107 Lord's Regiment 19 Research Facility 2

Our Lartel ground forces are heading toward the research facility built on an asteroid, aboard an assault ship.

Ram the bow into the inner bulkhead at the harbor’s far end, sealing the gap instantly with a quick-setting filler.

Inject air through the intake at the bow, raising the internal pressure.

If any seal is breached, the pressure should drop.

Confirm pressure, open the bow hatch, and our Lartel ground forces surge inside.

Everyone’s in full pilot suits with helmets—space gear, all of it.

Double-check for air-tight integrity and the presence of toxic or hazardous substances.

Clear. Remove helmets and stow them in the storage compartment on top of the backpacks.

Submachine guns in hand.

Once we’ve confirmed the corridor’s safety, we secure one bridgehead after another.

No resistance so far, but we’re acting as if there is.

Complacency kills. You can kill a man with your bare hands, even without a weapon.

“Don’t move!”

A researcher lunges into view. No weapons.

Their face twists in terror when they see us.

They’re staring at the unit insignia.

“L-Larthal!”

The researcher collapses.

Our ferocity is legendary across the Empire. Especially our hand-to-hand combat—supposedly terrifying.

Hearing that name, the other researchers raise their hands in unison.

All trembling.

Is Larthal really that scary?

Whatever. Easy to subdue. No point dwelling on it.

“Where’s the director, Gail?”

“S-Sir, the director’s office…”

The researcher points.

I hand the detainment to a subordinate and head toward the office.

The door to the director’s office was locked—by Akira-sama’s neural override of the research facility’s systems.

Probably so he doesn’t make a run for it.

The lock disengages automatically.

Likely they’ve already confirmed our arrival and got there first.

Open the director’s door about ten centimeters.

Send in a reconnaissance drone through the gap.

Project a virtual screen from my wristband—watch the feed.

“Got him. No weapons. Breach the door at zero count. Five… four… three… two… one… breach!”

Immediately after breach, I open fire with a submachine gun overhead, aiming at the figure I assume is the director.

Just a scare tactic—stop their movement.

The director flinches, clutching his head, collapsing to the floor.

In that moment, I close the distance and secure him.

A decent defense system, I suppose—but Akira-sama’s already hacked the neural net. It’s useless now.

“Director secured!”

After checking every room, the facility is fully under control.

Twenty-five researchers, including Director Gail, taken as prisoners.

No confirmed cases of Earth-born abduction victims.

Twenty clones confirmed: eight Keiths, seven Emas, five Shoumas.

Shouma is a clone of Shouma Suzuki, the fourth-generation champion of SFO4.

Five Emas and five Shoumas were in cryo-tanks.

All Keiths have fully matured—old men, even. Two Emas match their originals' physical age.

But their personality copies are incomplete. Still, they’re clearly four years old inside.

Well, at least we confirmed they’re clones…

********************************************************************************

I, Akira, landed on the asteroid research facility, now under control of the Lateral Land Forces.

First thing I need to know.

I gather the researchers into the main hall and start asking questions.

“Where’s the actual human SF Champion?”

The researchers exchange glances. A single woman draws all eyes.

She sighs, shoulders slumping in a ‘well, here we go’ kind of gesture, then speaks.

“Never met the real person. Just got a DNA sample passed around.

We’ve been studying it—nothing more. The actual person hasn’t set foot here, not once.”

Seems like she’s second only to the director when it comes to knowing the ins and outs.

“So, can we stop the clone’s growth in the culture tanks?”

“Easily. Why’d you ask?”

“Kids don’t just… grow on command.”

“Oh? Got it. Should I get started right away?”

I nod. She eyes me with something between amusement and skepticism, then barks orders at a few researchers.

The researchers stand. The Lateral Land soldiers fall in behind them.

"Can a clone that's already left the growth tank be reverted back to a child?"

She pauses, eyes locked onto mine, then speaks.

"Technically, it's not impossible. But even here at this lab, it'd take time—preparation, then actual work."

"If it's possible, then bring back the two Keis and the two Emas we've secured."

"Wait—wasn't it three Emas?"

"One died."

Her face twists with sorrow.

Then anger flashes across it.

"That's why I said it was too early..."

She's regretting she couldn't stop it.

This could work in our favor.

"What's your name?"

"Alison Skor Heely."

"Alison. Did you become a researcher because you wanted to do something like this?"

"No. I never had the chance to say it until now. Most of us were kidnapped and brought here."

"What?!"

I reach out to Aya through the wristband and Personal Ship, initiating dimensional communication.

‘Ayame, look up information on Allison Skoll Heely.’

‘Understood. Allison Skoll Heely, daughter of the Heely earldom, geneticist. Disappeared five years ago.’

‘Disappeared, huh?’

‘Yes. Suspected abduction, but no ransom demand—just vanished into the labyrinth.’

What the hell. Even the researchers for this illegal organization were gathered illegally.

‘Allison, I’ve confirmed your disappearance. Most of the other researchers were taken too, right?’

‘Almost all of them. Only Gail and his cronies were different.’

‘Got it. Isolate those two. Tell me how.’

Following Allison’s instructions, I separate the members of the illegal organization (accomplices) from the rest.

Well now. What the hell do I do with them?

"Allison, the activities conducted at this research facility were illegal.

Even if you were coerced, you’re still facing judgment.

But if you cooperate going forward—especially for the children—I’ll make sure you’re granted amnesty."

"Yes, we’ll cooperate. Everyone else agrees. We’ve all had enough of their methods."

All the researchers pledge their cooperation. They seem genuinely passionate about meaningful, constructive work.

"Can we introduce subtle differences into the clones? I’d like to raise them as distinct individuals with separate personalities."

"I think we can achieve that through genetic manipulation. Let’s try it."

"Please."

I bow my head. Allison’s expression shifts—first surprise, then resolve—as she looks at me, pleading.

"And… don’t contact my family yet."

"Why not?"

"If they find out, they’ll drag the kids back. Then there’ll be no chance to make amends."

Allison smiles brightly.

"Got it. I don’t know Lord Heely, but I’ll take the blame."

"Thanks."

"Kid, from the Larter Unit—compile the researcher list, contact Ai, verify identities."

"I’m heading to the director’s interrogation. Captain, come with me."

"Understood."

Now, on to Director Gail.

We’ll get the truth out of him—just like pulling teeth.

Thanks for the read, the likes, the bookmarks.

Means a lot. Keeps me writing.