Arknights: The Prophet of Penguin Logistics — Chapter 86

Chapter 86: The Hardcore Idol, Miss Sora

Fate. People constantly claim to break free from it, boasting that they have shattered their inherent destiny and ascended to a higher existence. But who can truly say that such rebellion isn’t merely another thread woven into the shroud of a much grander design? In the face of such absolute determinism, the very concept of rational judgment loses its meaning.

Lynn despised this lack of control. While his precognition was a terrifyingly useful tool, it offered no logical deductions—only chaotic, random guidance. He could never verify if the visions were absolute truth, nor could he be certain the futures they presented were ones he actually desired. It reduced him to a marionette dancing on the strings of some higher power, struggling to survive like a stray dog in the rain.

He hated it. He wanted absolute authority over his own existence.

But free will, much like fate, remained entirely unprovable. A man could never prove where his life might have gone had he made a different choice, because no one steps into the same river twice. Lynn, however, possessed a quiet, unyielding resolve. Since solidifying his stance on life, death, and the intrinsic value of those around him, his intuition had sharpened from a vague instinct into a piercing clarity. He still resented the gift, but he couldn’t deny its utility. It subtly warped his decisions, steering him down a very specific path.

“What’s wrong?”

Exusiai leaned in, blinking bright crimson eyes at him. “You’ve been acting super weird for the last few minutes, Prophet. Did you give yourself a stomachache eating too many desserts again?”

“No, it’s not that.”

It was strange. As he watched the armored figures slipping through the narrow alleyways of Kazimierz, a suffocating weight settled over his chest. His spirit tugged at him, a silent, urgent guide.

Logically, these backstreets were perfectly concealed. A squad of Knights moving through the shadows shouldn’t draw any attention. Yet, they kept bleeding into Lynn’s peripheral vision. Ahead, behind, across the neon-lit streets, and deep within the claustrophobic alleys. Entire squads were already in position, their movements flashing across his mind’s eye with mechanical precision. They moved silently, invisible to the ordinary citizen.

But Lynn saw them. He saw the Knights who had deliberately stripped the identifying heraldry from their armor. Worse, he saw the shadows trailing them—figures draped in muted robes, devoid of heavy plating, clutching massive composite bows and armor-piercing crossbows. They melted in and out of the darkness. Their stealth was flawless. If Lynn’s intuition hadn’t forcefully dragged his attention to the fragmented afterimages of their movements, they would have remained ghosts.

What did this mean? His intuition offered no blaring alarms, no flashing symbols of imminent death. Just a crushing, atmospheric pressure. It wasn’t a matter of choosing right or wrong; it was the suffocating realization that a choice had to be made. Lynn stared up at the glowing marquee of Sora’s concert venue, his mind racing.

At that exact moment, the backstage dressing room of that very venue was practically boiling over.

“The political climate in Kazimierz is a powder keg right now!” The female representative, dressed in sharp black corporate attire, glared at the stubborn staff around her, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Various Knightly orders are already making public threats. Protests and bloody riots could break out in the streets at any second. As an entertainment agency, our absolute priority is safety. I know everyone has poured their blood and sweat into this tour, but these are extraordinary circumstances. We cannot risk our lives for a show!”

“Sora, maybe this time we should just—”

“Keep going.”

“…What?”

“Continue the prep. Did you not hear me?”

Sora exhaled a soft breath. Dressed in her dazzling stage outfit, complete with a sleek leather jacket, she sat perfectly still in her makeup chair. Her gaze swept over the panicked crew with absolute calm.

“I am an idol. I am a professional. I don’t back down just because the wind changes. Canceling a show over unconfirmed hearsay is unacceptable. This is Kazimierz. The City of Romance. The Knights and the operators from Blacksteel International are out there bleeding for their causes. I refuse to let everyone’s hard work turn to ash just because of some baseless rumors. I will not shame the effort this crew has put in.” She stood up, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Without a confirmed, direct threat, I am not leaving. The show goes on. Even if every single one of you evacuates, I will stay here and sing.”

The representative stared at her, aghast. “But the intelligence reports prove that something massive is brewing in the shadows! Sora, stop being willful! We are responsible for your life—”

“That is their political baggage. It has nothing to do with a girl who sells songs for a living.” Sora picked up two shimmering star stickers and carefully pressed them to her cheek, ignoring the manager’s sputtering protests. “Politics is politics. Culture is culture. If they want to draw lines in the sand and slaughter each other over ideals, they can go right ahead. I will sing. Even if this stage turns into a blood-soaked battlefield, I will not miss a single note.”

She turned and pointed toward the heavy velvet curtains separating them from the arena. “You say Kazimierz is too dangerous to even walk the streets? Then what about them?”

Beyond the curtain, the massive stadium was packed to the rafters. Tens of thousands of fans sat in the dim lighting, a sprawling, dark ocean of humanity. The sheer volume of their overlapping voices rolled through the venue like a physical tide, rattling the floorboards.

The manager instinctively took a step back, intimidated by the sheer weight of that roaring crowd.

“They are still here,” Sora said softly, her eyes hardening with resolve. “If it’s really as deadly out there as you claim, then every single person in those seats risked their lives just to walk through our doors. Fathers, children, exhausted office workers. They braved a city on the brink of war just to hear my voice. If I run away now, I have no right to call myself an idol.”

She gestured to the surging sea of fans. “An idol is a dream-maker. We weave fantasies for the masses. If I let their dream shatter before the nightmare even begins, what kind of professional am I? I’d sing in the middle of a warzone. It’s just a crisis. I’m used to it by now.”

“…Where does this insane confidence come from?” The manager’s face was pale, her voice trembling. “Are you truly not afraid of dying out there?”

Sora paused, a small, knowing smile touching her lips as she looked at the terrified woman. “Confidence? I’ve never really had much of that. But… how should I put it? I happen to know a Prophet.”