05:12 A.M.
The vibration of my phone pulled me awake.
I reached for the device on my nightstand.
A single notification from the National Security Secretariat’s secure application filled the screen.
Report to the Prime Minister’s Office immediately.
That was all it said.
No explanation.
None was necessary.
That notification was sent only when the National Security Council had been convened under emergency conditions.
I was out of bed in an instant, pulling on my suit without even taking a shower.
As I tightened my tie, I switched on the television.
Every channel was still airing its normal morning programming.
Nothing had been reported yet.
Or rather, nothing could be reported.
The weather forecast scrolled quietly along the bottom of the screen.
Tokyo: Clear skies.
For some reason, those words felt painfully out of place.
Outside, the chilly May air brushed against my face.
The eastern sky was just beginning to brighten.
Tokyo was waking up to what appeared to be another ordinary morning.
A delivery truck was unloading supplies at a convenience store.
A newspaper carrier sped through an intersection on a motorcycle.
An elderly man walked his dog along the sidewalk.
None of them knew.
Within the hour, a meeting would begin that could determine the future of the nation.
I climbed into my car and headed for the Prime Minister’s Office.
The expressway was unusually empty.
Even so, there were far more police vehicles than usual.
Twice, military transport trucks passed in the opposite direction.
That wasn’t a coincidence.
A growing sense of dread settled deep inside me.
When I arrived, security around the main gate had nearly doubled.
After clearing multiple identity checks, I entered the building.
Just as the elevator doors were closing, a man slipped inside.
“Made it…”
It was Azuma, a section chief from the Ministry of Defense.
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His tie was crooked, and his hair looked as though he’d barely run a hand through it.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.
He gave a tired smile.
“About an hour.”
“I managed two.”
“So you win.”
It was meant to be a joke.
Neither of us laughed.
The elevator climbed in silence.
Finally, Azuma spoke in a low voice.
“They’ve begun the exercise.”
“How large?”
“Larger than expected.”
“Any signs of an invasion?”
“Not yet.”
It was the yet that stayed with me.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened onto a corridor already crowded with officials moving briskly in every direction.
National Security Secretariat.
Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Ministry of Defense.
Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office.
No one wasted time on small talk.
A television mounted on the wall had finally switched to breaking news.
Neighboring nation launches large-scale military exercise.
Just a headline.
No footage yet.
Inside the conference room, the Prime Minister and the senior cabinet ministers were already seated.
Satellite images filled the enormous display.
A naval base along the neighboring country’s coastline.
Countless warships lined the harbor, while an entire fleet had formed up offshore.
In the upper-right corner, glowing in red, were the words:
Confirmed: 04:18
The crimson timestamp quietly conveyed the gravity of the situation.
“Initialize AEGIS.”
As the operator spoke, the room lights dimmed.
At the center of the room, a black terminal came to life.
It looked completely ordinary.
Unremarkable.
Almost forgettable.
Yet everyone present knew the truth.
When it came to decisions that carried the greatest weight in this country…
…this machine held the final recommendation.
“Synchronizing latest intelligence.”
Satellite surveillance.
Japan Self-Defense Forces alert data.
Diplomatic reports from overseas missions.
Logistics data from the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry.
Meteorological and oceanographic reports.
Signals intelligence.
Social media sentiment analysis.
Stock markets.
Foreign exchange.
Oil prices.
Military satellite feeds from around the world.
An unimaginable flood of information poured into AEGIS.
More data than any human being could process in a lifetime.
The only thing changing on the screen was the number of processed records.
One hundred million.
Three hundred million.
Nine hundred million.
No one spoke.
At last, the display changed.
Analysis Initiated
Those two words made the silence even heavier.
I glanced at the clock.
06:18 A.M.
The room remained perfectly still.
No one moved.
Or perhaps…
No one could.
It felt as though the nation’s future would be decided within the next few minutes.
Without warning, the Prime Minister looked at me.
“What’s your assessment?”
The question caught me off guard.
I thought for a moment.
“If it’s only a military exercise, the scale is still explainable.”
“But?”
“The problem is what comes next.”
I kept my eyes on the fleet displayed across the screen.
“It could be preparation for an invasion.”
“On the other hand, if they truly intended to invade, there’d be no need to disguise it as an exercise.”
“It can be interpreted either way.”
The Prime Minister gave a slight nod.
“So… you don’t know.”
“No, sir.”
It was the only honest answer.
I’d spent years in this profession.
Even so, there was one thing no analyst could fully read.
The intentions of another nation.
Human beings were capable of bluffing.
Deception.
Emotion.
That was precisely what made them impossible to predict.
“That’s why we have AEGIS.”
The Chief Cabinet Secretary spoke quietly.
It wasn’t sarcasm.
It was simply a fact.
Ten years earlier, when the AI had first been introduced, the country had been deeply divided.
“You’re going to let an AI decide matters of war?”
“The final decision must belong to humans.”
“Don’t surrender national sovereignty to a machine.”
For weeks, television debates raged without end.
But there were just as many voices supporting it.
“Humans are the ones who start wars.”
“Emotion is what costs lives.”
“An AI is more trustworthy than politicians.”
Ten years had passed.
Not a single administration had ever overturned an AEGIS recommendation.
The reason was painfully simple.
No one had ever found a convincing reason to do so.
Prediction accuracy: 99.9999%.
Natural disasters.
Diplomatic crises.
Economic collapses.
Pandemics.
Time and again, it had guided the nation through catastrophe.
It had never gone rogue.
Never acted out of self-interest.
Never avoided responsibility.
And so people had come to trust it.
Or perhaps…
They had simply run out of reasons not to.
A soft electronic tone echoed through the room.
Every eye turned toward the monitor.
Primary Analysis Complete
I held my breath.
From this moment on…
…we were no longer waiting for a human prediction.
We were about to see AEGIS’s future.