Chương 26: The Cynical Literary Girl, MURASAKI Boots Up

"A corrective patch is required." Naosu Yari swept his hand across the desk, carelessly scattering the glowing power stones. They clattered and rolled across the metallic floorboards in a chaotic shower.

"How do we alter this suffocating atmospheric telemetry?" Yari questioned, his eyes cold.

"We grant them 'Strength' through Yoshitsune, and they run entirely rogue. We grant them 'Faith' through Himiko, and they lapse into absolute dependency. The national character of this collective is far too volatile."

"Are we talking about... balance, Prime Minister?" I asked.

"The capacity to regulate one's own emotional processing. They require 'Intellect' and 'Culture'—the strength to look the brutal trauma of reality dead in the eye and still choose to live. They need to confront their own minds, not flee into spiritual black boxes."

"Precisely." Yari nodded, stepping in front of the fourth stasis capsule.

"The ability to verbalize emotion, to view one's existence with absolute objectivity. There is only one entity in the source code of this nation's history capable of installing that firmware. The one woman who spent her entire existence observing the raw, unfiltered karma of human nature."

"Heh, this one's a hazardous compound, Bossman," Gennai smirked from the terminal monitor.

"If HIMIKO was your 'Idol of Light,' this chick is the 'Gloom-Girl of Darkness.' She penned the world's oldest full-length novel while analyzing the toxic, backstabbing drama of the imperial court with ice-cold detachment. A certified, top-tier introvert." I glanced at the placard mounted on the capsule. The timestamp read: Circa A. D. 1008. The Heian Dynasty—an era of supreme elegance layered over treacherous, silent malice.

[Code Name: MURASAKI / The Lady of Tale] Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"Murasaki Shikibu..." I swallowed hard, the weight of the name hitting my chest.

"The author of The Tale of Genji... But Prime Minister, her historical logs paint her as a profoundly complexed, cynical woman, don't they? Her personal diaries are packed to the brim with trash-talk about her coworkers and endless existential whining..."

"That is exactly why she is optimal," Yari countered, his fingers hovering over the fourth initialization key.

"She knows the absolute depths of human ugliness and fragility. Yet, she possessed the intellect to sublimate that corruption into 'Narrative'—into literature. She is going to teach this mental-health cult state the definition of true, raw Emotion." His gaze locked onto the console with chilling resolve.

"Authorization granted. Commencing rollback procedure on Sovereign Protocol: JAPAN."

"Gennai, initialize MURASAKI. Loadout specs?"

"Deploying [Psychological Barrier: Jūnihitoe Firewall] and [Kotodama Materialization Fan: Brush Pen (Writing Device)].... Handle with extreme caution, team. She's an absolute grandmaster at mental hacking." Yari barked the final command:"Re-JAPAN Project, Phase 4. Activate... 【MURASAKI】!" PZZZZZ-HISS— The pressure seals popped, and the capsule doors slid apart.

Emerging from the freezing mist was a woman clad in a heavily retrofitted, cyberpunk iteration of the Jūnihitoe —the traditional twelve-layered ceremonial robes. Her dark, cascading hair framed skin as pale as unblemished ivory. Clutched in her hand was a holographic console disguised as a folding fan, casting an elite, melancholic shadow over her eyes.

"... Too bright," she muttered, her very first words dripping with profound irritation."'Spring is all about the hype'... what a pathetic lie. Spring is just seasonal depression. Summer is depression too.... Why must the mere act of existence be so exhaustingly tedious?" An overwhelming, suffocating downer aura. Yet, burning deep within those heavy, detached eyes was a razor-sharp intellect that looked capable of dissecting the matrix of the world itself.

"Let's move, Kataru-kun," Yari said, initializing the temporal displacement drive.

"Target year: A. D. 1008. Go dismantle the code of this cloyingly sweet cult state with the raw power of literature."

"... Understood." I slid my bottle of stomach medicine into my pocket. This time, I had remembered to restock the parameters.

"As a fellow literary otaku, I feel like she and I might actually vibe.... Probably." The blinding light of the transfer gate flooded the room. Goodbye, pastel-colored hell. Our next destination: the elegant, treacherous darkness of the Heian court.