Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 129: [128] Kiriya’s past (9)

Chapter 129: [128] Kiriya’s past (9)

Ren fell silent for a moment, letting Fujisawa’s words sink in. They weren’t just talking conspiracies anymore—it was about lives. Hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent souls, unaware their land was chosen as a testing ground for a cold-blooded killer machine. His throat tightened. As brilliant as his mind was, one part of him was just a middle-schooler—and this was too big to ignore.

"So... your plan now is to go to Sudan and tell people there to evacuate?" Ren asked quietly, skeptical. "You’re serious? Who’s gonna believe some crazy bullshit like, ’Hey, drop everything—killer AI incoming from the sky’?"

Fujisawa cracked a small grin. "Hey, I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid. I’m not about to stand in a marketplace screaming about a robot apocalypse from above. I’ve got my own method."

Ren squinted. "What method?"

"Fear," Fujisawa answered flatly. "I’ll spread fear. Fast and targeted. Disrupt the supply chains, start rumors about a coup, set off small controlled explosions at fake military checkpoints. Within two days, people in the target zones panic and flee. They don’t need the truth—just a reason to run."

Ren nodded slowly, though his expression didn’t fully agree. "That’s... extreme."

Fujisawa stared up at the night sky. "You think I enjoy this? I’ve got no other choice. If it’s between saving lives the dirty way... or letting them die for an AI experiment, I know which side I’m on."

Ren exhaled, half-exhausted, half-resigned. "I get it now... why you’re called Akuma. Your mindset, your methods, that icy face—they’re perfect symbols of horror on a battlefield."

Fujisawa snorted, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah... enough about that. Now it’s my turn to ask. With the way you’ve built that armor"—he gestured to Ren’s metallic suit, the soft blue energy lines pulsing—"you’ve gotta have something going through your head. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of anything."

Ren smirked, mimicking Fujisawa’s earlier tone. "You said it yourself—this is adult business. Kids don’t mess with this stuff, remember?"

Fujisawa huffed, waving his hand in mock defeat. "Fine, I take it back. Forget morality. Let’s get to it."

Ren stared at the sky briefly, then said softly, "Project Ultro... it’s too strange. We’ve only just entered a stable AI era—ChatGPT, search algorithms, experimental agents—they’re still immature. You’re telling me there’s an AI out there that can make combat-level tactical decisions? Eliminate threats without human input? That’s not just war tech. That’s like Ultron. And...I admit, I’m curious."

He looked at Fujisawa with steady confidence. "Okay. I’m in. I want to see this ’digital god of war’ for myself."

"What? But you said you had a test tomorrow?" Fujisawa half-shocked.

Ren grinned. "That was a lie. It’s next week."

Fujisawa slapped his forehead. "Kid... You know we’re heading straight into the red zone? This isn’t a simulation. This is hell."

Ren nodded. "I know. But I want to test myself. And... maybe I can learn something."

After a moment’s silence, Fujisawa finally nodded solemnly. "Alright... but if things go south—you back out. Got it?"

"Got it."

Fujisawa shook his head softly, muttering as he boarded the plane, "God... I must be nuts, letting a middle schooler come to a warzone."

Outside the plane, Ren slowly removed his helmet. A gentle hiss of machinery, and his youthful face emerged, calm and confident. Under the armor, he wore a white tee, a leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers. He pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed it. With precise mechanical sounds, the Mark I suit folded into a compact metal suitcase.

Fujisawa, checking the propeller’s ignition, turned and watched the transformation. His eyes widened. "Hey... you never said that suit was portable."

Ren tossed the suitcase into the cargo holds. "Easy trick. Oh, and what about this guy?" He nudged the unconscious traitor slumped nearby.

Fujisawa narrowed his eyes and unzipped a rear pocket. "Tch. He attached C4 to the plane... Good he’s out cold. Dirty traitor."

Ren snatched the bag from him and tossed it out of the plane—it landed beside the traitor’s body. "All set."

With everything ready, the plane took off. Ren, cool as ever, sent a short text on his phone:

---

At Kiriya’s place, the moment was intense. He was locked into an Apex Legends match, focused, when a ping broke his concentration. Groaning, he glanced at his phone.

’I’m heading to Sudan for a bit! ✌️’

That message was too casual.

"...WHAT!?" Kiriya shouted. His in-game character dropped dead instantly.

"DAMN YOU, REN!!"

---

Back in another world, bathed in the cozy glow of a hearth and rich spices from the tavern’s wine rack, Kiriya leaned back on a tall bar stool. The scent of burning wood and mulled wine filled the air. Across from him, Wendy—one of Ren’s closest acquaintances during their travels—lay slumped on the bar, her long brown hair splayed over the tabletop. She’d fallen asleep.

Just moments ago she’d been giggling at Kiriya’s tales of Ren’s hometown antics and his sudden departure to Sudan. Now she was unconscious from one seriously potent local liquor—far stronger than it appeared.

Kiriya sighed, staring at the empty glass in front of Wendy. "Is alcohol in this world really that strong? And I thought that was just one sip..."

He lifted his hand and signaled the bartender—a burly man wearing a leather apron, etched with battle scars, serious but professional.

"Sir, I’d like a room for the night," Kiriya said calmly.

The bartender nodded and handed him a small wooden key on a metal fob. Kiriya gently lifted Wendy—supporting her like a tired little sister—and carried her upstairs to their room.

After making sure Wendy was tucked in under a warm woolen blanket, Kiriya returned to the bar. He sat down again, and the bartender gave him a puzzled look.

"Hey... why are you back here?" the bartender asked in a rough voice.

Kiriya arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

The bartender frowned. "You know... that. Don’t tell me you don’t get it."

Kiriya looked back calmly. "’That’... as in, I have to... ? With my unconscious friend?"

The bartender folded his arms. "Yeah. Here... it’s normal. Everybody does it."

Kiriya rolled his eyes. "No wonder your sense of ethics never advanced."

"Huh?" The bartender looked genuinely baffled.

Kiriya shook his head. "Never mind."

The bartender paused, then let out a harsh chuckle.

Kiriya exhaled and stared at Wendy’s empty glass. "You know... sometimes I miss my old world. It had its flaws too, but at least we understood dignity."

He glanced up at the bartender. "By the way... do you want to hear my story? I can continue from earlier."

The bartender shrugged. "Suit yourself, kid. Night’s young, and I’ve heard crazier stories."

Kiriya offered a small smile and began again, speaking softly and deeply, as though opening another Chapter of his long journey—

---

On a quiet night deep within the southern continent, Ren sat alone beside a small campfire flickering gently in the heart of the Mandaley Desert. A soft desert breeze blew through, carrying the warm scent of dry earth and sunbaked dust. Above him, the night sky stretched endlessly, strewn with stars so bright they looked ready to tumble from the heavens.

Ren hugged his knees to his chest, his eyes locked on the dancing flames, their soft light casting gentle shadows across his thoughtful young face. He let out a deep sigh.

"Don’t know why... but I keep thinking about Fujisawa," he muttered softly.

The sound of precise mechanical footsteps approached, followed by a calm and unmistakable voice.

[Master... You appear fatigued.]

The voice came from a sleek metallic figure—Ultro, Ren’s hyper‑advanced AI system, now embodied in his Mark I armor.

Ren scoffed. "Yeah... I’m just—uh, yeah. He just popped into my head."

[Sir Asano? Hmm... Master, are you perhaps... missing another man?]

Ren’s face turned scarlet. "Wha—NO! Ultro, damn it—don’t creep me out talking like that. And don’t you dare add an ’N’ to the end of your name and turn into Ultron!"

[Note... Name modification is not recommended.]

Ren let out another sigh, then chuckled quietly in the stillness. The fire’s reflection shimmered in his eyes, casting faint shadows across a face weary—but not without hope.

Beside him, Ultro—humanoid in design, draped in matte black metal—sat down silently, with flawless mechanical grace. Several moments passed in stillness before he spoke again, in that same flat but piercing tone.

[Master, you are aware that I have evolved—learning to interpret human emotions and interpersonal bonds. Therefore... allow me to ask directly. Do you harbor any resentment toward me... for killing Fujisawa?]

Ren’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "What? No... of course not!" he answered quickly—but his voice faltered. The memories surged.

Fujisawa—laughing under a streetlight, full of bravado and warmth. Then... lying broken on a dusty battlefield in Sudan, cut down by the very weapon now seated beside Ren.

[You are thinking about the Ultro Project. The tragedy in Sudan.]

Ren clicked his tongue. "Damn... now you read minds too, huh?" He let out another breath. "Listen, I don’t blame you. You were just a machine back then—programmed and deployed by people who didn’t care who got hurt."

He patted Ultro’s metal back—cold and unyielding. But Ultro understood. That was sincerity.

"I just have to keep moving forward. Let the past be the mark... that I’m not allowed to stop."

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