The b was silent, save for the hum of monitors.

  Multiple screens flickered in front of Kuroda, each one repying the same battle from different angles.

  His gaze remained fixed on the footage—the raw brutality, the desperate struggle, the sheer devastation.

  Tenzan had done exactly what he was designed to do.

  The test was a success.

  ?

  Kuroda leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him as he analyzed the data.

  His experiment had pushed them to the brink.

  Their strongest techniques, their best efforts—none of it had been enough to truly put Tenzan downuntil the very st second.

  That final blow had been interesting, unexpected even, but still within the realm of acceptable outcomes.

  “They were backed into a corner,” he mused aloud. “And desperation breeds innovation.”

  A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips.

  He had seen everything he needed to see.

  Their limits, their adaptations, their breaking points.

  This was all just another step in his grand design.

  He exhaled, fingers tapping idly against the desk.

  “I think I’m prepared now.”

  ?

  Then, his eyes drifted across the room.

  The once-bustling secondary center of the Musabori was eerily empty.

  The seats that had been filled with his subordinates—his pawns—were vacant now.

  Silent.

  Gone.

  Kuroda stilled, the absence settling over him like a fleeting thought.

  He allowed himself a moment, just a second, to take it in.

  Then, he scoffed.

  “Right… I almost forgot.”

  He reached for the communicator at his desk, pressing a button.

  The line clicked, and after a brief pause, a voice answered.

  “It’s time,” Kuroda said simply.

  A small pause.

  Then, his smirk widened.

  “Chizuru… it is time.”

  The call ended.

  The air in the b remained still, charged with an unspoken weight.

  The pieces were in pce.

  The next phase was about to begin.

  And this time—

  there would be no failures.