In late January, the afternoon brought a rare silence to Harimori City. 　When Seiichiro Togo was organizing documents at his office desk, the monitor displayed an alert. A visitor to the third floor of the Second Harimori Building. A man in a suit stood at the entrance. 　Togo immediately enlarged the image. Dark brown short hair. The back of his head slightly faded, a cool style. Sharp gray eyes. A small metal ear cuff on his left ear. Light stubble across his jaw. He was likely over 180 centimeters tall. 　——Shota Yazaki. 　Twelve years had not taken much from that man's face. If anything, his coldness seemed even more refined. Togo opened the door without a word. "It's been a while, Togo." 　Yazaki's voice held no emotion. The same calculated tone as their days in Zero Squad. The two faced each other across the desk. Togo switched off the monitor and fixed his gaze on Yazaki. "What brings you here?" 　Yazaki sat down. His movements were economical. The posture of a Zero Squad veteran—always maintaining a state of alert. He withdrew a single document from his suit pocket. "A job offer. 3.5 million yen per month. Duration: one month." 　Togo's eyes fell to the document. The letters "Fukuyama Construction Corporation" jumped into his vision. 　(Fukuyama.) 　His pulse faltered for an instant. Togo concealed it and continued reading. Personal security for Ikuo Fukuyama, acting chairman. Compensation at more than triple the usual rate—an extraordinary offer. The acting chairman of Fukuyama Construction—in other words, the de facto operator. 　He recalled the desert twelve years ago. The Iron Sand Operation. A Japanese man in a suit. Mid-forties. Cold, piercing eyes. That man's name was—— "What kind of person is this acting chairman?" 　Yazaki's expression shifted slightly. Only for an instant. But Togo did not miss it. "The founder's son. Currently the de facto operator. Calm and capable. However, he has many enemies. That's why personal security became necessary." "Do you know a man named 'Fukuyama' who was in the Middle East twelve years ago?" 　Yazaki's eyes gleamed darkly for a moment. No—they did not gleam. They closed. As if concealing something in their depths. "I don't know. It's probably just a coincidence." 　It was a lie. Togo saw through Yazaki's deception with certainty. Fifteen years of special forces experience and their shared history would not allow otherwise. His former comrade was hiding something. 　Silence flowed between them. Outside the window, the winter sun began its descent westward. The surface of the Harimori River glimmered dully. That light filtered into the office, casting dark shadows between the two men. "The past is the past." 　Yazaki spoke. His voice was lower than usual. "Work is work. You should compartmentalize. You're the kind of man who can do that, aren't you?" 　It was a provocation. And simultaneously, a plea. Togo noticed it—the way Yazaki's hand gripped the edge of the desk. The force applied until his knuckles turned white. "I can't compartmentalize." "Why did Takuma die?" 　Yazaki's expression twisted. Only for an instant. Trauma surfaced from its depths. The trauma of past betrayal. "That was part of the operation." "Don't lie to me." 　Togo's voice remained unchanged. Yet anger flowed unmistakably through it. Yazaki slowly rose to his feet. "I came to help you." "Take this job. If you get close to Ikuo Fukuyama, you might see the truth from twelve years ago." 　Those words pierced through Togo's chest. Yazaki had known from the beginning that Togo would react to that name. He had brought this job knowing that. "Why did you bring this job to me?" "Trust." "As a former comrade, I trust you. And I know your capabilities." 　A glimmer of emotion returned to Yazaki's eyes. It was a dangerous emotion. Hidden resolve. A determination concealed in the depths of trauma. 　Togo took the document in hand. "I'll take it." "But end your lies. Eventually." 　Yazaki nodded. In that nod lay gratitude and regret intertwined. "I'll send the details tomorrow. Prepare yourself." 　Yazaki stood. Their gazes met across the desk. Two former comrades, still bound by their shared past. Yet between that bond lay a deep chasm—twelve years of silence and concealment. 　After Yazaki left the office, Togo sat alone at his desk. He activated the monitor and began an internet search. 　"Fukuyama Construction Corporation"—founded 62 years ago. Annual revenue approximately 480 billion yen. Approximately 12,000 employees. Ostensibly a general contractor handling domestic infrastructure development and overseas ODA-related projects. However, information on the overseas division was extremely limited. 　The Special External Relations Department—he searched for that division name. Results were sparse. The department was not listed on the organizational chart. In other words, undisclosed. 　He traced back through newspaper articles from twelve years ago. "Fukuyama Construction Completes Middle East Facility Construction Project." The date was three months after the Iron Sand Operation. 　(A facility. What kind of facility?) 　Outside the window, night descended quietly over Harimori. Winter days end early. By 4:30 in the afternoon, the sky had already shifted to a pale violet. 　Togo traced the mark on his left wrist. The seal of Zero Squad. Beneath it, faint traces of blood from twelve years ago still lingered. 　(Yazaki, what are you really hiding?) 　That question would eventually lead Togo toward a vast conspiracy. But tonight, he did not yet know this. 　The night of Harimori City deepened further, and in that darkness, something began to move quietly.