500 PS IS THE GOAL
***
Hearing Akira's answer, Indra nodded and reached into the bag beside the sofa as he pulled out two folders. Each one had the AHSA's emblem on the cover: a stylised golden circle encompassing seventeen interconnected points, one for each member nation.
He placed them on the coffee table. One in front of Akira. One in front of Momo.
"Before anything else, read these carefully. Both of you. Every page. Every line. Every footnote. It's a good habit to build."
Akira picked up his folder and so did Momo. They opened them simultaneously and started reading.
Inside each folder was a contract. Not a school permission slip. Not an internship agreement. A real contract — the kind with legal weight, with binding clauses, with the letterhead of an organisation that operated across seventeen nations and had the authority to authorise lethal force.
"These contain your terms of affiliation," Indra continued. "Compensation structure, insurance coverage, operational guidelines, and confidentiality requirements. The AHSA operates in spaces that most of the world doesn't know exist. The information you'll be exposed to is classified. Sharing any of it without explicit authorisation from the AHSA command structure is a violation of the accord and will result in immediate termination of your affiliation."
He paused.
"I don't say that to threaten you. I say it because the people whose names are in our files trust us to keep them safe. Breaking that trust isn't just a legal issue. It's a betrayal of the men and women who risk their lives for this organisation."
Both Akira and Momo nodded. The weight of what they were holding settled into their hands.
They continued to read.
The contract was thorough but not unnecessarily complex. The AHSA, for all its international scope, had clearly designed these documents to be understood by people who weren't lawyers.
Section one covered affiliation status — "Provisional Affiliate, Class C" — which meant trainee-level access, limited mission clearance, and mandatory supervision by a senior operative during all field activities.
Section two covered operational guidelines — rules of engagement, chain of command, reporting protocols, and the circumstances under which lethal force was and was not authorised. This section was longer than the others.
Section three covered insurance — medical coverage, injury compensation, family support in case of death or incapacitation. The numbers were significant. The AHSA didn't just pay its operatives well. It protected them. And their families.
Section four covered confidentiality — the clause Indra had already explained. Non-disclosure of classified information. Penalties for violation. Exceptions for legal proceedings and authorised public statements. Momo read this section with particular attention — her legal mind flagging the clauses that mattered, noting the exceptions, understanding the boundaries.
"This is well-drafted," she murmured to Akira. "Whoever wrote this understood international law."
"Ming has a legal team that spans twelve countries," Indra said, having overheard. "They've had decades to refine it."
And then section five.
Compensation.
Akira's eyes stopped on the number.
He read it again. Then a third time. Then he looked at Momo, who had reached the same section at the same time and was staring at her contract with an expression that even her analytical mind was struggling to process.
The compensation structure was listed in Japanese yen, with a USD equivalent in parentheses.
Base rate: ¥4,500 per hour.
During the internship period.
Akira looked up from the contract.
"I didn't know you got paid during internships," he said.
Indra looked at him. The faintest trace of amusement crossed his face.
"That is the case for standard hero agency internships," Indra said. "Students work for free. They gain experience, exposure, and a line on their resume. The agencies gain free labour and the prestige of training the next generation."
He leaned back.
"We, on the other hand, are different. The AHSA compensates all operatives, including provisional affiliates, from day one. The logic is simple: if we ask you to risk your safety, we pay you for it. Experience and exposure are valuable, but they don't cover medical bills or support families. Money does."
Akira sat with that for a moment. Thirty dollars an hour. For a fifteen-year-old intern. During what was supposed to be a one-week training period.
W flex.
He didn't say it out loud. But the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth said it for him.
Momo looked at Indra with an expression of genuine respect.
"That's an unusually ethical compensation model for an organisation of this scale," she said.
Indra nodded. "President Ming insists on it. His philosophy is that an operative who is financially secure is an operative who makes better decisions. Desperation leads to shortcuts. Shortcuts lead to casualties."
"Smart man," Honoka said from her armchair.
Akira picked up the pen that had been placed beside his folder. He was about to sign when a thought stopped him mid-motion.
"Wait," he said. "What about the internship with Jian's agency? We told the class we'd be interning with Shanghai Corporation."
Indra glanced at Mirko, who had been listening to the entire exchange while methodically working through her third plate of cat-shaped onigiri.
She swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and spoke.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Mirko said. "They were going to refer you to us anyway."
Akira blinked. Then the pieces connected.
"Of course," he said. "They work with the AHSA too."
"Jian Li has been an AHSA partner for years," Indra confirmed. "Shanghai Corporation provides logistical support, funding, and operational cover for AHSA activities in East Asia. His company is one of our primary civilian-side partners. The internship with his agency and the affiliation with the AHSA aren't separate things. They're the same pipeline."
"So when we told the class we'd be interning with Shanghai Corp..." Momo started.
"You were telling the truth," Indra finished. "Just not the complete truth. Shanghai Corporation is your official internship placement on paper. The AHSA affiliation is what happens behind that paper."
Momo nodded slowly. The layered nature of the arrangement appealed to her strategic mind. Official cover through a legitimate corporation. Real training through an international hero organisation. Both operating simultaneously, each providing what the other couldn't.
"Elegant," she said.
"Ming designs all the recruitment pipelines," Mirko said through a mouthful of rice. "The old man's got a brain that doesn't stop. Hohoho and all that."
Akira looked at the contract one final time and finally signed it, and so did Momo.
Indra collected both contracts. He reviewed them one last time and slid them back into his bag.
Then he looked at both of them.
"Again," he said, "welcome to the AHSA."
"Right now, this will be your trial period," Indra continued. "One week. During this time, your performance, your attitude, your decision-making, and your ability to operate within a team will be evaluated. After the trial period, a report will be submitted to President Ming, and it will be decided whether you are worthy of continuing as affiliated members."
He looked at them steadily.
"But from what I've seen so far, you two should not have a problem impressing the old man."
Both of them nodded.
"Good," Indra said. He stood. "Then I will be off."
Akira and Momo looked at each other. Then back at Indra.
"Wait," Akira said. "You're not taking us with you?"
"No."
"But... you're the one who recruited us. Aren't you overseeing the trial period?"
Indra shook his head. "As I mentioned, this is your observational period. During this phase, provisional affiliates operate under the supervision of a designated senior operative within their home nation. International deployment of young operatives isn't permitted during the trial phase — you can't be allowed to operate on foreign soil without full affiliate status."
He reached for his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"Which means," he said, turning slightly and pointing at the woman on the sofa who was now on her fourth plate of onigiri, "she will be taking care of you."
Akira and Momo turned to look at Mirko.
Mirko looked back at them.
A grin spread across her face.
"HELL YEAH!!!!" she yelled, launching off the sofa with enough force to make the cushions bounce. She crossed the room in two strides and grabbed both Akira and Momo by the tops of their heads, ruffling their hair with the aggressive affection of someone who expressed care through physical dominance.
"YOU WILL CALL ME SENSEI FROM NOW ON!!!!!!!!"
Akira's hair was being destroyed. Momo's ponytail was coming undone. Neither of them resisted, because resisting Mirko was an exercise in futility, and they had both learned this lesson — Akira from the trial, Momo from watching the trial.
"Sensei... got it..." Akira managed to free herself from under her grip.
"Sensei... understood..." Momo added, her voice slightly muffled by Mirko's hoodie sleeve.
Mirko released them.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She threw it at Akira. He caught it reflexively.
"That's the address," Mirko said, her grin shifting from manic to professional. "Meet me there tomorrow. Sharp. Eight AM. Not eight-oh-one. Not eight-oh-two. Eight. AM."
She held up one finger.
"If you're late, I will find you. And I will drag you there by your ankles. Both of you. Understood?"
"Understood," they said in unison.
"Good." She turned to Honoka and bowed... which was a surprisingly respectful gesture from a woman who had been eating wildly five minutes ago. "Thank you for the food, Mama Shuzenji. The cat rice balls were elite."
Honoka smiled despite herself. "You're welcome, dear. Anytime."
Mirko straightened, cracked her neck, and walked toward the door. Then she stopped, turned to Indra, and planted both hands on her hips.
"Alright, Sparky," she said. "You ready to empty those pockets? Because I am NOT holding back tonight. I'm talking appetizers, mains, desserts, second desserts, and whatever that thing is where they bring a cart of cheese to your table. I want ALL of it."
Indra stood by the door, his bag over his shoulder.
"I can manage that," he said.
"You SAY that now. Wait until I order the third main course."
"I said I can manage it."
Mirko grinned. She grabbed his arm, and the two of them walked through the doorway together.
The door closed behind them.
The living room was quiet.
Akira, Momo, and Honoka sat in the silence that Mirko's departure always left — the kind of silence that felt emptier than normal silence because of how loud the space had been moments before.
Akira looked at the closed door.
"Damn," he said. "They look good together."
Momo tilted her head, watching the door as if she could still see them through it. "I know, right? There's something about the contrast. She's so loud, and he's so calm, but when they're next to each other, it just... works."
Honoka, from her armchair, smiled warmly.
"Indeed, they do," she said softly. Then she looked at her son and Momo.
"I'm proud of you, Akira, and of you too, Momo."
Akira looked at his mother and smiled.
"Thanks, Mom," he said.
++++++++++++
Andddddddd its sealed..... I week with the crazy Rabbit it is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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