Chapter 33: Inertia

Ten minutes later, the officer in the gray uniform led Yuki to the data center on the 22nd floor.

In the dead of night, this unexpected visit made the duty administrator of the computer room particularly wary. He spent quite a while talking with the officer before begrudgingly retrieving two sets of disposable head and shoe covers from the cabinet and handing them over. It was clear he’d have rather refused outright.

But the new officer’s authority was too high for that, and all the administrator could do was nod in reluctant acquiescence.

He had originally wanted to accompany them inside to see what business the officer could possibly have with a young man wearing a “visitor” badge at such a late hour. Yet even this was declined by the officer.

“As long as there’s a bus line out, it doesn’t matter which disk the data is on.”

Yuki crouched down and began searching through the bundled cables on the floor.

He was slowly growing accustomed to the bizarre, kaleidoscopic world that appeared before his eyes after setting up the “doorway.” Once he’d adapted, even the ache in his eyes had dulled. Rivers of shining data streamed everywhere, weaving a net hidden within the walls, through conduits, in the disks, even in the very air—constructing an entirely different world, as if reality itself had suddenly gained a new dimension.

He could only wonder how much of his SAN value he’d lost by now.

The officer, having followed him in, found a spot where the cables were less dense and stood there, merely watching Yuki search without any intention of intervening. This hands-off approach made the pressure on Yuki even greater, spurring him to search more diligently for the dedicated line connecting the police data center and the research institute’s data center. Within three minutes, he found it.

“Sir, I’m ready.”

Yuki stepped out from the tangle of network and power cables, returning to the officer’s side.

The officer, who was about the same height as Yuki, raised his hand and patted Yuki’s shoulder. There was a trace of helplessness in his gaze, but also a glimmer of satisfaction.

“By the way, the first time we met, you seemed to recognize me, didn’t you?”

“Yes… Captain.”

Trusting in Tsuburaya’s casting choices, Yuki was confident—whether this officer was that “Captain” or the other “Captain,” calling him “Captain” was never wrong.

Because he recognized who stood before him, Yuki understood all the more clearly that what he could do was severely limited.

There could be many objective reasons for this, but the most crucial was the inertia of the Taiga script itself—simply put, whenever a predecessor makes a guest appearance, their power must be restrained and their title sealed. Otherwise, the story’s logic would collapse.

If it weren’t so, he’d have every reason to grab the officer by the collar and demand why he simply watched the Sanderias mother and child be killed, why he let Tregear run amok, why he didn’t save the little one.

Any screenwriter willing could wave their hand and conjure up a hundred reasons why the officer couldn’t intervene. Roll a 1D100 and pick any reason; any one would leave you speechless.

So, is there a way to lift this restriction?

There is! It lies in what the officer just said: “As for the rest, you needn’t worry.” The so-called “rest” are those things beyond human effort.

When people have done everything in their power and still cannot resolve the crisis before them, the inertia of the script will offer a fitting reason to lift the original restrictions. Simply put, in the world of Ultraman, when faced with a crisis that seems impossible to stop or avoid, humanity only needs to do everything within their power. If that still isn’t enough, then it’s time for Ultraman’s deus ex machina to intervene.

Sometimes, “humanity” can mean just one person. Even if all others have given up, as long as one person rises to fight, the plot-triggering “divine intervention” can still occur.

At this moment, Yuki can only act as a human, doing his utmost to “rise and fight.” Perhaps his actions could truly bring about a positive change in the looming crisis, or perhaps…

He would become the prerequisite for lifting the divine restriction.

“To be honest, I didn’t recognize you, but I did recognize Captain Hazuki.”

After all, in this timeline, at this precise moment, the gift sent by GUYS to Mebius, after a long interstellar journey, had finally arrived in the Land of Light.

Three million light years away—even with GUYS’ black technology, it would have taken thousands of years, if not longer.

Humanity, if it were merely human, could never endure such ages.

“Then there’s only one possibility.”

Yuki clenched his right fist, raised his arm to his left chest, and saluted solemnly.

“Then, I’m heading out. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The surprise in the officer’s eyes faded, replaced by a serious nod of affirmation.

At the same moment, behind the young man, a black fissure abruptly split the air. Instantly, the gap widened, stretching into a circular opening. Dark red lines overlaid the black circle, sketching an intricate magic array.

The young man’s figure broke apart into a cascade of silver-white particles, which streamed into the seemingly two-dimensional darkness. Judging by their trajectory, it looked less like he entered willingly and more as if he was being drawn in by the darkness itself.

When the last silver particle vanished into the gloom, the magic circle closed and disappeared without a trace.

“…Safe travels,” the officer murmured.

……

……

The administrator, seeing that two people had entered but only the officer had returned, assumed the “visitor” was still in the computer room. He went inside for a look but found the small room completely empty.

Huh? Could he have missed something? Was it really two people who’d left just now?

He yawned, finding his own guess increasingly convincing, and headed to the break room for another cup of coffee to wake himself up.

……

……

The officer returned to his office and walked to the southern window. From there, his downcast gaze took in the scattered lights below.

He exhaled heavily, pressing his hand against the cold glass. Fingers spread, palm flat, a faint glimmer ran from the cuff of his right sleeve. Before his palm, a one-meter-wide band of light, inscribed with twisted runes, materialized. As if immaterial, it slipped effortlessly through the glass and floated skyward like a kite.

The band of light kept extending, growing over twenty meters before it finally broke off. It drifted upward a bit more, then disappeared into the clouds, lost from sight.

“…I’ve never sent a signature with so much content—it’s practically an essay,” he muttered, rubbing his brow in exhaustion.

Sitting back at his desk, he gripped his right wrist, speaking as if to the air—or perhaps only to himself.

“…Is this really all right? You made quite the boast just now, Zoffy.”