Not Your Typical Live-In Son-In-Law のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

The blueprint wasn’t digital.It couldn’t be.After Jakarta, Charlotte made it clear: anything that could be hacked, duplicated, or copied was a liability. The new architecture — the one that would oppose the hunters Malcolm was unleashing — had to be grown, not built.Its foundation: choice.Its name: Project Spine.In the subterranean fabrication chamber beneath the Lancaster compound, Charlotte stood with Elias, Julian, and Sophie as the first unit's framework came online.The chamber was quiet, lit only by the pale pulses of embryonic glass — human-sized tanks suspended from ceiling mounts like inverted cathedral bells. Inside them: nothing yet. Just potential. Liquids stirred. Proteins assembled. Synaptic lattices began forming like frost across memory cores.Julian stared at the schematic.“This isn’t a soldier,” he said. “This is a person.”Charlotte nodded.“That’s the point.”Project Spine was unlike the mimic protocols, unlike the reflections, unlike any synthetic warfare do

The download took eight seconds.That was all the time it took for Marra — still recovering, her ribs bandaged — to insert a shard of mimic alloy she’d pulled from the Tallinn creature’s remains into Sophie’s diagnostic chamber.The data crystal wasn't large. Barely the size of a thumbnail.But when the reader touched it, the lab lights dimmed, and the interface stuttered before going dark.Sophie stood motionless, watching the screen flicker.Then, slowly, a symbol appeared.Not Malcolm’s.Not the mimic triangle.Not even the Lancaster thread signature.It was a tree — stylized, jagged, with roots longer than its branches.And a single word beneath it.“Splinter.”Sophie brought the find directly to Charlotte.“This wasn’t in the Tallinn facility’s systems,” Sophie said. “It was embedded inside the hunter itself. Deep. Behind five layers of language obfuscation.”Charlotte studied the symbol.“It’s a forked thread?”Sophie nodded. “An unauthorized one. Someone extracted a fragment of

The Splinter didn’t go quiet after the trials.That was the first sign something deeper had shifted.Charlotte had expected the Ava-branch logic to integrate, stabilize, and then settle into dormancy—another layer in the ever-growing architecture of the Lancaster legacy. Instead, the Splinter remained faintly active in the system, like a heartbeat too soft to hear but too steady to ignore.Sophie noticed it first.“It’s not broadcasting,” she said, fingers moving slowly across the glass console. “And it’s not infecting anything. It’s just… pinging.”“Pinging what?” Julian asked.“Not what,” Sophie replied. “Where.”Charlotte joined her at the interface.On the display, a series of coordinates flickered faintly. They weren’t precise—more like directional pulls than GPS locks. A trail. Or a thread tugging at its origin.“Is this coming from the Splinter?” Charlotte asked.“Yes,” Sophie said. “But not from the portion we activated. It’s from deeper. A subroutine embedded in Ava’s archive

Malcolm did not make speeches.He did not broadcast threats.He issued a command.And the world shifted.At 04:12 UTC, dormant Bastion subroutines activated across nineteen major infrastructure networks.Not visibly.Not with alarms.But with overrides.Traffic systems recalibrated without municipal approval.Power grids rerouted load distributions to unknown reserve nodes.Financial clearinghouses introduced silent verification loops that flagged specific individuals—carriers—as anomalies.It wasn’t an attack.It was containment.Reclamation.In Johannesburg, a carrier working as a municipal systems analyst found her terminal locked mid-session.In Toronto, a transit scheduler discovered her credentials revoked without notice.In Istanbul, a mid-tier energy coordinator watched as the grid she managed began making decisions without her input.Each one felt it.That subtle pressure behind the eyes.The thread tightening.At Lancaster compound, the anomaly board went red.Julian stood f

The first person to go viral wasn’t a politician.She was a barista.Her name was Elina Korhonen.Twenty-three.Living in Helsinki’s Kalasatama district.No known carrier signature.No political affiliation.Just someone curious enough to try Bastion’s new Futurecast module on a slow Sunday afternoon.She entered her goals into the interface:“Stable income.” “Creative fulfillment.” “Family someday.” “Minimal stress.”Futurecast processed for 1.4 seconds.Then returned a pathway.Not vague encouragement.Not motivational fluff.A mapped, date-stamped trajectory.Switch from café work to a two-year logistics certification program. Relocate to Tampere within 18 months. Partner compatibility projection optimized through suggested social hubs. Mortgage pre-approval timing window: Q3, three years out.The interface displayed projected happiness metrics with a smooth upward curve.Elina laughed.Then enrolled in the certification program.Within weeks, similar stories began circulatin