Chapter 256

To anyone still reading, sorry for the wait! orz

"I’ve known certain things for a while, but it’s not just that," Phantom began, staring off into the middle distance. "Tagging along with you lot and seeing the data from the Facility has filled in a lot of blanks. Some of it is just guesswork, and other parts are still murky. It’s a bit tricky to decide where to start, but it’s not like we’re on a timer."

Taro watched as Phantom’s lips moved in a faint, rhythmic mutter. Probably making a call, Taro figured.

"...That should do. Now, as for my origin story, it’s pretty much what I told you. The gritty details are mostly pointless and definitely wouldn't make for good dinner conversation. Let's just hit the highlights: Coleman had an army of lab rats like me and Etta, and he was cooking up something big. The question is—what was the end goal?"

Taro shrugged and piped up. "Probably that 'Brain Evolution' research, right? And obviously, he needed a way to fund the madness. That’s my best guess based on what we found in those weird Eggs."

Phantom nodded slowly. "Well, you’re not wrong. That 'Formula' the Mercenaries were peddling was a gold mine. They probably made a killing selling Sonarmen directly or auctioning off tech to the Military. As for the evolution bit, that tracks too. I’ve got plenty of personal memories that point in that direction."

Phantom’s face twisted into a grimace of pure disgust. Taro stayed quiet, figured it was better not to poke the bear when it came to repressed lab-rat trauma.

"Hey, Phantom," Marl said, leaning in with a look of intense concentration. "Was this Coleman guy... I don't know, a 'Science is God' fanatic? Or maybe just a world-class narcissist? Was he the type who’d rather cuddle a microscope than a human being?"

Phantom shook his head. "To be honest? He was just a very ordinary old man. He didn't seem particularly greedy, but I wouldn't call him a saintly ascetic either. He laughed, he got angry, he cried. He had his quirks, sure, but he didn't seem like some transcendent outlier of the human race. He was remarkably... average."

Marl’s brow furrowed, her beautiful profile scrunching up in thought.

"Is this a big deal?" Taro whispered.

"Yes," she snapped back. "Think about it, Taro. Ordinary people want status, fame, or whatever fits their ego. Even if they’re losers, they usually want some kind of payoff, right?"

"I mean, I guess," Taro replied. "But the guy was knee-deep in illegal experiments. Maybe he just couldn't go public even if he wanted to?"

"Maybe. But there are always ways to play the game. Look at the Etta working for the Mercenaries—she’s been doing exactly that. Usually, if you build something world-changing, you want someone to clap for you. It’s called a 'desire for self-display.' But Coleman..."

"Ah... I get it," Taro said, the gears finally turning. "The goal behind the goal."

"Exactly! Is 'Brain Evolution' really an end in itself? Sure, a better brain sounds great, but that makes it a tool, not a destination. So what was he actually after? Some kind of god-tier knowledge?"

The two men fell silent, the weight of the realization sinking in.

"There are plenty of researchers across the galaxy chasing Brain Evolution," Phantom said, his eyes sharpening. "If that was his only goal, why do it in total isolation? Even if he was doing shady, illegal stuff, he should have had partners in crime. His methods weren't just inefficient—they were unnatural."

Taro nodded. "So, basically..."

"He was researching Brain Evolution because it was the only way to finish some solo project he had going," Taro summarized.

The other two nodded in unison. Taro crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, trying to wrap his head around his own conclusion. Marl mimicked the pose beside him.

"............"

"............"

The silence stretched on. Finally, Taro looked down, glanced at Marl’s sour expression, and then turned to Phantom.

"Is this... like, a 'scale of the universe' kind of thing?" Taro asked, a wild theory popping into his head.

Phantom let out a dry, short laugh. "Yeah."

Marl jumped. "Wait, you actually figured it out?"

"I mean, not the specifics. But the... vibe. The direction."

Marl’s frown deepened. Taro waved his hands dismissively before she could start grilling him.

"Look, if he was doing something he had to do alone, something that no one else could ever help with... then basically..."

Taro raised an eyebrow and gave a massive, 'I’m-so-done-with-this' shrug.

"It means he was planning on picking a fight with the entire human race, right?"

Phantom didn't say a word. He didn't deny it, either. He just stared at Taro with a dead-serious expression.

In Taro's mind, a single image flickered: the silhouette of WIND, the entity they’d discovered back in Coleman's Facility.

"I swear, you bring me nothing but the most absolute garbage information and the most headache-inducing proposals every single time."

General Dean’s exasperated voice echoed through the posh, high-end guest suite on Delta Star System’s Station 1. It was the kind of room reserved for Imperial brass and people who didn't look at their own credit card statements.

Following the heavy talk with Marl and Phantom, Koume had dropped a bombshell: someone from the Facility was still kicking. Phantom had asked her to dig, and against all odds, she’d actually found a survivor.

And that was exactly why they were here.

"Heh-heh-heh! But come on, Dean-san, I’ve given you plenty of juicy wins too, haven't I?" Taro said, stooping low and rubbing his hands together like a sleazy merchant from an old manga.

Behind him, Marl, Liza, and Koume were perched on a sofa across from Dean. Phantom stood by the door like a silent, metal gargoyle.

"Hmph. I won't deny that. Let's hope this time is no different."

"Ah, well, this one is... uh... maybe? Depends on how it goes," Taro muttered, tilting his head.

Dean gave him a skeptical, narrowed look. Taro offered a weak, "Ah-ha-ha..." which Dean eventually dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Whatever. A favor is a favor. I happen to consider you a high-value asset, Taro."

Dean pulled out a terminal and tapped a few commands. Seconds later, there was a knock. The door slid open.

"............"

A man in his thirties walked in. He let Phantom perform a quick security pat-down before walking over to stand by Dean. He didn't look scared—he looked annoyed, like he was being forced to attend a very boring HR meeting.

"I’d introduce you, but that’s a bit redundant, isn't it? You’re the ones who asked me to drag him here," Dean said, sinking back into the plush sofa.

Every eye in the room—except Dean’s—bolted to the newcomer. The tension was thick enough to cut with a vibro-blade.

"He’s the Representative Director of Zyle Strategic, a logistics firm born from the ashes of the Inter-corporate War. As you're aware, they inherited the Mercenaries' assets and took on the legal burden of reparations and reintegration for the Facility's victims."

Taro recognized the face. He’d seen the guy at a few Post-war Reparations hearings.

"His name is Samuel Campbell," Dean continued. "That’s the identity I provided for him—new face, new papers. To you lot, he’s one of the former directors of the Mercenaries. But apparently, that’s not the part that matters. Honestly, I was shocked when your request came in. It turns out even his original name was a fake... So, let’s hear it. What’s the name you started with?"

Dean looked at the man with bored indifference. The man had no choice—the guy asking was an Imperial General. He nodded once and opened his mouth.

"Joachim. I haven't used it in forever. Honestly, it feels weird even saying it out loud. But the first name I was ever given was Joachim."

He let out a sharp, self-deprecating snort.

"Joachim... Joachim Enfo Coleman."

(Author's Note: I messed up the last post, so now the impact of the reveal is basically dead. Ugh.)