"Ban, banzai..."
A faint, trembling voice abruptly pierced the deathly silence at Totsuki Culinary Academy.
The students, who had been scared witless by the earth-shattering battle moments before, instinctively turned their heads toward the source of the sound.
The Nakiri sisters, Tadokoro Megumi, Yukihira Soma... the culinary students already enrolled at Totsuki, along with students from Shuchi'in Academy who had been sent there for shelter, such as Shinomiya Kaguya and Katsura Kotonoha.
Everyone's necks turned in unison, their gazes settling on an elderly man past sixty, with a weathered face, a long, vigorous beard, and hair white as snow… the Director-General of Totsuki Academy, Senzaemon.
The Director-General had somehow sunk to his knees at some point.
Under everyone's incredulous stares, he slammed his forehead against the floor, his robust frame trembling uncontrollably.
"Banzai! Banzai!"
"Susanoo-sama! Banzai!"
The two shouts shook the surrounding air, making it hum. Alice stood frozen, a blank look on her face as she leaned towards her cousin Erina, lowering her voice, utterly bewildered. "Erina, what's wrong with Grandpa? Senile dementia?"
Erina was equally confused, but compared to her cousin, she knew her grandfather's temperament better. In a few seconds, she quickly pieced together the reason.
Her grandfather was a rather traditional old man, well-versed in Japanese traditions and classical legends.
Although not blindly superstitious, he held the stories passed down through the ages in considerable awe.
Makoto had just spoken the words 'Susanoo' aloud and displayed such cataclysmic power.
In Senzaemon's heart, the young man on the television had likely already become equated with the legendary Susanoo-no-Mikoto, the slayer of demons.
Before the Totsuki students could recover from this bizarre scene, the Shuchi'in Academy's students who had come for shelter were collectively baffled.
Because wherever they looked, the principal of Shuchi'in Academy, Adolphe Pescarolo, was also on his knees facing the direction where Makoto was, repeatedly bowing his head deeply towards the southwest. From his aged throat erupted similarly fervent shouts:
"Susanoo-sama! Banzai!"
Yes, in the eyes of these older generations, deeply steeped in traditional thought, with inherent reverence and a tendency towards blind faith, Makoto was no longer a terrorist or a wanted criminal. He was a true deity descended upon the mortal realm.
He had raised his hand and destroyed the American forces that had oppressed Japan for nearly a century. In their view, he was a savior sent by heaven to protect them.
Makoto had personally invoked the name of Susanoo, the martial god of Japanese mythology. This power and symbolism, to the older generation, signified nothing less than a divine incarnation, a savior specifically descended to liberate them from American control and exploitation.
Meanwhile, atop the Statue of Liberty, thousands of miles away in the United States.
As the colossal, sky-obscuring gray-black giant descended, its enormous form sat directly on the statue, shattering the iconic symbol of America into rubble.
Dust and debris erupted skyward.
Several television station helicopters, drawn by the earth-shattering commotion, circled overhead. The camera crews inside frantically adjusted their lenses, manically recording this scene that would shock the entire world.
When the footage of the Susanoo's giant form completely crushing the Statue of Liberty was transmitted back to their bases, all the American high-ranking officials watching the broadcast turned deathly pale.
Even the most hawkish military representatives were now pressing their lips tightly together, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
They had never dreamed Makoto's speed could be this terrifying, that he would truly cross the ocean and strike directly at their homeland.
'Should we use nuclear weapons?'
'No, absolutely not… that would be mutual destruction. The terrorist was already here. Doing so would mean annihilation.'
Just as the US leadership was plunged into extreme panic and indecision, the terrifying gray-black giant's apparition slowly faded, its light dimming.
Only Makoto remained, sitting alone atop the massive platform left behind as the Susanoo dissipated.
He glanced casually at the television helicopters circling above and spoke leisurely.
"Ready for round three?"
All the leaders of the world's most powerful nation watched the relaxed demeanor of Makoto on screen, finding themselves trapped in an impossible dilemma.
They wrestled with the decision of whether to use nuclear weapons regardless, risking total destruction with their enemy.
But two fatal questions held them back.
First, Makoto was already on their soil. Countless core industries and the financial foundations of America were concentrated here.
If they launched a massive nuclear strike, not only would they fail to eliminate the enemy, but their own base would be reduced to ashes.
Honestly, in the hearts of these leaders, whether this country, or even this world, turned to ruins was irrelevant, as long as they could firmly grasp the highest authority.
But the prerequisite was that their foundation could not be lost.
Second, it was Makoto's terrifyingly calm demeanor that prevented them from acting rashly.
Given his attitude, like destroying fleets, razing cities, crushing all opposition with casual conversation… did he perhaps have even more terrifying measures in reserve?
In the past, the supremely arrogant US Government never took any external enemy seriously. But after witnessing the inhuman power Makoto displayed one after another, they dared not gamble. They truly dared not.
"General, Agent Smith is here."
Just then, a tall, straight-backed adjutant quickly walked to the five-star general's side and reported in a low voice.
The general spun around to see a white man in a suit, with a stern, cold demeanor and a grave expression, enter the military command center.
"General, I bring orders from the President."
Ten minutes later, America's biggest news station, Fox News, began a global live broadcast. The camera focused directly on the core location where successive presidents had conducted their affairs… the White House.
Under the watchful eyes of billions around the world, Makoto sat opposite a man with fluffy, corn-like hair and a stout figure, exchanging documents and contracts.
Just moments before, the two parties had formally signed a non-aggression pact.
Makoto promised not to attack the US mainland again, while the US guaranteed it would not interfere with any of Makoto's actions and publicly recognized his full jurisdiction and authority over the entire Asian region.
"Pleasure doing business."
The stout man grinned crookedly, extending the signed agreement with both hands to Makoto.
Makoto smiled faintly. "I wouldn't have minded continuing the fight."
Hearing this light remark, the assembled capital magnates and powerful figures shivered in unison.
Watching the once arrogant, domineering, and insufferably proud American elites now cower before Makoto like quails facing a tiger, trembling and not daring to breathe loudly, countless ordinary people in small nations long oppressed and bullied by the US around the world cheered with excitement.
Even Japan, which had long served as America's watchdog, fell into nationwide, fervent celebration.
Makoto attended school in Japan, and the power he used was Susanoo, the martial god of Japanese legend. In their eyes, didn't this mean that Japan, through this deity, had completely 'gekokujo-ed' (T/N: It means the lower overthrowing the higher) and crushed the once-exalted United States?
Well, who knows why these people love the concept of gekokujo so much.
Finally, with Fox News providing full coverage, Makoto boarded a luxurious private jet specially arranged for him by the American side.
Makoto had initially said he could simply fly back himself, making the trouble unnecessary, but the US was unusually insistent. They were determined to show their utmost sincerity, specially allocating a jet to escort him home.