The black, extended bulletproof Lincoln rolled to a stop. Under the searchlights, the Japanese flag on its side was especially glaring.
The door slid open.
A young woman in a plain kimono carefully wheeled Ito Yūgorō out in an expensive, high-tech wheelchair.
The old man slumped in the chair, an oxygen tube in his nostrils and an IV catheter in the back of his withered hand. Two private doctors in white coats stood beside him, watching a portable heart monitor anxiously.
Anyone who saw him would have called it a pitiful sight.
"He's here! Mr. Ito is here!"
"Quick! Get the cameras on him!"
Reporters who had been waiting behind the security cordon surged forward. Camera flashes turned the night white.
Two figures at the front of the crowd were especially animated.
Sister Chrysanthemum, an influencer with ten million followers, held up her selfie stick and sobbed into the camera, her makeup streaked down one side of her face.
"Everyone, do you see this? Is this the 'invader' we're supposed to condemn? He's clearly a frail old man who only wants to see his great-grandson!"
"Where's that masked man? The coward won't even show his face!"
Beside her, Professor Sheep, who called himself a renowned scholar, trembled with emotion and shouted himself hoarse into a microphone.
"This is a humanitarian disaster! We've driven a centenarian to this point. It's a step backward for civilization! It's barbaric!"
"I have to ask: where is this country's tolerance? Where is our humanity?"
The bought-and-paid-for "volunteers" around them immediately raised their banners and chanted slogans.
"Free Ito Makoto!"
"Reject barbarism!"
Their voices swelled louder and louder.
Surrounded by supporters, Ito Yūgorō raised a trembling hand, grabbed his oxygen tube, and yanked it out.
"Sir!"
The young woman in the kimono cried out and tried