CHAPTER 172: MY VIRAL MOMENT WAS A DISTRACTION TACTIC

I stood in my bedroom the night before we shipped out to the island, staring at a half-packed duffel bag like it might offer me the meaning of life.

It didn’t. Just black clothes, toiletries, and the vague existential dread of communal living that crawled up my spine like a centipede made of social anxiety.

"Satori."

Natalia’s voice drifted from my bed, where she’d made herself comfortable in my hoodie and a pair of shorts so microscopic they should’ve come with a warning label and a cardiologist on standby. Her luxurious purple hair spilled across my pillow like royal silk, and she held up one of my worn black t-shirts between two perfectly manicured fingers, examining it with the clinical disapproval of a prosecutor presenting damning evidence.

"Absolutely not. You’re the Number One Prospect now, not some back-alley thug scraping by on scraps and street fights. You have an image to maintain."

I glanced at the shirt. It was comfortable. Broken in. Practically a second skin that had weathered the storms of my life alongside me. "It’s a comfortable shirt."

"It’s an embarrassment to everything we’re building." She tossed it aside with the dismissive finality of a queen banishing a particularly disappointing peasant from her court. "My king will not be seen in public looking like he sleeps in a dumpster. We have an image to project."

The absurdity of Natalia Kuzmina—telekinetic prodigy, ice queen extraordinaire, and ranked third in the entire goddamn nation—acting as my personal fashion consultant and image manager shouldn’t have been endearing.

It was anyway, in that twisted, possessive way that made my chest tighten whenever she staked her claim on me.

"Fine. But if I have to wear dress shirts in the dorms, I’m blaming you when I get stabbed by some jealous pretty boy with attachment issues and designer cologne."

She grinned, the predatory flash of teeth accompanied by a mischievous glint in her eyes as she tapped her datapad. "Speaking of jealous boys with attachment issues..."

The screen turned toward me. Hunter Hot Takes. Volume up.

"Oh for fuck’s sake. They were recording that?" My stomach dropped like I’d just stepped off a cliff, the vertigo of unexpected public exposure hitting me full force.

Mila Chen’s face filled the display, her eyes wide with manufactured shock and gossip-hungry delight. "I’m calling it now. This is a harem anime plot unfolding in real time. Satori Nakano has a TYPE, and that type is ’exceptionally powerful girls who can probably kill him without breaking a sweat.’"

I watched my own viral moment play out again with growing unease. The speech. The calculated rejection of four guild masters. The purposeful walk to Braxton Miller that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Natalia watched me watch it, those sharp purple eyes tracking every microexpression that crossed my face. "You’re analyzing it. I can see your brain working."

I took the datapad from her hands, rewinding to the moment the clip started trending. The numbers climbed fast. Too fast. Engagement velocity was off the charts. Shares multiplying in patterns that looked less like human behavior and more like coordinated bot farms. Something didn’t feel right about this at all.

"Of course I’m analyzing it. This isn’t organic. Something’s off about the spread pattern."

"What?" Natalia tilted her head, curiosity replacing the teasing smirk.

"This was pushed," I said quietly, scrolling through the data. "Someone wanted this to go viral. Very badly."

Natalia sat up straighter, her previous playful energy evaporating into something more alert and focused. "Why would someone want to make you famous? What’s the angle?"

Good question. Wrong instinct though.

I pulled up the raw trending data, cross-referencing keyword associations and search spike patterns. My name was trending higher than Reyna Cabana. Higher than the goddamn VHC itself. The numbers didn’t make sense. It was statistically impossible unless...

My fingers moved swiftly across the screen as I opened a new search window. "VHC Policy." The results flooded in - glossy articles about draft changes, academy funding initiatives, public relations fluff. Nothing substantial. I kept scrolling. Page two. Page five. Page ten.

Natalia leaned against my shoulder, her warmth radiating through my shirt as her breath caressed my neck. "What are you looking for?"

"I’ll know it when I see it," I muttered, continuing to dig deeper into the digital rabbit hole.

Page seventeen.

There it was.

A tiny, unassuming thumbnail from an academic journal. No video. No dramatic graphics or clickbait headlines. Just dry text and a timestamp from yesterday morning.

"S-RANK VERONICA CABANA URGES NEW INQUIRY INTO BERMUDA GATE CATASTROPHE."

I clicked it, feeling a cold knot forming in my stomach.

The article was sterile. Clinical. Nothing like the sensationalist coverage my stunt had received. Veronica Cabana, the celebrated Guild Master of Olympus Rising and one of Valoria’s top S-Ranks, had issued a formal statement demanding a new independent investigation into Operation Sovereign Spear. She claimed to have acquired previously classified documents suggesting the VHC had known about the Bermuda Gate’s anomalous nature before authorizing the raid. That the deaths of two hundred forty-eight Hunters, including thirteen S-Ranks, might have been preventable.

The timestamp was 2:47 PM.

My viral moment hit trending at 3:32 PM.

Forty-five minutes later.

"Satori?" Natalia’s voice had gone quiet. Careful. Her fingers brushed against my arm. "What is it?"

I kept reading. The article mentioned pushback from VHC officials. Denials. Counter-statements about respecting the dead and not politicizing tragedy. Standard corporate damage control tactics.

But buried in the third paragraph was a quote from an unnamed VHC spokesperson: "Guild Master Cabana’s claims are unsubstantiated and disrespectful to the families of the fallen. The Commission will not dignify conspiracy theories with a formal response."

I pulled up another window. Searched for "Bermuda Gate investigation" with a date filter for the past week.

Three results. All from fringe blogs. Zero mainstream coverage.

Now I searched for "Satori Nakano Stray Dog."

Four thousand, six hundred and twenty-two results.

The room seemed to grow colder around us as the realization sank in.

"They’re using me." My voice came out hollow, distant even to my own ears. "They’re using my story as a god damn smokescreen."