Niigata Ocean Hotel

It is indeed a weird feeling. The feeling of having your legs go numb and then walking so much that now your legs feel like lead. So much activity coming to your legs all of a sudden can make it hard to concentrate. Honestly, Oujiro is glad there’s even a cash-only manga cafe near the station. The manga cafe he found, Neptune Club Manga Cafe. The cafe is themed around the ocean and cruise ships. Is this a Neptune Lines club, huh? He asks the cashier in front, about this cafe.

Oujiro: “Excuse me, but may I ask, what kind of club is this?”

Cashier: “We’re a club that praises the genius of Neptune Lines. But recently, Akikaze had sunk, you must have heard the news already. We’re discussing whether the college student in the news, Oujiro Yagi is being framed or not.”

Oujiro: “Oh, yeah definitely I have heard the news.”

Oujiro tried his best to calm down under the pressure and tension that this manga cafe has in its atmosphere. “Dude, calm down! They have not concluded you’re being framed!” Yet he feels like everyone around him is slowly creeping up and ready to kill him. Remember, this news is all over Japan. On televisions, in the newspapers, on the phone, anything you could possibly imagine. And Japan has 124 million people. Oujiro is going into war with a number of people that’s higher than what he could ever visualize in his life. If he participated in and chat with the club, there’s a chance he might get a free sleepover. But what if he has to join the club? There are a lot more things that are risky that could expose his identity. He’s still wearing the same old disposable mask from Fukuyama and the baseball cap.

Cashier: “Hey, come on, you can take off that baseball cap. We’re trying to be friendly around here after all!”

Oujiro: “Oh sorry. My old friend passed away in the sinking of Akikaze, so to honor him, I kept this baseball cap on all the time.”

This same excuse again. The excuse he used ten days ago to Subaru back in Fukuyama to not come to school. But this time, he added an extra - the baseball cap excuse. He really needed that or else his identity would be at risk. He still hadn’t change how he looks. He hadn’t gotten a haircut yet, and he hasn’t dyed his hair yet. He looks similar to that grainy school photo of him shown in the news. Hope she believes it. She would probably because that excuse sounds really personal. Diving in would be too rude and disrespectful of someone else’s privacy.

Cashier: “Oh, we're very sorry for going in too deep. Sorry for your loss.”

Oujiro: “Oh, no, it’s okay. May I ask you for your name?”

Maybe a name is not important after all… is it? But he had to engrave that name in his mind. Maybe we’ll revisit each other later, maybe we’ll see each other days, weeks, or even months later and recognize each other through our names. Because Riki is going to change his hairstyle tomorrow. This name is important to him. She’s the first person he met and talked with each other in his new beginning of life at Niigata. It will be a rough journey with no one, but remembering that name alone can make it feel like a person is following behind him. Just the warmth of this moment can carry his motivation upwards, even if he doesn't realize it.

Cashier: “My name? My name is Youko Nonaka. Nice to meet you. What about your name?”

Oujiro: “Oh my name? Uh… my name is Maehara. Riki Maehara.”

Youko: “Would you like to participate in a conversation with us or perhaps join the club? A new addition of the club can make this cafe feel fresh!”

Oujiro: “Uhhhh.. it’s okay, I have to travel elsewhere. I can’t stay here for too long. I’m only here in Niigata to research about the Akikaze Sinking after all..”

A light, awkward smile lit up from Riki’s face. The kind of smile trying hard to convince cashiers he can’t stay here for long. He decides whether he will leave now or not and move on to a new place, that’s maybe safer around here. If they discover he’s Oujiro Yagi, he’s not coming out alive, he’s definitely getting sent to the police even if the manga cafe have members suspecting if he’s framed or not. He knows that no matter the situation, he’s getting sent to the police. He’s not letting himself be defeated on the first day. It’s the first day of a long journey; could you imagine how pathetic it would be if you, let’s say, commit a crime, and got caught by the police on the next day? That’s exactly how it feels, but in this case, it’s him being framed up for something he never did. He is seeking redemption, and it’s to move to a different place to do so. He has to wear a baseball cap all the time, so if he decides to have a sleepover here, he has to take off the baseball cap and risked exposing himself in front of tens of people here. If he wears a baseball cap to sleep, it will be too outrageous or the employees are gonna take it off because it feels that he’s honoring this “friend” too seriously.

Youko: “Well, it’s been great with your visit. Enjoy your.. night!”

Riki glanced at the clock. The short hand is… eight?! Already eight?! I started the journey at midday, now it’s already eight p.m.? Time does fly fast, faster than what he expected. The long hand is… five. So, 8:25 p.m. is the time. Oujiro has a sort of a superpower, he can sleep for very little yet operate like an energetic young man who just slept for 8 hours with no interruption. He once slept for only 2 hours as a 7-year-old and went to school energetic and full of energy. In the recent days, he has managed to sleep very quickly and minor interruptions don’t wake him up. No insomnia, good mental state. That’s what he’s been—no, what he “was” been up to. That “was” his mental state. He thinks that the most late that he can stay up to is probably… 4 a.m. of some sort? He has never done an all-nighter before in his life but he’s sure he can likely do it. It’s up to this night whether he will have to do it or not.

Youko: “Thanks for the visit. See you later!”

Riki: “I might come back later. Also… thanks for the delicious latte. Riki Maehara is leaving now.”

Once the glass door slams into the entrance, this marks the end of the memories inside that warm manga cafe. He wishes he could stay there forever. He wishes he could do that, but he can’t. Not just that it would be too selfish, but because he has to move on. Not in the sense of “oh he got into a heartbreak he must move on!”, but in the sense of moving on towards the next part of the journey to uncover the truth. It was until the glass door was pushed towards again. It was the cashier, Youko Nonaka.

Youko: “Uh, before you leave. We have an important information that we wanted to share, because you might want to know about it!”

Riki was shook with surprise. What kind of information? The flaw of the ship? The actual blueprint? No way, the blueprint inside my backpack is from my dad, it must be legitimate! The what? What information? Uh- stop overthinking!! Do you think that pure girl is someone evil?! You must have watched too many yandere anime, Oujiro!

Youko: “Uh, the address of Neptune Lines' main executive is 150-0042 Udagawacho 12-8, Sapporo, Hokkaido. I know it’s extremely far away from the headquarters of Neptune Lines.”

Eh?! Wow, so north! Is this man snow-resistant now?! He probably drank a whole “frostbite resistance” potion there! Do you know how deep snow there? He quickly picks up his phone from his pocket- oh yeah, he already threw it into a random subway train. It’s useless. He asked Youko for how thick the snow is at Sapporo.

Youko: “It snows from December to April, with December receiving the heaviest snow, which is 46 cm., Meanwhile April is the lightest. Currently, the snow is as thick as 26 cm. at Sapporo.”

It’s still showing at March! What the hell, it’s supposed to be spring at this point! Spring, spring! Spring wind! The thing that marks the new beginning- he stops imagining it, an interruption was needed. He needed to bury the memories of the sinking. He cannot be cowering in fear in this journey. Be brave and you can clear yourself, your dad, expose Neptune Lines! It sounds like a fever dream, but maybe in the future, who knows when, that can probably come true.

Riki: “Alright, I’ll be leaving now. Uh.. cashier-san, do you think Oujiro is innocent?”

Youko: “..? I think.. I think… I don’t know. In my personal opinion though, Neptune Lines hasn’t provided enough evidence, so it’s still hard to believe their saying. I don’t know which side I’m biased to.”

He’s walking along the pavement, with street lights shining down onto the streets, illuminating his hat and mask and casting a shadow to his face whenever he walks near one. Cars passed by, each one makes him more anxious and paranoid whether he would get caught. If there’s any person nearby, meaning he would have to distance away. If he bumps into someone, it’s 50/50. It’s either run or game over.

His mind races with thoughts. Where can he go to? Manga cafe? Already tried, too risky to stay inside. Yeah, it does have private booths, but he’s too paranoid to sleep around people where his whole face can be caught and he would be exposed in an instant. No, no, no! Manga cafe is too risky. Love hotel? He just heard of it when Subaru introduced it to him a month ago. Ah, surely I do miss him. But, what is even a love hotel? He said they are extremely private and cash-based. He said that they are often located in nightlife districts—which means more eyes, more stares, more chance to get caught. If he tries one..? Ah! He could already imagine it, how intensely vulnerable he would be, hood up, walking alone to a damn love hotel! It also requires strict checking in/out at specific hours. What about other choices? Internet cafe? ISN’T THAT JUST THE SAME THING AS A MANGA CAFE?! That’s even more barebones than an actual manga cafe! Plus, some internet cafes require ID membership, and that equals death, metaphorically. He was walking, eyes blinking in sync of the car passing by, thinking very hard that smoke could come out of his ears, until he saw an all-night diner along the way. He reads the signs.

“Open and available 24 hours!”

Huh.. 24 hours? Can I sleep there? I have to think hard about that plan first he’s actually going to be doing that. He pushes the door and then comes in.. THE SMELL-!! Is this a buffet or a restaurant? The chatter of people too! Have the Akikaze sinking turned me enochlophobic?! Those words race inside his mind. He stood frozen there at the entrance, eyes darting around every seat, and every table.

(Author’s Notes: Enochlophobia is the fear of crowds)

Waitress: “Uh, could I help you?”

Riki: “Uh, oh, uh.. ah, no thanks! I was just zoning out.”

Waitress: “Okay well then. You can go to Table Number 12. It has been finished cleaning and is now empty.”

He walked to the second aisle, directions guided by the waitress. He reached Table Number 12, and sit in the most inner part of the seat. He looked at the remarkably cleaned table, down to its nooks and crannies. At the center is—a sphere bullet grill? Wait, did I read the sign wrong?! He thought, his heart racing even with such a simple mistake.

Riki: “Uh, waitress, may I ask, but is this a buffet restaurant?”

Waitress: “Of course, this is a 24-hour open buffet restaurant. You just have misread the sign a the entrance of our shop."

Riki: “I think so too.”

Waitress: “So, customer, what would you like to order?”

Oujiro is only here to try to sleep here, not order a damn buffet set! Does this restaurant even accept cash? Will the waiters make me sign in into their subscription? If he’s going to sleep here, won’t he get woken up by them? If he’s here to sleep only, won’t he look like a homeless sleeping on the street? Because it’s exactly the same feeling! This place is not for him. It’s never for him. He’s not even hungry either, he’s full, not from eating too much, but from the anxiety ever since he stepped foot onto that JR Regional train. The smell of food hits his nose, making him hard to concentrate. The chatter of people, the sound of burning, the smoke from other buffet grills. It’s as if this is going to be the death of him!

Waitress: “So, what would you like to order, sir?”

Riki: “Uh, nevermind. I’m still full so I would be leaving. Thank you for the kind service.”

Waitress: “No, problem. Next time you visit us, make sure to eat a lot! It’s all you can eat!”

Riki: “What’s your name, by the way?”

Waitress: “My name…? Misuzu Nakazawa. Why, sir?”

Rik: “Ah… just asking. My name is Riki Maehara. Remember that.”

He left the restaurant, leaving the waitress in awe and confusion. Remember that? What remember? Why do I have to remember a stranger’s name? Maybe I might remember them. She thought, completely unbeknownst to her that the person that held a conversation with her was an accused teenager fighting against the entire nation of Japan. Riki was taken back to reality once again once the cold, salty air of Niigata hit him.

He walks for around ten minutes, he doesn’t really know, he lost track of time, but he found a dark, grassy park. The center of it is a kids playground. The tear of the bars on the monkey bar shows how much kids play these things. He can see it already—kids from nearby schools, running around here, playing seesaws, merry-go-rounds, or whatever they play.

Oujiro: “Damn it, why didn’t I bring a flashlight? Could I sleep here? On the bench?”

He sits on the dark wooden bench, takes out his gray laptop from his backpack and starts searching. There’s a hotel near this park, and the free internet just so happened to miraculously reach the park. Guess the wifi signal is that strong, huh? There’s one thing though—if he were to sleep here, he would have frozen to death. No, not in a comedic way, but seriously. It’s free and isolated at night, yeah, but in early April, the wind blasts are freezing. Will you be willing to wear over tens of blankets just to not get a frostbite? The sea winds are really dangerous if exposed. He searches in Google about car rental services nearby, hoping his “genius” plan would work out, if fate has mercy on him.

What about abandoned buildings and construction sites? No way, searching “abandoned buildings in Niigata” make you sound like a ghost hunter and no way people would tell the internet where abandoned buildings are in Niigata if there’s even one. It’s hidden and free, but it does attract police patrols and homeless people. It is not worth the risk at all, the fact that it’s abandoned makes it sound scarier than it is. It won’t even work well for him, because of his phobia of germs.

Oujiro thought to himself, ”Rental car services can work. If I rent a car and stay in there for sleep… perfect plan!”

He searches up, “Rental car services in Niigata”, he expected a lot, and there are indeed a ton. But most of them had the dreaded message next to its name—”Credit card required”. He scrolled through tens and tens of them, the ratings lower and lower, yet every single place requires some sort of identification that could and may blow the cover of this fugitive. Corporate policies are insane. It is insane! Can’t I just pay with only cash? If he confronts them, won’t he look suspicious though? The sign “Credit card required” destroys his dreams, one by one, each place has one. It’s not just destroying his dream—it’s setting it on gasoline and then throwing a lighter down afterwards. And it’s not just a few drops of gasoline, no, that’s child’s play—it’s a trail of gasoline, gallons of gasoline all gathered into one place and setting them on fire. Where can he go? Where?! Stealing a car? No, that’s not what you call humanity.

A humanity is kindness, you don’t do anything evil. Oujiro, as a Buddhism follower, believes in karma. If he steals a car, the karma will come and he will get in trouble! Then he will get his cover blown! He stares at the hotel in front of him, watches a family with two kids get inside the hotel happily, smiling. That is another lifetime for Oujiro. How will he ever obtain that? Never. It can be answered in a single word - never. Definitely not in the near future. If he ever clears his name, maybe he will finally get the life he deserves.

Riki: “Alright, I have made up my mind.”

What exactly? How exactly? We’ll see. As a man good in freestyling and negotiation, Riki Maehara never disappoints… well, sometimes. If his negotiation goes well, he’ll get the hotel room he needs. If it doesn’t go well, who knows what fate will have to offer him. Maybe he had to walk off to a new hotel, maybe the clerk would question him.

He walks into the hotel, trying to regain composure, meanwhile panicking and full of anxiety inside. He controls the voices as much as he could as he slowly walks to the main table. Each step and each second felt like a century. The suspense feels like forever. All of the anxiety could burst out anytime soon, Oujiro can feel it.

The Niigata Ocean Hotel is appraised by critics and its users. The name makes sense, it’s self-explanatory, Niigata Ocean Hotel is close to the ocean. If the balcony is facing the correct side, you’ll see the view of the sea. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Watching the sunset and sunrise is a moment you’ll get to cherish for the rest of your life, truly a once-in-a-lifetime moment. But there’s no time to think about that here!

The air smells like luxury, the stark contrast from the cold, salty, air outside hits his nose and through his body, making him lightheaded for a moment.

Clerk: “Hey, are you okay?”

Riki: “Ah, yeah, I just haven’t gotten sleep for a long time.”

He forced a half-smile out of his mouth, he had to look like someone who had just done an all-nighter and is desperate of somewhere safe to sleep. That’s how he wanted to negotiate. It should be quick, lacking arguments, and friendly. Can’t have this deal turn the tables upside down. This place is truly a wish come true—luxury that feels like heaven itself, this place is as if a place where money is screaming for help, begging for its life. Riki Maehara, someone with head full of ghosts, doesn’t belong here. But he needed somewhere quiet and safe and clean, somewhere that felt like home once again. Maybe he’s being too selfish, but he’s not really asking much here.

The air smelled like lemongrass and money. A smell he had not felt for a long, long time. A beautiful, pretty, young woman stood at the mahogany counter. Riki finally approached the counter, sneakers silent on the marble floors, but his legs were shaking like it’s about to conduct a symphony.

Clerk: “Good evening, how may I help you?”

That voice, the voice of a woman who’s composed, calm, professional, prepared. Everything that Riki plus Oujiro does not have. “Freestyle”, “freestyle!”, “you can do it!”. The voices ring inside his head. He has to freestyle, like how he tells Subaru that the essay due this Tuesday he hasn’t done is already finished. He can’t just stay frozen there like a snowman waiting to be crumpled, he has to act! So he leaned an elbow onto the counter, casually.

Riki: “Evening. Alright, hear me out. My situation is quite bizarre, and it is not what you would expect from your usual clientele.”

Hope she doesn’t see him visually shaking and sweating at the temples! Cold sweat, hot sweat, who knows. Hope she is kind enough to hear this unusual traveller out!

“My luggage got sent off to the wrong city. Long story short, it involves a distracted porter and a very fast Shinkansen. The luggage had almost everything. I can handle the luggage situation myself, but for you, I have a favor to ask. All I’ve got is what you can see, if you’re not blind. A backpack, a wallet. My credit card is in that luggage.”

Was that too long? Did he explain too much? Did I became Eminem with that execution? Would she think I’m reading an essay to her face? The clerk’s smile didn’t falter, but Riki could notice his forced smile might be faltering. Does she believe me? No way, DO I HAVE TO CHANGE TACTICS?!

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a confidential murmur.

“Between you and me, my company’s footing the bill for a full week starting tomorrow. But I just got off the worst red-eye from Hiroshima. I can’t face a business hotel this night. I had to relax somewhere quiet, somewhere where it feels genuine. A bed that I can sleep on without worries. I know it’s unusual for someone to pay with cash only. That’s like something you do back in the ancient old lad days. But it’s needed, until my corporate card gets unfrozen…”

He left the sentence and that potentially lengthy excuse hang in the air, freezing and strolling around the heads of the clerk and Oujiro. It was a hurricane of lies, but he thinks he sold it with the tired and exhausting face of a businessman who’d had a very long day. The clerk’s polished demeanor cracked—but just a few strands of hair.

Clerk: “Sir, we typically require a card for incidentals…”

“I understand completely.”, Riki nodded, trying to inject some gratitude into the air and into her. “And I truly appreciate you working with me. It’s just one night. I won’t even touch the minibar. Scout’s honor”. A slight chuckle was forced out of his lips, he couldn’t tell if it was rough or not. He had never even been a scout before!

He could see the calculations through her eyes. Whether it’s the iris, pupils, or corneas, or what. He doesn’t even know anymore, but it’s there. He could tell what she was probably thinking. She could see the crumpled notes of Yen on the counter. “Turning away a paying customer?”, “Over a technicality?”, “For one night?”. The cash placed on the table is real and authentic. The rest… not her problem. And then, she sighed quietly, a barely audible sound of surrender.

“Very well sir, just for tonight.”

Riki: “Thanks, you’re truly a lifesaver.”

By “lifesaver”, he truly means it. He finally got a place where he could spend a personal time, not as Riki Maehara, but as the college student Oujiro Yagi. Although the amount of money he spend is a devastating amount of money, he debated whether it’s truly worth it or not. 25000 Yen is A MASSIVE amount of money. He only has 50,000 Yen, meaning he spend half of a money just for a single night of… sleep? Then, she handed him the keycard to the room. Its weight absurdly light for what could have coated him.

Clerk: “Room 814. Enjoy your stay, Mr…?”

Riki: “Maehara. Riki Maehara.”

He said smoothly, but he himself is unsure if that is truly smooth from the anxiety still remaining in his heart. When he finishes the deal, he walks to the right of the counter to the elevator leading up to the floor of Room 814 - the 5th floor. This hotel has eight floors in total. The guilt is immediate, his persona cracking away each step, but that persona that almost dissipated came back once again when he saw a picture on the wall. It was a picture of the clerk next to a taller, male, police officer wearing countless badges.

Riki: “Uh, excuse me, may I ask but who is the person next to you in this picture?”

The clerk turned around, her persona not shifting at all. “Oh, that’s my dad. His name is Lucian Hale. He’s a former police sergeant.”

Former… police… sergeant?! Will he caught me? No, he’s just a former! He’s probably not related to the manhunt of Oujiro or anything. How can he be when he’s a former? Maybe he’s investigating this case on his own but couldn't find any clues or leads. My cover will not be blown just because of a painting! Here comes his overthinking again…

Hope he doesn't have anything to do with this! That will be the best outcome to ever happen. God needs to have mercy on me, I didn’t do anything wrong! Hey, wait, don’t panic! It’s just you overthinking, why are you stressing so much over a picture of a former police sergeant?

Riki: “May I know your name?”

Clerk: “My name is Avelyn Hale. Even though my name is foreign, I’m still a Japanese.”

Riki: “Ah, thanks for the information. I’ll be going to my room now. Thanks for the service.”

Riki steps into the elevator and the door closes. It enclosed him in a silent, mirrored luxury. So much anxiety there that he almost felt the urge to cry. Come on, you’re almost an adult and you cry to this stuff? Pathetic. Was it? He has no right to debate this himself, all he needed to do now is take a rest in his own room or maybe uncover the truth.

He walks towards his room, a wooden door that has a texture of pure luxury. The door to the room shut with a hushed, weighty sound, sealing him off from the world. He inserts the keycard into the holder and the lights turn on. Riki Maehara just stood there, his back against the cool, polished wood and breathed.

The air was different here. It was cool, clean, and carried a faint, elegant scent of sandalwood and linen, so unlike the stale, instant-noodle haze of his dorm room. Silence—not the anxious silence of hiding, but a deep, expensive, and utterly profound quiet. The room in front of him unfolded like a painting—like a Mona Lisa painting, like a painting so good it redefined the definition of a “good” painting.

A wall of glass offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of Niigata’s landscape, the beach, and the ocean. Even at night, the scenery looks like something from a dream you get before an alarm wakes you up to reality. The city glittered like a spilled chest of black diamonds, its lights blending into the dark, endless expanse of the Sea of Japan. He felt like he was floating above it all, untouchable. Beneath his feet, a plush, ivory-colored carpet so thick it swallowed the sound of his footsteps. He slipped off his worn sneakers, almost instinctively, feeling the impossibly soft fibers against his socks. The centerpiece was a king-size bed, so wide it seems to be its own continent. It was dressed in stark, white linens, pressed to a razor’s edge, with a cascade of pillows in varying shades of grey and silver. It looked less like a place to sleep, but more like a well-built sculpture.

To the side, a low-slung, charcoal grey sofa sat facing the window, accompanied by a minimalist table of polished dark wood. A sleek, remote control sat on it., likely for the enormous, frameless television that looked more like a piece of art hanging on the wall. Everything was bathed in the soft, warm glow of recessed lighting, which he realized he could dim with a subtle slider next to the door. There were no harsh shadows, only a serene, golden ambience. Heventured further, his fingers tracing over the cool marble of a console table. He found the bathroom.

It was a temple of steam and light. Walls and floors of veined, cream-colored marble gleamed under perfect lighting. A deep, free-standing soaking tub big enough for two stood next to a glass-walled rainforest shower with not one, but two showerheads. A stack of plush, oversized towels sat on a warmed rack, and the amenities were arranged like artifacts in a museum—small, porcelain jars of shampoo, conditioner, and lotion, a sewing kit, a shower cap, all pristine and untouched.

On the kitchen desk, a state-of-the-art espresso machine sat beside a selection of capsules. A minibar, a sleek chrome unit, was stocked with tiny, expensive bottles of liquor and artisanal snacks he’d never heard of. This wasn’t a room, it was an experience. It was a perfect, silent, climate-controlled bubble of isolation. For a few precious hours, the rot, the splintered wood, the crushing fear—it was all on the other side of the door. The sheer, absurd luxuryof it was a physical blow. He stood in the center of the carpet, a boy with a crushed SIM card in his pocket and a bounty above his head, in a room that cost more per night than his monthly food budget.

He has until 11 a.m. tomorrow and then he has to check out and move on to a different place, to somewhere. This hotel and this room are only a temporary solution. Nothing is ever permanent, so he has to value it the most. He sat on the king-sized bed, opened his backpack, and laid out blueprints of the Akikaze. He locks the door, he engaged on the “Do Not Disturb” sign. He’d pored over them a thousand times before, but always with the eyes of a son looking for his father’s genius. Now, he looked with the eye of a fugitive looking for a lie. And he found it.

It wasn’t a giant, glaring error. It was subtle. A ghost in the machine. His father’s precise, familiar handwriting detailed a change order for a structure support beam in the Akikaze’s lower hull. The specified alloy was switched from a proven, marine-grade Titanium Cromoly 78 to a new, proprietary composite labeled Neptune-AlloyX. His blood ran cold, it was the material patented by a subsidiary at Neptune Lines. He cross-referenced it with the stress tests he had run a thousand times on his laptop. His fingers, suddenly clumsy, pulled up the data on his laptop. He input the properties of Neptune-AlloyX, his heart hammering against his ribs. The simulation ran, his laptop fan spun faster than usual. Lines of stress, once comfortably within the green zone, now spiderwebbed into a catastrophic red. The hull would fail, exactly as it had.

This was no calculation error, this was a deliberate substitution. A weakening of a critical point. His father, the man who checks his math twice and kissed his mother goodbye every morning, had signed off on a known point of failure. But—how? The questions as a scream inside his skull. How could his father, the brilliant engineer who taught him that integrity was the foundation of any great structure, do this? The images flooded to him. His father at his desk, late at night, the lamplight catching the grey in his hair as he frowned at the schematics. The way he’d sometimes get a distant look, a weight on his shoulders Oujiro was too young to understand. The forced smile during dinner, “The company is pushing for new cost-saving measures. A fellow colleague is also helping me find flaws in the ship too. Innovation, they call it.”

Innovation, was that the word for it? The revelation about the alloy was a body blow, but Oujiro’s mind, trained in systems and structures, refused to stop there. If there was one point of failure, there could be others. His dad has taught him that when he was young. A ship like Akikaze didn’t sink from a single flaw—it must have died from a cascade of them! His fingers, now moving with a desperate and frantic energy, shuffled through the blueprints. He ignored the grand sweeping plans of the the ballrooms and promenades. He went for the guts of the ship - the engine room, the electrical grids, the bilge pumps. And then he found it, the boiler room schematics.

His father’s notes were all over them. At first glance, they look like his usual meticulous adjustments—margins filled with calculations, arrows pointing to reinforced joints, pressure differential equations scribbled in the corners. But just then, Oujiro saw a pattern. A pattern that was unlike others. The specified pressure release valves were rated for a maximum of 2150 kPa. That was a standard, and safe limit. But his father’s own handwritten notes, in that same unwavering script, has increased the operational pressure of the primary boiler system to 2300 kPa. Only these two words can describe that minor shift—death sentence, that shift was a death sentence. The valves would be constantly straining, perpetually on the verge of failure. Under normal conditions, they might hold. But in a crisis? In a sudden stress event, like a hull breach of a violent maneuver? They would not just fail; they would catastrophically rupture.

Oujiro’s breath hitched, he ran the calculations in his head, the numbers flashing behind his eyes like warning sirens. It was undeniable. This wasn’t an oversight. An engineer of Mahiro Yagi’s caliber would never make this error. It was as fundamental as a mathematician forgetting that two plus two equals four. This was intentional. The pieces snapped together with a soundless, psychic thunderclap. Hey were synergistic. They were designed to work in concert. The weakened hull plate fails, allowing a current of cold seawater to rush in. The incoming water, shocking the over-stressed boilers, causes a massive thermal contraction. The pressure valves, already operating far beyond their safe limit, finally gave way. He resulting steam explosion wouldn’t just flood the ship; it would tear it apart from the inside out.

It was perfect engineering kill switch. A guarantee Akikaze wouldn’t just sink—it would be utterly obliterated, leaving minimal evidence behind. He truth was no longer that his father made a mistake. He truth was that his father designed the murder weapon. The question screaming inside Oujiro’s mind no wasn’t “How could he make a mistake?!” It was - “Who made him do this?”

Was it blackmail? A threat against his family? Against Oujiro himself? Was my father not a fallen hero… but a coerced demolitions expert, forced to plant the charges on his own masterpiece? The luxurious hotel room suddenly felt like a tomb. The silence, and the air conditional cold wind, wasn’t peaceful; it was the silence of a deep, abyssal grave. Oujiro wasn’t just looking at blueprints, he was staring into the eyes of the monster that killed his father, and he was seeing his father’s hand, forced to build it.

He stopped the investigation, realizing it was already 11 p.m, knew he had to go to sleep or else his mind will possibly not recover if he does an all-nighter. It will be a sleep laced with irony, peaceful in a 5-star luxurious hotel room, yet filled with pain from his discovery on the flaws of the Akikaze sinking. It’s up to tomorrow on how he’s gonna do it.

The truth will always be a painful truth, but the truth needs to be discovered.

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