Before the magistrate could render a final, fatal verdict upon the high-resolution barcode of Ryan's corporate ID badge, a sweating ashigaru burst through the sparse crowd, his lacquered shoulder plates rattling and his brow slick with heavy exertion. Breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps, the foot soldier planted himself squarely in Ryan's path and slammed a calloused hand against the rough-hewn timber barrier. With the frantic urgency of an overextended warehouse worker confronting an unauthorized delivery driver during peak inventory season, the soldier demanded a formal, stamped transit permit in triplicate before the massive wooden gates would so much as creak open.
Ryan offered a soft, long-suffering exhalation, his fingers instinctively tapping against the strap of his canvas messenger bag as he endured the interruption. To his weary, caffeine-starved mind, the breathless ashigaru bore less resemblance to a fierce feudal warrior and more to an unseasoned logistics temp blocking the ground-floor turnstiles over missing paperwork. Adjusting his pressed white collar with mild, placid resignation, Ryan politely explained that his clearance was currently tied to an ongoing regional audit, treating the fortified provincial gate with the exact same bureaucratic patience he reserved for obstinate venue security guards back at Barangaroo.