Chapter 1: The Go Soul Awakens

Berlin's old market woke in the morning mist, gray-white vapor coiling like gauze between the spires of the Gothic buildings, while rainwater from the night before seeped from the cracks of the stone pavement, glinting with a cold green light in the first rays of dawn.

Lukas Weber's fingertips traced an invisible arc through the bustling crowd. He was not searching for any particular target; he was sensing the pulse of the city. As a young Go player, his obsession with detail bordered on the pathological — every curve of shadow, every dying echo of sound was part of the board in his mind.

He tilted his head slightly, adjusting the rhythm of his breathing, trying to shut the clamorous cries of the vendors out of his consciousness. His gaze swept past the corner crammed with stalls, where clutter from all over Central Europe lay piled together, rust-streaked tools mixed with brightly colored fabrics, dust dancing slowly in the beams of light leaking through gaps in the clouds — like an endgame position no one knew existed.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, to return to that familiar street full of order, his peripheral vision caught an unusual sheen in the corner of a stall board. It was not the cold gleam of metal, nor the warmth of wood, but a deep gray that seemed to swallow light itself, silent and profound, as if quietly watching every soul that passed.

His steps halted of their own accord. His heart skipped a beat in that moment, and some ancient instinct woke deep in his spine, like a sleeping snake slowly raising its head to survey this world full of variables.

The device lay quietly among several broken clock parts. Its shell was cast from some unknown black alloy, its surface covered in fine grooves dense as a star chart, every line seeming to hold an abstruse geometric logic. Lukas reached out, and when his fingertip touched that icy edge, a strange current pierced his skin in an instant and shot straight into his brain.

That touch was not mere sensation; it was a direct neural link, as if countless fine needles stabbed into his cerebral cortex at once. He was not operating the machine — he was being read by it. A roar rose in his mind as countless scattered fragments forced themselves together into a clear map of consciousness. This was no hallucination; it was a gift beyond the senses.

He saw the vendor, Markus von Oberstein, standing in the shadows. The former legend of the Go world now had his back to Lukas, seemingly sorting his goods, while in the depths of his soul endless greed and calculation churned.

Markus's inner monologue flooded Lukas's mental vision like a scrolling barrage: "This fool doesn't even know what dynasty this relic comes from, yet he dares to run a stall here. Viktor's men have already laid three layers of net. If I can't move it before tonight, I'll not only lose the family fortune — I'll be erased by that man completely."

Lukas's eyes flew wide, his pupils contracting violently. He had not only heard a voice; he saw, deep in Markus's eyes, a fear of some unknown power — a complex emotion mixed with reverence and despair. This ancient Harmonizer was no simple tool. It was a watcher, able to strip away an opponent's disguise and reach straight to the core of thought.

The newly manifested ability was like a sharp blade — it made him tremble with excitement, and it made him feel a loneliness he had never known, as if he stood alone and awake in an empty universe.

"Stop! Show your purchase receipt, or every one of you comes with me to the police station for questioning." Hans's voice was low and authoritative, like a wall blocking the conflict from escalating further. He seized Lukas's arm, gripping so hard it hurt, the cold touch of metal buckles pressing through the sleeve.

Lukas clutched the Harmonizer tight, his knuckles white with force. As he was led away from the center, the machine gave a faint tremor, as if it had come alive.

By the time he was being led away, Markus had already retreated quietly into deeper shadow, his figure melting into the darkness, leaving only a pair of sharp eyes watching everything through a gap.

Under Hans's escort, Lukas moved forward with difficulty, breathing fast, his chest heaving violently. He looked back at Markus. The wariness in those eyes was no bluff; it was rooted in a profound memory of past pain.

Sophia stood in the distance, watching coldly, a meaningful arc at the corner of her mouth. She drew a pen from her handbag and quickly wrote a name in a notebook. The sound of the pen tip scratching across paper was clearly audible amid the clamor. She knew the prey had entered the net, and the real game had only just begun.

She closed the notebook, her fingertips lightly caressing the cover, the patience of a hunter flickering in her eyes.

A crisp shattering sound rang out with particular harshness in the noisy market, instantly breaking everyone's attention. Shards flew; white porcelain fragments flashed coldly in the sunlight, and one of them sliced the back of Lukas's hand, drawing out fine beads of blood.

The once-noisy crowd fell into a brief, dead silence, then erupted into an even greater commotion — someone cried out, someone took photos, and the chaos spun out of control in an instant. The security guard Hans Müller strode over from the duty post dispatched by the city hall — broad and tall, his uniform crisp, his face full of disgust at the broken order.

The baton turned nimbly between his fingers with a faint metallic scraping sound.

Lukas forced himself to calm down. He tried to tuck the Harmonizer back into his coat pocket, but the moment he touched the metal surface, the faint warmth that had been there surged abruptly into a scalding heat.

The surrounding noise — the vendors' cries, the coachmen's shouts, the background murmur of passersby chatting — was forcibly stripped away in that moment, replaced by a nauseating, viscous low-frequency noise. It was countless chaotic thoughts fighting for dominance: greed, fear, jealousy, swirling madly in his brain like a black vortex.

Sophia stepped forward, her high heels clicking crisply against the stone pavement, each sound landing on Lukas's taut nerves. "A malfunction? In a competitive arena where cheating is strictly forbidden, your attempt to steal game records is rather clumsy. I recall Rule Three: no unnatural assistance of any kind."

Her gaze swept over that black, hollow machine, as if she could see the evil hidden inside it, and she used the moment to establish her advantage on the moral high ground.

Markus's figure flashed past the far corner of the street, his expression changing abruptly, as if he had seen something terrible; his body hunched slightly, as though dodging an invisible gaze. He muttered under his breath, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind: "The search network already covers this area. The crisis is one touch away."

Lukas gripped the Harmonizer in his hand and walked with firm steps toward an unknown fate. Behind him, the old market gradually blurred in the morning light, while the mist ahead had only just begun to lift.

Sophia Klein's voice cut sharply into that dead silence. She wore a well-tailored beige coat, her makeup flawless, yet at this moment she was like an unsheathed blade pointed straight at Lukas. A professional cold smile hung at the corner of her mouth, while her eyes hid a hostility she could not conceal — a gaze that dissected Lukas's panic with scalpel precision.

The onlookers around them began to gather, whispers spreading like a colony of ants, curiosity and speculation interwoven in the air.

Just as he was preparing to forcibly sever the connection, a tall figure blocked the road ahead. The man wore a well-cut dark gray trench coat and carried a black leather case; his steps were unhurried, yet carried an oppressive steadiness. Lukas recognized that face — Viktor Henderson.

No — not Viktor himself, but a twin brother so similar in build as to be nearly identical, or an emissary in meticulous disguise.

Before the words had fallen, two men in black slipped out of the alley mouths on both sides of the street, their steps so light as to be almost soundless, closing in swiftly like shadows. Lukas's heart slammed against his ribs. Subconsciously he raised the Harmonizer high, trying to emit one final glow in defiance.

At that very moment, a crack fine as a hair suddenly split across the surface of the black alloy, and from it sprayed a jet of white mist visible to the naked eye.

That whisper did not wholly dissipate in the wind; instead, like an icy needle, it pierced Lukas's eardrum. He whirled around, but saw only Markus's hunched back disappearing at the end of the gray-white street, as if he had never existed. Yet that shiver of being watched did not lessen with distance — instead, as the Harmonizer throbbed violently, it grew ever clearer.

"You look out of place holding it, kid." The voice was hoarse, with a faint edge of mockery. The man did not reach out a hand; across the empty air, his gaze locked dead onto Lukas's clenched fist. "Mr. Viktor cares a great deal about that item. He doesn't care about the process, only the result. Since you've become a stumbling block, don't blame us for clearing the obstacle away."

The mist did not dissiperse; instead it wound itself precisely around the outstretched finger of the leading man in black. The man screamed, clutching his wrist and staggering back, the terror in his eyes greater than the greed. In the brief chaos, Lukas grabbed a wooden crate that had fallen from a fruit stall by the road and smashed it hard against the iron railing beside him; the huge crash startled the entire street into alertness.

"Steady." He gritted his teeth, cold sweat sliding down from his temples. He remembered the flicker of ferocity that had just crossed the depths of the vendor's murky eyes — pure malice, carrying even some biological threat. If he could not shut down the perception channel at this moment, this flood might smash his reason apart directly.

Markus lowered his voice so that only Lukas could hear: "Listen, kid. Don't think you're the victim. Viktor Henderson is looking for this device. He's not after it to collect it — he's after it to control. Once you walk out of this block, his network will lock onto your biometric signature."

Lukas felt a wave of dizziness, black spots appearing at the edges of his vision. He tried to refute it with logic, but Sophia's provocation was like a thorn stuck in his already unstable nerves. He retreated in panic, and his sleeve accidentally swept across a fine porcelain plate displayed on the neighboring stall.

Lukas forcibly pressed down his surging emotions, his voice dry and hoarse: "Sorry, I was just looking... that device seems to have malfunctioned."

"Sir, does the porcelain in your hand bear a serial number?"

"Crack."

In that chaotic shadow, the man in the gray trench coat lifted the corner of his mouth slightly, a cold light mingling disappointment and killing intent flashing in his eyes. He fumbled a miniature earpiece out of his collar and spoke at a volume only he himself could hear: "Target out of control. Initiate the 'Clean Room' protocol. Remember — I want the complete Harmonizer, and his brain."

"If it breaks... then let everything break together."