KOBENI HIGASHIYAMA – PSIA FIELD AGENT, SOUTHEAST ASIA
A lone jeep sat idling at the edge of a dense jungle, its headlights cut to slits. Midnight in Southeast Asia brought a suffocating heat, even under the pale moon. Kobeni Higashiyama wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow as she steadied her trembling hands on the steering wheel. In the back seat, crates rattled—contents clinking ominously. To any bandit on these old smuggler roads, she looked like just another black-market courier running contraband across the Mekong. In truth, every nerve in Kobeni's body was on edge. Please let this go smoothly… she prayed silently, stomach in knots.
Up ahead, through the dusty glow of the jeep's parking lights, figures emerged from the tree line. Three men in tatty military fatigues, rifles slung, flanked a fourth in a white linen suit far too clean for the jungle. That must be the buyer. Kobeni inhaled sharply, forcing a smile as she stepped out of the vehicle. The humid air wrapped around her like a damp blanket, and a chorus of insects hummed in the darkness.
"Evening," the man in the suit drawled, adjusting gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. His accent was European, and his gaze flicked to the PSIA patch barely visible on Kobeni's sleeve. "You're far from Tokyo, little lady. I was expecting our usual courier."
Kobeni's heart skipped. She had spent hours rehearsing her cover, and now words nearly failed her. "He… he couldn't make it," she managed, willing her voice not to quake. She forced a casual shrug. "Tokyo's cracking down; I was sent instead. The goods are here, as promised." She patted the nearest crate in the jeep's back, hoping he wouldn't hear the quiver in her gesture.
One of the armed guards circled to the back of the jeep and pried open a crate. Inside were rows of PokéBall prototypes nestled in straw. Kobeni felt a pang of guilt seeing them—these devices were stolen tech, meant to trap and traffic rare Pokémon. The guard pulled one out, tossing it in his hand with a skeptical grunt. "Looks legit," he reported in Thai to the buyer.
The man in the suit smiled thinly. "Excellent. Our friends in Ringmaster will be very pleased." He beckoned another guard forward with a metal case—payment. "And you'll get your cut for playing delivery girl."
Kobeni swallowed. This was the moment. The plan was simple: confirm the handoff, then covertly signal the strike team lying in wait. She could already feel the tiny transmitter in her pocket digging into her palm—one press and a dozen local police and Interpol agents would storm in. But there was a hitch: one of the guards had stepped closer, squinting at her face in the dim light. Kobeni tensed.
"I know you?" the guard asked in halting English. He was gaunt, scarred, and uncomfortably tall. "Saw you in Chiang Mai, maybe. You were with Japanese group… police?" His rifle wasn't raised, but Kobeni saw his finger slip toward the trigger guard.
A spike of panic shot through her. "Police? Me?" Kobeni let out a high, nervous laugh that was all too genuine. "I-I think you have me confused. I get that a lot, I have one of those… faces." She coughed, taking a half-step back toward the jeep.
The buyer's eyes darkened. "Is that so?" he murmured. In a flash, he snatched the transmitter from her hand. Kobeni hadn't even realized her fingers were hovering over her pocket, ready to press it. He looked at the tiny device and sighed. "Tsk. Such a shame."
For a split second, nobody moved. Kobeni's blood ran cold. Oh no. No no no…
"Ambush!" the buyer barked, flinging the transmitter into the bushes. The nearest guard lunged at Kobeni, rifle swinging. Instinct took over. Kobeni ducked low with a yelp, the rifle butt whooshing over her head. She scrambled back, adrenaline igniting something primal in her muscles. The guard tried to grab her arm, but Kobeni was faster: in her terror-fueled agility, she vaulted onto the hood of the jeep.
Gunfire erupted—wild muzzle flashes strobing the jungle gloom. The strike team, alerted by the buyer's shout, must have initiated their move even without her signal. Bullets zipped past as the smugglers and unseen allies exchanged fire among the trees. Kobeni pressed herself flat against the hood of the jeep, heart hammering. A guard climbed onto the bumper, reaching for her ankle. Whimpering, Kobeni kicked out reflexively, her boot connecting with his jaw. The man fell back with a grunt, stunned more by surprise than force.
"I-I surrender!" Kobeni cried out impulsively, hands in the air—half hoping the smugglers would just take the goods and run. It was a reflex born of sheer panic. But surrender wasn't an option; these men would not let a witness live. The buyer glared at her, drawing a sleek pistol.
A crack echoed: one well-placed sniper shot from the dark sent the buyer's pistol skittering away in pieces. Kobeni's backup had arrived. In moments, armed police swarmed the clearing, shouting orders in a cacophony of Thai and English. The firefight ended as quickly as it began. Two smugglers were down and the rest dropping their weapons, faces pressed to the dirt.
Kobeni slid off the jeep's hood, knees so weak she nearly collapsed. An Interpol officer rushed to her side, but she managed a shaky nod, signaling she was unhurt—at least physically. "Good timing," she mumbled, voice wobbly with relief. The officer gave her a thumbs-up and moved on to cuff the incapacitated men.
Amid the flurry of arrests, Kobeni leaned against the jeep to catch her breath. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She closed her eyes, willing the dizziness away. I hate this job… I hate this… she thought, tears of adrenaline and stress prickling at the corners of her eyes. All she had wanted was a quiet life, but here she was dodging bullets in a foreign jungle. The danger was over for now, yet she couldn't calm the storm inside.
Her pocket suddenly vibrated. Kobeni jumped, nearly yelping as she fumbled for the phone she'd stashed. It was her PSIA-issued secure phone, miraculously still intact in the chaos. She flipped it open with clammy fingers. A single encrypted text message glowed on the screen:
PRIORITY ONE DIRECTIVE: Operation Homecoming – Full Recall. All agents return to Tokyo immediately. Acknowledge receipt.
Kobeni blinked, reading it twice to be sure. Full recall? She had never seen those words in her career. Around her, the clearing was alive with police radios and the groans of detained criminals, but Kobeni felt time slow as the significance sank in. Every agent back to Tokyo… It almost didn't compute. Pulling all operatives from the field was a move of last resort, something reserved for only the gravest of crises.
She recalled Makima's stern face the day the news of the great betrayal broke. That morning, every loyal agent had swore to follow Makima to hell and back to restore PSIA's honor. Kobeni had been terrified then, too—yet Makima's resolve (and Hiroshi's storied heroism, spoken of in whispers) had given her courage. Now, if they were being called home, it could only mean one thing: the final fight was at their doorstep.
Kobeni's breath hitched. A mix of relief and new fear flooded through her. Relief, because going home meant safety—no more gunfights in distant jungles, at least for a while. She'd get to see familiar faces, her teammates, maybe even laugh awkwardly at one of Denji's stupid jokes or feel Himeno's comforting arm around her shoulders. But fear, too, because if Tokyo itself was the battleground, then nowhere was truly safe.
Her thumb hovered over the reply button. She imagined Makima back at HQ, and perhaps Hiroshi Kobayashi—the legendary "Fox" she'd admired but never met—standing together, rallying their scattered flock. Kobeni straightened up, wiping her eyes with the back of a dirty hand. She was exhausted, petrified even, but she wasn't about to let them down. Not after everything.
With a deep, steadying breath, Kobeni typed her acknowledgement: "Higashiyama – Received. Returning ASAP."
She hit send. The weight of the jungle night pressed around her, but inside, a fragile steadiness took root. This nightmare mission was finally over. Now a new, uncertain chapter loomed.
As she pocketed the phone, Kobeni allowed herself a small, shaky smile. "I-I guess we're going home," she whispered, almost not believing it. In the distance, the first hint of dawn was lightening the sky, a faint glow touching the swirls of mist above the trees. It felt symbolic somehow—an end to one long, dark night.
One of the Thai officers approached, gesturing that they'd give her a ride to the airfield. Kobeni nodded gratefully. Her legs still felt like jelly as she climbed into the back of a police truck, cradling her frayed nerves. As the convoy started rolling down the dirt path, she cast one last look at the chaotic clearing fading into the jungle behind them.
Going home. To Tokyo, to Makima, to whatever awaited. Kobeni allowed herself a quiet, hopeful thought amid the anxiety: maybe, just maybe, things would be better when they were all together again.
She closed her eyes and let her head rest back against the seat as the first orange rays of sunrise peeked over the horizon, guiding her back to those she trusted.