Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week

Noon.

In his heart, there was nothing more important than prayer. This was his faith. More unyielding than steel or diamonds, no weapon could destroy it.

Rain began to fall outside the house, and the fine sound of it was not to Mohammed's liking. Compared to fighting in crisp weather, battling in the rain made treating wounds troublesome and prone to infection. Secondly, the continuous rain gave Mohammed the impression that the country was weeping.

Unpleasant images tumbled through his mind, then quickly receded. Mohammed finished his devout prayers, opened his eyes, and said, "Let's eat."

This time, Mohammed had rushed from Yemen to Japan and hadn't brought many people with him, just two of his closest subordinates. One man, one woman. They were the sect's most devout warriors, among the few whom Mohammed completely trusted.

He picked up his chopsticks, about to grasp a piece of mutton.

BOOM—a distant explosion rumbled and slightly shook the window frame.

Mohammed did not move, but the tall woman wearing a black veil quickly spun around, agile as a monkey, and ran to the balcony. She parted the door curtain and saw the black smoke rising strikingly through the drizzle.

"Master Mohammed, Sanjayi's house has exploded. It looks like Okamura Togihiko has betrayed us."

Mohammed showed no sign of anger at Okamura Togihiko's betrayal. Instead, he prayed for Sanjayi, "May Allah grant him peace in His Paradise."

Having done this, Mohammed's expression regained its starkness. "Hurry up and eat," he said. "We'll need strength to do what must be done."

"Yes," the woman replied. She went to the table and ate heartily, without concern for appearances.

In less than a minute, the three of them had gulped down their food. This was a habit cultivated through years of warfare.

Unlike in Japan, Yemen was a country constantly engulfed in the flames of war. Fighting between various local forces was incessant. Guns, cannon fire, death—these incomprehensible things to people from peaceful nations were daily occurrences in Yemen.

Even so, Mohammed still considered life in Yemen quite good. Compared to those countries whose so-called chosen people were being slowly and quietly stripped of their lands, Yemen was a blessing. It was a country able to fight and bleed. Only the noblest warriors could earn the favor of Allah.

He wiped his mouth, stood up, and picked up a gas can beside him, walking towards the owners of the house. They were a couple with a six-year-old girl; the Cross indicated their usual faith.

Mohammed unscrewed the gas can and poured its contents over the three of them.

The man whimpered as he tried to break free from the ropes binding him. His eyes brimmed with a plea for his wife and daughter to be spared.

But Mohammed's expression remained unchanged; to him, all Heretics were expendable, regardless of age or gender.

Mohammed had never planned to hide in the home of a fellow believer. He had only rigged the believer's residence with bombs so that anyone trying to track him down would be greeted by an explosion. Of course, those capable of tracking down his whereabouts wouldn't be so easily eradicated.

What followed was the next step of the plan: using the fire of this building to draw the enemy in.

Mohammed was not afraid of bloodshed, strife, or sacrifice. Truth is not defended with words, but in the midst of blood and fire, with blades and guns.

With a strike, he lit a match, and the flame appeared at its head. The light reflected in his eyes; the little girl saw in this strange uncle's gaze a fire that could engulf everything.

With a flick of his finger, the flame landed on the gasoline. It flared up quickly, consuming the three people before catching on curtains and other flammable materials.

"Let's go."

Mohammed turned and left, ready to watch from the shadows for the prey drawn by the flames.

...

BOOM!

The blast came from the third floor, expelling billowing smoke. It caught the attention of many passersby who looked up.

Emily also looked up, her face void of panic. She knew such an explosion could not possibly harm Katerina. That custom-made bulletproof vest was a limited edition—the handiwork of Big Brother's black tech.

Emily picked up her walkie-talkie. Since Mohammed had set a trap, he must be somewhere watching to see who would fall for it, perhaps even to reverse the hunt on them.

"Iwaki, have you noticed anything unusual?"

"Nothing. Drones can't fly in the rain, and I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary on the monitors at the storefronts," Iwaki Kususuke responded offhandedly.

A tall figure leaped straight down from the third floor, landing with a thud amidst the crowd's gasps. Katerina's feet hit the ground firmly, splashing some gathered water.

Indifferent to the falling rain, she said, "Morimoto, call an ambulance—the man is dead, but his wife and daughter are still alive."

"Did he not even spare the wife and daughter?" Miyaji Yosuke's face showed a hint of anger. He couldn't understand why someone with a family would do such a thing.

"That's religion for you," Morimoto Chiyoda muttered, dialing for an ambulance.

In the eyes of those fanatics, death was never the end. So, they never cared about the deaths of their wives and daughters. They even believed that their family members would find happiness after death for sacrificing themselves to God. This was the most terrifying aspect of their belief. They were completely oblivious to the cruelty of their actions, convinced they were acting out of love for their families.

"Wait, I've found a TikTok video of a fire near your location. It was posted shortly after your explosion," Iwaki Kususuke's voice came through the walkie-talkie. In this day and age, to capture anomalies, you didn't have to rely solely on drones or surveillance cameras. The vast number of rubberneckers could be depended on. All that was needed was to lock down the location and swipe to the relevant videos in real-time.

"Is it related to Mohammed?" Emily's brows furrowed slightly. If it was just about changing their base, there was no need to burn down the original house. It was as if they were luring them over, or rather, betting that they wouldn't discover it?

The latter possibility made Emily shake her head, dismissing it. She had realized that Mohammed was an extremely cunning and brutal individual. He didn't trust Okamura Togihiko, so he deliberately set a trap to make it seem like he was hiding in a believer's home.

Thanks to Emily's vigilance and her preference for always being prepared, the entire task force was not sent charging in. Instead, Katerina, the human shield, was sent to the forefront.

"This is probably a trap," Emily said. "Mohammed might want to hunt us in the dark and get information from us."

"Whether it's a trap or not, we have to try it out and see who the real prey is and who is the hunter," Morimoto Chiyoda shrugged. "Or do you want to pull out?"

"Okayama, call the SAT team right now," Emily ordered. For safety, she decided to increase their armed forces.

"Morimoto, Kitanotake, Katerina, you guys hurry over and check it out."

After a moment's hesitation, Emily thought it over. She felt that it was somewhat risky to split their forces at this time. "No, let's go together."

If Mohammed were lurking in the shadows, and he saw the task force split up, targeting this side with the weaker force, then she would be done for.

…

The fire was at a residential building in Kasai Mitsuzen. The blaze was fierce, and the light drizzle was no match for the flames.

Most of the building's occupants quickly escaped outside. Only a few residents stayed behind in the high-rise building, trapped and unable to leave their possessions. They were forced to plead for help from the windows.

The road was crowded with onlooking Indians and a minority of Japanese people.

A van arrived at the scene before the fire truck.

Hidden from view, Mohammed used his binoculars to observe the scene and knew that his enemies had arrived. He didn't move, needing to assess the strength of both sides before deciding on his next move.

If there were too many enemies, he would just take note of their faces and track them later. He would choose a time when they were alone to strike.

Mohammed possessed formidable combat abilities, but he never sought a direct confrontation. In his view, every battle he fought was a holy war. The key was Victory. So every battle he engaged in was carefully considered before he chose to make a move. Even if not successful, he always had an escape plan for the next offensive.

Through his binoculars, he saw the people getting out of the van. Three of them were wearing masks, two women and one man. Were there no other people in the van? Mohammed pondered as he glanced at the van's size again. A van of that model could at most seat eight people. The other party might be the CIA's elite, but he had his two trusted lieutenants and himself, the elite among elites. If they acted quickly and decisively, he was confident they could prevail.

Mohammed didn't put down his binoculars but said with a cold face, "Sagiratha, Hussein, take action."

"Yes," the two replied in unison.

Sagiratha knew that she and Hussein were Forerunners, members of the Suicide Squad. They would use their lives to test the strength of the enemy, then Mohammed would decide whether to act personally or not.

The two swiftly climbed out the window and dropped to the ground along the water pipe.

"I'll take care of the man; you finish off the two women," Hussein made that decision. It wasn't because he wanted to pick an easy target. In his mind, men were naturally stronger in combat than women. Assigning the task of taking down two women to Sagiratha was actually his way of being considerate of her combat abilities.

"I understand." Sagiratha showed no trace of anger, her cheeks beneath the black veil filled with indifference.

She was used to such discrimination and didn't think he was wrong. After all, women couldn't beat men. For instance, Mohammed—Sagiratha didn't believe any woman in the world could defeat him. That was something Allah had determined when creating humans.

Sagiratha's feet splashed through the rain-soaked ground as she rushed to the front of the rubbernecking crowd. With a flick of her right hand, a curved blade slid from her sleeve into her grip. She swung it, severing the head of one of the onlooking bystanders.