A shriek tore through the hallway outside.
The teacher, Mr. Yoshida, went to check. He opened the door, looked out, and froze. His skin turned the color of old ash.
"Everyone stay in your seats," he said, his voice shaking. He slammed the door shut and locked it. His hands fumbled with the latch.
"What's going on?" a student asked from the back row.
Mr. Yoshida didn't answer. He backed away from the door as something heavy slammed against it from the other side.
THUD. THUD. SCRATCH.
The banging got louder. It was insistent. Mr. Yoshida's hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. His thumbs slipped over the screen as he dialed emergency services. He pressed it to his ear, waited a breathless moment, and then lowered the phone slowly.
"The line's busy," he whispered, more to himself than to the class.
Zenjiro's training kicked in automatically. His brain shifted into a mode that felt alien in a classroom setting.
Compromised entry point. Unknown hostile. Civilian environment. No weapons. No backup.
All the scenarios he had failed in simulation were suddenly very, very real.
Panic rippled through the classroom. Whispers turned into urgent, high-pitched conversations. A student near the window stood up.
"Mr. Yoshida, who's the maniac slamming that door?" someone asked.
None of them realized they were in actual danger. Some gave Mr. Yoshida a cynical look. They remembered the last time he'd staged a fake gas leak with smoke bombs to test their readiness. Half the class had panicked, and the other half had filmed it for social media. He'd gotten a formal reprimand but kept his job. They all thought this was just another prank.
But Zenjiro could see the teacher's eyes. The fear was primal.
"Sit down!" Mr. Yoshida snapped, but his authority was crumbling. "I need to check with the principal. Nobody leaves this room. Understand?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He unlocked the back door, slipped out into the hallway, and locked it behind him. They heard his footsteps running down the corridor and fading into the distance. Then there was nothing.
For thirty seconds, there was silence except for the collective breathing of twenty students and the distant, rising sound of sirens outside.
"Did he just leave us?" someone muttered.
Zenjiro glanced at Miraza. She was gripping her desk so hard her knuckles had turned white. He wanted to say something reassuring, but the words stuck in his throat.
That was when Daichi stood up.
Daichi Mori. Built like a tank, with an ego twice as big. Being held back a year made him nineteen and the oldest guy in the class, a fact he used to act like he owned the school. He had a linebacker build and a permanent sneer. He was the kind of guy who peaked in high school and would spend the rest of his life talking about it.
He had his two friends with him as always. Kenji and Masa were his personal entourage of mediocrity.
"Well, isn't this cozy," Daichi said. He stretched his arms above his head. His eyes landed on Miraza, who sat two rows ahead of Zenjiro. "Hey, Miraza. Since we might die today, how about you finally give me your number?"
She didn't even look at him. "Not interested."
"Aw, don't be like that. I'm just being friendly."
"Leave me alone!"
He reached out and grabbed a strand of her hair to twirl it between his fingers. "Oh, come on. You're always such a stuck-up..."
Zenjiro was on his feet before he realized what he was doing.
"She said no," Zenjiro said.
The words were out before he could stop them. Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward him. Daichi's sneer widened.
"What did you just say, Hajidan?"
Zenjiro's heart was hammering against his ribs, but he kept his voice steady. "I said back off. She told you to leave her alone."
Kenji started laughing. Beside him, Masa slapped his knee like Zenjiro had just told the funniest joke in the world.
"Oh man, this is rich," Masa wheezed. "I heard a rumor that You're a member of the shadow cranes?"
Zenjiro's jaw clenched. Everyone at school knew about the Shadow Cranes. At least they knew the cover story of it being an Elite Youth Leadership Organization. He was sure they didn't know that he's a member. They didn't know about the midnight training sessions, the weapons drills, or the classified briefings.
"Shadow Cranes?" Daichi mocked. He pushed off from Miraza's desk to face him. "What are you gonna do, Zenjiro Hajidan? I heard you failed your last three evaluations. Can't even handle a training dummy without getting your ass kicked."
"How..." Zenjiro's voice was barely a whisper. "That a lie!"
"My brother works there. Second in command," Daichi said. He stepped closer. "He keeps tabs on all you little wannabes. He tells us every failure, every screw-up. Every time you embarrass the organization, it all gets documented."
Zenjiro's stomach dropped. The Shadow Cranes were supposed to be compartmentalized. Information should have been siloed. But if a senior officer was leaking training records to their civilian family just for laughs, then everything was compromised.
Daichi saw the class snickering and raised his voice. "He told me how you froze during the hostage scenario. How you couldn't even neutralize a single threat in the urban warfare simulation. Said you were so bad, they're considering whether to quietly discharge you or use you as an example of what not to do."
Daichi loomed over him. "So what makes you think you can stand up to me? You can't even handle foam weapons. What are you going to do against real people?"
Zenjiro didn't answer. He couldn't. The classification protocols were burned into his brain, even as shame burned in his cheeks.
"Hajidan," Masa mocked, his smile sharp. "How did you even get recruited?" Masa turned to Daichi. "I guess your brother might be referring to another loser that bears his name. There's no possible way someone like him would be recruited as a Shadow Crane fighter."
The whole class mumbled and nodded in agreement.
Before Zenjiro could respond, his pocket buzzed against his leg.
He pulled out his phone with trembling hands. The screen showed a single message from an unknown number.
SIGMA PROTOCOL ACTIVE. ALL SHADOW CRANE UNITS REPORT TO RALLY POINT GAMMA. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Below it was a map pin. Rally Point Gamma was the underground bunker beneath the Civic Center, which was three kilometers away through the chaos outside.
The thought sent ice through his veins, but he didn't have time to process it.
"Just leave her alone," Zenjiro said. He stepped in front of Miraza to shield her.
Daichi's smile disappeared. "You know what? I'm tired of your mouth."
He moved faster than Zenjiro expected. His fist came at Zenjiro's face like a hammer.
But Zenjiro had seen this punch a hundred times in training. His body reacted on instinct, muscle memory taking over where his confidence failed. He slipped to the left so Daichi's knuckles grazed past his ear. Before the bully could recover, Zenjiro drove his fist into Daichi's solar plexus.
Daichi's eyes went wide. He staggered back, wheezing, unable to draw breath.
For one beautiful second, Zenjiro thought he'd actually won.
Then Kenji grabbed him from behind in a rear chokehold. It was sloppy but effective with his weight advantage. Masa came from the side with a haymaker.
Zenjiro dropped his weight to make himself heavy in Kenji's arms, then drove his heel down onto his instep. Kenji yelped and his grip loosened. Zenjiro twisted free just as Masa's punch came in. He caught Masa with an elbow strike to the ribs that made him grunt.
But there were three of them. Four, once Daichi caught his breath.
Masa grabbed Zenjiro's arm and wrenched it behind his back. Pain shot through his shoulder. Kenji, red-faced and furious, stormed forward.
"You little..."
Kenji's fist slammed into Zenjiro's face.
His vision exploded into white stars. Then another punch. And another. He tasted copper. He felt blood trickling from his nose.
He had failed again. Just like training. Just like always.
"Daichi, stop!" Miraza's voice sounded distant and muffled. "You're going to kill him!"
"Good!" Daichi snarled, his breath returning. He grabbed Zenjiro by the collar while Masa still held his arm. "I'm so sick of you pretending to be some kind of operator. You're nothing, Hajidan. Everyone at the Shadow Cranes knows it. You've always been nothing."
Daichi raised his fist for a finishing blow.
That was when the fire alarm went off.
The blaring noise shattered the moment. Daichi dropped him, and Zenjiro collapsed to his knees, gasping. Blood dripped from his nose onto the linoleum floor.
"What the hell?" Masa looked around, confused.
The intercom crackled to life. The principal's voice came through, but it was panicked, breaking up with static.
"...all students and staff... evacuate immediately... this is not a drill... I repeat, this is NOT A..."
The transmission cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a horrible screeching sound that made everyone clap their hands over their ears.
Then the lights died.
Emergency lighting kicked in a second later to bathe the classroom in a dim, blood-red glow.
Someone near the windows screamed. "Oh my gosh! Look outside!"
Zenjiro dragged himself to his feet, his ribs screaming in protest. He looked out.
Black smoke was rising from multiple points across Jonakvi City. In the distance, he could see flames licking at the skyline. And people looked like tiny figures from this height, running through the streets and twitching and jerking like broken puppets.
Sigma Protocol, Zenjiro thought, a cold dread settling in his stomach. It's actually happening.
"What... what is that?" Kenji whispered. His bravado had completely evaporated. He stood by the window, his face pale in the red light, his earlier anger forgotten.
The door to the classroom rattled again.
This wasn't a knock. It was a violent, aggressive pounding.
CRACK.
The wood splintered near the lock. Something was coming in.