeling that something was wrong—the boiling blood in his chest prevented him from thinking further. The surge of fervor left him drenched in sweat, ignited by the Prime Minister’s rhetoric.

The Prime Minister’s solo speech seemed to be reaching its conclusion. However, he showed no sign of leaving the podium. Instead, he took a step forward and said calmly, "What I have said thus far is merely my own account, which may not be enough to earn your full trust. Therefore, I shall invite another person to appear before the public—though it is only a remote connection, it will allow the legislators present and my fellow citizens to understand more."

Ignoring the uproar from both legislators and reporters, he waved his hand to the side.

"Connect me to Miss Mio Ito, the 'Blood Angel'."

The large screen behind the Prime Minister lit up. The uproar in the room instantly subsided. Everyone watched in anticipation, waiting for the first officially recognized superhuman in human history to appear on the screen, as if awaiting the arrival of Jesus or the birth of Siddhartha.

In a silence as heavy as a religious rite, the screen flickered, and the girl’s calm, beautiful face appeared. Along with the interior of a small building, one could see the Prime Minister’s official residence and the top of a flagpole visible through the window behind her.

"Miss Mio Ito." The Prime Minister tilted his head and smiled slightly at her.

"Prime Minister." A trace of sorrow appeared in Mio Ito’s expression.

That melancholic look moved everyone—those watching the connection in the National Diet Building, as well as the audience watching via television or the internet—with a genuine sense of sorrow. The number of viewers, both domestic and international, broke new records, continuing to climb toward an unpredictable limit. It had become the most-watched media event in human history, surging by millions of viewers every passing minute.

"Miss Mio Ito... although it is deeply saddening, could you tell your story to the public once more?"

Facing the persuasive Prime Minister, Mio Ito bowed her head slightly and offered the world a poignant, beautiful smile.

"Certainly, Prime Minister. I will tell it."

"The story must begin several months ago. At that time, I was captured by the United States and became their test subject..."

...

Fusa Ishisan watched the broadcast. From the lips of Mio Ito, as she spoke to the Prime Minister, he heard a story that differed drastically from the information he had previously gathered through her, Manami Mizuhara, and other relevant parties. In this version, there was no So-u Bookstore, no mysterious shopkeeper, and no Soen Minato-no-Mikoto. There was only an underground experimental base built by the United States in the suburbs of Tokyo, where they used strange energy bodies and the lives of thousands of ordinary citizens to select a superhuman existence.

Naturally, this was not the true story. But as the Prime Minister and Mio Ito performed in tandem, the girl’s expression carried an unprecedented infectious power. Even though he knew it was a fabrication, he could not help but be shaken.

According to the real-time feedback from the staff, the message conveyed through their performance—that the United States was responsible for all of this—had been largely accepted and believed by netizens worldwide. Everyone was convinced this was exactly the kind of thing the United States would do. Residents within the U.S., already fond of conspiracy theories, were like bears finding honey; they flooded social media platforms like X and Instagram, furiously denouncing the current federal government and even calling for a nationwide vote of no confidence.

Without a doubt, in terms of public opinion, the Prime Minister was nearing success.

Yet, inexplicably, Fusa Ishisan felt that something was wrong. It wasn't because the Prime Minister and Mio Ito were lying. He understood that this was a necessary tactic to counter the "brutish" United States, and he did not believe the lies diminished the Prime Minister’s stature. In international conflicts, lies were a common weapon. He felt no psychological burden regarding the defamation of the American "devils."

The reason for his unease was something else—something his subconscious found deeply concerning.

What could it be?

Suddenly, Fusa Ishisan’s gaze locked onto a corner of the screen. In the next moment, the hot blood in his body seemed to turn cold. He stood up from his chair with a thud, his eyes filled with immense horror as he stared at that corner of the broadcast.