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Chapter 270 Samurai!

The humble smile on Tanaka's face vanished instantly as he walked out of the Mechanical Engineering building.

"Walk."

He did not return to the hotel.

Nine o'clock in the evening, in the living room of the hotel suite.

The satellite phone call was reconnected.

"They've arrived." Ito's voice was brimming with barely suppressed excitement. "They'll be entering the country through a third-party channel the night after tomorrow. Three people."

Tanaka sat on the sofa with his hands crossed on his knees.

"Who is it?"

"warrior."

There is only one word.

But when Ito pronounced this word, he used an almost religious tone.

Tanaka has seen people like that before.

In certain special institutions within the country, there exists a group of personnel who are not part of any officially recognized staffing system.

They receive extreme training from a young age and are skilled in combat, infiltration, and assassination.

Not a ninja.

Ninjas are something from history textbooks.

These people have no names, only code names.

"Three samurai..."

Tanaka hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Can we handle that mech?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

"Tanaka," Ito said calmly, "you probably haven't figured something out yet."

"What?"

"The strong one isn't that person, the strong one is those mechs."

Tanaka was stunned.

"The Tiger you saw in the auditorium is the smallest model."

"The one that sank our warship at sea was another one."

"If he had more..."

Ito paused for a moment.

"That's a mobile arsenal."

"And the key is in the hands of a twenty-year-old college student."

Tanaka suddenly understood.

"What you want is not human beings."

"People aren't important," Ito said coldly. "What I want is technology."

"The material formulas, power systems, and neural synchronization protocols of those mechs—any one of them would be worth ten aircraft carrier battle groups."

Tanaka fell silent.

He was an academic spy.

Assessing technological gaps is his specialty.

That day in the lecture hall, he observed the texture of the "Tiger" mech's outer armor up close.

Titanium carbide tungsten alloy.

The material itself was not unusual, but he had never seen such a near-perfect molecular arrangement density in any known industrial product.

Not to mention the so-called "optical stealth".

A solid metal tiger, two meters tall and three meters long, appeared out of thin air and then disappeared in front of hundreds of people.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have thought it was something out of a science fiction novel.

"What is the mission of a samurai?" Tanaka asked.

"Control that guy named Zhang Yan and make him hand over the technology."

"What if he refuses?"

"He'll agree."

Tanaka shook his head.

"Lord Ito, please forgive my bluntness."

He carefully chose his words, "That person... is no ordinary person."

"That day in the lecture hall, when he faced all of our questions, his expression remained completely unchanged."

"A twenty-year-old college student stood in front of hundreds of people, made a three-ton mech appear out of thin air, and watched my men get knocked away on the spot—his eyes remained flat."

"This kind of person won't be intimidated by simple threats."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

So what suggestions do you have?

Tanaka opened his mouth. He really didn't.

"waste."

Ito's voice suddenly became harsh.

"That's just how you academics are."

"They only ever analyze problems, never solve them."

Tanaka's face turned red.

"He's a twenty-year-old college student, and you're telling me he's invulnerable to knives and bullets? Does he not eat? Does he not attend classes? Does he not sleep?"

Ito's tone grew increasingly impatient.

"Does he have no friends? No family? No one he cares about?"

Tanaka's fingers clenched tightly.

People I care about.

That day in the lecture hall, the moment Zhang Yan put away his mecha and walked out, Tanaka noticed that he took out his phone.

The corners of his mouth curved slightly.

A very, very small arc.

But it was that curve that left a deep impression on Tanaka—because throughout the entire process before that, the young man's face had not shown any extra expression.

Whose message is he looking at?

Who should I reply to?

"Why don't you investigate the people around him?"

Ito's voice was icy cold. "His family, friends, lovers—find his weaknesses."

"Hold the chips in your hand."

"At that time, the samurai won't even need to lift a finger; he'll obediently hand over the items himself."

Tanaka paused for a moment.

Then his eyes slowly brightened.

"I see."

"Good, I understand." Ito's tone softened somewhat. "The samurai will arrive the day after tomorrow."

"Before that, find out all the connections that person has."

"Not a single one will be missed."

The phone hangs up.

Tanaka put down the satellite phone and turned to look at Yamamoto on the other side of the sofa.

"Go investigate someone."

"Who?"

"Zhang Yan, a freshman at Jiang University."

Tanaka tapped his finger on the table. "Find out exactly where he lives, what kind of bus he takes to school, what kind of people he's often seen with, whether he has a girlfriend... find out everything."

Yamamoto hesitated for a moment.

"Professor, do it this way..."

"Why are you doing this?"

Tanaka stared at him through the cracked lenses of his glasses.

The scholar's composure was gone from that gaze; only a twisted obsession remained, a result of being trampled upon.

"In that lecture hall, he made us all lose face in front of hundreds of Chinese people."

"What are we here for? To conduct academic exchanges—are you kidding me?"

Tanaka took off his glasses and looked at the fine line on the lens.

"We're going to pick something up."

"We didn't get the item, and we were even assaulted."

"Now that someone is willing to help us get our revenge, what are you hesitating for?"

Yamamoto lowered his head.

"understood."

"Go."

The door closed.

Tanaka sat alone in the dimly lit room.

The night view of Jinghai outside the window is beautiful.

He had no desire to appreciate it at all.

……

Zhang Yan got into the car that Nie Qingcheng had sent to pick him up at the school gate.

Not a Maybach. Today it's a low-key black Audi A8.

The driver, Lao Zhou, was in his fifties, a man of few words, and drove steadily.

Zhang Yan leaned back in the back seat and closed his eyes for a while.

I'm not sleepy, I'm thinking about things.

He didn't have to go so far with the scene in the lecture hall today.

Summoning the Tiger tank is enough to overwhelm them; there's no need to release a video to expose their weaknesses.

But he still did.

Because of that electromagnetic pen.

If the Tiger tank didn't have its own autonomous defense system, that strike would have burned through the hydraulic neuron motherboard.

The mech being paralyzed is not the worst outcome.

The worst-case scenario is that the high-frequency pulse triggers a reverse current loop, causing the entire hydraulic system to overload instantly—the three-meter-tall mech spontaneously combusts and explodes in front of hundreds of people.

That professor had no idea what he was risking.

Or perhaps he knows, but doesn't care.

Zhang Yan opened his eyes.

My phone vibrated.