Unshackle

by MysticManuscript

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Chapter 1: Green Light; Beginning

Notes:

Just a lil chapter in celebration of the upcoming season 2 of Kaiju no 8 :⁠-⁠)

Year 1999,

 

Kyoto was quiet.

 

The city's usual speckled with warm lights from temples, modern building and ryokans (japanese style inn) was but a void.

No neon signs, no billboards, no vehicles outside, no flickering traffic lights, nothing.

The typhoon howled violently throughout the city and neighborhood of Kyoto, stores shuttered, homes dark, stray cats and dogs hid in the alleyway for refuge.

 

They know when danger is near.

 

Every power source had been shut down. An enforced black out to avoid it. Electricity attracts it.

 

Kaiju No. 0,

 

The first numbered kaiju ever documented before Kaiju no. 1. It had been haunting Kyoto for decades, documenting how it slips to every typhoon in storm clouds and lightning. The reason, no one knows.

The Japanese government and Anti-Kaiju Defense Force made a regulation before its arrival, maybe just maybe it would passed through if every home, every device, every city went dark.

Still, the Fifth Division was deployed. Soldiers outfitted in standard uniforms with anti-EMF gears to counter Kaiju no. 0 affinity for electricity. Half of the squad's weapons were to shoot, half were to disrupt.

Convoys of the Division's trucks moved in silence, engines dulled with noise suppression techs, save for the occasional secure comms. No unnecessary noise.

Even when the storm, which had howled hours ago, settled into a oppressive quiet ambience, shattered only by the distant rumble of thunder far away.

 

It was eerie. Unnatural.

 

Within the estate of the Yozora clan, Yozora Y/n went for the door.

Their ancestral home, had housed Anti-Kaiju Defense officers for generations, at the end of Kamakura period and up to the early years of Muromachi period til to this day.

Now mix with cutting edge defense system, for generations, her ancestors, the Yozora clan, had fought these monsters with nothing but primitive weapons, adapting from naginata (polearms), katana, bow and arrows, into anti kaiju artillery.

And yet, with all their revolutionary advancement, Kaiju no.0 had never been defeated. A nightmare that came and went.

 

Yozora Y/n had only ever seen it in photographs. Monochrome and grainy in her father's office and faded ink sketches in her clan's archives. Her father, Yozora Michikatsu, current Fifth Division captain and those before him, had spent of their lives trying to kill it.

 

But she had never seen it in real life.

 

Until now.

She walk across the polished wood barefoot. And into the wooden framework of shoji doors, Yozora Y/n knew the rules, knew better than to follow. Michikatsu ingrained it in her brains,

And yet, she opened the shoji door just wide enough to go outside to the engawa (veranda) the wooden porch overlooking the zen garden and far to the rain-slicked traditional architectured neighbourhood.

And it was quiet.

 

It was a hum first.

 

Not a roar, not a screech, not even a guttural sound of kaijus she long accustomed to every video footage that the camera in the news managed to capture.

Yozora Y/n's body vibrated, her breath stilled.

Eerie but beautiful. You had never heard anything like it.

It permeated, sipping through the silence left behind by the city's black out. A hollow, metallic edge that sound ricochet in an empty cathedral.

Then....a light.

Not manmade, nor the city's, but a white hot blinding flash of light in the darkness, a thunder split the sky, lighting the the neighbourhood for the shortest seconds.

 

And there it was.

 

Kaiju no. 0.

 

It wasn't visible at first. (Yozora Y/n read before that it often blended with the night sky during typhoon to hunt) a long necked behemoth with its wings halfly unfurled.

Its dark blue body blending with the raging sky above, but what made truly Yozora Y/n's breath hitch, what made her body freeze in the first place, was its bioluminescence.

Deep, pulsating streaks of electric blue and purple colour ran through its body, scorching to life against the rampaging sky in the wake of the lightning strike.

Like the veins of a storm cloud. Like the flicker of Aurora Borealis,

 

It was a few blocks away from her,

 

And though, its massive head turned towards Yozora Y/n.

 

She forgot how to breath. She's supposed to run now, at her room, where it's safe, where her guards could protect her. But she couldn't,

The hum returned, deeper this time, a tingling sensation crawled beneath her skin, covering her entire lungs, as if air itself dried out.

Yozora Y/n forget how long she stood there, locked eyes with Kyoto's massive predator. Locked in silence, locked in a moment that felt to heavy and exhilarating to exist.

Her lips parted, barely audible as the rain pours again,

 

"Kaiju..."

 

Her voice trembled,

 

Then her eyes widened, realization sinked in,

 

"No. 0"

 

A storm rage again, another clap of thunder,

and in an instant, the head of Kaiju no. 0 reared back, its bioluminescence flaring wildly, very much so it painted the darkness purple and electric blue,

And it lets a ear splitting roar,

It wasnt like its hum. Nothing soothing, nothing gentle. A deafening, ear splitting electric-laced bellow that tear through the air, followed by a explosion of rain and wind as it flatter its wings in full,

She heard gunshots, voices of the defense forces, Michikatsu's included,

Yozora Y/n stumbled, but before she could react, a hand behind her reaches out, clamping around her small wrist. Tight and calloused.

"Y/n—"

She barely had time to gasp as she was yanked back inside the estate, shoji doors slamming shut with a tight, sharp crack.

Away from the kaiju still lingering outside.

"Are you out of your damn mind?!" He hissed,

He let go of her, only to shove the reinforced lock back to its place, thick metal bars shoving back to their slots, sealing them inside.

"Do you have any idea what would've happened if it saw you?"

The estate, as all buildings within Kyoto had been fortified specifically for Kaiju no. 0's abilities and its affinity towards thunder and electricity. The traditional architecture hiding modern technology and reinforcements beneath the wood and rice papers.

The man who pulled her back inside exhaled sharply, his broad frame, her father's second in command, blocking the shoji doors, Yozora Hoshiguma, now a retired veteran.

and the one who had practically raised her in her father’s absence.

His vicious scar running from his scalp to right cheek of his face was unseen in the dark estate, but it was his glare, (aside from his milky right eye), dark and stormy and sharp as a blade, that pinned her in her place.

"It did" she whispered, still breathless

 

Yozora Hoshiguma went rigid.

 

For a moment, only the sound of storm and thunder hammering against the roof, the distant cackle of gunfire far away,

Then, his jaw clenched, "Then you're lucky to be alive."

Yozora Hoshiguma grabbed her hand, and Yozora Y/n lets him, towards her bedroom,

"And you," he continued, turning his head to face her, his scowl deepening, "are going to explain why the hell did you even open that damn door, because I swear, Y/n, if you pull that stunt again i'll—"

Another thunderclap tore through the sky.

The entire house shuddered, both felt that rumbling feeling deep in their bones,

And still, even as she was pinned beneath Hoshiguma's glare, even as the storm raged beyond the doors—

 

Yozora Y/n swore she could still hear that hum.

Notes:

Real story;

I have this habit of sending email with files (from myself) im working on, because i learned my lesson (and out of fear it might happen again) when my Google docs vanished from my drive, sadly i only retrieved half of it with help from google support,

And i accidentally send this draft to my math teacher😭 well, technically, i wouldn't publish this, but after some embarrassing teasing and remarks from her, she did persuade me to publish this series. So yay,

(Tho no promises I'll finish this series, college is such a pain in the ass, I'll debate against you if you said otherwise.)

Also, idk if there's a actual fifth division/members that appeared in the manga, if my memory serves me right, there isnt, even tho it was stationed in the western region of Japan,

Why fifth division? Well, Kyoto is near Hyogo, Himeji city where sixth division was actually stationed, so it makes sense if both divisions be positioned next to each other. Both are kansai regions, making them Western Divisions (5-8th defense division).

Also, kind of having trouble with the reader/oc thingy, despite using the "y/n" title from previous fanfic, so i kind of used both interchangeably, despite the two are different.

And also because the surname Yozora has something to do with its name meaning to the title and to insert that MC is from a family of soldiers like Kikoru and Hoshina, (and Definitely has ties with the hoshina family👀) but she is not a nepo baby, especially not a mary sue.

Im trying not to make MC a flat character with no motives and no flaws, as i felt from my previous MC's of my fanfics before,

Also, not one to info dump that much, my friend once told me she deleted her ao3 acc after so many negative comments flooding her fanfics, and as someone who just starting writing as a habit and coping mechanism, every fanfic i publish, i always get anxious whether someone commented something negative (and nothing so far which is a relief, and your comments and kudos really encourage me, thx), and since this is a SERIES, and i have some creative freedom to write whatever and however i want, and of course including some of what people could like in it... If this is NOT your cup of tea, you can go, simple as that😃

So yeah, see you after the premier of season 2 kaiju no.8, and , a certain BNHA character inspired me of MC's weapon. Im curious if you can guess it tho

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

 

🦗🦗🦗

Chapter 2: The Quiet Ones Bleed Last

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Disclaimer;

I'm no military personnel and all of the information i gathered are from Google and YouTube, mixed with my creative writing, if somehow i made an error in some military hierarchy ranks, im good with criticism.

And as mentioned from the tags, there's violence and slight body horror (not that bad), since i believe that kaijus could be even more violent than the anime/manga.

"The sound of the Gion Shōja bells echoes the impermanence of all things. The color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline. The arrogant do not last long—like a fleeting dream on a spring night. Even the mighty will perish in the end, like dust before the wind."

 

Yozora Y/n had read those prologue once. As a child no more than six, seated on the polished wood in the engawa (veranda) of her clan's estate.

The scent of matcha lingered lingered in the summer's air, mingling both with the smoke of Yozora Michikatsu's cigarette and the aged inked of an open book in her hand.

"What does it mean?" She had asked,

Yozora Michikatsu had moved a piece on the shogi board. Trapping hers in an elegant checkmate. 

"That even the mighty fall" his eyes met hers, assessing, waiting. "Tell me, Y/n, how will you avoid their fate?" 

Yozora Y/n had been six then,

But now at 32, the question had lingered and haunted her still.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Present day

 

The elevator vibrated softly, an antiseptic lull beneath the sharp of her fingertip against the phone screen. Yozora Y/n leaned against the cool steel wall, her eyes glued on the artificial glow of her phone screen.

The article was nothing new, recycled accolades, polished articles about her past, your name carved into the foundation of the Third Division. Former Third Division Captain. Architect of Countless Victories.

Yozora Y/n's lips curled, although it never reached her eyes. The words held no malice, just facts. Mentor of the Third Division's Captain. The One Who Shaped Ashiro Mina Into What She Is Today. A quote from Ashiro Mina herself, bold against the white page;

"I wouldn't have made it without her. I wouldn't be Captain without Chief of Combat Operation Yozora Y/n." 

She exhaled through her nostrils, thumb still hovering towards the screen. Her right arm, or what was supposed to be her right arm, ached.

A phantom pain. Sharp and tearing, like a memory refusing to fade, the prosthetic arm fit well enough. The engineering smooth and flawless, 

But it will never be her arm,

Yozora Y/n closed her fingers once, forcing the tension to her palm.

Her phone ringed a notification, from Narumi Gen;

Narumi Gen:  Oi, Chief Brain, Youre watching right? First Division about to annihilate this up. Try not to be too impressed.

(You should've brought your vicodin for your chronic pain and headache)

The elevator chimmed, doors parted, spilling artificial lights onto the glassy floors. Yozora Y/n stepped forward, heels clicking a steady rhythm that slice through the hushes whispers of passing officers.

Some bowed their heads in respect, murmuring a crisp "Chief", others barely batted an eye, focus glued to the luminous screens lining the operations center.

The command operation room unfolded before her. A colony of precision and movement.

Rows of stations beeped with live data feeds, constant counting of numbers, tactical overlays, heat signatures, operational leaders clad in white coat and headsets, fingers clanging over keyboards in relentless motions.

But the true heartbeat of the room was the central display; a towering, massive and monolith of data and information.

A live map of Japan pulsed in deep colour of red and blue, kaiju activities marked in threatening cluster in different regions. 

The room was vibrated in urgency, controlled chaos laced together with discipline and proficiency.

Yozora Y/n reached for her headsets, the weight familiar as she puts it on. Her eyes sharpened, slicing through the multiple screens within the command room.

She manages to type a reply to Narumi Gen's message,

The hum of computers and rapid keystrokes filled the command operation room by the the glow of multiple monitors. Two of many displayed real-time footage of both battle zone via drone and CCTV camera feed.

Yokohama and Nagasaki,

 

"Status Report." 

 

One of the operational leaders, Tanaka Eijichi, a sharp man in his early thirties, with a perpetual furrowed eyebrows, looked up from his station. His voice, short yet efficient.

"Target in Yokohama is moving from Yatobashi towards Yamashita town. Estimated speed, 60km per hour."

A massive bipedal kaiju, the body of a giant Helodermatidae lizard, with an orange torso, beige abdomen, and yellow eyes.

Roughly categorised as Honju with fortitude level of 6.0, its bio thermal readings were normal; no signs of entering a heightened sense of aggression.

The weight Yozora Y/n's prosthetic arm barely registered anymore; what did was the phantom pain gnawing the absence.

Her gaze flicked towards the data.

Projected impacts with Urban zones; 13 minutes.

"Contact Third Division," she ordered, 

"Operational Leader Okonogi Konomi, relay to Captain Ashiro Mina and Vice-captain Hoshina Soshiro, engagement protocol,"

Yozora Y/n eyed the monitor again; 10 minutes, 

"Their priority is containment. Make sure no civilians are harmed within its range. But the Third Division has execute authority to neutralise it." 

Tanaka Eijichi nodded, fingers flying across his keyboard as he relayed the message.

Her attention shifted, Nagasaki.

Another operational leader, Yamashiro Yamamoto, an older man in his fourties with thicked glasses, and a calm, weathered voice, spoke up,

"Nagasaki is a recurring territory. This is more than usual, though. Reports stipulates that kaiju emergence rates in the region." 

The live feed flickered, showing into a image of First Division in transit. The metrical hum of rotor blades barely audible beneath the radio chatter.

Inside the aircraft, squad members sat in tight formation; armoured suits made from kaiju synthetic skins and cells, rifles secured.

Narumi Gen lounged in his seat, one leg casually propped up over the other, his bayonet resting against his shoulder like a bored predator, waiting to hunt.

Despite his posture, Narumi Gen's sharp magenta eyes tracking the incoming mission data displayed on a tablet, 

Tachibana double checked his anti kaiju ammunition belts, the door gunner shifted slightly, ready at Narumi Gen's post. 

Besides Yamashiro Yamamoto, Sakamoto Aira, one of the new recruits chimed in. She was younger, mid-twenties, bun tied neatly with a pencil, but her voice carried emergency.

"Reason confirmed. It's breeding season."

Yozora Y/n's expression didnt falter, but her mind moved in three different scenarios and countermeasures. Breeding season. Breeding season. Breeding sea-

Her gaze flicked to one of the side screens. Where a drone feed from Nagasaki streamed real time. 

Thermal imaging highlighted clusters of movement. Irregular, writhing patterns deep within industrial factors,

Yozora Y/n ignored the sharp gasp coming from Sakamoto Aira, where from the live feed stabilised, the camera panned slightly; a partial ribcage, hollowed out, half sunken into a golden-brown substance. 

Viscous and glistening, sinked within a sludge were ripped shreds of clothing soaked through the blackened blood, 

 

as if that person were processed into raw organic matter.

 

Another feed showed a mass of wriggling bodies within what looked like a partially collapsed warehouse with geometrical structured holes that could fit a human-sized kaiju, to crawl through.

Recognition clicked.

The division of their bodies, the distinct nodal clustering. Larvae sacs lodged into the metal beams of the ruined building. Suspicious golden brown substance with human remains.

Honey.

"Tsuyomushi." Yozora Y/n, muttered, under her breath, the name of the specific kaiju species surfacing up in her memory,

Tsuyomushi-type Kaiju  

refers to a class of insectoid kaiju known for their strength, resilience, or aggressive nature. Their pheromone-based coordination make them appear in swarms and become highly organized threat.

If they were anything like the cases before, they worked like wasps; pheromones trails guiding drones, workers prioritising hive expansion, and one queen acting as the core.

Narumi Gen could exterminate the nest alone, as long as the First Division would act as diversion,

The longer the nest was left, the more this kind of kaiju would emerge.

"Pull up all recorded archived encounters Tsuyomushi type variants in the last five years." 

Yamashiro Yamamoto, seated at the main data terminal, fingers glided over the keyboard, nodded,

"Cross-referencing now, Chief." 

Time stops for no one, if they didnt neutralize the queen soon, the infestation would spiral into a citywide threat. Or more.

Another operational leader from her station reports that the Third Division successfully neutralised the Honju-level kaiju in Yokohama.

Yamashiro Yamamoto's screen flickered as archived data showed in, combat logs, autopsy of both soldiers and kaiju findings and incident reports.

"Got it." He confirmed, 

"All Tsuyomushi type cross-referencing, incidents from the last five years. Highest concentration, Kyushu region. Recorded data indicates hive expansion occurs within 9 hours if the queen remains active." 

Yamashiro Yamamoto paused, scrolling fast, 

"Past engagement strategies show high resilience to conventional ballistics. Tsuyomushi type kaiju's chitin plating absorbs impact," 

Fingers typing, mouse clicking, Yamashiro Yamamoto squinted his eyes towards the screen in front of him before looking at Yozora Y/n, 

"Effective measures used before including thermal-based weaponry, and high yield incendiaries." 

Yozora Y/n's jaw tightened, a standard extermination op wouldn't work. Not without any collateral damages.

Further more, each officer that has a released force of 40% or lower wouldn't work, good thing each Platoon Leader within the First Division has the potential to become a captain.

Firts Divisions were often sent overseas because of their feat. 

"Pull up the structural map of the infested zone." She ordered. Sakamoto Aira, quickly overlaid a heatmap of kaiju activity to the topographic scan of southern Nagasaki.

The nest stretched out through a semi-urban district, an abandoned warehouse.

Y/n's mind worked fast, thinking of the best options, weakness, fail-safes, countermeasures;

She grabbed the mic attached to her headset;

"Deploy suppressant mist, high level grade pheromones. Confuse the swarm’s coordination. Prioritize dispersal around the perimeter first to prevent Tsuyomushi kaiju spreading around the place."

Operational leaders issued the command relayed the directive. Autonomous drones from the nearby division base within Nagasaki, already standby, re routed mid air, adjusting their trajectory towards the hot zone. 

Across the screen, a confirmation flickered.

"Platoon leader Tachibana, lead your squad with thermal based suppression unit. Flush out the drones but dont let them scatter." 

From the live feed, Tachibana subtly nodded as his gloved hand perched on the outer shell of his earpiece, before barking orders, 

"Platoon leader Shinonome Rin, take your squad and draw out as many as your squad can. Prioritised elimination before they can establish secondary nests. Go for the abdomen." She paused,

looking at the screen where Shinonome and her squad gathered, listening in their earpiece.

"That's where their regenerative capacity is lowest." 

Shinonome Rin nodded, "Solid copy," 

The First Division was now stationed forward the operating point. A secured range set up just beyond the nest.

Y/n's eyes narrowed at the live feed of Narumi Gen. Even at this situation, he stood out. Bayonet flashing, his movements precise yet unpredictable. 

His RT-0001 casting a luscious glow over his magenta eyes, a reminder how technology revolutionised as years goes by, they owed this to their forefathers before them.

He can handle this.

"First Division Captain Narumi Gen, you'll eliminate the queen, thermal optics on, if you have to. Aim for the cranial nerve cluster, previous engagement from the archived data says that's where their core hidden." 

No wasted words. No hesitation,

From the feed, Narumi Gen didnt even look up, but his response was unmistakeable.

"Heh. Chief Brain, you really think I need instructions?" 

This idiot.

Yozora Y/n embrace the upcoming wave of migraine before it arrives. 

"No, I'm just making sure the raccoon doesn't get overwhelmed." 

Through the live feed, Narumi Gen visibly froze, mid motion. 

Even with the drone's distance, his full body took offence at her words, were bright as daylight.

Sakamoto Aira looked between her and the screen where Narumi Gen's body was captured, unsure what to say, 

Yamashiro Yamamoto coughed into his hand, pretending not to noticed.

Narumi Gen, however, came expectedly five seconds later,

"Why, you-"

She tuned him out.

Around Narumi Gen, the squads moved with practiced precision—weapons primed, orders exchanged in clipped voice, drone scouts zipping overhead to relay updated terrain analysis, orders exchanged in clipped voices.

The faint glow of RT-0001’s retinal interface reflecting in his eyes. From this distance, the Tsuyomushi hive was writhing in mass,

The scent was suffocating, even through the screen—rotting meat mixed under an unnatural, disgustingly, sweet musk.

Thick, golden-brown substance clung to the destroyed pavement—viscous and glistening under the broad daylight. It heaped in uneven streaks, a horrifying mixture of organic resin and liquefied human remains.

Bone fragments, crushed beyond recognition, some recognizable were stick out at odd angles, flayed flesh, honeyed in that disgustingly sweet, gelatinous substance.

One particular bone stood out, a human skull, still covered in some tidbits of flesh, crumpled from immense pressure, its teeth open in a silent, final scream.

 

Tsuyomushi Kaiju werent just killing and consuming humans, they're processing them.

 

The air thick with the droning sound of countless wings. Narumi Gen exhaled, rolling his shoulders, the texture of his double-bladed bayonet familiar in his gloved hand.

"Let’s get this over with."

As the First Division engaged the nest, the command operation center was locked onto the live feed onto the screen, 

monitoring every movement, every maneuver and counterstrike. The suppressant mist had begun to disseminate.

Obstructing the swarm's coordination. But Yozora Y/n werent convinced yet. She stood near the terminal, eyes sharp as she assessed everything from what the screen could give.

Already calculating the worst case scenario.

A hushed voice broke from the tense silence,

"Chief of Combat Operation, you already have contingencies in place, don't you?" 

The voice belonged to Yamashiro Yamamoto, his calm demeanor edged with curiosity.

He had worked long enough under her command to recognise the way her eyes sharpened. Already anticipating the next move before disaster struck.

It was all part of the job as Chief of Combat Operation. 

Yozora Y/n didnt look away from the screen, but her response was immediate. Thorough.

"Deploy high frequency sound emitters. They imitate the distress signals from a deceased Tsuyomushi," 

Operational leaders already typing away, Yamashiro Yamamoto blinked, he recognise those data from the archived log he surfed an hour ago, 

Damn, 

Chief Yozora Y/n caught all that? 

It was all part of the job as Chief of Combat Operation. 

"It should destroy their instinct to swarm,  forcing them to disorganised flight behaviour." 

A confirmation light blinked as operational leaders relayed the order, the plan was already in motion,

But you weren't finished. 

"If the nest remains a threat, execute a controlled detonation, although Captain Narumi Gen could do that with his bayonet combined with his unleashed combat power, his main goal is to execute the queen,"

(A queen bigger than her workers, from what Yozora Y/n saw from the classified archived data Yamashiro Yamamoto showed.)

She nodded, operational leaders already gliding their fingers over their keyboards, some directly calling to the other side, relaying the message.

"direct impact on their pheromones should collapse their established heirarchy. Causing infighting." 

Silence followed, the First Division was still holding their own. Even Tachibana and Shinonome Rin,

The fallback plan was their only hope to prevent further escalation if things goes south.

Yamashiro Yamamoto gave a low hum of approval as operational leaders scrambled to execute the contingency orders,

The invisible tension within the command operation center of Ariake Maritime Base hadn't decreased, but there's a new sense of control.

Yozora Y/n finally glanced his way. Her expression unreadable.

"Does that answer your question?" 

Her voice was practical, measured. It wasn't arrogant, nor condescending, but that kind of where she doesn't waste her words nor act without reasons.

Yamashiro Yamamoto adjust his thick glasses, exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. But damn, just damn.

Though, there was the faintest hint of a smirk,

"It does. As expected."

Cheers erupted around them. Both looked towards the screen, the queen was down. Neutralised. The nest was obliterated as well.

Sakamoto Aira covered her mouth, shoulders visibly shaking, tears slipping through her eyes. Around her, operational leaders sighed in relief. Tanaka Eijichi being one of them.

A voice crackled alive through the comms from Nagasaki,

"You see that Chief Brain?" 

---

 

The rooftop of Ariake Maritime Base's training ground was quite at this hour. Up here, past twelve midnight, the sky stretched wide and silent. Where the sky meets the earth.

Prompting Yozora Y/n to think she's nothing but a spectacle and small she was in the grand design of things.

Yozora Y/n shouldve gone home. Another day awaited her tomorrow, another strategic real time oversees and on the spot decisions for battles on a national scale. 

Issuing commands to officers who sees her as if she were still something more than a broken soldier behind a desk.

 

It is a lonely thing, knowing too much.

 

Her mind is a pathway of possibilities. A road of cause and effect, one ripplet in the water, and Y/n sees the wave before it crests.

A defense officer hesitates, she hears the blood-curling scream before their throat is wide open. A kaiju shifts its massive weight, she taste the blood spilling everywhere before the first body falls.

The sea beyond the base's perimeter was calm today, but her mind wasnt.

She balled her left hand into a fist. The right hand, the thing strapped to her shoulder, the thing that was hers but not hers, remained still.

Even tho it can move if she willed it to.

Another day awaited her tomorrow, another strategic real time oversees and on the spot decisions for battles on a national scale. 

It was necessary, vital, important. She knew that.

I should've been out there in the frontline, but it still feels like hell.

A voice broke through the quiet storm,

"Careful Yozora. Keep starin that hard, and yer eyebrows might merge into one." 

She didnt startle, she simply exhaled, dragging her gaze away from the sky,

"Vice Captain." 

Yozora Y/n didnt turn around to see him, she could hear that annoying grin in his voice, one that Narumi Gen been wanting to ripped apart, it seems.

Hoshina Soshiro strolled forward, hands hidden in his pockets, dual blade swords strapped behind his back. A swordman's instinct. An instinct she no longer had a use for.

"Didnt expect to find yer up here," he said, voice thick with kansai accent,

"Brooding, no less." 

"And you're far from your post, Vice Captain." 

Hoshina Soshiro chuckled, stepping beside her, 

"Couldn't sleep, and thought I'd stop by at the HQ, turns out im not the only one with a bad  habit." 

Yozora Y/n hummed, unimpressed, "I wouldn't call it a bad habit,"

"Sure, sure. Just a frequent midnight existential crisis then?" His closed, slitted eyes met hers,

She gave him a look, "Do you always talk this much?" 

He laughs, "only when to annoy people." go to Gen Narumi then,

He nudges her slightly with his elbow, a friendly little jab, like he was trying to poke the bear. 

It's a classic act she recognised, test the waters, poke just enough. Test if she can bite.

She didnt. She never did. Unlike a certain captain.

Making decisions real time on the spot amidst battles trained her not to succumbed to pressures.

She turned her focus back on the skyline. Never mind a gremlin besides her been poking fun at her.

Determined, Hoshina Soshiro leaned against the railing, "You know,"

"For someone who could probably predict an entire war two steps ahead, yer real bad at hidin at where yer head at." 

It was quiet, and she lets the silence stretch long enough that most people would feel uncomfortable. 

But Hoshina simply waited.

Finally, she spoke. "You came all the way from your post just for some insomnia, Vice-Captain?" 

Tachikawa Base is hours away from Ariake Maritime Base.

"Guess I did." 

His grin was easy. The way he watched her, wasnt.

"Not gonna ask me why I'm really here?" 

She finally met his gaze, "No need."

"You'll either tell me, or you wont. Either way, i already know the answer."

Hoshina Soshiro lets out a low whistle, "and people call me cocky,"

Yozora Y/n didnt reply, 

Neither of them did. The scent of the sea was grounding, salt and steel filling the spaces between words, 

It was beautiful, in a way, how the sea remains the same, 

Just as the ambience settled nicely, just as the silence settled again, Hoshina Soshiro grinned,

"Ya know, even with a unibrow, ya'd still look cute." 

This idiotic man.

Yozora Y/n blinked, once and twice. Then she slowly turned her head slowly, fixing him with a perfectly blank stare. Unimpressed.

"Bold of you to assume I'd let you live after saying that." 

And Hoshina Soshiro laughed, 

He raises his hands in a mocking surrender, 

"Come on, yer the one who let me follow ya around as a kid. What's a little workplace banter?" He lets out a toothed grin, 

Hoshina opened an eye, mulberry wine color that gleamed under the moonlight, warm and toxicating, 

"Besides, ya wouldn't kill me, who else would keep ya entertained?" 

She shrugged her shoulder, the mechanical weight of her prosthetic arm shifting with the movement. Her voice, when it came, was cool, 

"Try me."

For the first time that night, Hoshina Soshiro didnt have a quip ready.

Perhaps it was the moonlight, illuminating the edges of the metal where flesh should've been, perhaps it was the sharp wind colder than usual, perhaps it was the way her voice settled in her throat. 

Not biting, not sharp, but heavy in a way that lingered.

Or maybe he simply realised she wasnt joking.

After a moment of staring at each other's eyes, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, his hair following so,

With a grin that didnt reached his eyes,

"Alright, alright, I'll quit while I'm ahead." 

She didnt answer, she only looked back at the sea, silent as the waves, as if looking, searching for something in the spaces in between.

For once, Hoshina Soshiro let's her.

---

 

Yozora Y/n: You almost sounded professional right there

 

Narumi Gen: The hell that supposed to mean? I'm always professional!

 

Narumi Gen: Oi, Chief Brain, Youre watching right? First Division about to annihilate this up. Try not to be too impressed.

 

 Yozora Y/n:  Radium. Carbon. Cobalt. Oxygen. Nitrogen

 

Narumi Gen:  Haa?? The hell is that? 

 

Narumi Gen: Chief? Oi, Chief Brain.

Narumi Gen: Chief Brain???

Narumi Gen:  ??????

 

 Narumi Gen:  I AM NOT A DAMN RACCOON😠

 

Yozora Y/n:  I beg to differ, but the visual evidence is screaming

 

Narumi Gen:  EXPLAIN

 

Yozora Y/n: Dual toned hair, unpredictable personality, questionable diet, and prone to rummaging through the debris after a fight

 

Yozora Y/n:  Congratulations earlier by the way

 

Narumi Gen:  IT'S CALLED STRATEGIC SCAVENGING

 

Yozora Y/n:  Denial is the first stage, Captain

 

Narumi Gen:  I swear to God, first time i see you again I'll make you eat those words Chief Brain

 

Yozora Y/n:  Bold claim for someone who hasn't beat my sniper record

 

Narumi Gen: go to hell Chief Brain

 

Notes:

Watching call of duty modern warfare gameplay paid off,

Radium. Carbon. Cobalt. Oxygen. Nitrogen is Raccoon for periodic table of elements.

I made a lil correction from the first Kaiju depicted in the anime. Philinosoma is the first Kaiju to have his Fortitude level drastically change from the manga to the anime adaptation. From 6.0 to 3.4, which doesn't makes sense cuz with that size but smaller fortitude wouldnt make it a honju, so yeah, I followed the manga instead.

Since Kaiju no. 0 (that will definitely make more appearance in the later chapters) is my oc, and that Tsuyomushi Kaiju thingy is made up as well. (So MC has her own battle to shine instead of just inserting her yada yada)

Tsuyo from the kanji character means strong, powerful, Mushi, from the kanji character is insect or bugs.

Also, those honey made from human meat that Tsuyomushi processed? They were actually inspired by Vulture Bees who feeds on rotten meat, instead of pollen...

And we have a small hint of our MC being a former third division captain, now a high rank CCO (chief of command operation), which is actually a thing irl. And how she even became one will be revealed in the later flashbacks. Most of her fights will be either in flashbacks or in the compatible user arc where MC finally get to be back frontline.

Basically from what i understand, CCO is a high-ranking officer overseeing real-time battlefield tactics and coordinating forces through surveillance, intelligence, and direct orders adapts strategy in real-time. Works closely with operational leaders who manage divisions under her command.

Her being a former captain with depth experience literally helps to navigate pressured disaster real time(since she enlisted at 18 years old... I mean those are the proper age to enlist i guess)

As CCO, MC needs access to real-time intel from all divisions, not just the Third Division.
Since CCO (Chief of Combat Operations) is a high-ranking, strategic role that oversees battles on a national scale, MC would likely be stationed at the Ariake Maritime Base.

Why Ariake Maritime Base?

It houses high-ranking officers who aren’t part of individual divisions but still command the entire Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force (JAKDF).

Her position requires top-tier resources, intelligence, and direct coordination with the Director General (Kikoru's dad) and other national-level leaders.

And kind of want to note cuz it's seems off for MC and Hoshina to be "friendly", well they're childhood friends (more like her clan and his clan were in a lifetime alliance since from muromachi period to modern era) that drifted apart but treats MC like the years of distance never happened.

Hoshina, as a young, sword-obsessed kid, might have latched onto MC because she was this cool, intelligent older girl (Soichiro's age) who was always around.

 

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

 

So yeah🦗🦗🦗

Chapter 3: Phantom Limb

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day:

Parrotfish poop sand. Their main diet is coral. Meaning they excrete sand. The sand are eco friendly people ;⁠)

Hyogo, Year 2005

 

The afternoon is warm, the type that fills the air with the smell of a ripe fruit and sounds of the cicadas into a never ending song.

Under the shade of a sals tree, two children sit cross-legged, knees brushing, their fingers dyed red with the remains of a pomegranate split unevenly between them.

(Hoshina Soichiro is somewhere in the compound, but Hoshina Soshiro didn't care.)

Hoshina doesn’t mind the mess, doesn’t mind the way the juice trickles down his white kimono sleeves, into his wrist or how the varnish seeping into the material of his hakama pants.

If it meant sharing this moment, if it meant seeing Yozora Y/n bite into each ruby seeds with quiet contentment, eyes softening a bit than usual,

then the stickiness of his fingers was a small price to pay.

The juice in his palm is a deep, silken red, the kind found in lacquered fans and wedding silks.

He wonders if this is the color of fate, if the thread that ties two people together is not revolve from obscure string but something tangible, something rich and warm and oozing into his skin.

 

If soulmates exist, he thinks, then fate must taste like pomegranate, sweet and sharp, staining everything it touches.

 

She hands him the last of the seeds of her pomegranate, her palm cupped, fingers curled slightly inward, as if offering him something fragile, something precious.

He reaches out, small hand fitting against hers like the final piece of a puzzle. Fingers spooled in red, a perfect weave.

Their fingers touch, glossy with juice and warmth. It should be sticky, uncomfortable, but all he can think about is how perfectly her hand fits into his, how their fingers coils together like something bound to happen.

The cicadas sing, the wind moves, leaves being carried away and Hoshina Soshiro, 8 year old as he is, understands something beyond words.

Hoshina Soshiro thinks then, that soulmates do exist. That if the universe could take something as small and simple as this moment and make it feel like infinity, then surely, surely, 

She smiles at him, and he finally understands why the Little Prince would travel galaxies for his rose.

---

 

3:30 am, Year 2024

 

The pain is there before she is, Yozora Y/n wakes up to something that is no longer there.

It is a gradual, rhythmic ache that is deeper than anything harsh or scorching. Pulsing where her right arm should be.

It throbs, as if her body and mind were recalling what it used to be, but not like a wound but rather a misplaced heartbeat.

She flexes her fingers that doesn't exist anymore, 

The slow, methodical sensation moves through her. Like a tide retreating from a shore only to return again, over and over, never ceasing.

It is not pain, but it is not consolation either.

Yozora Y/n exhales, slow. Her left hand lifts, hovering over where flesh should meet the cool air. 

Nothing,

And yet, when she closes her eyes, she swear she can almost feel it. The warmth, the lingering weight, the feeling of what once was.

Her fingers curl into the sheets, the left one. Breath in, breath out, hold, exhale.

A method she was drilled into years ago, back when pain was only bruises and exhaustion, back when she has both hands. The years made it second nature. A habit that carries her through moments she cannot control.

Yozora Y/n shifts, eventually. Left hand pressing against the mattress as she pulls herself upright,

The dull, pulsing ache flares for a moment, as if it was protesting before settling into a tolerable throb.

Manageable. Just another morning.

The bathroom light flickers on, gray and cool, she moves by routine, stripping out of her sleepwear, walking towards the shower, twisting the knob hot until the steam rises instantly.

The water burning Yozora Y/n's skin, and she prefers it that way. She tilts her head forward. Letting the scalding steam rolled down her back, easing the tension she didnt realised she's holding.

There's something grounding about the heat, about the way it seeps through her muscles, wrapping around her like second skin. Something that is tangible, real.

Unlike the phantom ache she cannot shake,

Some mornings she stays like this for a while, forehead resting against the cool tile, breath curling into thick steam around her. Not thinking, not feeling. Just existing.

But Yozora Y/n didn't do it today,

Instead she washes quickly, effectively. Soap, shampoo, rinse. There's no indulgence in the motion, only necessity.

Still, when Yozora Y/n turn off the water and step on the bathroom mat, the ache has dulled.

Neve gone, just tolerable.

Everything has a place. Nothing unnecessary. Every object within reach, arranged so she can manage without thinking.

Her condo is minimalist by necessity, and it's empty.

Yozora Y/n towels off, slipping into her prosthetic with practiced ease. She retrieved it from where it rests on the nightstand, securing the harness with steady precision.

The straps tighten, the familiar weight settling onto her shoulder.

One-handed efficiency; adjusting the belt, zipping the jacket, brushing her hair, has become muscle memory. Yozora Y/n no longer struggles with things that once frustrated her, no longer even notices the way she moves to accommodate.

She does not linger in the mirror,

By the time she makes her way to the kitchen, the sky outside is still dark, but the city of Tokyo is already awake.

Yozora Y/n drinks her coffee black, no cream, no sugar. Strong and hot, sharp enough to burn. It isn’t about the taste, never has been. It’s the routine, the act of sitting by the window, watching the city stir.

Tokyo never truly sleeps.

In the early morning, it inhales slow and deep, streetlights illuminating in their last moments before dawn, vending machines standing on the corners, 

Not without drones and surveillance cameras perched somewhere for security and safety of the citizens, 

A salaryman walk slowly toward the station, his tie loosened, briefcase swaying at his side.

Somewhere in the next building over, someone opens their window.

A convenience store clerk stretches his hands outside the store, waiting for the first customer.

She watches without watching, her fingers curled around the heat of her mug.

The world moves. The city breathes.

As if kaijus doesn't exist at all.

---

 

The lab smelled of antiseptic and something sterile yet unfamiliar; bio-gel, metal, the faint tang of synthetic skin bonding agents. 

Izumo Tech research facility was nothing like the battle front line, but Yozora Y/n still felt the weight of burden in her shoulders the moment she hold her own custom weapon exactly here at the very building.

She stood in the center of the room, surrounded by white walls and holographic displays flickering with diagnostic scans.

The new prosthetic arm lays before her, resting on its reinforced stand.

 

It was too real.

 

At first glance, it could've been a chopped limb, her limb. The skin was her skin. Grafted from her own body, the pigment matched to the finest details, 

Faint veins run through the surface. And when the lead engineer picked it up to flex the joint, the elbow, it moved with an unsettling smoothness. 

Like it had never been severed in the first place.

Yozora Y/n didnt react, but the back of her neck prickled.

It was unlike anything her first prosthetic were.

"We embodied a carbon titanium framework for the bones" metal, one of the engineer explained, tapping a projected schematic. 

"Lightweight, durable. The neural interface will link directly to your existing nerve endings," the engineer looked at Yozora Y/n, locking eyes, 

"Once calibration is complete....it should feel natural." 

Natural.

She should be grateful. This was the peak of today's technology, a gift no soldier could afford to take for granted, and yet, something twisted deep in her stomach.

Because in some ways, it wasn't hers.

The skin was familiar, the pigments, but the weight, the structure, it was a fabrication, an imitation of what was once there.

"I assume it'll passed strength tests." Yozora Y/n said coolly, as if discussing a weapon instead of a limb meant to replace a part of her.

One of the engineers, Kawabe Shoyo hesitated before nodding. "Exceeds all parameters. Stronger than organic tissue, the carbon titanium as the bones was a hybrid, but we adjusted for sensory feedback to prevent overcompensation."

"Hmm," she said. "Any setbacks?"

Another engineer, chimed in, looking from his ipad, 

"About the sensory feedback, Chief Yozora, there will be a limitations at what you will feel from the surface of what your right prosthetic touches," he adjusted his glasses, 

Yozora Y/n blink,

"Since the bones are metal, you wouldn’t feel anything deep inside, like bone aches, but the outer skin and muscle-equivalent layers could simulate touch to some degree."

The lead engineer sighs, "You can move it by neural implants connected to your remaining nerves, making it respond like a real arm." 

"But it is a stepping stone for the next prosthetic, we already been working on for the sensory feedback" the lead engineer smiled tiredly, but there's optimistic and hopes in his eyes, 

"With enough time, Chief Yozora, you could feel temperature, pain, and even textures, although," the lead engineer, Watanabe Sojun, frowns,

"phantom pain will still happen." 

Of course, 

phantom limb pain originates from the brain, not the missing limb.

The brain still “remembers” Yozora Y/n's real arm, so even with an advanced prosthetic, her nervous system might reject it at times, sending pain signals from a limb that no longer exists.

Yozora Y/n sighed, "It is better than nothing, Watanabe-san, thank you for all the cooperation." She nodded to all the engineers, 

Bittersweet it was, Yozora Y/n's now right arm wouldn't really be real. 

The moment the technicians moved to prepare the neural link, she felt it again.

A sharp, electric sensation racing through fingers she no longer had. The phantom pain flared, coiling beneath her ribs, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t let them see.

She had lost enough.

At the very least, she would not lose herself too.

With the new prosthetic now attached to her stump, it was surprisingly good, and despite what she initially thought of it earlier.... it felt natural.

Natural but still felt foreign.

The air carries a faint metallic tang, a blend smell of synthetic materials, antiseptics, and the lingering scent of fresh bio-grafted skin.

Yozora Y/n sits on a reinforced examination table, her posture rigid, lead engineer Watanabe Sojun and some technicians and engineers were nowhere to be found, 

Leaving her to process the new prosthetic and to let her brain get used to the feeling and sensations the neural implants,

Even though she knows it’s gone, the phantom pain gnaws at her nerves, as if her missing limb still clenches into a fist.

"Still feeling it?"

She doesn’t look at Kawabe Shoyo, the engineer currently hovering over her prosthetic arm’s schematics.

"It never stops." Yozora Y/n mutters.

Kawabe Shoyo hums, adjusting his glasses as he swipes at the tablet he's holding.

"Well, pain receptors were never in the budget," he jokes, though the glance he steals at her is careful. "Yet."

A different set of engineers work at a nearby station, fine-tuning another prosthetic, a second prototype with an even more advanced neural interface, one that, theoretically, could restore sensation. But it’s not ready. Not yet.

And even if it were, nothing would erase the reality of what she’d lost.

"Speaking of upgrades," Kawabe continues, shifting the conversation. "You’re gonna love this."

Yozora raises an eyebrow as he zooms in on a specific segment of the prosthetic’s structure.

It was a weapon. 

"We found a way to integrate a compact rifle barrel into your forearm. Collapsible, fully automated deployment, precision-engineered for long-range combat." His grin widens.

"Basically, you’d never need to carry a sniper rifle again, it’s built into you."

The room is silent for exactly three seconds.

Yozora Y/n’s expression doesn’t shift, but the air changes.

She slowly exhales. Not amused. Not impressed.

"You’re wasting your time."

Kawabe Shoyo blinks. "I mean, not really. The mechanics work. The barrel extends via a magnetic rail system, which means zero recoil, and...."

A sharp elbow to his ribs.

"Kawabe." His colleague hissed,

The voice belongs to Yamada Tsuda, another engineer, his tone a low warning.

Kawabe Shoyo winces, rubbing his side. Finally, it clicks.

Yozora Y/n isn’t using the arm for combat. She isn’t allowed to.

The Defense Force refuses to send her back to the frontline.

It doesn’t matter that she’s still lethal. It doesn’t matter that she could adapt, improvise, push through the pain.

The higher-ups won’t risk it. Chronic pain makes her unreliable in battle. Phantom limb pain never stops.

Her body could shut down mid-mission. Her mind is more valuable off the field. Her battle is over. Not because she wants it to be.

But because they’ve decided it for her.

The Japan Anti Kaiju Defense Force won’t let her go. She’s too valuable as a strategist. Her foresight and tactics have saved more lives than her combat skills ever did.

Putting her back in the field is a waste of a mind that Japan can’t afford to lose. Yozora Y/n clenches her jaw, her right fingers curling against her knee.

"Chief of Command Operation, I...." Kawabe starts.

"Just finish the calibration." Her voice is sharp, leaving no room for discussion.

Kawabe Shoyo nods, lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t say anything else.

Neither does anyone else.

The fingers curled, flexed. The weight felt right, the movement flawless. Izumo Tech had outdone themselves. It was hers.

But a weapon was only as good as the one wielding it. And this? This wasn’t a sniper rifle in the field, wasn’t a sniper locked on target.

Yozora Y/n glances at him, at the way his fingers linger just a second longer over the terminal before withdrawing.

He’s always been like this, invested, diligent, but measured. He won’t push. He never does. But she sees it in his posture, in the slight downturn of his shoulders.

She exhales. This is what he does. This is what he loves.

Not standing on the front lines. But building; crafting weapons, defenses that stand between civilians and the kaijus that would destroy them apart.

The same way she used to stand, rifle in hand, spine straight, finger steady on the trigger.

She’s known him long enough, since before she lost her arm. Kawabe Shoyo was there when they developed her customized sniper, working late into the night, adjusting weight distribution, balancing recoil.

He knew the weapon as intimately as she did.

And now he’s here again, refining something she can’t bring herself to accept.

Yozora Y/n runs her thumb along the skin of her prosthetic, a habit. Then, finally, 

"But keep the blueprints."

She turns away, pausing just before the door." You never know."

A beat of hesitation. And then, softer, softer than she intends, but not so much that it betrays her:

"You do a good work, Kawabe-san."

And from the corner of her eye, she catches the way his shoulders square, just a little.

It’s enough.

She doesn’t turn back, but she doesn’t need to. She’s known him long enough to read the shift in the air,

the slight exhale, the tension that eases from his shoulders, the way he straightens just a fraction at the words.

"It isn't the frontline, but it doesn't mean it's not lesser either."

Because Yozora Y/n knows. Knows the quiet weight of those who don’t fight on the battlefield but keep it running.

The engineers, the medics, the technicians, the operational leaders, the ones who make sure the officers come back in one piece.

She hasn’t forgotten that Kawabe Shoyo was one of them. One of the few who had once stood in this lab, prototype after prototype, integrating the rifle that had fit in her hands as if it had always been meant to.

"You've saved lives too," she says, a little softer. A fact.

Kawabe Shoyo doesn’t respond right away, but out of the corner of her eye, she sees his fingers tighten around the tablet in his hands, not out of resentment, but something steadier.

Something resolved.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She nods once and walks away.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base,

 

"I heard Kikoru is joining the Defense Force this year." Yozora Y/n says, her voice is even, but there’s something almost thoughtful beneath it. She doesn’t need to look up to gauge his reaction, the shift in his presence is enough.

Footsteps echoes sharply against the polished concrete as Yozora Y/n and Shinomiya Isao make their way through the base’s main thoroughfare, their pace steady but unhurried.

They are a contrast in motion; Shinomiya Isao, tall and broad-shouldered, his steps measured with military precision; Yozora Y/n, a fraction lighter on her feet, moving with the  ease of someone who has long mastered walking alongside giants, 

"I believe a congratulation is in order," he states, his tone neutral, detached, even.

Yet there is something else beneath the words, something only a select few might recognize: pride, restrained but undeniable.

Yozora Y/n exhales through her nose, just barely amused at how predictably Shinomiya that response is. Concise. Proper. Emotion held at arm’s length.

They walk a few more steps before she speaks again, her words softer this time.

"You know," she starts, tilting her head slightly,

"Your parenting, your way of loving, can be a little too much for someone like Kikoru."

She doesn’t say it condescendingly, nor does she phrase it as a criticism. It’s just a fact, one neither of them needs to beat around the bush.

Shinomiya Isao says nothing, but his gaze shifts forward, sharp and contemplative.

Yozora Y/n doesn’t press, only continues, her voice carrying the quiet weight of memory.

"She wouldn’t say anything. Not to you, at least. She’s your daughter, and that means something to her." A pause.

"But I remember."

And she does.

She remembers young Kikoru's voice, raw with grief, the first time she cried in front of her after Shinomiya Hikari died.

She remembers the way the girl used to watch the broadcasted Defense Force operations, eyes wide and bright, full of wonder as she pointed excitedly at the screen whenever her mother appeared.

And she remembers Shinomiya Hikari herself, standing beside her during joint operations of the Second and Third Divisions.

Laughing, bragging in that easy, unapologetic way about how her daughter had placed first in every training exam she had put her through.

(She still keeps the drawing young Kikoru gave her; it was her with a rather grumpy face holding a oversized sniper. It was charming.)

And Yozora Y/n remembers how Shinomiya Isao and Yozora Michikatsu can be so similar. 

But your father was always there for you in ways Shinomiya Isao weren't there for Shinomiya Kikoru.

And you know the grief of losing a parent.

"That girl idolized her mother." Yozora Y/n's voice is quieter now. "And when she was gone, all she had left was you."

She doesn’t say it outright, but the implication is clear. And you, Shinomiya Isao, are not an easy man to love. 

He exhales slowly, a sound barely audible over the ambient noise of the base. Still, he does not speak, not yet.

Yozora Y/n, for her part, only pushes her hands into the pockets of her uniform.

Maybe she overstepped, maybe she didn’t.

But if there’s one thing she knows about  Shinomiya Isao, it’s that he will take those words, turn them over in his mind like a battle strategy, and, eventually, understand them in his own way.

 

Because, in the end, everything he does is out of love. And that was enough.

 

They reach a quiet stretch of the base, where the sounds of the dockworkers fade into the distance.

At last, Shinomiya Isao speaks.

"She was always going to join."

It’s not a justification. Not a defense. Just a fact, spoken with certainty.

Yozora Y/n tilts her head slightly. "Maybe. But you didn’t have to push her so hard to prove herself."

A long pause. Then,

"…I only prepared her for what awaited her."

His voice is quiet, but firm, carrying the weight of a man who has already lost too much.

Yozora watches him, the way his gaze remains fixed ahead, the way his jaw tenses, this is not a man who doubts himself easily.

"I know," she says, and she means it.

She does not expect an apology. Shinomiya Isao does not apologize.

But she hears something else in his words, something he will not say outright:

"I did what I thought was the right thing to do. And I will carry that decision, whether it was right or not."

Yozora Y/n exhales, running her hand through her hair. "Hmm. Just don’t forget she’s still a kid, Director General. Even if she won’t let herself be one."

For a moment, there is only the sound of the waves lapping against the docks.

Then, in a voice so quiet she nearly misses it,

"…She looks like Hikari when she’s angry."

Like a sunflower, Yozora Y/n thought,

A stubborn, beautiful, golden thing, standing tall even in the stormy days. Roots deep, relentless.

The kind of flower that defies gravity, stretching toward the light even when the sky is full of storm.

Shinomiya Hikari was like that too, once. A sunflower in the frontline where you often see blood, kaijus and gunfire, standing where no flower should grow.

And now, Kikoru, brave, fierce, and furious with the world, was no different.

Yozora’s lips twitch upward. "Yes, I know."

And just like that, the conversation is over.

They continue walking, no words once more, but the silence between them is no longer quite as heavy.

And in some way, Yozora thinks, maybe she owes it to Shinomiya Hikari to be here, to be a presence for Kikoru in a way that her father, with all his duty and discipline, sometimes forgets how to be.

After their conversation about his daughter joining the Defense Force, there’s a quiet moment as they walk through the halls of Ariake Base.

The sound of the overhead lights, the distant murmur of defense force personnel going about their routines.

Yozora Y/n walk with ease, despite its near perfect resemblance, the surface was too smooth, lacking the tiny imperfections her real arm once had, no faded scars from childhood scrapes, no callouses from hours spent gripping her customized sniper rifle.

Shinomiya Isao glances at it, just briefly. A trained eye assessing form, function, and efficiency. His voice, when he speaks, is as level as ever.

"The engineering is solid. No wasted motion. At least you had the sense to ensure that much."

It’s not quite approval, but it isn’t criticism either. Just an observation, pragmatic as ever.

He says it like it’s a fact. But the words feel heavier than they should.

No wasted motion. No wasted potential. That was what they saw in her. Not like Ashiro Mina.

Ashiro Mina, who made potential look so easy, who made it feel earned.

Ashiro Mina, who was never asked to step aside.

If she were in Ashiro Mina’s place, would she have done the same? Would she have taken her mantle so easily?

It doesn’t matter. It never did. You quickly discarded the thought.

Yozora Y/n hummed, almost amused.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from Watanabe-san and Kawabe-san.”

"The Defense Force needs your mind more than your rifle," he continues.

"Your strategies have saved more lives than your sniper rifle ever could. Your leadership has shaped the future of this organization. Putting you back on the front lines is a waste of a resource Japan can’t afford to lose."

"You’re not going back to the front."

"Ashiro Mina is the next link. The resemblance is uncanny. With your mind and her raw power, neutralising kaijus will never be the same."

A beat of silence. Then, 

"If you insist on returning to the field, then make sure that thing keeps up with you."

And there it is, the closest thing to an acknowledgment. A warning, perhaps, but also an unmentioned understanding. If she’s going to do this, she better be damn sure she’s ready.

He doesn’t stop her. He never could.

"I intend to."

Short, steady. It’s not quite gratitude, but it’s an acknowledgment of his words

Notes:

I don't even know what pomegranate taste like.

That morning routine by MC, i tried making it mundane, robotic and just so depressing to mirror what she's been through; like losing that arm is equivalent to losing her purpose (that in a way for me, took it for granted, never realising it was that relevant) yada yada,

And obviously, people deal with loss in different ways, and it manifests in various forms. I don’t have any missing limbs, so I don't know firsthand how phantom pain or prosthetics work. Everything I wrote is based on creative writing and research from Google. If any of it is inaccurate, I don’t mind criticism, just because something is on Google doesn’t mean it’s true.

Im such a hypocrite, i told myself not to post until the premiere of 2nd season of kaiju no. 8, but your comments made me posted these chapters earlier than i thought. Thankies by the way🫶🫶🫶

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

 

🦗🦗🦗

Chapter 4: Protocol 4; Silence

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day:

Red bellied piranhas bark. When threatened they make a barking sound. More like knocking on a door tbh.

Hyogo, Year 2005

 

The Hoshina clan estate was always too warm,

At the peak of summer in Japan, Hyogo's heat pressed down like a clothing iron, hot and inescapable. 

It swirled around the estate, turning the air heavy, mixing with the scent of the tatami mats, cicadas screaming in the trees.

The sun was beating down on its polished mahogany wooden floors, the aroma of incense mixing with the vague smell of sweat from the training grounds.

Yozora Y/n didn't hate coming here, but she had little patience for distractions.

And Hoshina Soshiro was a distraction;

The first time had been a coincidence.The second, an annoyance. By the fifth, she realized this was now her reality.

"Why do ya use a sniper rifle instead of a katana?"

Yozora Y/n didn't pause in adjusting the scope of her rifle. She was seated on the wooden engawa (veranda) of the estate, the long-barreled gun resting across her lap.

Its dark metal colour absorbing the sunlight in a dull sheen, the wooden engawa was still warm despite the shade of the late afternoon.

"Because it's effective," she said simply.

Hoshina Soshiro, as any 8 years old could be, sat cross-legged beside Yozora Y/n. His hakama pants still dusty from training. He had a bamboo sword tucked beneath his arm. Its lacquered surface reflecting slivers of golden light.

"But isn't fightin' up close more excitin'?" He tilted his head, his dark violet hair a mess, sticking to his forehead from sweat.

"Doesn't it feel cooler?"

"Efficiency is more important than excitement," the older girl replied.

He hummed, thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

The cicadas screamed again, shrill and ceaseless. In the far distance, the wind moved through the trees, soughing the garden’s camellia leaves.

From the main house, the muffled sound of laughter spilled out; maids exchanging small gossips and chit chats, someone pouring tea, the clink of porcelain disrupting the silence.

A minute passed. Then,

"How do ya kill a kaiju the fastest?"

Y/n close one eye, peeking through the scope. This had become a pattern.

Every time she visited the estate from Kyoto, because it's part of her duty as the heiress of the Yozora clan (as Yozora Hoshiguma says) Hoshina Soshiro would find her.

He was relentless, trailing after her like a persistent tail. Always asking about samurais, his ancestors and her ancestors during the Muromachi period, about kaijus, about battle tactics, about the Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force, about everything that fascinated him.

Yozora Y/n could feel his eyes on her even now, bright and expectant. And yet, despite everything, she never told him to leave.

(She's not that mean anyway. Unlike a certain older brother.)

"Depends on the kaiju," she answered at last.

"It's more of finding its core the fastest. To do that, you need to have good team work and battle tactics to achieve that."

Hoshina Soshiro grinned. "What about swords?"

"If you’re close enough to use one, you’re already at a disadvantage."

"But what if..."

"Yer wastin' yer breath, Soshiro," came Hoshina Soichiro’s exasperated voice from the doorway.

The older brother, whose age the same as you, stood with a basket of pomegranates and oranges nestled against his hip. 

His hakama, was crisp and little speck of dirt here and there, clung to his body with the ease of someone who had spent his lifetime moving through the estate’s corridors with authority.

His expression was one of annoyance as he glanced down at his younger brother.

Hoshina Soshiro simply blew a raspberry at him in return.

Hoshina Soichiro's hair was unique, white lilac colour that faded into dark purple like autumn transitions into winter.

And he was beautiful.

He glanced at Y/n, shaking his head. "Ya don’t have to entertain him, ya know."

"I’m not." Yozora Y/n adjusted her rifle again, the smooth click of metal sliding into place filling the space between them.

"He does that himself."

"He’s botherin' ya." Hoshina Soichiro frowned, 

"That’s not the word I’d use." She rolled her eyes, still not looking at either of them,

Hoshina Soichiro sighed. "He’s weird, right? Annoying?"

She looked at Hoshina Soshiro.

The boy was staring up at her, completely unbothered. The same boy who declared that he'll be her right hand man someday. 

Everyone laughed, including Hoshina Soichiro, but you didn't.

She thought about it for a moment.

Hoshina Soshiro, whose hakama was covered in dust and dirt from the day's practice, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the relentless curiosity brimming behind dark dark red eyes.

Soshiro is someone who refused to be discouraged, who would endure a thousand dismissals without flinching. Stubborn and young.

"Odd," she said at last. 

Hoshina Soshiro beamed.

Hoshina Soichiro groaned. Stepping forward and setting the basket down onto the tatami mat with a soft thump.

"Now ya encouraged him."

But Yozora Y/n had already turned back to her rifle, choosing not to debate. With practiced hands, she adjusted the scope,

The movements pinpoint, well ordered, each time her fingers moved were as natural as breathing air.

The older brother grumbled about his younger brother being a weirdo, before going somewhere within the estate, his dual toned braid swishing behind him.

Hoshina Soshiro scooted closer besides Yozora Y/n, mindful of the long barrel of the sniper rifle resting across her lap.

And it was warm.

Yozora Y/n didn't acknowledge his presence, not with words, at least. But she didn’t tell him to move, either.

And so, he stayed.

Kyoto was quiet different from Hyogo.

Hyogo is a city where the mountain meets the sea. Where the essence of salt lingers in the air, even far away from the shore.

The land is wide, stretching out in rugged cliffs and quiet harbors, cities spilling into countryside without warning. 

The air was thick there with summer warmth. The sky open and vast, except by the distant rise of Mt. Rokko.

Kyoto, where Yozora Y/n was born and raised, it was full of art and traditions. Wind slicing through bamboo groves, rustling through the paper screens of an old tea house.

The air is different here, softer and mixed with the scent of rain-damped stone and incense curling in the shrine altars and temple bells.

One of the best examples is the Gion Matsuri. 

A festival where lanterns glow to life as the sun sink below the horizon, their golden glow reflecting off the cobbled roads that have seen centuries pass.

With Kaiju no. 0 still looming somewhere before the next typhoon strike in Kyoto, making the festival, while it has its history of pleading to the gods to fend off disasters, much more significant.

It's something delicate, it's art and something to be preserved. Both are Japan, but for Yozora Y/n, Kyoto is home.

The lanterns were burning low by the time Y/n slipped away.

Somewhere, beyond the the Yozora clan estate, laughter still rose and fell like a tidal wave.

The guests were still drinking, still speaking pleasantries over lacquered cups of sake, still offering their rehearsed congratulations as if this night meant something.

You never liked birthdays. And you just turned 14 today. 

Yozora Y/n felt like something borrowed, something fabricated. A moment not meant for her, but for the people who needed her to be something.

A successor. A name passed down through blood and expectation.

The kimono they had dressed her in tonight was beautiful; dark indigo, the color of the sky just before dawn, embroidered with silver cranes that stretched their wings along the sleeves.

It was stiff against her skin, the weight of it pressing against her shoulders in a way that made her feel anchored when all she wanted was to be weightless.

The scent of pine and rain-damp earth lingers in the air, grounding her in the present even as her mind drifts elsewhere.

"Youre the heiress, always have and always been." 

Yozora Hoshiguma had always spoken like that, as if his words were stones meant to be placed carefully, each one holding up the structure of something greater than himself.

He was young once, like a blazing fire and eyes full of passion of a youth that wasn't extinguish yet by the responsibility of an adult.

And now, old and battered, a scarred wound from his right side of the face made it seems he had seen something people shouldn't see. 

It was his choice to be a defense officer. And he never once complained.

"Your father is gone. The clan looks to you, Y/n. They will not wait for a child to grow into a leader, they expect a leader now.”

Yozora Y/n wonders if Yozora Hoshiguma ever felt the weight of a name like this. Perhaps not.

He was born to serve, not to bear. To guide, not to be restrained.

Yozora Y/n bore the title but not the full authority of her clan. She was the rightful heir, the name that carried weight in tradition, but tradition alone was not enough to rule.

At the past, perhaps. But today is the modern era, 

A child, no matter how disciplined, could not shoulder an empire built on legacy, influence, and power.

So the clan did what it had always done in times of uncertainty; they turned to the old guard. Yozora Hoshiguma, her father’s second, became the hand that held the reins while the true heir grew into her role.

He was not the patriarch, nor did he claim the title. He was the steward in name, nothing more.

“You must learn to bear the weight, even if it crushes you. Because that is what it means to be a Yozora.”

Five kois swam in slow, lazy circles beneath the surface, barely rippling the water. She crouched, the hem of her kimono pooling around her knees, and watched them for a moment.

How simple it must be, to live like that. To exist only for the next breath, the next movement, the next moment of quiet survival.

"A clan is only as strong as its leader,"

Yozora Hoshiguma had said to her earlier in the evening, his voice cutting through their conversation, through the clink of ceramic against wood.

She had nodded. Said nothing.

It was easier that way.

The wind shifted. Somewhere in the distance, a shishi-odoshi filled and emptied, the hollow knock of bamboo against the stone breaking the silence. 

(Shishi odoshi= hollowed bamboo tube in a pond that tips over when water within is full)

Like cycles repeating themselves over and over, of a world that would keep moving whether she was ready for it or not.

She was fourteen. Old enough to bear the weight of expectation, too young to have a voice in how it crushed her.

The world did not wait for children to be ready.

It did not soften its edges or slow its pace out of mercy. It simply moved forward, indifferent, relentless.

Because time stops for no one.

Fourteen. You're fourteen now. And you just experienced your first ever life crisis.

Fourteen year olds supposed to only care about school crushes, homework and failed grades, 

The number felt hollow, insignificant. A meaningless marker of time that did nothing to change the fact that Yozora Y/n had been molded into a leader long before this day.

Since Yozora Michikatsu's death, since the first time she had stood before the elders with their expectant gazes, since the moment Yozora Hoshiguma, his voice low and final, had said:

"Until you are ready, I will act in your stead."

But what did ready even mean?

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your kimono sleeve. You had made your choice a long time ago, to protect, to save lives, to make sure no one else had to feel the kind of loss you did.

Leaders weren’t just soldiers. They were shields, voices, foundations.

Yozora Michikatsu had been all of those things. But she was not him. You are you. You are just Y/n.

"I know how to fight. I know how to protect people. But is that enough?"

The fabric crumbled beneath her grip. The night was quiet, save for the steady trickle of water from the shishi-odoshi in the garden,

An endless cycle of motion, falling, striking, resetting. The rhythmic clack echoed in the stillness, a sound as familiar as breathing.

She had decided long ago.

To protect. To fight. To stand where others couldn’t.

It was the only thing that made sense. Even as a child, she had understood; when her father was no longer there, when the world around her had shifted in ways she couldn’t control,

When people looked at her with quiet expectation. If she couldn’t bring him back, then the least she could do was follow his path. Make sure no one else had to lose what she lost.

You never doubted that choice.

But now, now that she was fourteen, now that the title of heir was no longer just a distant concept but a weight pressing against her shoulders,

She realized that wanting to protect and knowing how to lead were not the same thing.

JAKDF duty was simple. Follow orders. Defend civilians. Kill and hunt kaijus. There was clarity in that, a directness that left no room for hesitation.

But the clan, the clan was different. It wasn’t just about protecting lives. It was about governing them.

About making choices that didn’t just affect herself but affected everyone under her name.

About politics and alliances, about speaking when she wanted to stay silent, about shouldering a history that stretched back generations.

Their legacy.

"What if I fail? What if I don’t make the right choices?"

The clan wasn’t just hers. It belonged to the elders, to the retainers, to the countless people who carried their name. She was supposed to be their leader.

But what if she wasn’t strong enough? What if she wasn’t like her father?

"But I am not him. I will never be him."

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath dissolve in the night air. The weight in her chest remained.

There was no space for doubt. No space for hesitation. A leader who hesitated was no leader at all.

The moment she showed doubt, the moment she faltered, people would see it. And if they saw it, they would question.

And if they questioned, the structure that had been upheld for generations would begin to crack.

Y/n closed her eyes.

She had been raised for this. Trained for it. Her every step, every breath, every lesson had shaped her into what she was supposed to be.

But wanting to protect people and knowing how to lead them, those were two different things.

 

"What if I’m not ready?"

 

The thought came unbidden, raw in the quiet.

She inhaled, exhaled, slow and measured, trying to let the cold air settle something in her. She couldn’t afford to hesitate.

And yet, even here, she was not alone.

"Yer not ready for what?"

She winced. Hoshina Soshiro caught the slightest movement, little more than a breath.

And then she saw him.

And now, now she couldn’t look at anything else.

There was something about the way Y/n looked at Soshiro...

He stood a few steps away, clutching a large, rectangular package, his fingers tightening around the edges. His expression wasn’t just confused, it was worried.

His face was scrunched up, more confused than anything, but there was something assessing in his close slitted eyes.

She straightened, posture shifting instinctively into something composed, regal.

"I didn’t say anything."

Hoshina Soshiro raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, ya did." Liar.

"You misheard."

"I literally just heard ya say it."

"It was nothing," she said, dismissive now.

He wasn’t in formal wear, not really, his socks were uneven, and he wasn't fully dressed formally. Hoshina appeared to have been rushing around.

Searching for you.

And his bowl cut hair was ruffled and leaves were tangled within his hair, 

But what caught her attention was the rectangular package in his arms, taped in dark violet paper.

The gift was nearly as long as he was tall.

It was a poor attempt at wrapping, creased paper, slightly uneven edges, and too much tape,

but Hoshina Soshiro had clearly done it himself. And the shape... rectangular, long, almost unmistakable. A sniper rifle. Or at least, something meant to look like one.

"Yer supposed to be in the main hall," he huffed, shifting the weight of the gift awkwardly.

"How’m I supposed to give ya this if yer not even there?" He complained, 

He shook the gift slightly for emphasis, but there was an unspoken I was looking for ya beneath the words.

Yozora Y/n studied him for a beat, then the gift.

"It’s not real," she stated.

"Of course it’s not real!" he shot back, affronted.

"Why would I give ya the real thing? What yer think I am, stupid?" 

i did brought my sniper rifle at their estate back in Hyogo though. She thought.

Her lips twitched, just barely.

"You do talk about kaiju and katanas more than any sane person should."

Hoshina Soshiro bristled, but then, he grinned. Wide and unfiltered, the way only kids did.

"Ya said I was interestin' before!"

"I said you were odd."

"Same thing," he muttered, but there was an unmistakable flicker of pride in his voice.

Y/n shook her head, barely a movement.

"Put it with the others," she said.

"Back inside." Where the rest weren't toys anymore. Yozora Y/n was considered an adult by her clan.

His face scrunched up instantly. "No."

She blinked. "No?"

"I want to give it to ya personally, Y/n-nee."

"It makes no difference."

"It does to me."

There was something earnest in the way he said it, something unguarded. Hoshina Soshiro's fingers tightened around the edges of the package,

The wrapping was slightly uneven, the folds creased where they shouldn’t be, the tape used just a bit too much.

He had wrapped it himself.

And she noticed it now. In the cool summer night, and Yozora Y/n feels the warmth of summer for the first time.

Like the slow rise of an orange tide meeting the horizon; quiet, inevitable, and impossibly deep

There was something about the way Y/n looked at Soshiro.

Like someone who had spent too long in the dark, only to have the sun break through. Like waking up after years of restless sleep and realizing, for the first time, that morning was soft, that light could be gentle.

Y/n sensed it in his silence, in the way he held his breath as if he was worried she might leave, as if blinking would make her disappear.

It felt new. Like a world washed in gold, like dawn warming skin that had long forgotten the sun.

She didn’t dare to name it. And yet, now she saw daylight.

Y/n studied him for a moment longer before speaking, voice quieter now.

"Then give it to me."

Hoshina Soshiro hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before shoving the package into her hands with a little more force than necessary.

She caught it, fingers pressing into the cool paper. It was heavier than she expected.

"...Thank you."

Hoshina Soshiro’s ears turned red. He grumbled something incoherent and turned slightly away, as if the sight of her holding his gift was suddenly too much.

He still remember it very clearly.

He still remember the taste of pomegranate seeds still lingering on his lips, he thinks,

He remembers a story, half heard, half remembered, about a girl of spring who ate six pomegranate seeds and bound herself to the underworld, tied to a god by the taste of something too rich to forget.

Hoshina Soishiro still remember the juice pools between the lines of his palm, sinking into his skin like ink into parchment.

Red, deep, endless, woven between them like a tapestry of something unspoken.

If soulmates are real, if the universe ever truly binds one life to another, then maybe, just maybe, it has already begun.

If Persephone was bound by six, he wonders, how many would it take for Y/n to be bound to him?

Or perhaps, perhaps Hoshina Soshiro has already been bound to her, long before this summer, long before he ever knew how much he would want to stay.

"Yer really not enjoyin' this birthday thing, huh?" he muttered after a beat.

Y/n glanced back toward the main hall, where laughter and conversation continued without her.

"It’s just another day," she said simply.

Your problem isn't Soshiro's to bear, you thought.

Hoshina Soshiro made a face. "That’s a pretty lame way to think about it."

She didn’t answer.

The silence between them was easy.

The distant sound of voices, the sound of porcelain against lacquered cups, it all melted into the evening's steady beat.

"A swordsman." a voice resonate from beyond the paper doors, muffled but clear.

"In this day and age? It’s almost embarrassing."

Yozora Y/n froze.

Beside her, Hoshina Soshiro went utterly still.

His hands, which had been idly at his side, fisted his fingers that crumpled his yukata,

"The Hoshinas have their pride," another voice added, lighter, almost amused.

"They think tradition can stand against today's modern era."

Soft laughter followed. Not sharp enough to be cruel.

But worse. Indifferent.

"No matter, I heard the clan head just retired from active duty as 6th Division's Platoon Leader."

Soichiro and Soshiro's father. Retired and became a sword slaying instructor. Despite not suffering from grave injuries.

Yozora Y/n had heard conversations like this before.

Tradition, modernity. Strength, practicality. The ever-present debate of what was necessary and what was obsolete.

She had learned to tune it out.

But beside her, Hoshina Soshiro was listening.

The tension in his small frame was almost imperceptible, almost.

But Yozora Y/n had spent enough time around him to notice the way his fingers curled ever so slightly around the fabric of his crumbled kimono.

The way his shoulders tensed, not in anger, but in something quieter. Something heavier.

"What about the younger one? Hoshina Soshiro?"

A pause.

A clink of porcelain as someone set their teacup down.

"Hoshina Soichiro is promising. I can see that. But the younger one… well. He clings to a dying art."

"A dying art," someone echoed, Yozora recognise it as her grandmother as if turning the words over in her mouth, testing their weight.

The older woman had always carried a certain weight to her words, a deliberate cadence that made every sentence feel like it was wrapped in layers of history.

"And those who cling to the dead eventually become ghosts themselves."

Her grandmother’s words were sharp, but Y/n could hear the reverence beneath them, the subtle disapproval that came from someone who had seen many generations rise and fall.

A dying art, she thought, her fingers momentarily stilling as the phrase sank in.

She knew exactly what her grandmother was referring to, the way Hoshina Soshiro, today's generation’s prodigy, insisted on clinging to swordsmanship, to the katana, an art form steeped in tradition, but increasingly irrelevant in the face of kaiju destruction and modern weaponry.

The conversation shifted. Another conversation, another topic. The burden of judgment moved on, discarded as easily as an empty cup.

But the words stayed.

Yozora Y/n said nothing.

A second voice echoed the words, a hesitant voice, almost as though testing the phrase on his tongue.

"A dying art," he murmured, his tone contemplative, as if he were weighing the meaning of it all, trying to turn it over and find something new.

And when you turned, you found Soshiro were staring at you.

His usual closed slitted gaze was open now, wide and searching.For what, exactly, Y/n wasn’t sure.

For validation? For denial? For her to tell him that they were wrong?

For her to tell him that he wasn’t clinging to something already dead?

Something in her chest clenched.

Hoshina Soshiro’s gaze stayed on her, lingering like the slow peel of an orange, each layer coming away with an almost painful deliberateness.

The air between them seemed to thicken, scented with the tang of citrus, sharp and vibrant, yet somehow bittersweet. His eyes were like the pulp of the fruit; sweet with an intensity that you could almost taste, but with a rind of bitterness he couldn’t quite shake off.

Yozora Y/n had already learned that defending what had already been deemed useless was the same as drowning alongside it.

She knew that katanas, elegant though they still might be, could only reach so far in this era.

She had seen it firsthand, from the televised report even, in the way firepower dictated strategy, in the way steel could do little against the vast, unrelenting destruction of a kaiju’s thick skin.

She had seen it firsthand. It wasn’t about tradition anymore; it was about survival. And survival demanded something else.

Yozora Y/n could've said when Hoshina Soshiro looked at her with all the trust in his eyes, searching for an answer, YOUR validation;

Tradition isn't dead, only sleeping, that a blade is only useless in the hands of those who do not know how to wield it.

But Yozora Y/n had spent years learning how to be pragmatic.

And pragmatism was what kept people alive.

She didn’t look away.

And she didn’t speak.

The silence stretched between them, widening like a chasm. Hoshina Soshiro didn’t move, didn’t blink, just kept staring at her,

like he was still searching, still waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

It was as though his gaze peeled away her defenses, layer by layer, until she was exposed to whatever quiet storm raged behind his eyes.

Y/n's gaze held his, and in that silence, everything that needed to be said passed between them.

She didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to validate or deny. He already knew what the truth was. She could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the subtle tension leaving his frame. He had been hoping for something more, but it wasn’t coming.

He wanted her to say it, to say that tradition wasn’t dead, that the art of the sword still had meaning in this new age.

The silence was final now, too final to be broken by any more words. It stretched between them like a chasm, a black hole that no amount of words could ever fill.

And then, finally,

Hoshina Soshiro blinked.

And just as quickly, his expression closed again.

The searching faded. The wide, open gaze shuttered, and his usual unreadable mask slid back into place like it had never cracked at all.

He exhaled, long and slow, tilting his head back toward the night sky. And when he finally spoke, his voice was soft.

"Figures." Short, simple, like he expected it but it still stings.

"Doesn’t matter. Sword’s still mine, it won’t change what I do." 

There was no bitterness in his tone.

Only a quiet, aching sort of acceptance.

Yozora Y/n wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

She saw the way his fingers curled a little too tightly. The way he held it with just a fraction more weight, as if reaffirming to himself that it was still there.

Sharp, like the citrusy burst of juice when the orange was split open, a splash of warmth that threatened to overwhelm her.

Y/n could sense the weight of his thoughts, his emotions unfolding in that moment like the fruit’s segments, each piece soft and fleshy, but each hiding a bitter core beneath.

She said nothing.

Because if she spoke, if she gave him that small, fragile thing, then one day,

It would be her for letting him think it could ever be otherwise.

So she swallowed the words.

She didn’t apologize. She didn’t explain. 

Like the aftertaste of orange on the tongue, both sweet and a little too sharp, lingering long after the moment had passed.

But Yozora Y/n wondered if silence was the same as betrayal.

Notes:

Shishi odoshi consists of a hollow bamboo tube mounted on a pivot. Water flows into the tube until it becomes heavy enough to tip over. When it tips, the water pours out, and the empty tube swings back into place.

The Gion Matsuri dates back to 869, making it one of the oldest and most important festivals in Japan. It takes place in the downtown area of Kyoto.

All the information I gathered comes from Google, mixed with my creative writing. So, they're may or may not inaccuracies in some cultures of Japan.

Not sure how old exactly Hoshina was in the backstory where he's told by his own dad to give up using his sword, but in this chapter, that happened before MC's birthday. So Hoshina here having another reality check again (and the final nail in the coffin) and seeking comfort to MC. It also gives him another reason to train even harder from then on.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 5: Center Mass

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day:

Sharks existed before trees. Like, 400 million years ago, predating even dinosaurs. Tho, think you people already know this ngl.

This chapter is based on the spin-off series Kaiju No. 8: B side manga. One more chapter and were set on ep 3.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

August, Year 2023

 

The abandoned house stood alone, swallowed by nature. Vines curled around its rotting frame, and the walls curved down under years of neglect. It was the kind of place people whispered about a house that should've died but somehow still stood in the mountain.

Tonight, four high schoolers gathered at its doorstep.

“Bet you won’t last ten minutes inside,” Ryota smirked, nudging Keiji with an elbow.

Keiji scoffed. “Ten? Make it fifteen.”

Sana crossed her arms, grinning. “Just admit youre a wuss, Keiji. There's nothing wrong admitting that you're scared, right Kanae?” said boy glared at her, 

Kanae didn’t respond. The light from her phone cut through the dark like a knife; sharp and narrow, trembling with each breath she took. The beam passed over the entrance, catching splinters and rot in the wooden frame. But more than that, it caught movement.

Not overt. Not enough to scream run. But something… subtle. The surface of the wood around the edges of the door quivered, ever so slightly.

Like something breathing underground bark. Or like skin that had grown over something too alive.

Something about the place felt wrong.

Kanae lowered her phone. "Did you see that?"

No one answered.

Still, a dare was a dare. Keiji, trying to act braver than he felt, stepped forward. He placed one hand on the weathered frame, fingers brushing damp wood.

The door resisted. Then, with a reluctant shove, it opened, not with a creak, but a low, wet groan, like muscle tearing under strain.

Darkness spread before them.

They hesitated, all four. The humid air rolled out in a slow wave, thick and uncomfortably warm, clinging to their skin. It smelled like salt and copper. Metallic. Almost organic.

Sana swallowed. "Why's it so hot in there?"

Then the floor shifted beneath them.

Just slightly.

A tremor rolled through the wood. Subtle at first, almost dismissible, like the settling of old boards. But then it came again. Stronger. The walls shivered, glass in the windowpanes rattling like teeth.

Dust rained down in thick, lazy drops.

Ryota looked up. “Is that an earthquake?”

“No,” Kanae said automatically, eyes wide. “That’s....different.”

The boards groaned under their weight. But it wasn’t age or decay. It wasn’t that old familiar creak of wood flexing. No, this was hollow. Uneven. Tense.

Like a stomach preparing to lurch.

Below their feet, something stirred.

It was barely audible. A faint, wet dragging sound. Organic. Deliberate. It didn’t echo, it crawled, like something moving across muscle, not stone.

Kanae’s spine prickled.

A faint, wet sound.

Kanae shivered. "Did you hear..."

The floor ruptured.

Not all at once, sections buckled inward, as if something underneath was pushing up, forcing the wooden boards to bulge and crack like an eggshell.

Sana screamed as a bulge rose beneath her feet. She leapt back. Too slow.

And the first limb broke through.

Sending different sizes and pieces of wood flying in every direction. The edges of it scraped and hissed like bone dragged across tile.

A massive, segmented claw erupted from the floor, splintering wood with a wet, shattering crack. Its surface were lumpy and uneven, as if molted improperly. The edges were jagged, not unlike the serrated limbs of a mantis shrimp, scaled up to nightmare proportions.

Kanae stumbled back, her breath caught in her throat. Whatever was under them... it wasn’t a foundation issue. It wasn’t an earthquake.

It had been living underneath the house for how many years, and she realised too late how utterly stupid they were that a abandoned house in Mt. Oyama is something kaijus would uses as their home.

Basic 101. And Kanae thought; Shit.

Keiji barely had time to scream before the pincer snapped shut around his chest, right to the sternum, just beneath the armpits. There was a sharp crack, the sound of ribs fracturing under sudden, tremendous force.

Several ribs gave way instantly. The sternum split down the middle like softwood.

His scream choked into something garbled as his ribs caved in, flesh and bone compressing inward like a stepped on fruit.

A rapid influx of blood filled the pleural cavity and surged up the trachea. Bright arterial spray frothed at his lips as his diaphragm spasmed..

Sana, Ryota and Kanae watched, horrified, frozen, as Keiji's face twisted, twitching. His legs kicked violently, soles skidding against the ruined floor.

Then the claw constricted again.

The compression forced his upper thoracic cavity to collapse inward. Ribs splintered like kindling. As the claw lifted and twisted, the spine arched at an unnatural angle, too far. A snap.

A sickening pop echoed, a cervical dislocation. Likely between the C3 and C5 of Keiji's backbone. The spinal cord was severed.

The cervical vertebrae dislocated mid-lift, severing the spinal cord. His body went limp above the waist, but his legs still twitched violently.

Then, the kaiju ripped him downwards with brutal force. The wood snapped, joists groaned. A greasy smear of blood and viscera streaked across the splinters. Something pale and ropelike, a trail of intestine snagged on a nail before vanishing underground.

Sana screamed too late..

Ryota stumbled backward, his hand clutched to his mouth, eyes locked on the gaping hole in the floor, the dark, wet space where Keiji had been dragged.

The air stank of bile and salt. And then it moved again. The room seemed to tilt as the floor heaved upward, groaning.

The entire floor split apart, the wooden planks roaring snapping as the kaiju surfaced fully.

 

Massive. Grotesque. An abomination.

 

It was a crustacean, but grotesquely wrong. Its carapace dripped with mucus, long beady  eyestalks twisting blindly, the mouthparts clacked together, twitching, saliva dripping between jagged mandibles.

Its claws, now coated in Keiji's blood and bits of flesh, flexed, ready for more. Kanae saw what to be Keiji's eyeball dangling outside its mouth, 

Ryota didn’t even get the chance to run.

One of the kaiju’s jagged, barnacle encrusted legs shot forward, slamming straight through his calf.

The impact was so sudden and forceful that his tibia snapped apart, jagged splinters tearing through muscle and skin. 

Blood gushed, painting the floor in hot, red vital fluid.

Ryota howled, hands clawing at the wound as his severed achilles tendon coiled like a snapped rubber band.

“Ryota!” Sana lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders, but the kaiju moved again, dragging its leg back, ripping his flesh open as it withdrew.

The sound, a hideous, fleshy rip, was drowned by Ryota’s raw, ragged shriek.

Torn muscle and skin clung to the Kaiju's serrated limb, strands of flesh dangling before sloughing off.

His lower leg was nearly sheared off, the severed tibia jutting through shredded muscle.

Only a few ragged strands of skin and tendon kept his foot attached, barely enough to support its limp, unnatural angle.

“Oh, shit,oh, shit shit shit” His voice hitched, breath coming in choked gasps. His fingers dug into the floor, gripping rotting wood like a lifeline.

Another pincer smashed down behind them, reducing the rest of the house to splinters.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..." Sana sobbed, grabbing his arm, trying to drag him away.

The kaiju twitched.

It knew he was still alive. It reared back, its serrated mandibles clicking. And then, it lunged. Crumbling what remained of the house.

Kanae grabbed Sana's wrist. “Run!"

They bolted, dragging Ryota between them.

Sana hadn’t dared to look back, not when she caught that last glimpse before running, of its grotesque, ridged carapace glistening with wet mud, bioluminescent veins flickering like dying fire beneath its armored shell.

Not when she saw the size of it, its body unfurling in the dark, wreckage abandoned house, stretching, moving hunting.

Kanae's hands shook violently as she clutched the phone.

“Pick up, pick up, come on!” she sobbed, her breath hitching.

Her breath was ragged, her pulse a hammering drum in her ears. Everything was too loud, the crunch of their footsteps against loose gravel,

The uneven wheezing of Ryota as they placed him on the ground between them, the wet squelch of blood dripping from his ruined leg, leaving a dark, splattered trail behind.

The air stank of iron and salt, thick enough to coat her tongue, but worse than that, worse than anything, was the sound behind them.

The scrape.

That slow, deliberate drag of something massive clawing its way free from the earth. Its barnacle-crusted legs pulling free of the dark.

The ringing stopped.

 

“119, what’s your emergency?”

 

Kanae's words spilled out in a choked panic.

“Something’s in the house, it’s huge, Keiji! oh my god!! oh my god!!!”

Ryota wailed in the background, a horrible, breathless sound, his ruined leg leaking red into the the soil ground.

Sana pressed down hard on what was left of Ryota’s leg, fingers slipping in the slick warmth of his blood. The stump pulsed beneath her palms, raw muscle twitching as if trying to grasp onto what had been lost.

The dispatcher’s voice was steady but urgent.

“Ma’am, please stay on the line. Is anyone hurt?”

Ryota choked on a sob. “It, it took my leg!” His breath came in rapid, panicked gasps, barely holding back screams.

Kanae is barely holding it together. One hand is clutching the phone, knuckles white,  the other is slick with her sweat,

The dispatcher’s voice frizzle in her ear, demanding details; location, injuries, number of kaiju, but everything is obscuring together in a mess of panic, static, and the wet, labored gasps of the boy next to her. 

“I....shit, I can’t feel my foot!” he wailed,

The kaiju is still out there. Stalking closer.

Kanae snaps.

"No shit, Ryota! That’s because it’s not fucking there anymore! Now shut up and help me keep you alive!"

A wet clicking echoed behind them.

Kanae whipped her head around. The kaiju was near.

Its grotesque, barnacle-ridden carapace shined under the moonlight, lines of bioluminescent orange and yellow pulsing beneath its surface. Keiji’s blood still dripping from its serrated mandibles.

Its glossy black eyes locked onto the survivors.

“Oh my god....” Sana's breath hitched.

The dispatcher’s voice crackled.

“Ma’am, sir, please calm down. Find a nearest place to hide. A response team is being sent to your location. Can you—”

Ryota suddenly seized, body arching as his breath hitched violently.

Her fingers sank into the exposed muscle, slick with blood. The raw, twitching tissue pulsed beneath her touch, as if the leg was still trying to move, still trying to be whole.

Sana was horrified.

Kanae's frantic call at the dispatch, Ryota's pained agony, were all but a white noise as Sana begun to disoriented,

"I can feel it moving," Sana whispered, voice small and shaking.

The raw muscle spasmed beneath her fingers, its last desperate attempt to function, while warm blood pulsed between her shaking hands.

Then, the kaiju clicked its mandibles again.

 

And charged.

---

 

Unlike the expansive command operations center at Ariake Maritime Base, which coordinated all sixteen divisions,

Third Division command operation center operated as a regional response force, prioritizing immediate deployment and frontline command.

At the center of the room, sitting before the largest holographic display, was Okonogi Konomi, one of Third Division’s lead operational officers.

Her earpiece rested firmly against her ear, a direct comms link to active squads on the ground.

Okonogi Konomi barely had a moment to breathe before the Kaiju Alert system blared to life on her monitor. An emergency distress call, garbled and frantic, popped up, displaying:

Caller: Unregistered Civilian

Location: Isehara City, Kanagawa Prefecture

Report: “Something’s in the house, it’s huge, Keiji, oh my god!! Oh my god!!!"

Status: Call Disconnected

In that instant, the data and sensor readings confirmed it: a kaiju was emerging.

Honju-class threat confirmed.

The system’s automated alarm had just alerted Third Division to a confirmed Honju-class threat, compelling immediate reconnaissance and rapid response.

Okonogi’s hands moved fast, issuing an immediate fortitude level of 6.4 Alert;

"Seismic Event Detected: Isehara City, Kanagawa Prefecture. Civilian casualty risk, high. Initiating drone reconnaissance and deployment prep. Alerting command."

The room around her zoomed into motion. Operational leaders locked in their stations, screens lighting up with incoming data feeds.

Aerial reconnaissance drones deployed from automated launch bays, their live cameras streaming infrared and ultraviolet scans back to Tachikawa Base.

On one of Okonogi Konomi's monitors, the first drone feed stabilized, revealing the remains of the abandoned house. It had collapsed inward, no, been crushed, by something enormous.

The heat signature overlay flickered, struggling against interference, before stabilizing on a shifting mass beneath the rubble.

She zoomed the image, and felt her heart drop. "Sweet mother of Japan." Okonogi swallows,

Pincers. Massive. Chitinous. Bristling with barnacle-like growths.

The creature was burrowing deeper, using its armored limbs to maneuver through the wreckage. Some were emerging.

Okonogi Konomi toggled her comms to field units.

"This is Okonogi. Confirmed Honju-class Kaiju at the Isehara site. Burrowing behavior observed." She blinked, her thick glasses illuminating the data analysis on the monitor before her,

"Related to a crustacean species. Deploying Mobile Corps. Requesting Captain Ashiro and Vice Captain Hoshina and platoon leaders to engage."

She didn’t hesitate before pushing the feed directly to Ariake Maritime Base, to Chief of Command Operation Yozora Y/n,

While the Third Division was capable of handling regional threats, protocol dictated that any confirmed kaiju emergence must be relayed to the Main HQ, Ariake Maritime Base.

Okonogi Konomi turned to the liaison officer responsible for HQ communications.

"Send a full battle assessment to CCO at Ariake. Get Chief Yozora’s authorization for operational oversight."

The officer nodded, immediately connecting Third Division’s live combat feed to Ariake’s Command Operations Center.

Said command operations center at Ariake Maritime Base was dim, not for the lack of power but by design,

Every source of light came from the numerous monitors that lined the endless numbers of surveillance feed and tactical data painting shifting hues of blue, green, and red across the metal-paneled floor.

The ceiling emerged high above, ribbed with reinforced steel beams and implanted with sunken lights that flickered in unison with the system diagnostics,

The sterile atmosphere did little to mask the weight of human exhaustion;

The fatigue that move on hands and knees into the stiff postures of those who had been at their stations sitting for hours, touch interface, eyes locked onto screens, fingers moving in rhythmic precision across keyboards.

The tension here was never loud; it was a quiet, grinding pressure, the kind that built not from panic, but from the absolute necessity of control.

The sixteen divisions of the JAKDF, scattered across the archipelago, were secured here, every movement, every alert, sublimate into lines of text and live video streams that scrolled across the primary screen;

A massive panel stretching from one end of the room to the other.

It displayed the current state of operations: satellite imagery, heat signatures, seismic activity, projected kaiju paths, and the ever-critical threat level meter pulsing in the upper corner.

Beneath it, rows of operational leaders and tactical officers worked in union efficiency, their voices checking status reports and rapid fire confirmations.

Yozora Y/n stood in a raised platform at the very center, encircled by layers of operational leaders and each of division liaisons, each manning their respective command stations.

The design was intentional: from here, every movement, every decision, every spoken command could be observed and issued without obstruction.

Countless monitors flickered across her face, catching the sharp contours of her uniform, the metallic gleam of the insignia that marked her as Chief of Command Operations.

From her elevated position, she could see everything.

To her right, biometric readings of deployed First Division officers, their heart rates spiking as they maneuvered into formation, the synthetic fibers of their kaiju adaptive suits pulsing with reactive energy.

Across the various stations below, liaisons assigned to their respective divisions across Japan barked into their earpiece, their voices relaying orders to field teams in synchronized efficiency.

A voice from one of the stations below reported, eyes not moving away from the monitor, 

“Sixth Division reports all clear on the Hyogo coastline, both north and south. No anomaly readings were found.”

Yozora Y/n barely inclined her head, her gaze locked onto the shifting data streams before her.

“Maintain surveillance. Increase sonar sweeps along the Awaji Island, which separates the Inland Sea from Osaka Bay.” Her voice was even, steady, no hesitation, no wasted words.

The liaison stationed for Sixth Division tactical relay nodded, fingers clacking over the keyboard,

"Roger,"

Her eyes flicked to the central screen projected city grids overlaid with projected kaiju trajectories.

A faint crease formed between her brows as she processed the angles, the attack vectors, the counteroffensive routes. Two seconds. That’s all it took.

A notification flickered on the large monitor from the center of the room:

 

THIRD DIVISION; HONJU-LEVEL FORTITUDE OF 6.4 THREAT DETECTED, ISEHARA CITY, KANAGAWA PREFECTURE

 

Yozora Y/n’s posture remained perfectly still, her expression unreadable, but the weight of her presence amplified as she turned to the Third Division relay liaison stationed nearby.

“Report.”

The liaison, already processing data from the Third Division’s forward command at Tachikawa Base, quickly responded.

“The disturbance originated in an abandoned residential area. A group of high schoolers trespassed on the property at the heart of Mt Oyama," the liaison swallowed 

"Triggering seismic activity. Soon after, a crustacean type kaiju emerged from beneath the structure.”

Yozora Y/n's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the incoming live feed. The screens flickered with aerial drone footage,

A collapsed abandoned house, dust clouding the trees surrounding the house, within Mt Oyama, and at the center of it all, massive crustacean like kaijus clawing its way out of the wreckage.

It was large, but not skyscraper sized, approximately six meters tall, comparable to a adult giraffe, with a thick, segmented shell and razor-sharp pincers that snapped through the air.

Yozora Y/n's gaze flicked across multiple live feeds, absorbing the situation with practiced efficiency.

Drone visuals. Seismic readouts. Fragmented audio logs.

On another screen, different groups of burrowing kaijus shifted again, its pincers flexing. It wasn’t rampaging. It wasn’t retreating. 

Her brow furrowed slightly.

“Increase imaging resolution,” she instructed, arms crossed. Her right prosthetic arm gleaming under the light coming from the multiple monitors before her.

Tanaka Eijichi zoomed in, adjusting filters to cut through thermal interference.

There.

A second heat signature, no, multiple, registered just beneath the surface. Y/n's eyes narrowed.

It wasn’t just a dozen of kaijus.

About 40 of them, and were clawing from beneath the multiple holes. Mostly Yoju, based from its fortitude, despite its size of a grown giraffe, and half of them werent engaging against the Third Division officers...

"Well, there goes their sushi," came a voice over the comms. The logistics officer, a grinning figure at the back in the command operation center, tapped the console with a nonchalant attitude.

"Those crab roe sushi are looking pretty fresh too."

Tanaka Eijichi refocusing on the live feed.  Already scanning the next screen, "Let’s hope their stomachs aren't as bad as their attitudes."

Yoju are what to be a smaller Kaiju that support the Honju that is the larger, more powerful Kaiju that typically acts as the core of an attack,

They usually swarm in numbers and executing coordinated assaults. They tend to be weaker but are still dangerous, especially in groups.

Yozora Y/n frowns, looking at the Yoju class crustaceans from the live feed. 

The Yoju level crustaceans scuttled in its wake, pale orange with uneven red spotting across their segmented bodies.

Their spindly limbs scraped against the dirt as they emerged from underneath.

On the ground, Third Division platoon leaders had already engaged, burst rounds lighting up the battlefield, but something was wrong.

“Shell integrity is holding,” Platoon Leader Ebina reported from the field via earpiece.

“Our standard ammunitions aren’t penetrating!”

"Of course they’re in clusters." You exhaled, the click of your tongue nearly drowned out by the distant wails of sirens.

"Crustaceans doesn't stray far from their breeding grounds. If this thing’s acting like its natural counterpart," you paused, "then those Yoju aren’t just tagging along for protection, they’re either waiting to molt or…" Your expression darkened.

"They're here because there’s something worse waiting to protect its territory."

The Yoju level kaiju let out a shrill, screeching wail, its massive claw lashing out,

Kanae, still too close to the combat zone, was nearly caught in its grasp before a defence officer tackled her out of the way.

Apparently, she bravely distracted the actual Honju, the one that chased after them earlier so it wouldn't attack Ryota and Sana for no longer than 20 minutes until help arrives,

Ryota was already transported safely via emergency helicopter, Sana included.

There was no question that Ashiro Mina and Hoshina Soshiro could have eliminated the threat. If anything, their skill sets made them the ideal solution;

Ashiro Mina’s unparalleled firepower and Hoshina Soshiro’s blade precision meant they had the means to neutralize every single one of these crustacean kaiju with ruthless efficiency.

So why hold them back?

 

“Chief, Third Division requests execution orders.”

 

Silence.

Yozora Y/n didn’t react immediately. Her gaze swept across the monitors, analyzing its movement patterns, response behavior, and armor composition.

The standard response in a situation like this was neutralization. A swift and lethal strike. Yet, something about this crustacean like kaiju’s behavior stood out;

It didn’t attack preemptively, it ambushed from below.

It wasn’t rampaging through the city, it waited for prey to come near its pincers.

Half of them burrowed instinctively, implying a natural survival adaptation rather than a mindless destructive rampage.

The Honju wasn't even in visuals yet. That's another problem.

Most importantly, standard weaponry was ineffective.

Yozora Y/n’s mind moved fast. There was value in studying this creature, and sending soldiers to blindly fire at an impervious shell was a waste of lives and uni-socket ammunition.

Her decision was made in under five seconds. She turned to her operational leaders,

“Third Division will engage as planned, but prepare containment measures. If this thing moves beyond the city perimeter, we escalate to further problems.”

Operational Leader Yamashiro Yamamoto asked. His glasses gleaming under the dim light,

“Do you think it’s worse than it looks?”

Yozora Y/ns gaze didn’t waver from the monitors.

“…I think it hasn’t fully shown itself yet.”

A beat of silence.

Then, she gave the order:

“Patch me through to Third Division Captain Ashiro. Now.”

Floodlights washed over the clearing as Third Division’s second squad arrived. Platoon leaders and officers moved into position, weapons primed, while aerial drones circled above. 

Half of the kaiju were still partially submerged, its massive body undulating as it dug deeper. Half were engaged in shooting against the officers, left and right, 

Captain Ashiro Mina's radio crackled.

“Captain Ashiro.” Yozora Y/n’s voice.

“Chief.” Ashiro Mina exhaled.

“Your assessment?”

Ashiro Mina watched some of the crustaceans kaijus, noting the way it didn’t seem interested in them, it was burrowing for something deeper.

“…Something’s off,” she admitted. “It’s not acting like a standard Kaiju found in urban setting.”

The moment she saw the sheer numbers, she knew that a full-force offensive from Mina would be costly.

The T-25101985 cannon had five rounds loaded at a time. Even if she maximized her output, Ashiro Mina was looking at five confirmed kills before reloading.

At best, if she had the maximum spare rounds on her, she could take ten, fifteen at most. The problem wasn’t her aim, it was that there were forty.

And these weren’t slow-moving kaiju. From what Yozora Y/n concluded; 

They burrowed, attacked from below, then retreated back into the earth. They weren’t offering clear shots; they were striking from angles that made every missed hit a potential waste of ammunition.

The cannon wasn’t built for precision-kill after precision-kill. It was built to obliterate large, singular targets in one strike. Against something this scattered?

Mina would need to switch weapons midbattle. The time spent discarding the cannon, equipping a rifle, repositioning, all while in an open field where these things could ambush again, was a liability.

Her firepower is overkill and inefficient for small, burrowing, fast-striking enemies that come and go unpredictably. Even when switching to a rifle. It would also obliterate the whole mountain. 

It’s still the same amount of power she took from the kaiju synthetic suit that contains the energy of 100%.

A pause.

Then there was Hoshina Soshiro.

His close-range specialty meant that, theoretically, he could carve through them fast enough to locate their cores and dismantle them.

But they were in clusters. If he engaged, he’d be fighting in their territory. The moment he struck one, the others would react.

Unlike his past fights against smaller and mid sized kaijus, these weren’t lone combatants. They functioned as a group.

If they attacked him from below, all it would take was one mistimed dodge, one slip-up, and he’d be the one they’d be pulling under the earth.

They weren’t here to wipe out a city-killing kaiju, they were, but things escalated quickly where one crustacean like kaiju turned into 40,

They were here to capture. That changed everything. The goal wasn’t eradication, it was containment.

Sending in Ashiro Mina and Hoshina Soshiro too soon was a waste of assets.

If Ashiro Mina needed to switch mid-battle, she’d lose the time necessary for a clear counterstrike.

If Hoshina Soshiro got pinned in an enclosed space, not even his reflexes would save him.

The third division platoon leaders were already engaging, they needed to confirm movement patterns, weak points, and potential choke points before deploying heavy hitters.

And you refused to gamble on that.

Then, Yozora Y/n finally spoke.

“Then we don’t treat it like one.” 

Y/n grabbed the mic attached to her headset,

"Captain, Vice Captain, stand by. Monitor engagement zones, let the platoon leaders and their units maintain the first engagement as per protocol. If containment fails or they breach their perimeter, you move."

"Do not commit heavy artillery and close combat yet until we confirm their adaptability. No unnecessary risks. Control the zone, don’t escalate."

Her decision came fast. "Suppress and drive them upward, no stragglers."

As Ashiro Mina relayed the orders, she glanced up at the sky.

Somewhere, miles away, Yozora Y/n was watching the same battle unfold in real time. Calculating. Planning. Already considering Plan B and C.

Because if this kaiju wasn’t what it seemed, if it was just the beginning,  then Third Division wouldn’t be enough.

Her eyes darted between the displays, sifting through the flood of information with razor sharp precision. Then, something caught her eye.

A fracture.

One of the shells, cracked. Not shattered, but compromised. A weak point. Subtle one.

The feed flickered as the drone zoomed in, capturing the web like fissures branching across the kaiju’s hardened exoskeleton.

Yozora Yn’s breath slowed. This wasn’t random. She immediately keyed into the comms.

“Who landed that hit? Get me their unleashed combat power.”

Okonogi Konomi responded almost instantly.

"Platoon Leader Nakanoshima Tae , unleashed combat power reading at 40%. The shell didn’t break, but the surface layer gave way.”

The pieces aligned.

Her gaze flicked toward the battlefield, assessing, thinking.... Their frontline officers were already engaged, but their Unleashed Combat Power varied.

Lower fortitude percentages meant weaker strike.The rounds weren’t failing; the people firing them lacked the output to maximize their penetration.

That didn’t mean Ashiro Mina and Hoshina Soshiro should step in immediately. It meant forcing engagement now would be inefficient.

Ashiro Mina's artillery was built for overwhelming firepower. A single shot at full power could likely shatter one of these things outright,

Effective if they're in clusters but these damn abominations are fast and fluctuate between clustering and scattering and Mina had limited rounds. 

Hoshina's swordsmanship was unmatched, but these kaiju weren’t fully above ground yet.

His slashes were best suited for agile, exposed enemies, not ones half-buried in reinforced exoskeletons.

Until they forced these things to reveal their core, sending him in just gave the kaijus another target.

This was a neutralise mission first, and now it's a capture mission, and that's that.

The liaison stationed for Third Division tactical relay turned to Yozora, earpiece in place, awaiting orders.

“CCO, multiple Third Division platoon leaders requests execution orders.”

Silence.

Her mind worked fast, predicting possible alternative tactical responses. And then, she decided.

Her voice cut through the command operations center, calm but absolute.

“Cease lethal engagement. Containment is now priority. That is the objective. But if suppression fails, eliminate the target with higher combat power," 

Yozora Y/n frowned, sharp eyes looking at the screen before her, 

"This is capture or kill." 

A brief pause, then the Third Division relay officer nodded sending the order.

Silence followed before Yamashiro Yamamoto spoke, his voice steady but carrying the weight of experience.

"You’re expecting resistance beyond standard suppression, then."

Not a challenge, but an observation, one that required an answer. Yozora Y/n exhaled through her nose, eyes never leaving the live combat feeds.

“I expect the unexpected.”

Yamamoto Yamashiro gave a low hum, the kind that came from a man who had seen too much to be easily convinced but trusted her enough to follow through.

"Well then, the Third Division will adjust accordingly."

Kurusu Akira, seated nearby, shifted his gaze between the two, his expression unreadable.

For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on Yamamoto before flicking to Y/n calculating, assessing.

Then, without a word, he returned his attention to his monitor, fingers tapping out rapid movements against his keyboard as if nothing has happened.

Inside the Third Division command operation center, tension crackled beneath the steady sounds of machines.

Operational leaders were hunched over their stations, fingers clacking furiously against keyboards as data feeds streamed across multiple screens. Alerts chimed, and real time tactical overlays shifted,

Okonogi Konomi, her brow furrowed as she typed commands with practiced precision, eyes flicking to the monitor's readouts and Kaiju movement patterns.

Her earpiece buzzed faintly, then locked onto a new transmission channel.

“Command authorization incoming,” someone murmured behind her.

Miles away, a response came from Ariake Maritime Base, under Yozora Y/n's direct authorization.

"Third Division Operational Leader Okonogi Konomi do you copy?" The relay officer’s voice was calm, but his fingers tightened briefly around his earpiece.

His gaze flicked between screens, sweat beading at his temple despite the cool air. "Operational shift; cease lethal engagement. CCO has ordered containment. Prepare electromagnetic suppression equipment."

He paused just long enough to swallow, watching the threat indicator pulse red on the central display.

"However," he continued, blinking rapidly as another alert flashed, Okonogi listening,"if unleashed combat power thresholds indicate lethal force is required for self-defense, engage. Capture remains priority, but termination is authorized if necessary."

"Solid copy," Okonogi Konomi relayed the command without hesitation.

"Third Division, containment is now priority. Deploy EMP nets and fiber restraints. Keep the target immobilized until transport arrives."

Her hands clenched into fists as she watched the battlefield unfold in real-time.

The containment strategy had to work, if it failed, the kaiju could re-burrow and disappear

Yozora Y/n tapped into her headset, shifting the operational flow in real time.

“Deploy electromagnetic restraining equipment, immediately. You’re not piercing that shell with uni socket ammunition, so immobilize it instead.”

She scanned the map, now glowing red with multiple confirmed kaiju markers, 

"Captain Ashiro, standby with Vice Captain Hoshina, its armor holds strategic value. And I trust that your platoon leaders can handle this on their own."

Yozora Y/n continue, 

"We’ll analyze its shell, reverse-engineer its properties. If it’s stronger than our current weaponry, we integrate it."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"If it has a biological weakness—"

"we exploit it. If it's useful for training, we use it." Ashiro Mina interrupted, her voice crackling within the Ariake's Command Operation Center, 

"And you don’t send my soldiers to waste their lives firing at something they can’t kill, isn't that right, Chief?" 

Silence. 

As one operational leader scrolled through the mission feed, her gaze lingered, just for a second, on Ashiro Mina’s silhouette, rifle raised, precise as ever.

Ashiro Mina burns like a star; smoldering, untouchable, a shining light that commands the sky.

You once burned, too. Now, you're the space in between, the quiet vastness, the dark expanse that holds the light but does not shine.

There is no shame in the void. No grief in the distance. Only the quiet knowing that once, she too was a star.

Yozora Y/n reluctantly smiled before straightening her pose.

"Affirmative." 

Third Division’s Captain Ashiro Mina, patched in via communications relay responded, transmitting into every officers' earpiece.

“Officers, switch to electromagnetic nets, priority target: legs and joints. Capture is priority but self defense is required if necessary”

The officers on the field adjusted instantly, swapping out their burst rounds for EMP restraints and suppression nets, aiming to disable the kaiju’s movement.

But not everyone had made peace with the sudden shift.

Vice Captain Hoshina adjusted his earpiece, a faint furrow forming between his brows as the orders crackled through.

It had been cleared as an neutralise mission just hours ago; clean, efficient, no strings attached. But now, under direct command from you , it had shifted.

A capture mission.

Not just a minor adjustment, either. The new directive involved multiple kaiju, far beyond standard protocol.

Fifteen was the usual cap. Anything beyond that risked casualties, risked the civilians. But this? This operation was cleared to top that by a mile.

This might shattered the standing record from three months ago, 35 Primigenius Yoju and 1 Honju taken alive in what had been considered a logistical miracle at the time.

And yet now, they were expected to top it, as if it were a routine.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his blades.

"This is insane," he muttered, his gaze locked onto the monstrous figures ahead.

Then, just under his breath, too quiet for the comms to pick up,

“…Good thing the one givin' orders is easy on the eyes.”

From her workstation, Okonogi Konomi flicked her eyes toward him, catching his remark through the direct relay.

She pouted, before she pushed up her glasses, refocusing on the operation.

"Chief Yozora doesn’t issue bad calls."

Hoshina Soshiro snorted, shaking his head as he rolled out his shoulders.

"Didn’t say she did."

His fingers tensed around the hilts of his twin blades, muscles coiled for the moment he’d inevitably have to cut down anything that slipped past the combat zone.

His eyes flickered to the kaijus, massive, armored, its movements eerily methodical.

This isn’t a normal fight.

No head-to-head engagements. No desperate clashes of strength and technique. This was a different kind of battle. One where the goal wasn’t to kill the kaijus,

But to contain them.

And for a swordsman like him, trained to cut down threats before they could escalate, That was a whole different level of insane.

Third Division officers switched to EMP suppression nets and synthetic fiber restraints, working in coordinated groups.

The kaiju screeched as the first net wrapped around its leg, electrical pulses disrupting its motor function.

It staggered, letting out a sharp cry of fury, its massive body shuddering under the sudden onslaught.

Another net flew through the air, this time landing across its shell, crackling with the surge of electricity.

But the kaiju didn’t go down easily, its beady eyes narrowed, glowing with a furious, feral intensity. It snapped its cheliped out in retaliation.

A team of officers from each platoon leaders launched into action with the experience and precision of seasoned soldiers, using the uneven terrain of Mt. Oyama to their advantage.

One officer flipped off a low cliffside, landing in a crouched position with an agility that barely made a sound, already preparing an EMP net for the next strike.

The Yoju's cheliped snapped furiously, reaching out for any sign of movement, but the Third Division officers were faster. Platoon Leader Itakura led the charge, sprinting at an angle and vaulting over rocks to avoid the kaiju’s sweeping pincers.

He threw his EMP net at the creature's right leg, just as another officer slid beneath its massive body, narrowly avoiding the kaiju’s vicious claws.

“Got it!” the officer grunted, his voice strained as he slid under the kaiju’s thick, barnacle covered legs, barely escaping a swipe from one of its sharp pincers.

His rifle aimed upward, shooting precise rounds at its exposed eye stalks, the shots punctuating the battle like thunderclaps.

It staggered, its body trembling, but it was still far from defeated.

A sharp, guttural screech filled the air as one of its jagged chelipeds lashed out, aiming straight for a nearby officer. The officer barely dodged, but his friend wasn't as lucky.

Caught off guard, and barely had time to react before the Yoju crustacean kaiju's jagged pincer smacked into his stomach, sending him towards the nearest tree.

“Platoon Leader Ebina, one of your men is pinned!” a operational leader's voice shouted through his earpiece, cutting through the noise of the ongoing battle.

"Get back!" Ebina shouted, rifle already drawn. With precise aim, he shot a series of piercing rounds into the kaiju’s barnacle-covered leg, sending it staggering back with a feral shriek of pain.

As the kaiju recoiled, a young officer in the rear deployed another EMP net, this one aimed at the creature’s midsection. The net expanded, crackling with electricity, as the kaiju faltered. Its movements slowed, but it wasn’t over yet.

The creature reared back on its hind legs, sending a shockwave through the ground as it tried to regain control.

Another officer wasted no time. He hurled another EMP net, this time targeting the kaiju’s other leg, and the creature faltered, its legs trembling as the pulses jolted its body into compliance.

In a fluid motion, another officer darted to the side, somersaulting off a boulder to avoid the sweep of a claw. Landing in a roll, he instantly aimed his uni socket ammunition rifle and fired a round straight into the base of the kaiju’s other leg. The leg buckled, but wasn't obliterated and the creature's momentum faltered.

"Cover the weak side!" Platoon Leader Ikaruga Ryo barked, his voice carrying over throughout the mountain.

The officer beside him nodded sharply and tossed a secondary EMP net, this time targeting the kaiju’s remaining leg near them.

As the net engulfed the creature’s massive limb, an electric pulse surged through, forcing the kaiju to stagger again, its enormous body collapsing under the weight of the disabling shock.

Platoon Leader Nakanoshima Tae appeared from the shadows, moving through the rocky terrain. A swift jump, and she was rappelling off the side of a jagged cliff, her body twisting midair as she let loose another net. Her team supporting her cover.

The net snagged across another kaiju’s shell, the electrical charge making the creature’s movements spasm uncontrollably.

As the battle raged on, another Yoju, with its eerie orange and red bioluminescence flickering in the dark, lay in wait beneath the surface.

It burrowed silently under the ground, its massive claws ready to strike from the shadows. Without warning, it launched itself from the earth, a blur of sharp pincers and glowing underbelly, catching three officers from Platoon Leader Itakura's team off guard.

The yoju swiped through the air with deadly precision, sending the officers flying as if they were ragdolls. The bright bioluminescent streaks from the creature’s limbs illuminated the dark, stormy skies as it executed its ambush with terrifying speed.

The officers barely had time to react as they were hurled away, their bodies crashing against rocks and trees before landing in the dirt.

Hoshina’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. The three officers from Itakura’s team were thrown into the air with terrifying force, their bodies hurtling through the battlefield like ragdolls.

It was unexpected, a clean strike from beneath, the kind of ambush that was impossible to predict.

Despite the violent impact, the synthetic suits they wore absorbed most of the shock, protecting them from serious harm. No injuries were sustained, thanks to the reinforced exoskeletons woven into the suits.

“Damn…” he muttered, his breath steady but his posture stiff. Despite his concern, Hoshina Soshiro’s training kept him focused.

This was their job. His gaze remained on the fallen officers, trusting their training and equipment to keep them safe, even if the hit had been a surprise.

Itakura’s voice crackled over the comms,  “Regroup. Keep your focus!” The officers quickly regained their stance, brushing off the dirt and readjusting their gear.

The kaiju, now fully aware of their presence, screeched in frustration, readying itself for another attack.

Besides Hoshina Soshiro, Ashiro Mina’s sharp gaze cut through the chaotic scene. Her posture remained rigid.

For a brief moment, her breath caught in her throat, a tightness in her chest from the ambush, but only for a moment. Her eyes narrowed as she quickly assessed the situation.

“Platoon Leader Itakura, status?” she demanded, her voice cold and commanding.

Platoon Leader Itakura’s voice crackled through the comms almost immediately, filled with a brief but firm assurance. “We’re good, Captain. Officers are recovering, no injuries, just a hit from the ambush. We’ve got this.”

Ashiro Mina nodded once, her stance unwavering. “Understood. Keep me updated.” 

A final, swift motion, another net, and the kaiju was finally immobile, its twitching limbs only betraying its last vestiges of life.

Another net followed, then another, until the creature's movement slowed to a halt, its limbs twitching under the restraints.

Yozora Y/n’s focus didn’t waver. Containment was working, but they needed reinforcement for extraction.

She turned to the logistics and transport division liaison, who had been waiting for her decision.

“Send a heavy transport team from Ariake Maritime Base. Those kaijus are a high value capture.”

The logistic officer immediately relayed the order, coordinating the deployment of a reinforced kaiju transport vessel.

A confirmation came moments later.

“Heavy transport deporting in fifteen minutes.”

Y/n's voice was cool, but final.

“Make it ten.”

The logistic officer paled slightly but nodded, adjusting deployment schedules to fast-track the extraction.

---

 

The sound of the combat zone was thick with static, the only sounds breaking through the mountain being the distant, hollow thud of heavy boots and the low sound of mechanical suits.

Ashiro Mina stood still, her eyes locked on the mass of movement below, her breathing was even, controlled.

She could hear the faint comms crackle as an officer's voice filtered through, the words quick and sharp.

“Majority of Yoju have been restrained, EMP nets deployed. Minimal casualties.”

A heavy sigh of relief swept over the Third Division officers. The operation was progressing, well within expected parameters. The captured Yojus were subdued, EMP nets  doing their job. Casualties were low, the fight nearly over.

But Mina's eyes never left the horizon. She wasn’t one for celebrating prematurely. Not in a field like this, not when things could turn in an instant.

Something wasn’t right.

At Ariake, the mood was quieter, but no less intense. Dozens of displays blinked, tactical maps, squad vitals. They had followed everything in real time.

Yozora Y/n stood in her platform, finger tapping her prosthetic arm as she frowned, Most of the Yojus were captured... but where's the Honju?

Inside a SUV, a radio crackled, pulling Kanae out of her thoughts. Her eyes flicked nervously to the officer in the front seat. “Are you sure it was the Yojus they're dealing with?” she asked again, her voice wavering slightly as she gripped the edge of her seat.

The blanket draped over her shoulders felt heavy, she shifted it uneasily, her fingers curling into the fabric. “The Yojus are smaller, right? I mean… we all saw that, didn’t we?”

The officer looked back at her, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, but the Yojus were a different color, orange and red, not yellow and orange, like what you’re describing. Are you sure this is...?”

Kanae cut him off, her voice tight with urgency. “It’s not the Yoju. It’s a Honju.” the big one

The medic in the backseat shifted uneasily, the term hanging in the air. The officer stiffened.

"A Honju?" he repeated, disbelief creeping into his tone. Kanae nodded, her hands now trembling slightly.

“That’s not the kaiju Keiji died from,” she muttered, her voice nearly a whisper. “The one we saw, Sana, Ryota, and I....it was a Honju. A yellow and orange bioluminescent crustacean thingy.” She swallowed hard, the memory of that thing was still fresh and painful.

“I saw it burrowed itself when help arrives.”

A silence fell over the vehicle, but before anyone could speak further, the officer's radio sparked to life.

“Units under threat; Honju class kaiju detected near the combat zone. Multiple breaches. I repeat, Honju class, breach confirmed.”

Kanae's heart dropped.

Hoshina Soshiro's fingers hovered over the hilt of his twin blades, his gaze now sharp, focused. He felt it before he saw it. He looked briefly at Ashiro Mina, who says the same thing through her eyes, 

Then, it happened. Below, the dirt exploded, violently. A massive figure erupted from the earth, its form disrupting the ground like a great beast waking from slumber.

The kaiju that emerged wasn’t one of the Yojus they had subdued. It was something else, bigger, more sinister. 

 

The Honju class.

 

Ashiro Mina’s chest tightened as the creature rose from the earth. The exoskeleton glinted under the harsh lights, a thick, bioluminescent shell pulsating a deep, molten yellow and orange as if magma were coursing beneath its skin.

It radiated an eerie, toxic glow, its edges glowing bright against the blackened sky.

A screech, high-pitched and jagged, shattered the momentary silence. The sound rattled through both Hoshina and Mina's frames, sending an involuntary shiver through them. Mina's heart rate picked up.

And then, the unsettling signal, low-frequency, unnatural. The Honju’s shell began to shimmer, and as it reared up, its pulse seemed to accelerate, synchronized with the scream it emitted.

From beneath it, captured Yojus, half of those that had been incapacitated by EMP nets were drawn towards it like iron filings to a magnet.

But the phenomenon was more than just a signal; as they came closer, the remains disintegrated into fine particles, feeding into the Honju’s body.

The particles dissolved into the massive kaiju, absorbed by the creature’s skin, suggesting a process far more complex than they initially realized.

A low murmur from Hoshina Soshiro, standing beside Ashiro Mina, broke through her thoughts. His eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze fixed on the Honju, calculating the implications of what they were witnessing.

“The hell... Is it feedin'?”

Yozora Y/n’s gaze remained fixed on the live feed where it shows the Honju as it fed, its bioluminescent shell pulsating with an unnatural rhythm.

Her words returned to her with unsettling clarity.

Crustaceans don't stray far from their breeding grounds. If this thing’s acting like its natural counterpart, those Yojus aren’t just tagging along for protection... they’re either waiting to molt or—

Her gaze shifted slightly as the Honju’s bioluminescent shell pulsed. The words she had spoken, only a short while ago, were no longer just theory. The reality had come to pass.

Those Yojus weren’t merely here as cannon fodder. They were part of a process. And that process, whatever it was, was unfolding before her eyes.

It's getting bigger.

If it devoured the entire Yojus, then its fortitude level would increases into a Daikaiju level....shit.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the strategic map at the corner of her vision. The coordinates of the Honju remained static, marking it as a direct threat.

She thought, for a brief moment, of the earlier mission, neutralisation turned capture. It had never felt fully right to her. Too much was at stake.

Now, with the feeding taking place, there was no question. This wasn’t a simple containment job anymore. It was evolving beyond that. She had seen this before in the field, the signs of escalation.

Her fingers twitched, and she reached for the mic attached at her headset. There was no more time to linger on the implications. The mission had shifted courses. Again.

"Captain Ashiro." She called, 

She watched it for a long moment, eyes narrowing, calculations forming in her mind with the precision of a eagle.

The Yojus were nothing like this creature. They had a singular goal: aggression. The Honju, though, was something different; a predator, yes, but its ability to absorb its fallen kin was a shift in their entire understanding of the species hours ago. It was evolving. Adapting.

The problem was clear.

It was going to become stronger, faster, if left unchecked. The Honju c1lass was not just a killing machine. It was a resourceful one. And it was using the remains of the others to bolster its own form, becoming an even more dangerous threat.

"Chief" Ashiro breathed, her voice was measured, but there was an undeniable edge to it.

"The Honju's not just attacking. It's feeding off the Yojus. The remains... its absorbing them into its biostructure.” Ashiro Mina’s grip tightened on her earpiece as she watched the creature. “I need to engage now. We can’t let it get any stronger.”

Hoshina Soshiro tapped his earpiece twice, joining the briefing, "Chief, this is gettin’ outta hand. That thing sees us as a threat now. This ain’t a capture mission anymore." he blinked, 

"Do we have full authorization to neautalise this thing?"

You didn't answer for a while, you exhaled quietly, folding your arms. Right arm flared, phantom pain, deep and grounding. The prosthetic hissed softly as her fingers flexed.

Y/n's gaze was fixed on the live satellite feed. She said nothing. Think, think, think... Think, Y/n,

Her thoughts were moving in tandem with the system running live feeds on the lower display tier. There were plans, tentative ones.

Plan A: Push for capture. Use containment grid to rebind the Honju. Maximize data extraction. Risk catastrophic losses if it evolves mid-sequence.

Plan B: Immediate Neutralization Protocol. High-casualty risk. Strategic learning potential will be forfeited. Prioritize civilians and active operator survival.

Her jaw tightened.

Plan A was no longer viable. Too much heat. Third Division’s suits were approaching critical thermal thresholds. Her overlay showed it plainly, red over red.

Dozens of suit nodes had tripped secondary emergency systems. The uni socket channels had been overclocked during the Yoju crustaceans capture. Most of the field was exhausted. Half of them couldn't even trigger fire-mode safely anymore.

Yet some still could.

She looked at the Third Division’s tactical liaison relay, “Tag Operational Leader Okonogi Konomi.”

There was a beat. Static, then the calm voice of the operational officer.

“Okonogi here.”

“Status of platoon leaders Ebina, Ikaruga, Itakura, and Nakanoshima's suits' fortitude levels. Thermal signatures. Command retention.”

A pause, then a quick shuffle of data on her feed. “Ebina’s suit is 42% fortitude level. Nakanoshima reduced at 30%. Itakura and Ikaruga in the mid-30s. Minor overheating. They’re stable. Conscious. Still willing to act.”

Yozora Y/n processed that instantly. Enough for a diversion, not for sustained engagement. She didn't need them to win. She needed them to buy time.

Her eyes flicked to the remaining kaiju again. It was twice the mass of when it emerged. Bio Structure growing asymmetrically, but with purpose. No longer just a Honju , it was now closely tipping into Daikaiju. Adaptive. Opportunistic.

“Tell those four to prepare for redirection maneuver. They will not attempt to inflict damage. They are to pull its focus.”

“Understood. And Captain Ashiro Mina?”

Yozora Y/n’s voice stayed flat. “She remains in firing position.”

She keyed into the Ariake Maritime and Tachikawa base's wide channel. “Engage Operation Back draft.”

Hoshina Soshiro and Ashiro Mina heard it at the same Time. Drawing the enemy in before hitting hard.

The earpiece in Mina’s ear clicked on, Y/n's voice. “Third Division. Ebina, Ikagura, Itakura, and Nakanoshima will reposition to the south quadrant. Draw the Honju’s attention. Full misdirection formation. Non-lethal ordinance only.”

Hoshina responded instantly. “I’ll lead ‘em in. I can push the thing’s blindside and keep it centered. Ya sure ya want Captain Ashiro waitin’?”

Yozora Y/n’s voice cut through. “Yes.”

There was no debate.

Ashiro Mina's kaiju synthetic suit's fortitude level doesn’t drop just because the weapon is smaller nor every round was shot. The delivery method changes, but the output pressure remains high. So if she’s trying to avoid killing and focus on containment, she's restricted.

But not anymore.

Ashiro Mina wasn’t a sniper; she was an artillery molded into a human shape.

Y/n's switched comm frequencies again, this time directly to Ashiro Mina.

“Captain,” she said, measured. “You are to prime the T-25101985 cannon. Position yourself 1.2 kilometres northwest of the target. Maintain elevation." She blinked, looking at the live footage, where the aerial drones captured both figures of Hoshina Soshiro and Ashiro Mina,

"Vice captain Hoshina and the four platoon leaders will create the opening. Do not fire until I give the clearance code.”

A pause. “Understood,” Mina replied.

Yozora Y/n closed the comm, but stayed where she was. Her mind continued turning. She was already thinking five minutes ahead possible disruptions, second wave emergence, worst-case breach scenarios.

If the Honju breached the zone and entered the core of Isehara City, fallback protocols would be needed. Emergency civilian tunnels had already been activated, but that wouldn’t be enough if the creature gained speed.

This was no longer a high logistical capture. This is an escalation.

She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

If the Honju continued to evolve... they would need to update its designation. This wasn’t just a threat..

Tanaka Eijichi, seated in front of his station below her, was already focused on his screen.

The other operational leaders waited, their eyes occasionally flicking up to Yozora Y/n’s position as they sought her direction.

“Chief, air support?” Tanaka asked, his voice cutting through the noise of the room, but he didn’t look up. Like Yamamoto, he knew the answer was likely already decided, but protocol demanded it be asked.

Yozora Y/n’s gaze never left the screens. Her lips tightened for a moment before she spoke. “Air Command ruled out support fire, too much risk of fallout,"

“No aerials,” Y/n's voice rang out again. “We’re not herding a cow. We’re guiding a missile. Every move we make needs to pull Honju exactly where Ashiro Mina can hit it, no variables in the air..”

Yamashiro Yamamoto nodded without comment, already adjusting the display for ground-based attack trajectories.

There was no room for error now, and Yozora Y/n knew it. The mission required precision, not chaos.

"If the Honju deflects the shot upward. One wrong angle, and that shell bounces into the civilians zone.”

The operational leaders and liaisons exchanged glances, some nodding in silent agreement, others still processing the gravity of her decision.

No one questioned her, her orders were sharp, certain. Every step in this operation had to be deliberate. 

She spoke again, her tone clipped but firm. “Third Division is the only one with a shot at this. We control the Honju’s path to make sure Ashiro Mina has that shot. No distractions.”

At the far edge of the room, someone muttered, "Chief Yozora's faster with her sniper rifle back in the day," 

Another voice answered, half-joking, “Really? Then this should’ve been over in ten seconds.”

Yozora Y/n heard it.

Her expression didn’t change, but her fingers curled slightly at her side, phantom pain tingling and stabbing in a hand that no longer existed.

She remembered the Daikaiju of the Machida city. The wind had been brutal, snowing, and that bastard had a moving core. One shot. No casualties.

Ashiro Mina had still been her vice captain then, still running comms, eyes wide as she watched Yozora Y/n pull the trigger without hesitation.

That was years ago. Before the promotion. Before the surgery. Before JAKDF had decided she was more valuable behind the monitor than behind the scope.

Her voice now was iron, undisturbed.

“Focus on your sectors,” she said. “Third Division wouldn't miss this shot.”

No one replied. Orders were relayed. Coordinates adjusted.

Moments later, seated behind Tanaka Eijichi,  spoke with a steady, mechanical voice. Report came in, detailing the elimination of a major threat by the 1st Division, 

Though no one dared to show relief, nor ni one could afford to feel anything but the razor-sharp focus that defined within this room.

Platoon Leader Ikagura Ryo, crouched at the edge, “Would kill for some damn chopper support right now,” he muttered.

Platoon Leader Ebina clicked his tongue, rifle in hand. “Forget it. King Crab's scattering interference like its breathing. Air Command grounded everything past two kilometres out.”

Hoshina Soshiro adjusted the sheath at his back, narrowed eyes fixed ahead.

“No chaos in the air,” he said. “Chief wants clean ground movement. She doesn’t want airborne chaos messin' with Captain's line of fire. We get one shot at linin' this bastard up.”

If Chief says duck, yer gonna duck, no second guesses.

Both Platoon Leader Itakura and Nakanoshima Tae groaned. “So what, we’re the meat shield, again?”

“Welcome to the Third Division,” Hoshina grinned, he found it funny because his toothed fangs were showing, and leapt off the ledge.

Ashiro Mina’s eyes flicked towards the horizon, visor activated as she's tracking the units shifting into place. Hands on her T-25101985 cannon. Waiting.

The ledge dropping away beneath him. His silhouette cut through the fog as he fell fast and clean, blades drawn, his hair flapping like a torn flag on his forehead.

Hoshina Soshiro hit a pine branch midway down the cliff, boots cracking through bark, then kicked off again. He barely felt the impact before his legs were launching him once more, propelling him off the trunk with a savage twist of his body.

A leap forward, his blades cutting through the wind before he struck, the Wild Slasher technique slashing at the Honju's carapace, carving deep gouges through its armored skin.

Behind him, four shadows followed. 

The Honju shifted.

It was bigger up close. Too big. Limbs like cranes. Eye stalks that didn’t blink. Chitin thick enough to stop armor-piercing rounds. Their bullets did little more than leave dark dents on its shell, but that was enough. Enough to irritate. Enough to draw its attention. That was the point.

Platoon Leader Ikagura, his suit at 35%, hit the ground hard but immediately rolled into a fluid recovery, using the momentum to push himself back into a roll. He twisted mid-motion, using a tree to vault over the edge of a large boulder and slide toward the Kaiju’s flank.

His rifle fired off several rounds, the bullets slamming into the creature’s legs, but the impacts only left shallow dents in the thick hide. Still, the movement kept the Honju focused on them.

Platoon Leader Nakanoshima grunted as she landed next, shoulder first into the slope, rolling once before sliding down behind a tree. Her systems were running thin, just 30% combat power.

Lower than before. She muttered something under her breath about it, but still raised her rifle and started firing.

Platoon Leader Ebina, had a different style. His movements were tight, precise. With a sharp intake of breath, he dashed to the edge, then shot into the air, his boots gripping the rocks just long enough to send him tumbling across a low-hanging branch.

His rifle barked, launching rapid fire at one of the Honju's legs, making it stagger, but the creature’s tough hide only absorbed the blows.

Platoon Leader Itakura came in fast and wide, taking flanking positions. His suits were starting to overheat, mid-30s, but he didn’t slow down. He dropped low, using a log as a springboard to launch himself over a rocky outcrop.

His rifle fired continuously, each round ringing out sharply, though the shots were not enough to pierce its hide.

Hoshina moved again, blades flashing, steps silent. He darted between trees and boulders like wind slipping through cracks. Then he struck.

Steel met shell. A flash of orange sparks. One of the Honju’s smaller pincers split in half, the cut clean, surgical. It reared back, not in pain, but in reaction. It had seen him now. Him and the others. That was all they needed.

They had to drag it out.

Make it follow them, make it move, away from the ridge, into the open basin where Ashiro Mina was waiting, cannon primed, coordinates locked. Her weapon wasn’t made for up-close fights. It needed distance. Scale. Sightlines.

They would buy her all three.

So they ran, five of them. No air support, no choppers in the sky. Just boots on dirt and the sound of gunfire chasing them through the trees.

Ebina loaded another uni socket ammo into his rifle and barked something about wind drag. Ikaruga skated along a slanted ridge, mid-air twist to reposition.

Nakanoshima, ever the brawler, twisted mid-leap to avoid a retaliatory swing, landing with her back to a tree and returning fire, annoyed more than shaken.

Ashiro Mina stood waiting, her silhouette half washed in drifting mist. The massive cannon on her hands thrummed like a dormant engine, quiet but alive.

Her breath was calm. Inhale. Exhale. A soft blue interface blinked across her vision from the visor as the target telemetry updated in real time.

Within her visor it reads; Range: 812m. Moving. Burrowing behavior: detected. Wind: 4.2m/s

“It’s burrowing again!” Itakura’s voice cracked over the comms, sharp with urgency. Dust rippled up from the forest floor, pine needles rattling loose from the treetops, as the Honju’s massive limbs began to churn the earth beneath it. Its yellow and orange streak bioluminescence pulsed in agitation.

The tremors were minimal now, just a warning pulse through the soles of their boots, but they all knew what came next. Escape.

Those 40 yojus had tried this before, and once it vanished underground, it could reroute, flank, collapse structures, make a mess of their positioning.

“Do not let it dig,” Hoshina shouted, blades flashing as he dove back down the slope.

Boot-thrust kicking him off a jagged outcrop to regain distance. "Chief, is this far enough?” He tagged your comms,

Inside the Ariake Maritime Base's command operations center, the air buzzed; the quiet, sharp noise of dozens of live feeds.

The five men aerial drones flickered across the screens. One feed focused on Hoshina Soshiro’s descent.

“He’s at 78 meters above ground zero,” Yamashiro Yamamoto reported from the main data terminal, fingers flying across the keyboard. “The Honju’s turning, sensors picking up directional change towards the canyon's mouth.”

“Trajectory?” Yozora Y/n asked, her eyes on the map rather than the main screen.

“Clear line. If we keep it isolated for ten more seconds...”

Yozora  Y/n didn’t wait for the rest.

Her hand hovered for half a breath at her headset before she tapped in.

“Captain Ashiro Mina.”

A pause on the line. Hoshina’s feed stabilized.

“Clearance granted. Take the shot.”

“Calibrating,” said the flat mechanical voice of Ashiro Mina's suit AI.

Miles away, Okonogi Konomi swiped across the cannon’s terminal, her fingers a blur. “Fortitude level 96%. Kaiju alignment locked. Countdown in ten.”

Nakanoshima's suit was running on fumes at 29%, but she made every move count. She leapt with agility that no one expected, using the low gravity and enhanced strength of her suit to twist and contort mid-air, dodging a massive cheliped swipe that would’ve flattened her.

Her legs flexed as she landed on a boulder, her body spinning to reorient as she immediately took another shot.

The impact struck the Honju's lower leg, sending a shockwave through the creature’s body, but again, it barely staggered. Still, they had to keep the pressure on.

The Honju let out a subterranean screech as it clawed deeper, but not fast enough.

Ashiro Mina didn’t move. She just spoke.

“Stabilize it. Five seconds. I only need one shot.”

“Five seconds,” Okonogi announced, voice level, even as warning lights flickered across Mina’s visor. Below the ridge, the basin trembled with every movement of the Honju.

The Honju's pincer, heavy with malice, swiped down in retaliation, but Hoshina, with a twist of his body, sidestepped the blow. His blade found its mark in the soft underbelly of the pincer's joint, cutting clean through the appendage.

"Got one," Hoshina muttered to himself as he landed nimbly on his feet, his movements fluid, unfazed. He turned to signal the others, who were already regrouping and laying down fire.

“Four.”

Ashiro Mina stood motionless. Visor on her eyes. Spine straight. The long cannon braced on her hands, her boots digging into the rock beneath the ground.

Her kaiju synthetic suit hissed, light green current beginning to spark along her spine, racing down her arms toward the weapon. She didn’t flinch. Her fortitude level reads at 96% unleashed combat power. Her muscles tensed under the suit’s pressure.

Already notified where the core's located from one of the remaining Yoju's open carcass,

“Three.”

Below, Hoshina Soshiro shouted, voice travelling through their comms “It’s diggin' again! Ikaruga—lock its flank!”

Ikaruga snapped up his rifle, but the Honju was already half-buried, limbs kicking soil high into the air.

“I’m losing power, damn it!” Nakanoshima cursed, her suit's getting warmer as her energy reserves drained. The shots from her rifle were sluggish now, but her movements, twisting and flipping away from another incoming strike, were still swift.

She twisted in mid-air again, narrowly avoiding the snapping pincers, her body twisting away like a gymnast performing a final somersault. She landed lightly

Her strikes didn’t chain the way they used to. Her vision was fine, her grip steady, but the suit felt… dulled, like her instincts were outrunning it by half a second. She felt like a rookie again. Where her fortitude level was lower.

For someone like her, that was the difference between life and a broken rib. “Tch. Damn suit,” she muttered, raising her rifle anyway.

“Two!”

Hoshina gritted his teeth as he reaches for his earpiece “Captain, now! Distance is good—take the shot!”

“Stabilizers synchronized,” the AI said, monotone. “Unleashead Combat Power at 96%. Commencing final integration.”

The very ground beneath Mina cracked with  strain. Her suit flared with green lightning tendrils of raw energy fizzing along the cannon’s barrel, the recoil chambers vibrating like an earthquake bottled into steel.

“One.”

Through the comms, her voice came in, calm, deadly.

“Fire!”

The command echoed through their earpiece.

“MOVE!” Hoshina snapped.

Ikaruga didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Nakanoshima by the torso, half dragging her as they both leapt away from the Honju’s thrashing body. Ebina dropped behind a boulder. Hoshina vanished behind a tree. Itakura dove, hitting the ground in a slide just as—

The cannon discharged.

It wasn’t just a light. It was pressure. The air screamed. A ball of green energy tore through the basin with air whistling, searing through fog, vapor, and the thick shell of the Honju in less than a breath.

A white-hot core of plasma shattered the creature, detonating like a surgical missile.

When the dust began to settle, the Honju was no longer whole. Remains scattered everywhere. The sky was raining blood.

“Good thing I’m not crab-phobic,” Hoshina said, almost as if to himself.

Ebina scoffed from behind him. “You will be if that thing cracks your ribs."

At Tachikawa Base, from her station, Okonogi Konomi’s fingers hovered over her keyboard for a beat too long.

She stared at the live feed, the Honju, finally still, steam rising off its smoldering carapace, its limbs twitching in death.

The drone’s feed tilted slightly as it hovered, showing the cratered landscape, the remnants of the trap Hoshina Soshiro and the Platoon Leaders had led it into.

Then came Ashiro Mina’s voice through their earpiece, calm but resolute:

“Target neutralized.”

For a moment, silence.

Then cheers broke out around Okonogi’s station, relieved, unfiltered noise, the kind that only came after holding your breath for too long.

Some leaned back in their seats, others exchanged tired high-fives. Even Okonogi laughed under her breath, half-nervous, half-euphoric. Her glasses slightly tilted.

“We did it...” she muttered, not even realizing she’d said it aloud.

At Ariake, few audible exhales filled the room. Some operators let their shoulders slump slightly. The tension had not broken, but it had eased.

Yamamoto, standing near the left panel, rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled deeply. Fatigue.

He had been on his seat for the past 10 hours, and it was beginning to show in his posture, in the way his hands now rested still for the first time.

His eyes flicked up, settling on Yozora Y/n. She hadn’t moved.

Her gaze was still locked on the central screen, where the final freeze-frame of the Honju’s death lingered before the feed cycled.

On Ashiro Mina.

Then, her right prosthetic hand, resting against the railing, tightened slightly, metal joints whirring faintly as the fingers curled once… then released.

Yamashiro Yamamoto watched her a second longer, said nothing.

The room was settling. The crisis was over.

But he knew that look in her eyes. The mission might have ended, but Yozora Y/n wasn’t done thinking.

In the field, the Third Division completed immobilization procedures.

EMP suppression nets crackled, ensuring the remaining yoju remained stunned. Reinforced fiber restraints secured its limbs, preventing further thrashing.

Drone units monitored vitals, confirming the kaiju was alive but subdued.

When the transportation unit arrived before the Honju emerged, half of the Yojus were immobilized and secured, loaded onto the transport vessel for relocation to Ariake Base’s containment facility for check up before distributing it to Izumo Tech and Tachikawa Base.

As the containment transport loaded the last subdued kaiju, Okonogi Konomi let out a quiet breath.

She tapped her earpiece, opening a private channel to Ariake HQ.

"Third Division reporting mission success. 20 Yojus secured, zero casualties, minus the platoons' overheated synthetic suits. Awaiting further directives."

A pause. Then, Yozora Y/n's voice came through.

"Acknowledged. Good work, Operational Leader. Prepare for debriefing."

Okonogi Konomi exhaled slowly, a small, fleeting smile tugging at her lips before she schooled her expression back to neutral.

"Understood, CCO."

The line went silent.

As Third Division completed cleanup operations, Okonogi Konomi remained at her station, overseeing every detail.

She paused.

A thought crossed her mind, and her stomach rumbled audibly. The sight of the massive crustaceans brought an unexpected craving.

"I could really go for some kani maki right about now," she muttered, her fingers absentmindedly hovering over the console as those kaijus were transported into their designated zones.

(Kani maki= crab roe rice seaweed sushi)

"If only I could get a plate of that right now... maybe not the live ones, though." though the smile quickly faded as she refocused on the task at hand.

"Later. After the paperwork’s done."

The Ariake Maritime Base is the main operational HQ overseeing all 16 divisions. Also the base for the First Division.

While each division fights kaiju independently, they are still part of a national defense force that requires centralized command for large-scale decision-making.

If a division can’t handle a kaiju, only HQ has the power to call reinforcements or escalate the response.

 

Third Division operational leaders, including her, did their part.

---

 

The transport of the live crustacean kaiju was secured, and mission logs were in processing.

Out of the total clusters, 20 were successfully captured, moderated in electromagnetic containment units and to be place on Kaiju Containment Zone.

A controlled environment where kaijus were captured for training purposes.

However, six were neutralized due to excessive aggression or fatal injuries sustained during containment efforts. And one big tissue remains of the Honju Ashiro Mina obliterated.

Their remains were immediately transported to Izumo Tech’s Bio-Analysis Division, where specialized teams would conduct tissue degradation studies, and exoskeletal composition study.

Scientists and kaiju-tech engineers would assess the structural integrity of their chitinous armor, identify potential weaknesses.

And lastly, to extract residual kaiju Uni Organ compounds, a critical step in refining next-generation anti-kaiju weaponry.

Hoshina Soshiro should have been on his way back to Tachikawa Base, but something held him back.

Yozora Y/n’s decision to capture rather than kill still lingered in his mind. He told himself he was here for tactical reasons, for a better grasp of her strategic approach. No other reason.

 

…Right.

 

It was well past midnight when he arrived at Ariake Maritime Base.

The air was thick with salt from the distant sea, the base itself is an imposing structure made of reinforced steel and advanced defense systems.

Inside, the Command Operation Center was dimly lit, its usual activity reduced to the quiet sound of night-shift analysts and the occasional rustle of papers.

One operational leader, running on sheer willpower, nursed her fifth cup of coffee for the night, while Kurusu Akira stretched his stiff limbs before settling back into his station, bracing for yet another long shift.

Most officers had long since logged out, save for a few operational leaders and liaisons assigned to each divisions across Japan manning their respective command stations, layers of them, all arranged in a circular formation around a raised platform at the very center.

And at that center, Yozora Y/n remained.

“Fourth Division confirms suppression of remaining miniature kaijus in Nagano Prefecture,” a Fourth Division liaison reported quietly from one of the peripheral stations, his eyes flicking over a pulsing status feed.

“Minimal casualties. Requesting authorization for clean-up crew deployment.”

Schematics flickered in the air, data streams from her tablet rolling in real-time as she adjusted strategic models with ease.

Y/n's voice cut through the sound of the Command Operation Center with practiced authority.

“Authorization granted." She blinked slowly, One hand adjusted the headset snuggled against her ears, a habit gesture as she monitored the transmission.

"Instruct Fourth Division to maintain perimeter lockdown until retrieval is complete." she continued, "Have medical units prioritize evac of wounded personnel. Debrief at 04:00.”

Seated two consoles away, the assigned liaison gave a crisp nod without looking away from the tactical display. Fingers moved swiftly across the interface, translating Yozora Y/n's directive into coded command signals.

A beat later, he pressed a finger to his earpiece. “This is Ariake Maritime Base to Fourth Division's operational leader, authorization confirmed."

"Lockdown perimeter until full retrieval. Prioritize medical evacuation. Command requests debrief at oh-four-hundred.”

His tone was professional, measured, just a conduit for her orders. On the distant end of the line, the Fourth Division's operational leader confirmed receipt, their voice crackling faintly over the encrypted channel.

Y/n, without missing a beat, had already shifted her focus to the next division feed. The weight of leadership settled on her shoulders, but she carried it without hesitation.

Not since when you turned fourteen.

Hoshina Soshiro stepped into the command center without so much as a request for clearance.

He didn’t announce himself, he never did.

The subtle shift of attention was palpable. A few operational leaders turned slightly, their gazes flicking toward him. Others curious, others astonished.

Some liaisons and operational leaders, sharp-eyed and naturally curious, exchanged brief glances.

Others were more blatant in their scrutiny, their interest clear in the way they momentarily paused their work.

Some whispered if there's a late briefings between the Third Division and First Division.

But none dared linger when Y/n's gaze lifted, and unreadable and cool, looking across the room.

And everyone quickly returned to their tasks.

Unfazed, Hoshina Soshiro leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her for a beat before speaking.

"Ya know, Chief, even war strategists gotta sleep."

She didn’t look at him immediately. “Then why aren’t you?”

A pause. Yamashiro Yamamoto briefly looked between them, before focusing on his monitor. Then, with a slight smirk, Hoshina held up a convenience store bag.

"Figured ya’d be burnin' the midnight oil. Brought ya food."

Tanaka Eijichi gaped, snapping his head towards Yamashiro Yamamoto, ever unbothered, simply shook his head, because, of course, Tanaka was eavesdropping again.

She exhaled, not quite a sigh, more like an acknowledgment of his presence. She pulled her headset down. And instead of answering, she simply walks towards the door.

"Come on," she murmured, motioning for him to follow.

Tanaka Eijichi’s gaze lingered on the two, following them in quiet observation. He was definitely not staring, just observing. For tactical reasons.

That is until Yamashiro Yamamoto cleared his throat, the sharp sound so loud it could wake up the dead.

When Tanaka turned, he was met with a stern, knowing look. That screamed, 'really? 

Hoshina Soshiro arched a brow but complied, trailing after her as she led him past the command center and into her private office.

Hoshina's eyes flickered to her prosthetic arm, sleek, black, and mechanical, its matte surface catching the dim light of the office.

Unlike the flesh and blood she had lost, this replacement was precise, unyielding. His eyes lingered, not out of pity,

but something quieter, thoughtful, as if testing what it meant for someone like Yozora to bear metal in place of what once was.

 

The Fujisawa mission incident.

 

The space was a huge contrast compared  outside; quieter, more controlled, the air tinged with the faint scent of black coffee.

A large desk dominated the center, flanked by shelves lined with meticulously organized reports and mission dossiers. 

Behind her desk was her clan's insignia meticulously pinned on the wall.

Yozora Y/n set her tablet down, rolling her shoulders slightly before taking a seat. Even in her exhaustion, she remained composed, her uniform crisp despite the long hours of work.

Hoshina Soshiro strolled into her office, as if he owned the place. He’d always been this way, unafraid to touch anything, even her personal space.

He sauntered toward the bookshelf, casually inspecting the framed pictures. He stopped at one, a particularly old photo of you during your early years at the academy, grinning with a rare, soft smile that seemed out of place now.

Her front tooth was still missin', heh. Cute. He grinned,

Your eyes darted toward Hoshina as he lingered in front of the photo, your younger self grinning jovially in the frame.

She immediately felt the familiar flush of discomfort creep up her neck. That picture... she’d almost forgotten it was there. Her younger self had been so different, less hardened, more hopeful.

With a cocked brow and an exaggerated mock-serious tone, he tapped the glass. "Who’s this? Look at ya,Yozora-chan, all innocent and smilin',"

Oh hell no

The thought of him seeing it felt strangely personal, like a glimpse into a version of her that no longer existed. She shifted in her seat, feigning indifference, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

"You really gonna stand there and gawk at that?" she muttered, trying (and failing) to mask the heat in her face with a scoff.

He chuckled, "betcha this version of ya is buried under the weight of yer 'tactical genius' now." glancing over at her with that knowing smirk, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

"Come on, ya gotta admit, this one’s adorable. Can't believe ya were ever this sweet."

Y/n's tired eyes flickered to him, the barely visible hint of a sigh escaping her lips. She felt her muscles twitch, every inch of her body begging for peace.

His voice, as light and teasing as it was, only added to her exhaustion. She could strangle him right now, no effort at all. A simple squeeze of his neck, and he’d be down for the count.

She’d attend his funeral, say nice things, and then promptly head straight to bed to take a nap.

Maybe she'd even bring him a mont blanc at the wake, just to remind him that teasing her was a fatal mistake. He’d been asking for it, after all.

“Ya don’t even smile like this anymore, huh?” he teased, looking at the picture again, tapping the frame with a finger before flicking a glance at her.

Y/n's sharp gaze flicked up, her voice cool as ever. “Put that down.”

He laughed, a sound that echoed too easily in the quiet space. “Just checkin’. Figured I’d see some kind of smile around here. But guess not.”

With a final glance at the picture, Hoshina dropped onto the chair in front of her desk, eyes narrowing slightly, as if waiting for her reaction.

Hoshina Soshiro placed the bag on her desk with little ceremony.

"Not here for the mission report," he said, as if preempting her response.

She eyed him briefly before shifting her attention back to her screen.

“Then why are you here, Vice Captain Hoshina?”

He leaned forward, forearm bracing against the desk, close but not overstepping.

"Wanted to ask about the capture order. Most people just kill ‘em outright."

Y/n finally paused, fingers hovering just above the tablet . She turned slightly, meeting his gaze directly.

 

And that was when Hoshina realized just how close he was.

 

The space between them was narrow, almost negligible. He could see the faint gleam of fatigue in her eyes, the quiet determination that hadn’t dimmed despite the late hour. Yet she didn’t pull back.

The air between them is thick with gravity, pulling, pressing, demanding.

Yozora Y/n meets his gaze, unwavering, always unwavering, and yet, beneath the sharp edges of her stare,

Hoshina Soshiro swears he sees something vast.

Something like the expanse of the cosmos, dark and unknowable, edged in the faintest flickers of starlight.

“Because brute force alone won’t win us this battle,” she said, voice low, steady. She tapped one of the monitors, highlighting the crustacean Kaiju shell data.

"If their armor is stronger than ours, we use it. If they have a weakness, we exploit it. If they can be trained—"

“We use ‘em?” His tone was unreadable.

She nodded. “We adapt, or we die.” 

"And besides that type of kaiju is good for live training for the officers, and new prototypes of weapons." Y/n stopped, nodding, tho her face crunches in displeasure. "Tho I'm bummed that the Honju wasn't captured. Given the circumstance..."

Hoshina Soshiro laughed, 

“And here i thought ya'd plan to build a kaiju pettin' zoo, or was this just a creative way to stress me out?” he lolled his tongue out, toothed fangs shown in the process.

Yozora Y/n glares at him, Hoshina Soshiro has the audacity to smile, cheeky bastard.

Hoshina shift his weight slightly, elbow resting lazily against her desk.

"Ya sound real confident for someone who’s runnin’ on fumes." His voice dropped just slightly, teasing, calculated.

Y/n exhaled again, this time with a quiet edge of amusement, but she didn’t break eye contact.

“I could say the same to you.”

The moment lingered, tension balancing on a fine edge of a sharp sword.

Then Hoshina Soshiro chuckled, finally straightening. He reached for one of the food containers, flicking it toward her.

“Eat. Before I gotta carry ya to the hospital.”

She caught it without looking, shaking her head slightly. The slight pressure of the container, and with it, the familiar scent of something she hadn’t had in weeks.

Your lips quirked, but only for a moment, before her expression returned to its usual stoic mask.

Hoshina Soshiro stretched lazily, arms above his head with a muted groan, before pushing off from the chair in front of her desk with a casual roll of his shoulder.

“I gotta head back before Captain Ashiro starts breathin’ down my neck. Probably already wonderin’ why I’m not passed out on the barracks floor like everyone else.”

His voice was light, almost too light, like someone trying to make the silence feel less heavy. Like the visit wasn’t longer than it needed to be.

He turned to leave but hesitated at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.

The faintest glimmer of amusement in his narrowed eyes. His lips twitched upward as he spoke, voice carrying both exasperation and teasing.

“Don’t make me come all the way here just to check if yer still breathing, Yozora.”

Y/n blinked as she tilted her head, watching him go.

“…I never asked you to.”

Hoshina Soshiro pause at the doorway, glancing back with that easy smile of his, half amused, half unreadable.

There was something disarming about the way Hoshina Soshiro behaves. Always at ease, always little off guard. As if nothing ever rattled him. And here he was.

He wants to touch it. Wants to engross the cosmos written across the quiet spaces between her words.

Wants to know if she would burn like the sun or swallow him whole like the event horizon of a dark and dense as a dying star.

The food inside the container, still warm. The dish she always ordered but never had the time to enjoy. Her favorite.

The one comfort that always reminded her of better days, of simple things she’d long since forgotten how to appreciate.

A quiet comfort, forgotten and familiar. The kind of thing that reminded her she used to live softer. That time once moved slower. That she, too, had simpler wants.

There was a sticky note on the lid. Crooked, the edges curling slightly, the ink just faintly smudged, as if he’d written it in a rush;

For Y/n. Don’t die. :⁠-⁠P

Even with his eyes narrowed and closed, those perpetually slitted eyes, there was something about him that felt too knowing. Too steady.

Unnerving not because he looked at you, but because he saw you, without ever needing to open his eyes.

He didn’t wait for your reaction.

"Yeah, well. Ain’t stoppin’ me either."

Notes:

In the spin-off manga, Kikoru fought a crab-like kaiju while testing her customized weapon; the giant cleaver, but eventually realized it was too light for her, leading her to choose the signature weapon we know today.
In the capture scene of those crabs, there are some issues, as Mina and Hoshina could have just killed them.

However, the spin-off states that the crustacean kaiju’s shell was so hard that standard weaponry was ineffective. This might be a translation issue, as it doesn’t quite make sense, most kaiju weapons were supposed to effective. So i comprise with; The crustacean kaiju’s shell is exceptionally dense, making it resistant to standard Defense Force weapons when used by officers with lower Unleashed Combat Power. The lower their UCP, the less power they can exert into their weapons, making their attacks weaker against the kaiju’s natural armor.

As for how i wrote how their kaiju synthetic suits and unleashed combat power works... well, kind of still not sure if i really captured how it technically works from the anime and manga. Canon divergence explains the rest.... This is kind of a plot hole... let's ignore that :⁠-⁠D

Kurusu Akira is actually a canon character from the kaiju no 8 who appeared in ep 11. Also, I kind of just went along and write whatever my head could come up with, and trying to make it work, especially those geography thingy with how far the honju needed to be since ashiro's cannon needs distance, and the chopper and air support (that they obviously need but im too lazy to include it) as well.

Ngl, as a nursing student it's kind of fun to understand how a avulsion and compound wounds work, like when a literal crab kaiju stabbed your lower leg bone. Tho this is in theory, considering how i gambled with the possibility of sustaining injuries from a literal crab kaiju, so keiju and ryota injuries are somewhat the "possibility". being clamped at the sternum wouldn’t initially harm the cervical spine. But if the kaiju exerts additional force, or lifts/jerks the body violently, cervical trauma becomes very plausible. or heck let's just say a fragmented creative writing.

This lengthy chapter is dedicated to those who left kudos and wrote comments previously, i appreciate it

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 6: Hahakumo

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of today:

Damselfish are farmers, they collect algae and plants it in their reef homes, and these fish domesticated shrimps, mysid shrimp who takes care of those algaes.

 

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024

 

The waves crashed against the high reinforced sea walls of Ariake Maritime Base, the base was made of steel and concrete built atop reclaimed land in Kato ward, was the JAKDF's most secure maritime outpost. From here, the skyline of the city loomed behind a veil of mist. But inside, all eyes were on the table.

The long, sleek conference table stretched beneath harsh ceiling lights, its polished surface reflecting the black-and-white dossiers splayed open before each officer.

A large digital display hovered at the far end, flashing satellite heat maps and kaiju migration data from the past two years.

Shinomiya Isao, General Director of the Defense Force, stood at the head of the table. Hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed the grim data in silence before speaking.

“We’re seeing 47% increase in emergence events compared to last fiscal year,” he said. His voice was low and clipped, the kind that silenced rooms. “This is not a fluctuation. It’s a pattern.”

Itami Keiji, Deputy Director, leaned back in his chair, expression drawn. “We've ruled out seasonal variance. Kaijus with the same species are new, regarding the Tsuyomushi type was found again by the First Division, which it was encountered five years ago, and five prefectures hit in the past month alone.”

Yozora Y/n tapped her stylus against the edge of her tablet. “And no consistent epicenter. No seismic precursors. They’re just... appearing.” Her tone was sharp, surgical. “Whatever natural rhythms we thought about kaijus followed are breaking down.”

Nogisaka Juzo, Chief of Staff for Eastern Command, thumbed through a folder labeled 'Classified: Kaiju Findings.'

His voice was heavier, more grounded. “It’s not just the numbers. It's the mutations. Sixth Division reported a winged type kaiju they killed were revived, bigger and different from it's former body." Juzo frowned, not bothering to softened the blow, 

The room went still.

Another high ranked officer's pen slipped between his fingers, clattering noisily against the polished surface of the table.

Itami Keiji’s brows furrowed so tightly they seemed to shadow his weathered expression, while Shinomiya Isao, ever composed, visibly leaned forward, eyes narrowing in a rare flicker of unease.

Yozora Y/n blinked away from her tablet, mouth slightly apart,

No one spoke immediately. The weight of what Nogisaka Juzo had just implied settled over them like static in the air.

Revived.

That was new.

"It was reported that they're showing behavioral shifts; more aggression, tighter group proximity, and more frequent appearances near civilian zones.”

There was a brief silence as the implications settled over the room like fog. 

"There are multiple daikaijus, even numbered kaijus we faced and defeated..." Itami Keiji added, "But reviving?" 

No one answered.

Charles darwin, the father of Evolutionary Theory, once proposed that survival favored not the strongest, but the most adaptable.

His ideas, rooted in the quiet changes of finches and flora, now resonates in the shifting behaviors of these monstrous creatures, beasts that were no longer just surviving, but responding, changing, adapting.

It was no longer a question of if they could change, but how far they would go.

Y/n flicked the next page on her screen. “Three Category Honju classes sighted within thirty-six hours across separate locations. From where the Tenth Division to Twelfth Division were stationed." Looking up from the tablet, clenching her right arm,

"Statistically improbable, if not impossible. The margins don’t line up.”

Shinomiya Isao didn’t move, but his jaw tightened. “Then it’s not organized activity. But it is unnatural.”

“Correct,” Juzo replied. “There's no breeder, no hive mind, no singularity. Just a disturbing, accelerating trend we don’t yet understand.”

"Yet,” Isao echoed. “That’s the problem.”

No one spoke. The hum of distant generators buzzed faintly through the room’s silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of tablet screens updating with more movement patterns.

Y/n frowned, her thoughts racing. It’s either one specific Kaiju we haven’t encountered yet that is capable of both reviving and spawning others simultaneously across separate locations… or they’re just evolving.

She didn’t like either options. One suggested a tactical intelligence, the other, an unstoppable natural momentum.

And Yozora Y/n thought of Charles Darwin.

Charles Darwin would’ve been ecstatic; evolution at its rawest, fastest, and most violent. But in this context, it wasn’t a marvel of nature. It was a nightmare in real time.

C'est la vie. 

Shinomiya Isao turned to the windowless wall behind him, where an enlarged image of said winged kaiju revived from the dead, lingered on screen.

“This is a new battlefield,” he said at last. “Not in open frontline, but in the blind spots of our intel. We win or lose the next era of kaiju warfare here, before the monsters even surface.”

He turned back to them, his gaze cold and unwavering. 

“Get ahead of it. Or get buried under it.”

Itami Keiji sighed, the weight of the room settling in his shoulders. Nogisaka Juzo frowned, a sharp, grim line carving across his face. Even with the eye patch covering his left eye, the severity of his expression was unmistakable.

Yozora Y/n's  fingers drummed once against her tablet before she stood straighter, her gaze narrowed but composed.

“Roger,” they said in unison. Low, steady, and final.

---

 

Other than Sakura trees, bamboo are quiet common throughout Japan, even in the smallest island of said country, Shikoku, does have bamboo forests.

Bamboo is common throughout much of Japan due to the climate.

While it’s not as famous for massive bamboo groves like the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove in Kyoto (on Honshu), Shikoku still features bamboo growing naturally and in cultivated areas, especially in rural and mountainous regions.

A beautiful little park in a small island called Shikoku. Humble though it may be, beautiful none the less.

The bamboo grove was quiet that afternoon, save for the faint rustle of wind brushing through the green stalks.

The air was cool, fragrant with earth and green leaves. Sakurako giggled behind her hand as she stepped carefully through the narrow path.

“Ken,” she called out, trying not to laugh. “Alright, you scared me once. Come out already.”

They’d been teasing each other the entire walk. Ken had darted between the stalks like a child, playing hide and seek among the thick bamboo, his footsteps light as a feather, his laughter always just out of reach.

But now… now there was only silence.

Sakurako paused. The grove around her suddenly felt too still, like the entire forest had taken a breath and refused to let it go.

“Ken?” she said again, a little firmer this time. Her sandals crunched softly over dried leaves as she walked forward, brushing aside the juvenile green shoots that reached across the path.

Sakurako stepped deeper into the forest, the bamboo crunching softly beneath her feet.

Her heartbeat quickened as she called his name again, her voice now trembling with growing worry. “Ken...?”

No familiar voice. The silence crept, growing unbearable, and for a moment, she felt a pang of unease, that strange, subtle feeling that perhaps something was wrong.

"Ken, this isn't funny! Come out, now!" Her eyes darted between the groves, searching for him, but nothing moved. 

Eeriness, the quiet sound of the bamboo grove and birds stopped singing a minute ago, and the feeling of being watched made her anxious, still, she ventured on, "I want to go home now, Ken, so please!"

Her voice cracked, "let's go home!" 

The terrain changed subtly. The bamboo here was older, thicker, and spaced more irregularly. Her boots sank into the loam. The smell of something metal was stronger. Then she saw it.

She saw him.

Ken.

Or what remained of him.

He was standing.

No. Not just standing. His body was upright, impossibly still. 

From a distance, it looked almost peaceful, Ken standing upright among the stalks of bamboo, his posture rigid, his head tilted back as if staring at the rain.

But as Sakurako stepped closer, the reality resolved in fragments. His mouth was stretched wide open, unnaturally distended.

One of the bamboo, she hadn’t seen it at first, it blended so well; it had pierced straight down, entering through the opened wide of his mouth and exiting cleanly at the center of his throat.

Rain collected in his open eyes. They didn’t blink.

The bamboo kept him impaled in place, upright like a pinned insect. The wound was surgically clean, no sign of struggle, only the eerie tautness of skin and muscle stretched under fatal tension.

His jaw hung slack beneath the embedded spike, the blood drained along his neck and soaked into his soaked shirt.

For a horrifying second, Sakurako thought he was still alive.

Sakurako froze.

The wound made no sense. It wasn’t from a fall, no tree, no angle of natural force could have done this. Bamboo didn’t drive upward like that, didn’t impale like a lance through the mouth.

“Ken! Oh God, Ken!”

Not unless something had used it, weaponized it. The thought struck her mid-breath, icy and unreal: a Kaiju.

Here. In Shikoku. It shouldn’t have been possible. The island was far from the major hot zones, far from the heavy alerts of Honshu’s eastern coast. Sightings were rare out here, the kind that made national news because of how rare they were.

Mostly aquatic types, spotted off the capes or surfacing in open waters, never inland. Never this deep.

Sakurako’s breath caught in her throat as she ran forward, her mind scrambling to make sense of the impossible scene before her.

The wound in his mouth, the way the bamboo had punctured through the soft tissues of his mouth and throat, it wasn’t something that could be real.

She tried to breathe, tried to think rationally, but her thoughts scattered like dry leaves. If it was a Kaiju, then it wasn’t one anyone had seen before.

And if it was here, now, lurking in the woods with her, then she was already in its territory. That was the most terrifying part. Not just that it was here… but that she couldn’t see it.

She followed his gaze.

And saw it.

Hidden within the canopy above, nestled between the waving stalks, was something massive, its limbs long, impossibly thin, textured to mimic the bamboo around it.

They swayed slightly with the wind, indistinguishable from the grove until you knew exactly what to look for.

The spider, if you'd call it, was the size of a van, its body flattened and leaf-like, with segmented armor that shimmered faintly green.

The only dead giveaway was the cluster of glistening, black, beady eyes that peered down at her from the shadows, each unblinking, each reflecting her terrified face.

 

There was something fundamentally wrong about being watched by something already perfectly still.

 

Predators didn’t blink, didn’t shuffle or breathe loud like nervous animals, they waited. The eyes above her didn’t shimmer with curiosity; they simply absorbed.

It was the same stare seen in crocodiles beneath river reeds or the frozen patience of a trapdoor spider. Evolution had designed ambush predators to erase motion from their instincts, to become the background until they struck.

Looking into those eyes wasn’t like facing a beast. It was like realizing too late that you’d already been chosen.

One leg, the one lodged through Ken’s mouth, twitched slightly. Adjusted. Sank deeper.

Ken’s body gave a shudder, more like a puppet than a person now. A sickening wet click echoed as bone shifted inside him.

Sakurako screamed.

She stumbled backward, fell, scrambled to her feet again. Her scream shattered the silence of the grove as she turned and ran, her footsteps tearing through the underbrush, the once-serene forest was now nothing more than a nightmare.

Branches clawed at her arms, roots snagged her boots, but she didn’t stop. Sakurako didn’t look back.

Shinomiya Isao stood at the head of a long steel-backed table, flanked by senior officers, the air around him tight with expectation.

A still image was projected against the far wall; a captured visual from reconnaissance: the resurrected winged kaiju mid-flight, a silhouette of grotesque symmetry, its wings stretched like torn sailcloth across a dead sky.

Then the door slammed open with the blunt, unmistakable finality of wrong timing.

All heads turned.

First Division Operational Leader stepped in fast, she wore the red-trimmed armband of the Eighth Division liaison relay officer on her right arm. 

Nogisaka Juzo scowled at her, standing up. “This is a secure session. You wait for clearance or—”

“Apologies, sir,” she said sharply, words overlapping his, but not in defiance. She raised a datapad, still breathing hard. “High-priority field report. Shikoku island. Eastern quadrant. Possible emergence. Inland.”

That got them.

Isao didn’t move, but the stillness itself shifted.

“Shikoku?” Itami Keiji asked, incredulous painted in his voice. “Inland?”

“Correct, sir,” she said, eyes locked ahead. " No ocean breach. But we received a civilian emergency call. Send by the Eighth Division less than five minutes ago.”

Yozora Y/n didnt flinch, but the tension around her made her jaw sharpened, "Shikoku’s clean." She said, looking at the Eighth Division relay officer, "No emergence, no signal bleed, no anomalous topography. We tagged it zero-risk eight years ago, and it’s stayed that way

“Exactly, ma’am,” the liaison said. “That’s why it flagged.”

Juzo looked from the officer to Isao. “If she ran this up here instead of pushing it through  the command operation center, then there's something in that island.”

Shinomiya Isao looked from Nogisaka Juzo to Y/n, voice clipped. “Go. I want full topography, movement patterns, and any heat signatures in that quadrant. No assumptions.” 

He nodded once towards the Eighth Division liaison relay officer. “You did the right thing. Return to command center. I want raw field vision in five.”

She saluted and turned on her heel with Y/n without waiting to be dismissed. The door hissed closed behind her with hydraulic finality.

Isao remained still for a moment longer. Then, without raising his voice “Shikoku was supposed to be a blind spot. That’s what made it safe. If something’s there now...”

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one asked him to.

The command operation center of Ariake Maritime Base was silent but alive. 

Operational Leaders sat in perfect formation. Forty eight seats. Forty eight stations. No wasted motion. No chatter. Each leaders hunched forward, eyes locked, fingers moving. Input rates averaged 93 keystrokes per minute. The system tracked everything.

At the front, a huge screen than the rest were displayed live telemetry. Japan was divided into 82 operational sectors. Each sector pulsed with overlays, seismic data, thermal scans, sonar sweeps. Migration routes shimmered in real time, glowing threads moving across the Pacific shelf like veins.

Yozora Y/n stood on the raised platform elevated, central, fixed in place like a knife on a map. Behind her, Isao Shinomiya seated at the front above, looking overview at everything, on the right was Itami Keiji, and the right was where Nogisaka Juzo seated,

Y/n's gaze moved from one terminal to another, tracking the flow of information with an intensity that could pierce through the most complex of data sets.

Her headset was the only tool she needed to issue commands, her voice the mechanism that made the system function.

At exactly 3 o'clock sharp, the command operations center received a direct encrypted transmission from the Eighth Division's base, in Matsuyama, prefectural city of Ehime, Shikoku island.

A recon unit had gone dark five minutes prior, standard, not unexpected in dense terrain, but the data that now streamed into the command feed was anything but routine.

At one of the lower terminals, the liaison before, Ebisu Tokuko straightened abruptly in her seat. “Incoming drone uplink from the base of Eighth Division. Recon footage.” her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. In this room, urgency was a matter of bandwidth and response time, not volume.

“Chief,” Ebisu said, turning toward the elevated platform. “You’ll want to see this.”

Yozora Y/n stepped forward, her boots hit the platform with a muted echo as she advanced, uniform settling against her frame with the movement.

“Run it,” Her gaze cut toward the main display, already pulsing with high-priority feed. She said, voice flat, decisive. “Full screen. No overlays.”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the screen, but her mind had already pulled a step ahead, calculating, cross-referencing, remembering. Shikoku island hadn’t seen kaiju activity in over a decade.

Too remote. Too far from tectonic intersections and migratory patterns. Nothing ever came inland this deep without a reason. Nothing natural, anyway.

It’s not a coincidence.

Y/n frowned, mindlessly crossing her arms, the thought didn’t scream. It pressed, persistent, quiet, the way bad memories lived in scar tissue.

The main display at the center of the operations floor shifted. Real-time aerial footage flickered to life, low-resolution at first, choked by humidity and signal interference from the canopy, then sharpened as the automated system stitched the segments into clarity.

Heat shimmer warped the screen edges. Tropical cicadas buzzed in the background like a static bleed. The drone was skimming fifty feet above forest floor, of the bamboo groves. Tokushima Prefecture.

Except they weren’t bamboo.

Y/n's fingers drumming in her prosthetic, in a rhythmic pattern, easing the anxiety brimming within her, They said everything was incinerated; DNA, gametes, even juveniles. Said it was contained. Then neutralized. Y/n thought, eyes locking at the green foliage,

Then why does this feel like 2016 all over again?

“Hold on,” said Shinomiya Isao, leaning closer in his desk. “Freeze playback. Enhance sector four, two degrees east.”

One operational leader did so. The image zoomed. As if the foliage shifted ever so slightly in the wrong direction. The branches didn’t sway with the wind, they breathed. Then the perspective tilted as the drone pulled back to reframe the groves clearing.

In the middle of the shot was what first looked like a bamboo grove. Eight or nine vertical stalks, rigid and jointed, standing motionless amidst the flora. 

Then two of them moved.

Not with the wind. Not with pressure. Deliberate, slow extension, like an insect testing its reach. The stalks, not bamboo at all, but limbs, registered heat signatures along each joint.

Itami Keiji leaned toward the screen, the light flickering against his corneas. His breath hitched, barely audible, “That’s not vegetation at all,” he said, voice low, uncertain.

Nogisaka Juzo shifted forward in his seat, the chair creaking under the shift of his broad frame. His forearms rested heavily on the wooden, lacquered desk, eyes narrowing with a soldier’s instinct.

“What is it?” he asked, though his tone carried the weight of someone who already had a theory, and didn’t like it.

On the ground, Tokushima's eastern bamboo groves were hushed beneath a cloudy noon. The stalks swayed faintly, whispering against one another with the brittle dryness of winter reed.

Visibility was compromised, no wind, no sound beyond the rhythmic crunch of tactical boots sinking into loam.

The Eighth Division's Captain moved ahead, her silhouette crisp against the narrow forest path, Vice Captain flanking her right. Behind them, three platoon leaders formed a wedge, each with their own rifles.

Firearms were raised, not standard steel, but biotech-formed from dead kaiju flesh. Breathing weapons. Synced to their users with their kaiju synthetic suit calibrated by their unleashed combat power. Paired with uni-socket ammunition. Primed to punch through plated carapace.

And right now, nothing was. There was no target. Only dense bamboo. Still, every officers had a finger resting on the trigger.

Still, the silence was wrong. Predatory.

Captain Subaru slowed, hand raised to signal halt. Every rifle froze mid-aim. Her eyes panned across the grove. No movement.

Yet the sensation was there, something watching. Not from wherever they're looking at, not from behind.

In front.

Then, it shift.

A section of bamboo,thick, clustered, shivered against the others. Not with the wind. But with intention. A half-second blink and the stalks seemed to move. Then blur. Then reform. A trick to the eye.

Something was standing there. Not just among the bamboo.

As bamboo.

The feed from the drone cameras flickered clearly, the high resolution making it easy to distinguish anything clearly. Yozora Y/n, leaning forward, squinted at the screen. A subtle shift in the infrared data, a distortion just at the edge of the grove.

Joint operation with the Eighth Division. Crossed DNA of animals and kaijus. Cages. Experiments.

Y/n knew she saw it, she knew it was there, saw it in a small terrarium. She knew but it's at the back of her brain, hiding.

The unmistakable signs of something that shouldn’t be there.

Vice Captain Kaede took one step back. “Permission to speak freely,” she whispered.

Captain Subaru didn’t answer at first. The grove ahead still looked like bamboo. Still sounded like bamboo.

But instinct screamed otherwise, coiling tight in her spine like a pulled wire.

She’d seen kaiju hide before, she heard one burrow into landfill a year ago, flatten their mass across coral shelves, one has a microclimate control of an octopus. But this? This was new.

She looked again. The stalks were thick, jointed, vertical, slightly curved near the tops. At a glance, it's bamboo. At a second glance, still bamboo.

But at the third... something in the pattern broke. One stalk had different colour, just darker. Another didn’t reflect the low ambient light correctly. The fourth leaned slightly, too slightly, it swayed even when there was no wind.

And the fifth....was that blood?

Her heart rate didn’t spike, but her hand settled closer to her sidearm.

Y/n was already looking through each camera feeds from different screens, watching as the forest swayed in unnatural rhythm, bamboo bending in ways it shouldn’t.

Lab full of bodies. Some dead. Some alive. Prototypes. Arachnid DNA. Crustacean DNA. 

Behind her, Vice Captain Kaede exhaled carefully, as if afraid to fog the air. Her rifle tracked left, then right. She stepped back a single pace and lowered her voice.

“Captain... Permission to speak freely?” she prompts again,

Subaru didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. But she nodded anyway, eyes still locked onto the beyond.

“That’s not bamboo, Captain,” Kaede said flatly. “I think something's watching us.”

The hairs on Yozora Y/n’s neck rose. Her fingers moved instinctively, yelling commands to cycle through the feeds again.

The camera drone closest to Vice Captain Kaede's position snapped a clearer image, and for just a fraction of a second, her stomach dropped.

Realization hits her like a truck as she remembers, *Hahakumo. Label written over the terrarium.

Then the signal came, an almost imperceptible shift in the camera feed, a movement not by the wind, but of intention.

A shape began to materialize within the grove, its outline peeling away from the foliage like a shadow sloughing off reality.

Long, grotesque limbs emerged, stretching impossibly long, blackened-green carapace gleaming in the dim light. It had been there the whole time, hiding, waiting.

Captain Subaru held her ground, her custom rotary cannon still trained on the moving bamboo, but her expression was taut.

Vice Captain Kaede's breath caught. "It can camouflage!" she shouted, her voice breaking the strained silence of the comms.

At the exact same moment, Y/n’s voice rang out cold and calculated, the words overlapping with Kaede’s through the earpiece, practically shouted, “Don’t shoot!" she ordered instinctively.

Too late.

The groves exploded into motion.

Captain Subaru didn’t wait. Her rotary cannon barked once, twice, three, six times in rotation, high velocity armor piercing rounds designed for exoskeletal kaiju, paired with her fortitude level of 92%, but minimizes to 65 to maintain power.

The shots struck true, severing one of the grotesque spider-limbs mid-lurch. Black green ichor sprayed in a pressurized arc, sizzling against the bamboo.

“Engage! Full spread! Focus on the joints!” she shouted, already pivoting to a new angle.

Kaede dropped to a crouch, eyes wide behind her rifle. Her fingers locked across the side-mounted console on her arm as she sent out unit-wide targeting data. “Platoon Leader Igarashi, cut off its left flank! Avoid the thorax, we still don’t have core confirmation!”

The kaiju shrieked, not with sound but with vibration, its limbs hammering into the earth with such force the bamboo quivered like tuning forks. The grove had become a killbox.

Igarashi, one of the platoon leads, charged forward with four officers in tight staggered formation. Each wore reinforced Kaiju synthetic exo suits with spinal actuators that allowed for enhanced recoil control and short bursts of speed. He lifted his rifle and fired in full spool.

"Get back!” Captain Subaru barked to the rest,. “It’s fast, don’t crowd it!”

The rounds chewed through a forelimb, snapping it backwards at the elbow. The kaiju reeled, half-spun; too fast and another limb whipped across the air, piercing one officer through the head and pinning him to the ground like a ragdoll.

But it was too late for the pinned man. The spider reared, then vaulted backward, using its remaining legs like pistons, vanishing briefly into the dense stalks with a snapping hiss of dislocated bamboo.

Everything went still.

Then it moved again.

Not toward them, but from above, an arc of limbs stretching between bamboo trunks, curling around beams of green light like bone bridges.

The limbs twitched, and the stumps, once severed, began to grow back. Not smoothly. Vascular cords first, twitching like worms, then segmented bone, then fleshy chitin, snapping together with audible cracks.

“Shit,” muttered Vice Captain Kaede. “It’s regenerating faster than expected.”

“No time to theorize,” Captain Subaru growled. “We need its core or it’ll just keep going.”

Heart pounded in her chest. She was miles away from the action, but the rush of adrenaline surged through her like an electric shock.

She saw it now, the shimmer, the distortion, a thing rising from the bamboo as if peeling itself from the earth, long limbs unfolding like some grotesque entity. A faint, almost imperceptible vibration ranged through the comms system, and the distorted shape became clearer.

The kaiju stood there, among the stalks, blending in perfectly, as though it had been a part of the grove all along.

Her pulse quickened as the pieces clicked into place. around her, the command operations center dimmed under its own tension. The usual clacking of keyboards and low murmurs faded into a realization.

Even the tactical monitors seemed to hesitate, the image of the kaiju holding like a loaded breath.

Operational Leader Sakamoto Aira, besides Tanaka Eijichi turned pale. “That’s not on any current registry. It’s not even a variant, there’s no thermal signature nor fortitude level readings," horror painted in her face, "not even a registered file for cross referencing... meaning this kaiju is new and an anomaly.”

Y/n leaned in slightly. “Arthropod structure. Eight limbs.... Scientifically labelled as Chōshi Bojū, or better called, Mother Spider." gaze never left the live feed. But her mind recalling a written information on a file she remembered, that was burned and doesn't exist anymore.

Man made. 

And that was the problem.

Not born of natural emergence nor spawned through the usual Kaiju gestational waves. It was built. Grown. Engineered. And like all man-made things, it didn’t follow the rules.

Eight years. Eight years undetected, escaped and buried in the grooves of Tokushima’s bamboo forest, adapting. Hidden in a low traffic zone, far from the fortitude lattice, beneath radar sweeps, beneath suspicion. Not because it was too weak to be noticed, but because someone made it invisible.

It had no heat signature. No traceable fortitude level. No residual trail left in its wake. That wasn’t evolution. That was design.

Sakamoto Aira swallowed hard. "Then it’s... cloaking? That shouldn’t be biologically possible—"

"No," Yozora cut in, her tone distant. "It’s not cloaking. It’s unreadable by intent. Possibly built to mimic, surfaces, temperature, stillness. It was built to pass."

Bakko, Ashiro Mina’s tiger. The failed juvenile kaiju at the time, should’ve been terminated like the others, but was instead vetted and allowed to survive.

No official fortitude rating. No classification. Just a quiet approval and a sealed file. What set him apart wasn’t just his loyalty, but his intelligence. A hybrid, bonded to Mina in a way that defied behavioral logic. He remembered faces. Patterns. Orders.

Operational Leader Tanaka Eijichi’s hands hovered over the command input keys but didn’t move. “Built by whom?” 

Yamashiro Yamamoto's shoulders tensed, and looks up at Yozora Y/n, eyes sparkling in recognition behind his glasses.

"Hahakumo." Itami Keiji muttered, eyes gleaming in realization. The name landing like ash in the air. His fingers curled slightly over the armrest. Eyes disbelief.

“But... But that's impossible!" He argued, "all known specimens from that lab were destroyed. The record was cleared. There was a containment protocol. Thorough extermination. I reviewed it myself.” 

Her memory tugged at the edges. Eight years ago, back when she still wore a captain’s insignia on her shoulders and answered to names she hadn’t heard since. Shikoku Island.

Joint operation with the Eighth Division. In their very own island. A lab full of bodies. And something else, prototype kaijus, experimental, bred in the dark. Genetically engineered to counter kaiju threats.

Justified, they said, to minimize officers' death rates they said. But she remembered the thing that crawled from the Yokohama shoreline, the objective that made a joint operation in the first place. black, yellow, green, a bastard child of a reptile and machine. It has a tag, from Shikoku Island.

That mission had been scrubbed, buried. But some ghosts didn’t stay in the ground. Her eyes flicked back to the display. Those legs. That posture. One she saw before, but smaller, hiding in the terrarium among others.

From behind her shoulder, sitting at the long command desk, Nogisaka Juzo exhaled slowly through his nose, as if a cold wind had settled inside his chest. His eyes narrowed, not at Yozora Y/n, but at the implications in the air.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You were there,” he said, tone edged with something between recognition and steel. “Shikoku Island, and an organisation lead by Orochizuya Kazui. Year 2016. You signed off the kill confirmation.”

Y/n’s expression didn’t flicker. “I signed off what I saw.”

In the middle, Shinomiya Isao remained silent, hands interlocked before his mouth, elbows planted on the table. His brows were furrowed in thought. He’d already made the calculation, and he didn’t like the result.

Below the platform, the operational leaders shifted uneasily. Some glanced up from their desks. Others down at their data tablets. No one spoke.

Shinomiya Isao finally spoke, his voice low but decisive, each word measured like a blade sliding from its sheath.

“No time for ghosts or guesswork. Whatever that thing is, it’s here now.”

He looked toward Y/n without turning his head, fingers still steepled before his mouth.

“Proceed, CCO. Full tactical relay. We do what needs to be done.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t flinch. Her gaze went from Isao's and onto the live feed, irises reflecting the monstrous silhouette now fully emerged from the grove.

"Understood.” She nodded once. Turning slightly, she raised her hand in a sharp gesture, commanding, deliberate.

"Activate backup surveillance drones, covering all exit routes from the grove. If there’s a breach," The operational leaders, each stationed at their designated positions within the Ariake Maritime Base, immediately went into action.

The shift from deliberate command to synchronized, urgent execution was seamless.

Ebisu Tokuko, Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer, immediately flicked a switch on her comm terminal, linking the channels to the 8th Division Base in Shikoku.

The room buzzed with urgency, but Tokuko’s hands moved with practiced precision, establishing a steady, secure line of communication to ensure that Yozora Y/n’s instructions would reach all the necessary units in the field.

“Comm channels linked to the Eighth Division. They’re receiving all updates,” Ebisu confirmed without hesitation, her voice cutting through the noise.

Y/n's nodded sharply, "Maintain active links with the Eighth for strategic analysis."

Meanwhile, 1st Division Operational Leader Kurusu Akira glanced quickly at his screen, already working through the tactical channels. He issued a series of commands stationed across the Tokyo Bay defense line, to ensure the operation zone's surrounding areas remained secure, and that no unauthorized kaiju movements would slip past their defenses.

“Communication is clear, status report coming in,” Akira replied, his tone efficient, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. “No significant anomalies from our Tokyo radar systems so far.”

Though not directly in charge of the Eighth Division nor part of it, his role at Ariake during high alert scenarios allowed him to assist in maintaining the outer defense grid. His efforts were crucial in ensuring that the entire operation remained fluid.

Miles away, Eighth Division Operational Leader Hitsugaya Botan quickly relayed status updates on the rest of the operational leaders.

His face was taut with focus as he ensured all of his division’s officers were updated for immediate action should the Chief Of Command Operation willed so.

“Status of all deployed officers are clear. No suit overheat, four KIA. Awaiting terrain changes and movement updates,” Botan reported back, the figures on his display tracking each officer's location and readiness.

Platoon Leader Igarashi's remaining unit fanned out. Another Platoon Leader Rei, took a gamble. “I’m moving under it.”

She activated her unleashed combat power, and launched upward. The canopy was too dense for full jumps, but she used the bamboo itself, vaulting from trunk to trunk, catching branches, maneuvering above the spider’s dorsal blindspot.

It reacted.

A leg shot upward like a spear, missing her ribs by inches. Rei twisted, landed against a trunk sideways, boots magnetized, rifle up, and fired three rapid bursts into the base of the neck.

The Kaiju jerked violently, stumbled, and for a moment, its forebody slumped.

“It’s stunned!” Captain Subaru called. “Igarashi, suppressing fire! Rei, drop it!”

Rei pulled her short blade, reverse grip. With all the might from her fortitude level of her kaiju synthetic suit, her knife vibrated with energy, plunged it into the exposed tissue between shoulder and carapace. The kaiju screeched in seismic pulses, one of her ears ruptured, and flung her thirty meters into the bamboos, and down below.

A sickening crunch.

The aerial drone fed the data in real-time, its footage was silent but precise. Amid the fractured concrete and curling smoke, Platoon Leader Rei was being hauled out from the rubble by two officers, both struggling under her weight and the shifting debris.

On the Eighth Division command center's main screen, her biometric profile pulsed amber, telemetry tracing key indicators: a fractured pelvis, significant cranial pressure, external bleeding from the ear and nasal passages.

Her vitals held, but just barely. The system flagged her condition as "Recoverable: Immediate Medical Extraction Required." No further questions followed. The data had already spoken.

Operational Leader Hitsugaya Botan hissed but kept control. “She’s alive, readings are stable. The exo suit absorb the hit, but her  hips were fractured, paired with a bloody ear and nose.” he linked to Subaru, who nodded grimly, before tuning off her earpiece, and barked orders for a new formation. 

Then another feed came online from high above Tokushima’s grove line. One of the aerial drones, flying silently above the swaying bamboo, relayed a new visual.

Silk.

At first, it was mistaken for a shredded tarp or fungal bloom. But the second aerial drone, tilted downward, hovering just from another angle, moved closer, now facing face to face with each other. 

Thick strands of organic fiber, knotted like spider’s silk, interlacing across a thinned portion of the grove. Within it, ovoid bulges pulsed faintly beneath the layers.

"What the hell is that?" Hitsugaya muttered, narrowing the zoom. Making sure the live feed was connected to Ariake Maritime Base,

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Her pupils dilated, mind accelerating. Somewhere in the back of her memory, behind redacted pages and scorched records, the silhouette lined up.

She recalled a passage from Dr. Orochizuya Kazui's personal note, the one she wasn’t supposed to read. The one that stuck.

 

Subject: Chōshi Bojū. Alias: Hahakumo.

Hybrid composition verified: Araneae (arachnid base), Parthenogenetic Lacertidae (asexual lizard subspecies), and unspecified deep-sea crustacean DNA of a kaiju, possibly related to a Stomatopoda or Scyllaridae class.

Primary notes: High cellular regeneration. Reproductive independence achieved from chromosomal doubling. Behavioral imprints suggest territory fixation over roaming predation. No pheromonal bonding.

Warning issued: Viability remains high despite lack of social replication. Subject does not require a mate to propagate. Termination protocol unresolved.

 

The words returned like frostbite. She remembered the last line, circled twice in a dead man’s pen:

Only one specimen survived after a hundred take of experimentation. Only one. But it was spliced with a self replicating genome.

She exhaled, voice low. “Not what,” she said. “Who. Hahakumo didn’t just nest there, she claimed it.”

From what the second aerial drone, just hovering besides the clutches, the pattern was geometric, weaved deliberately across the green stalks like a radial net.

And at its center, cocooned and pulsing beneath layers of misted fiber, were bulging sacs. Each the size of a child’s torso. At least a dozen. Some moved.

No one spoke. Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer Ebisu Tokuko gulped. The angle of the aerial drone caught one of the eggs in high resolution, and she could see its eyes looking straight at them.

Yamashiro Yamamoto narrowed his eyes, "They’re looking. Jesus. That’s—”

The rest of the sentence never landed.

Itami Keiji, from his seat, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Something wet splattered across the feed. A drop, from above. Viscous. Red. Not mud, not water. The video cut to static for a half second, then re-stabilized, the view obscured now by what looked like a chunk of tissue. Blood had sprayed onto the lens from above.

Nogisaka Juzo grunted.

“Adjust the altitude,” ordered by Shinomiya Isao, his voice taut with tension but not of panic. “We need visual confirmation. Send the secondary drone in on an alternate vector. Elevate the primary.”

"Solid copy," came Hitsugaya Botan's voice from the Eighth Division Base, a static minute, 

The secondary drone kicked into motion from its standby perch, circling east through the dense grove.

Operational Leader Hitsugaya Botan redirected the primary upward, clearing the blur on its lens, and revealing what it had narrowly missed.

Bodies.

Not one. Not two. A field.

From the elevated angle, it was clear now: a cluster of corpses strung through the stalks like macabre wind chimes. Some were slumped over, slack and pale, as though bled dry.

Others had been pierced clean through; impaled along the length of their spines or ribcages by sharpened bamboo stalks. Limbs had been severed not by blunt trauma, but with brutal anatomical precision. One corpse’s lower half dangled four meters from its torso, intestines looped like wiring around a support stalk.

Hitsugaya flinched, then zoomed in.

Some of the bodies had begun to rot, but others were disturbingly fresh. Flies swarmed the exposed meat. Muscle tissue had been flayed back in strips. One skull was clean from its skin, teeth clenched in what looked like frozen panic. The pattern wasn’t random. It was intentional.

A cadaver was impaled upside down on a split bamboo stalk, straight through the groin and out the mouth. A crimson string of viscous fluid dangled from its lips, swaying. The face was slack, split by decomposition. The eyes were gone. Not rotted. Scooped.

Like a butcherbird impaling its prey on thorns, not to kill, but to store.

One had been folded at the waist and stuffed into a hollow in the bamboo cluster like packing material.

One of the operational logistics officer young and new, just assisting from Central Processing, glanced at the center feed. His face blanched, his headset slipping slightly as he sat back in his chair.

He didn’t speak. Just stared, hollow-eyed, at the image of the corpse jammed into the bamboo like discarded cargo.

Someone nearby, older, and seasoned, reached over and quietly shut off his station. No words. Just mercy.

Itami Keiji went still, lips parting in silent disbelief. “That wasn’t just a nest,” he said quietly. “It’s a larder.”

Shinomiya Isao didn’t respond, nor Juzo, nor Y/n. The drone’s camera panned left, and caught another figure, suspended from a thick branch, arms stretched wide, as though crucified in silk.

It was a man whose throat was gaping wide, a hole. A crow perched on his shoulder was pecking and pulling some of his flesh, 

Ken.

Tanaka Eijichi, besides Sakamoto Aira, reaches for his trash bin under his station, preparing just in case if he couldn't stomach it any longer, "Holy shit." He muttered. 

Holy shit, indeed.

“Hahakumo was the only survivor from what to be Dr. Orochizuya's experimentation,” Y/n said coldly. “Its genome was restructured for asexual procreation. Stabilized oviposition. No mating cycle. No external fertilization.”

Juzo blinked. “You’re saying this is, what? A clone batch?”

Y/n blinked, "Possibly." She continued, eyes still locked on the feed, “She’s not attacking random targets. She’s defending a nest.”

Captain Subaru’s voice crackled back into the line. “Nest? Negative. We only registered one target emerging.”

“Exactly,” Yozora Y/n replied. “She’s the only one that emerged. The rest were embryonic backstock, early-stage gestations triggered by stable territory." A pause. "That grove isn’t just camouflage, Captain. It’s a womb.”

The drone circled again. One of the sacs twitched, almost imperceptibly. The silk pulled tighter across it.

“Then the Eighth Division need to incinerate that grove,” Itami Keiji muttered.

Y/n didn’t respond. She was already calculating. Timelines. Growth phases. The chance that any of those eggs had developed a core.

The odds that any shared the same core, or worse, none of them did. A multi-core clutch meant a multi-threat event.

“We’ll need thermal scans on each sac,” she said at last. “I want another drone deployed. If even one of those clones is viable, we’re not dealing with a single Kaiju anymore. We’re dealing with a colony vector.”

Nogisaka Juzo inhaled sharply. “And if the mother’s just the first phase?” looking straight at one particular feed the aerial drone caught;

One torso had been split down the midline, the rib cage forced open like a butcher’s rack, lungs exposed, lolling downward. The heart was missing. Not cut. But was extracted.

Shinomiya Isao didnt say a word, but his jaw clenched in a way that he hadn't seen such violence in years ever since the 2014 catastrophy that killed 200 Defense Officers and 3 captains, one of them being Shinomiya Hikari, 

Shinomiya Isao wants it dead.

Y/n Yozora’s voice dropped. “Then it just started over.” she nodded to herself, ignoring at the sight of Tanaka heaving, face planted in his trash bin, 

Aira was patting his back, Yamamoto, from the main data terminal, handed him one sealed tissue which Tanaka took, face still below the bin.

She sighed. God help them all.

Y/n directly linked her comms to Captain Subaru's earpiece, "Captain" 

A low crackle of static buzzed back before Subaru’s voice cut through, steady as metal, 

"Chief."

Yozora Y/n exhaled through her nose, gaze fixed on the grainy, blood-fogged feed projecting across the tactical screen. And what remained of the Eighth Division officers,

"We don't have any confirmation of the core's location, but..." she murmured, narrowing her eyes. Her voice was iron under silk. 

“Stretch the perimeter. Pressure it. I want hesitation before commitment.”

The line hung in the air like a scalpel. Y/n didn’t blink again.

She didn’t need to say the rest:

Confuse it, divide its attention, and buy me a moment where it flinches or exposes a weakness. Y/n thought darkly,

Through the comms, Captain Subaru’s silhouette turned slightly, visible via aerial drone, her massive rotary cannon held both of her hands, full with energy charge and uni socket ammo.

“Copy that,” Subaru replied coolly, adjusting her stance. Her tone shifted, professional but electric with momentum. “We’ll peel it open.” and the link cuts off.

Her head turned towards her team, the gesture sharp and commanding. Scowling, "Go loud on movement, I want its eyes on each one of you..." 

A beat, and then, Captain Subaru, shouted, "Go!" 

Two platoon leaders; Kawashima and Igarashi split off, each with their officers trailing in close sync. Their kaiju synthetic suits absorbed the impact of their low, silent vaults as they kicked off the bamboo trunks, leaping sideways in rapid zigzag motion.

Kaede, the Vice Captain, launched upward, she landed on a swaying stalk, boots gripping just long enough to let it bend.

As the bamboo recoiled, she twisted with it, letting the spring-loaded force sling her upward. She soared, boots skimming stalks like stepping stones, and flipped soundlessly over a cluster of webs before landing in a crouch and leaps once more.

Her rifle snapped into her hands, the sling tightening around her shoulders as she adjusted her grip mid-air, aligning her sights.

Beneath her, Hahakumo stirred.

Its chitinous plates rippled. Clusters of twitching sensitive sensory hairs tracked the movement. A limb longer than bamboo snapped upward, a reaction, not conscious, but quick.

With a sharp exhale, she fired a short burst into the base of a lashing tendril. The rounds didnt penetrate, but the strike momentarily distracted it.

Below her, one of Platoon Leader Igarashi's officers slid beneath a horizontal cluster of stalks, body nearly parallel with the earth. With the help of his kaiju synthetic suit, allowing him to pass under a lashing tendril.

Below, Igarashi’s officer slid under low cover. His body nearly horizontal, he passed under a twitching limb. The tendril’s barbs missed him by inches. He rolled forward, came up into a kip-up, then loosed five precise bursts into a jointed segment of the kaiju’s leg.

The rounds struck. A pulse of pale ichor misted into the air, but the limb didn’t fall. It retracted, then lashed outward again, faster.

Another officer kicked from a vertical trunk, spun through open space. He missed being impaled by sheer timing. A hissing exhalation escaped Hahakumo’s lower body, steam venting from heated wounds. Its sensory limbs moved erratically now, trigger-happy and overstimulated.

He grabbed a low stalk mid-flight. The spring flung him into a tight corkscrew. He landed, rolled, aimed.

“Northwest arc,” Kaede shouted from the comms. “Six o’clock!”

Platoon Leader, Kawashima answered in motion. He dropped from a height, his suit flaring in kinetic release to buffer the landing. The ground cratered beneath him. Without pause, he vaulted again.

A bamboo stalk bent beneath his grip. He twisted upward, the spiraling trunk guiding his climb like a coiled spring. Mid-spin, he released with one hand, stabilizing with the other; just enough to swing his rifle into line. He fired three bursts on the rise, striking a tendril’s base. The rounds sparked off hardened chitin, ineffective

Hahakumo shrieked.

This time, a full-bodied, conscious sound, low, guttural, and loud. It carried like a pressure wave through the trees, shaking loose stalks and sending birds scattering.

Its limbs fanned outward in a reflexive defense pattern. Not coordinated, but violent.

A tendril swept the air behind Kaede, blind and searching. Another burst from Igarashi’s team stitched across the limb’s knuckle, drawing more fluid. The monster buckled briefly, then kept moving.

Subaru’s voice cut in again, tight and sharp. “Keep the pressure. Push it toward the spine cluster.”

Another officer took a different approach, he used a long strand of vines like a tightrope. Two steps, a rebound jump, a twisting somersault, and then, tactical knife blade out. The knife sliced the side of an exposed, pale tendril. Not deep. But enough to bleed it.

Not a scream. But a vibrational screech, like air being torn apart by heat and friction, an auditory spike that hit every unshielded nerve.

The officer had been too close. One eardrum ruptured instantly. He winced, staggered sideways on the landing, hands fumbling for balance.

In the command operation center, one of the Eighth Division operational leaders, sitted besides Hitsugaya Botan, saw it unfolding in real time from her monitor.

She practically shouted, voice blasting through his earpiece, “Move left, left now!”

The warning was just in time.

A newly regenerated limb, slick, malformed, and violently fast, stabbed down from the canopy above, aimed straight for the distracted soldier’s spine. He moved, just barely.

The appendage slammed into the stalk behind him, blasting splinters into the mist. He dropped low, breath ragged, tactical knife still in hand. Platoon Leader Igarashi swooped in, grabbed him by the shoulder and jumped towards the safe zone.

Leaves rustled in a wave. Some of the bamboo groaned as if pressurized. Subaru clocked the reaction.

“Diversion! Don’t clump. Triple split.”

The team split again. One leapt horizontally between three stalks in a tight V formation, then ran up them, jumping between the trunks in rising succession like a pinball under perfect control. His boots hit the apex of the final stalk. He jumped.

Mid-air, with a 360 spin. His rifle charged. Aimed. Didn't fire. He ducked to the side instead as a massive tendril lashed where he had been.

Platoon Leader Igarashi cartwheeled down a narrow incline, pushing off with his suit and flipping backwards over a skeletal corpse caught in webbing.

His rifle was still slung, but as he landed, he transitioned into a combat stance and took aim. He fired, a controlled shot into an exposed portion of the creature's underbelly. It flinched violently, the wound gaping as the rounds drilled deeper. The creature screeched in pain.

Below him, Vice Captain Kaede launched forward in a crawling dive, her shoulder rolling beneath a low swinging appendage. A heartbeat later, dhe popped up behind a thick trunk and pressed flat, her chest rising fast. She peeked around, 

No attack.

“Captain,” Kaede called. “Target is pulling away.”

“Good,” Subaru muttered through the comms. She adjusted the bracing lock on her rotary cannon, the weapon mounted on a spring-loaded gyroscopic swivel over her hands, currently in stow. Not yet.

“Keep the distraction running. I want it watching them.”

In the branches, the Hahakumo pulsed and writhed.

A split-mouthed appendage uncoiled downward, slick with translucent mucous. It flexed, unfurling in mid-air.

Kaede slid between two trunks, kicked off one, backflipped, and struck the appendage with her boot, knocking it aside in a burst of acidic ichor. She landed on a crossbeam of two bamboo stalks and crouched there, crouched, chest planted, heart hammering.

The HUD displayed in the monitor before Higutsuya appeared and it blinked orange; Warning: Environmental Collapse Imminent.

Hahakumo, around them was shifting.

“You've got 6 minutes,” Hitsugaya called to Subaru.

Subaru didn't answer. She simply looked up at the writhing thing above. She was waiting.

The report arrived via a long range secure uplink; triple encrypted, and routed through the JAKDF orbital relay grid before synchronizing across national command nodes. Metadata confirmed transmission from the Eighth Division’s command operation center; Matsuyama, Shikoku Island to Ariake Maritime Base, Kato ward.

Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer Ebisu Tokuko's voice filtered through the operations channel, crisp beneath the static. “Thermal and resonance scans confirm: all sacs negative for core signatures. Repeating, zero active cores across all identified embryonic structures.”

There was a beat of silence.

Y/n didn’t move. Her eyes narrowed slightly, calculation reframing. “Dormant strain,” she muttered. “Still viable if catalyzed. They’re in pre-core latency.”

Juzo exhaled through his teeth. “Then your call is to caught them before ignition?”

“Or before they were supposed to,” she replied. “Something accelerated the first one.”

Itami Keiji’s voice was flat. “Then burn the rest. We don’t wait for ignition cycles.”

Yozora Y/n’s fingers hovered over her arms. “Negative. We study them. Controlled freeze, chemical inhibition, then extraction. If this is a colony strain, I want to know what triggered her first.”

Nogisaka Juzo glanced at the central monitor. The sacs pulsed faintly, sealed in glistening silk. “And if one of them fakes dormancy?”

“Then we’ll learn something,” Yozora said coldly. “Right before it kills us.”

Someone near the rear of the ops room exhaled, low and sharp, as if they'd been holding their breath.

A junior analyst, one of the liaisons for the Fourth Division, leaned toward a colleague, voice barely audible beneath the hum of equipment.

“They should just burn them.” face still green from seeing Hahakumo's gruesome way of feeding, never would've prepared of seeing a actual human being hanging off a bamboo stalk and was hacked their flesh away, just like a butcher.

He couldn't imagine multiple, mini Hahakumo's once they hatched. He's considering a career change.

No one replied. They didn’t need to. Yozora Y/n's word had already become doctrine. As she stood motionless before the central display, the light of the screen reflected faintly against her eyes.

The footage streaming from the frontline drone was crisp, high contrast. Hahakumo twisted across the frame like a wounded spider, eight elongated limbs lashing in erratic arcs.

Gunfire of ammunitions peppered her flanks, auto mounted uni-socket ammo plasma bursts, but nothing brought her down. She recoiled and advanced simultaneously, shedding limbs mid-swing, then reconstituting them seconds later in a blur of regrowth.

Yozora Y/n keyed into her command channel. “Captain. Core status?”

Captain Subaru’s voice came through ragged and distant, buried under background interference and wind shear. “Still no core signature. Visuals are unstable; regenerative events are interfering with resonance tracking.”

“Thermals?”

“Negative.”

Another voice cut in, urgent and anxious. Hitsuguya Botan. He leaned over his console, sweat starting to bead just at his forehead. “We've cycled through every detection protocol, CCO."  His fingers moved fast, tapping and swiping across layered readouts, but every screen came back sterile. Clean. Too clean.

His voice was sharp but controlled, running on the edge of fatigue. "Standard and modulated detector; passive thermals, seismic resonance. Nothing. If there’s a core, it’s shielded or sub-dermal.” A pause,

Hearing this, operational leaders at Ariake Maritime Base paused, letting the information sink in, 

“If there’s a core,” he said, jaw tensing, “it’s shielded or sub-dermal. Hidden deeper than standard depth-read range.” A beat passed, barely enough time to process the implications, but he didn’t stop.

“Or it’s one of the refractory types.” The words dropped hard. Hitsuguya wiped his forehead with a knuckle, blinking behind the HUD monitor. “You know some Honju, Yoju and Daikaiju have it, like Kaiju no. 0. No core until full catastrophic trauma needs to be apply across multiple organ zones before the core even shows itself.”

He exhaled through his teeth, gaze flicking back to the still-blank display. But Captain Subaru cutted in, voice now laced with clear frustration,

“Then we might have to break it to see what it’s hiding.” Thinking of the possibility of suit overheating before she cuts the link,

Yozora Y/n’s jaw tightened. Hearing that another kaiju could do such feat, which is a rare thing, Y/n couldn't help but thought of Kaiju no. 0, 

There's a reason why it took so many years for Kaiju no.0 to die after its first sighting. It had taken centuries, a trail of dead officers, and the death of Yozora Michikatsu to bring down Kaiju No. 0. The cost was historical, measurable in corpses and failed strategies. Y/n's organic,prosthetic hand flexed involuntarily, metal fingers tightening.

From behind Yozora Y/n, seated in the center, Shinomiya Isao’s voice sliced the room like a scalpel.

“Of course it’s not showing up.”

The Director General of the JAKDF leaned into the table, Keiji and Juzo briefly glance at him, his voice calm, clinical. Not indifferent, just past urgency, as though he'd already read the ending.

“That thing wasn’t born. It was made. Spliced from different genomic templates, three confirmed animal DNA, and one from a strain classified Honju. The one from the Osaka Bay Area, where Orochizuya used to intern.”

Silence again. Sharp. Charged.

Isao continued, unbothered. “That Honju was a master of cloaking. Biothermal masking. Internalized core casings. We lost twelve officers trying to verify the last one before the operation was sealed." He paused,

"And Orochizuya’s notes, before the whole lab was razed, mentioned something called a ‘stealth core phenotype.’ Self sheathing structure. Organic shielding. Think of a sea cucumber folding over its own intestines.”

A pause. The faint sound of his fingers drumming once on his desk. Itami Keiji and Nogisaka Juzo now looking at each other from their own desk, 

“You thought it wouldn’t slip thermals?”

Yozora Y/n’s mouth gape open, voice dropped. “You knew.”

“I had files.” A beat. “I had redacted files.”

Juzo's tone sharpened, standing up, “And you didn’t flag this?” accusation and hint of betrayal laced in his voice.

“Because it shouldn’t have survived.” Shinomiya Isao’s voice thinned into something flat and quiet. “The experiment was terminated. The entire lab roster was burned. Genome records purged. And even if it had made it out, it wasn’t supposed to reach gestation.”

Another pause.

“But it did. And now were dealing with something that’s not either a Honju nor a Daikaiju, its fortitude level cannot be read. It is the first of its kind.”

Y/n stared at the screen. “Then what is she?”

Shinomiya didn’t hesitate.

“It is a loophole. One that crackhead of a snake made. One we tried to buried. And now, one that’s writing its own rules.”

Y/n then tapped two of her fingers against the side of her headset, engaging the comm  link, screens blinked around her, one displaying the fractured forest canopy where Subaru’s unit moved, half-buried in shadow and thermal haze.

Without looking down, she called across the operations deck. “Yamamoto. Shift one of the recon drones." Finger tapping her arm, "Aerial path over the squad unit. I want visual on Captain Subaru’s advance before she breaks line.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto nodded over his terminal, hands already moving, reassigning the drone with practiced efficiency.

She exhaled once, then keyed into the field link. “Captain Subaru.” Her voice was cold measured, decisive. “You’re green light. Engage with full power. Prioritize disruption over elimination. I heard you can use your UCP three times in a row before overheating, I want that thing’s core exposed.”

The transmission bled across open channels, too wide, too clean. Platoon Leader Igarashi caught it first, jaw tightening beneath his rebreather.

Platoon Leader Kawashima and Vice Captain Kaede heard it a second later, already halfway through a reload. Neither needed clarification. Yozora Y/n’s tone was unmistakable: not a request, not a discussion, an execution protocol. Orders not meant for them, but understood implicitly.

Movement across both platoons halted. A brief stutter in the field rhythm. Safety toggles clicked off. Fingers loosened on triggers.

Then a pivot.

Officers recalibrated positions with trained economy; no callouts, no delay. Platoon Leaders gestured silently. Fireteams dropped behind fractured barricades, old drainage mounds, craters still steaming from initial impact.

The frontlines folded back like origami, redirecting focus not on the kaiju itself, but behind it. On Captain Subaru. Watching her six.

Across the clearing, Hahakumo shifted.

No obvious trigger, no visible cue, just a fractional tension in the rootlike limbs anchoring her bulk to the fractured terrain. Tendrils stilled mid-twitch. Her multiple eyes, black and gold, reptilian in profile, angled without moving. Her body, if it could be called that, compressed slightly. A subtle redistribution of mass.

She knew.

Then came the sound.

It shrieked; high decibel, full-spectrum. The sound tore through the air, enough to trigger the pain threshold, enough to rupture soft tissue at close range. It was less a cry than a weaponized discharge. 

One Platoon Leader Rei miraculously survived from.

The rebreather did nothing to dampen the sound. It wasn’t airborne, not entirely. She felt it in her jaw hinge, in the bridge of her skull; a low, subharmonic challenge that bypassed hearing and went straight to instinct. One predator to another.

A warning, issued by something that had survived extinction twice over.

Captain Subaru didn’t hesitate.

She flicked off her safety with a hard thumb  press. The rotary cannon’s gyros spooled to life in silence, cold-loaded and ready. The back-mounted stabilizers realigned, 

Then she moved.

High-speed traversal. Synthetic assist.

A blur across uneven ground, her boots hissing against rubble as green and blue energy tendrils fired in sequence. The world narrowed to a tunnel of motion, noise bleeding out behind her. No speech. No theatrics. Only mission.

She would force the core to show itself. One way or another.

Notes:

Tokushima prefecture, located in the eastern part of Shikoku island, is known for its unique natural features and traditional crafts, including bamboo items.

Yeah, monsterverse or tohoverse fans knew what creature I took inspiration from. 長肢母獣 (Chōshi Bojū) = “Long-Limbed Mother Beast” (more formal/scientific sounding), given it was created by a organisation, but since it's a bit much, I made another alt. which is Mother Spider ハハクモ (Hahakumo), much better and a nod to Mother Longlegs from Skull Island. (And not me burning my data/wifi from searching military jargons, Japan's geography and animal scientific names and some DNA or how genes works from google, cuz i my course in SHS wasnt STEM🫠... Which sucks because i have to attend an extra class in nursing because of it) if there's a mistake on some military cliques, it's on me.

Bakko was one of the inconveniences that the author didnt explore much, literally a failed kaiju? That's it?? Also, Juzo once said at ep 11 or 10? That there's another country experimenting with the kaiju dna, so I also took inspiration from that. And im adding how Mina got Bakko here in the future chapter because it wasn't explored in the manga. And since kaijus have different powers, let's say Mother Spider/Hahakumo live to its skill as an ambush predator, literally the readings of its fortitude level or why 8th division couldn't detect its presence through whatever detectors, was because its just built different, due to being a man made kaiju.

That "It can camouflage" line was actually inspired from Jurassic World, yeah, big fan of Michael Crichton novel, but World Dominion???? Yeah, it's flopped and so much character armor plot that was unnecessary, smh.

Also, the rotary cannon i used for Captain Subaru (another OC because only 1,2,3,4 and 6 divisions were shown in the manga) is actually from Star Wars, Z 6 rotary blaster cannon, may or may not ashiro mina 2.0, but mina's cannon is longer and more powerful, only difference, Subaru fires more than one and hers aren't for giant level kaijus like Mina. It's like Shinonome's machine/minigun custom weapon and Mina's cannon have a baby.

And Kaiju no. 0 made a cameo here, and one important fact about his core, which is significant for future chapters ahead. No Hoshina scene here! Just want to write about MC have a character moment. And to build her process as a character. Subtle foreshadowing about kaiju no 9 from the very start by the way, the whole reviving part

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 7: Hahakumo 2.0

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

The longest-living koi was Hanako (flower child), the koi lived for 226 years, according to scale analysis. 1751-1977

 

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

 

“Captain Subaru.” Yozora Y/n's voice was cold measured, decisive, piercing through Subaru's earpiece. “You’re green light. Engage with full power. Prioritize disruption over elimination. I heard you can use your UCP three times in a row before overheating, I want that thing’s core exposed.”

Across the clearing, Hahakumo shifted.

No obvious trigger, no visible cue, just a fractional tension in the rootlike limbs anchoring her bulk to the fractured terrain. Tendrils stilled mid-twitch. Her multiple eyes, black and gold, reptilian in profile, angled without moving. Her body, if it could be called that, compressed slightly. A subtle redistribution of mass.

She knew.

Then came the sound.

It shrieked; high decibel, full-spectrum. The sound tore through the air, enough to trigger the pain threshold, enough to rupture soft tissue at close range. It was less a cry than a weaponized discharge. 

One Platoon Leader Rei miraculously survived from.

The rebreather did nothing to dampen the sound. It wasn’t airborne, not entirely. She felt it in her jaw hinge, in the bridge of her skull; a low, subharmonic challenge that bypassed hearing and went straight to instinct. One predator to another.

A warning, issued by something that had survived extinction twice over.

Captain Subaru didn’t hesitate.

She flicked off her safety with a hard thumb press. The rotary cannon’s gyros spooled to life in silence, cold-loaded and ready. The back-mounted stabilizers realigned, 

Then she moved.

High-speed traversal. Synthetic assist.

A blur across uneven ground, her boots hissing against rubble as green and blue energy tendrils fired in sequence. The world narrowed to a tunnel of motion, noise bleeding out behind her. 

She would force the core to show itself. One way or another.

She exhaled sharply into her rebreather, her muscles coiled. “Requesting releasing Unleashed Combat Power, at 92 percent.” Her voice was calm but clipped, like the mechanics of the decision had already been made long before.

The kaiju synthetic suit’s internal systems responded immediately, an almost imperceptible shift in her body as power surged through the suit’s frame, recalibrating her movements for the coming intensity.

She felt the familiar hum, a warning pulse beneath her skin. She gripped her weapon tighter, waiting for the moment to launch.

"Calibrating,” said the flat mechanical voice of Captain Subaru's suit AI.

Hitsuguya Botan’s focus was absolute. His fingers moved with precision, keyed into the data terminal before him.

“Fortitude level 92%. Kaiju alignment locked,” he murmured. He slid his hand across the screen, confirming the Kaiju’s alignment, locking in its position. The words crisp in the silence of the control room. The terminal beeped once, confirming the stabilizers. 

As she sprinted through the bamboo thicket, her boots struck the moss-crusted earth once, then again, then she was airborne, vaulting sideways off a bamboo stalk before it even had time to bend.

The synthetic kaiju suit caught the motion and amplified it, muscle fiber enhancements propelling her with gymnastic precision.

Hahakumo shifted. Bamboo like limbs coiled inward, flexing dense muscle fiber and cartilage struts, compressing the terrain beneath her bulk.

Then a limb snapped sideways, scything through a thicket of bamboo. The stalks fractured like dry chalk under the torque. It was not random movement. It was a hunter’s pivot; measured, anticipatory.

Subaru saw it too late. The kaiju was moving, charging. The creature's had eyes, too many of them, locked to her heat signature.

Hitsuguya Botan didn’t glance up. His mind tracked the data, the patterns, as the suit began its final integration. The AI announced, “Unleashed Combat Power at 92%. Final integration complete.” The room’s tension ratcheted up a notch. Without another word, Botan’s focus shifted entirely to the frontline.

Energy surged through her like a chemical flood; pressurized, targeted, exact. Not just muscle, but bone. Every marrow cavity lit up with conductive signal, artificial and alien, borrowed from the kaiju-forged suit threaded into her nervous system.

Pale green and blue energy tendrils pulsed beneath her skin, luminous and twitching, as if her own biology was being overridden cell by cell.

Captain Subaru rotated mid-air, the six-barrel rotary cannon bracing against her torso like a living, snarling limb. It whirred to life with a machine howl.

Each barrel spun independently, blaster fire calibrated for minimal heat retention and staggered discharge. Six cannons, one cooling cell. No aim correction needed. It was pure directional slaughter.

She squeezed the trigger mid-air.

The rotary cannon roared. Concussive, spiraling chatter that overloaded the ambient soundscape.

Subaru’s arms locked under the weight as the gyroscopic recoil fought to redirect her mid-air trajectory, but the synthetic musculature in the suit compensated, reinforcing her limbs with calculated microbursts.

Muzzle arcs glowed white hot; each plasma bolt was hyper compressed, siphoned from the a dead kaiju's own stolen uni organ integrated into multiple ammo and routed through a thermal regulator embedded deep in the weapon’s spine.

The air ionized in her wake. Then impact; searing clusters tore through Hahakumo’s upper cranium with surgical aggression. There was no clean exit: the top hemisphere of the kaiju’s skull blew outward in a convex bloom of fluid, cartilage, and charred synaptic matter.

Neural fiber snapped mid-firing, glistening in the air like ruptured wire. Its scream followed an instant later, a vibratory shockwave that rattled bamboo stalks and blew leaves clean off their branches. Subaru didn’t pause. The barrel of he rotary cannon was still spinning.

She let the momentum carry her.

With a snap-roll twist, Captain Subaru disengaged, using the recoil to redirect her body mid-fall. She caught the angled stalk of a bamboo shoot with one foot, boots magnetized just enough to grip and slide. Bark cracked beneath her weight.

She dropped again, rebounding off another stalk lower down. The suit dampened the impact, but every joint reverberated with kinetic strain. Her descent wasn’t clean, it was tactical.

She angled toward the kaiju’s exposed dorsal ridge: a thickened, vascular spine that ran down the creature’s back, pulsing with heat and raw regenerative current. That’s where it was knitting itself back together.

A HUD holographic appeared from her chest just the above the suit, and it flashed orange, “Stabilizers at 74%,” said her AI. “Energy redistribution advised.”

“Override it, Hitsuguya,” she muttered, eyes locked on the spine of the writhing behemoth. “We're not done.”

Hitsuguya Botan hesitated. The hell? At this point you'd only have one unleashed combat power if you release another, he thought as his fingers hovered over the console.

Around him, the terminal’s interface flickered in sync with her vitals: body heat, neural latency, suit strain, status of her suit.

“Hitsuguya,” her voice cut through the command operation again, firmer. “Override.”

The tension was palpable in the air around him. With one last flick of his wrist, Hitsuguya Botan set the protocol in motion. With one last flick of his wrist, Botan set the protocol in motion.

The energy that followed surged through the air once again, an invisible force rippling across the battlefield. For Captain Subaru, it was as if her very core had been primed for war. Her suit, now perfectly calibrated again at 92%, locked into overdrive, ready to unleash another hell.

Internal gyros whined as energy rerouted through the synthetic musculature, arc-light pulses flowing into the spinal capacitor, then bleeding outward to the integrated kaiju-core conduit bolted inside the cannon’s weapon spine.

The air pressure changed.

First came the sound; a dull thum like a pulse from inside a concrete wall. Then the glow,  pale green white, liquid light, crawling across the rotary barrel in jagged chevrons of energy. Plasma rails aligned. Stabilizers locked. Ammo cycle reinitiated.

She didn’t need a countdown. She pulled the trigger.

The rotary cannon responded with a shriek; hyper-compressed plasma vented in concentric arcs, each bolt streaking forward like a white-hot comet tipped in surgical green. Air ionized on contact, splitting open as the rounds impacted.

Hahakumo’s body lurched mid-recovery. It had turned toward the sound, partially blind, limbs shivering in confused traction.

The blast struck clean through it. The impact flash was instantaneous; a coronal bloom of light that flared green, then white, then black as the matter inside the kaiju cooked itself alive.

The dorsal ridge fractured. Its outer shell peeled back in molten layers. Underneath, a fibrous network of thermal nodes and bioelectric conduits, ruptured open like a pressure vessel.

The kaiju screamed, a high-register biomech howl that split at the edges like a corrupted audio file. Its limbs struck blindly, seizing air and earth in equal measure.

What remained of Hahakumo reeled. The blast had annihilated the upper quadrant of its skull, leaving a cauterized crater rimmed with liquefied chitin and exposed neural tendrils writhing like severed power cables.

Steam rose from the wound in thick gouts, venting under pressure as if the kaiju's body couldn't decide whether to clot or combust. The impact fractured its orientation; optic clusters ruptured, spatial organs collapsed. It screamed again, this time wet and unmodulated, a biomechanical wail that fractured in pitch as pain overtook instinct.

Blind, staggering, and regenerating at a fast rate, but slower than before, it lashed out. Limbs of tendon and bamboo-hard muscle whipped the air in random trajectories, snapping trees in half, gouging the terrain. One strike cratered a hillside.

Another limb swept low, blind and fast, tearing a gouge through the undergrowth. Captain Subaru, still airborne, had no angle to react.

"Captain!" Vice Captain Kaede fired. Three, four and five sharp bursts of uni socket ammo from her rifle lanced the joint of the incoming limb.

Tissue ruptured. The limbs dropped short, embedding into the soil with a wet impact that sent debris spraying across the fireline.

Platoon Leader Igarashi’s squad was already in position, sightlines tight, tracking movement through infrared. Platoon Leader Kawashima’s team shifted left to cut off the kaiju’s hind quadrant, pinning it with coordinated suppressive bursts.

Subaru didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. They had her six. And Subaru wasn’t finished.

Subaru twisted mid-air, limbs compacted, centrifugal force bracing her descent. Her boots hit Hahakumo’s back with a sharp resonance like steel against wet bark. The surface flexed underfoot, sinewy and unsteady, already regenerating in fast, coagulating webs.

She didn’t hesitate. With a single fluid motion, she routed additional energy from the synthetic fiber lining her suit; 25% diverted to the blade. Energy crackled down its spine as she activated it to conductivity.

The skin hadn’t healed; it had patched itself. Wrong textures, uneven density. She adjusted her footing over a hairline seam, found the spinal junction, and drove the blade in.

The knife sank clean. Not into muscle, but into a gelatinous, semi-reactive mass; hot, acidic, and loose. Chemical vapor hissed on contact. She cut laterally across the dorsal midline. The edge met a vertical nerve trunk. The kaiju reacted instantly.

Hahakumo screamed, loud, direct, almost mechanical. A shriek driven not by breath but by muscular torque against its thoracic airways. Bamboo splintered below.

A spasm buckled its entire frame. The dorsal ridge pitched upward. Subaru was thrown halfway off, one boot slipping. She caught a ridge, stabilized, and resumed cutting. Steam and neural fluid vented in sharp bursts as the backplate split under pressure.

She made one final incision to rupture a secondary junction. Then she jumped.

Yamashiro Yamamoto’s gaze remained fixed on the feed. His voice was calm, but the urgency was clear. "Chief, the core should be within range." He blinked, glancing up towards the elevated platform,

"The drones failed to pick anything up, but we need confirmation. What's your assessment? Should we continue?"

Tanaka Eijichi winced. The kaiju’s convulsions and visible regeneration were unsettling. It wasn’t finished, but something about it felt wrong. His eyes flicked from the tactical display to the screen. His hands now on the console as his posture was tense, restrained, as he waited for Yozora Y/n to direct the next move.

Yozora Y/n didn’t hesitate. She shifted her stance, one hand braced on her headset, eyes locked on the live feed. “Captain. Hold position. Do not re-engage until I say.”

Her eyes narrowed on the feed. Subaru’s squad had ceased fire, but their formation didn’t relax. No one lowered their weapons. They circled the kaiju’s body in coordinated motion, rifles tracking. Behavior suggested caution, not relief. Something was off.

She frowned, something is wrong, but what is it? 

Nogisaka Juzo exhaled sharply through his nose. “It collapsed. Viscous mass, partial regeneration, but still no core in sight.”

"No core exposure detected,” Hitsuguya Botan reported from the comms array. “Drones show occlusion in the thoracic cross-section. Still regenerating.” firm and clear for all the people in Ariake Maritime Base's operation command to hear, 

Onscreen, Hahakumo lifted one limb. A ragged, jointed extension of carbon-chitin composite, and too organic like bamboo, twitched and then rose. 

The surface steamed violently, heat warping the nearby air. Puncture wounds vented from uni-socket ammo breached coolant lines. Chitinous flesh blistered and melted along the abdomen, but beneath the fluidic damage, layers of fibrous muscle reknit, tendons squirming like independent organisms.

The thing groaned, something of a low frequency peristaltic heave, like pressurized fluid flexing against organic valves.

Yozora Y/n pressed two fingers to her headset. “Captain Subaru, visual on the core?”

A pause. A static, and the faint sound of steams rising either from Subaru's units' rifles or from Hahakumo's.

“Negative,” Subaru replied. “We’ve got exposure in the dorsal cavity. It’s hollow. It’s healing, were still searching up close for it to surface.” looking over at Vice Captain Kaede and Platoon Leaders Igarashi and Kawashima carefully poking Hahakumo with a stick. 

It didnt react.

Across the command center of Eighth Division, Operational Leader Hitsuguya Hana had been tracking their thermal signatures for hours.

She turned, pale. “The eggs,” she said abruptly to Botan. “Thermal spike, external clutches in the bamboo canopy. They’re… twitching.” watching as the new aerial drone captures these abomination came to life.

Hitsuguya Botan stared at the auxiliary display. Readings spiked red. Embryonic sacs previously dormant now flared bright on infrared. Internal temperatures surged past metabolic thresholds. 

“They’re accelerating,” he whispered. “From embryo to somatic maturity in under thirty seconds—Eighth Division Liaison do you see this?”

A pause—too long.".....Solid Copy.."  Ebisu’s voice crackled through the channel, shaky, thinned by stress.

Normally crisp and professional, it now carried a tremor beneath the surface, like someone fighting to stay composed while watching a dam burst.

It was disbelief dressed in protocol.

Ariake Maritime Base fell into a stunned silence.

Onscreen, embryo sacs once motionless now pulsed with erratic heat. Vein-like channels brightened on the scan, flowing inward from the outer membrane. Growth rates surpassed known limits.

A dozen screens captured by the drones lit up at once.

People stood up. Conversations stopped.

The footage showed the same egg clutches they had previously marked. Now they writhed. Membranes stretched and flexed like overinflated plastic, internal structures in high definition.

Itami Keiji, with all his years of service to Japan, was silent for once, his mouth gaping wide. The disturbing feeding habits of Hahakumo, and now this.

Watching the feed, Akira Kurusu, leaned forward. “If it lacks a core, how do we neutralize it?” no one answered, unsure.

Itami Keiji, his brow furrowed, didn’t respond. Neither did Nogisaka Juzo—until the latter spoke, face stony. “Neutralize it regardless. It’s still transmitting.”

“Speed rate?” Ignoring the older chief's command, Yozora Y/n asked tightly.

Hitsuguya’s voice was dry. “Unsustainable. Fifteen new signatures, projected triple in sixty seconds.”

A shout from comms, coming from the Eighth Division operation center, “We’re losing visual on three sectors. Feed's deteriorating!”

“The drone net’s destabilizing,” another tech reported. “Signal distortion—something’s broadcasting.”

“Source?” Shinomiya Isao barked.

“Back to the original kaiju,” Hitsuguya Botan answered. “It’s sending out a signal.”

Y/n didn’t wait. She turned to Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer, eyes narrowed like drawn blades. “Initiate Level 4 lockdown for Komatsushima City. Full perimeter.”

Ebisu Tokuko blinked, “But Chief—”

“If those eggs hatch and breach the grove’s outer limit, that city’s the first line of destination, now keyed it to the Eighth Division.”

She turned back to the screen. The egg sacs distending, limbs forming beneath wet membrane.

Yozora’ Y/n's jaw tightened. “Captain Suburu, do you copy?”

Then the screen rippled, compressing. Subaru adjusted her stance, boots planted in the soft mulch of bamboo litter. The acrid air clung to her synthetic suits, burnt resin, blood, and scorched chitin.

Smoke curled from the creature’s ruptured thorax. Its limbs twitched with irregular spasms, nerve loops firing blindly. And yet... it wasn’t dying.

She narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong. The wound was massive, its chest cavity torn wide, but the core, the organ every kaiju possessed, wasn’t there.

“Target weakened,” Kaede reported, breath tight. “Still no core.”

Captain Subaru stepped forward, her rotary cannon's barrel lowering a fraction. Steam hissed from the exposed tissue. A thin line of regenerating muscle contracted, coiling like time-lapse footage in real-time.

Blood, tendons, severed nerve filaments, all there. But no core. No glow. No spherical lattice of carbonized tissue, no energy field. Nothing.

She keyed into command. “Copy, Chief Yozora. Core still undetected. No core visual.”

At Ariake Maritime Base, Yozora Y/n stood behind the central console, in a elevated platform, expression unreadable. The command room grew quiet.

"What?" Sweat drops from Sakamoto Aira's temple, Tanaka Eijichi besides her flinched, to think such a human mind could create something like this, it's mind boggling for Aira.

Fingers flew across the keys, clacking like gunfire. Eighth Division operational leader Hitsuguya Hana leaned into her console, sweat streaking down her temple as she routed directly through the Defense Ministry channel.

“Komatsushima is within secondary breach range,” she muttered, already keying the military liaison node.

A red light lit on her screen, priority status accepted. Sirens began to wail across the coastal city. Civilian alert systems crackled online. “Initiating Lockdown Protocol Four,” she relayed into her earpiece.

“All civilians rerouted to subterranean shelters. Requesting immediate dispatch of armoured transports, standard capacity buses, military retrofitted. Estimated time of arrival 10 minutes or less.” Outside, the streets emptied with surgical precision.

Yamashiro Yamamoto, widened his eyes at the feed at one of the aerial drones provided, he turned his head slightly but his eyes still locked onto one of the screen,

"Chief Yozora..." Yamamoto whispered,

It hit Captain Subaru all at once; not as fear, but as miscalculation. Subaru stared at the exposed cavity of Hahakumo, its meat reknitting like strands of coiled wire, fibers tightening under wet cartilage.

There was no glow. No pulsing mass. No core. Only viscera; redundant, purposeless, growing. Her breath caught in her throat.

This thing wasn’t dying. It had never intended to. 

She immediately keyed directly at Ariake, 

On the feed, Hahakumo shifted. No sudden movement. Just a subtle draw of breath, if it still could breathe, and then—

It shrieked.

A signal. A biomechanical emission. The sound tore out of Hahakumo’s thorax with no movement of mouth or mandible. The air vibrated in concentric waves, a piercing oscillation just beyond human tolerance. Audio feeds across all channels spiked and crashed. Drone telemetry fractured, flickered, then flatlined.

The groves itself seemed to seize. Bamboos trembled. Leaves rattled from their stalks in sudden cascades.

Kaede froze, rifle slipping low, eyes wide as if caught mid seizure. The air tingled. Not metaphorically. Her skin actually buzzed.

Platoon Leader Igarashi went to one knee mid-stride, wincing, rifle dropping momentarily as his auditory balance failed. Platoon Leader Kawashima’s squad staggered as one.

One officer dropped prone and began coughing uncontrollably, the sound having ruptured something deeper than eardrums, vestibular disruption, possibly cochlear trauma.

The shriek had weight. It wasn’t noise. It was a command, broadcast across frequencies both digital and biological. The kaiju was no longer fighting. It was signaling.

And something, many things, were answering.

For five full seconds, the screens went dark. The command center held its breath.

Then....motion.

One of the central displays flickered back to life, clarity returning in bursts, artifacted and grainy. But enough.

It showed each pulsing, distending, membranes tightening. One ruptured. Then two more. Limbs unfolded in segments. Wet, glistening, multi-eyed faces twitched as chitin expanded to full size.

Yozora Y/n's brow twitched, scowling as she ignores some of the operational leaders frightened gasps,

 

God help them all.

 

The shriek hit like a blade across the eardrum. The sound went straight into her skull. The world snapped to white. She staggered, one knee buckling, teeth grinding from the sudden, impossible pressure behind her eyes.

Somewhere to her left, Kawashima screamed, a short, clipped sound, cut off as he slammed his hand to the side of his head. Igarashi dropped to a crouch. Vice Captain Kaede recoiled, one boot slipping on moss-slick bark as her hands clamped to the sides of her head. Her jaw clenched. "What was that?" she hissed, teeth vibrating.

Tiiing-tiiiing-tiiiing-tiiiiiiiing.

A metallic, and ear splitting sound hung in the air. As if the frequency had carved the atmosphere itself, left it trembling. The bamboo forest seemed to vibrate in place.

Then the earth shook. The tremors arrived in calibrated intervals, like depth charges against the soil. Subaru felt it before she registered it: a pulse in the soles of her boots, a subdermal thud that reverberated through ligaments and bone.

Loose gravel jumped. Bamboo stalks rattled, knocking together with insectile chatter. The forest canopy shivered.

Whatever was coming wasn't just moving, it was displacing mass, fast and with terrifying precision.

Subaru turned toward the tremor. Her eyes stung. Focus blurred.

Meters away, a shape moved. Emerging from the tree line. Fast.

Another one.

It looked like Hahakumo. Same angular mass. Same limbs like sharpened bamboo stalks. Same bifurcated abdomen. Same claws of a crustacean. But larger. Its movements were faster, less erratic, more precise. It wasn’t stumbling. It was sprinting, not towards them, but towards Hahakumo.

Captain Subaru opened her mouth.

“Command,” she managed, voice ragged through the feedback still bleeding in her ears, “Chief...there's no core, Repeat, Hahakumo has no core.” she coughed, voice dry and wet at the same time,

"There never was." 

Almost simultaneously, Hitsuguya Botan’s voice cut in from the comms, jagged with disbelief.

“All embryonic sacs are hatched. Many more about to. Mass increase beyond parameters—it's exponential—”

Subaru didn’t hear the rest. Her eyes were locked on the approaching giant. Her brain was still catching up to what it meant.

The conversation had turned brittle.

"That thing had no core," Nogisaka Juzo said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. The Chief of Defense Force Eastern Command's face, lined with decades of kaiju conflict, had gone slack with disbelief. "And it still regenerated..."

Itami Keiji’s voice followed, hushed but firm. "How in the world does Dr. Orchizuya engineer something like that? No core, and it’s still moving? Still healing? That violates every containment protocol—"

“—And every biological precedent,” Juzo cut in.

The screen flickered again. Grainy, high-contrast footage burst onto one of the lower displays, degraded signal from a retreating drone still catching fragments of the battlefield. A new mass lumbered into frame. Larger. Sleeker.

The same bamboo-stalk limbs, the same bifurcated abdomen, but more refined, less raw. It crawled across the ruptured, twitching body of the original Hahakumo. Then, without lowering its head, it reared slightly, abdomen arching.

A narrow ovipositor unfolded, jointed and glistening, and seized a swath of torn biomass. It brought the tissue to its forward limbs, grasping pedipalps fused with crustacean claws.

And began to feed.

The control room went utterly silent.

Wet tearing noises, muted through the grainy feed, somehow filled the void louder than any klaxon. One clawed limb hooked beneath the mother’s thorax, another forced into the abdominal cavity. The juvenile, if it could still be called that, wrenched upward and pulled.

Itami Keiji’s mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then: “Why? Why consume the source?”

Murmurs rippled through the operation floor, operators muttering theories half-formed: energy transfer, resource reclamation, hormonal imprint decay.

Yozora Y/n stared. Her voice, when it came, was almost thoughtful. “It’s cannibalizing the parent. Just like primitive arachnid DNA it possessed. Parental cannibalism.”

“It’s not the source,” Shinomiya Isao said suddenly, breaking his silence. His voice was cold and decisive. “That's not its parent. It's a clone.”

Every head turned.

Shinomiya Isao's eyes never wavered from the feed, hands still on the desk. “Dr. Orochizuya didn’t build a kaiju with a hierarchy. He built one with a reproductive DNA. Has something to do with a asexually reproducing lizard." He frowned,

"Self-similar units. Each designed to reproduce. They’re not feeding. They’re absorbing. Assimilating. She created a recursive organism.”

Y/n's eyes flicked to him. “And with no command node, no alpha…”

“They’ll keep multiplying,” Isao finished. “Until something resets the cycle.”

He turned towards the main data terminal. “Ninth Liaison. Call the Ninth Division base. Now. Deploy Captain Takenaka, his Vice Captain, and three platoon leaders. Full squads.”

The Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer obey,  moved quickly to comply, earpiece snapping into place with sharp efficiency.

Shinomiya Isao continued, his gaze locked on the feed that remained little more than a series of jagged, grainy images, due to the call of Hahakumo  “Tell them: Man made kaiju. Regenerative. No core. Cloning behavior confirmed. Equip with head mounted thermal monocular on. Execute on contact.”

Her gaze remained fixed ahead, but her voice, cutting through the silence, was almost a murmur. “Director General... Is there still something in the redacted file you care to show us?”

"Something you haven't said before?" She corrected, 

The question hung in the air, each word heavy with meaning. The quiet that followed was oppressive. Even Keiji and Juzo exchanged a look, both sensing the gravity of the shift. Yozora Y/n didn’t wait for an answer, knowing that Isao’s silence was not hesitation, but control.

He turned his head slightly, the flicker of something dangerous flashing across his stoic expression. “There is,” he said, the word loaded with intent.

The Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer’s voice rose in urgency, “Ninth Division, emergency in Shikoku—”

Y/n didn’t react. Her eyes were already on Isao, waiting for him to continue, they have little time, but she will make room for whatever Shinomiya will say...

Meanwhile, inside the prison container, far from the command center.

The walls were cold, sterile. A single bulb flickered intermittently, casting shadows that seemed to pulse with every erratic flick of light. Dr. Orochizuya sat hunched over, scribbling furiously into a notebook. His words came in a detached, almost rhythmic mutter, barely coherent.

“Eight years, ninety days, eighteen hours, twenty minutes and eighteen seconds…” His voice was barely a whisper. He seemed to be talking to himself, but it was clear he was speaking with conviction, even obsession it seems.

He giggled, a short, broken sound that only served to deepen the unease in the air. “They’ll come for me, they’ll search the files...”

He paused, his hands shaking as he flipped through the pages, each worn edges were evidence of the years spent trapped in this darkened cell.

“But I knew," he murmured, his eyes brightened with a mixture of glee and madness. "I knew they’d look. They’d ask.”

He turned a page, the slow motion deliberate, like a man unlocking the final piece of his own puzzle.

“Hahakumo, genetic splicing of Araneae, Parthenogenetic Lacertidae, deep-sea crustacean… Stomatopoda, Scyllaridae. High regeneration. Chromosomal doubling.” He said the words like they were mantras, each one more absurd than the last. “Reproductive independence. Territorial fixation.”

Then, he stopped. His eyes flickered up, as if something dawned on him. His lips curled into a grin.

“It's not just the clownfish DNA,” he said, barely audible. “I incorporated traits from the genus Amphiprion, but not for sexual polymorphism alone. Protandric sex change, yes, but more. Something else!! Yes, yes, the core...the core transference.” his hand trembling as his grip on his pen until it snap in half.

His voice trembled with excitement. “Hahakumo doesn’t have it...but one of the hatchlings does. They’ll find it. The core... it shifts, it moves between them. It doesn’t disappear. It changes.”

His gaze became faraway, his mind clearly traveling through the labyrinth of his own twisted thoughts. “It’s there, in one of them. And when it dies, it’ll reappear. To another sibling.”

As if his mind finally reached the conclusion, his voice dropped to a near whisper. “You can’t stop it. Not until you find the core. And it’s in one of them.”

"What." Juzo said, cold edge lacing his words he's about to spit out, "were you thinking?"

He leaned forward, hand flexing open and shut at the lacquered desk. “You were Director General. You sat on this. And you still didn’t flag it?”

Yozora’ Y/n's head turned towards the two older officers. Just enough to register Shinomiya’s expression. Still calm. Still flat. And briefly glances at Itami Keiji who only shook his head.

Isao Shinomiya didn’t flinch. His expression was a placid, unreadable slate, eyes unmoving beneath the low light of the operations bay. The silence he let hang was its own kind of judgment.

"Again," Shinomiya replied, “it wasn’t supposed to survive.”

Nogisaka Juzo’s face hardened, one eye scowling. He slammed his left hand down onto the edge of the table.

"Bullshit!" Sakamoto Aira flinched from her station, Akira Kurusu pretend he didnt heard anything.

The crack of flesh on wood snapped every nearby operational leaders, liaisons and technicians to attention. “You knew this thing carried cross-order DNA! You knew it had a DNA that transpose its core! And you didn’t—”

Shinomiya Isao’s reply came like steel.

“We deployed based on present threat detection,” he said. “You want blame, Nogisaka? Blame Orochizuya. Blame every scientist that signed off on paper who willingly experiment illegally on animal DNA and kaiju cells meant for standard weaponry.”

Nogisaka Juzo scowled, and Shinomiya Isao stared back at him, head on.

Y/n raised one hand, to cut through it. “Enough. We don’t have the luxury of a postmortem.”

Juzo leaned back, the fire still burning in his chest, a breath escaping like it scraped his throat on the way out. “You sat on this,” he said again, quieter now. Bitter. “You sat on this and let us deploy live squads.”

Shinomiya Isao glanced at him, before looking at the central feed, "And they will live through it." 

Nogisaka Juzo stared at Shinomiya Isao longer than necessary, but he sighed and shook his head, "I need coffee..."

At that, Itami Keiji laughed, 

Y/n exhaled once; short, shallow, a forced recalibration more than a breath. Her shoulders didn’t move.

Only the slight clenching of her right prosthetic arm gave it away. She turned, spine still rigid, and faced the Ninth Liaison Relay Officer.

He stood at full attention despite the flicker of sweat trailing past his ears. His right hand hovered centimeters above the console, fingers twitching faintly with anticipation. The earpiece clipped to his ear, it blinked amber, waiting on her word.

“They’re not clear yet,” she said flatly, “Captain Subaru’s unit is falling back, disruption exposure from the acoustic pulse, possibly concussive." Her voice had iron in it. "Visual field compromised. They're en route to the safe zone, but they're still inside the engagement radius. Do not count them as secure.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

“Tell the Ninth Division's operational leaders that Captain Takenaka's unit to engage upon arrival. Eighth Division will not re-engage until they’re stabilized.”

His fingertips dropped to the keys, typing without looking. He was trained for this, transmit orders before questions could form.

Y/n continued, her words a precise vector. “ No staggered formation. No ground staging. Captain Takenaka and his squad will insert by transport plane, high-angle, hard-drop. Immediate strike."

The officer’s brow twitched slightly, just once. A momentary flicker of human processing. Then he spoke into his earpiece, voice low and clipped. “Command authorization confirmed. Ninth Division: estimated time of arrival Tokushima prefecture, bamboo groves, sixteen minutes. Orders relayed and locked.”

She didn’t acknowledge him. Her eyes had already shifted back to the data feed, grainy, flickering, unstable. But her stance changed slightly: one boot anchored outward, weight distributing like someone bracing for recoil.

Because sixteen minutes wasn’t a buffer. It was a countdown.

---

 

Captain Subaru stared at it. And it stared right back at her.

It didn't move, it didn't make a sound, except for a low, metronomic ticking that echoed from its thorax. The creature’s body was still coated in mucus, limbs angled like collapsed scaffolding, its bifurcated abdomen steaming where it brushed the cooler air.

One of Hahakumo’s offspring. Not quite juvenile. Not quite mature despite being larger than its progenitor. But fast. Intelligent. And for the moment... still.

Vice Captain Kaede slumped against the trunk of a bamboo stalk, one palm braced against the moss-covered bark, the other pressed hard to the side of her skull. Blood leaked from one ear. Her jaw was clenched so tightly her teeth visibly shook.

Platoon Leader Igarashi had collapsed fully, prone, twitching. Shallow breaths. His nervous system still trapped in echo pulses from the shriek. One eye barely open. Pupils unresponsive. A high-frequency seizure.

Only Platoon Leader Kawashima remained on his feet. Staggered, but up. Rifle lowered, not out of discipline, out of paralysis. He was breathing through his mouth, too fast. Sweat streaked down his temple. The kaiju was looking at them. All of them. But especially Subaru.

Their earpieces were dead. Blown out. Fried the instant the acoustic pulse hit. Subaru’s earpiece crackled uselessly, picking up nothing but phantom gain. The signal net was shredded, no visuals from Eighth Division base nor from Ariake Maritime Base, no audio, no satellite ping.

The aerial drones had fared little better. One lay in the underbrush behind them, its casing split open like a seed pod, internal optics dark. Two more circled, jittering in and out of altitude lock, each fighting a system error loop caused by the pulse distortion. Surely they still could capture some feed, albeit it grainy and stuttering visuals.

Captain Subaru was sure she managed to report that Hahakumo has no core...

She cursed, with the realisation that if the progenitor doesn't possess one, it could at least be one of its offsprings has the core. Either way, they still have to kill each one of them.

And Subaru can only use her unleashed combat power one more time before her suit overheat.

Half of Igarashi’s officers were down. Three unmoving. One trying and failing to sit up, smeared in dark red from the shoulder down.

Kawashima’s squad was worse.One was clearly dead, bent backward at the waist, spine shattered. Another was moaning, barely conscious, weapon still slung uselessly across his chest.

The forest held a strange hush. There was no insect calls. No bird chatter. Just wind moving through tall stalks and that rhythmic tick...tick...tick from the kaiju’s thorax.

It was standing like a coiled tripod, lower limbs bracing across uneven roots, angled just enough to look relaxed. But its head, if that grotesque shape could be called a head, remained fixed on them. Unblinking. Studying.

Subaru didn’t know if that was a mercy or a countdown.

Her eyes burned from not blinking, tears already rimming at her eye ducts. She didn’t look away. Couldn't.

Kaede turned her head slightly, as if to whisper something, but no voice came. Her throat clicked, raw from earlier screaming.

The ticking grew louder. No pattern acceleration. Just insistence. A signal, maybe. Or a threat. Or something worse, communication.

An officer to her left moved. Young. Too fast. Hands trembling as he adjusted the grip on his rifle. The barrel rose.

Subaru extended one hand, low, steady. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Her palm was flat, fingers slightly curled. Don’t. Move.

The soldier froze.

Because this wasn’t a standoff. It was assessment. The kaiju was measuring them.

And for now, it hadn’t moved because it hadn’t decided what they were; prey, threat, or something else.

Subaru exhaled. Slowly. In her gut, she knew: they were at its mercy.

The Eighth Division operation center was no more than a two-tiered hall built into the side of a reinforced hangar at Matsuyama, central prefecture of Shikoku island.

The lighting was dim, yellow-tinted fluorescents overhead, and the air was thick with machine heat, human breath, and the stale tang of recirculated coffee.

Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan stood center-row, sweat dampening the collar of his uniform. He leaned over the main feed console, his fingers clacking across the keys as the tactical overlays shifted, then stuttered, then reloaded again in lower fidelity.

“Packet loss,” one of the techs barked from the drone operations desk. “Feed from drone 5 and drone 7 is nonviable. Pulling telemetry now.”

The central screen glitched. Images burst in and out; frames of bamboo glade, then darkness, then a thermal outline of something large and still.

A single working aerial drone, drone 2, was holding altitude, but its infrared was corrupted, heat blooms blotting the screen like tumors. Another drone, drone 9, spun erratically in its feed, gyroscope compensating but not recovering.

Around him, twenty technicians manned their stations in tight formation, three rows deep, shoulder to shoulder, backs hunched forward. Fingers flew over input pads. Eyes flicked between consoles, wall screens, and external diagnostics as one system after another blinked red, then yellow, then green for half a second, only to fail again.

Hitsuguya's jaw was set hard. Sweat beaded along his temples. He reached for a nearby towel, wiped it once across his forehead and under his chin, then dropped it back on the console shelf.

“Keep drone 2 alive,” he snapped. “Shift power from lateral feed to direct uplink. Manual stabilization if you have to.”

"Roger,” came the reply. The drone ops team moved like muscle memory, fast, clipped. One technician adjusted a gimbal control with his hands, guiding the drone by haptic interface rather than onboard AI.

Another comms officer piped in from behind Hitsuguya's left shoulder. “New batch of aerial drones launching four minutes. They’ll piggyback on the next unit of Eighth's arrival vector.”

Hitsuguya Botan nodded. “Update?”

“Ninth Division, estimated time of arrival eight minutes to outer perimeter. Per Chief Yozora’s directive, they're coming in hot.”

“Good.” He exhaled hard through his nose. “Any word on Captain Subaru?”

A silence followed. Another operational leader turned her head, Hitsuguya Hana. Her hair was pulled back tightly, a headset clipped to her collarbone. She didn’t speak, just gave him a soft negative with her eyes.

“No audio. No relay. No pulse beacon.”

Hitsuguya Botan’s fingers tapped once on the console. Then,  “That shriek...they took the full brunt of it. Kaede, Igarashi, Kawashima, if any of them are still upright, it’s a miracle.”

He glanced at the screen again. The drone’s visual blinked, showing their four heat signatures. Faint, unstable.

“She still needs backup,” he muttered, help is on the way, “The clone, offspring, whatever that thing is, even if it's not the core-bearer or it is.... Either way, it's too calm. Too...aware.”

Another tech near the second-row pit lifted her headset. “Update from Recon Sector Eighteen: Another Eighth Division platoon is rerouting. They’ve reached the hatching site. And preparing for engagement”

Hitsuguya Botan looked over sharply. “Size report?”

“Surface displacement puts them… at original scale of the previous kaiju. One to one.”

He swore under his breath.

Then it happened.

The drone feed crackled once. Hard static. And then the waveform peaked. A shriek.

It punched through the speakers like a blade. Several techs recoiled. One dropped her stylus. Another winced and slammed his headset to the table.

Hitsuguya Botan stood frozen.

The sound cut out.

On screen, the image resolved, just for a moment. The drone, drone 2, still hovering. Trees swaying unnaturally. And at the edge of the frame, a figure, massive. Curled legs. Extended spine. Subaru's remaining units started retreating and shooting open fire.

The screen shimmered and went black.

Botan didn’t blink. His voice came out low, almost a whisper.

“Oh my god.”

---

 

That officer to her left had one job. One.

The sound was audible, a dry crack of a twig beneath a boot, sharp and out of place in the hush of the bamboo grove. It echoed like gunfire. The clone twitched. Its head turned with inhuman precision, black  and golden reptilian eyes locking onto the source.

Muscles beneath its skin flexed, alertness surging through its limbs. Captain Subaru froze. For one suspended breath, everything held still. Then she exhaled through her teeth, muttering low and fast, “God, give me patience,” as the thing began to move.

In less than a second, it lunged, limbs like sharpened scaffolding slashing out. A single bamboo-leg caught two of Igarashi’s men mid-turn. Their bodies lifted, flung sideways like broken mannequins, slammed against a copse of trees. Cracking. Screaming.

One man slammed into a tree trunk with the sound of ruptured bones and cracking bark. Another tumbled end-over-end and vanished into the undergrowth.

Vice Captain Kaede screamed, “CONTACT!”, raw, near deaf. Her voice tore from her as blood wept again from her eardrums. She rolled against a boulder, bracing one leg against the base, rifle to shoulder.

Platoon Leader Igarashi, lips frothing slightly. Subaru knelt beside him and, with one hand, lifted him by the scruff of his synthetic combat rig, hauling the weight of the barely, conscious officer upright. Two others flanked them, supporting Igarashi’s sides.

“Move!” Subaru barked. “Flank, draw it! Don’t let it charge!”

Officers scattered into staggered cover. Shots fired, sporadic, aimed not to kill but to confuse, distract, split focus. The clone’s gaze ping-ponged between figures, reacting to angles rather than threat hierarchy.

It then let out a second shriek, sharper than the last, it rippled through the air like a sonic blade. The tremor deepened. Trees shifted. The earth cracked. Then came movement.

From the forest line, fifteen more emerged.

Same bifurcated abdomen. Same obsidian, golden black reptilian eyes. Same unnerving gait. Each the size of the progenitor. The sound of chitin grinding and long, jointed limbs brushing bark as they crawled into formation.

Kawashima turned to Subaru. “I’ll cover the retreat. You have sixty seconds.”

Subaru scowled, furious. “That’s not a command you give yourself.”

“I’m not asking.” He chambered another uni socket round. Rolling his shoulders, steady. Three of his officers mirrored him, stepping up beside him.

One limped, one had smoke venting from his backplate, his synthetic suit was overheating. The last removed his rebreather and flung it aside. A stun grenade in a gloved hand.

He pulled the pin and threw.

It detonated against the kaiju’s face. The flash was white, raw. The creature screamed as its inner eyes burst, staggering backward.

Kaede screamed at them. “It’s suicide! We’re not—” but the words never finished.

A scream tore through the grove as one of the officers was yanked clean off the ground, a bamboo thick appendage punching through his skull mid-sprint, lifting his body like a ragdoll before flinging it into the underbrush.

Kaede turned just in time to see another mass coming, skidding low across the forest floor. It was the first clone before....or its siblings, she didn't know—barreling forward, all twitching limbs and snapping chela.

She didn’t have time to raise her rifle. She barely had time to breathe. The thing lunged, and that was when the impact came.

A matte black HUV tore through the grove at speed, its reinforced frame grinding over fractured bamboo trunks. No horn. No warning. Just raw tonnage and steel force.

It hit the clone's center mass with a crunching whump, not slowing, the front fender shearing open a swath of translucent armor. The sound was brutal, bone giving under pressure, a wet shriek as the kaiju’s innards burst across the grove with sprayed blood.

The clone was thrown back, crashing against a tree trunk, its limbs twitching erratically. The HUV braked in a skid, mud and splinters kicking up in arcs around it.

Then it swerved, tires digging into wet earth, and stopped directly in front of the surviving squad. Five stood: Subaru, Igarashi, Kawashima, Kaede, and the last officers.

Igarashi, barely conscious, managed a groan of disbelief.

Subaru squinted, and then saw through the cracked, tinted side glass. Driver’s door kicked open.

Platoon Leader Rei.

“I told you bastards I wasn’t finished,” she said, brushing a trail of dry blood from her bad ear. She walked with a slight limp. One eye was blackened.

Behind her, her squad and new batch of aerial drones followed.

Six more open roof Hummer units crashed through the clearing. The roof had been torn off, leaving the crew exposed to the elements, while the doors, where they had once been, were now absent entirely.

Seven officers each, standard perimeter assault configuration. Each rifle already up. Their muzzles flashed as they opened fire in synchronized volleys.

"I had to get even with that skinny, bamboo egg-laying hoe..." Rei said, as she threw brand new earpieces to them, watching as two medics put Igarashi at the HUV, not knowing Hahakumo was devoured by its own young. Neither of them has the energy to inform Rei.

And for the first time in ten minutes, Subaru exhaled.

From his station, Tanaka Eijichi snorted, now feeling better, "More like an oversized lesbian hoe, respect her sexuality." Watching the new feed from the reinforced aerial drone.

Sakamoto Aira raised her brow at him from her station, Tanaka blinked, "y'know, one of her DNA, lizard laying eggs without a male..." Yamamoto side eyeing him, Tanaka huffed, "never mind." 

One junior analysis turned to his senior, "is no one going to acknowledge the fact that the Eighth Division Platoon Leader Rei literally drove an HUV at that kaiju?" He whispered, 

Another colleague joined the conversation, "Better she swats that than tear through Igarashi’s squad,” he snickered, 

"Wait, what?"

The senior barely grunts, typing in his console, "Captain Narumi Gen once played video games while on open fire," ignoring the gaping mouth of his assigned junior, he sighed, he has so much to learn.

Yozora Y/n ignored them, Her eyes moved across the screens shimmering before her, not the usual red pulses of fortitude readings or heat signatures, but a crude scatter-map plotted from field reports and analog telemetry.

Movement across Shikoku’s southern ridgeline wasn’t tracked through heat signatures or fortitude pulses, they were useless, as they learned the hard way.

Multiple screens shows each tracked clones had begun to register activity. The clones had been tagged minutes earlier using compressed delivery darts, fired from long range systems earlier.

Crude, but effective. Each tracker broadcast a narrowband signal and location now pulsing as red dots to interface with the thermal monoculars now issued to Ninth Division.

It was an old-school workaround: wildlife tagging, repurposed for monsters.

Behind her, the operation center murmured with the low static of filtered signals, Yamamoto, Tanaka and Aira's voices threading through analog frequencies.

She turned to the 9th Division Liaison Relay Officer, stationed beside the auxiliary comms board. “Patch me through,” she said crisply. “Direct key to Captain Takenaka.” The liaison nodded once and initiated the high-priority chain link.

A green pulse blinked alive on the command screen. “Channel’s open, ma’am.”

Y/n leaned in, hand on her headset, eyes cold. “Captain Takenaka. This is Chief Yozora...”

The interior of the C-130 Hercules roared with the dull, ever-present thunder of four turboprop engines. Cargo nets rattled. Safety harnesses shifted with the subsonic sound that it could only make.

Outside, night loomed over Shikoku Island like a slow-turning leviathan, broken only by periodic pulses from external wingtip strobes.

Inside, the bay lights bathed the soldiers in a sterile red, black beeping low, bleaching skin tones and outlining expressions with hollow tension.

Ninth Division Captain Takenaka stood in the center aisle of the troop bay, boots planted wide on the grooved metal deck. He hadn’t buckled himself in.

Instead, he paced like a caged animal on the verge of tearing the cage down. The tip of his custom-forged bo staff clinked faintly with every third step, a long, blackened titanium shaft with reinforced ceramite cores and kaiju tissues, easily a head taller than him.

His troops, helmeted, armored, rifles up, sat shoulder-to-shoulder along the bay walls. Twenty five officers, three platoon leaders from the Ninth Division.

Nervous eyes. White-knuckle grips on rifles. One man nervously adjusted his belt full of uni socket ammo.

The air inside the plane was cold, dry, and carried the smell of gun oil, sweat, and the faintest trace of ozone, burnt circuitry from a power cell someone had overloaded during preflight.

A voice crackled through Takenaka’s headset, crisp, composed, unmistakable. "Captain Takenaka. The first clone is for Captain Subaru to engage. The rest are yours."

Yozora Y/n's voice. A direct link from Ariake Maritime HQ. Not a request. Not a debate. Just command.

There was a pause. A click. She had logged off without waiting for confirmation. The radio hissed silence in her absence.

Takenaka stopped pacing.

He turned. Leaned his staff against his shoulder. Flexed the fingers on his right hand, then pointed at the nearest bulkhead, like he was marking the exact place where Y/n's  ghost had spoken.

“She’s got gall, that woman,” he said, voice like gravel shaken in a steel cup. A faint grin pulled at his lips, teeth white beneath blond stubble. “Sending us in like some ghostbusters after her favorite golden girl cracks the ice.”

No one laughed. The engines did.

He rotated the staff down, planting it like a flag. Then began walking again, slow and deliberate. Each footfall echoed louder than the engine noise.

“Listen up. The Eighth has been neck deep in this spider-shit since morning,” he said, gaze sweeping the bay. “They’ve got broken suits, dropped comms, low vis, and half their sensors fried by that bitch’s scream." He jutted his lower lip and nodded, as if validating the Eighth Division,

"We’ve got clean kaiju synthetic suits, unspent uni sockets, and tons of specialized defense officers on our boots. You know what that means?”

He stopped. Let the question hover.

“We're here to finish what they started.”

Silence. Tension thickened. Gloves flexed. Rifles creaked.

“They say the previous original; Hahakumo's got no core. Fine. But her babies might. I say we burn every clone, egg, and eight-legged bastard back into the evolutionary dumpster."

He picked his staff up, swung it lightly, more like a sword than a blunt weapon. "You see something skitter? You squish it. You see something shriek? You cut the throat first.” 

“We are not here for survivors. We are not here to analyze. We are not here to babysit the Eighth. We are here to wipe the slate clean.”

At that moment, a small red light blinked on above the exit ramp. 

“Captain, designation sighted. We are over Shikoku. Landing zone is hot.” One of the jump officers gave a tight gesture, two fingers chopped downward across his chest.

The bay filled with motion. Officers began unclipping harnesses. Weapons came off safeties. Thermal monoculars snapped down. The faint whirr of powered exosuit joints warming up joined the engine noise.

Takenaka moved first.

He stepped toward the rear of the plane. Wind screamed against the pressurized door as the loading ramp began to lower.

Red jungle and fractured coastlines below flared under moonlight, ruined ridgelines carved by seismic activity. Fires dotted the terrain like glowing insect eyes.

Takenaka reached up and pulled the thermal monocular down from its mount, settling it over eyes. Multiple cold silhouettes came into focus; Eighth Division officers' heat signatures low, fast, and alive.

One core came into view; glowing faintly, but its host was nowhere.

The mounted thermal monocular wasn’t calibrated for body heat. Hahakumo’s clones didn’t radiate it.

But it did register their implanted trackers; each one pulsing faintly on his lens, like tagged wolves in a snowfield.

So this is why they made us equipped with thermal goggles, He grinned. Just a fraction.

“Let’s get evil.”

Then Captain Takenaka stepped off the ramp, and vanished into the dark.

Notes:

Komatsushima is a city located in Tokushima Prefecture, Japan. Takenaka's kanji character is bamboo, and yeah, basically his weapon is a Bo staff, think of Sun Wukong's heroic staff,

I’m skipping any Hoshina scenes here on purpose, (and to the next part) this part is all about our heorine. I just want to slow things down for a second and give her a proper character moment. Just her. Like what's going on inside her head. Or basically just some character moment. Albeit slowly. To show the cost of the choices she makes, or what shaped her to be this cold, brilliant chief of command operation. It’s her story right now, and I want the spotlight on her, alone.

And.... More OCs... No wonder theres only a few divisions and captains were shown (cuz i cant make up any weapon for captain/vice captain anymore😭) tho, hope you like subaru and takenaka and rei btw. Orochizuya was inspired by Orochimaru, the Kanji of their name means snake btw.

May or may not have some inaccuracies writing, because too tired/lazy to back read this chapter.

One more chapter next, and after that, would take place in ep 3, and more hoshina scenes! Tho prolly will took more days since i decided im not updating for a while.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 8: Hahakumo 3.0

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day:

Pufferfish are amazing architects. Male Japanese pufferfish create intricate sand patterns on the ocean floor to attract mates. These designs can take days to complete due to the intricate design and the rapid currents.

 

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Winter, Year 2007

 

Ocean Park was colder than she expected. The humidity clung to her skin, but the air conditioning pressed into her joints. She trailed behind the others; Hoshina Soichiro and Soshiro moving on ahead, their voices bouncing off the tile, already halfway to the jellyfish dome.

Yozora Y/n didn’t follow.

She had stopped in front of the killer whale tank.

The glass loomed. Seven inches thick, industrial-strength acrylic, refracted the water into slow, weightless waves. A single orca moved inside. Orcinus orca. No signage mentioned a name. No flashy colors or performances. Just one whale. Alone. Circling.

There was something wrong in the rhythm. The creature swam in perfect, repeated ellipses; same distance, same angle, same depth.

Like it had memorized the dimensions of its enclosure and committed itself to a mechanical orbit. The dorsal fin slumped sideways. The pigment near the eye patch had dulled slightly, as if the color itself had eroded with time.

Y/n stood close to the glass. Closer. One palm lifted, resting gently against the surface. It was cold.

Then the orca broke pattern.

A slight adjustment to its angle. A tilt. A pause.

It turned toward her.

The movement was almost imperceptible; a minute correction of trajectory, but it mattered. The orca slowed. Drifted.

And looked at her.

Not past her. Not at the crowd. At her. For three full seconds, Yozora Y/n stared into its eye.

 

Black.

 

A void that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. It was not expressive. It did not beg or perform. It simply was, a singularity of unspoken awareness. An eye that had seen deeper than she ever would.

For a moment, it felt like the glass wasn’t there.

Charles Darwin once wrote of whales with a kind of awe, noting their mammalian breath and ancient lineage with careful, almost reverent precision.

A century later, Dr. Roger Payne would record their songs; low frequency vocalizations that stretched across oceans, haunting and mathematical. He called them voices of intelligence, not instinct.

Y/n did not know these names. But somehow, she felt the weight of that legacy in the silence between herself and the whale; as if every scientific observation had only ever been a translation of this exact moment: eye to eye, species to species, one captive, one free, and neither truly understanding the other.

Like her bones remembered water. Like something in her skull cracked open and let the silence in.

No one else was watching. The others had moved on.

But she stayed.

She didn’t know why. She couldn’t name what passed between them. But the whale circled again. Slower, this time. Not mechanical. Not quite.

She pressed her fingers harder to the glass. The cold bit back. A child in a borrowed coat. A stranger in front of a captive god.

And then it was over.

The orca sank into the back of the tank, disappearing into deeper blues. The spell broke.

Y/n turned, slowly.

The others would be looking for her. But the tank felt like a tomb now.

It was too small.

Too neat. Too quiet. Orcas were supposed to live in pods, spread across entire coasts, chasing echoes in the open sea. But this one had been folded into glass, compressed into something manageable. Displayable.

Y/n stared again through the seven inches of acrylic. And thought of the headlines.

Orca Kills Trainer.

Attack During Performance.

She had seen the clips once. On the television, muted. Trainers flung like rag dolls. Panic. Screams. Then experts arguing. "It snapped." "It was unpredictable." "It’s still a predator."

She agreed with that last part.

They are apex predators.

They clap for the tricks. Smile at the docile eyes. Tell themselves it means the beast is happy. As if obedience is peace. As if captivity makes something gentle. Idiots. Idiots with not even a tiny brain they are. They dress up a predator like it’s a plush toy, then clutch at their pearls when it finally bites back.

But standing here now, Yozora Y/n thought maybe the whale hadn’t snapped.

Maybe it had just wanted out.

Desperately. Violently. Like someone pounding on a locked door with bloodied fists. Not because it was cruel. But because it had nothing left to lose.

She looked again at this particular orca’s eye. Just once.

She realized, suddenly, horribly, that this whale had once been someone’s child.

It had played once. Breached. Sung. Been named.

But that childhood, like a shell left onshore, had been taken. Filed down until all that was left was this pattern, this circle, this endless orbit.

And Yozora Y/n had looked it in the eye.

She remembered what Yozora Hoshiguma once told her. Cold. Final. "Don’t make eye contact with a dying animal,"  he’d said. "It makes you hesitate. Makes you soft."

Too late.

She had already seen it. The flicker. The faint, fading defiance behind the orca’s eye. Not hope. Not anymore.

Recognition.

That was the worst of it.

Because for a moment, it looked like the whale saw her not as a child, but as another animal, trapped in a shape too small for what she was meant to become. 

Y/n wondered what Dr. Roger Payne would have said, if he stood here now. The man who once held microphones beneath the sea and brought back the first songs; long, mournful arias carried through black water like cathedral bells.

He didn’t just listen to the whales. He believed in them. Said their voices were proof of intelligence. Culture. Grief. He’d spent his life trying to convince the world that these weren’t beasts, they were poets. Mourners. Mothers.

Dr. Roger Payne, the man who gave whales a voice when humans saw them only as meat or monsters,

What would he have said, seeing one alone in a concrete tank? Captured. Or worse, born into these walls. Never to be release.

She stared after the orca as it vanished into the deep end of its enclosure, one last ripple trailing behind.

"Don’t make eye contact with a dying animal," Hoshiguma said. "It makes you hesitate. Makes you soft."

She wondered what its name was.

What its mother used to call it, out in some forgotten stretch of wild water, before the silence.

She thought, maybe it's...

Precious.

And Yozora Y/n didn’t feel soft.

She felt shattered.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024

 

The air was cool, dry, and ionized, circulating through vent systems engineered for absolute thermal consistency.

Everything inside was matte steel, carbon frame consoles, fiber-wired terminals, and anti-glare interface glass.

There were no chairs that swiveled, no redundant angles, no ornamental casing. Each station was integrated to flush with the floor, black keys set against brushed aluminum panels that mapped directly to internal command loops.

Click. Clack. Status report.

A confirmation ping. Four more.

Another update blinked in from the Yokohama satellite. Third Division is deploying today.

No shift in movement patterns. Captain Subaru and her men are safe, 

Range recalculated. Approved.

Process locked. Command synced.

Yozora stood at the upper tier, arms folded in front of her, eyes blank but moving, tracking twelve feeds at once, all of them translating into minor neural tics.

Data scrolled across the central interface in compressed bands; clean, pulsing pings from the tracer darts embedded earlier.

Each clone’s position broadcasted in staggered rhythm, converging slowly across Komatsushima’s southern corridor.

Yozora Y/n tracked the movement patterns. Not random. Not a full charge either. Their convergence wasn’t chaotic, it was methodical. Controlled.

That meant something was directing them. Or more precisely; something had stopped directing them.

They’d already torn through the Eighth's forward unit. Eighth was limping, withdrawing east, confirming combat viability but requesting no further contact.

Which meant the clones weren’t chasing. They weren’t pursuing the  wounded either.

They were regrouping.

That wasn’t instinctive. Not for basic predators. Not even for hybrids unless stimulus stopped.

So the question wasn’t where they were. The question was: Why did they stop?

Her eyes shifted between screens. Movement logs flickered over tracer overlays.

Komatsushima city’s north quadrant lit up again, trackers of each clones sweeping where evacuation paths once crossed.

Nothing real. Power grid was dead. Civilians had vanished hours ago.

There was nothing left to chase.

That’s when Yozora Y/n made the connection.

Their directionality had mirrored population flow. Even as hybrids, the clones still tracked target density.

And now, the density had vanished.

It makes sense from the grainy, low quality feed, a surviving drone camera showed how the clone of Hahakumo didn't attack Subaru and her men yet, until one accidentally stepped on a twig,

Yozora stared at the data. Their paths hadn’t been random. They had followed the evacuation patterns down to the last node. Then they stopped.

It felt territorial. Reactive. Something in the splice; Lacertidae, Araneae, pointed to it. But instinct wasn’t enough.

Yozora’s thoughts narrowed, What do spiders hunt? What do crustaceans home in on? What would a clone, hybrid of multiple tracking behaviors, require to validate territory breach?

Answer; Multi-sensory target confirmation. Not visual. Not thermal alone. Compound signals.

But she needed proof. Behavioral confirmation. Something operational. Something she could weaponize.

She turned her head sharply.

Yamashiro Yamamoto, a few stations away, felt her eyes before she spoke. He straightened. Waiting.

“Pull behavioral indexing from species records: Araneae, Scyllaridae, Stomatopoda, Lacertidae." Yozora frowned,

"I want predation/response models under stressor simulations. Prioritize signal triggers; thermal, vibrational, pheromonal." Yamamoto was already moving, typing. She didn’t repeat herself.

"Cross reference with clone movement logs post Komatsushima evacuation. Deliver pattern shifts in fifteen.”

Yamamoto's fingers moved with rhythm across his terminal’s glass interface, taps and swipes executed in staccato, deliberate bursts. 

She watched the red pulses on the screen,  clustered, alive, waiting.

She would make them move. Where she wanted. When she wanted.

Behavior schematics, neural model overlays, and genomic response matrices, all bleeding together across his vertical screen in translucent layers of green and amber.

Yamamoto reviewed the consolidated feed in silence. Then he exhaled once, low, just a movement of air through nose.

His right hand tapped twice, submitting the final analysis. "Cross-reference complete."  

A beat, 

He adjusted the rim of his rectangular eyeglasses with his thumb, and leaned slightly forward as new indexing lines parsed down the left column.

"Araneae markers: high vibration sensitivity, cluster bias. Low eyesight. Movement density triggers predation reflex.”

Lines of cross-referenced species data assembled in near-real time; sequence tags, phenotypic indicators, hormonal stimulus maps,

“Scyllaridae, stomatopod lineage: acoustic/pressure response. Bioelectric mimicry triggers convergence; feeding pattern analogue.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto shifted, straightening slightly, gaze rising to the overhead display.

“Lacertidae: territorial aggression. Correlation to intrusion signatures. Peak response during synthetic stress cycles, sirens, footfall, broadcast loops.”

Above the command tier, Yozora stood at the center console, looking at the data feeds and route extrapolation clusters.

“Net result: convergence behavior tied to density stimulus, not cognition. Recommendation: simulate high pressure noise; bait via synthetic prey signal.”

She hadn’t moved since the request. Her gaze hadn’t left the threat map. The data reflected off her face in split-second pulses.

Then Yozora Y/n gave a single nod. “Logged.”

From behind her, Shinomiya Isao leaned closer, arms folded in front of him, expression unreadable under the steady glare of the interfaces.

His voice came low. “You ordered a cross reference across four species,” he said. “What’s your plan, CCO?”

She didn’t turn. Her fingers tapping once across her prosthetic arm. Red pings from the tagged clones continued to pulse in the monitor ahead.

“Komatsushima’s already evacuated,” Yozora Y/n said. “No civilians left. But the clones stopped chasing.”

“They’re freshly hatched, only hours old,” she continued. “But they respond to signal, movement, vibration, chemical trace. The moment the population disappeared, their convergence stalled.”

A beat.

“So,” she said, “I’m simulating it again.”

Yozora finally turned, just slightly, enough to glance at Isao from the corner of her vision.

“Sirens. Panic sounds. Crowd audio. Anything, enough to bait the remaining clones into swarm-focusing on one zone.”

The light from the monitor caught in the lines of her jaw as she faced forward again.

“An empty city works best when they think it isn’t.”

Eastern Command Chief of Staff  Nogisaka Juzo didn’t doubt Yozora Y/n’s competence, not for a second.

He’d stood behind her in darker hours, trusted her judgment when others hesitated. He’d watched her call impossible operations and somehow make them work.

Reckless? Sometimes.

Morally gray? Often.

But this was different.

This wasn’t triage under fire. This was deliberate, pre-emptive psychological warfare using a habitable city. 

He didn’t question her command. He questioned the line she’d just crossed.

And Juzo couldn't believe what he's hearing.

He’d caught the last half of the exchange, and his posture said he didn’t like it.

“The hell did I just hear?”

Yozora Y/n didn’t flinch. 

Itami Keiji glances at Nogisaka Juzo,

Juzo leaned closer, his gaze fixed on her like a loaded weapon. “You’re telling me you’re redirecting those kaijus; man-made ones, spliced together from the wet dreams of some mad scientist, back into Komatsushima?”

His voice was low, but every word struck like a hammer. “A civilian city, CCO. Civilian.”

He wasn't wrong.

She didn’t answer right away. The operation command center still pulsed behind her, screens, movement logs, delta overlays. She let him see it.

Tanaka Eijichi nervously coughed in his terminal, Yamashiro Yamamoto briefly glanced at them before focusing on his monitor.

“Komatsushima is empty,” she said, level. “The evacuation was completed hours ago. I’m not sending anything into a live population zone.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped. “You’re simulating one.”

Keiji blinked, "Nogisaka..." But Juzo ignored him,

Y/n’s jaw flexed, but her tone remained surgical. “The clones aren’t driven by strategy. They’re responding to sensory saturation,  prey signals, noises. The moment those signals ended, they stopped moving.”

This is all about their DNA influencing how they act. Yozora Y/n theorises with the lizard DNA for example, the ones with stronger Lacertilia DNA could just jump to buildings.

This also goes with their other DNAs of crab, spider and the kaiju cell Orochizuya used.

"They're new borns and haven't adapted yet unlike the original Hahakumo. It's the only way Eighth and Ninth Division could kill all of them at once."

Y/n blinked, she heard briefly from the hesitant Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer about captain Takenaka descending from C 130 Hercules aircraft.

"And I will take that advantage" she finishes, 

Juzo’s eyes tracked the rising markers on the simulation feed. He didn’t bother to mask his disgust.

“So this is your call. Reactivate emergency channels. Recycle the same signals that made them chase it and create more headache." he glared harder, 

"Every siren, every evacuation loop. Just to corral them to Komatsushima?”

"If you didn't know, Chief, Shikoku island has only few numbers of defense officers due to the lack of kaiju emergence."

He motioned to the active feed; Eighth Division profiles displayed across the interface. A few vitals still pulsed.

Some were flat lined.

“Half of the unit was already inside the groves when it started. They weren’t built for sustained kaiju contact. And the military garrisons? Outclassed.”

He straightened slightly.

“So who was supposed to protect the evacuation corridors when you turned the city into bait?”

Nogisaka Juzo wasn’t wrong.

He wasn’t dramatizing. Komatsushima city’s evacuation had executed cleanly, but only just.

Casualty reports were still incoming. If any part of the containment perimeter cracked, it would’ve been a bloodbath.

And Yozora Y/n knew it. That’s what made his words sting harder.

Yozora Y/n briefly glance at the flatlined profile of the deceased officers, 

The operations floor remained in motion; keyboards clicking, status alerts pulsing on edge lit monitors, data feeds cycling in segmented quadrants.

Every station tracked clone markers converging on the grove's grid overlay. One feed captured Captain Subaru and the remaining Platoon Leaders.

Juzo's eyes locked on Yozora. “We’re not always going to be fighting clone batches from Orochizuya’s lab. What happens when they hear the real thing again?”

She finally looked at him. “Then we alter encoding protocols for civilian systems. Version isolation is easy.”

“Easy for you,” he said. “But you’re gambling behavioral imprinting against infrastructure adaptation.”

“No gamble. Clone movement follows density. They stalled post evacuation. This simulates restored population. It creates a convergence vector.”

He leaned forward from his desk. “You’re not thinking about containment. You’re normalizing psychological warfare with civilian trauma signatures.”

Yozora Y/n blinked, “It’s a synthetic lure, Chief Nogisaka. No casualties. Maximum control.”

Juzo shook his head once. “You're rewriting what evacuation means. They’ll hear a warning bell and think it's feeding time. That’s not a patch, CCO. That’s suicide.”

“They’re engineered. Isolated strain. We kill them, the loop ends.”

“You think this is the last strain someone’s going to cook up? You don’t build doctrine around one biotype.”

Her voice was even. “I build it around results. And right now, this gets results.”

She turned back to the screens. Data streams aligned. Broadcast countdown initiated.

Nogisaka Juzo didn’t argue further. But he didn’t leave either. Not yet.

Shinomiya Isao, from the upper console level, finally spoke. "Authorize auditory deception protocols. Authority granted to CCO. Execute immediately.”

Yozora Y/n. gave a short nod, her voice sharp and clear as she snapped out the next series of commands. Fingers on her mic attached to her headset.

“Patch the relay to the Eighth Division again,” Yozora said. “Full bandwidth. No partial duplex.”

Eighth Division Liaison Rely Officer Ebisu Tokuko was already bringing the comms stack online.

Her hands moved without hesitation, quick, finger strokes over the tactile control keys.

Beside her, a vertical screens lit up with status markers: green, green, amber, then solid green again.

Operational Leaders scrambled, the command center flickering with new lines of code, override symbols flashing red.

Sakamoto Aira’s monitor stream had already gone full-feed; tactical vitals, live biometric telemetry, topographic overlays of the outbound First Division unit.

Kurusu Akira was two bays down, coordinating the staggered exfil zones, while Tanaka Eijichi (whose health was better now) was still patched to an orbiting recon drone, calling out timestamps in clipped intervals.

That left Yamashiro Yamamoto.

Half the operational staffs remained behind, skeleton crew-style; essential systems only. The rest were now running hot on First Division deployment.

The center table had thinned out. No more decision crowding. 

The First Division had already committed boots to ground. Their operational leaders were now tethered to that deployment, deep in the event stream.

Which meant Yozora Y/n’s commands; sharp, and unconventional, weren’t up for debate. At least not from anyone busy managing an active field op.

So Yamamoto moved. Not reluctantly, Not even rebelliously. But differently.

He walked the perimeter of the main floor, relayed updates himself, bypassing the junior controllers.

If anyone noticed he was working off-script, no one said anything. Yozora Y/n didn’t stop him.

“Link’s clean,” Ebisu confirmed. “Direct handoff open with 8th Division HQ in Matsushima. Operational Leader Hitsuguya's team are standing by.”

Yozora gave no outward sign of tension. But her posture shifted, just enough.

Juzo still sat there. Not moving. Not leaving. Not speaking.

That silence made Isao glance down at him. “You’ve let her run operations before. Morally gray or not.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, it was pointed. Curious. “So why question her now?”

Juzo exhaled through his nose, slowly. “I’m not turning into like a goddamn Neutralisation Bureau, if that’s what you’re implying.”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

What he feared wasn’t regulation. It was Yozora Y/n. What she was willing to do.

She heard that. Everyone knew she did. But she didn’t look up from the screens ahead.

Itami Keiji, leaning against his seat, gave a half shrug and muttered, “You don’t have to trust her. Just enough to let her finish what she started.”

Nogisaka Juzo sighed again. Rubbed the edge of his eye patch. Rubbed it like it always acted up when he didn’t like what he was hearing. 

“…Where’s that damn coffee?”

"Deploy synthetic panic broadcast on a five-minute loop,” she said, clearly.

“Inject crowd audio, vehicular screech, and layered civilian distress patterns. Overlap frequencies at ground level, avoid clean oscillation.”

Across the command center's floor, several lower tier techs and operational leaders stopped momentarily. Even those who had heard briefings glanced over. It was not a routine order.

The secure comm window blinked twice, then stabilized. A voice was heard; compact resolution, but crisp.

Hitsuguya Botan, eighth Division Operational Leader. His fingers darted across the keyboard. Within seconds, the sub-audio fields blinked active.

“Reverb sounds calibrated,” Botan reported. “Baseline crowd audio embedded. Vehicles, glass fractures riding at minus five. Screams randomized... none clean, all smeared.”

From the street feed camera, synthetic audio began leaking into the ghost city of Komatsushima.

First a siren. Then a stuttering crash.Then a child’s voice screaming a name that didn’t exist.

Yozora unfolded her arms, eyes locked onto the screen, 

“Secondary; activate drones for corridor based echo modulation. Controlled Doppler layering." 

"Push sound drift through major junctions. We’re simulating live prey movement.”

Eighth Division base, at Matsuyama city, Operational Leader Hitsuguya Hana's voice came, "Drone five and six already airborne,” tracking drones from a second terminal.

On screen, twenty-four drones followed hugging the vertical shafts of bombed out towers. Their underbellies flashed red and violet as onboard speakers triggered low frequency bait calls.

"Doppler layering initiated,” Hana confirmed. “Sound swell oscillating every 3.4 seconds. Reflective pings bouncing clean through corridors of streets. Civilian mimicry is fluid, pressure’s rising.”

Down in the feed; multiple of Hahakumo's clones paused. Confused. One turned toward a dead-end alley filled with clicks and ticking sounds.

Another pivoted toward the drone bounced resonance of stampeding feet. Another batch which was hatched hours prior went into frenzy, abandoning one Eighth Platoon Leader and their squad in astonishment.

The simulation was working. 

Shinomiya Isao didn't say anything, but the tension among his shoulders and how he frowns eased a bit, 

"It seems everything is going as planned." Itami keiji said, glancing at Nogisaka Juzo, 

The latter just sipped on his coffee. 

The operational leaders breathed in sigh of relief that they've been holding since hours ago, some laughed at the absurdity of it all, but it's far from over.

Yozora Y/n said nothing. She only adjusted her headset, eyes pinned to the junction data feed. To the numerous blinking red dots coming to the same city.

“Adjust audio drift eastward,” she said finally. “Drag the sound bait to the main center. Keep the noise wounded, not frantic."

“Acknowledged,” Botan said. “Dragging sound trail pattern. Incoming.”

From above, the swarm responded with pinpoint movements, making Doppler echoes into a directed lure. Even the wind seemed part of the deception.

Eighth Division Captain Subaru couldn't believe it. 

"What do you mean they just abandoned you and your platoon?" She demanded, locking eyes with Rei's in the rear viewed mirror.

A static, "I... I don't know, Captain. The targets... they just stopped engaging. Pulled back. No warning. They turned. All of them. Heading due north."

The comms unit chirped, low priority tone, crackling with static.

Before Subaru could respond, her earpiece crackled to life again. Different channel. Hitsuguya Botan.

“All units, patch in. New directive from Ariake.” His tone was clipped, all business. Vice Captain Kaede was listening.

“Chief Yozora’s initiated auditory bait sequence. Synthetic panic protocol is live, full injection. We’re drawing them into the city.”

Subaru tapped the side of her earpiece. “Histuguya. What’s the plan now?”

There was a pause on the line, a brief static, then Hitsuguya Botan’s voice came through steady.

“No change in your immediate objectives,” he said. “Maintain outer perimeter. No pursuit."

Captain Subaru frowned. “Even with them all pulling north?”

“Exactly because of that.”

She glanced out the armored vehicle’s window. Smoke drifted over the hills in thin vertical columns. Whatever the kaijus were doing, it wasn’t a retreat.

This isn’t a diversion?”

“No,” Botan replied. “Chief's directive is explicit. The synthetic bait's drawing every clone into the city grid. The Ninth Division is inbound. Once they arrive…”

He didn’t finish. Subaru exhaled slowly.

“So that’s it. Lure every one of them into a kill box.”

“Exactly,” Botan said. “And we don’t interfere until it’s done.”

Subaru kept her eyes on the tablet, watching red markers blink and drift toward the city’s edge. 

“But why Komatsushima?”

Her voice was taut. “It’s the closest, sure, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s too close. The possibility of destroying the buildings, their homes....”

A beat of silence.

Then Yozora Y/n’s voice came through the secure channel, clear, controlled.

“Exactly. Its proximity makes it the most efficient containment zone.”

Subaru stiffened.

“Komatsushima will act as the cage,” Yozora continued. “Once the clones converge, we’ll know their count. Their paths. Their behavior under synthetic panic conditions.”

Subaru’s throat felt tight. “And then?”

“Then we kill them,” Yozora said.

“Ninth Division is inbound to assist. The Eighth can’t handle full eradication. Your defensive staff is too low, and half of them were already incapacitated by the progenitor’s biomechanical emission.”

Subaru didn’t speak for several seconds. Her line remained open, but her voice didn’t come through.

Yozora Y/n could hear only distant vehicle rumble and the faint wind from Shikoku’s hills.

Still, she knew the silence well enough.

“I chose the nearest city,” Yozora said again, “because there was no time for a perfect choice.”

She muted her mic for a moment, only a beat, but in that gap something surfaced.

An old voice.

Sharp and deliberate. Always with precision.

“Your strategies have saved more lives than your sniper rifle ever could,” Shinomiya Isao had once told her, seated across from her in the low-lit office during a post operation debrief.

“Your leadership has shaped the future of this organization. Putting you back on the front lines is a waste of a resource Japan can’t afford to lose.”

She had nodded back then. Said nothing. The statement felt heavier than the rifle ever had. Yozora Y/n died a little that day.

And before that, years earlier, before the raising ranks and the blood and the responsibilities, when she’d turned thirteen,

Yozora Hoshiguma had looked her dead in the eye and said;

“You must learn to bear the weight, even if it crushes you. Because that is what it means to be a Yozora.”

She closed the internal comms feed. The map re centered on Komatsushima. Red tracking dots, dozens of them, converging on the city like heat-seeking needles.

A cage, she thought again. Not because it was ideal. Because it was available.

She sighed again, "Status report, Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer" 

---

 

A low wind stirred dirt and bamboo leaves around the scattered HUV Captain Subaru riding on.

Subaru remained still, her earpiece cold now after Yozora Y/n’s line went quiet.

Vice Captain Kaede stood beside her, visor lifted halfway, arms crossed. No words uttered, she was contemplating.

Platoon Leader Kawashima adjusted the sling on his shoulder, gaze scanning the edges of the dark northern road. Dust still hung in the air like breath caught mid sentence.

The bamboo groves was different during the night.

Platoon Leader Rei leaned back against the plushed seat, arms wrapped around the stirring wheel.

The silence was suffocating her, "Remind me again, when exactly did getting steamrolled become part of the job description?”

She laughs, Subaru nor the others didn't say anything, "Other than PTSD, i mean,"

She looked at the others, then pointed above like a cracked weatherman. “Why does this always sound like an unpaid internship?”

Vice Captain Kaede snorted.

Subaru opened her mouth to speak, but Hitsuguya Botan's voice cut sharp across the open air.

“Contact! Platoon Leader Rei! Strayed kaiju, in front of you!”

All heads snapped towards the treeline. The sound came seconds after the warning, a low, shrieking chitter, like metal dragged across wet glass.

Something large. Multi-legged. Moving wrong.

Out of the bamboo mist, a stray clone of Hahakumo burst through, slick bamboo exoskeleton, serrated claws, mandibles twitching like antennae in heat.

It ran forward, targeting the open flank of the group.

No one moved in time. Platoon Leader Rei subconsciously stepped on the breaks, Platoon Leader Igarashi groaned in his sleep.

A sudden clang exploded overhead.

From above, like a dropped pin from the sky, Captain Takenaka descended.

His yellow-and-black bo staff flashed once mid-air; racking into the clone’s skull plating like a compressed piston.

The thing’s momentum collapsed in on itself. Its legs skidded sideways with the force of the blow, chassis folding mid-roll. It slammed into the ground and went still, mandibles twitching in aftershock.

Takenaka landed clean beside the carcass. It was not graceful. 

He slid the thermal monocular back into place on his helmet, grin pulling under his stubble as the staff stayed firm in his grip.

“Hope we’re not too late,” he said, voice low, voice gravel.

Takenaka rotated the bo staff once in his right hand, resting it against his shoulder like it belonged there. 

He looked through the HUV at Subaru, Kaede, then at Rei, who was still mid-expression, jaw slightly open.

“Chief sends her regards.”

---

 

Year 2016,

 

The rain fell in vertical drops, slicing through fog thick enough to bend the light from the flood lamps.

Steel shipping crates groaned under the shifting tide. Water pooled in every gutter, oil blooming at the surface in iridescent swirls that broke apart with each tremor underfoot.

The kaiju walked.

It didn’t lumber or thrash like others before it. No tail swinging wild. No maddened screaming.

This one moved with terrifying stability, a bipedal reptilian giant, easily over forty meters tall, black skin with streaks of dark mossy green. Plates made of rough keratin covered its shoulders like natural armor, ridged and cracked from exposure.

Its legs were long and jointed wrong, like the skeleton had been assembled by someone who understood motion but not anatomy.

Each step landed with a deep, deliberate thud. Its toes sank into the asphalt and left steaming craters behind.

From beneath its ribcage, something hissed. Exhaust valves? Gills? Hard to tell. But the pressure release was rhythmic.

Like it was regulating itself. Its breath came in wet, raspy intervals, louder than the rain. Its mouth hung half-open, revealing rows of uneven teeth, blackened and rotting at the base.

Somewhere far off, a ship horn sounded. The kaiju’s head tilted, slow. Mechanical. No curiosity, just a system responding to noise.

It took one more step.

Then, 

The entire upper half of its skull vanished.

No warning. No flash. No tremor of energy. Just a single, concussive blast that tore through its cranium like a scalpel dipped in antimatter.

The right eye, gone. The bone around the orbital socket disintegrated in a mist of pulverized marrow and steaming blood.

The rest of the head twisted violently with the force of the impact, leaving only the lower jaw dangling, twitching once, like a puppet’s string had been cut mid-motion.

The kaiju’s body stood still for a moment.

Then gravity remembered it existed.

It collapsed face-first into the dock, snapping a storage crane in half and sending two container stacks sliding into the bay. The pavement shattered. Concrete ruptured in a wave. Then everything stilled, except the rain.

Yamamoto's came the voice in her earpiece,  clear, precise, all business. "Direct hit. Neural core destruction confirmed. No regenerative patterns detected. Clean work, Captain.”

Yozora Y/n lay flat on her stomach, body pressed into the soaked floor. Her left hand steadied the long barreled rail rifle; her right still rested near the trigger, fingers relaxed. Scope to eye, breath calm, ears filled with nothing but wind and static.

Through the scope, she watched as the kaiju’s skull leaked viscera and coolant-black ichor into the splintered dock.

The remainder of its lower jaw twitched once, spasmodically, a signal misfiring in a ruined system. Steam hissed from the gill-like vents along its torso, now uncontrolled, their once regulated rhythm broken, erratic.

The exhaust came out wet and weak, like a machine bleeding pressure it no longer needed.

Only the faint vibration of the rifle’s recoil pack settling, and the distant thud echoing through the buildings confirmed what happened.

She blinked once. “Solid copy.”

---

 

A crackle on the comms. Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan’s voice came through, brisk and cold, "Visual confirms: fifty-five clones emerged. None remain in the groves."

"Survivors from Eighth are en route to Komatsushima by HUV convoy. That’s all.”

Before the line could go dead, another voice chimed in, calm, clipped, and carrying the weight of a seasoned operator,

"Ninth Division reporting. Captain Takenaka has joined Captain Subaru's HUV. All Ninth Division's Platoon Leaders have landed west of the city. They’re advancing now.”

Yozora Y/n folded her arms, eyes narrowing as the dual reports came through the central feed for all the people inside the Ariake's command center to hear.

Fifty-five clones; all accounted for. No stragglers. Good. Takenaka had reached Subaru. Even better. The Ninth was moving. Her plan was holding... barely but working.

She exhaled through her nose, silent, calculating. No time to celebrate. The city would become a cage soon enough. Now came the harder part: making sure it shut.

Shinomiya Isao sat before a vertical array of spectral feedback monitors. Not heat. Not EM. The signature tracked was something rarer. Measured by low-frequency displacement, triggered when the clone cores shifted molecular phase.

The core’s sudden disappearance from clone no 17’s tag and instant flare up within clone no 22 told him everything. The progenitor's mutation had advanced.

The monoculars could see pulses. The central feed could see patterns.

The mounted monocular wasn’t designed for thermal pickup. It read the narrowband pulses of the trackers and a faint glow; subtle, almost residual; signaling a core.

But only what was in direct line-of-sight. Beyond that, it saw nothing.

His eyes narrowed. One pulse had vanished. Another surged in its place. A beat.

Deputy Director Itami Keiji leaned in slightly. From the next table, Nogisaka Juzo, the Eastern Command Chief of Staff, shifted his jaw and muttered something clipped under his breath.

The two men exchanged a look, grim and wordless, before their gazes returned to the screen.

Isao finally spoke, voice even but sharp as a scalpel.

“...Core’s moved.”

Yozora's Her lips pressed into a thin line. The Ninth Division would visually confirm what the central machine can only imply.

She keyed the comms, “Get me to the Ninth Division’s Operational Leader,” she said, quiet but immediate. “Now.”

The Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer, across the pit responded with a nod, fingers already moving. “Patching into Ninth Division Operational Leader, Matsuya Tsuda, link incoming.”

Yozora Y/n didn't hesitate, "Confirm if clone no 17 shifted. Core may have moved.”

A beat of static, then a voice crackled through; 

“This is Operational Leader Matsuya. Closest squads on the west perimeter are Platoon Leader Kamoshida and Platoon Leader Rinko units We have visual.”

The main display lit up; dark, infrared overlay flickering into place. Pine silhouettes, streetlights, movement tags. A cluster of clone figures.

One burned just slightly brighter. 

“It moved,” Yozora Y/n muttered. “Goddamn thing just jumped from its host.” she exhaled, Isao narrowed his eyes more.

"Clone no 17’s going cold. But 22... 22’s lit up.” Operational Leader Matsuya zoomed in. “We’ve got a jumper.”

“Highlight clone twenty two,” Yozora ordered.

All the clones were already marked; each tracked with pulsing red nodes across the grid. But now a second overlay appeared on clone no 22.

The clone’s ID ring still pulsed red, like the others, but the core’s separate pulse blinked in rapid rhythm; a kind of heartbeat signature, visibly distinct.

“Core presence confirmed in unit structure,” Matsuya continued. “We’ve marked it. Advise?”

Whenever the core jumped, that secondary ring disappeared and reappeared in another host, visible only for a moment unless reacquired.

Yozora’s hand's dropped from her headset. Her voice lifted, clear and surgical.

“Do not engage. Keep your eyes it. Shadow its position until the rest are in place.”

She glanced back at Isao, then at the flickering pulses on the central display.

If it’s transferring cores between clones, we’re back to prehistoric kill-count bullshit. Yozora Y/n thought, I’m not losing two divisions to one mutant playing musical chairs.

Yozora Y/n made a mental note on visiting Orochizuya and she wouldn't be so nice. She gritted her teeth, phantom pain flaring up from her stump. 

Turns out its evolution’s still working. Migrating cores. We’re back to prehistoric era killing tactics... one corpse at a time. Brilliant.

She flex her right prosthetic arm. The pain didn't go away. Great.

"Any plans?" Shinomiya Isao asked, 

"I have." 

Every second counts, but just thinking about  migrating core is the nightmare of JAKDF... It makes kill confirmation difficult, confuses unit tracking, and invalidates coordinated attacks.

---

 

Year 2016,

 

Ashiro Mina sat alone on the bench outside the medbay. Her rifle lay across her knees, untouched. Her kaiju synthetic suit were still on, her gloves were smeared with dirt and dried blood.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone since they landed.

The kaiju’s remains were still being cleared from the coastal highway. Its corrosive blood had bled into rooftops, gutters, and sewers.

Structural assessments had only just begun, but everyone knew the truth; those four Third Division officers didn’t stand a chance.

They wheeled past her twenty minutes ago. Three men, one woman. Her seniors. Sealed in black. She hadn’t looked at the tags.

Her grip tightened on the rifle. From shame.

I gave the signal too early. She thought, frowning, shame and self hatred bubbling in. They were too close when I fired. I panicked.

The automatic doors hissed open.

Ashiro Mina didn’t look up.

The scent of cold steel and rain blew in with Captain Yozora Yozora, her boots clicking once, then stopping in front of her.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just stood there, like a monolith dropped from orbit; inevitable, immovable.

“Two minutes,” Yozora said, arms folded. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Mina moved to stand, maybe to salute, but Yozora’s subtle shake of the head stopped her.

“You think it’s your fault.” she assessed, 

Mina flinched.

“It was your call. Your coordinates were off. Your timing slipped. The kaiju hadn’t settled in the kill pocket when you fired.”

Each word struck clean, surgical. But there was no venom in it. Just unflinching facts.

Mina clenched her jaw. “…Then say it. I messed up. I got them killed.”

Yozora Y/n tilted her head slightly. “Do you want to be punished?” concern swimming in her eyes, but she masked it in before Mina could see it.

“No, yes!... I mean,” Mina’s voice cracked. “I should be. They trusted me. I froze. I thought I had the shot but...”

“But you didn’t,” Yozora Y/n said plainly. “And I took it for you.”

Mina blinked, stunned.

Yozora Y/n turned, stepping toward the floorto-ceiling windows. Beyond them, night pressed heavy on the sea, lightning crackling in the far distance.

“Two weeks ago, I asked if you were ready for Vice Captain. You said you were. Today proves you weren’t.”

Gut punch. Mina said nothing.

“Thing is,” Yozora continued, her shoulders were subtle but tense, “no one ever is. Not until they’ve made a decision that costs people their lives.”

Silence stretched between them. And Ashiro Mina thought of her dead cat, Miiko.

Yozora Y/n turned back, and for the first time, her eyes really studied Mina. When she looked at Mina, her expression had softened, just slightly.

“You carry it now. That silence between orders and screams. That instinct that tells you to act, but not whether you're right. It’s yours. Learn to live with it.”

Mina’s lips trembled, but she didn’t cry. Not in front of Yozora.

“But they died because I...” Mina didn't finish the rest, out of shame.

“Because we’re soldiers,” Y/n said. “This isn’t a fantasy. Dying comes with the uniform. You want comfort? Go home. You want perfection? Become a scientist.”

Mina lowered her gaze. “…Then why are you still here?”

Y/n paused at the window, her reflection fractured by the rain streaked glass. It made her look like she's crying.

Ashiro Mina never sees her Captain cry. Not even once. What does Yozora Y/n looked like when she cry? 

“Because I buried five friends before I turned twenty,” she said quietly. “And I refused to let that be the only thing they left behind.”

Mina blink. That wasn’t in the manual. That wasn’t in any of Yozora’s reports. But the way her mouth tightened, the flicker in her eyes, that was real.

She stepped away from the glass and set down a plastic bag on the bench beside Mina. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the exit.

Mina blinked. “Wait…?”

Y/n didn’t answer, only stopped briefly at the door.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

Then she was gone.

Ashiro Mina slowly opened the bag. Inside was a plain tupperware container from the base commissary. A single slice of cake. A red candle taped to the lid. A small box of matches tucked beside it.

She stared.

Her chest ached.

Tears welled up, unspilled. Her jaw locked.

She didn’t light the candle. She didn’t need to.

She simply sat there, staring at it like she's from a different world.

A world where she was just Mina, not Vice Captain Mina. Where she wasn’t covered in dirt and dried blood and weren't swallowed by guilt.

Where people weren’t dead because she was batshit scared and panicked and made the wrong call.

And as she sat there, one thought broke through the fog; 

I wish Kafka was here.

He’d know what to say. He always did.

He’d laugh. Joke. Say something dumb. And I’d feel okay, even if it was just for a moment.

She didn’t cry. But her lips quivered.

Mina remembered something; of her first day reporting in. Of seeing Captain Yozora Y/n at the range, precise and ruthless. How she’d tried not to gape.

She’d introduced herself like she was a nobody. Just a support class dropout who got pushed to command too fast.

And Yozora... Yozora Y/n didn’t look like a nobody.

The world seemed to orbit her, whether she noticed or not. Some people fought their way to the top. Some clawed out of mediocrity. Yozora Y/n? She looked like she was made for it.

But Ashiro Mina knew better now.

You worked for it, she thought. You weren't born with this. You earned it the hard way.

And just like that, like sipping milk tea for the first time and realizing it was your new favorite flavor, Mina had a small, certain realization;

I kind of want to be like you when I’m older.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024

 

"Any plans?" Shinomiya Isao asked, 

"I have." 

Every second counts, but just thinking about migrating core is the nightmare of JAKDF... It makes kill confirmation difficult, confuses unit tracking, and invalidates coordinated attacks.

Core migration.

The JAKDF’s worst nightmare yet.

It vanished from one street; then reappeared through the walls of a half-buried building nearby.

The core had left its original host and taken over another clone.

Kill confirmation? Moot.

Unit tracking? Corrupted.

Coordinated attacks? Worthless.

As long as the core moved, the body was just meat.

But... They still pursued sounds.

That was real. That was consistent.

The way they responded to the layered sweeps.

The bait noise mimicking prey movements.

The echo sweeps timed in oscillating intervals it worked. But why?

Her eyes narrowed.

She tapped her headset. Once. Twice. Then froze... They weren’t reacting out of memory or instinct. Something hard coded, a schema, a schema was driving them.

“If they react to sounds,” she murmured, “maybe they do more than react.”

Itami keiji and Nogisaka Juzo raised an eyebrow, 

Y/n, still alone and deep in her train of thoughts, endlessly muttered, “They orient to it. They don’t just follow, they’re structured by it.”

A low-frequency vibration spiked through her skull, like a signal threading into her nerves. She stiffened, eyes snapping wide in realization.

"Patch me to every officer in Eighth and Ninth Divisions, now!" she barked.

Already keyed in, Hitsuguya Botan and Matsuya Tsuda responded without hesitation.

The closest squads on the west perimeter, Platoon Leader Kamoshida and Rinko’s units heard their earpieces crackle as the override came through.

One platoon leader heard the order crackle through his earpiece; another, crouched inside an HUV, snapped his head up.

Two more were already sprinting towards Komatsushima, rifles raised.

Yozora's voice cut through the command channel, crisp and wasn't shaking.

"Initiate drones escort protocol. All previous twenty four bait units will split into rotating triads."

From the Eighth Division at Matsuyama city, Hitsuguya Botan’s fingers clacked across the console, followed by his fellow operational leaders beside him.

Data feeds scoured across their screens; twenty four drones updating per frame, formation vectors shifting in real-time as commands relayed from Yozora Y/n’s order.

"Vertical shaft guidance only, flank along the Komatsushima high-rises. Keep low."

On screen, the drones dove, flying through the city . Red and violet strobes blinked beneath their bellies, onboard speakers pulsing with low-frequency bait signals.

"Each drone cluster accompanies a Ninth Division element," she continued. "Twenty five officers. Three platoon leaders. You are their draw."

A new formation burst through the smoke lined road below. Six roofless Humvees from the Eighth Division roared into the clearing, metal frames stripped bare.

Seven officers per unit doors gone, armor plates gone, rifles up.

"Standard perimeter assault config. Coordinate fire with drone routing. Do not break the rhythm."

Muzzle flashes lanced in synchronized volleys. Each drone banked hard through the Komatsushima skyline, drawing the clusters clones in waves; twitching, scrambling, surging.

"Each Eighth Division vehicle moves under drone cover," Yozora Y/n ordered. "Their bait is your shield. Use the momentum at your advantage."

She pivoted.

Yozora Y/n didn’t flinch as the command room dimmed under emergency protocols, her voice steady as she relayed the classified override across the net.

The air itself seemed to tighten. At their consoles, First Division operational leaders Sakamoto Aira and Tanaka Eijichi froze mid calculation, momentarily glancing towards their Chief of Command Operation. 

"Ninth Division, platoons splits begin now. Pursue all secondary clusters. Prioritize the ones tailing bait drones or open transports. Box them. Push them in."

They went back to their work.

“Push all sectors inward. I want this entire city to collapse on them. North to south, east to west. No one leaves Komatsushima."

Platoon Leaders Kamoshida, Kuro, and Rinko didn’t wait for a second relay. Their squads had already broken formation.

Boots hit rooftop gravel and leapt, bouncing between concrete ledges and skybridges, vaulting ventilation and air conditioning units and fencing.

Platoon Leader Kuro dropped low and skidded under a rusted pipe, Platoon Leader Kamoshida cleared a ten-meter gap clean, and Platoon Leader Rinko flung herself against a railing, pivoted, and drove straight down a maintenance ramp.

Their squads followed with surgical synchronicity, boots hammering down steel ladders and fire escapes before funneling out into the streets below; just in time to match pace with the six roaring Humvees.

One Ninth officer from Kuro's squad hauled a tactical bag forward and hurled it into the lead vehicle’s open side. The driver caught it one hand, give it to the officer next to him, and pulled out a mounted monocular, not thermal.

It wasn’t built for heat detection. Instead, it tuned into the narrowband pulses of the drone-mounted trackers; thin, flickering signals, only visible in a strict line-of-sight.

Just enough to read the shimmer of a clone’s core if it broke cover.

Five more bags were tossed into the trailing Humvees with sharp, practiced throws before the Ninth platoons peeled off again, breaking toward the nearest swarm closing in from the east.

“Drone Five’s down, ten and nineteen too!” Hitsuguya Botan’s voice crackled over the line, breath clipped, sharp. “Two clones lunged mid-air to intercept. They’re targeting the drones!”

Yozora Y/n didn’t blink. “Let them. If they’re desperate enough to snatch decoys mid flight, it means the sound’s working.”

It must be annoying with all the DNAs spliced into one.

Yozora Y/n didn't even want to know what they're hearing to make them chase the noise with such urgency, 

An irritant that hacked straight into their nerve-encoded instincts. That must be.

Their composite DNAs... Spider vibration sensitivity, crab reflex arcs, lizard hunting schema, lit up in full response.

“Flight range adjusted,” one of the Eighth Division tacticians barked two consoles away from Botan, hands flying across the console.

“Altitude raised. They're too low, keep them out of leaping range.”

Botan nodded, sweat streaking his temple. “Maintain at eighty meters. That should keep those bastards grounded.”

But they were wrong.

Three more clones bursts forward, grotesque things with bamboo thin limbs and gangly torsos, 

Their outer carapace shimmered wet-black, plates segmented like a crustacean’s but bending with the elastic spring of predatory lizards.

Without hesitation, they latched onto the side of a high-rise; limbs puncturing glass and concrete in synchronized motion,

Then hurled themselves skyward again, following the drone’s pitch like it was prey bleeding through sound. 

5 more drones were destroyed.

“Shit—visual! We have leapers, I repeat, we have leapers!” a technician shouted.

A few destroyed bait drones wouldn't hurt.

Yozora Y/n dragged in a lungful of air. Sweat beaded on her brow as she swept a hand across her forehead, gaze locked on the drone telemetry.

The signal maps crackled with static, red pulses scattering across the Komatsushima grid;

All 55 tracked clones now scrambling through the city like broken signals looking for heat.

The northern blocks near the floodplain highways, where Platoon Leader Kuro’s squad moved in parkour-trained formation through derelict tenement rooftops.

Clones were already scaling the outermost buildings; lithe shapes with lacquered scales and mantis-like limbs, their movements unnervingly coordinated.

“Line split! Corner and cross-check!” Kuro barked.

His squad vaulted over ledges, dropped down broken stairwells, and flanked the nearest clone triangulate. The creature lunged for the nearest roofline, claws cracking concrete as it crawled across walls like a panther with spider instincts.

A three-man pincer intercepted it mid-spring, unleashing shock grenades and uni-organ bursts fire to its exposed underbelly. It shrieked, limbs flailing, but it didn’t fall alone.

One of Kuro’s men vanished under the weight of its death roll.

Above them, a shriek, another clone had leapt roof to roof, landing clean atop a supply van. Kuro’s teeth clenched. “They’re circling fast, these bastards are flanking from blind zones. Don’t let them push past the Eighth's line!”

Southwards, Platoon Leader Rinko’s team advanced alley by alley, their movement built for vertical takedowns.

Her squad specialized in climbing harness support and quick drop assaults, descending from support cranes, weathered scaffolds, or emergency ladders to intercept clones mid-chase.

But the clones adapted fast.

“They’re pulling toward our audio! Muffle transmitters!” she ordered, just as a pair of clones dove from a bank, clinging to the steel skeleton with limb hooks.

One used the rusted beam as a slingshot, flinging itself sideways onto a watchpoint where Rinko had just been. The motion was fluid, unnatural.

A humvee roared down the intersection.

One of the open top units from the Eighth Division skidded into view; its gunner team firing controlled bursts of uni-organ ammunition, green glowing rounds firing on kaiju chitin.

The gunner barked into comms; “Targets dispersing, we’re pushing toward your northeast point!”

Rinko dropped a marker. “Cut their path west, we’re herding these things toward the trap perimeter!”

To the east, Platoon Leader Kamoshida’s squad was pinned by three clones moving in lateral formation;

One skittering across signage poles, another with a suspicious reptilian eyes, running through the alleys, and the third simply waiting… watching.

“We’ve got behavioral variation here,” Kamoshida growled into his comms. “Not mindless. These ones are planning around our movement rhythms.”

A rhythmic ticking sounds pinged through the air.

Too late.

The ambusher clone vaulted straight over the front barricade, smashing into the second row squad. Kamoshida rolled with it, firing from the hip; uni-organ rounds punching through carapace armor only after four or five impacts.

Blood misted the air. He slid under its chest cavity, planting a live round in its mouth.

It exploded.

“East team’s thinned,” he reported grimly, “but they’re not pushing beyond. We’ve become a proving ground.”

Meanwhile, open roof Humvees from the Eighth Division patrolled city lanes like a mechanized predators, engines echoing through concrete canyons.

Gunners stood exposed, tethered by harness and muscle memory. They moved in synchronized loops, drawing clone attention while minimizing line-of-sight vulnerabilities.

"Contact! North-northwest, jumpers inbound!" one team shouted.

From a rooftop, a clone launched in a parabolic arc, crab like claws outstretched like grappling hooks.

The gunner didn’t flinch. Uni-organ rounds ripped through its trajectory, blowing out its ribs mid-air.

The creature slammed into a parked truck, convulsed, and then its second shadow scrambled up behind the vehicle, charging on all eight resembling of a bamboo.

Another burst, dead.

Still, they kept coming. The clones learned quickly. One baited fire with a decoy, while another took the opportunity to slide under the chassis and attempt a leg slash.

A second humvee pivoted, ignition bar roaring across the lower zone, torching it before it could strike.

Yozora Y/n’s voice echoed over comms, low and deliberate:

“Maintain pulse triangulation. Ninth Division is guiding them centerward. Do not break your circuits.”

Almost everyone recited, "Solid copy!"

One of the stronger lizard based DNA clones veered off the main route. Its tracking path; red on the interface, deviated west, cutting through an alley beside a collapsed substation.

Seconds later, the signal blinked out.

“Clone no thirty two's off the grid,” Hitsuguya Botan reported, fingers hovering over the  keyboard.

“Tracking dart went silent, might’ve scraped it off, or signal’s being jammed by the substation wreckage.”

If the clone moves in even a dimly lit area, Botan should still see it, because NV doesn't rely on heat, only ambient light; moonlight, reflections, fires, urban ambient glow.

The clone is invisible here because it one of its DNA doesn't emit heat, which is why tracking darts were necessary in the first place.

Yozora narrowed her eyes. “Visual?”

Hitsuguya Botan toggled through the drone feeds. “Thermal’s useless, obviously. And the upper cam’s on night vision, but… shit. Too much dust scatter, no contrast. Just grayscale noise.”

“They knew,” Yozora Y/n muttered. “It baited us with the drones and doubled back blind.”

Then a flicker, barely a shadow stitched to a rusted ledge.“It’s not chasing the drones anymore... Wait—”

It reappeared, five stories up.

The clone had scaled an abandoned tenement block, chitin bamboo limbs gripping torn siding and exposed concrete.

From the drone’s POV, its carapace gleamed faintly; black, ridged, muscle twitching under the armor. For a moment, it paused at the edge of the roof, head tilting.

Then it jumped.

"Shit" Yamashiro Yamamoto muttered from his station, 

Itami Keiji, Shinomiya Isao and even Nogisaka Juzo didn't say a word, but the way they frown said everything.

The clone hurled itself across the street straight into the drone formation overhead. One of the bait drones clipped the edge of its mouth; its limbs lashed out mid air, striking rotors.

Sparks burst. One drone spiraled and exploded into the wall of a bakery shop.

Another dropped onto the road below, crashing onto the back of a passing Humvee with no roof cover.

The clone landed hard a second later. Its weight cracked the concrete. Soldiers on that vehicle scrambled, one managed to jump clear, the other thrown aside by impact shock.

The clone rose immediately, ignoring the torn muscle along its shoulder, and pivoted to chase the next closest target: the rear line of convoy support.

"Shit, it’s switching targets!" the Eighth Division Operational Leader barked from their command, already flagging the next drone on grid. 

He flagged drone 42’s location on the grid with a quick tap. “Redirecting drone cover, now!”

Another vehicle swerved as two smaller clones; a crab-legged variant and one with flattened spider like limbs rushed from opposing alley mouths.

One climbed the outer edge of a highway divider, using its limbs to slingshot itself under a trailer truck.

The convoy scattered.

Despite the drones guidance, momentum broke. Not from fear, but from forced adaptation. The clones weren’t chasing the drones anymore.

Some were now flanking, using vertical space and cover to predict likely escape vectors, not just follow sound.

“Patterns just changed,” Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan reported. “We’ve got about nine breaking formation. They’re learning.”

Nobody replied. The sounds of gunfire, skidding tires, and a second explosion filled the comms instead.

Surveillance drones blink out one by one. A slowed clip shows a clone leaping five stories to tackle a bait drone mid-air.

Red pulses scatter across the city grid. Yozora sighed, that cannot be helped. “That one just leapt from the fifth floor. Crushed the drone mid air, then reoriented without pause.”

Nogisaka Juzo narrowing his eyes, "I thought they were all behavior blends. No specialization.” setting his third cup of coffee down before looking at Shinomiya Isao.

The General Director didn't even look at him. “That’s what Orochizuya's notes claimed. He said the clones shared equalized DNA expressions. That none would lean toward a dominant type.”

The reason the clones (or what was left) felt disproportionately powerful came down to their combined movement system and reactive behaviors.

They did not respect vertical boundaries, buildings, walls, or drones at high altitude didn’t hinder pursuit.

Units reported being attacked from unexpected elevations as several clones pounced directly from rooftops or used adjacent high-rises to reposition with inhuman agility.

Any attempt to find “safe ground” from a vertical standpoint failed instantly.

Itami Keiji frowned, “Then explain why one’s climbing walls like a gekko and another shrugged off tungsten like it had a full exo plate.”

No one answered. Yozora Y/n joined the conversation, eyes drifting from the multiple screens ahead.

Notes:

No Hoshina scene here! Just want to write about MC have a character moment and to show some of isao/juzo/keiji/operational leaders/platoon leaders dynamic,

Doppler effect, a phenomenon where the observed frequency of a wave (like sound or light) changes based on the relative motion between the source of the wave and the observer.

Dr. Roger Payne was a renowned scientist, biologist, and environmentalist who dedicated his life to the study and protection of whales, particularly humpback whales. He is best known for his groundbreaking discovery of whale song, which he documented alongside Scott McVay.

Lacertilia (lizard) + spider + crab DNA includes:

Vibration (spiders),

Reflex reaction (crustaceans),

Predator tracking instincts (lizards),

That twig moment (from the last chapter) is crucial. It confirms the earlier theory: sound/vibration is the trigger. Or at least the possibility with all the DNA that has something to do with the sound frequency as trigger. The clone didn’t immediately attack on sight, meaning they were scanning or confused. Twig snapped; vibration; instant attack. That's spider/lizard logic. Also stealth logic. Just got these facts from google, not sure how accurate they are when google can sometimes have information that aren't true.

 

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 9: Hahakumo 4.0

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Goldfish named "Goldie" lived for 45 years and died in 2005. The oldest known goldfish, "Tish", lived to be 43 years old. So much so his scales turned white. Tish died in 1999 right after he was being certified as the oldest goldfish ever.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

 

Orochizuya Kazui's laboratory, Shikoku island, Year 2016,

 

The air in the subterranean facility was thick with the sterile sting of disinfectant, scorched metal, and something darker; something rotten that clung to the corners of clean walls.

The firefight was over. The sirens had stopped. But the aftermath now was worse.

Yozora Y/n's boots echoed across the floors, too clean, too white. It smelled like bleach and something unrecognisable.

They had secured the lab hours ago.

Joint recon swept first. Live threats neutralized. Systems locked down.

Now came the slow, surgical part, data recovery, quarantine, and the hellish process of cataloging what Orochizuya Kazui had built.

The Eighth Division platoon leaders flanked Yozora, weapons holstered but grips still white-knuckled.

Behind her, squads from the Third Division moved in wary formation, glancing too long at the walls. No one spoke. Not after what they saw in the first two chambers.

Glass pods lined both sides of the hall like diseased trophies. Within them floated things; muted shapes suspended in amber-tinted fluid. Kaiju hybrids. Some small. Some massive.

Some vaguely animal. Some animal shaped in ways that made the stomach twist. One had the head of a deep-sea anglerfish, grafted and stretched over a kaiju neck; its jaw unhinged, and open wide.

Another was quadruped, scaly, with patches of molted fur. The skull was unmistakably canine, its body reptilian.

Eighth Division Vice Captain Subaru, barely recovered from what she saw earlier, turned aside and dry-heaved.

Platoon Leader Kaede muttered under her breath, “That’s a Shiba Inu's snout… isn't it?”

No one corrected her.

“Jesus…” murmured a Third Division defence officer, eyes fixed on a gilled creature with uncharacteristically hands folded across its chest like it had been laid to rest.

Nagamatsu, Captain of the Eighth, stood beside Yozora Y/n. “This isn’t our jurisdiction anymore,” he said grimly. “We kill kaiju. This… This is something else entirely.”

Yozora nodded. Her mouth was dry. Her pulse was calm, too calm. Tactical shock, she thought.

She’d seen battlefield horrors: mangled squads, collapsed safe zones, even a berserk Giant Level kaiju during the Pacific Uplink Crisis.

Deaths of 200 defense officers, three captains... But this?

This was intentional.

She thought back to the Yokohama Bay incident. The kaiju she’d neutralized with a sniper round; it had strange DNA markers. The reported. Tagged from Shikoku Island. Marked by man.

One corridor over, Orochizuya Kazui had been processed. Stripped of credentials, locked down in the base’s makeshift detention cell.

He’d screamed as they cuffed him. “I did this for Japan! For the JAKDF! So no one else had to die!”

Orochizuya Kazui; gaunt, sweat-slicked, cuffs biting into his wrists, eyes bulging with fear and righteousness.

“So no more defense officers die!” he shouted. “You don’t understand... THEY were dying! I gave us weapons, weapons!”

No one answered. One of the officers shoved him again. “We don’t have time for crocodile tears, freak.”

Orochizuya stilled. His face twitched, then twisted into something else; wide-eyed insanity layered over cracking ego.

“Heh. Yeah, you’re right,” he said slowly. “I’m bad at acting anyway.”

Yozora watched his grin stretch. “Tell everyone to eat my ass. In the end, I’m the right one.” He cackled, shrill, loud. Unrepentant. 

Yozora Y/n had no interest in hearing more of his manifesto.

They reached the central wing.

The terrariums here were different. Not fluid. Not containment. These were ecosystems; controlled biomes behind reinforced glass.

Yozora’s gaze shifted, catching a terrarium set behind reinforced glass. Inside was a miniature bamboo grove and a still pond, artificial sunlight illuminating its ecosystem. The label read:

HAHAKUMO

But there was nothing inside. No movement. Not even signs of food. Nothing.

“Dead?” she asked.

“No logs of expiration,” someone replied.

That unsettled her more.

Further in, Ashiro Mina couching slightly before another pod. Inside it lay what looked like a white tiger; curled in the fetal position, breathing slow but steady.

Old scars riddled its flank. Injection points, necrotized flesh, healed over and reopened in cycles. But it didn’t claw at the glass. Didn’t growl.

It looked like a normal white tiger cub. But it's not.

It just stared back at her.

Mina’s voice was a whisper. “It’s… not like the others.”

Yozora Y/n approached. The placard beside the glass read;

PROJECT: B-924 Species Base: Panthera tigris tigris (×9)

Dominant Graft: Regenerative Kaiju (Daikaiju Class)

Result: Slow regeneration. Failed specimen. Recommend to disposal.

Yozora frowned. “This isn’t for us to decide. The Government and Neutralisation Bureau will terminate the projects. Quietly.”

“No.” Mina’s voice cracked.

Yozora Y/n turned sharply. "Vice Captain..."

Mina’s eyes trailed down, “It reminded me of her. It’s like Miiko. My cat. She died… She died when a kaiju attacked my hometown.”

Nagamatsu placed a hand on Mina’s shoulder. “This isn’t Miiko, Vice Captain. It’s a lab grown. You know that.”

Yozora watched Mina’s hand press lightly to the glass.

“Maybe,” she said. “But it didn’t ask to be made.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The hybrid tiger shifted just enough to rest its paw against the glass where Ashiro Mina's hand was.

A sign of intelligence, or conditioning, none could say.

Yozora Y/n exhaled. She gave the order. “Log everything. Secure the drives. This entire lab goes black.”

As they prepared to leave, Yozora gave the tiger one last look. The creature watched her. No tight facial that indicates malice. Strange.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024

 

No one answered. Yozora Y/n joined the conversation, eyes drifting from the multiple screens ahead.

“They’re testing boundaries. Thirty two sacrificed mass to hit that drone." A beat, "But others are now splitting formation. Some are holding distance.”

Juzo frowned, “So either Orochizuya lied, or his experiment drifted. We’re seeing dominance expressions per clones;

"spider, lizard, crustacean, maybe even a cell of a kaiju meant for weapon ammunition.”

Recon drones with night vision logged their ability to stick to concrete, scale sheer walls, and reposition using minimal effort.

Surveillance picked up multiple clones pursuing aerial bait; not just jumping, but coordinating timing.

At least 8 drones were lost within 20 seconds from synchronized leaps by multiple clones tracking sound sources.

They were not confused by static sound; they were able to triangulate and target movement even mid-air.

Itami looked between his fellow officers, “And that makes this worse. Means every behavioral pattern we mapped might only apply to a subset. Not the whole population.”

Shinomiya's gaze didn't move from obe of the central feeds, 

“One tracks vibration, one stalks from elevation, another tanks frontal fire. And they’re starting to mix roles mid engagement.”

Yozora Y/n continue to flex her right prosthetic arm, in hopes to ease the phantom pain building up. 

“If these aren’t static roles, then the bait strategy’s lifespan just dropped to minutes.”

Wall-scaling and roof-leaping gives them dimensional control that humans don’t have.

It creates false superiority in numbers: even if officers are more, they can’t hold ground as efficiently in vertical combat.

This negates the numerical edge.

So 67 humans (Eighth division troops and 3 squads of Ninth Division Platoon Leaders) vs 55 clones isn’t an even fight.

It’s more like:

67 humans trying to contain 55 biologically enhanced killers built to bypass human tactics.

Juzo angrily sigh and about to drink his coffee only to found it empty, “And we can’t brute force it. Not if every damn one fights like it was built for different terrain.”

Itami Keiji was about to open his mouth until one tracked clone pulsing in the map of Komatsushima displayed on the central feed caught his eyes. Juzo, Isao and Y/n followed;

The core shifted again.

Hitsuguya Botan leaned forward, eyes narrowing as another blip lit up on the map.

“New spike,” Hitsuguya Hana murmured from beside him. “Clone Fifty’s gone cold. Core’s jumped to Twenty nine, western quad.”

Botan didn’t flinch. “That’s the farthest from current suppression zones. It’s dodging fire.” He tapped the corner of the screen, expanding the waveform logs.

“Pattern’s evasive, not random. It’s avoiding heat zones, switching hosts the second a clone’s tagged by Eighth or Ninth fireteams.”

Hana was already layering the movement arc. “South to west, clean path. No engagement on the way. It’s intentionally navigating low pressure sectors.”

“No need to flag the strike teams yet,” Botan added. “They’re tied up east. We log, isolate, and let the system track. Field units’ll adjust on drone loop delay.”

Red pulses, clones of remaining 45 were marked, scrambled across Komatsushima city, the clone with the core, second overlay as a tag for the core, ghosted in and out. Too fast. Never locked. Like it knew where they were looking.

Itami Keiji sat with his arms now crossed, watching the flicker of data lag behind action.

"Still no fix,” Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer Ebisu Tokuko muttered. “It’s shifting faster than our relay intervals.”

Juzo frowns, “Of course it is. It’s not reacting, it's literally predicting at this point." 

Shinomiya Isao regarded the two, his second in command and the chief of command eastern staff,  "You did noticed the pattern,"

The two now looked at their center, where Shinomiya Isao sat, "It jumps bodies. But there’s a lag. That lag is the only time the core's exposed.”

Yozora Y/n could barely hear herself breathe. Everything collapsed into a dense wall of white noise;

fractured voices over comms, the high-pitched shriek of static, boots slamming concrete, the far-off screech of something inhuman.

“Barely." Juzo grunted,

Isao nodded, “But enough.”

A silence. Then Itami, soft, thinking about it, "The question isn’t how to find it…” he didn't continue, 

Isao finished the thought for him.

“It’s how to interrupt the transfer.”

That was the line that stuck.

Because Yozora; listening the whole time; already knew what to do with it.

She knew.

From the moment Yamamoto cross-referenced those DNA profiles; spider, crab, lizard, with sound frequencies that could trigger instinctive responses...

Yozora Y/n knew there was a chance. A possibility that the right frequency could hurt them.

But she needed time.

And now, she had it.

It looked random at first. A glitch. But it happened again. And again. Always at the third cycle. Always when the beat clipped.

Pure instinct. Predictable. But shallow.

This time, they stalled. Mid transition. Three units, same delay.That wasn’t fear. That was confusion. A delay in processing.

Not from the sound itself, but from the structure of it. The frequency shifted mid cycle. Disrupted whatever internal sync drives them.

Disrupt the rhythm, and the core wavers. That’s the breach point.

But timing is brutal.

The Eighth and Ninth are already deep in the kill funnel. No shielding. No buffer. Yozora Y/n frowned, deep in thought,

If I pull the trigger now, they’ll take the blast full-force. I could wait. Let them force their way through...

... But that risks a full override. If the clones recalibrate... we lose containment.

Hit them now, while they’re off balance. Force another stall. Shock their neural transit line.

Buy thirty seconds. Maybe sixty.

Just enough time to lock in tracking. Just enough to tighten the net.

If the soldiers go deaf... They go deaf alive.

“Execute the secondary bait noise.”

A beat.

Shinomiya Isao, Itami Keiji and even Nogisaka Juzo stop mid conversation to look at her, not quite sure if they heard her right.

And so is Eighth Division Operational Leader, Hitsuguya Botan, "Ma'am...?"

Yozora Y/n rolled her shoulders, "You heard me," she answered cooly, she keyed Captain Subaru, 

"Captain Subaru, do you copy?" 

"Solid copy, Chief." 

“I told Captain Takenaka to leave the clone with the core at your disposal, given your weapon of use." Yozora blinked, "And in this situation, I’ve never been more right.”

Just a slight nod to Ebisu Tokuko and the Ninth Division Liaison Relay Officer. Both liaisons understood immediately.

Without needing a word, both keyed Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan of the Eighth Division and Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda of the Ninth.

Both operational leaders received the feed in real time, Yozora’s full exchange with Captain Subaru, the strategy, and the warning.

Within seconds, it was relayed across all front-line platoons under their command.

Yozora's voice rang out over the comms.

“Listen carefully. Once I give the go ahead, you’ll fire your final shot before your synthetic suit overheats.”

“Captain Takenaka and the remaining platoons will act as diversion. All of you have one minute before the secondary bait noise goes off. No more.”

Yozora looked toward the main data terminal, where Yamashiro Yamamoto sat surrounded by flickering interface panels and telemetry readouts.

Currently handling status reports from different division liaisons. Including Aira's and Tanaka's

The glow from the monitors cast sharp lines across his face, tension visible in the tight set of his jaw as he filtered incoming data through the monitor.

His eyes locked her, 

"Cross check predicted distress markers against their DNA responses. I want confirmation. Now.”

"Ninety two percent alignment,” Yamamoto replied after a beat. “Clone behavior is tracking with earlier simulations, Chief.”

Yozora Y/n nodded a thank you, she stared at the map display, voice level but lethal.

“This new frequency isn’t filtered. It will hit everything; the clones, the terrain, and even you.”

Itami Keiji straightened from his seat, "What?"

Within Komatsushima city they listened, defense officers across the ruined blocks, bleeding, crouching behind flipped transports.

Some still firing into the horde, pausing just enough to hear her voice coming from their earpieces;

"Brace for impact,” she said calmly. “You’ll feel it in your teeth before you hear it. But it’ll stop them cold.”

Platoon Leaders Rei, Kawashima and even Vice Captain Kaede and Captain Takenaka didn't say anything.

Captain Subaru opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. Her instincts clashed with protocol. She had more to ask.

But Yozora cut her off;

“With your monocular helmet engaged, you’ll be able to track the core bearing clone. Go solo."

"Do the reverse hunt; as they chase the remaining bait drones and surviving officers.”

A long pause. “Any objections?”

Static. Engine of the SUV. Silence. Then, “No, Chief.”

Yozora exhaled. “Good. Happy hunting.”

---

 

No one spoke for a moment. Just the rhythmic sound of tires over rubble, the crackle of static behind them, and the ghosting sounds of distant gunfire beyond, all closing in, all urgent, but oddly muted by what was about to happen.

Platoon Leader Rei finally broke the silence, leaned forward in her seat as she swerve, and muttered, “Tch… Guess losing an eardrum’s part of the pension package now.”

Platoon Leader Kawashima snorted, 

Captain Takenaka snorted. “That’s optimistic. Ears grow back?”

“Sure,” Rei deadpanned. “Right after the eye and the sleep schedule.”

That made them chuckle, sharp, brief, tired laughter. Not because it was funny, but because it was real.

They were JAKDF.

They're not babies playing soldiers. Dying is part of the job. It comes with the uniform. That's what it means being a defense officer of the JAKDF.

Everyone signs up thinking it’s some dream gig; fighting monsters, saving lives. Then reality hits. Blood. Screams. Comrades gone in a blink. 

That’s the fantasy you think when you're a kid.

 

But once you're in, once you see what it's really like out there… you realize how rotten it all is.

 

With kaiju swarming across Japan like it's open season, being part of the Anti Kaiju Defense Force doesn’t make you a hero. It just means you’re next in line.

Ninth Division Captain Takenaka stretched his legs a little. Then he tilted his head lazily to Eighth Division Captain Subaru, voice casual;

“One minute before death, huh? That’s generous. One second’s all I need.”

Subaru blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

But Takenaka was already moving. He tapped the comms once, keyed in a manual override to mute Yozora’s command feed.

Then, without breaking stride, he shoved the SUV’s side window open with a grunt, one arm swinging his reinforced bo staff outward, the other gripping the roof bar.

“What are you, Captain—?!” Rei jerked the wheel in reflex. Platoon Leader Igarashi groaned.

“Tell Ariake I went south to get a better view,” he called, voice vanishing into the rising wind.

And then he was gone.

Slipped out like a ghost, jumping through the broken steel guardrails, ducking low beneath rusted signage, boots skimming mud and leaves as he vaulted over the skirt of a collapsed pedestrian overpass.

His silhouette disappeared into the folds of tangled groves beyond.

Headed south.

Straight into Komatsushima City.

He slipped beneath a fallen bamboo stalk, boots skimming bark and ash, then burst into full sprint.

His kaiju synthetic suit flexing with each movement, black plating glinting under moonlit ashfall.

Captain Takenaka vaulted onto a shattered railing, used it as a springboard, and launched himself across a collapsed footbridge, landing hard on the next roof’s ledge.

“Platoon Leader Rinko, you copy?” he called, breath even as he bounded toward the next building.

Rinko adjusted her earpiece while her thermal monocular helmet was on, scanning for red tracked targets from the destroyed buildings.

Red tracking darts were beginning to vanish within her vision at least those surrounds her.

The corridor had held.

For now.

Her comms crackled. “Platoon Leader Rinko, come in. This is Captain Takenaka. Status?”

She pressed her jaw switch. “Captain, outer lane’s clear, central burn still holding. No breach in the—”

Something moved above her.

She didn’t even register it as a threat. A sound like wind through hollow reeds,

Pain didn’t arrive. Just force. An impact like being hit by a truck... Except from the overhead. Then light. Then a sudden awareness that her body wasn’t all here.

Rinko’s thoughts blinked in a final loop;

Something’s wrong... Where’s my voice... What...?

SPLAT.

A wet explosion echoed against the side of the warehouse. Her squad turned just in time to see it;  blood, bone, and half a helmet sliding down the crumpled steel wall.

One of the clone unfolded from the rafters.

Taller than the others. Bamboo chitin limbs. Knees bent wrong. Eight reptilian eyes. Thermal signatures barely readable.

It didn’t wait.

Platoon Leader Rinko's remaining squad opened fire.

Captain Takenaka, still sprinting, heard the gunfire through his earpiece, followed by static.

“Rinko? Rin... Rinko!”

No answer. He assumed the worst.

“Ninth Division, this is Captain Takenaka, Rinko’s squad is compromised... I repeat, compromised!”

A new voice crackled in from base command.

Ninth Division Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda.

"Captain Takenaka, this is Matsuya. We've just lost Platoon Leader Rinko. KIA. Flat line confirmed."

Takenaka stopped running. The world didn’t.

His watch showed 00:05. Fifty-five seconds left. Five seconds to mourn. Then move.

He closed his eyes, then run north.

Operational Leader Matsuya sat behind the main console, watching the feed. The squad’s biometrics glowed faint on the screen; heart rates, oxygen, fading vitals.

One of the flat lines;

TAKENAKA RINKO, PLATOON LEADER

Status: KIA

No one noticed Matsuya raise the rim of his coffee cup ever so slightly towards the monitor.

“Well fought,” he murmured under his breath.

It was all he had time for.

Then he turned away before the next name blinked out.

Yozora Y/n didn’t flinch as she stared at the fluctuating waveforms. The entire control bay held its breath.

Yozora Y/n is the Chief of Command Operation. She doesn’t make moves without calculating both the tactical benefit and collateral damage.

So if this secondary bait noise is strong enough to cripple the clones, it’s also strong enough to hurt her own men, which is why it was never her first option.

Nogisaka Juzo stared at the screen. “You think their equilibrium is tied to high frequency oscillation?”

“I think their cerebellar analog reacts like arthropods under hyper pressure..." but to be sure... 

"Yamamoto" she called, "Cross reference neural spikes across the remaining 40 clones."

"I want confirmation; are they responsive to frequency modulations in the 20 to 24kHz range? Search behavior loops. Look for vestibular instability and target wobble.”

Yamamoto, typing fast, respond with;

“I’ve seen it; Spiders don’t “hear” conventionally but detect airborne sound vibrations via fine hairs..." 

"Many lizards have tympanic membranes; can detect low to mid frequencies, typically between 100 Hz to 5 kHz. And crabs don’t have ears. They detect vibrations through their legs and exoskeleton." 

Yamashiro Yamamoto paused, eyes locked onto the monitor, and squinted his eyes, doing the math; 

"At best, 150 Hz to 900 Hz, mixed with modulated pulses. These hit the mechanosensors of crustaceans and spiders"

He clacked his fingers to his worn keyboard, 

"Add shockwave harmonics that shatter rhythm based motion cues the clones rely on." 

He looked at Yozora Y/n, "In theory." 

That was enough, "That's more than a theory. Good...." She keyed Hitsuguya Botan, 

"Log those timestamps and overlay on the remaining drones and tower sonar pattern. I want that built into the bait noise variant.”

Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan didn't hesitate this time, "Solid copy" 

In short, she already suspected it, but she’s too calculated to act without data backed corroboration,

Especially when it means deploying a weapon that hits 178 decibels, a level that could deafen or rupture human soldiers if done wrong.

"Why didn’t you use this before?” Isao asked.

Yozora didn’t turn. Her eyes remained fixed on the red clusters shifting across the tactical display.

“Because it’s not eve a tactic,” she said. “It’s a last resort.”

The tension in the command post thickened. Juzo jaw clenched. “But if it works...”

“It will.” Her voice cut clean through. “A human ear rupture at 160. But at 178 decibels, it ruptures more than just eardrums. Buildings, bone, equilibrium. It destabilizes the field. It damages us.”

A pause.

"The only reason I’m using it now is because we’re out of time... And out of angles.”

She finally looked at him, the cold clarity of someone who’d already calculated the losses.

“I only ever use it when there’s nothing left to maneuver.”

For a moment, the command post held its breath. Then Itami Keiji stepped forward, tension brimming. Itami Keiji's been silent throughout the ordeal. But he couldn't take it any longer.  

“You’re going to blind half the Ninth and Eighth with that frequency.” he said sharply.

The words hit the air like a snapped cable.

All three senior officers turned to him.

“Do you understand that, Chief Yozora? This is suicide, one that could kill those clones, yes, but at higher cost. They won’t hear or see anything again.”

Keiji huffed, looking older than he looks, 

He exhaled through his nose, worn and heavy. “There’s a line, and you’re walking past it.”

Yozora didn’t blink. Nor did she try to explain herself. “Only if they live long enough to complain.”

"That's all you have to say?" Itami Keiji straightened, the nerve...

Shinomiya Isao blinked and frowned deeper, and glance at Itami Keiji, "Just drop it, Deputy Director." 

"I will not,” Keiji snapped, glaring at him now. “Don’t you dare play the moderate now, Isao.”

The tension was now visible. Operational Leaders, technicians and liaisons looked at them with uncertain looks before going straight to their works. 

Itami Keiji now turned to Yozora Y/n, his tone change, just clearer.

“I have nothing against you, Chief Yozora. In fact...” He hesitated. “Ever since you took this role, death rates have dropped. More survivors. Better precision. Every successful operation has your signature on it.”

Yozora’s brows shifted slightly. Just slightly. Recognition, maybe.

“But you crossed the line,” Keiji said. “And Nogisaka was right to say it.”

He turned, expecting support.

Juzo exhaled through his nose, calm.

“They’ll be fine,” he said, flat.

Itami Keiji blinked, "What?"

Juzo didn’t elaborate at first. He looked at the map, then back at Yozora Y/n; no judgment, just observation.

"Better some of them come half dead than none at all." 

Itami Keiji's jaw locked, "You're siding with her, now? What happened earlier, you looked like you're about to throw a riot when she flagged the city to be a bait" 

Nogisaka Juzo grunted, "We have different principles Deputy Director, I don't mind blood  if it's earned. But you do."

He continues, “And that’s more than I can say for everyone who faced kaiju with nothing but polearms, bow and arrows and rope bound katanas.”

Itami Keiji scowled, frustrated. “You say that like we’re still in the Sengoku period.”

Nogisaka Juzo turned to him, voice low and sharp as bone. “And our ancestors fought them anyway." 

Itami Keiji opened his mouth then shut it. There was nothing left to say.

He leaned forward, slow and sure. “We were never trained for glory."

"We were trained to stall time, to get used to blood and facing death. That’s what JAKDF is. Flinching from that is an insult. To every defense officer who died buying that time.”

Itami Keiji opened his mouth to respond, to rebuke but he didn’t. The weight of it sat on him.

Nogisaka Juzo glanced towards Yozora Y/n, now checking the sync pulses feeding into the grid relays.

“This?” he said, gesturing toward the map. “This is clean. You’ve finally learned to gut a beast without playing god.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t smile. But there was no resistance in her next motion either.

Yozora pressed her headset.

A soft, coded chime pinged through the Eighth Division’s operations deck; priority line established.

“Operational Leader Hitsuguya.”

The comm crackled once. 8th Division Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan didn’t need further prompting.

He was already sliding in his command key, eyes flicking between the tower arrays and the remaining aerial drone registry.

“Chief,” he replied,steady.

“Begin the secondary bait release." She said, her tone clipped,

"Target range: 150 to 2k Hertz. Full composite load. Output at 170 decibels. No frequency dampeners. Sweep overrides all channels, priority line only.”

Botan's hands moved across the flat console.

On-screen, twelve fixed transmission towers and the last 14 airborne drones blinked confirmation active, synched. The frequency ring swept green.

On a separate board, another Operational Leader was already rerouting auxiliary power into the towers.

Hitsuguya Hana adjusted dynamic range to account for terrain echo. Volume gain climbed past safety protocol thresholds

“This isn’t filtered. The signal will impact soft tissue, fluid systems, and sensory feedback. Arthropod derivatives will seize. Reptilian vestibular systems will misfire. Terrain instability is probable.”

Yozora Y/n toggled another comms. Matsuya Tsuda, 9th Division Operational Lead, came into the channel, barely two tones of interference before she gave him the next line.

“Defense officers, both Eighth and Ninth, immediate directive.”

"Comms synced in, Chief." Matsuya reported,

Her voice expanded across every linked receiver, from mobile relay hubs to bloodied field units crouched inside Komatsushima’s collapsed metro scaffolds.

“Frontline operatives within the city, drop prone. Hands over ears, jaw clenched. Do not breathe during pulse surge.

"Signal will rupture eardrums above 165. Internal hemorrhage is possible.”

A hard silence fell. Only the low countdown tone ticked beneath the surface.

“25 seconds to detonation,” Yozora said. “Confirm tower load balance.”

“Towers calibrated,” Botan responded. “All drones synced. Pulse vector triangulated.”

“Final check, range?”

“City wide,” he confirmed. “No escape vector outside impact radius.”

Yozora stared at the central feed, exhaled a sigh, “25 seconds left until second bait drop."

The sound of the systems recalibrating buzzed low in the background. Yozora Y/n said nothing. Nogisaka Juzo leaned back in his seat, sipping the coffee Keiji had left half-finished.

Itami Keiji didn’t speak.

Shinomiya Isao finally did.

“Keiji,” he said, not unkindly. “We survived different battles.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just set down the report he’d been scanning, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I stepped out. You didn’t. You stayed in long enough to carry names you still remember. I came back… different.

"You came back the same. At first.”

Itami’ Keiji's jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak again. His eyes tracked the rising decibel range on the monitor that the Eighth Division provided.

One more decibel higher, and it’d shatter more than  eardrums. But not before it cleared the clones.

Shinomiya Isao continued.

“You took this job to save more lives. I get that. But don’t mistake survival for clarity. It doesn’t make your principles clean. Just... comfortable.”

A pause.

“And those officers weren't children, Keiji. They took this job knowing death is part of it. If not, then they should've switch jobs then." 

Keiji said nothing. His eyes dropped to the cold coffee on his lacquered desk.

He flagged a tech. “Fresh one,” he muttered. “Chief Nogisaka drank mine.”

---

 

20 seconds left.

Three out of six of 8th Division’s open roof  Humvees were trying to keep the fire corridor intact. But even the veterans were starting to crack.

“We’ve got jumpers ambushing from the shadows,” the lead gunner radioed in. “They stay limp till we pass, then leap. We’re sweeping low beams but it’s not enough.”

Another burst of uni organ from his rifle. A clone’s legs went flying, only for it to drag itself forward with two hands and launch a final lunge.

It rammed straight into the Humvee’s undercarriage. Sparks erupted. The whole rig shuddered, one tire blew, suspension buckled.

The vehicle jolted off-balance, tilted, then slammed into the roadway, half-flipped.

Two riders on the back rail didn’t make it. Crushed on impact.

Nearby, another gunner triggered bouncing incendiaries. One clone hissed, curled in on itself.

At North quadrant, Platoon Leader Kuro's squad, 

They no longer rushed rooftops en masse.

They began alternating their paths; one crawling sideways under gutters, another moving backward down a windowed wall, mimicking dropped debris to avoid thermal locks.

Platoon Leader Kuro’s monocular goggles lit up with multiple blinking red dots all at ones.

Odd numbers increasing when he's sure Operational Leader Matsuya confirmed only 34 clones remain.

“Signal interference, goddamn it, Some of the tracking darts must’ve duplicated. Ghost signals.”

He reached for his comms switch. “This is Kuro, Platoon Leader."

"I’m tagging into Ninth Division’s feed; rerouting my tracker overlay. We’re getting ghost darts or signal loops here.”

A beat.

“Ninth’s Tech here, fixing the bugs right now. Signal sync initiated.”

His monocular goggles whirred; half the tags blinked out.

“Thought so... Relay to all squads; verify visual before engaging.”

One of the forward scouts shouted, “They’re getting closer, I repeat they're getting closer—!”

A clone burst through a ventilation shaft from below. The rookie behind Kuro screamed as a crabbed claw punched through his ribs.

Kuro didn’t hesitate, he rolled beneath a water tank and emptied his rifle into the clone’s eyes, shouting;

“Roof exit, NOW! Pull to block 13!”

As the squad escaped across a skybridge, the ground beneath them gave way, another clone baited their step with collapsing scaffolds it had learned to weaken. Kuro cursed.

18 seconds left.

Eastward, Platoon Leader Kamoshida hadn't planned for victory, only for containment. But even that fell apart faster than he'd calculated.

The first scream came from the rear line, half his squad, cut off mid breath. Then another. And another.

“Ambush! We’re being cornered!”

“Let's regroup with Platoon—!”

“Six officers just went dark!”

Then static. Through the comms, an Operational Leader just confirmed the flat lines.

Kamoshida’s jaw clenched as his HUD that popped up from his chest updated. Seven of his men had flatlined in under nine seconds.

“Clone no 14's core just blinked out,” his Operational Leader crackled through the comm, voice shaky.

“Confirmed transfer. It passed to Clone No. 5 the moment you neutralized no 14.”

Platoon Leader Kamoshida didn't reply.

His boots skidded as he pulled his last smoke grenade and tossed it blind toward the east corridor.

The battlefield was unraveling in real time,  these things weren’t acting like animals anymore. They were moving like fragmented cells of a greater whole.

Pseudo coordination. Kill based signal relays. Each sacrifice sharpened the next.

They weren’t just hunting anymore. They were predicting now. These clones may be a day old now, but its adapting fast.

Platoon Leader Kamoshida looked around through his monocular goggles, 

The goggles whined. Two faint clusters. Then six. Then none. Ghost signatures blinking in and out like sonar interference.

He tagged a Ninth Division tech to aligned the signal, 

Kamoshida’s fingers gripped his combat knife in reverse. His rifle was running hot. His cheek was bleeding from a previous engagement.

“I swear, if that bait noise doesn’t drop in the next minute, I’ll trade my other eye for a straight shot at command.”

One of the few remaining squads panicked and opened fire. A burst too wide. A sound too loud.

Eight clones came screeching out of the dust cloud like missiles, their sharpened limbs whistling through the air.

Kamoshida screamed, "Contact!",

It went straight at them, Platoon Leader Kamoshida did his best, firing his rifle against the three bigger of the six.

The first man didn’t even have time to shout.

A bamboo bladed limb punctured his lower jaw, shot up into his cranial vault, and exited through the top of his skull; brain matter and jagged fragments of orbital bone sprayed sideways as his body collapsed, twitching.

The second was pivoting on reflex.

Too slow. A clone's forelimb speared his left flank and kept going, tearing through kidney, lung, and sternum in one clean pass.

He gasped once, bloody foam flooding his respirator before he was hurled sideways; his ribcage folding inward like soft tin.

A third tried to run.

The clone pounced, jaws distending unnaturally, and bit down just above the clavicle.

It twisted.

The entire shoulder tore off; meat, armor, and tendon unraveling in a wet spiral.

He fell screaming, then gurgling, then silent.

The last died hard.

His rifle jammed, and he turned to grab his sidearm.

The clone came down from above, two limbs scissoring midair, and split his torso open in a crude X.

His torso opened instantly. Entrails fell like butcher scraps. His spine glistened white, then snapped under the clone’s next step.

Kamoshida’s backup fired the electrified net launcher in sheer desperation.

The first volley hit mid leap.

A clone spasmed in midair, volts tearing through its exoskeletal plating. It screeched, something between metal teeth grinding and insect sound before it crashed into the rubble, twitching violently.

Platoon Leader Kamoshida didn’t relax. One down. Maybe.

The downed clone was twitching less. Too little.

But this time, the ambush didn’t finish.

Three of the eight clones had changed direction mid attack.

Kamoshida and his remaining squad saw it.

Something pulled them away.

The sound, that noise, grew louder behind them.

Two of Eighth Division’s Humvees tore through the street, flanking northeast with six more bait drones deployed above their rooflines, mimicking organic human screams mixed with infant cries. Traffic noise.

Loud. Impossible to ignore.

Kamoshida’s bait net only had three. Too quiet.

The moment those six decoys passed overhead, the remaining clones hissed sharply, clicked their limbs, and immediately broke off.

Abandoning Kamoshida’s blood soaked squad as they launched into a quadrupedal sprint toward the louder signal source. Pursuing like wolves scenting blood.

They turned. Pursued the Humvees.

One leapt onto the side of a building, claws digging in for traction, chasing the noise eastward.

The Eighth Division gunners opened fire from the open-top, armored, shouting coordinates, trying to suppress the clones. 

They didn't realise how silent it was until they could hear their own rugged breaths and the constant requests of status reports from their assigned Operational Leaders. 

Platoon Leader Kamoshida's squad breath in relief. Thank the gods.

Only one of them stayed behind, the one that had been downed by the net launcher. 

He approached slowly, boots crunching over teeth and crushed bone, eyes never leaving the prone figure.

Its limbs had curled. Multiple reptilian eyes were blown wide. Too much like a corpse. Too soon.

He pressed his boot onto its skull and twisted down with deliberate pressure.

Cartilage popped. A soft, wet crack followed. Then the sound of cranial fluid being displaced.

The twitching stopped entirely.

But Kamoshida's voice was flat, cold.

“Shoot this fucker off,” he rasped. “They’re learning how to play dead now.”

He had seen it before. One clone took a hit, fell limp; only to lash out seconds later and slice through two of his men.

14 seconds left.

By the southern rise of Komatsushima’s industrial zone, one of the last platoons under the late Platoon Leader Rinko had split vertically; 

Some scaled rooftop piping, others crawled through the belly of the structure’s echo ducts. They were triangulating clone noise, but the signals didn’t add up.

“We’re seeing weird signals,” Operational Leader Matsuya said, “like... tapping?”

Click. Click. Click-click-click.

It was a trap.

Four clones suddenly rushed her team’s mid tier level, exactly where most soldiers were rappelling or harnessed. They hadn’t even been targeted before. Now, they were prey dangling on threads.

“CUT DROP LINES! DROP NOW!”

Ogata, free fell two floors and landed on a half-collapsed generator deck. Her shoulder popped on impact, bone dislocated, but she bit down until blood filled her mouth.

She jammed the joint back into place with one hand. Her earpiece crackled with overlapping screams.

From the south slope, a lone Eighth Division Humvee with two drones above peeled through rusted fencing, rotating its gunner turret. One clone immediately ducked, not dodging reflexively, but anticipating the barrel’s arc.

“It's following our aiming lag!” the gunner screamed. “It’s watching for the movement delay!”

Ogata keyed her comms. “Funnel them west! That corridor’s still standing! We box them into the alley and drive them north!"

She turned, 

Only to see five more drop from the upper air ducts. Long legged, gleaming under the lights. These clones has more arachnid features than the rest despite its limbs resemble a bamboo, only darker.

They encircled Ogata. The way wolves do.

“I’m not dying to spiders that solves physics,” she hissed.

And then the wind hit them.

Something dropped from above like a thunderclap, impacting the cracked pavement in a shockwave of split concrete.

Ninth Division Captain Takenaka.

He was mid air before anyone processed the weight of it. Bo staff spinning, his body moving like a fulcrum with controlled violence.

He twisted with a torque kick that drove the first clone’s rib cage into the floor. The second raised its chitin claws, 

"Matsuya, now!" Takenaka shouted, bo staff in hand, glowing a viciously thunder yellow, 

"On it!" Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda furiously clacking his keyboards and button at the application process of calibration.

It was parried with a spiral strike from the bo staff, now whirring with a vibrating sounds, tips glowing.

"Unleashed combat power 93% calibration, complete"

The AI announces blared from a mounted drone trailing him, as his bo staff split open; revealing a dual-core yellow-and-black plasma rod burning at both ends.

One clone lunged.

Too late.

Takenaka’s body rotated low; a perfect spinning sidestep,  then he swept horizontally.

His staff cleaved through the clone’s chest, the plasma arcs vaporizing its internal core, leaving a cauterized chasm.

Another clone tried to flank.

He reversed grip mid swing.

The staff extended with a pulse. He brought it down like a guillotine. Its head separated mid screech, seared away, as if erased by industrial heat.

The other three hesitated. Bad mistake.

He leapt off a rusted container, spun mid-air, and, with one hand behind his back, whipped the staff into a full moon arc, taking both at the neck.

Sparks hissed as their exoskeletons cracked and liquefied from the temperature differential.

The last clone shrieked; it was an abrasive, metallic screech, and lunged overhead, arcing past both Takenaka and Ogata with an unnatural torque.

Takenaka pivoted instinctively. His upper grip slid cleanly down the bo staff’s length as he turned.

He brought the weapon low in a diagonal sweep, a counter-slash meant to sever the limb mid-flight, but the clone corrected mid air, limbs coiling to slingshot behind him in a serpentine blur.

“It’s repositioning!” Ogata warned.

"Captain!" Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda's voice rushed onto their earpieces, excitement can be heard in between, 

"clone no 28 has the core, win this fight and this'll be over!" Matsuda reported, fingers clenching his consoles as he stared at his monitor, 

"I can see that literally, Matsuya" Takenaka adjusted his monocular goggle, the second ring pulsing at no 28's tagged was taunting him. "But thanks." 

"You're welcome, Captain."

Takenaka’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. His eyes tracked the clone’s retreating back; its velocity spiking, legs uncoiling with spider like precision.

He shifted stance. Knees bent. Breath controlled.

The bo staff in his hands pulsed once, energy charge whining through its dense frame. With a accurate precision, Takenaka whipped his arm forward and released.

The staff hurled through the air like a rail-sent projectile, rotating once, twice.

Impact.

A clean slice through the torso.

The clone split down the middle mid-stride, halved with no time to scream.

The corpse collapsed in a skid of twitching limbs.

Ogata exhaled sharply.

“Captain... You're late,” she muttered.

“Yeah...” Takenaka said flatly, spinning the staff and retracting one tip. Ogata suddenly remembered about his late sister... 

Takenaka Rinko. 

Ninth Division Captain Takenaka muttered, tone flatter than she ever heard him, “Sorry about that.”

Ogata didn't know whether if he's apologising about now or when he couldn't be there with her late Platoon Leader.

She realises she doesn't want to know.

12 seconds left.

Ninth Division Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda stared at the remaining clones of 32 at the central feed, 

"Damn it," he cursed, "Of course it transpose its core the moment Captain slice it with his bo staff through." 

"No choice but following Chief's second phase." Another Ninth Division Operational Leader grimly said, tapping on his earpiece, 

"Officers, 32 remaining clones, I repeat, 32 remaining clones and 10 seconds remaining until the second noise drop." 

“Copy!” chorused a dozen platoons through grit teeth and broken voices.

“As soon as I jump, link up with the last two Humvees. Stay in formation,” Subaru said, pulling down her monocular goggles.

The monocular feed blinked to life, Rei’s outline glowed clearly and everything darkened.

Subaru turned to the right. Three clones were in pursuit, chasing two of the bait drones as they rounded a shattered corner.

“Roger,” Platoon Leader Rei responded, shifting her stance at the wheel.

Vice Captain Kaede leaned forward and handed over a sidearm. Subaru took it wordlessly, glancing at her.

“Kawashima and I are staying back with Igarashi and Rei,” Kaede said. There was a dry smile on her lips, and dried blood trailing from her ear down her jawline.

Platoon Leader Kawashima nodded, “This part’s yours now, Captain.”

Subaru gave a short nod. She holstered the pistol and tightened her grip on the rotary cannon strapped to her harness.

She reached for the door. Kaede's voice ringing out, “Good luck, Captain.”

The SUV slowed slightly. Subaru didn’t wait for full stop.

She jumped.

"All sectors, Ariake Command. Confirming re entry of Captain Subaru into combat field. I repeat, Eighth Division Captain Subaru is now on the ground.” Hitsuguya Botan reported from the Eighth Division base,

The line remained open for a heartbeat, long enough for every 16 division relay officer, every squad in rotation, every eye in Ariake’s command center to register it.

On the wall length field display, a single marker blinked green then began to move.

Yozora Y/n didn’t respond.

She simply watched.

Captain Subaru’s signal cut eastward across the industrial corridor, bypassing residual signals from the south line.

Her movement was clean, calculated. Each vault from rooftop to rooftop was aided by the reactive gel cores embedded in her synthetic suit.

The system groaned under her weight, but it held, barely. A thin trail of heat signature flared behind her on the GPS.

She was chasing the clone now hosting the core.

Eastbound.

Where Platoon Leader Kamoshida's fragmented squad had gone dark minutes earlier.

Yozora Y/n’s fingers clenched just on the skin of her synthetic prosthetic, but she said nothing.

Subaru was already moving. Everything is settling in place as she had plan. Good.

10 seconds left.

Subaru battered but relentless, vaults from building to building,  eastbound, her kaiju synthetic suit hissing faintly with borrowed power.

She sprinted across rooftops, boots slamming against rusted tin and broken concrete as she pursued six eastbound clones.

Their elongated limbs; spider like and impossibly fast; vaulted effortlessly over alleys and debris.

One of them, sleek with a greenish brown  long, thin legs resembling bamboo stalks, darted up a wall like a lizard, its chitin claws piercing concrete for leverage.

Her monocular goggles tracked their signals; red tags dancing across her interface. But one pulsed brighter.

Clone no. 20. It had the core.

She grit her teeth.

East. Where Kamoshida’s fragmented squad had gone dark seconds ago.

“Bait noise in nine seconds, once it scream, you shoot,” Botan’s voice crackled over comms. “Make it count.”

Subaru clicked her tongue, adjusted her grip on the rotary cannon slung under her arm. “If I go blind or deaf after this, you better carve it on my damn gravestone.”

The rooftops blurred past. Wind cut across her face as she vaulted a broken fire escape, eyes locked on the one clone she needed to drop. Just one shot, then lights out.

She lined up her rotary cannon. Then her interface blinked.

Core has transposed. Gone from clone no. 20.

Now blinking behind her, where the last two humvees were.

Subaru's jaw clenched, skidding to a halt on a ledge. “Shit. It jumped.”

At Ariake, Silence settled again. Only the soft mechanical sounds of technology of air conditioner and the flickering of distant drone feeds remained

Nogisaka Juzo, seated with arms folded and brow furrowed, narrowed his eye. Then, scoffed, voice tight with disbelief.

“It transposed already? She hadn’t even fired yet.”

Itami Keiji didn’t speak. He took a slow sip from his coffee, eyes fixed ahead, expression unreadable, before casting a brief glance toward Yozora Y/n.

She didn’t respond. No words. No orders. She just watched the monitors in silence.

Beside him, still seated with upright discipline of a man whose rank the highest among JAKDF, Shinomiya Isao remained motionless, a neat stack of field reports annotated in his hand. Not even a single note of reaction, just stillness.

Then, a quiet sigh escaped him. His tongue clicked softly against the roof of his mouth.

“It must’ve sensed Captain Subaru…” he muttered, fingers tapping in thought against the lacquered surface of his desk. A furrow formed between his brows.

"That damn Orochizuya..." 

Static crackled briefly before Operational Leader Matsuya Tsuda of the 9th Division came through, his voice clipped, grave, radioed straight from their inland base, where their surveillance grid was still holding.

“This is Matsuya Tsuda, Ninth Division. As of 12:00:50 hours, clones count of 55 down to 22.”

Across the line, embedded deeper in the field and caught in the east sector’s relentless pursuit, Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan of the 8th Division keyed in from their vase, fingers still on the keyboard as he called in her personnel report.

“Only fourteen defence officers of the Eighth Division left, crammed into the last two humvees. Twenty eight flatlined.”

A rustling pause. His voice carried weight strained, but firm.

“Platoon Leader Rei’s SUV has Vice Captain Kaede, Platoon Leaders Igarashi and Kawashima of Eighth Division onboard. That makes seventeen in total.”

The channel dimmed to silence again.

The silence in Ariake Maritime Base’s command room was suffocating; screens crackled with flatlined vitals, kanji tagged names turned crimson, personnel portraits dimming into grayscale.

"Captain Gen Narumi in position, in 3... 2... 1..." Sakamoto Aira reported from somewhere, 

Yozora Y/n stood still.

Her gaze tracked each vanishing signal a second longer than the last, the subtle delay barely noticeable; unless one knew her.

Her hand rose to key the microphone on her headset; but hovered, fingers pausing in midair. For a moment, it was as if she'd forgotten the motion entirely.

A breath too long.

Then her hand lowered, slow and deliberate, brushing the edge of the of her uniform instead.

Don't get too emotional now. Y/n chastise herself, she exhaled.

When she finally spoke, her voice was cool as ever, precise and unquestionable.

“Eighth Division Liaison Relay Officer. Patch through to Matsuyama Base. I want a navigational grid to Komatsushima’s eastbound corridor, now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ebisu Tokuko's fingers blurred over the keys. Green lit circuits blinked alive, tracing the route to the Eighth Division’s Operational Leaders  in Shikoku.

“Have them map spatial shortcuts,” Yozora added without looking. “Target deadline, five seconds.”

At Matsuyama Base, Eighth Division, satellite overlays and subterranean schematics flared across their systems.

The techs pulsed with motion, 

Within seconds, a predictive path snapped into alignment: a shortcut via Route 11, merging into the derelict Komatsushima eastbound lanes; precisely where Rei’s SUV would crest the parking spiral.

The full grid encoded instantly.

“Map received,” the liaison confirmed. “Patching to Eighth Division Platoon Leader Rei’s vehicle HUD.”

At that same moment, 

“Hitsuguya Botan. Redirect all remaining drones to escort Rei.”

“Copy.” Botan was already moving. Eight drones, six from the scattered humvees and two from Platoon Leader Kuro’s northern squad, broke formation, then streaked eastward in tight convergence.

Far south, amidst the charred collapsed underpass, Captain Takenaka of the Ninth Division plunged his bo staff through the abdomen of a writhing clone.

Behind him, Ogata steadied her rifle and fired two precise shots into the skulls of another pair mid sprint. The creatures collapsed in tandem, twitching.

Then eight clones still standing abruptly halted mid lunge. Takenaka’s brows furrowed beneath his goggles.

The air vibrated, subtle and tight. Then, as if cued by some shared instinct, the entire group turned away. Their heads jerked toward the east, bamboo eight legged bamboo stiffening.

Without warning, they broke off. Just motion; leaping sideways onto a building’s wall, scrambling across its warped façade, then dropping down onto the street beyond, away from the their southern defense line.

From somewhere in the mist-thick streets to the northeast, Ogata heard it: the sharp electronic chirp of bait noise, and a split second later, the screech of tires skidding wet against asphalt.

Takenaka yanked his Bo staff free, eyes narrowing. “It's happening...”

Matsuya Tsuda clacked his fingers rapidly across the console keys, eyes locked on the countdown blinking red. A vein twitched in his temple.

“Captain, five seconds until secondary drop,” he said through comms, voice sharp. “Find cover now and shut your ears. 178 decibels. Get clear of any buildings with glass. Komatsushima’s about to blow.”

Takenaka pursed his lips, lowered his fingers from his earpiece, "You heard him, men!" He shouted at Rinko's remaining squad, "Let's seek shelter in 5!"

"Copy!" They shout in unison and bolted.

On the Ariake's map, their signal arcs spun into a V shaped funnel above the rapidly advancing SUV.

Inside the vehicle, Rei flinched as her HUD briefly flickered; a pulsing orange neon square erupted from her chest.

“Route overlay uploaded,” Kaede called from the rear, voice tense.

The AR grid burst across their windshield, illuminating a sharp turnoff before branching into a tangled shortcut that ran straight through the building of a multi level parking structure.

“Five seconds!” Platoon Leader Kawashima barked.

“Shit…” Rei bit down on her lip. Her knuckles whitened around the wheel.

Above them, eight drones adjusted mid-flight. Their array of noise lure emitters triggered in sequence, releasing a layered, oscillating cacophony designed to fracture the pursuing clone’s navigational pattern.

The air vibrated with dissonant sound.

Rei didn’t hesitate. She spun the wheel left hard. The SUV screeched as its tires skidded across wet pavement, fishtailing up the curved ramp of the derelict parking depot. Concrete cracked beneath them.

Broken glass jumped as they climbed floor by floor in a dizzying spiral.

“Keep ascending!” Kaede shouted, glancing back. Kawashima added, “They're not breaking!”

Behind them, the street split open with a violent chorus of screeches and thuds. 22 clones burst forward; evolved copies of the same bioform, tearing into the structure’s entrance like rabid dogs.

One of them, clone no 4 now has the core. Lucky number.

They clawed over each other, chitinous claws and bamboo limbs crashing against cement, trying to outrun their siblings just to be the first to reach the SUV.

Some vaulted ahead, smashing through the side barriers of the parking ramp. One landed two levels above them, shrieking and already starting to dig down.

Another launched horizontally from the street, slamming against a half-collapsed billboard before rebounding off a rusted beam and crashing near the vehicle’s tail.

Rei slammed into second gear and kicked the accelerator. Sparks danced as the SUV grazed a bent guardrail. They leapt a broken threshold; barreling across a platform that connected to the neighboring complex like a fallen bridge. The landing crunched suspension, but the vehicle held.

“They’re splitting across levels!” Hitsuguya shouted from their earpieces, full of urgent concern and panic. “Some are trying to flank!”

“I fucking noticed!” Rei growled.

Meanwhile, farther south, drones from Captain Takenaka and Officer Ogata’s zone had just re-synced.

The last of the Southern deployment joined the aerial formation, veering eastward in high convergence.

They picked up the overlapping signatures of the clones chasing Rei and began an arc pattern, readying their own synchronized sound burst to lure the swarm from above.

 Their earpieces pinged once more, Botan. “3 seconds left until the second bait noise drop!”

Above, dozens of lights cut through the murky Komatsushima sky, drone wings tilting for optimal dispersal.

And in the spiraling hell of the concrete spiral, Rei kept driving.

Simultaneously, another signal pinged through the feed data: Subaru’s position syncing.

The spatial route from Eighth Division's base at Matsuyama had mapped a clean intersect between her location and Rei’s projected climb; perfect for an ambush or extraction, if the clone took the bait.

Then came a surprise: Subaru had made contact with remnants of Kamoshida’s squad, another variable on the board.

Yozora Y/n simply watched the drone formations again, silently and with mathematical precision.

Above the chaos, Y/n leaned against the guardrail of her elevated command platform, statics flickering across the holographic panels surrounding her.

Her gaze narrowed as she keyed the direct relay to Subaru.

“Find Rei’s SUV. It should be airborne by now.”

Perched on the ledge of a building several blocks away, Subaru responded with a flicker of motion.

"Platoon Leader Kamoshida’s forward unit confirmed alive,” Subaru muttered through her earpiece. “They’re dug in beneath Shelter  12, prepping the fallback zone. No sign of the captain himself.”

Her monocular goggles flared to life, lenses rotating as they swept the eastern skyline, until a sudden shape cut through the smoke-hazed air.

“There,” Subaru muttered.

A metallic roar split the night. A full speed SUV blasted from the upper floors of a parking structure's rooftop, launched off the top level with reckless momentum.

It soared, wheels free of gravity, aiming for a rooftop across the street.

Behind it, multiple of limbs scattered. 22 clones, and rising, hurled themselves through the shattered levels in a chaotic surge, racing after the airborne vehicle.

Rei’s voice cracked through the comms mid flight. “Captain, shoot that egg laying bitch!”

Subaru didn’t hesitate. Though still two rooftops out, her goggles locked onto one of the clones mid arc, clone no 4, red spiking circular pulse spiking with aggression from her feed.

Captain Subaru saw the core in its abdomen.

She ripped a fresh energy charge from the skin and cells of her kaiju synthetic suit, slammed it into place, and launched.

Propulsion ignited with a deep howl.

She tore across the rooftop and kicked off the edge, wind hammering against her suit as the rotary cannon spun to life.

She streaked toward the collapsing rooftop just as the SUV crashed down; suspension buckling from the impact.

The clones landed hard, claws raking concrete.

Subaru hit a heartbeat later, feet braced atop the SUV’s roof, frame groaning beneath the triple weight of steel, gunfire, and war.

"Hitsuguya,” her voice cut through the command operation of Eighth Division, firmer. “Override.”

"On it" The tension was palpable in the air around him.

With one last flick of his wrist, Hitsuguya Botan set the protocol in motion. With one last flick of his wrist, Botan set the protocol in motion.

The energy that followed surged through the air once again, an invisible force rippling across the battlefield. For Captain Subaru, it was as if her very core had been primed for war.

Her last, lucky shot.

The main operations floor fell into a taut silence.

All eyes were glued to the central feed; live drone footage projected in grainy clarity above the strategic map, its signal flickering as the camera auto tracked a single SUV flinging through the air like a thrown corpse.

Clones, too many, launched behind it in a grotesque arc. Bodies twisted mid-leap. Their silhouettes blurred through smoke and concrete dust, forming a tide of inhuman motion.

Then came Subaru.

From the side, off frame, her propulsion ignited. A sharp contrail cut through the screen as she surged forward. In that suspended instant, SUV, clones, Subaru, all poised midair like pieces in a kill tableau.

The SUV hit the rooftop.

Clones followed.

Subaru landed last, rotary cannon blazing to life atop the trembling frame.

A beat passed.

Shinomiya Isao didn’t blink. But one of his fingers curled, white knuckled, into the edge of the command table. His blond brow causing wrinkles on his forehead.

Itami Keiji’s jaw flexed, breath caught mid draw, unreadable behind the flat cold of his eyes. His coffee, forgotten at his side, sat untouched and now lukewarm.

Nogisaka Juzo sat entirely still, leaning slightly forward, lips parted ever so slightly, as though a chill had just passed through his core. 

"Calibrating,” said the flat mechanical voice of Captain Subaru's suit AI.

Hitsuguya Botan’s focus was absolute. His fingers moved with precision, keyed into the data terminal before him.

“Fortitude level 92%. Kaiju alignment locked,” he murmured. He slid his hand across the screen, confirming the Kaiju’s alignment, locking in its position.

The words crisp in the silence of the control room. The terminal beeped once, confirming the stabilizers. 

2 seconds left.

"Begin transmission,” Yozora said her voice steady, even as the sky responded first.

Through the comms, Subaru could hear Operational Leader Hitsuguya Botan preparing.

The woman was already in the zone, syncing with the pulse of her weapon system her combat mode fully activated. Yozora Y/n didn’t need to look.

“Execute.” she ordered,

Hitsuguya Hana stationed near her husband, pushed the red button.

Then came the sound.

Above them, fourteen drones let loose a weaponized cry, precision launched in tandem with twelve fixed towers that ringed the perimeter.

Together, they deployed layered acoustic bait signatures, each frequency modulated to scramble the clones’ echolocation.

The first wave: Primary Distortion; a directed spiral of high-pitched pulses, mathematically staggered to form a refracting field.

The second wave: Secondary Bait Noise; low frequency modulations, embedded under the shrill shriek, designed to mimic prey movement patterns and fracture the clones' biological signal parsing.

Each note echoed wrong, dissonant, like something that never should've existed. A hell scream composed by machines. Glass screaming inside your lungs.

On the ground, the results were immediate.

The clones convulsed. Some screeched. Some curled like dying insects, their muscular systems misfiring. A few cannibalized each other in blind reaction to phantom prey. The pain was algorithmic, and efficient.

And the core went utterly still. Stuck.

Subaru felt it too.

Even with sound dampening layers in her helmet, her spine wanted to curl away. Her rotary cannon felt heavier, vibrated in her grip, her teeth clacked from resonance.

Glass shattered around her. Came from multiple places where thr sound waves shattered every glasses from multiple buildings.

Shards sliced her lips, her cheek, her jawline, thin red lines like ceremonial cuts in the snow.

But she didn’t let go. She bit down and held.

“All units, maintain position,” Yozora’s voice came through the comms; unshaken.

The world buckled. Houses trembled. Windows shattered. Dust bloomed from long-settled seams.

Even buildings; old, brittle ones began to fracture, pushed to their limit by the force. Sensitive electronics sparked and died. Glass ceilings exploded. Corridors cracked.

Some defense officers newer ones vomited. Others curled into fetal positions behind shielding walls, trying not to feel the sound.

In a side alley, a gunner from the surviving two Humvees vomited and secured his earpiece tighter.

Another stuffed cotton into a partner’s nose, clearly bleeding, not even bothering to speak.

Some didn’t even hear it, they just dropped, retching, screaming, not knowing which way was up.

The clones thrashed in waves.

His mind tracked the data, the patterns, as the suit began its final integration. The AI announced, “Unleashed Combat Power at 92%. Final integration complete.”

The room’s tension ratcheted up a notch. Without another word, Botan’s focus shifted entirely to the frontline.

Her suit, now perfectly calibrated again at 92%, locked into overdrive, ready to unleash another hell.

Internal gyros whined as energy rerouted through the synthetic musculature, arc-light pulses flowing into the spinal capacitor, then bleeding outward to the integrated kaiju-core conduit bolted inside the cannon’s weapon spine.

The air pressure changed.

First came the sound; a dull thum like a pulse from inside a concrete wall. Then the glow, pale green white, liquid light, crawling across the rotary barrel in jagged chevrons of energy. Plasma rails aligned. Stabilizers locked. Ammo cycle reinitiated.

Eighth Division Captain Subaru gritted her teeth, cuts forming her lower face, "Fire!" Subaru shouted, 

She pulled the trigger.

The rotary cannon responded with a shriek; hyper-compressed plasma vented in concentric arcs, each bolt streaking forward like a white-hot comet tipped in surgical green. Air ionized on contact, splitting open as the rounds impacted.

The blast struck clean through it. The impact flash was instantaneous; a light that flared green, then white, then black as the matter inside the kaiju cooked itself alive.

Its chest fractured. Its outer shell peeled back in molten layers. Underneath, a fibrous meats of flesh and nerves, ruptured open like a pressure vessel.

The kaiju screamed, a high register biomech howl that split at the edges like a corrupted audio file. Its limbs struck blindly, seizing air and earth in equal measure.

And like chain reaction, the remaining 21 clones exploded, 

Pressure tore them apart from the inside. Flesh ballooned, bones shattered outward.

One by one, they detonated, some trying to run away, others frozen in mid scream,  their bodies splitting into shrapnel and vapor.

Chunks of wet matter hit the ground like raw meat flung against concrete. Sizzling and melting the concrete floor.

Captain Subaru’s exosuit hissed with residual heat as the pressure seals disengaged unevenly. She staggered two steps forward, the outer shell scorched from point-blank engagement. Then her knees buckled.

She collapsed, one hand bracing against the ground, her breath ragged.

“Target…” she managed between gasps. “Neutralized.”

A second later, the rear doors of the armored HUV slid open. Vice Captain Kaede was the first to disembark, rifle still slung but safety disengaged. Dust and embers whipped across them.

Behind her, Platoon Leaders Rei and Kawashima followed, steady and precise.

Between them, they supported the injured Igarashi his arms draped over their shoulders, his weight uneven. But his grip on Rei’s suit remained vice tight.

Botan's mouth were floored but he manages to went through it, "Target... Hahakumo's clones neutralised. I repeat, neutralised!"

A beat.

Then the Eighth and Ninth Division base erupted. Cheers, clapping, even someone slamming their fist joyfully on a table.

The emotional pressure valve bursts, even if just briefly. On the screens, the burning rooftops of Komatsushima flickered in real, time, still dangerous, but no longer spiraling.

In Ariake, everyone had been holding their breath without realizing it.

Yamamoto Yamashiro exhaled so sharply it fogged his glasses. He slumped back in his chair, spine caving into the foam cushion, head tilted upward and blank with exhaustion.

Nogizaka Juzo leaned forward with both elbows on the table, his eyes shut tightly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Goddamit, Orochizuya..." Juzo grunted,

Itami Keiji sat still.

Jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line, he simply absorbed the situation. Grounded inhale through his nose. Then he stood, moved silently.

Y/n remained exactly where she had been; leaning forward on the rail above the tiered command platform, her gaze fixed to the main feed. No sigh, no motion.

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off. The mental calculations, reroutes, and contingency branches she’d been processing for hours hadn’t cleared. Not yet.

But her head and lost arm throbbing as much as Juzo, her fingers twitched, aching from tension. Her mouth was dry.

Then, quietly, Itami Keiji placed a fresh cup of coffee on the rail beside her. She turned to him. No words. Just the faint scent of bitter roast and the apology embedded in the gesture. 

She took it. Nodded once. Y/n accepted his apology.

Finally, her voice, calm and raspy:

“Dispatch cleanup crews. Begin coordination for structural triage in Komatsushima." She blinked,  "Prioritize collapsed zones with the remaining officers of Eighth and Ninth still transmitting signals.”

Shinomiya Isao, seated one row behind, closed his eyes. He exhaled through his nose, arms still crossed, frown unmoved. Relief was clearly seen in his eyes, it was muted but real.

They were JAKDF.

Reactions like these; tempered, understated, weren’t born from apathy. They were scars worn smooth by repetition.

This wasn't the first near-loss. It wouldn’t be the last. Everyone in this room had seen the worst a kaiju could do, and they’d learned not to flinch. Not here. Not now.

It wasn’t detachment. It was survival. You didn’t serve in this job expecting applause. You served because someone had to step into the wreckage and keep standing.

He opened his eyes again, the silence around him heavy, professional. This wouldn't be the end. It's just getting started. It's something Isao feared and welcomed.

Everyone went back to work.

They crossed the fractured asphalt towards the fallen captain, stepping over debris and scattered remains and limbs of dead clones.

Kaede’s eyes swept the city, confirming no immediate threat.

Without a word, she crouched next to Subaru, checking her vitals, then gave a nod, alive, conscious, just collapsed from heat stress and neural feedback.

"this is Vice Captain Kaede,” she said into her comms, eyes scanning the smoking remains of the clone’s carcass.

“We need medics on-site, Captain's down from suit overheat, one with a leg injury. Sending coordinates now. Priority one.”

Ignoring the throbbing pain from her forehead, she didn't pull the scattered glass shard on her cheek. For medical reasons.

The southern shelter doors hissed open, thick with dust and ringing silence.

Takenaka staggered out first, one hand braced on the wall, the other clutching his bo staff. The moment his boots hit the fractured pavement, he winced, hard.

His ears were still ringing, a sharp, unrelenting pitch layered over the muffled groans of the injured.

He shouted without meaning to, voice several decibels too loud.“Kamoshida?! Kuro?! Report, status?”

His voice cracked, distorted through the comms. The earpiece buzzed back intermittently, dissonant.

A moment passed. Then two replies filtered through the static;

“—‘m here. Ears shot. Spinning. Still breathing.” That was Kamoshida, voice hoarse.

“Same. Nauseated as hell. But I’m not a corpse yet.” Kuro's voice was grim, but alive.

Captain Takenaka’s brows pinched together, eyes tight beneath dirt-streaked lenses. His breathing was heavy, not from exhaustion, but from pressure, concussion, the kind that rearranged your insides.

He lowered his voice, unconsciously, now aware of the volume. But everything still sounded distant, submerged.

Ogata emerged behind him, one arm wrapped around a limping squadmate whose sleeve was soaked with blood.

Her rifle slung back, battered but functional. The younger soldier wheezed, leaning into her as they descended the steps from the blown shelter exit.

Glass crunched under their boots.

The city, Komatsushima, looked like it had been raked by giants. Every skyrise window, every mirrored facade, every windshield: gone. Shimmering debris blanketed the roads like brittle snow.

The bait noise had stripped the skyline bare. Metal groaned somewhere in the distance.

Ogata’s eyes lingered on Takenaka’s other hand. A dull silver glinted against the bloodied grip of his staff; late Platoon Leader Rinko’s necklace. Takenaka hadn’t let go of it, even now.

---

 

For a moment, Y/n simply stood still, back straight, jaw clenched, the overhead LEDs humming softly above her.

She wasn’t wearing her uniform jacket. It had been peeled off and draped over the sink counter.

Her new model of prosthetic arm were atop the sink. So were her headset Just her and her reflection now.

The sink squeaked as she turned the knob.

Cold water splashed into her one palm, sharp against skin that had gripped too many comms panels, issued too many kill zone calculations in too little time.

She bent forward, splashed her face once. Twice. The third time, she lingered, hand  pressed to her eyes, water trailing down her cheeks.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Again.

She was still trembling. But not enough for a subordinate to notice.

But Y/n's fingers, the ones that had pointed to evacuation routes, reinforcement paths, artillery grids; they twitched beneath the water like wires discharging static.

Four minutes too late on the eastern relay…

Multiple deaths stalling time, 17 remains of Eighth Division. 

1 Ninth Platoon Leader dead. Half of the total Ninth 3 deployed squads didn't make it.

Plan was perfect... But at the cost of everything...

The math ran laps in her mind, quiet and cruel.

Nogisaka Juzo and Yozora Hoshiguma's voice ranged next to her train of thoughts. Grey, blunt and pragmatic;

"We have different principles Deputy Director, I don't mind blood  if it's earned. But you do."

“You must learn to bear the weight, even if it crushes you. Because that is what it means to be a Yozora.”

She straightened up and opened her eyes, blinking at the mirror. Her face was blank; like it always had to be. But Y/n's eyes betrayed her. Slightly red. Too many emotions, human.

Outside the comfort room bustled; faint thuds of boots on the tile, a voice crackling from a wall-mounted intercom.

But here, in the sterile confines of white light and steel sinks, she could breathe for ten seconds without giving an order.

Y/n reached into her inner vest pocket and pulled out a small metal token; a worn sector pin from Third Division.

A keepsake from her captain days. It clinked lightly against the porcelain when she set it on the counter.

Then her headset beeped. Priority ping from Second Division Liaison Relay Officer.

She wiped her hands briskly on a nearby towel. Attach her prosthetic arm back on her stump. Pulled her jacket back on.

Yozora Y/n left the bathroom without another glance at the mirror.

Notes:

Were at the last arc of Hahakumo, and finally it's the end!

These last 2 chapters were shown MC's past as captain, and her dynamics with Ashiro Mina. Hahakumo and Orochizuya's past and yada yada, and how Ashiro met Bakko. And some moments for juzo, itami and shinomiya dynamics with our MC, she's one of them in terms of higher rank, so obviously realistically speaking those three wont just "yes ma'am, i agree ma'am" to her plans and whatnot.

This backstory highlights ashiro mina as a rookie;

Spoiler, from the manga, it was revealed mina has this toxic mindset of being the best or from what i understand, where she blamed herself of the death of her comrades who acted as diversion to get the kaijus in line of her cannon, which i assume at the time where hoshina wasnt recruited yet. And who did she mold herself into? Yozora Y/n. Oh, and they're went from mentor/mentee into good friends for some character arc obviously. And surprise! Yamamoto was actually a former 3rd division operational leader!

There may have been some inconsistent or false information about how this chapter's plot and how i wrote Hahakumo's clones biology/monocular goggles works. And im too lazy to correct it and my only excuse was it's been a long time and i forgot how i characterise them most of it. And all the scientific dna are from google btw.

Next chapter is full of Hoshina scenes, so buckle up, i guess?

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 10: Old Ghosts

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Despite their size and predatory nature, hammerheads generally avoid humans and are not known to be aggressive.

 

Ariake Maritime Base, year 2024

 

The sharp groan of the wooden door signal the arrival of Narumi Gen into Yozora Y/n's office.

He strode in without knocking, because of course he does, he stretched his hands behind his head with a lazy sigh.

Narumi Gen, Captain of the First Division, looked like he just rolled out of his bed with a  disheveled hair, the front locks lazily hanging over his eyes and he said he doesn't looked like a raccoon, and a gaming console still clutched in his left hand.

“You do realize knocking exists, right?” Yozora Y/n didn’t even look up, still focused on her laptop, and the fatigue clinging to her like a second skin after the Shikoku Island fiasco days ago.

She hadn’t had proper rest since. Not with the weight of the Eighth and Ninth Division funerals still fresh in her mind, the silence of the procession barely dulled by the stiff salutes and folded flags.

She and Shinomiya Isao, along with Itami Keiji and Nogisaka Juzo, had attended them personally; face to face with the names and faces turned ash under her command.

In the wake of it all, Isao issued orders to redistribute manpower; officers from various divisions, most notably from the Second, Fifth, and Thirteenth, were reassigned to bolster the gutted Eighth.

A temporary measure, he said, but even Yozora Y/n knew nothing about the losses felt temporary.

The screen in front of her blinked with the transfer lists. Names she didn’t know yet. Names that would bleed and die if she didn’t do better.

Narumi Gen ignored her, collapsing onto the chair in front of her table,

"Man, Hasegawa’s nagging me again," he complained, He kicked his feet up on Yozora Y/n’s pristine desk.

"Kept nagging me about ‘responsibility’ and ‘image’, blah, blah, blah. Told him it’s my day off." He shot her a sideways glance, as if expecting sympathy.

"So, I’m hiding here. Congrats, you’re my accomplice.”

 

This idiotic man.

 

Yozora Y/n sighed, dragging his boots off her desk with one hand before shifting her gaze to the screen of her laptop.

“You’re not even supposed to be here, Narumi.”

“Well, I am. Sucks for you.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his handheld console, flipping it open with one hand.

Yozora Y/n barely looked up from the reports she was reviewing.

"You mean your job as First Division's captain?" she asked dryly, pen tapping against the edge of the paper.

Narumi Gen grinned, unbothered.

"Details, details." He leaned back, tapping on his console. The noise irked her, yet she doesn't say a thing.

"Anyway, you heard about the rookies enrolling today?"

Yozora Y/n finally glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Go on."

Narumi didn’t even look at her, too focused on his game.

"There’s this guy, 32, keeps applying. Total loser, no combat experience, can’t make it in the cut, but he won’t quit. He’s trying again this year."

That made her pause mid thought, just long enough for the silence to draw a faint shift in the room’s rhythm.

"Hibino Kafka," she murmured, more to herself than to Narumi Gen; as if testing the name for weight, history.

Across the room, the rhythmic tapping of buttons halted. Narumi finally looked up, blinking in surprise.

"Oh? You actually know the guy?"

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze had gone distant, narrowing slightly as if sorting through an internal archive of names, profiles, defense officers division transfer and half remembered reports.

She leaned back in her chair with deliberate calm, "I've seen his name before." Yozora Y/n leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled in thought.

"Nine years ago, he applied to the Third Division for the last time before taking a job at Monster Sweeper Inc."

Narumi Gen gave a low whistle, brows rising.

"Nine years? Either he’s got guts… or no sense of direction." He tossed a glance at her. "You think he’s for real, or just another guy who can’t take a hint?"

Yozora Y/n didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was already working through the implications.

A civilian working with kaiju corpses for nearly a decade? The JAKDF focused on killing them, but corpse disposal was an entirely different expertise,

Understanding how kaiju bodies decomposed, how their biology reacted post-mortem, even potential ways to harvest useful material.

Not many defense officers had that kind of knowledge.

She exhaled through her nose. "He might not be a total loss."

Narumi Gen mouth shaped to an 'oh' before smirking. "You considering rooting for the underdog, Chief Brain?"

Yozora Y/n simply returned to her reports. "I’ll be overseeing the enrollment phase personally,"

Ignoring the teasing lilt in his voice. But she didn't deny Narumi's statement either.

"Let’s see if he’s still just a stubborn fool or if there’s something worth salvaging."

Before Narumi Gen could respond, the door slammed open again.

"HONESTLY, NARUMI!"

Hasegawa Eiji, First Division's Vice Captain stormed in, eyes burning with exasperation.

"You’re supposed to be working, not harassing Chief Yozora!"

"Hey, Hey!" Narumi Gen barely had time to react before Hasegaw Eiji grabbed him by the collar, practically hauling him out of the chair.

"Oi, oi, hands off the goods!"

more like spoiled goods, You thought, hiding a smirk behind your coffee mug as you took a sip,

Undeterred, Hasegawa Eiji ignored him, You almost feel bad for the captain.

Key word: Almost.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Chief Yozora," Eiji said with a deep bow toward her before promptly dragging Narumi Gen out of the office, ignoring the younger man’s protests.

Y/n watched them go, waiting for the door to close shut before quietly pulling open her desk drawer.

A dull, familiar ache flared up in her right arm, phantom pain, a cruel trick of a limb that no longer existed.

She flexed her fingers instinctively, despite knowing there was nothing to flex. The prosthetic remained still, cold and unyielding, a harsh reminder of battles past.

A reminder that persistence came at a cost.

For a brief moment, she let the pain linger. Then, just as quickly, she pushed it aside.

With practiced ease, she reached for the handle of her desk drawer and pulled it open.

Inside, a neatly preserved application form from 2015 lay atop a stack of documents.

Hibino Kafka.

Her fingers hovered over it for a moment. She had always considered logistics and field intelligence crucial to operations. If nothing else,

Kafka had seen the aftermath of kaiju battles more closely than most. That alone made him a potential asset, if he could prove himself.

Closing the drawer, she made a mental note.

Tomorrow, she would watch the exams herself.

---

 

Yozora Compound, Year 1998

 

Summer of 1998's sunlight spilled like liquid gold across the polished wood, pooling at the edges where Yozora Y/n kneeled, small hands folded neatly in her lap, her bare feet tucked beneath her, resisting the urge to sway side by side in excitement.

Today was rare, a day when her father was not wreathed in duty, not swallowed by the demands of annihilating kaijus, saving lives and politics among his clan meeting.

Today, Yozora Michikatsu was simply here, the scent of his cigarette wafting between them like unseen silk, his presence steady, grounding.

She did not let her eagerness show, not fully, only the slight, unconscious press of her palms against the warm of her lap, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly when he moved a shogi piece.

A challenge. A test. A moment only between them; fleeting, but real. She stored it away like a coin pressed into her palm, not for its worth but for who had given it.

Not all treasures glittered. Some were quiet, and warm, and only real when remembered.

The scent of matcha mixed with the acrid curl of cigarette smoke as the summer air shifted through the engawa (veranda).

Yozora Michikatsu sat across from his daughter, his expression unreadable as he moved a shogi piece with deliberate ease.

The clank of wood against wood echoed softly between them.

Six-year-old Y/n pursed her lips, small hands hovering over the board as she considered her next move.

The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the polished wood of the veranda.

Beyond them, the garden stretched in perfect unity. Carefully pruned pines, a koi pond reflecting gold, black, white and crimson, the delicate sound of wind through the bamboo groves.

Yozora Michikatsu took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember briefly glowing before he exhaled, watching his daughter with sharp, expectant eyes.

"The sound of the Gion Shōja bells echoes the impermanence of all things. The color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline."

"The arrogant do not last long, like a fleeting dream on a spring night. Even the mighty will perish in the end, like dust before the wind."

Y/n blinked up at him, recognizing the words from the book he had read to her earlier. She had thought them poetic, but the weight in his voice now made her hesitate.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

Michikatsu moved another piece. Checkmate.

"That even the mighty fall," he said simply. His gaze held hers.

"Tell me, Y/n, how will you avoid their fate?"

Yozora Y/n had been six then,

And she didn't know the answer.

Yozora Michikatsu hummed,

You were still too young to fully grasp your father's words, Yozora Michikatsu was often strict, but not unkind.

But she understood the challenge in his tone. She hated losing. She stared at the shogi board, brows furrowed.

"You always win," she muttered.

Yozora Michikatsu flicked the cigarette, the ash falling into the ceramic tray beside him.

"Because you are playing in the present. I am playing in the future."

He leaned back against the wooden pillar, the smoke curling lazily in the air.

"Again," he said.

A breeze swept through the bamboo groves, carrying the distant sounds of their home, Kyoto. Yozora Michikatsu exhaled the smoke.

"A Honju level kaiju has emerged in Chiyoda Ward. Civilian evacuation is incomplete. Your forces are outnumbered. You are leading your division, what do you do?"

Y/n froze. Kaiju? The question threw her off balance. This wasn’t like their usual tactical exercises.

"The city is densely populated," Yozora Michikatsu continued.

"You do not have clearance for large-scale bombardment. The kaiju has already destroyed two buildings and is heading for a third. Every second you waste, people die."

Her heart pounded.

A kaiju in Chiyoda... High civilian density. Limited firepower. No retreat.

She thought, then she blinked,

"Lure it out," she said. "Deploy drones, flashbangs, sirens anything to make it follow us instead of attacking the civilians."

Yozora Michikatsu’s gaze flickered with approval. "And if it doesn’t take the bait?"

"Then force it to," she said. "Have a smaller unit fire concentrated shots at its limbs, wounds that won’t kill, but will enrage. Direct the pain where we want it to go."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. And if there’s a second kaiju?"

Y/n's fingers curled into fists on her lap. Two. Shit.

"Find their connection," she said slowly.

"If it’s a Honju, Yoju would just be behind it, we exploit their instinct to protect. If it’s a pack species, we identify the leader and eliminate it first. If it’s a distraction, we find the real threat."

His smirk widened.

"Better," Yozora Michikatsu said.

The shogi board between them now held little meaning. Yozora Michikatsu’s cigarette burned low, but he didn’t move to put it out.

"During the early founding of Izumo Tech and JAKDF, they deploys kaiju weapons; biological armaments made from dead monsters and their cores." He looked at her, dead in the eyes,

"The public supports them then. But what happens if the people turn against them?"

Y/n frowned. "Why would they?"

"Because power creates fear," he said simply.

She thought. "If they turn against us, we control the narrative."

His expression barely shifted, but she could tell he was weighing her words. "How?"

Y/n tapped a fingernail against the board's rim. "By making kaiju weapons necessary."

He raised an eyebrow.

"If civilians see how effective they are, if they see kaiju weapons saving lives, the fear turns to reliance."

Yozora Michikatsu chuckled.

"So you would manufacture necessity? Diabolical."

Y/n hesitated. Fingers curling slightly against the board's smooth surface "Is it wrong?"

He studied her, then shook his head.

"Not wrong. Just real."

The words settled in her bones.

The sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the engawa (veranda). You had won one game out of five, your first victory. You sat taller, pleased, though you tried not to show it.

The steady rhythm of the shishi-odoshi echoed through the garden, a hollow tokk…

followed by the crisp clack as the bamboo tube tipped forward, spilling its gathered water before striking stone.

Yozora Michikatsu leaned his chin on his palm, watching her thoughtfully. Then, without looking away, he said,

"Find the five things that are out of place in the garden."

Y/n blinked, startled. "What?"

"Five things," he repeated. "Something is not as it should be. What was the cause?"

She turned her gaze toward the garden.

The pine trees stood still, the koi swam lazily in the pond, the breeze rustled through the bamboo groves, everything looked as it always did.

Or did it?

Her eyes sharpened.

One. The stone lantern near the pond had moss only on one side. Strange, normally, it would be evenly spread. Had someone cleaned it recently?

Two. The koi were clustered at the far end of the pond. Something had disturbed them.

Three. The bamboo chimes, usually swaying with the wind, were silent. There's no wind.

Four. Her two cousins sat near the stepping stones, seemingly relaxed, but their shoulders were tense. Watching. Listening.

Five. A single footprint in the gravel path, half erased. Someone had been there.

Her heart pounded. Waiting. Assessing.

"There was someone here," she said slowly.

Yozora Michikatsu’s lips curled in amusement.

"Very good. But too slow. You must train your eyes to see everything in an instant."

Y/n scowled. "That’s impossible."

"Is it?" he mused. He tapped his ash into the tray.

"I saw them the moment we sat down."

She glared at him, frustrated.

"Then how do I get better?"

Yozora Michikatsu studied her, then gestured toward their two cousins in the garden.

"Watch them," he instructed.

And you did.

The two young men, her cousins, sat in relaxed postures,

But she noticed the way one tapped his fingers lightly against his knee, a restless habit, while the other’s gaze kept darting toward the estate doors.

"What do you see?" Yozora Michikatsu prompted.

She thought carefully. Then she answer, confident this time.

"They're pretending to be composed, but they’re waiting for something. Maybe they’re on guard duty."

Her father was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed and crushed his cigarette into the tray.

"No." Y/n blinked, startled.

"Your conclusion is flawed because you assumed their tenseness was tied to duty," he said evenly.

"You looked at their body language but did not consider their relationship to the environment."

He turned his gaze to the cousins.

"Koshi and Daichi were waiting for their father," he explained.

"Not because of duty, but because he's finally discharged from the hospital in the city."

You stiffened, feeling a hot flash of embarrassment.

"A leader must see all the outcomes, Y/n," Yozora Michikatsu continued, his voice still patient.

"Not just the ones they hope for. You wanted them to be on alert for a threat, so you saw what you wanted to see."

Her stomach twisted. "But they were tense!" She protests, but quickly regained her manners.

"People tense for many reasons," he interrupted.

"Anticipation. Fear. Guilt. Excitement. You must learn to distinguish intent before making a call."

She stared down at her hands, frowning.

Yozora Michikatsu leaned back against the wooden pillar, his expression unreadable.

"What would have happened if this had been a real battlefield?"

She hesitated. "I would have misjudged their purpose."

"And?"

She swallowed. "And I might have made the wrong tactical decision."

"You might have sent men to defend against an enemy that wasn’t there," he corrected.

"Or worse, ignored a real threat because you assumed it was harmless."

The words settled deep inside her, heavy and sharp. That night, Y/n lay awake in her futon, staring at the ceiling.

She thought about how sure she had been of her answer. How she had misread the situation because she wanted to prove herself.

She hated being wrong.

But her father's words echoed in her mind.

"A leader must see all the outcomes, not just the ones they hope for."

She turned onto her side, frowning.

Next time, she wouldn’t assume.

Next time, she wouldn’t just look, she would see.

Y/n closed her eyes.

And she opened them in the sound of a car,

The interior of the car was dim, save for the muted sound of the radio.

Yamashiro Yamamoto First Division operational leader, two hands on the wheel, his expression impassive as they sped down the highway.

Outside, Yokohama blurred past in streaks of neon and white. The first hints of morning edged along the horizon, casting a dull gray over the city.

The roads weren’t empty, not completely, Defense Force surveillance vehicles moved in unmarked lines, cameras embedded in traffic lights, drones hovering at unseen angles.

Third Division's surveillance.

There was always someone watching. Always someone keeping track.

The invisible net of the Defense Force’s eyes and ears stretched across the city, tracking movement, reading patterns, ensuring order in a world where kaiju could tear through reality at any moment.

She shifted slightly in her seat, pressing her left shoulder against the door.

The phantom pain had returned.

A slow, pulsing ache, not just any pain, but something deeper, something her nervous system refused to forget.

Her prosthetic was still attached, a sleek, cutting-edge model developed by Izumo Tech. Skin grafted to the surface, wired directly into her nervous system, mimicking every flex and movement.

It looked real.

It felt real.

But right now, it burned like a limb that wasn’t there.

Without a word, she reached for her right arm, disengaging the prosthetic.

A quiet click. The artificial limb detached, resting in her lap.

She exhaled.

Yamashiro amamoto’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. He didn’t slow, didn’t shift his posture, but his voice carried a tempered, professional concern.

"Pain again, Chief?"

She flexed the fingers of her actual hand.

"It will pass."

A pause. Then,

"You said that last week."

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"And I was right. It passed."

Yamashiro Yamamoto made a low, noncommittal sound. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t drop the subject either. His attention returned to the road, eyes tracing the reflective sheen of wet asphalt.

“First Division’s already running background checks on the applicants,” he said after a pause. “Director General Shinomiya has them monitored before they even set foot on base.”

Yozora Yn’s gaze remained fixed outside the window. The city passed in smudged lights and shadow, buildings stitched together by rain, the skyline vague behind fogged glass.

Because the First Division still held weight in his mind.

“I expected as much,” she murmured, an afterthought, really, spoken to the blur rather than to him.

The same way the Third once did, to you.

She looked down at the tablet resting in her lap. Its screen glowed quietly in the dark cabin, painting half her face in pale light.

Raindrops pattered against the windshield like static.

Yamashiro Yamamoto pulled his hand to adjust the GPS. The other, remained on the wheel.

His driving was smooth, efficient, the kind of control that came from decades being a operational leader of the First Division.

But he still noticed when Yozora Y/n's gaze lingered too long on the tablet in her lap.

“You’ve been staring at that name for a while,” he remarked. Yozora Y/n didn’t look up. She responded. Flat. Unembellished

“Hibino Kafka.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto glanced at the digital roster projected on the tablet. He put his hand back on the wheel. Then back to the road.

The name stirred nothing sharp; no image, no voice,  just a dim record in his memory. A name he’d skimmed, not registered.

“Hibino…” His brow furrowed. The name was familiar but he couldn't put it in his tongue.

He looked at the tablet again, “He’s old for an applicant.”

“Thirty-two,” she confirmed.

“That’s almost the age limit. Why the sudden career change?”

Yozora Y/n tapped the side of the tablet absently. She didn’t answer right away. Her thumb hovered over Kafka’s profile, then slowly dragged downward.

Her eyes weren’t really moving. She was just…there.

“It’s not sudden. He applied six times before.”

Yamamoto raised a brow. Shifting slightly in his seat, “And failed six times.”

She finally looked at him. Her gaze sharp despite the dim interior, “Nine years ago.”

That drew a low whistle from him. The wipers cleared a slow swath across the windshield, blades squeaking faintly as if the drizzle had thinned but refused to stop.

He exhaled through his nose. “And then?”

She nodded. Adjusting her grip on the tablet. The faint glow of the screen reflected against her face.

“Last attempt was in 2015. Then he vanished.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Vanished or gave up?”

“The latter, he's been working at the Monster Sweeper Inc, since then.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto let out a soft, unimpressed scoff.

“Most people don’t come back after that long. If they do, there’s usually a reason.”

The windshield wipers slid across the glass with a slow, deliberate motion, wiping away the faint drizzle that had begun to mist over the city.

After a moment,

"Cleanup crew, huh? That's a noble job."

"Noble but a job no one wanted." A pause, "Noble nonetheless."

She hummed in agreement, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of the tires against wet pavement. But she didn’t elaborate.

Yozora Y/n's reply came after a beat, lower.

“Noble,” she echoed. “But one no one thanks you for.”

Yamamoto glanced toward her, just briefly. Her posture hadn’t changed. One hand still cupped the tablet like she was half-afraid to put it down.

Yamamoto glanced at her again. His grip on the wheel firm but relaxed. His eyes went ahead,

“You remember him, don’t you?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I was Third Division Captain in 2015,” she said simply.

His brow furrowed slightly, eye still on the road, “He applied that year.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto clicked his tongue. Curious. 

“And?”

Yozora finally put the tablet down. Letting it rest on her lap. The screen dimmed without sound, leaving her face in half shadow.

“Ashiro Mina got in. Hibino Kafka didn’t. The rest are history.”

Yamamoto didn’t need further explanation. The difference between those two names alone told him everything.

For a while, the only sound was the sound of the engine as they passed through the monitored streets of Yokohama.

Then Yamamoto muttered, almost to himself, “Guess we’ll see if he’s worth the trouble.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer.

Most who failed the entrance exam were particularly due to their low aptitude for the suits, Yozora Y/n thought, frowning,

Hibino Kafka, what are your tricks, this time?

"But I am wondering, Chief, why oversee this personally? You rarely involve yourself with new applicants unless they are anomalies."

Yozora Y/n doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, she watches the surveillance feeds flickering across the buildings they pass,

Then, without looking at him, she says,

"Because anomalies demand attention."

A simple statement, but it carries weight. Yamashiro Yamamoto, being experienced, would understand that she’s not just talking about Hibino Kafka's application history,

but the broader implications of someone like him reappearing after nine years.

Yamamoto changed lanes, smoothly guiding the car toward the outskirts of Tachikawa Base.

Sunlight illuminates his glasses,

The sky had begun to lighten, soft hues of dawn stretching over the skyline.

The military controlled zone ahead was already awake, personnel moving, vehicles stationed, an unceasing flow of activity.

Yamashiro Yamamoto slowed the car to a stop outside the entrance.

Yozora Y/n reattached her prosthetic, the artificial skin adjusting seamlessly to her shoulder. The click was quiet, final.

She opened the door, stepping onto the pavement.

Yamashiro Yamamoto remained seated, hands resting on the wheel.

Driving isn’t usually an issue, but with your chronic pain flaring up, gripping the wheel feels impossible.

Having Yamamoto take over is a relief, even if you hate the feeling of reliance.

"Will you require the transport back?"

"No. My schedule will keep me occupied here for the remainder of the day."

"Understood."

She turned slightly. "Thank you, Yamamoto."

"It is my duty, Chief." He inclined his head slightly.

Then, as if sensing something unsaid, he added,

"I will see you later tonight."

Yozora met his gaze briefly, then nodded.

As Yamashiro Yamamoto drove off, she exhaled, shifting her focus to the Tachikawa Base gates.

She stepped through the mechanized entry, the doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing the content within;

Rookies hurrying to meet their assigned squads, senior officers deep in analysis, and mechanics cursing at their stubborn machinery.

Technicians murmuring diagnostics to each other as exo suits stood half-disassembled in maintenance bays.

The massive digital screens lining the main halls displayed live combat data, while the low hum of air filtration units provided an ever-present background noise.

It was structured, it was precise, Tachikawa Base operated like what it's meant to do.

And you felt nostalgic.

You didn’t want to leave.

The thought came unbidden, traitorous. But it was true. No emotions are bad as long as they are true.

Tachikawa Base was alive. It was still hers.

And yet, Yozora Y/n no longer belonged to it.

Nostalgia settled like a weight in Yozora Y/n's chest, creeping into the edges of her thoughts.

Here, you were unstoppable. The sniper who saw further than anyone else. The leader who dragged Third Division into a force that could rival even the First.

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest. The best of the best. The one who led the Third Division to rival the First.

You had transferred here at nineteen years old, fresh from Kyoto, determined and unshaken.

And at twenty, you had carved your name into these halls, into every order shouted, into every bullet fired.

Now, standing here again, you could still feel it, the echoes of what you were. The weight of a rifle in your hands. The sharp breath before a shot. The clarity of knowing your place.

This base had been home. Not a title, not a station. Not a desk at Ariake.

No longer a soldier, but as a strategist. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel the ache of what you had left behind.

The click of polished boots against reinforced flooring echoed through the space, mix with the distant chattering of officers dictating field reports and the mechanical sound of security drones sweeping overhead.

Yozora Y/n stepped through, her presence effortlessly commanding the space before she even spoke.

Former Third Division Captain and currently Chief of Command Operation.

The atmosphere shifted the moment she entered. Conversations cut short. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

A Defense Force officer mid sip of his coffee choked violently, sputtering as the hot liquid burned his throat.

Others stood frozen for a beat, then snapped into motion; bowing, saluting, murmuring a stunned, “Chief.”

Yozora Y/n' s steps were rhythmic, gliding across the steel flooring. Unlike many of her subordinates who carried the burden of their battles in their shoulders,

Her presence was unshaken, like a storm long past but never forgotten. There was no need to raise her voice; her mere presence demanded respect.

It wasn’t every day that the Chief of Command Operations stepped foot into her former division.

And then, waiting for her near the halls, was Ashiro Mina.

The woman who had once been her vice-captain, the one she had trained, the one she had left in charge of this division.

 

Before Ashiro Mina, it was you. The strongest. The standard.

 

When Yozora Y/n had left this division, she had told herself it didn’t matter. That titles were just titles. That the person holding them didn’t change the bones of a place.

And yet, standing here now, watching Ashiro Mina at the head of what was once hers, she feels the shape of her absence like an echo.

Once, people had looked to Yozora Y/n the way they now look to Ashiro Mina. Like she was gravity, like she was the thing anchoring them in the storm.

She had been the strongest. The standard.

And now?

Yozora Y/n exhales, slow, steady. She tells herself it is enough, to be here, to watch from a distance, to offer Ashiro Mina guidance in the shadows where no one will see.

Some leader, she thinks.

Some legend.

The ache in her right arm throbbed, a phantom tremor curling up her nerves, as if her body still grieves what her mind refuses to name.

She clenches her jaw. Not now. Not in front of Mina.

So she swallows the feeling whole, presses it deep into the pit of herself, and meets Ashiro Mina’s gaze with something close to a smile.

Let her burn. Let her shine.

Yozora Y/n will remain in the dark, where no one has to see her burn slowly.

Because the world decided Yozora Y/n was no longer fit to hold it. Because the strongest weapon is only useful when it isn’t broken.

Ashiro Mina burns, and you didn't hate the light. But you remembers when it used to be yours.

It’s not envy. It’s not resentment. It’s just the quiet, creeping thought of what could’ve been.

Ashiro Mina straightened immediately, her long, inky black ponytail swaying side by side as she delivered a crisp salute.

Her expression was composed, but there was something in her eyes, a gleam of surprise, nostalgia, and something of a familiarity.

“Chief Yozora,” she said, voice sharp with respect.

Yozora Y/n gave her a slow nod, her gaze sweeping over the younger woman in silent assessment.

It had been years since she’d left this base under Ashiro Mina’s command. Yet, Mina still carried that unwavering resolve, that quiet but suffocating sense of duty.

“I see you’re keeping this place in one piece,” Yozora Y/n murmured.

“I try,” Mina replied,though there was the faintest glint of pride beneath her seriousness.

Then Mina’s sharp gaze flickered downward, to her right arm.

For the briefest second, Mina’s mask cracked.

It wasn’t the same sleek mechanical prosthetic she remembered. This one looked real. Too real.

The way the fingers curled, the way the skin caught the artificial light, it was indistinguishable from a natural limb.

Yozora Y/n noticed the stare.

“Grafted,” she said simply. Calm. Matter-of-fact.

“From my own skin.”

Ashiro Mina stiffened slightly, her expression unreadable, but the sign of guilt was unmistakable. She had been staring.

“My apologies,” Mina said quickly, bowing her head slightly. Then, more quietly,

"I didn’t think you’d go that far," Mina said, the words almost passing through her lips like a thought rather than a spoken acknowledgment.

There was a faint pause, a hesitation that almost made it seem as though she was about to pull back from the moment, but instead, her next words came with quiet conviction.

"But I should have known better."

The admiration in her tone was clear, but it was mixed with something else, something almost unspoken.

She let out a slow breath, the kind of exhale that suggested something heavier lingered just beneath the surface, something she was careful not to show.

Her eyes briefly met Yozora Y/n’s, and for a fraction of a second, the subtle vulnerability behind her gaze flickered, like a shadow that passed too quickly to catch.

Ashiro Mina immediately looked away, as if to hide it.

Yozora Y/n didn’t reply, but for the first time, there was the faintest twitch of her lips. Something like amusement. Something like nostalgia.

She turned away. “Come on, Captain Ashiro. We have applicants to evaluate.”

Ashiro Mina walked beside Yozora Y/n as they made their way through the corridor, the weight of their shared history evident in the way they moved together.

Mina, who had once been your vice captain, had always been the one to keep things pragmatic, focusing on what needed to be done.

Today, however, there was a slight undertone of something more, maybe respect, or perhaps even some unspoken recognition of how far Yozora had come since those days when Mina had been the one at the helm.

“We’ve completed the analysis on the Isehara City's crustacean kaiju,” Mina began, breaking the silence.

"Of August, last year. Izumo Tech says it was a revolutionary find, how its shell could elevate today's kaiju synthetic suit. Although it took them nearly a year to evaluate it."

Yozora Y/n’s gaze remained steady, her face unreadable, but the lines around her eyes hinted at a depth of thought.

She had read the file report that Izumo Tech personally given to her months before. She already knew the details. Still, she gave Mina a subtle nod, indicating she was listening.

“I assumed as much,” Yozora Y/n said quietly, her voice calm.

“The irony of aggression from that particular breed when its shells are rock solid, it was a good call to contain it rather to neutralise them.”

Ashiro Mina gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. “You were right. But speaking of kaiju synthetic suits, Their exoskeletons are... formidable. They were too tough to subdue without severe damage.

“I’m aware,” Yozora Y/n replied.

“The armor, especially around the shell, makes them resistant to most containment methods. We had to adjust on the fly.”

Ashiro Mina hesitated for a moment, then continued. “The remaining kaiju are being held in the Kaiju Containment Zone now. They’re under control, awaiting assignment for the next phase.

Yozora Y/n was quiet for a moment, clearly processing. “It’s a necessary step. The weapons made from these kaiju’s remains, better to understand them now than wait until we’re facing something even worse.”

“That’s why they’re extracting the Uni Organ compounds. To refine the next-generation anti-kaiju weaponry,” Ashiro Mina added, her tone professional, yet there was an undertone of pride in the results.

“It’s all part of the larger effort to be better prepared.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t respond right away. She was already thinking about the implications of it all.

Mina continued, her eyes on the floor ahead of them, now turning toward the more technical aspects of the conversation.

“The 03 S-12006, the weapon created from the reptilian kaiju shell recovered from Hanamasu last year, is in the final stages of refinement."

Izumo Tech had a hard time with it, but the engineers are satisfied with the results. It's lightweight, yet tough, designed for precision and force.”

Yozora Y/n's lips pressed together as she absorbed the information.

“And the officers? Have we chosen anyone yet for the weapon?”she asked, her tone direct but with a hint of something more, something layered beneath her professional demeanor.

After learning that Shinomiya Kikoru is enrolling today, She could be a good candidate for this weapon, you thought.

Mina paused, considering. “We’ve narrowed it down. The Cleaver will be assigned to someone who’s capable of handling both its power and its finesse."

A weapon like that isn’t just about strength, it requires someone with focus. We’ll likely be making the call soon.”

Yozora Y/n’s eyes shifted slightly, gleaming with contemplation, crossing her expression.

“And what of the rest of the kaiju? The ones still being contained in the Zone?”

Mina met her gaze briefly before continuing. “They're waiting for their use. Prepared for training, if needed.”

And that was that.

As they walked further, the sound of officers saluting them as they passed filled the air. It was a routine gesture, one that was both a form of respect and a reminder of their roles.

By the time they reached the Command Operations Center, the energy in the room was already frantic.

The first thing they saw when the mechanical doors hissed open was Hoshina Soshiro,

laughing his damn lungs out.

His head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, one hand bracing against the console as if he physically couldn’t handle it anymore.

Hoshina Soshiro's entire body shook with deep, hysterical wheezing laughter, and on the massive screen above, the reason became clear.

Hibino Kafka.

The applicant was gritting his teeth, groaning, hunched forward as if trying to physically squeeze something out of his body.

His arms trembled, his stance wide, his entire being straining, but the synchronization percentage on the screen remained a devastating:

0%.

A dead silence followed Yozora Y/n and Ashiro Mina’s entrance.

Then,

Chairs scraped backward, backs straightened, multiple frantic movement filled the air.

Every operational leader in the room scrambled to salute, some nearly knocking over their monitors in the process.

And then there was Okonogi Konomi.

The moment her eyes landed on Yozora, her face flushed a deep crimson. The poor girl saluted so quickly and rigidly, it looked painful.

“Chief Yozora, ma’am! W..We weren’t expecting you!”

Yozora Y/n merely raised an arm, a simple gesture of dismissal.

“I’m only here to oversee the applicants,” she said, her tone calm yet absolute. The unspoken Relax. was implied, but the room remained deathly tense.

“Oya? What’s with all the stiff backs?”

Hoshina Soshiro finally turned around, still grinning, eyes sharp with amusement. He rocked on his heels, lazily raising a hand in greeting.

“Yo, Chief. Thought ya were too busy runnin' the whole JAKDF to drop by.”

“Well, my presence is needed,” she replied smoothly, her eyes flicking briefly toward the screen, where Hibino Kafka was still writhing like a dying fish.

“Pfft,” Hoshina choked back another laugh.

And then, because he’s Hoshina Soshiro, he opened his mouth and threw Ashiro Mina under the goddamn bus.

“Captain Ashiro’s the one who never stops talkin' about ya, ya know?” he said casually, as if this wasn’t a career-ending decision.

“Always ‘Chief this, Chief that’ I was startin' to think she had a shrine dedicated to ya.”

Silence fell over the room.

Ashiro Mina’s expression did not change. But her gaze turned to him. And it was razor sharp. Cold. And exasperation all in one.

Yozora Y/n glanced between the two, then slowly, you arched a single eyebrow. Ashiro Mina refused to look at you,

Okonogi Konomi, still red in the face, let out a weak huff of pure nerves. Coughing something in her hand of what said to be "Idiot,"

Your attention went to the large screen again, looking at Hibino Kafka's rather miserable situation and sigh, this is going to be a long day.

The room was quiet, save for the clacking fingers over the keyboards. The glow of multiple screens casts a pale, greenish and bluish light, twinkling against the steel walls and the sharp lines of the command consoles.

On the other side, applicants fight their battle, stumbling, struggling, learning. Their aptitude tests unfold in real-time, projected across the massive main display, every movement, every number of shooting and killing a kaiju laid bare.

Shinomiya Kikoru has the highest unleashed combat power, and is on the lead. Yozora Y/n's eyes gleamed of something of a approval.

Hikari and Isao would be proud. Especially Hikari.

Hoshina Soshiro regarded Yozora Y/n before turning to the large screen at the center, nudging Okonogi Konomi, she activates the comms,

"Ah right,"

"For the final evaluation, Captain Ashiro Mina will also participate in the grading." He grinned,

"Oh and Chief of Command Operation Yozora Y/n is also here. So do yer best folks~"

Y/n glance at him, exasperated, shaking her head.

The air carries the faint electric sounds of synchronized suits, monitoring vitals, exertion levels, and the synchronization rates of each recruit.

And Y/n watches.

She stands at the center of it all, poised like a monument carved into existence for moments like this.

Arms crossed, weight balanced effortlessly, serene, but never idle. Her eyes tracking every movement on the screen with a precision that feels almost predatory.

She does not flinch when a recruit stumbles, nor does she blink when a synchronization rate flatlines.

Assessment comes first. Judgment later.

He was supposed to be watching the same screens as everyone else. Instead, his gaze kept drifting back to her.

It was just… natural. Like looking at her was as much a part of his routine as drawing his sword.

It was stupid, really. Nothing had changed. You were still Yozora Y/n. The same woman he’d grown up with, admired, trained with, had lost and then reunited with again.

She was just as sharp, just as composed, just as infuriatingly serious as she always was.

Hoshina should be watching the screens too. Should be paying attention to Okonogi Konomi, who’s busy relaying reports.

Should be analyzing Hibino Kafka's current (and rather tragic) synchronization rate of 0% with his kaiju synthetic suit.

But he isn’t.

Because you were standing there, and he is looking at you.

It’s not dramatic. Not even deliberate. It’s just… natural. A muscle memory he never thought to question, an orbit he’s never tried to break.

It should be the same as always, except now, the knowledge sits heavy in his chest, coiled between his ribs.

The feeling’s always been there, maybe. Just never had a name. Or a place.

He doesn’t know when it happened, doesn’t know if it was always there, waiting in the quiet, or if it crept up on him, slow and insidious.

All he knows is that it’s here. And it’s changed nothing, or was it? There's always a familiarity between him and you,

That kind of familiarity where he has (abused) privileges of barging in your office at Ariake without as much of a permission. That kind of familiarity where he openly teases you and getting away alive,

He knew you since he was a child, you were childhood friends....well, it's you and Hoshina Soichiro were childhood friends, and Hoshina Soshiro was just the tag-along,

He's aware.

How aware he is of the way the screen’s glow catches the edges of her profile, painting her in cold light, silver against the deep green of her uniform.

How aware he is, of the furrow between her brows as Yozora Y/n studies the feed, the slight shift of her stance when she leans in just a fraction, as if by sheer force of will she can pull more information from the display.

You’ve always had that look; calm, calculated. But now, for some reason, it gets to him.

Hoshina Soshiro exhales, slow, measured. His hand rests idly on the hilt of his sword, thumb tracing absent patterns against the sheath’s surface.

He looks at the screen, analyse the feed. Pretends he cares that Kafka’s sync rate is still flatlined. But he’s not reading any of it. His eyes drift again.

Just a glimpse. Just enough.

And somehow, it’s still not enough.

He should stop staring.

And then, just as he has the thought, Yozora Y/n speaks.

“You’ve been looking at me for the last ten minutes,” she says, voice even, unreadable.

“Should I be concerned?”

Ah. Busted.

Hoshina Soshiro barely misses a beat, slipping into the easy grin that’s always been his shield.

“Nah,” he drawls, tilting his head, closed slitted eyes didnt open, but his grin curled upwards with amusement. Because his toothed fangs were showing,

“Just thinkin’ ya should smile more, y’know? Captain Ashiro was always broodin' when she ran the division. Guess she rubbed off on ya, huh?”

The air didn’t change, but Y/n's stare sure did. He’s seen snipers with softer eyes.

Okonogi Konomi stiffens almost imperceptibly in her terminal.

Someone clears their throat. Another shuffles their stance, as if distance might buffer the impact.

Somewhere at the back, Ashiro Mina herself leveling a look at him, flat, unimpressed. Her jaw ticks. Not enough to call attention, but enough for Hoshina to notice.

The kind of look that says You are speaking nonsense, and I know it.

Oh, she definitely heard that.

For a moment, silence hangs between them. Then Yozora Y/n exhales, slow, as if weighing whether she even wants to dignify that with a response.

“Is that so?” she muses, her tone unreadable. But there’s a flicker, just the barest trace of amusement in the depths of her eyes.

Hoshina grins wider. Smooth save.

Okonogi, on the other hand, looks like she’s one breath away from excusing herself before she gets caught in the crossfire of something above her pay grade.

The test continues. Kafka is still struggling at 0% synchronization, the applicants are still fighting, Kikoru is doing great, command operation center is still running. Nothing changes.

Except maybe, just maybe, something does.

Because now Hoshina Soshiro is hyper-aware of the way Yozora Y/n shifts her weight, the way her fingers tap against her organic prosthetic arm as she processes information.

Hyper aware of the way her mouth curls ever so slightly at the edges, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown, just enough to make him wonder if she sees through him. If she’s always seen through him.

And maybe that should make him nervous.

But instead, all he can think is,

Damn it. I’m in trouble.

And so is Hibino Kafka,

The big screen in the Third Division’s Command Operation Center cast a cold blue glow across the room, displaying live feeds of the Secondary Selection Exam.

Rows of operational leaders murmured amongst themselves. It was a controlled, calculated environment, an exam, not a battlefield. Not a place where a goddamn ambush attack was supposed to happen.

But as the Primigenius Yoju lunged from the debris, its grotesque, hoofed fingers clamping around Hibino Kafka’s torso, the room’s usual ambience was fractured.

Kafka barely had time to react before the sickening crunch of pressure crushed into his ribs.

His body buckled under the force, a garbled, bloody cough leaving his lips as the kaiju’s jagged teeth gleamed inches from his face.

Then, in a motion so swift it was almost dismissive, the Yoju hurled him like a discarded ragdoll.

Straight into a nearby building.

The impact thundered through the screen’s speakers, shaking dust loose from the rafters of the command room itself. A stunned silence followed one that felt too long, too loud.

Hoshina Soshiro and Ashiro Mina didn’t move. His fingers curled slightly against his uniform, his usual easy going grin was gone.

But he felt it, a shift. Like the air had thinned, like some rule had quietly been broken.

 The second test had gone very wrong.

And now, now as the dust cleared on screen, as the other recruits scrambled to react to the ambush, as Hibino Kafka lay half crumpled in the rubble, coughing wetly,

Yozora Y/n’s gaze didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. Her stare was as precise as a rifle scope.

Ashiro Mina, standing at the back of everyone else, let out a slow breath, her voice steady but sharp.

"That wasn’t in the risk assessment."

No shit it wasn’t.

Looking at Okonogi's monitor, Hibino Kafka's profile pulsed in sharp red overlays, his vitals fluctuating in real time. Each injury pulsing faintly with every labored heartbeat.

“Delta area, no. 2032 is injured.” Okonogi’s voice was steady and calm.

"Vitals abnormal, unable to continue fighting. No. 23 Yoju continues to approach.”

“And they're surprisingly good at ambush.” Yozora spoke with the practiced calm of someone who’d once learned that the moment you panic is when you die.

Her fingers had curled slightly at the mention.

...and they don't act alone. But luckily for Hibino Kafka, most of its herd are annihilated by the other applicants. Mostly by Kikoru.

"Prepare the remote shield," Hoshina Soshiro ordered,

Ashiro Mina and Yozora Y/n didn't object.

Before the shield was activated, Kikoru obliterate the Primigenius Yoju level Kaiju, until only bits of itself remains.

Oh?

On the screen before them, a live feed showed Shinomiya Kikoru standing before Hibino Kafka.

“The third time you’ve been embarrassed,” her voice echoed through the dimly lit room.

“No one will die while I’m here… I’ll take care of the kaiju beautifully. You just lie there awkwardly.” Kikoru laughed before striding off.

Yozora Y/n sighed. Well, she supposed she wouldn’t report this to Shinomiya Isao, at least not yet.

Hibino Kafka was barely standing amidst the wreckage , as it was shown from the large screen that his left foot was broken,

Hoshina Soshiro leaned forward, his usual drawl was edged with something sharper; concern, tempered by professionalism.

"2032, do ya copy?" Hoshina Soshiro prompts, voice carrying through the channel, calm but firm.

"I am Hoshina from the operation room. Yer vitals ain't lookin' good. I think ya might have multiple fractures." He paused,

His gaze narrowing at a particular data spike.

"There could even be internal injuries." He clicked his tongue,

He wasn't lying, Yozora Y/n's eyes locked onto the wireframe of his body rotated on-screen, jagged indicators marking fresh ruptured capillaries and internal trauma.

"As the examiner, I suggest ya to withdraw," Hoshina continue,

"Even with a shield it's not absolutely safe."

She didn’t answer.

No. Yozora Y/n thought, frowning, looking at the image of Hibino Kafka and what to be his friend,

That's not the body of a person who is giving up.

Her frown deepened as her eyes drifted; not to the damage, but to the still figure beyond the glass. Hibino Kafka stood with squared shoulders, his friend behind him.

Wounded, yes. Shaken, maybe.

But not afraid. And he's... somewhat determined. That caught Y/n's eyes.

The only sound in the room was the faint sound of the monitor, and the soft click of data cycling frame by frame.

"Very good. But too slow. You must train your eyes to see everything in an instant."

Yozora Y/n scowled. "That’s impossible."

"Is it?" he mused. He tapped his ash into the tray.

"I saw them the moment we sat down."

She glared at him, frustrated.

"Then how do I get better?"

Yozora Michikatsu studied her, then gestured toward their two cousins in the garden.

"Watch them," he instructed.

"A leader must see all the outcomes, Y/n," Yozora Michikatsu continued, his voice still patient.

"Not just the ones they hope for. You wanted them to be on alert for a threat, so you saw what you wanted to see."

Her stomach twisted. "But they were tense—"

"People tense for many reasons," he interrupted.

"Anticipation. Fear. Guilt. Excitement. You must learn to distinguish intent before making a call."

And you were right.

Hibino Kafka isn't giving up. That's a fact, but you frown, thinking;

Hibino Kafka, what are your tricks, this time?

Notes:

Did my best characterising Hoshina without making him OOC, and finally get to see his POV about his whatever feelings for MC. It's safe to say that i already established that Hoshina’s attachment isn’t new (childhood friends yada yada) it’s habitual, subconscious, long held. That means even though it's chapter 10, the emotional pacing makes sense because this isn't “sudden love” it’s longstanding comfort/crush that turned into romantic feelings.

Hoshina doesn't really define the emotions sharply until later on because that comfort, as he thought, was just being friends or buddy buddy with our MC.

Full circle moment from chapter 5, where In the spin-off manga, Kikoru fought a crab-like kaiju while testing her customized weapon; 03 S-12006 (as Mina mentioned) the giant cleaver, but eventually realized it was too light for her, leading her to choose the signature weapon we know today.

Also how MC behaves is what Enji Todoroki could have been if he had emotional intelligence and wasn’t consumed by ego. Sure there's some bitterness in there, but MC doesn’t crave power, she craves purpose. And that’s taken from her, and with a literal version of her thriving??? Oh well.

And a short scene for Y/n and her dad here, Yozora Michikatsu, he's been mentioned again and again in the previous chapters, so it makes me think he at least deserves a lil screen time. Here it shows how he trained our MC, and to show that she isn't that of a tactical "genius". Michikatsu just honed her skill at a young age. (There's also a reason for it)

That’s as much as I’ll reveal for now since there are a lot of layers and arcs for the MC to unfold,

 

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 11: Noise Fatigue

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Whale sharks are the largest fish in the ocean, not whales. Because whales are mammals.

 

Third Division Base, Year 2024

 

"This time..."

To everyone's surprise, Hibino Kafka's combat power ticks up to 0.01%.

"This time, I won’t give up!" His voice rang out, raw with determination.

Ashiro Mina frowned, her grip tightening ever so slightly.

Yozora Y/n's eyes remained fixed on the screen, watching as Kafka forced himself upright. The number flickered again, 0.01%, and for some reason, her mind drifted to something she had read before;

"Perseverance trumps talent in the long run."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

 

Grit.

 

It wasn’t a flashy concept, nor did it promise instant results. Angela Duckworth’s research argued that talent alone was never enough. Intelligence, strength, even skills, they could all be outmatched by one thing;

Unwavering perseverance.

Yozora Y/n had always understood the value of foresight, of strategy. She believed in preparation and control.

But Grit was different, it was about enduring failure and choosing to try again. Studies showed that the most successful people weren’t always the strongest or the smartest.

They were the ones who kept going when others quit.

Hibino Kafka… wasn’t the strongest. His numbers were abysmal. His fortitude was laughable.

Hibino Kafka had forced himself up, bloodied and trembling, and the numbers flickered again. He shouldn’t be standing. And yet, he was.

And he didn’t stop.

And that was something even she couldn’t ignore.

The operation command center was dimly lit, but the glow from the monitors illuminated the sharp angles of her face.

Onscreen, Hibino Kafka struggled to his feet, his movements shaky, his body screaming in protest. His fortitude reading flickered from 0% to 0.01%.

0.01%. A meaningless number to some. A death sentence to others.

Hibino Kafka had failed the Defense Force exams multiple times. He had been deemed unfit, unqualified, a joke.

But here he was, standing again, forcing his body to move despite the odds. Not because he had the strength to do so, but because he refused not to.

Your jaw tensed, and your eyes locked on the screen. You had seen this before.

Not with Kafka. But with yourself.

Years ago, when you stood in the wreckage of buildings, ribs fractured, hand shaking against the weight of your sniper rifle, your right hand was literally torn apart, but you still lifted it. Still fought. And you had won.

"You’re not going back to the front."

Yozora Y/n should have been proud of Ashiro Mina.

You had trained her, honed her into the powerhouse she was now. Yet, when you looked at Mina, all you saw was your own self, wearing a different face.

And yet, here she was, watching from the sidelines as someone else climbed. Someone weaker. Slower. A latecomer in a fight they never should have won.

Yozora Y/n's fingers twitched against her sleeve. The way Yozora Michikatsu used to watch her when she was young; assessing, expecting, shaping, was the same way she had watched Ashiro Mina.

Was this how it felt? Watching someone else become what you were meant to be?

"A defense officer's duty isn't to fight, Y/n. It's to win. Remember that."

The words surfaced uninvited, faint as radio static, a voice long buried but never gone.

Her fingers curled slightly, but she kept watching. Watching Kafka. Watching the impossible.

This wasn’t the time for old ghosts. So she let the thought pass, like a distant transmission, fading into the noise.

Her father had given her an out. A way to contribute without dying. A fate he chose for her.

And in the end, he won.

Her grip tightened. The synthetic skin of her right prosthetic arm pressed against her palm, so seamlessly grafted from her own flesh that it almost felt real. Almost.

Izumo Tech had ensured that.

A masterpiece of engineering, a perfect illusion of wholeness.

But she still felt the absence.

Kafka stumbled again, but he didn't fall. She tensed, but he didn’t fall. Gritting his teeth, he forced his stance steady, shoulders heaving. Bruised, battered, but still standing.

Perseverance trumps talent in the long run.

She wasn't sure she believed it. Not anymore. Not when she had spent years proving herself, only for fate to strip it all away in an instant.

Yozora Y/n exhaled quietly.

Not when her mind was deemed more valuable than her body and willpower, her battle reduced to strategies on a screen.

It wasn’t the mission weighing on her. Not entirely. It was the familiar ache of being essential but distant; her body sidelined, her instincts ignored in favor of data, logistics, numbers that flickered across a screen faster than lives could end.

She wasn’t on the front anymore.

Her strength had become hypothetical.

“…Stubborn idiot,” Y/n murmured, too soft for the others to hear and her eyes never left the screen.

Unbeknownst to you, Hoshina Soshiro cracked one eye open.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her a moment longer, his gaze softening momentarily, as if weighing something that wasn’t his to speak aloud.

You didn’t know he’d heard.

And maybe it was better that way.

The multiple monitors before them cast a greenish glow over the dimly lit room, displaying real time combat footage of the second exam before them.

Amidst the tension, a sharp intake of breath broke the silence.

Okonogi Konomi leaned forward, eyes wide, fingers tightening around the edge of her console.

“…He just stood up. With a broken leg,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Looking at Hibino Kafka who resisted a grunt, and cheered for himself.

A ripple of movement followed. Heads turned toward the largest screen, where Hibino Kafka stood, battered and bloodied, but upright.

The data stream at the bottom of the display flashed warnings in red fractures detected, vitals unstable, but he was still standing.

A beat of silence.

At the front of the room, Hoshina Soshiro folded his arms, grinning. His head tilted slightly, half-amused, half-impressed.

“Well, fine,” he sighed under his breath, before reaching for his comm.

The static crackled for only a second before he spoke, his tone light but firm.

“Hibino Kafka, if things start lookin' bad, I’m activatin' the remote shield immediately. No arguments.”

Hibino Kafka beamed, relieved. "Sounds Great!" before coughing vigorously, wracking his frame,

Yozora Y/n said nothing. She stood with her arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen, face set in quiet focus.

She tracked everything; movement, heat signatures, vitals, weapon sync rates. But beneath it all, she was measuring something else: risk, cost, the margin between order and collapse.

Her jaw tightened briefly. It was the only sign she was still hoping for a better outcome.

On another monitor, Ichikawa Reno’s voice carried through the speakers as he checked in on Hibino Kafka.

Hoshina, still grinning, leaned back slightly and glanced at Yozora’s way.

“So… Chief,” he drawled, mischief lacing his tone. “What’d ya think of this hoot?”

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the screen, watching as Hibino Kafka was talking to Ichikawa Reno.

The tremor in his stance was barely noticeable now, his body had adjusted, or maybe he just refused to acknowledge the pain.

She exhaled through her nose, slow and measured.

“Reckless.” Her voice was even, her expression unreadable. “But efficient.”

Behind them, Ashiro Mina stood still, her arms loosely crossed. To an untrained eye, she was simply observing, eyes flicking across the screens, assessing applicants like any seasoned captain would.

But Yozora Y/n noticed what others wouldn’t.

Ashiro Mina wasn’t tracking the full field. She wasn’t watching formations or flanking routes, wasn’t checking synchronization ratios across the board.

She was watching Hibino Kafka.

Not on the broader view of the battlefield. Not on the other recruits being evaluated. Not even on Shinomiya Kikoru.

Something quieter. Something steadier. Like someone remembering a promise and wondering if it still held weight.

There was no scowl. No bitterness. Just that same unwavering stare she gave threats on a battlefield.

Not because Hibino Kafka was a threat.

But because he wasn’t the boy she’d waited for anymore. And she wasn’t the girl who waited.

Yozora Y/n didn’t comment on it. She simply turned back to the screen, fingers tapping lightly against her prosthetic arm.

She had seen that look before. And she had a feeling Hibino Kafka was about to prove something.

Then, after a pause, she looked at Hoshina before her eyes went to the screens, “But that doesn’t guarantee his passing results for the evaluation grading.”

Hoshina Soshiro whistled, rocking back on his heels. “Damn, Chief, cold as ever.”

He tilted his head, his fringes swaying in the process, smirking. “Y’ever thought about sugar coatin’ things just a little?”

This man.

Okonogi Konomi shot him a glare. “Vice captain, this isn’t the time to be joking around!” She huffed, hands on her keyboard.

Yozora Y/n exhaled, slow and measured, before turning her gaze, pointed, cool, toward him. Hoshina, unfazed, only grinned wider.

Okonogi, still bristling, caught Yozora Y/n’s stare and immediately flushed, coughing into her fist.

Yozora Y/n was about to say something when her gaze flickered back to the screen.

She froze. The hell?

She felt her jaw momentarily dropped before closing them again, her grip tightening around her prosthetic. What kind of idiot...

On the massive screen, without hesitation, the younger man heaved Hibino Kafka onto his shoulder, and run,

It wasn’t graceful, Hibino Kafka wobbled at first, arms flailing slightly, his expression caught between determination and sheer ridiculousness.

But somehow, it worked... It fucking worked. A desperate, last ditch attempt at compensating for a broken leg.

And Hoshina Soshiro exploded into fits of laughter,

Hoshina practically wheezed, doubling over. “Are, are those two serious?!” He pounded a fist against the floor, cackling so hard he nearly lost balance.

The entire command operation center turned toward the screen. Someone choked on their coffee.

“Can, can we just pass them already?!” Hoshina Soshiro gasped between laughs. “Just to be our comedians?!”

Okonogi Konomi chided, turning to face Hoshina Soshiro from her monitor, glaring,

"Get serious, will you!?"

She had seen reckless applicants before. Seen raw talent fumble, seen desperation push bodies past their limits. But this, this was something else entirely.

Her brain scrambled between admiration and secondhand embarrassment.

The strategy itself was reckless but effective, a split second decision born from sheer necessity (or desperation).

And yet, the image of Hibino Kafka, grinning like a damn fool, being carried like some oversized backpack, was almost too much.

Yozora Y/n exhaled slowly. Controlled. Steady. And you, despite yourself, felt the corner of your lips twitch.

Still grinning, Hoshina Soshiro shot Yozora Y/n a look and teasingly parroted back at her,

"Reckless but efficient', right, Chief?" Hoshina, still grinning like an idiot, met her eyes head on.

 

This little shit.

 

She blinked. Once. Slowly.

And with the deliberate grace of someone seriously reconsidering her life choices, Yozora Y/n turned her head to stare at Hoshina Soshiro.

Unamused.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Okonogi Konomi sighed, rubbing her temple. Hoshina, still grinning like an idiot, simply smiled at her, like a cat who licked its cream,

She simply turned back to the screen. Like he wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

A pointed dismissal.

The reaction only made Hoshina Soshiro laugh harder, shoulders shaking as he wiped his fingers at his eyes.

Behind them, Ashiro Mina spoke at last. Her voice didn’t rise, but it cut clean through the room’s noise.

“They’re still being evaluated. Eyes on the feed.”

The words weren’t harsh. They didn’t need to be. The authority was implicit, final.

Yozora Y/n didn’t glance over. She didn’t have to.

She straightened slightly in her seat, shoulders pulling back, the shift so minimal most wouldn’t have caught it. But something behind her eyes sharpened.

Because as ridiculous as Kafka and Reno looked, this wasn’t a joke.

And she needed to see exactly what Hibino Kafka would do next. He said something above Ichikawa Reno, 

"Dont worry about me, go after Kikoru. Hurry up."

"I understand, don't get thrown off."

From a different screen, Shinomiya Kikoru sped off,

Y/n’s eyes remained locked onto one of them, watching as Shinomiya Kikoru tore through the battlefield with the sheer force of speed, and instinct honed by both discipline and genetics.

46% of unleashed combat power. Isao's training paid off. But there were things Shinomiya Isao couldn’t teach;

the natural talent, the ruthless decisiveness, the way she never second-guessed herself.

The sun hit her golden twin tails just right, glinting off golden strands as she vaulted over a ruined overpass, her rifle already snapping up to fire before she even touched down.

One shot, clean, perfect. A Primigenius Yoju recoiled, its abdomen exploding as ammo from the uni-socket ripped through its stomach and out the back.

Another movement, a pivot, a jump, another burst of gunfire. She didn’t need to stop.

Didn’t need to aim for long. Every shot connected, and in mere seconds, another yoju collapsed.

Yozora Y/n's lips barely twitched.

Eighteen targets left. No sixteen. Twelve.

They were 36 yoju, but half of them were obliterated by herself only,

Shinomiya Hikari would be proud. no, you thought, she already does.

Kikoru landed on the edge of a rooftop, the wind catching her uniform as she overlooked the chaos below.

Other applicants were still struggling, panting, taking cover, firing wildly. A handful worked together, desperately trying to down two yoju between them.

Y/n stared, a gleam of approval hidden beneath the layers of unreadable expression.

This was the same girl who drew you a picture of you holding a oversized sniper rifle. (With the most interesting frown there is... The thoughts counts at least) 

On screen, the girl didn’t hesitate. She kicked off the roof, dropping straight down into a narrow alleyway where a yoju lurched forward, claws outstretched.

The moment Shinomiya Kikoru's feet hit the pavement, she twisted her body into a spin, grabbed a discarded metal pole, and slam it straight into the kaiju's face.

The force was staggering. The yoju’s body folded inward as it was sent skidding sideward, slamming into a crumbling concrete wall.

Its gargled snarl barely had time to escape before Kikoru raised her rifle and fired.

One shot. Two. Three.

The yoju slumped, unmoving.

“No. 2016 has eliminated the last yoju in Delta Area,” Okonogi Konomi’s voice rang out from the command operation center, steady despite the growing anticipation. “Next, she’ll engage the Honju.”

The larger screen zoomed in, centering on the final and most dangerous target.

It was a towering mass of reinforced flesh, darker than the rest, with grotesque horns protrusions jutting from its head and thickened limbs ending in hoof fingers.

Its eyes weren't there, degenerated, but that didn’t make it blind.

Y/n's fingers tapped against her arm absently.

This thing wouldn’t go down in a few well placed shots. It wasn’t like the others.

Shinomiya Kikoru knew that.

She kept moving. No hesitation, no pause to strategize, just a surge forward, closing the distance before the Honju could react.

Mid-sprint, she pulled a stun grenade from her belt, the safety flicked off in a single motion.

At the last second, just as the Honju turned its head toward her, sensing her movement, she threw it with all her strength.

The grenade detonated against its face.

A flash. A sharp, concussive blast.

The Honju roared, reeling back, deafed by the explosion.

Shinomiya Kikoru was already airborne.

She flipped, twisted, and landed feet first on its maw, one foot planted on its lower jaw, the other braced against its upper.

The Honju snarled, trying to shake her off, but it was steadied with both of her feet thanks to the kaiju synthetic suit, her rifle was already there, aimed directly at the back of its throat.

She pulled the trigger. A point green blast overpowered from her unleashed combat power.

A deafening explosion, flames and smoke bursting from the honju’s mouth as the force of the shot blew through its esophagus.

Slowly, its massive body collapsed, crashing into the ground with a resounding thud.

Shinomiya Kikoru landed smoothly, rifle still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.

The screen hummed with static as the flickering data streams,

Okonogi Konomi stuttered, impressed, "Honju is eliminated," she's not the only one,

Her voice rang clear through the comms, cutting through the static and settling over the now cleared Kaiju Containment Zone.

From the overhead drones and mounted speakers scattered across the field, her words carried with crisp finality:

“Final evaluation is over. We will now proceed with drone recovery. Everyone, job well done.”

The announcement echoed across the field, bouncing off shattered concrete and the lifeless remains of the Primigenius Yoju and Honju alike.

The last smoke from uni sockets and gunfire lingered in the air.

Mixing with the distant sound of surveillance drones hovering in place, their data feeds streaming back to the command operation center.

Okonogi Konomi’s voice carried through, crisp and unwavering.

“Recovering drones and rescuing the injured… is that right, Vice Captain Hoshina?”

Her gaze flicked toward Hoshina Soshiro, who had yet to respond. He was still staring at the aftermath through the screen,

At the remains of the training zone, now littered with the bodies of 36 slain Primigenius Yoju, their bodies steaming under the afternoon sun.

His brows furrowed slightly, his finger tightening on his chin.

“Eh?… Oh, right,” he muttered, snapping out of his thoughts.

Ah… this really was too fast. He thought

The whole ordeal; months of preparation, the grueling logistics, the sheer manpower required to pull this off, it had all boiled down to mere hours of chaos.

Hoshina Soshiro exhaled, shaking his head.

The trouble of capturin' those damn Primigenius Kaiju last year alone… don’t get me started on that. He frowned, finger tapping.

His gaze drifted towards Yozora Y/n, who stood with her arms folded, her expression unreadable as she observed the aftermath through the monitors.

He stepped just a little closer, not enough for anyone to notice, but enough that he did. Close enough to catch the faint scent of clean linen and perfume, something uniquely you.

Hoshina ignored it.

No point thinking about things that didn’t need thinking about.

It had been her call to capture them instead of annihilating them as usual. The decision hadn’t been popular among the Neutralization Bureau from what he heard from Ashiro Mina.

Many argued it was unnecessary, a waste of resources, but Yozora Y/n (with the help of Shinomiya Isao) had overruled them all.

And she had been right.

Capturing kaijus, rather than outright destroying them, had its advantages.

Primigenius Kaiju were creatures that gives Defense Officers, including Yozora Y/n a headache; resilient, aggressive and unpredictable.

They were perfect training tools. Combat simulations could only do so much; fighting an actual Kaiju was an entirely different experience.

A controlled environment allowed recruits to learn, to make mistakes, adapt, survive.

Every officer who passed through these training grounds learned sharper, more attuned to real battlefield conditions.

Of course, that didn’t make it easy. Transporting 36 Yoju and 1 Primigenius Honju had been a logistical nightmare.

Keeping them contained, feeding them, ensuring they didn’t break free…

Hoshina Soshiro had lost count of how many times he had nearly drawn his blades on some poor bastard who let his guard down during containment procedures.

(With extra paperwork duty as punishment to those poor bastards)

But seeing the results now…

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Man… yer a real pain in the ass sometimes, Chief,” he muttered under his breath. Chuckling.

He expected a sharp reply. Maybe something cutting, maybe just a flick of her eyes that says don’t waste my time.

Instead, Yozora Y/n barely looked at him, still focused on the monitors.

Hoshina Soshiro should’ve just left it at that. Moved on. Turned away.

But his gaze stuck. A second too long.

She hadn’t moved. She rarely did. She stood like a carved statue, arms folded, jaw tight, the glow from the screens casting a cold line down her face.

Unreadable. Solid.

Something about that silence, about her standing there, pressed down on him harder than noise ever could.

 

Something about it made his chest feel tight.

 

Okonogi Konomi should've just kept her eyes glued to the monitor, but she couldn't. Because this was Yozora Y/n. The Yozora Y/n.

The woman whose real-time tactical calls were so absurdly precise they might as well have been premonitions.

Okonogi had studied her decisions over and over, marveled at how she predicted each movement, how she shaped the frontline itself like it was nothing more than a shifting puzzle in her mind.

And yet...

... "Man… yer a real pain in the ass sometimes, Chief."

Okonogi Konomi's head snapped toward Hoshina so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

Her mouth opened, then closed, a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a strangled choke catching in her throat.

Around her, the other operational leaders near her were frozen, gaping like fish, eyes darting between Hoshina Soshiro and their Chief of Command Operations as if waiting for a murder to happen.

Because who the hell just said that? So casually? Like it was another Tuesday? Like it wasn’t Yozora Y/n standing right there?

As the Chief of Command Operations, Yozora Y/n held absolute authority over all 16 divisions across Japan.

Overseeing battlefield strategy, real time logistics, and critical decision making, while every divisions, despite their own autonomy, it was her call that shaped the fight against the kaiju.

Hoshina Soshiro, still standing way too close, still has the audacity to smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Because he did.

Yozora Y/n finally spoke, shifting her gaze from the monitors to him in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Strange. I could’ve sworn being a pain in the ass was your specialty, Vice Captain.”

And of course, Hoshina would just grin, unbothered; like he expected it. He’d even laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Damn, Chief, that was a good one.”

Behind them, Ashiro Mina stepped forward, boots quiet on the concrete, ignoring at whatever "banter" her Vice Captain and former Captain's spewing. She came to stand just beside Yozora, calm as ever.

"Shinomiya Kikoru is more formidable than the rumors suggest." Ashiro Mina stated, 

Hoshina Soshiro glanced at her, a knowing thought crossing his mind; So yer interested in her too.

Tilting his head slightly, he finally spoke, his voice carrying a casual certainty. "We expected to eliminate at least 30 applicants."

His gaze flicked to the large screen, where the profiles of the candidates were still displayed. "But everyone passed, and injuries were minimal."

Ashiro Mina, arms folded, continued scanning the applicants' faces across the screen, analysing them with sharp precision.

Hoshina Soshiro exhaled, shifting his weight and resting his hands on his hips. "That kind of result? It doesn’t happen often."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his tone turning thoughtful. "It’s because of her."

A beat of silence.

As Hoshina Soshiro spoke, Yozora Y/n remained focused on the screen in front of her, eyes locked onto one profile among countless applicants in particular; Hibino Kafka.

His data flickered in real-time: vitals steady, suit synchronization stable despite previous spikes.

She wasn’t ignoring Hoshina, not entirely, she registered his words, their weight, but her attention remained elsewhere. Reckless yet efficient.

Her own assessment echoed in her mind. Efficiency alone wasn’t enough to secure a place in the Defense Force. Recklessness, even less so.

And yet, something about him made her pause. Her fingers hovered over her right prosthetic arm, unreadable, as she half listened to Hoshina’s praise for Shinomiya Kikoru.

Then, with a small nod, he concluded, "The daughter of Director General Shinomiya Isao is truly somethin' else." His lips quirked, just a little.

"If anythin' else, she’ll be a key figure in the Defense Force. A beacon of hope for this nation."

Multiple monitors cast a glow over the control room, data flickering across Yozora Y/n’s vision, but her thoughts had already settled on the next step.

She turned to Ashiro Mina. “Contact Izumo Tech. Have them deliver 03 S-12006 to the Third Division.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, her sharp mind already weaving possibilities together.

A training and even a mission would be enough exposure for now, just enough to assess its full capabilities in live combat.

You're not one to waste time, and youre certainly not going to let Kikoru’s potential sit idle.

With 46% fortitude synchronization, the girl was already the third strongest in the Third Division.

That alone made her a key asset, but Yozora Y/n’s reasoning went deeper. The kaiju activity this year had been abnormal, both in numbers and fortitude levels. Unsettlingly so.

If a storm was coming, they needed every advantage they could get. And Shinomiya Kikoru, equipped with the right weapon, could be an advantage.

Ashiro Mina, standing beside her, didn’t even blink. “The Cleaver?”

Yozora Y/n nodded. “Shinomiya Kikoru will test it.”

A low hum left Mina's lips as she scanned the profiles again, considering the logistics.

“She’s fresh out of training. Even with the synthetic suit boosting her fortitude to 46, it’s a heavy jump.”

“It’s necessary,” Yozora Y/ncountered, eyes still on the data. “With the kaiju activity we’ve been tracking, we can’t afford to ease her in.” She shifted slightly, fingers drumming once against her organic prosthetic arm.

Yozora Y/n still wasn’t used to the texture; too smooth, too even. It was grafted from her own skin, yet it didn’t feel right. Not unnatural, just… off.

For years, she had learned to move with a mechanical right arm, to compensate, to adjust. Now, having one that mimics the original, something so familiar yet so utterly foreign, sent a strange, crawling sensation down her spine.

“Besides, she’s the third strongest officer in your division. You want to waste that?”

Ashiro Mina exhaled through her nose, but it wasn’t disagreement, just a quiet understanding of the weight behind Yozora’s words.

Hoshina Soshiro, standing off to the side, let out a low whistle. “Oya? No room for breathin’, huh?” He leaned casually on his left foot, gaze flicking between the two women. “Ya always this quick on the draw?”

Yozora Y/n gave him a sidelong glance, unimpressed but faintly amused. “You sound surprised.”

Hoshina grinned. “Nah. Just remindin’ myself why I never play shogi with ya.”

Their conversation barely slowed Yozora Y/n’s thought process. She looked onto Kikoru's profile among the countless pictures of applicants among the screen.

“Kikoru doesn’t need time, she needs experience. A training and a mission’s enough exposure for the weapon's field compatibility.”

Ashiro Mina finally nodded, unfolding her arms. “I’ll notify the Izumo Tech.”

Hoshina Soshiro looked at you again, hands on his hips,

"Evaluation ain’t even cold yet, and yer already assignin’ weapons?”

Yozora Y/n glanced at him. “It’s better than waiting for the problem to slap us in the face.”

Hoshina Soshiro huffed a short laugh at that, but there was no denying her point. “Ya like puttin’ people to work the moment they impress ya.” He smirked.

"No wonder the First Division's operational leaders always stressin’ out. Bet yer plannin’ ten more moves ahead already.”

“I’d be a bad Chief of Command Operations if I wasn’t.” Yozora Y/n said it flatly, but there was an edge of amusement buried beneath it, as if she were used to his remarks.

For a moment, Hoshina didn’t say anything, letting the ambient sound of the command operation center fill the space.

Keyboards clacked softly as operational leaders reviewed incoming data. Drone footages from the second exam flickered across the monitors, washed in the gray-blue glow of the central feed.

The silence wasn’t awkward, it was lived in. Familiar. The kind of silence that existed between people who had long since run out of small talk.

Then Hoshina laughed, low in his throat. Shook his head once, arms loosely crossed.

“Heh… yer a real pain in the ass sometimes, Chief.”

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. But her eyes flicked to him, quick and deliberate. And just for a second, just one; she smiled. Barely there.

A twitch of the mouth. The kind of smile you don’t give out often. The kind you don’t mean to give at all.

Then it was gone. She turned back to the monitors like nothing happened, voice cool, efficient. “Focus on the synchronization rates. You’re drifting.”

Hoshina leaned back, grinning like he’d won something. “See? Knew ya missed me.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t correct him either.

And because it felt like it's their childhood again. And, she simply turned back to the monitors, as if the decision was already final.

---

 

Hyogo, Year 2005

 

The Hoshina estate smelled of fresh cut grass, lacquered wood, and the sharp tang of sweat from hours of training.

A cicada sang somewhere in the distance, its song droning beneath the steady rhythm of bamboo striking bamboo.

Y/n arrived at the gate, her geta sandals were ilent on the stone path. She was only here out of obligation; Yozora Hoshiguma had business with the Hoshina clan, and she had been told to accompany him.

She exhaled, already restless. Another tedious afternoon of pleasantries she was too young to perform yet obligated to do so.

Then she heard him.

A child’s voice, high and filled with determination, cutting through the summer air.

"Again!"

Another sharp crack of bamboo against bamboo.

"Yer stance is a mess, Soshiro," came a deeper voice, his older brother, Soichiro, which you recognise unimpressed.

"What are ya even swingin' at? A ghost?"

"I’m not that bad!"

"Yer worse. I could push ya over with one hand."

Y/n turned the corner just in time to see him; Hoshina Soshiro, barefoot in the dirt, hakama covered in dust.

He gripped a bamboo sword far too large for his small hands, his dark violet hair clinging to his forehead from sweat. His eyes were shut tight, his face set in frustration.

His older brother towered over him, a masterful contrast; Soichiro stood firm, his own wooden sword resting against his shoulder.

Typical, you thought. You’d met Hoshina Soichiro when you were seven, at your father’s wake...

Hardly the setting for childhood friendship, but there he was, standing awkwardly outside your father's room, offering you a rice ball like that could fix grief.

It didn’t. But somehow, that stupid peace offering stuck.

You’d been friends ever since. Or besties, as his mother liked to call it.

Yozora Hoshiguma bribed you to go with him, “Soichiro-kun misses you,” he said this morning, half coaxing, half scheming.

“You’re friends. Friends should stick together.”

... You wanted to watch Cardcaptor Sakura.

Here you were: overdressed, overheated, and already regretting every life choice that led to this stone path.

Y/n should have ignored them. It wasn’t her concern. But she had always been the observant type, and what she saw made her pause.

Soichiro wasn’t just critiquing his little brother, Soshiro.

He was mocking him.

Y/n frowned again. Typical.

"Why do ya even try so hard?" Soichiro sighed, exasperated. "No one fights with swords anymore. At least be as good as me and Y/n. Not waving a stick around like a bonehead."

Soshiro bristled. She could tell that comment hit deep.

Her name had been tossed into the conversation, but she didn’t flinch. She merely adjusted her sleeves, watching.

"I don’t care what the world thinks," Soshiro shot back, gripping his sword tighter. "I like swords."

"And what’s that going to get ya?"

"Stronger," Soshiro said, fierce and unshaken. "I’m gonna be strong."

Y/n had seen enough. She stepped forward.

"Your swings are sloppy," she said coolly, making her presence known.

Both brothers turned towards her. Soichiro stiffened slightly, knowing better than to pissed off the heiress of the Yozora clan. And out of the primal memory of you chasing him across the Yozora estate with a gardening hoe.

In his defense, he’d said something tactless about your appearance at your father's wake. In your defense, he deserved it.

Somehow, the two of you became besties after that.

Trauma bonding, maybe.

Soshiro, however...

... His mouth fell open.

For the first time that day, his eyes cracked open just slightly, revealing a deep crimson hue.

It was only for a second before they shut again, but in that second; he stared at her.

Yer so pretty... He thought.

Y/n ignored it, continuing. "Your footing is a mess. And you drop your shoulder before every strike. If I were fighting you, I would have already countered twice over."

Soshiro’s expression twisted, embarrassed. He muttered, "Ya don’t even have a sword."

"No," she admitted. "But I know how to dismantle someone who does."

A pause.

Soshiro’s ears turned pink. "T-then teach me.", suddenly goes shy and fiddling his bamboo sword, 

Y/n blinked.

Soichiro scoffed, looking between them. "Don’t waste her time, runt."

You didn't miss a beat,

"You waste everyone’s time just by existing," Y/n countered, voice sharp as a blade. Soichiro froze, caught off guard. He turned away with a petulant pout.

Ok. That’s it. He was done for.

You were pretty, and terrifying, and could verbally decapitate his brother in three seconds flat.

Hoshina Soshiro, age eight and bruised all over, would like to formally request your hand in marriage. Second son and all.

Right here. Right now. He has absolutely nothing to offer except half eaten onigiri with bitter green tea and a dust covered bamboo sword.

(But he's so serious about this.)

His ears went red. His grip on the shinai tightened. He tried to stand straighter. Cool. Composed. Not like a small boy who had just fallen in love.

You turned to him, gaze leveled, and he forgot how blinking worked.

"I’m not here to be your tutor." You said simply,

A reasonable answer. A practical one.

But you’d looked at him. Spoken to him. Corrected him like he was worth correcting.

That was all the invitation he needed.

"Then I’ll follow ya until ya change yer mind," Soshiro said, unshaken.

Y/n stared at him, this messy little swordsman, sweaty and bruised but utterly unrelenting.

She sighed, resigned. "Do what you want." 

---

 

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Hoshina leaned back, grinning like he’d won something. “See? Knew ya missed me.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t correct him either.

And because it felt like it's their childhood again. And, she simply turned back to the monitors, as if the decision was already final.

She remembered a summer long gone, back when he still trailed behind her through the Hoshina gardens with two dripping popsicles in hand; both already melting down his arms.

He’d offered her the less sticky one, grinning wide, even as she stared at him like he was an idiot. She took it anyway. Didn’t thank him, but she didn’t walk away either.

He followed her everywhere after that. Bruised knees, bamboo sword, and a thousand questions she never answered.

She used to think he was annoying.

Now, Y/n wasn’t so sure.

A scream.

It was sharp, guttural, and raw. Shinomiya Kikoru’s voice tore through the command operation center, sending a piercing impact through the room.

The command operation center, once filled with the sound of processing data and live feeds, snapped into deafening silence.

But no one could see her. The drone cameras had already been retrieved, leaving only her profile flashing a dangerous red on the monitors.

Her vitals spiked, erratic numbers fluctuating wildly on the screen.

"No. 2016's vitals are abnormal!" one of the operational leaders called out, voice tight with urgency.

Yozora Y/n had seen those vitals before. That sharp drop, the rapid spikes, signs of someone on the brink, before plummeting into a silencing flat line, Hikari.

Her stomach twisted. Not her. Not now.

The numbers on the screen kept jumping, a rapid blaring red alarms. Yozora Y/n exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.

“Kikoru…”

Notes:

Grit Theory was developed by a psychologist named Angela Duckworth. It's a legitimate theory.

If it isn't obvious, had fun writing their lil flashback and it's actually my fav so far, technically it supposed to be put on later chapters but i missed Soichiro, being a typical big bro and all, (and the fact im nervous if i manage to caught his personality right and if it isn't compared to how it's in the anime s2 then im doomed)

There may or may not error, forgot to back read this chapter and that's on me, too lazy to do it.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 12: Unclassified Remains; There's a Ghost Bothering Me

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Tiger sharks has varied diets. Making them dubbed as the "garbage can of the sea."

Warning;

Body horror was written in the middle of this chapter, i made it a bit more "descriptive" and some of you might not want to read it. If that's not your cup of tea, skip the flashback labelled "Year 2016"

You're warned.

 

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

The red glow of Kikoru’s profile reflected in Yozora Y/n’s eyes. It's screaming at them all. But they couldn’t see her. They had no eyes on the front. Blind. Useless. Trapped.

Y/n had seen those vitals before. That sharp drop, the rapid spikes, signs of someone on the brink. Her stomach twisted. 

Hoshina Soshiro strode across the operations floor, he stopped just behind Okonogi Konomi’s terminal, scanning the flood of red highlighted data on her screen.

The glow of it cast sharp shadows across his face.  “What the hell?” he muttered, voice low but razor edged, his brows furrowed. 

"What's goin' on out there?" 

Okonogi gulped, "I'm picking up vital signs from thr dead kaiju frim the training area..." She paused, "It's as if they're reviving each dead kaiju one after another!" 

Hoshina's eyes twitch, what's goin on? Those kaiju shouldn't be doin' that...

An operational leader reported from his terminal, voice fast and urgent, Y/n blinked and stared as she listen.

"We have the Honju's resurrected estimated fortitude level!" 

"It's 6.4!" 

Now that caught his attention more. Y/n gave a slight nod, tilting her head just enough to gesture toward the closed door behind them.

Mina followed the direction with a blink, then looked back at her former captain. No words. Just a near imperceptible breath through her nose and a stiff little nod of her own.

Behind them, Hoshina still stood forward, deep in thought. His gaze fixed somewhere on the screen, expression unreadable.

He didn’t notice the silent exchange of the two women, At that level, it'd take a whole company to take it down...

... I'd say the only ones here who could handle something like that solo would be...

"Hoshina." He perked up, 

Ashiro Mina’s eyes locked onto the red glow of Kikoru’s profile on the screen, "We're deploying."

... The Captain or Me.

He nodded, "Roger." 

Yozora Y/n crosses her arms as she step forward qt the spot where Hoshina stood earlier when he and Ashiro Mina walked towards the door, 

"Deploy all the recon drones. I want eyes on Shinomiya Kikoru." Y/n said as Okonogi and one of the other Operational Leaders were already at their keyboards, fingers flying across controls as the command center lit up in rapid fire

"Also, activate all the examinees' remote shields. Full coverage."

The screen pulsed to life; drones launching, locational pings lighting up across the grid.

Y/n' eyes moved to the two figures standing by the door behind her. She gave a sharp nod.

“Good luck out there, you two.”

He paused mid step just for a second and turned his head just enough to catch her gaze over his shoulder. His eyes opening a bit, revealing that maroon red eyes before closing it.

“Copy that, Chief.” His voice was low, steady.

And then he was gone, steps merging into Ashiro Mina’s as the doors slid open.

---

 

Year 2016, 

 

The house was silent, save for the wet, rhythmic sound of tearing flesh. It was a sound Yozora Y/n recognized immediately;  something slower, more deliberate.

Feasting. Scavenging.

The hallway reeked of stagnant air and something worse beneath it, a mix of copper, rot, and the faint tang of decomposing tissue.

Mina stepped forward first, her boots scuffing against the warped wooden floor, the weight of their presence causing the fragile remnants of the abandoned home to groan.

She wasn’t going to let her go back. That was basic protocol.

Akane’s mother had been covered in dust, barefoot, blood crusted in her hair. She was halfway to shock, clutching Mina’s arm in a vice grip.

“She’s in the crib. Please. Please. I left her. I forgot, I panicked! Please take me back!”

A flickering light, half broken and swaying, cast fractured shadows over the ruined living room.

Then they saw them.

Yozora had been barking orders, telling everyone to hold the perimeter. Evacuation Zone secured. No civilians allowed back.

Especially not with those reports coming in, about scavengers snuck in, even something smaller than a human can be dangerous.

But Mina… looked into that woman’s eyes.

She was so young.

“Just five minutes,” she begged. “She won’t cry. She’s good. She’s a good baby. Her name’s Akane. Please! Just let me get her. Please...”

A cluster of small, bird like kaiju, no larger than a toddler, crouched over a limp, unmoving form.

 

Jikotsu.

A scavenger class kaiju, they rarely initiate attacks on healthy humans, but will target the wounded or dying, using serrated beak like mouths and clawed forelimbs to tear through soft tissue with alarming efficiency.

 

Packs of Jikotsu are often first indicators of mass casualty zones, drawn to blood and body heat.

While not a threat individually, they pose extreme danger in groups and are difficult to neutralize due to their erratic movement and ability to fit through small spaces.

Their bodies were thin but sinewy, covered in patchy, scale plated skin that had an almost iridescent sheen under the dim light. Long, wiry limbs bent at unnatural angles, their joints exaggerated like twisted wire.

Their heads were narrow, elongated, with reptilian eyes that lacked pupils; just pools of glistening black, absorbing everything yet conveying nothing.

One of them tilted its head. It didn't not scatter. Neither did the others.

But they chirped. Not the screech of a predator, not even the gurgling growl of something territorial. Like… unbothered.

Mina stiffened. Her grip on her rifle tightened, knuckles white.

Yozora Y/n didn’t look at her. Her eyes were locked onto the tiny, half devoured corpse in the center of the room.

It had been a baby.

The small body was bloated, the skin mottled with shades of blue and purple, flesh pulling tight over bone.

The mouth was open wide though whether it had died crying or simply from rigor mortis forcing the jaw slack, Y/n couldn't tell.

But she could tell what had happened.

The chest cavity was torn open, ribs splayed like jagged white teeth. The kaiju had been thorough, their tiny, razor like teeth stripping away soft tissue, leaving patches of exposed bone slick with saliva.

What remained of the stomach was a shredded mess of half digested milk, now curdled and sour in the stagnant heat.

Then one of them moved.

It wasn’t afraid at the sight of Yozora Y/n and Mina. It merely ducked its narrow head, dipped its snout down, and with sharp shake,  Mina heard a soft crunch.

A chunk of skull peeled away, revealing the pulpy, half liquefied brain beneath. The kaiju’s head twitched once, swallowing.

Then it looked up at them again.

Another chirp.

Its pack was still chewing.

Mina’s rifle trembled in her hands.

Her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing, like... What the fuck?

Tiny.

Human.

She was wearing a pink onesie. Her head, is it even proper to say that's not a head anymore because it's not recognisable at all? 

One of the Jikotsu had burrowed into the torso. Another snapped Akane's cartilage. A third tilted its beak up, a string of viscera dangling from its mouth.

Mina’s body didn’t move.

Her mind couldn’t move.

She was staring, blinking too slowly, like the image in front of her couldn’t possibly be real.

That’s not a baby. That’s not a baby. That’s notababythat'snotababythat's......

... Akane.

Was she alive when pack of Jikotsu got here?

Did she cry?

Did she scream?

Did they eat her while she screamed?

Mina couldn't remember how she met Kafka. But she do remember saying she wanted to joing the Defence Force because she wanted to be strong and to protect the weak.

And now? What a fucking joke she was. Thinking how much of a clown she was for thinking being a Defense Officer can solve anything.

Can kill any kaiju in her path.

Can save multiple people.

Mina couldn't help but thought of Kafka. Entrance Exam is just around the corner, he promised he would catch up.

He better be. 

Because right now, she didn't know what to do. But Kafka might. He always does. And Mina just wanted him here.

The mother begging to be returned back. Akane. Left alone. Jikotsu. Small as a chicken... Was that an eyeball? Mina cant breath. She couldn't breath. 

One, two, inhale and exhale. That was the basic protocol they learned as part of the JAKDF in situations of high stress.

Yeah, do that. Do that. 

Think of happy thoughts, Mina. She thought. Clearly breathing heavy now. Happy thoughts... Kafka tripping on a dog poop... Happy... A pink Onesie.

Bright. Soft. Mina can still make out of the little cartoon cat despite a huge gaping hole it Akane's chest... Happy thoughts... Its round head was stained red.

One Jikotsu munching on Akane's tiny fingers, Happy thoughts... Two were tugging and fighting over her eyeball, not wanting to let go... Mina gripped on her rifle tighter.

"I'll go instead." Mina gripped the mother's hand, "I'll go with my Captain to retrieve your baby, ma'am. I promise."

This was a baby. A fucking baby.

Mina’s mouth opened, she felt the scream before she heard it. It built behind her teeth like pressure in her skull, an animal sound, something wordless and ugly and wrong.

She pulled the trigger.

One shot. Then two. Three.

The shots cracked throughout the room. One of the Jikotsu jerked backward, its thin body spasming as the bullet tore through its side.

The others scattered, sluggish hesitation of creatures that had never known predators. Like flies shooed from a carcass.

Mina kept shooting. Another round. Then another.

"Die!" Mina shouted, her voice blending with the sound of her rifle shooting rounds.  "Go fucking die!" 

Anger and helplessnesss made her eyes watery and tears drop on her rifle but Mina kept shooting.

Worthless. 

So fucking worthless.

Huge craters exploded from the walls just from Mina's sheer power, in went through the neighbour's house and it's only one shot. (a genetic lottery. Something she had won, Mina remembered Captain Yozora Y/n said once.)

A lamp burning to the ground in the corner. Her aim was poor; wide, frantic, wasting her uni organ ammunition. 

One Jikotsu skittered up the side of the broken TV cabinet, nimble on its wiry limbs, before leaping through a broken window, vanishing outside.

The others followed, squeaking, clicking, disappearing into the shadows.

Before Mina and Yozora Y/n knew it, it was over. Only the messy and destroyed room remained. And the corpse.

Mina’s breath hitched, chest rising and falling too fast beneath her Kaiju synthetic suit. Her face was pale, eyes wide and glassy. Sweat clung to her temples, though the house was not.

“I... Captain, I told the mom…” she whispered, voice hoarsed. “I told her I’d bring her baby back.”

She stared down at what was left. The baby’s skull had collapsed under the kaiju’s bite. Bone shards curled outward.

The brain matter was leaking, grey and rotting, mingling with the pool of blood and milk that soaked the rug.

There's already maggots crawling around Akane.

Her stomach turned.

Behind her, Yozora Y/n hadn’t moved nor even talked to Mina...

She stood with her arms crossed now, expression unreadable. She hadn’t drawn her own weapon. Her eyes remained locked on Akane's crib, but there was no visible disgust.

Just resignation plastered on her face and Mina wondered if Yozora Y/n was just like her before the rank of a Captain.

Someone used to be... Bright. Hopeful? 

Mina couldn't find the right words. She missed Kafka.

---

 

Year 2024,

 

Shinomiya Kikoru doesn't believe that this situation she's in is a nightmare. 

Looking at the resurrected Honju before her, she knew she can do it alone. Fight it alone. She's perfect. She's trying to. 

And she fought with tooth and nail to just to pass this exam to prove to her father she can be better like Ashiro Mina and Yozora Y/n.

No, she can be even better than them in time.

Her kaiju synthetic suit fit perfectly. Her training was top tier. Her stats were exceptional. She has good genetics from Isao and Hikari alone (something tied with how kaiju suit synchronization).

But why is she so scared right now? 

She gripped her rifle tighter. Only to be flung mercilessly to a building nearby by the resurrected Honju, debris falls around Kikoru, 

"I can't lose..." She muttered, as she stared at the looming kaiju before her.

"Top student?" Shinomiya Isao looked down at her, untying his tie. "So what? That's how it should be."

Dejected.

The words were old. She was young back then. Maybe he hadn’t meant them as being a bad parent. Maybe he thought they were discipline. 

But to Kikoru, it always felt like being measured by a yardstick she didn’t ask for, and finding out it was nailed into her spine before she ever had a chance to grow crooked.

He turned around his wardrobe, "Fixating on a single success will only cause you to falter,"

"Waste no time and begin working on your next goal." He took a dress shirt, looking at it, "Listen well, Kikory" 

He turned around, stone face, voice left for no warmth, "You must continue to be perfect, for the sake of this country..." 

Young Kikoru looked down, her face crestfallen,  like how a sunflower tilting its head knowing there's no sunlight sunlight coming in.

“Yes, sir.”

Kikoru gritted her teeth and snatch her rifle back, "I wont lose!"

Never stop moving forward,

She ignored the pain as she stood up and charged towards the Honju, firing ammunitions as she tried to dodge it, 

"I can still fight!" She grunted, blood surging down her mouth, she spit it out.

Never be outdone! 

Shinomiya Kikoru tried to dodge the Honju's attack but she didn't see it coming for her blind spot, easily flanging her again to a nearby building.

Ah. That was it. Shinomiya Kikoru wasn't scared of anything, much less the monster under her bed. Because they never exist. Not that kind at least.

She's scared of failure. Of not seeing Isao's proud look. Not hearing that one words of Im proud of you. Or Good job.

She coughed blood, her kaiju synthetic suit wirred in protest, steaming around her. She's beyond her limit but her mind wasnt. 

The Honju crept towards her, nearing, but Shinomiya Kikoru wasn't afraid. She stared at it head on. 

Even with one arm, as long as i can move it, i can do it. Kikoru panted, You can do it... Y/n-san killed a Honju class with her right arm literally torn off from Fujisawa... 

Kikoru glared. She killed it with one shot, one arm on her giant sniper rifle. So you can too, Kikoru! 

She went to grab the rifle again, but she couldn't. Confused, she looks down and saw her arm twisted in a ugly shape. 

Her heart sank. Im sorry, daddy...

Yozora Y/n glared at the front screen, now crowded with real time drone feeds closing in on the training zone.

Four recon units zeroed in on the blast perimeter. Ashiro Mina and Hoshina Soshiro trailed from behind,

She narrowed her eyes at the secondary panel, Shinomiya Kikoru's vitals pulsing in cold green metrics.

"Can you go faster?" She asks Okonogi Konomi, voice was tight, "I want eyes on Director General's daughter now." Eyeing Kikoru's profile from the other screen, 

Okonogi didn’t lost her focus, fingers flying across her console. “Already pushing the limit, CCO,” she replied without looking up.

Her voice sounded like in a way she would've done more but couldn't. She was sorry. “Any faster, and we’ll lose stabilization on the feed.”

Yozora Y/n's eyes softened. She understand.

A beat. Then Okonogi added, “But I’ll squeeze what I can.”

Y/n gave a curt nod. “Good. I don’t like static when someone's child might be dying.”

The weight of her own words hit harder than expected. But she didn’t take them back.

She remembered Hikari. Her bragging about Kikoru. Hikari getting excited how Kikoru would be Y/n's junior like how she has been Hikari's.

This felt like Shinomiya Hikari's last moment all over again. Felt like the year 2014 catastrophy all over agaun.

Yozora Y/n inhaled. 

200 Defense Officers dead. 3 Division Captain dead.

Yozora Y/n exhaled.

She shifted on her feet. Her right hand twitched, a reflex. She curled her fingers until she remembered they weren’t hers.

Grafted skin prosthetic didn’t hurt. Not technically. But there was that ache again. Deep. Ghostly. Like someone was wringing a soaked towel where her hand used to be.

She flexed her shoulder but there's no relief. It crawled deeper this time. Y/n scowled, Of all the time, this has to be now? 

A long exhale. Then again, slower. Focus. She wasn’t even aware she’d started breathing faster.

Behind her, a junior analyst whispered something to the side. "I think CCO is mad?”

Another whispered, "Who wouldn't be? Chief is overseeing all 16 divisions, and now this happened, now quit staggering." 

Y/n heard it. She chose not to react.

Another breath. This one sharper. She counted in fours. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

Not here. Not now.

Shinomiya Hikari is haunting her again. Among the other dead Defense Officers. 

Watching her. Being or blamed or not, it didn't matter for Y/n. But Hikari is present anyway.

Not again.

Okonogi glanced up from her monitor, concern flickering. “CCO?... Ma’am?”

Yozora Y/n straightened just a fraction. Cold eyes locked forward. “Keep the feed clear. I want full eyes on the girl the moment contact is made.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Okonogi said quickly, and didn’t ask again. Y/n kept her stare locked on the screen. It was easier than blinking.

Because blinking felt too close to closing her eyes.

And closing her eyes meant remembering.

She exhaled again. Slower this time.

Hikari didn’t bother her again.

Notes:

I decided that if I’m including a backstory or flashbacks for MC back when she was still a Captain, then I should do the same for Mina.

What I’m saying is, she was green. Naive, in a way. Still that young girl who wanted to save lives but hadn’t yet grasped the real horror of it all. So when she faced the Jikotsu she fired her rifle blindly out of fear, out of instinct, out of helplessness and that wake up call. That’s the moment I want to show. Because the Mina we see in the anime has grown so much since then. This is who she used to be.

Honestly, I only just realized how much easier it is to follow the manga compared to rewatching the episodes. Trying to pause every second and memorize their lines was just giving me a headache. I feel so dumb for not realizing that sooner. Ugh, smh.

Also, writing PTSD or anxiety is hard. It never shows up the same way twice every person reacts differently, and it always takes a different route. Trying to pin it down in writing can be frustrating.

And yeah… the baby scene. It’s probably too much for some people. But I always wanted this fanfic to show that Kaiju No. 8’s monsters are way more brutal and dangerous than the manga or anime lets on. Or maybe that’s just me I always felt it should’ve been more intense. That part of the story was heavily inspired by the Jurassic Park novel. As a kid, the movie scared me so much but reading the book later? It was on a whole other level. We were robbed.

Also Jikotsu kaiju is my oc. The kanji of Jikotsu means "Bone-Eater Beast". A chicken sized kaiju that is a opportunistic feeders.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 13: Rescue Isn't Recovery

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Whales like Blue whale doesn't have teeth. Instead they have baleen, tho it wasn't even considered a tooth.

 

Year 2016, 

 

“That won’t bring the baby back,” she sharply said.

Mina turned to her, searching for something, comfort, anger, guidance. Anything.

But Yozora Y/n’s face offered none of it. Just the hard, weary calm of someone who had already been through this a hundred times before.

Someone who knew that shooting after the damage was done was just noise. A thing to distract yourself from helplessness.

"You made a promise,” Yozora Y/n said, her voice quiet. “That means something. But promises won't stop any kaijus. And they sure don’t bring back the dead.”

Mina’s grip on her rifle faltered. Shame and guilt and mortified eating her stomach all at once. 

“I... I thought we were in time,” Mina stammered, eyes flicking downward. “The intel said it was cleared. Protocol was followed. I checked twice!"

Her voice cracked. “We did everything right… didn’t we?”

Yozora Y/n finally looked at her and her eyes, and for a moment, they softened, and Mina could see it, something bruised and buried. Something that understood.

But she quickly hide it and chided her anyway,

"They were wrong,” Yozora Y/n said quietly. Her gaze didn’t waver. “And next time you make a promise, Ashiro…”

Her voice didn’t rise, but there was weight behind it, carved from seeing so many officers with a bright start breaking sad news to the victims and zipped up body bags.

“...You make sure you’ll keep it.”

Mina flinched. She couldn’t meet Yozora’s eyes. Couldn’t look at the woman who’d just handed her the kind of truth no training manual could prepare her for

Epiphany struck Mina to her very core, 

Since when did she look at her Captain with idolisation and seeing Kafka in her, and never as a Captain? 

Waking up in a cold reality from romanticising is just as difficult as a drug addict trying to stay sober.

Yozora Y/n was never Hibino Kafka. 

And yet Mina couldn't help synonymously uses the two. She just misses Kafka. And seeing Yozora Y/n, Mina saw Kafka in the way her Captain walked ahead, in the way she ordered the team, in the calm weight of her voice.

And Mina followed, not out of duty, but from a child's habit. A child still chasing her hero.

She missed Kafka. Missed being his vice captain in their own imaginary “division,” back when the monsters were just play pretend and she still believed promises could fix anything.

Kafka promised her that he'll catch up. And Mina hold on to it.

But this is no child's play. And seeing Akane's battered body bring her a cold, hard truth about reality.

“You’ll find more like this,” Yozora Y/n continued, stepping closer now, her boots squelching in the wet patch of carpet.

“Bodies no one claimed. Rooms we didn’t check. Doors that stayed shut too long. We tried to save everyone." Y/n's face softened a bit, took a blanket.

"Civilians forgetting in times of high stress situations. But sometimes, scavengers get there first.” 

She went beside the corpse, to examine Akane. Her eyes flicked over the bite marks, the spread of decay, the pattern of how the kaiju fed.

Yozora Y/n wrapped the blanket around Akane and cradle the dead in her bossom, ignoring the smell. She’d gotten used to worse.

Because ignoring the stenchu, the grotesque details Akane had wenr through, dignity still matters, even for the dead.

“They go for soft tissue first. Organs, fat, the brain. Efficient little things. Breaking bones if they have to. That’s how they survived this long, feeding on leftovers.”

For a second, Yozora Y/n's tired eyes softened looking at Akane, tucked blanket around her shoulders. Like she was still alive and warmth to the touch.

Like the kind of softness that comes from remembering what snow felt like. Or the names she stopped learning. Or all the things the raids kept taking away.

Mina stared. The idea of something surviving like this, like it had a right to live just because it was good at eating the dead, it twisted her gut in a way she couldn’t explain.

“And the chirping?” she asked, weakly. “Why didn’t they run?”

“They didn’t see us as a threat,” Yozora Y/n simply said.

She looked at Mina, adjusting her hold and making sure Akane was covered and wrapped tightly. “And you just proved them wrong. That’s the one thing you did right.”

Mina’s legs nearly buckled beneath her.

She's always the one chasing. Looking at Kafka's back.

Her dream of becoming a soldier, of protecting people, being brave, being heroic... Had never included this. A baby’s bloated body.

“I thought I was ready,” she whispered. Looking at the swaddled Akane at her Captain's arms. Thinking how the latter doesn't even retch at the smell.

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer right away. Just watched her, the way a senior officer watches a rookie who hasn’t yet decided whether to keep going or quit.

“No one’s ready,” she said at last. “Not for this part.”

Then she turned and walked toward the exit, ducking under the crooked doorframe without looking back.

Mina wondered if Hibino Kafka would take the exam this year. She wondered if she's going to wait at the gate again to see him. 

Mina wondered if what her mom's text to her about Kafka moving out and taking a job at Monster Sweeper Cleaner Inc. was permanent or not.

He hadn't answer her texts and calls recently.

Mina wondered if she's ever going to see him, and if he's even going to catch up... Mina has never been so lonely in her life until now.

Mina wondered if Kafka ever felt as helpless as she is right now failing Akane and her mother.

“You coming?” Y/n called over her shoulder.

She's always the one chasing. Looking at Kafka's back. Maybe it's time for her to walk her own path. 

Mina hesitated, then followed. She didn’t feel like a hero anymore.

But maybe that was the point.

.

.

.

Years from now. When Ashiro Mina took Yozora Y/n's mantle or every night and then, she remembered how Yozora Y/n had been the one to carry Akane’s body back and not her.

She remembered the slap, the way Akane’s mother screamed and clawed at her Captain's uniform, like grief needed someone to bleed for it.

Yozora Y/n never flinched. Just stood there with a bruised cheek, hair out of place, holding what was left of the girl Mina had promised to bring home.

The senior soldiers stared at Mina like they were disappointed but not surprised. The rookies her age didn’t say anything, some looked away. One or two looked at her with pity.

That was worse.

---

 

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Minutes passed and Y/n's breathing calmed down. But her stabbing, numbing phantom pain isn't. She subtly open and close her prosthetic in hopes her brain thought it was still the real thing to ease the pain.

Like tricking the nerves into standing down.

Funny how brain works...

It didn’t care that the limb was gone. It didn’t matter how clean the surgery was, how advanced her prosthetic. Or how the grafted skin could fool people that she hadn't lost her right arm.

Somewhere deep in her skull, something still lit up like a power line every time her arm should’ve clenched. As if her fingers were still there, curled too tight, aching and splintering under pressure that didn’t exist.

She sometimes wondered if her mind would ever catch up to her body, or if some part of her would always be reaching for something already lost.

Yozora Y/n exhaled when Okonogi Konomi raised her voice as she contacted Hoshina Soshiro through the comms, 

Clumsily adjusting her rounded eyeglasses, she reported, "Im detecting an abnormal high energy emission near the Honju's location!" 

That caught her attention, and so is Hoshina. The comms were on full volume; everyone on the field could hear it.

"What didja say?! Do ya have a visual?"  Hoshina's voice snapped over the line, sharp and urgent. Hand on his earpiece and running as fast as he and Ashiro Mina could, four recon drones ahead of them.

Yozora Y/n narrowed her eyes. Of course it wasn’t over. It never ended clean. she thought.

And the moment they thought they had control was always the moment they lost it. She will personally report this to Shinomiya Isao.

Remembering their previous meeting about how Kaiju emergence is no joke this year.

Okonogi paused, looking at Yozora Y/n, clearly who had asked that very same question once before but with Kikoru. "We've been unable to get visual confirmation due to dust and clouds and network problems..." 

Something in the way she said it;  the static, the vague silence on the feed hit too close. Y/n's breathing hitched for half a second.

Her jaw clenched hard and Y/n tried to swallow her saliva. Her eyes strained against the visual feed, trying to see what wasn't there.

Her prosthetic hand twitched on reflex. Another Kaiju? And Kikoru was alone there. Y/n locked her eyes to her profile again and stomp her right boot nervously.

What's wrong with the technology? What's wrong with Hoshina and Ashiro's speed? They should've been there ages ago! 

She should've go with them... 

... Fuck.

Her vision tunneled. Ears rang.

2014. 200 Defense Force Officers dead. 3 Division Captains dead. Hikari's last breath. Huge catastrophy. So many dead civilians.

Multiple Divisions across Japan on joint operation to take down Kaiju no. 6. She could still felt the ice thawing her skin that day.

Shinomiya Isao wouldn't let go of Hikari's dead body. 

Kikoru crying at the funeral. 

She could smell it. The acrid smell of burning concrete, the iron tang of blood, like she’d been transported to year 2014. Like Hikari was still out there, her voice still silent on the comms.

Like how the ice locking her throat even miles away from Kaiju no. 6. The barrel of her sniper rifle was frozen.

The floor beneath her vanished. The command operational room noise faded. She was back in the smoke again, Defense Force Officers' guns half raised, back in the ice covered building and frozen comrades.

No.
Not again.

Her left hand clenched. Her phantom arms and fingers curled inside her prosthetic like she still had them, sharp and stabbing, real enough to shake her.

She forced a slow breath, grounding herself. Cold sweat crawled at the back of her neck, but she wiped it with the edge of her uniform jacket like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t just slipped.

A blink, and she was back in the present.

This isn't Hikari. This is Kikoru. Yozora Y/n reminds herself. She locked her jaw tight. Scowling. Get yourself together, damn it.

Okonogi leaned forward, snapping her out of it. “Hold on…”

“…What is this reading? Fortitude… 9.8?!”

What Yozora Y/n froze.

Before she could even process it, Hoshina’s voice blared over the comms.

"Are ya nuts? That last jolt must've thrown the calculation device into a whack."  he barked, too quick. His gut whispered otherwise, but he shoved that instinct down.

Okonogi Konomi, gulped, hesitated under pressure. And the rhythmic clacking fingers against the other Operational Leaders are helping.

"Y-yes, that must be it, Vice Captain!" 

Cuz, if it isn't an error, this would be... Hoshina Soshiro thought, hot on trails behind Ashiro Mina who was holding a rifle, they're near now but so far at the same time,

Yozora Y/n slowly reached her left hand behind Okonogi's chair and braced herself for support, the younger woman didn't noticed it.

Her hand trembled.

... Would go down to history books, as one of the kaijus to ever exist, a Daikaiju.

9.8

9.8

9.8

Same fortitude level as the Daikaiju she faced at Fujisawa City. The one she had to kill by ripping off her own arm  just to fire the shot that stopped it.

The Daikaiju wasnt alone terrorising the city, a Honju was also there, it was rare but not uncommon either. Both kaijus were fighting for territory, with the Third Division killing the Yojus first.

Mina was supposed to handle the Daikaiju, and so is Yozora Y/n with the Honju, but as always, things always goes south.

She blinked at the blurry live feed, heart ticking faster, the back of her neck prickling. Static, cloudy skies… it felt too familiar.

Too much like before.

Fujisawa City. Year 2017. Right arm torn. Blood everywhere. Mina trying to reach her via comms. Her shooting the last shot.

 

"You're not going back to the front."

 

She swallowed hard. The lights in the Third's command operational center felt colder all of a sudden, like something just stepped into the room behind her.

Yozora Y/n blinked hard. Gripping tightly at Okonogi's chair. She said something. About the trainees? About Kikoru? She didn't know.

The numbing pain started again.

A dull, invisible throb deep in her shoulder and it traveled down an arm that no longer existed.

She didn’t breathe. Not right away. She clenched her prosthetic arm. It didn't do a thing.

She exhaled. Cursing, Y/n frowned. It always came back when it mattered most.

Yozora Y/n flexed the fingers of her left hand, steady against the chair behind Okonogi. Her right or the stump where it ended twitched beneath under her uniform.

The pain buzzed, slow and cruel like a signal waking up from sleep.

She swallowed.

9.8.

The number pulsed like a heartbeat behind her eyes.

Static filled the screen. The live feed struggled against cloud cover, wind, interference, the sky was like it had eight years ago, at Fujisawa.

The pain deepened. What started as a throb grew sharper, a phantom stab, like splinters or nails pushing through the flesh of an arm that wasn’t there.

She swore she could feel the nerves misfiring, trying to "grab" something, the  sniper rifle, the trigger; trying to repeat what she did back then.

Like her body remembered what her mind had spent years trying to forget.

She heard the ringing in her ears again. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Shinomiya Hikari. Staring at her.

Her breathing was uneven again. Go away. 

Inhale. 

She's still there. Just staring at Y/n. 

Exhale.

Go. Stop bothering me. You're dead, Hikari-san...

But Shinomiya Hikari wouldn't. Y/n wanted to cry. She can't breath. She can't feel the light weight of her prosthetic anymore. Even her left, real hand gripping at the silicone mattress of Okonogi's chair.

Shinomiya Hikari open her mouth. Blood dripping from her mouth in the process. 

Yozora Y/n's right arm gripping tightly on her sniper rifle. Next it was on the ground. She can't breath. Mina's voice was loud and desperately calling her through the earpiece, 

She cant breath, her left arm is shaking now. Surprisingly, Okonogi didn't seems to noticed.

Mina screamed her name again. Blood dripping from her right shoulder. The Daikaiju was down. Mina did a good job. 

Inhale.

"Captain!" 

Exhale.

"Captain Yozora!" 

Inhale. 

The ice would be the death of her. Half of her officers from her Division were already dead from Hypothermia. Yozora Y/n wondered if Kaiju no. 6 would kill them all. 2014.

Exhale.

Shinomiya Hikari was still standing in the corner. Her dull, dead eyes were staring at Y/n, she's saying something.

"Y/n..."

Inhale.

"CCO...? Chief Yozora, Ma'am?" Okonogi Konomi's voice snapped her back from reality.

A blink, and she was back in the present. She exhaled louder than she prefer. She looked at the far corner and Hikari was gone.

"... Chief Yozora?" Okonogi prompted again, this time, two or three Operational Leaders were now looking at Yozora Y/n with concern.

She blinked, and let go of her left hand on Okonogi's chair. Squaring her shoulders, she asked,

"Status?" Sweat still visible on her forehead.

Just one more second.

Just one more and then she'd be out of their way.

She shouldn't have come here. Not today. Not while the numbers were too familiar, and the air too cold.

Yozora Y/n clenched her skin grafted prosthetic hand behind her back. Metal digits grinding softly against each other, joints clicking.

She held it tight, trying to ground herself with pressure, but it only made things worse. She curled the prosthetic fingers tighter, until her shoulder throbbed.

Still there. Still screaming inside her nerves like the day she lost it.

“...fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

"It seems everything was alright, CCO. Shinomiya Hikari was with Hibino Kafka and Ichikawa Reno." Okonogi said, relief laced in her voice but frowned when the Chief of Command Operation quickly went outside.

"... Chief?!" 

Yozora Y/n ignored her.

She headed straight for the bathroom, legs moving on instinct, muscle memory driving her faster than her mind could. She couldn’t hold it together any longer.

Every salute thrown her way went unanswered, every officer she passed blurred into nothing.

Going left, stripping off her uniform jacket mid step, barely making it past the door. The black tank top clung to her sweat-slicked skin. She let the coat drop , crumpled fabric hitting the tile.

She didn’t care. Not now. Not when it felt like she was splitting apart from the inside...

 

---

 

Hoshina Soshiro should’ve gone with Ashiro Mina to escort Shinomiya Kikoru to the med bay. But something, an itch in the back of his mind, a gut pull, made him turn back.

He was glad he did.

The moment he stepped into Third Division’s Command Operations Center, he spotted Okonogi Konomi pacing in tight circles, hands wringing at her side, eyes wide.

“It’s Chief Yozora, Vice Captain…” she said, her voice low and uneven. Her usual composure cracked around the edges.

Worry was written all over her face, her blue eyes darting between the monitors and the door Yozora Y/n had just left through.

“I think something triggered her.”

That was all he needed.

Hoshina didn’t wait for her to say more he was already moving. His boots echoed down the hall, faster, faster. From the far end of the corridor, he spotted it; a discarded uniform jacket slumped against the wall.

He picked it up.

The scent hit him instantly, faint cologne, sharper from sweat, and something else he couldn’t name.

Familiar. Intimate. A scent of her that lingered from when he stood rather closer next to her, shoulder to shoulder in command room. 

Water running.

His eyes snapped toward the bathroom door.

He stepped closer. Paused.

“Chief…?” he called out, quiet but clear.

No answer.

He hesitated, jaw tight. It was the women’s restroom. A line. One he’d never crossed.

But he heard a clatter. A sharp metallic noise against tile. His voice rose, firmer now, soft but unmistakably worried.

“Y/n?”

It slipped out before he could stop himself. Her name, bare and personal, no titles, no formality.

It had been a while since he called her that.
Too long. Still no answer.

His hand hovered near the door. Breathing shallow. Muscles tense. Another second, and he might just kick it open.

“…I’m comin' in,” he said, voice steady.

From the other side of the door came a single, muffled word, “Don’t", it was a plea, raw and terrified, crumbling under the weight of something unspeakable.

And still, he opened the door anyway.

The lights are too bright.

Y/n was hunched against the sink in the far wall, just in front of the mirror. Her grafted skin prosthetic right arm lies beside her boots, 

She’s not breathing right. She can’t breathe right. Her lungs keep forgetting how. One hand clawed around the sink’s edge, like she wants to tear the memory out.

Y/n could feel her stump was pulsing from the pain where the prosthetic was yanked off. The pain is immediate. Physical. But it doesn’t bring her back.

She doesn’t look at him. "You shouldn’t be here,” she says, voice low. Brittle. Cracked. “Hoshina, i said,”

Then her head turns. Her eyes meet his.

It wasn't Hoshina standing before her eyes. It was the Honju from Fujisawa.

Snatched back through time like a rubber band snapping. Her pupils blow wide. Breath hitching, rapid, shallow. Her chest rises like she’s drowning.

Because she is.

To Y/n, it’s not tile under her anymore.

It’s mud.

The mirror doesn’t show a bathroom. It shows smoke. Fire. Flashes of emergency lights. A Honju near her. Her right arm gone.

Shadow eats the skyline and in it, she sees him. The same posture. Same stillness. Same unreadable gaze.

Y/n doesn't see Hoshina Soshiro anymore. She sees the thing that made her took her arm.

Her voice cracked, "N...not... Not again!... I said get out!" The words tear out of her throat in raw panic.

And she throws the arm that was beside her boots before.

It crashes across the tiles with a sharp metallic shriek. A sharp echo. Like a scream made of steel.

The arm skids, then stops hard wedged against the toe of his boots. Hoshina doesn't move. He doesn't move because he knows.

The posture. The pupils. The way her breath stutters like it’s caught in barbed wire. This is a flashback, full blown dissociation.

He’s seen it before; in the eyes of Defense Officers who survived what no one should have. Some never came back from it. Others didn’t know how to ask for help.

But Yozora Y/n? She’s fighting something he can’t see. And right now, he’s the thing she’s fighting.

And right now, he did only what he can think of that would help her come back. Carefully, he put her jacket uniform on top of the sink, 

Hoshina sinks slowly to one knee, boots grounded to the tile like he’s lowering himself into a minefield.

Because one wrong twitch might snap the thread she’s clinging to.

And he can't afford to see that. 

"Y/n." He says, quiet but firm. His eyes were open, red maroon eyes were shown for her to see.

"It's not Fujisawa. Yer not bleedin' out." No reaction, she's not back yet. Frowning, ignoring what his heart trying to clench, and ignoring the why,

He try again, "Im not the one who took yer arm." 

"It's just me," 

At first, nothing changes.

She just stares through him; eyes glassy, locked on a version of him that isn’t real. Her mouth opens like she might say something, but no words come.

Just air. Sharp, choking air. Her lungs still don’t know where they are.

Then Hoshina Soshiro heard a breath that sounds more like a gasp.

Her vision flickers. A second of white tile bleeds through the haze. Then it’s gone again. Then back. Then gone.

The city keeps pulling her down.

But something in Hoshina’s voice, his stillness, the not reaching cuts through the panic, like a slow stitch pulling her mind back to her body.

Her shoulder burns. Her heartbeat pounds. Everything feels wrong.

Her legs give first. Like she’s too heavy for her own bones. She slides down the wall, her back scraping the tile, her breathing still ragged.

The edge of the sink leaves a bruise across her palm as she lets go.

Y/n hits the floor on one knee, then the other, then finally sits, spine curled, head down, her remaining hand bracing the ground like she might fall again if she doesn’t hold on.

Her eyes dart once to the mirror, then to the floor, then to him. There’s no recognition in them yet. But there’s less terror now. Less of the city. Less of 2017.

She’s back in the room, but not fully.

Her body’s here. Her mind is still catching up. Her shoulder throbs.

Hoshina rises finally and slowly, like a man trying not to wake a landmine. He reaches down and retrieves the prosthetic, and sets it gently beside her.

Gently, he lowers himself to the floor beside her. Not close enough to crowd, just close enough to be there.

Yozora Y/n finally turns her head, barely. Stiff and reluctant, but enough to glare. Her cheeks are flushed beneath the dried tear tracks, and her mouth is set tight with embarrassment.

She’s not angry at Hoshina Soshiro just furious that he saw it. That he was here to see it. That she let everything to be seen at all.

But Hoshina doesn’t say a word.

If silence means she gets to keep her pride, he’ll take it. If it means she’s okay now, even just for a minute, then he can sit in this silence forever.

“Stop trying to fix it.” Her voice is low, brittle at the edges.

“I’m not,” he replies evenly.

“You’re sitting on a bathroom floor.”

“So are ya.”

The silence that follows stretches. Like both of them are waiting to see what shape the air will take next.

“…She looked just like her.”

Hoshina’s brow furrows, but only for a moment. Yozora Y/n has always been proud, even as a child, tight lipped and iron-backed. For her to even say that much is like opening a vault with shaking hands.

So he waits.

Her voice wavers next. Thin. Cracked. fragile, "The way she was laid out on that slab. The blood in her hair. The...”

A dry, guttural sound catches in her throat. She presses her closed fist against her sternum, fingers curled into her own ribs like she’s trying to steady her own heartbeat.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

A pause. Then quieter; “And then it’s like I was back there. 2017. I thought I buried it. I thought I...”

The rest breaks apart into nothing. She doesn’t finish.

He slips off his uniform jacket without a word and carefully folds it before placing it between her shoulder and the cold wall, offering warmth without contact.

A barrier that says I'm here without asking her to accept it.

She stills.

Blinks.

But doesn’t say anything. Just lets the jacket stay there. She let her left arm clutch the zipper, 

He doesn’t look at her when he says it, “I also washed the blood off my hands in a bathroom, y’know?”

She glances sideways at him, slow and skeptical. “You’re not about to say something cheesy, are you?”

“Nah,” he says with a shrug. “Figured ya'd throw this at me.” looking down at her prosthetic arm. It was so realistic and light than he imagined.

Her head tips back against the tile wall. Exhausted. Raw.

The quiet stretches again.

But this time, it lingers warm. Settling in the corners of the room, not so much heavy as still.

And then, because Hoshina doesn’t know when to quit, he tilts his head and says, voice maddeningly casual, “...But hey. If ya need a hand, I’m right here.”

A beat.

She blinks, once. Slow. Processing.

Then her eyes drop to the prosthetic lying between them.

And back to him.

And without a word, she lifts her left hand and smacks him in the chest. Just enough to make a sound. The slap echoes against the tiles like punctuation.

He wheezes, caught more off guard than hurt. "Ow! damn, okay, still got the right hook, I see”

“You ruined it,” she mutters, half mortified, half exasperated.

“Ya were cryin',” he shoots back, grinning just enough to show he means well.

“I wasn’t.”

 “Ya were,” he says. “And ya almost laughed. That’s a win.”

She glares at him. Genuinely, this time. But it lacks bite. Hoshina laughed, saying something how cute she was when she's angry. She doesn’t shove him away.

She doesn’t leave, either.

Her left hand lingers on the tile, fingertips splayed in the quiet. His hand rests beside hers, not quite reaching…

... until his pinky brushes against hers. A small thing. 

Meanwhile Yozora Y/n tells herself she shouldn’t have come. She repeats it. But that fragile point of contact stays. And somewhere, she realizes; Hoshina Soshiro’s hand is warm.

Notes:

I think at this point it's obvious Mina is also my fav with how i paid more attention to her than the MC for the flashbacks🫠

But it's just (i only vaguely remember the manga) her backstory was what?... One or 4 panels where they discovered her ability and gave her a crash course training and basically whooped her to the frontline and expected her to blast the giant sized Kaijus away, and Mina, who was not ready and wishing Kafka to catch up because of how scared and lonely sje was? I want to broaden that and the Akane's scene is all I could think of.

This chapter is a turning point for Mina. one that’s often buried under her image as a stoic commander. When she was younger and still green, she held tightly to the past because she had no choice. Kafka’s promise to "catch up" wasn’t just a throwaway line to her, it became a lifeline. He was her anchor during a time when she felt alone, and she shaped her strength around the idea that he'd return.

But strength built on a memory can only carry you so far.

This chapter is her quiet wake-up call. Seeing Akane someone she promised to bring back forces her to confront the reality that good intentions and old promises don’t always save lives. It’s the first time she truly sees our MC not as a stand-in for Kafka, but as a captain in her own right. Because for the first time, Mina realizes she’s not a child waiting for Kafka anymore.

Kafka’s promise to “catch up” wasn’t just something she held onto, it became her. She waited for him. She trained, rose through the ranks, became stronger all while carrying that hope. And sometimes, growing up means realizing you’re still living in a story you’ve already outgrown. waiting for Kafka isn’t her responsibility. She doesn’t owe him her life, or her grief, or her strength. What she does owe is to the people she leads now. To the soldiers looking at her, not Kafka. To the ones who won’t make it home. Mina has to grow not for Kafka, not for their shared past but for herself. And that’s harder than anything the battlefield ever asked of her.

Also a subtle foreshadowing how she sort of became like the MC. Someone she mold herself. And Hoshina finding the MC at her lowest—deepening their bond for that "slow burn" trope 🫠. I just hope I managed to capture how PTSD and panic attacks work. They're one of the things I'd honestly rather not write about... but I need to. Also a lil reveal on how MC lost her right arm, but the rest of the backstory aren't fully shown yet.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 14: The Cost of Not Dying

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Most fish don’t have eyelids, but they still sleep. Some float in place. Others wedge into coral. Their brain activity slows, though they’re still semi alert for predators.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Hoshina's Condo, Year 2024,

 

The only sound in the condominium was the occasional sound of the air conditioner.

Every now and then, the floorboards would creak; a rushed, half assed renovation job he still hadn't bothered to fix. (Hoshina thought he can be Bob the builder, spoiler; he wasn't)

The smell of instant ramen lingered faintly in the air, soggy and burnt, like him.

Hoshina Soshiro sat on the floor with his back pressed against the couch, legs half folded under the low coffee table. Phone in hand, its blue screen glowing beneath his eyes.

He’d been staring at the same damn chat window for an hour now, thumb hovering over the keypad.

The cursor blinked. Glaring at him.

Soshiro: Hey

Delete.

Soshiro: oi

Delete.

He scoffed under his breath and tilted his head back until it hit the seat of the couch with a light thud.

Why the hell was it easier to face a kaiju barreling at 100 km/h than send a chat to his brother?

Because he's such a shitty bro growing up.  His mind told him, but he ignores it.

Another breath, this one sharp with resignation. He typed; 

Soshiro: yer still in Hyogo?

Sent.

He winced. Of course he's in Hyogo, where else would Hoshina Soichiro would be? Three minutes and forty one seconds. That’s how long it took for the read receipt to appear;

Shittychiro: Yes

Not even a punctuation. Just that. It read like a parking ticket.

Hoshina rubbed one hand over his face. Talking to his brother was like trying to get emotional advice from a fax machine (yeah, fax machine still a thing here in Japan and it's 2024), minus half of where Soichiro is trying ot get under his skin evrry time he visited home.

He started typing again. Hoshina has only one goal, and he needs his big brother for that.

Soshiro: ya still talk to yozora?

Soshiro: or see her?

Sent.

The reply came quicker this time:

Shittychiro: I wouldn’t call it talkin'. But I know she’s alive, if that’s what yer askin'.

Alive. So she's ok. Good. That should’ve been enough.

It wasn’t. (But it was part of his goal tho)

Soshiro: it’s not that

Soshiro: well maybe it is

Soshiro: she changed her number

Soshiro: or blocked me

Soshiro: or never gave it to me in the first place

Read.

Hoshina Soichiro was probably somewhere in Kobe, sipping overpriced coffee with that annoying little smirk of his, fully aware of the emotional checkmate he was about to play.

Shittychiro: Ya expected the difference?

Hoshina Soshiro made a strangled sound, a cross between a growl and a whimper, as he flung his phone onto the couch.

It bounced off of a cushion and nearly hit the floor. He started pacing, dragging a hand through his hair like it might shake something useful loose.

He hated how his brother always knew where to stab the blade. And exactly how deep to twist it.

Hoshina Soshiro thinks of Yozora Y/n,

Yeah, it had been love at first sight. Or a kiddie crush (it was just a innocent crush, something he moved on from) But ever since he could remember, he was just some dumb 8 year old who trailed after his big brother like a mutt.

Soichiro and Y/n had always been the pair; quick witted roast flinging at eachother, sparring sessions. They were besties, childhood friends, and sometimes pulling each other's hair...

... And him?

Just the quiet extra. Always watching. Never chosen.

Hoshina Soshiro thinks of Yozora Y/n. And how scared and out of it yesterday, desperate to breathe air. Trying to escape the hell her mind made her trapped. 

He found himself thinking he doesn't want her to experience it again.

Hoshina then remember why he's chatting to Soichiro in the first place, 

He dropped onto the couch again and stared at the phone. Picked it up. Typed. Deleted. Again and again.

Then finally;

Soshiro: can ya send her my number?

Soshiro: just that. not a message. just mine.

Soshiro: if she wants to ignore it that’s fine. but I want her to know it’s open.

Soshiro: I don’t think she’ll listen to me directly.

Sent.

Read.

And nothing.

Hoshina Soshiro tried again, 

Soshiro: Just send her number actually. I'll do the rest.

Read.

The waiting stretched. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

He was about to throw the phone again when a reply appeared,

Shittychiro: No.

Shittychiro: 😛

Soshiro glared at the screen, muttering, "Ya little shit," as he fired back;

Soshiro: what the fuck is that emoji even for?

Soshiro: yer a 31 year old grown ass man, what is wrong with you

Soichiro's reply came fast,

Shittychiro:Yer 27 and still act like a hormonal teenager.

Shittychiro: Don’t be a creep 🤮

Hoshina's brow ticked reading that, his lips quirked upwards thinking how he wants to plummet his big brother.

Soshiro: I’m not a creep 🙄

Soshiro: I just want to make sure she’s okay.

He didn’t mention about yesterday, didn’t say how she’d had to sit on the floor with her back to the wall like the air was trying to crush her.

But screw that. Let the bastard keep guessing. He ain't sharing, Hoshina Soshiro decided. Not with him.

Soshiro: I thought ya said ya "knew she was alive"

Shittychiro: That doesn’t mean she wants to hear from you.

Shittychiro: Grow up.

He swallowed hard. Elbows back on knees, head lowered. He could feel the heat rising behind his eyes; frustration. Powerless, misplaced want.

He was halfway through typing something sharper when a new message arrived.

A number.

Just that.

Hoshina stared. Then again. And again. No contact picture. Just a number. And Hoshina Soichiro actually gave him Y/n's number. 

Maybe he isn't a shitty brother after all. 

He opened a blank message thread. He typed; 

Hoshina: Ya don’t have to reply

Hoshina: Just. If ya ever want to talk

Hoshina: Or yell

Hoshina: Or throw something else.

Hoshina paused. He sounded like a desperate, awkward hormonal teenager. Shit.

He deleted all of it.

Hoshina: This is Soshiro.

Hoshina: Just checkin in.

Hoshina: I’m around.

Send.

He flipped the phone face down on the coffee table like it might detonate. For a few seconds, he just stared at nothing, lungs tight, heart louder than it had any right to be.

Then he leaned back, eyes closing slowly, dragging a hand down his face. "Damn, chief,” he muttered, voice rough with everything he wasn’t saying.

A weary chuckle escaped him. “Yer a pain in the ass.”

He smiled like someone nursing a bruise they’d forgotten how to feel because no matter how screwed up tonight had been, he had her number now.

She hadn't blocked him. Guess that's a win.

Hoshina Soichiro sat at his desk, sipping overpriced coffee from a cracked mug he'd picked up at some convenience store. The Sixth Division wasn’t busy today; no kaiju emergences, which was a rare treat.

He hadn’t told Soshiro, but he’d forwarded his brother’s chat to Y/n. Just because. Soshiro didn’t have to know.

Guess that’s what little wittle Soshiro gets for not visiting home in a while. Even their mom and dad were starting to wonder when he’d drop by again.

Hoshina Soichiro stared at the chat window.

Soichiro: He’s still an idiot. But he cares about you.

He figured she’d ignore it.

Being the Chief of Command Operations sure is demanding, Soichiro thought, sipping his coffee.

---

 

Year 1978, Kyoto

 

The city of Kyoto was quiet. 

Not in the way storms gone quiet before the final, violent gust of wind, but in a way that felt wrong. Unnatural.

As if everything that should have been there, the gunfire, the shouted commands, the sound of helicopters circling overhead, had been stripped away, leaving only the suffocating sound of silence.

Yozora Michikatsu's breath was uneven, shuddering in and out in sharp gasps. His ears rang, the kind that came from pure, undiluted adrenaline. The kind that sent his pulse hammering through his skull.

He forced himself to move, just an inch, shifting among the broken concrete and twisted rebar of what had once been a police station. His leg throbbed, but he barely registered it.

His body was still in fight or flight mode. Survive. That was the only command his nervous system cared about.

A droplet struck his cheek. Cold at first. He assumed it was rain, until another followed, heavier, thicker. It ran down his face, metallic against his lips.

Confused, his trembling fingers brushed against his skin, turning his hand over. The crimson smear across his gloved palm. His breath hitched.

Blood.

Another drop. Then another.

Slowly, too slowly, Yozora Michikatsu tilted his head back. Thunder cracked overhead, illuminating the ruin of what remained above him.

And there it was.

Kaiju No. 0 loomed in the darkness, its massive, taloned feet perched atop the crumbling rooftop above.

He didn't know when Kaiju No. 0 landed above him, and for its size, the creature was too quiet and Michikatsu felt fear for the first time.

Kaiju No. 0.

A name residents of Kyoto speak with fear. It only ever appears during typhoons, and only in Kyoto. No matter the year or season, its emergence is tied to the storm.

Newscasters have standing protocols for its potential reappearance. Civilians often keep up with Weather forecasts in Kyoto. 

Michikatsu, face to face with Kaiju No. 0 was unnerving in size. It was too large to fit comfortably under the Giant Class designation, but not quite massive enough to qualify as Supergiant Class.

Despite this ambiguity, there was no denying the threat it posed; its Fortitude Level exceeded 8.0 and above, qualifying it as a Daikaiju, the label which is the most elite and devastating classification in the Defense Force’s records.

Its bioluminescent markings pulsed faintly, casting an eerie glow against the storm’s darkness.

Rain running down its elongated form, but the thing that struck Michikatsu hardest, more than the sheer enormity of its wingspan, more than the glint of talons sharp enough to cut through steel, was its eyes.

Massive, dark voids, reflective yet unfathomable, locked onto him. Its elongated head was tilted downward, staring at him with unblinking, inhuman eyes.

Michikatsu couldnt move.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he hadn’t trained for this moment, hadn’t drilled it into his bones that hesitation meant death. But because his body refused.

Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, to do anything and yet, he remained still, his breath barely escaping his lips.

There was a name for this.

Tonic Immobility.

A primitive survival response. A last resort buried deep within the nervous system, shared by preys when confronted by a predator;

The same reaction that left rabbits paralyzed beneath a hawk’s talons, that sent sharks into a trance when flipped belly up. The same phenomenon that left gazelles frozen before a lion’s jaws.

The body "shutting down", surrendering to stillness in a desperate, unconscious gamble that the predator might lose interest. Might decide it wasn’t worth the trouble.

It was a biological defense mechanism. It was also a death sentence.

But this wasn’t a lion. And he wasn’t sure it would work.

It wasn’t just the overwhelming scale of the kaiju before him. It was the stench that came with it; thick and suffocating, coating his nostrils like rotting meat left too long in stagnant water.

The scent of torn flesh, the smell of cauterized wounds, the stench of Defense Officers who had fought and failed before him. Kaiju No. 0 reeked of carnage, its serrated beak still dripping with the remains of his comrades. He just hope Yozora Hoshiguma made it out alive.

One earpiece was somehow still dangling in its beak. Busted and bloody.

Yozora Michikatsu felt sick. It reminds him that for centuries, this thing had fed and thrived. For centuries it causes havoc in his hometown. For centuries it killed Defense Officers before him.

For centuries it remained unkillable that even the government and JAKDF couldn't make of what to do, only hoping for a miracle.

Kaiju No. 0 was also the very first numbered kaiju in history. Hence the label: Zero. It marked the turning point in how Japan understood the kaiju's threat; as intelligent, possibly patterned incursions.

In that moment, Yozora Michikatsu felt death.

He was sure Kaiju No. 0 was going to strike him with its elongated beak; pierce him clean through, shake him until his bones broke free from their sockets, then swallow him whole.

If that didn’t kill him, the creature’s stomach acid surely would.

That’s how most MIA officers from the Fifth Division were discovered; half dissolved, stripped of everything but dog tags. Only the lucky ones had bones still intact.

Yozora Michikatsu wanted to scream, to claw at the ground, to push himself away, but his limbs remained locked in place.

His breath hitched as the kaiju's throat pulsed, releasing a deep, reverberating hum, like the cavernous echoes of a distant thunderclap, the sound vibrating through his bones.

Even now, scientists and experts still couldn’t agree on why Kaiju No. 0 only hummed. Unlike other kaiju that roared, shrieked in aggression, this one rarely vocalized beyond that resonant, droning hum.

It screeched only when agitated or when it hunted. But most of the time, it only hum. Which even civilians still could heard from the evacuation zone.

The humming originated deep in its throat, through some bioacoustic structure that hadn't been replicated in any known kaiju biology.

Some scientists theorized it was partially avian in ancestry; like a lyrebird or superb starling; capable of mimicry and complex, low frequency sound.

His comms whirred, "Captain! Captain, do you copy?..." Michikatsu couldnt answer. Still maintaining eye contact with Kaiju No. 0. The latter only titled its head back, eyes dilating.

To his horror, Michikatsu realised it was studying him.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, Kaiju No. 0 exhaled a final grunt and unfolded its monstrous wings. The force of its takeoff sent debris and bodies hurtling through the air, nearly knocking Michikatsu unconscious as he was thrown backward.

By the time he could push himself upright, it was gone, vanishing into the the storm, leaving only the wreckage of what it had torn through.

Yozora Michikatsu collapsed back against the rubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His muscles remained locked in place, even as his mind screamed at him to move, to react, to process what had just happened.

Kaiju No. 0 had looked at him.

And then it had left.

His body, drenched in rain and sweat, trembled as realization clawed its way into his consciousness.

It had spared him. And he had no idea why.

Voice blasted through his earpiece, "Captain, are you ok? I heard a blast, I'll pin point your location so help would come to you soon. Just stay safe." 

Yozora Michikatsu didn't answer, still breathing heavily. 

"Captain, do you copy?..."

"... Captain Yozora?" 

"Captain!"

"Dad!" 

Yozora Michikatsu blinked. The ruined city vanished, the reek of blood with it. The distant thunder clap. In its place was his home. Noon light filtered. No rubble. No Kaiju No. 0.

It was 1998. Not 1978.

“Dad!”

He looked down to find his daughter, grinning up at him, eyes bright and oblivious to the battlefield he’d momentarily slipped back into.

Another episode. Another casualty of not dying.

Y/n, six years old and sharp in ways that unsettled even the clan elders, held up a drawing. One she was proud of.

He blinked again and forced a breath to his lungs. His hand, trained to draw guns and rifles or sealed kaiju reports, reached out instead to tousle her hair. She giggled.

He smiled, soft and faint. He was forty four now. A miracle in the JAKDF.

All he wanted now was one thing; for Y/n to live safe. Free. Untouched by monsters, human or kaiju.

She held up her sketch. Stick figures, one clearly him, in his JAKDF uniform. The other, taller than her usual drawings of herself, wore the same uniform.

Michikatsu frowned mildly. “Hoshiguma’s retired,” he said dryly. “And I’m sure he didn’t grow boobs.” he took the paper.

Y/n burst into laughter, unbothered. “That’s me, dummy!”

The words punched harder than they should have.

Her? Joining the JAKDF?

He said nothing. But his grip on the paper stiffened. 

“I want you to wait for me, Dad!” she chirped, her eyes chasing a butterfly across the wooden engawa. “So we can fight Kaiju No. 0 together! Won’t that be fun?”

Fun.

He couldn't hear her anymore. Not really. Not past the screams, the shredded officers. Not past the stink of blood on his face in '78. Not when Kaiju No. 0 locked eyes with him.

He stared at the drawing, its edges crumpling beneath his fingers. 

The clan’s words echoed, sharp as ever; 

“Your daughter shows great analytical ability.”

“You’ve no heir but her. Hone it while you can.”

“Being a captain won’t leave you much time.”

“She never listens to us, but she listens to you.”

Yozora Michikatsu thought of shogi. Thought of her odd habit of rearranging the game pieces to test “what ifs” and alternate endings. The clan never said she had to fight.

Neither did she.

She just wanted to stop the monster. She didn’t say how.

He watched her hum to herself and draw again, lips smudged with pastry, feet dirty from exploring the yard.

Maybe she'd grow up to write strategies. Or send orders from a reinforced command desk.

Safer. Wiser.

It was a thought he didn’t dare to voice, for fearing the world would hear and twist it.

For now, he sat beside Y/n, watching her scribble, her tongue sticking out in pure concentration. In her world, crayons beat monsters and the moon was full of rabbits.

He didn’t remind her otherwise.

Yozora Michikatsu was just a father. A father trying to keep her from the jaws of the thing that never died.

Notes:

There are no major character interactions in this chapter i'm still building tension and laying down the groundwork for future events. This is the chapter where Kaiju No. 0 is reintroduced after being missing in action for a while. He's crucial to the overall plot, so his return here is deliberate. The same goes for Yozora Michikatsu. He plays a significant quiet role in the main character’s life. While he didn’t directly push her to become the Chief of Command Operations, his influence is undeniable. That said, it's her disability that ultimately led her to step away from the frontlines, not any specific family pressure.

Regarding the timeline; i know there may be inconsistencies. For instance, I haven’t thoroughly checked if there's a canonical founding year for Izumo Tech or the Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force (JAKDF). That part’s on me. I just ran with what felt narratively right. For reference, Michikatsu was born in 1955, making him around 23 in 1978. (Yeah, I know that puts his birth a decade after WWII, and yes, the math starts to wobble if you squint too hard... 🫠) But hey, we do know from canon that Japan has been battling kaiju since the Warring States period, so I’m letting that give me a little wiggle room.

And just for fun, here’s a cultural fact I love; in Japanese folklore, people say there's a rabbit on the moon. (Think Princess Kaguya, Sailor Moon; Usagi means rabbit; Luna's password had something to do with a rabbit on the moon, Mirko from BNHA; rabbit quirk with a crescent moon on her suit, or even Kaguya Ōtsutsuki from Naruto all related to rabbits. ) Apparently, when Neil Armstrong was once asked about the moon by a Japanese schoolchildren, he replied that it wasn’t made of cheese. The interpreter clarified that there's no rabbit there. But I can’t find any reliable source. Probably myth creeping into myth,

And lastly if you're wondering about the sound Kaiju No. 0 makes? (My OC) It was inspired by a YouTube Short I saw of a toucan call, slowed reverb version. Yeah. A literal bird.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 15: Dead Air

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

some species of anglerfish, the males are tiny, with simplified body features, and they live as parasites on the females, for mating reasons.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

 

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Hoshina Soshiro should’ve just left it alone.

Should’ve shoved his phone into the drawer, or better yet, thrown it across his office like some overdramatic teenager in a coming of age, slice of life movie.

Instead, he sets it on the desk; face down, like that somehow makes it less useful and crosses his arms like he's punishing himself.

Still ends up staring at the damn thing anyway.

Yozora Y/n still hasn’t replied. Not even a "seen," not that this is a chat with those little indicators.

Just a no reply, blank screen with a last message hanging there like a brick in his stomach.

And look, he’s not being clingy. Not some jealous ex. Not one of those Booktok possessive types Okonogi always rants about during breaks.

He knows she’s busy. She’s the Chief of Command Operations. He knows she’s got about fifty fires to put out while holding a national crisis on the other hand. 

He gets it.

But still. Being left on read... Or worse, left in read without even a thumbs up emoji has always been one of Soshiro’s personal brand of pet peeves.

Petty? Yeah, a bit. But sue him. Worry doesn’t exactly check in on his emotional boundaries before unpacking its bags.

And what really gets under his skin, more than the lack of reply, more than the waiting, is the context.

They’ve only just started talking again, after what, years? And now she ghosts him? Or forgets? Or... no, don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.

Still, there’s something ironic about reaching across that distance again, just to get radio silence back. Like calling into the ocean and expecting it to answer.

So he just sits there, arms folded like it’ll help him keep it together, staring at a phone that doesn’t give him a notification from someone named Y/n.

Because apparently that’s what adulthood looks like; ghosting, unresolved tension, and pathetically waiting a message back...

“…Should’ve just left it alone,” he mutters, like maybe saying it makes it true.

---

 

Kyotamba, Kyoto, Year 2024,

 

The forest was alive in the kind of way you only get in the old parts of Japan; pine needles underfoot, dragonflies tracing lazy circles in the air, and the distant sound of a hidden stream that sounded like laughter if you weren’t paying attention.

"Take a picture of that tree! Look! See how it's curved like a Ji? That’s a lucky one," Yukari said, shielding her eyes as she pointed up toward a towering sugi tree.

Her husband, Hiroto, chuckled from a few paces behind, his camera bag swinging from one shoulder. "Only you would call a tree lucky just because it looks like a hiragana character."

Their son, Ren, was already scrambling ahead on the trail, arms flailing as he laughs. "It’s lucky because we’re hiking, Mom!" he shouted over his shoulder, "and because we finally got a vacation!"

Yukari let out a quiet laugh and breathed it in this moment. No kaijus. No evacuation warnings. Nothing but sunlight cutting through the canopy, painting dappled gold on her son’s back.

"I missed this," she admitted, almost to herself. “Three years. We haven’t had a single trip that didn’t end in evacuation center or curfews, other than our works giving us barely vacation. All because of…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. The word "Kaiju" felt too heavy, even out here.

Hiroto’s voice softened behind her. "That’s why I said it’s a blessing, isn’t it? Kyoto might be the last place in Kansai region without a crater. Trees instead of sirens. Our boy finally sees what summer’s supposed to look like.”

Ren paused near a ridge, propping his hiking stick like a flag. “When I grow up, I’m gonna join JAKDF! I’ll fight every bad kaiju so everyone can have vacations again!” His voice rang out loud and proud, the kind of childish conviction that made even trees seems to listen.

Both parents laughed, from that fragile mix of pride and fear only parents know. Hiroto tousled the boy’s hair.

"You better tell those monsters that next time they show up, huh?"

Yukari smiled. “But finish school first. Promise me that much.”

Then a jolt, brief but firm. The earth stuttered beneath their feet. Birds burst from the trees in a panic. They staggered as herd of deers came running through them,

“An earthquake?” Hiroto muttered, slowing to a stop. “This time of the year?”

The ground gave a loose shake beneath them. Then came the sirens; distant at first, then louder, closer, clawing their way through the forest canopy.

Ren scooted closer near Yukari.

The Emergency Alert blared from a tower deeper along the ridge, the flat robotic voice cutting through the hill;

"Seismic activity detected. Immediate evacuation advised..."

Yukari didn’t wait. She tightened her grip on Ren’s small hand.

“Run!”

But the trail ahead was no longer stable. Pebbles trembled. Small critters bursts from their homes. Then, with a gut punch crack, the earth itself opened.

The ridge gave a violent shudder, the path disintegrated beneath their feet. Grass split. Dirt tore loose in wet clumps.

Massive slabs of rock sheared off and dropped into the forest ravine below with terrifying speed.

Ren whimpered, "Mom, dad, I’m scared!”

Yukari tightened her hand around his, pulling him closer... Too late. The ledge beneath them gave out completely, and for one agonizing second, they were weightless.

Then they fell.

Ren didn’t know how long it had been since the earth swallowed them whole. Minutes? Hours? Time lost all meaning in the dark, where sunlight no longer reached.

What he did know, what he would never forget was the moment he saw his father’s leg.

It was bent wrong.

His bone, the femur jutted out of Hiroto's thigh like a snapped branch, long and pale, glistening where the marrow met air.

Blood pooled fast; thick, dark, arterial, soaking through Hiroto’s pants instantly. There was no clean edge to it. Just torn muscle, exposed tendon, and the bone, white and obscene, like something that didn’t belong inside a person anymore.

His father was screaming.

A deep, helpless sound that didn’t sound like Hiroto at all. Every time he shifted, even an inch, it made the leg twitch, and with it, more blood.

Yukari held him down, voice cracking as she tried to calm him, hands slippery with his blood. “Don’t move, Hiroto, ju... Just breathe, okay?”

But she was crying too. Silent, shaking tears that clung to her lashes. Ren couldn’t look away.

That was his dad. And he was breaking.

The silence afterward wasn't really that kind of quiet at all. It was full of wet breathing, whimpers, Yukari’s muttered reassurances that barely held together, and the slow, pulsing drip of blood hitting dirt.

Ren sat crouched in the hollow of his own body, arms locked around his knees, barely hearing the world. A single shaft of light still flickered above, impossibly far away, it was taunting him.

He didn’t know what time was anymore, but he did know something was wrong with how the earth smelled now... Something musky, something burrowing, like something alive was stirring beneath them.

Ren ignored it. Figuring he's getting crazy.

Then he heard it. As if her mom's assurance and pleas were heard from the gods, Ren heard them,

Faint at first, a radio static, then something heavier. Voices. Clanking metal. Artificial light suddenly cut through the blackness, sharp and surreal as it scanned the crevice where the three of them lay.

“Visual on three survivors. Two adult, one minor. Prep harnesses, we’re going in.”

Yukari made a choking sound; half sob, half gasp as a harnessed rescuer descended with practiced speed, another right behind. Their helmets bore the orange and gray insignia of the local urban disaster corps. 

“Oh my god… you came!” Yukari’s voice broke as the first rescuer reached them. “Please, please! His leg, it’s..." she stuttered, gasping for air,

The rescuer raised ap gloved hand, “Ma’am, it’s alright. We’ve got you now. I’m Ishida, this is Tani. We’re getting you all out.”

Tani moved fast, checking Hiroto’s vitals and stabilizing the leg as best he could. “Compound fracture. We’re lifting him first.”

Hiroto winced, but nodded, "Thank you..."

They worked with a rhythm that felt like hope. The kind that made Ren start to believe they’d get out.

Yukari kept whispering thank yous. Ren was shaking, tears threatening again, but this time for something like relief.

The pulley system groaned as Hiroto, swaddled in blood soaked bandages, was lifted upward with Tani attached to the gear behind him.

Then came the mistake.

First it was a tremor, a kind of shake that sent through their marrows. Then dirt, a lot of it, collapsed inwards as something erupted from beneath their feet.

Funny how Kaijus resembles animals sometimes.

The dirt exploded upward, showering the chamber in rocks and dust as something enormous and furred burst out of the earth with tunneling speed.

A literal mole.

The mole kaiju was hideous, its face a wet combination of muscle and chitin, nostrils twitching like a scent addicted predator. Its claws, curved like sickles and the size of a human average height, snapped towards the two men ascending.

Ren barely had time to scream. (Or laugh at the absurdity that keeps happening from what seems to be a normal hiking trip)

Tani screamed as one hooked claw impaled his side, dragging him mid ascent. Hiroto didn’t have time to scream. The second claw caught him around the waist, rending through the makeshift harness, snapping bone like kindling.

Blood sprayed across the chamber of the ea0rth as the cable went taut and then snapped with a metallic scream.

Realising how grave their situation is, Ren shouted as Hiroto managed to smile at him, “DAD!” tears brimming his eyes,

Yukari’s scream tore her throat raw. She reached out as if her hands could reach back through stone. Ren’s knees gave out.

They were half swallowed in a second. The kaiju’s gaping maw clamped down; flesh, rib, and spinal cord crushed into pulp and before it twisted like a drill and burrowed downward, dragging them screaming into the black.

A slick trail of blood smeared the walls where Hiroto’s body had struck, and something, his boot? His hand? was left behind, twitching, torn from the socket.

Ishida's radio burst to life. “Kaito to team, what the hell just happened?!... Ishida you copy?!”  Ishida couldn't find his own tongue to answer Kaito,

But the ground didn’t stop. It collapsed again.

Another tremor, ir came from a purposeful dig. The mole kaiju was still moving, and the cave’s floor gave way beneath them.

Ren, Yukari, and Ishida fell.

Ren barely registered the blur of light from above, the third rescuer, Kaito from above, still screaming into his radio.

“Unit Two, this is Kaito! We’ve got breach! Massive kaiju, Tani’s gone, Ishida and the civilians are... shit, shit!" He grips his radio tighter, "They’re falling, they’re falling! Call Fifth Division, now!”

He tried calling Ishida again, but the signal crackled, then cut off entirely. And the dark swallowed them all again. Dead Air.

---

 

Fifth Division Base, Year 2024,

 

As a regional response force, the Fifth Division prioritised frontline command and rapid deployment.

One of the top operational leaders of the Fifth Division, Yozora Ume, was seated in the middle of the room in front of the biggest holographic display.

The space surrounding her came alive. Screens lit up with incoming data feeds as operational leaders locked themselves in from their stations.

“Kaiju contact confirmed. Containment perimeter extended to the entire Kyotamba hiking corridor,” said Operational Leader Yozora Ume, fingers gliding across her keyboard as municipal warning protocols lit up on her secondary screen.

A digital fence blinked red around the mountainous edge of Kyotamba. The hiking park; a popular mid summer destination was now sealed.

“Public transmission is prepped,” another Operational Leader reported. “Operational Leader Yuzuki is now stationed at perimeter operation zone, waiting for the green light.”

“Good. I want every local phone to ping in the next three minutes. Evacuation route overlays too." Ume paused, gulping, 

"And get the police; no hikers re entering the loop. Anyone doesn’t go in.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Dozens of hikers were already being herded off the slopes by uniformed officers.

Above, billboards marked “CONTAINMENT ZONE ACTIVE; DO NOT ENTER KYOTAMBA'S HIKING TRAIL” projected red holographic were written.  

Multiple stations behind, Operational Leader Kirasagi Yaya pressed her earpiece, "Line’s open, Dr. Kurobane, you’re patched in.”

The screen flickered to a lean man in a field vest, bathed in the sterile light from his geometry research lab. His voice crackled in.

“If this kaiju’s tunnel follows tectonic fissures, then we’re dealing with a deep karst. You’ll need to track micro fractures in real time or you’ll lose your team.”

“We’ve initialized GPR,” replied Operations Leader Yozora Koshi, typing one handed as the map populated with slowly shifting 3D lines beneath the mountain.

A cavern system appeared like veins under flesh. Some were natural. Others were too clean, too curved and were clearly burrowed.

“Real time topographic model stabilizing in thirty seconds,” Yozora Koshi muttered. “Routing it to all Fifth Division officers and command decks now. Priority flag to Ariake Maritime HQ uplink.”

“Keep an eye on fault points,” Dr. Kurobane warned. “One wrong movement and your whole team will be buried alive.”

Koshi gulped, "Copy." 

“Recon Drones One through Seven, go for crawl launch. Repeat, crawl mode, no high pitch.”

Far from her base, Operations Leader Yuzuki’s command van vibrated faintly as a tray slid out from the roof, releasing multiple spider like drones. They clung to roots and narrow walls as they descended into where the family of three and Ishida fall.

Inside the command screen, every drone lit up with its designated feed.

“Thermals live. Low visibility cameras feeding. No echo bouncing around the walls, this one’s freshly drilled." Yuzuki is now typing to her keyboard, hunched inside her van, "Sending two of the drones to the secondary branch tunnel.”

Operational Leader Yuzuki had been reassigned to a Perimeter Operation Zone three kilometres east of the containment line but close enough to launch drones, far enough to avoid spontaneous collapse zones

Back to the Fifth Division base, Operational Leader Yozora Ume toggled the uplink to the Fifth Division officers in the field. Each squad member’s visor HUD synced with the drone feeds.

“Visuals are green." Yuzuki reported, her voice can be heard around the command center, "Depth tracking is stable. Platoon Leader Mori squad signal are pulsing, they're 53 meters ahead of the Fallback Zone.”

“Good,” Operational Leader Yozora Ume nodded. “Keep them updated in real time. No one gets lost. If one feed cuts, I want a drone tailing their path within five seconds.”

"Copy."  Operational Leader Yuzuki replied before calling off.

One of the drones suddenly caught something; a movement. Dirt sifting behind a dark silhouette.

"Captain Yozora Daichi and his squad are nearing the Containment Zone. They're prepping in five." One Operational Leader reported from their station, 

Yozora Ume nodded, “Eyes on the target,” she  said tightly. "Prioritised rescuing, but they're not alone.”

Fifth Division's SUV jolted over an uneven gravel with its tires making a sound of a low growl beneath the armored floor. Yozora Daichi leaned forward in the passenger seat, one boot braced against the dashboard, his earpiece clipped to his ear.

He togged it on, "Status on the west perimeter?" he asked, voice already halfway through a yawn. Hands on his visor thermal.

A reply crackled back. "Clear for now. Drones confirm no movement. Locals already pulled out... GPR feed incoming."

Daichi hummed, he's the lazy kind, but he's always been sharp like hus cousin. He adjusted the volume dial on his earpiece and leaned back as the comms lit up with another ping.

"Daichi. It’s Koshi. GPR just flagged a void two kilometres east, deep and wide. Like, swallow-a-bus wide. You and your squad will need to reroute."

“Yeah, I saw the map,” Daichi muttered. “So guess what, lil bro? You’re calling Ariake.”

A pause. "...Why?"

"Because I said so,” Daichi grinned. “And because this site’s messier than we thought. If those underground caverns collapse, we’re looking at casualties and coverage." He paused, Koshi's listening,

"She’ll want to greenlight inner zone lockdown and heavier payloads before some idiot tweets it.”

Koshi sighed, audible static crackling with it. “You just want her to babysit your sector again.” Daichi laughed, ignoring how the officer driving the SUV side eyeing him,

“Why drag her into this again?” Koshi asked, flipping through field overlays. Daichi leaned back against the SUV, arms crossed, tone uncharacteristically soft.

“Because,” he said, “a Yozora doesn’t fail where Kyoto still stands.”

Koshi didn’t argue after that.

“Heh,” Daichi said, strapping on his helmet where the visor was attached as the SUV swerved toward a barricaded turnoff. “I also want her to do what she always does; clean up the shit dad said I’d never manage.”

Koshi didn’t answer at first. He stared at the screen, then glanced sideways, just long enough to catch the sound of seriousness beneath Daichi’s grin.

Yozora Daichi wasn’t perfect; lazy, loud, sometimes a complete buffoon, their father's big disappointment, but when he said things were bad, they were already worse than anyone realized.

Another pause. Then a low snort came from Yozora Koshi's nose could be heard from Daichi's earpiece. "Fine. Ariake’s on standby anyway."

His voice returned sharper, drier now. He tagged the main HQ button from his keyboard,

"Ariake, Command. It’s Yozora Koshi from Fifth Division. Chief, Captain says it’s your turn to save the family honor. Again." 

The SUV turned off the main road, heading straight toward the smoke hazed ridgeline, where the containment zone’s outer fences shimmered in the heat. The rotor blade sound of GPR drones passed overhead.

Captain Yozora Daichi cracked his knuckles. “Tell her,” he added with a smirk forming his face, “I brought snacks this time.”

Yozora Koshi grinned, similar to how his big brother smiled. An apple doesn't fall far from the same tree it seems.

Notes:

The Yamasaki Fault Zone lies to the west of Kyoto Prefecture, primarily in Hyōgo Prefecture, but its influence extends to western Kyoto and the northern part of Osaka. It is one of the most active inland fault zones in Japan. Kyotamba is heavily forested, mountainous areas in the north and west of Kyoto. I realised that I've been emphasising that MC came from a clan, similar to Hoshina's but 14 chapters been published but no signs of them... Oops, so this is a sort of redemption for them. The way i portrayed Yozora clan is similar to Japan's real life surviving clan integrated to modernity. Both the Yozora and Hoshina clans are survivors from the Muromachi period (which is actually canon that the hoshina has been around since that perio), which historically is when samurai retainers began solidifying into clan-based power blocs.

In the post-WWII world, most real-world samurai families faded into anonymity or became political figures, but in my AU, Japan preserved some elite clans for national security, cultural heritage, or some who still training kendos (like Hoshina's dad after retirement) or joining JAKDF. The Yozora clan is one such lineage; ancient, noble, and militaristic not shogunate style warlords, but generational kaiju hunters turned military officers. Instead of their previous primitive weapons their ancestors used, they now train in tactics, strategy, and cutting edge weapons from Izumo Tech.

It’s plausible that the Yozora clan gained political prestige through the Imperial Court; similar to how "kuge" families were retained during the Meiji and early Showa periods. Their public facing members might be ambassadors, cultural liaisons, or bureaucrats, while their military branch traditionally enters the JAKDF, just like Yozora Michikatsu (MC's father). Tho MC being a CCO is the highest rank a Yozora could achieve, since her father was just a previous Fifth Division captain. (And another comparison from Daichi's dad.)

Since the Yozora clan’s seat is in Kyoto, and the 5th Division is based in Kyotamba, it makes logistical and historical sense for that division to those who do want to serve JAKDF, and not all members are fighters. Having 50 clan members (plausible, tightly knit) with mixed careers; Some are lawyers, doctors, museum curators, or data analysts which benefits the clan's modern face to the public, This makes the 5th Division part-bastion, part-family business, and people in the division likely know who is a Yozora and who isn’t. And hence why there's OC whose surnames are Yozora; Yozora Ume, Yozora Koshi, Yozora Daichi...

Also, GPR is a geophysical method used to investigate subsurface structures, including those found in mountains. It utilizes electromagnetic waves to create images of the ground below, allowing for the detection of features like fractures, ice thickness, permafrost, and even buried structures. The term "Karst" characterized by distinctive landforms created by the dissolution of soluble rocks like limestone, resulting in features such as sinkholes, caves, and underground drainage systems. So Kurobane's warning make sense. The fallback zone is a pre-designated safety line or defensive threshold that units are ordered to retreat to if things go wrong. Mori and his squad are deeper into the danger area, probably inside the active hazard zone (i.e., kaiju tunnel, unstable terrain, or potential enemy territory). It does not mean a literal earthquake pit or hole. the area where a family fell would be inside or beyond the fallback zone, likely in what’s called the Red Zone. Kyotamba is the Containment Zone.

Ok... Nerd out. Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know.

Chapter 16: Dead Air 2.0; Severance Protocol

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Female salmon died the moment they laid their eggs from the spawning nest they were born. Sad.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

At the very centre, Yozora Y/n stood on an elevated platform surrounded by division liaisons and layers of operational leaders, each were sitting from a command station.

"Those idiots, i swear." Y/n cursed, adjusting her headphone as she glared at the one particular screen that shows the current feed of Fifth Division at her Hometown.

Because of its purpose more than a lack of light, Ariake Maritime Base was dull. The countless monitors that lined the infinite rows of tactical data and surveillance feeds, which differs of red, green, and blue across the metal paneled floor, were the source of all illumination.

But Yamamoto, Aira, and Tanaka barely flinched.

Yamashiro Yamamoto, their senior and a seasoned former Third Division operational leader (now part of the Central Relay), simply grunted and sipped his canned coffee, eyes on a rotating multiscreen cluster.

He was flexible, multi division trained, and had seen worse tantrums from Yozora Y/n's before breakfast.

Operational Leader Sakamoto Aira and Tanaka Eijichi, however, were all business; First Division’s sharpest operational leaders, tasked solely with prepping and launching First Division’s forward deployment protocol.

They ignored Y/n's griping entirely, heads bowed over their digital relay boards. Aira toggled into the secure network feed, voice clipped as she radioed Platoon Leader Shinonome Rin,

Tanaka worked parallel, fingers flying across his control panel as he mapped troop vectors from the Aerial Assault Unit.

“Recon drones one to four airborne. Syncing cross field vision to the First Division platoon squad. Transmitting now.”

Neither of them had time for their Chief's personal hell. They were First Division. This was their lane. though, Tanaka found it funny with how Fifth Division Operational Leader Yozora Koshi called.

Yamamoto didn’t look up. “If you’ve got a directive, say it. Otherwise, conserve your breath, we’re already juggling three field lines.”

Yozora Y/n scoffed but clicked her headset to mute. The screen still showed Fifth Division’s signal light, treading too close to the quake’s outer trench. Her hometown was blinking red.

“Idiots,” she muttered again. “Don’t make me come down there.”

She sighed and stared at Yamamoto's head, "Yamamoto" she called, the aforementioned man looked up, 

"Chief" 

"Cross reference the kaiju that emerged from Kyotamba," she ordered, eyes narrowing as Yamamoto nodded and typed,

Lines of encrypted biological logs crawling down his screen. After a few seconds, he muttered, “...Got something. Low emergence frequency. Matches a subterranean class.”

He leaned in. “It’s a mole related Kaiju. Prefers deep burrow networks; non-confrontational unless its territory’s breached. Aggressive when provoked, especially if it’s been nesting." Yamamoto paused, adjusting the earpiece over one ear.

Yozora Y/n listened, "Face structure’s consistent; fleshy muscle plate under chitin shell, nostrils flared like a scent-tracker. Front claws curved like sickles. Each one’s about 170 centimeters long. Fortitude Level puts it cleanly in Yoju class.”

He squinted and continued. “There’s no other record on file outside that classification. It’s rare. Last confirmed contact with this kaiju type in the Kyoto-Kansai range was... fifty-three years ago.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, only in Kansai region? 

The comms crackled, and Yozora Daichi’s voice chimed in like a drunk uncle with a mic.
“No wonder none of us knew it existed. That’s Grandpa’s bedtime story age.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto didn’t even flinch. “Might explain why he used to dig trenches in the yard.”

So this is how they survived for five decades? Dismissing her thought, Yozora Y/n just exhaled sharply.

Looking at the Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer, "I want full visual on the drone's feed that were deployed at the Containment Zone, now."

Said liaison nodded, immediately sending a request to the Fifth Division's live feed of the spider drones beyond the Fallback Zone and the GPR drone feed to locate the victims heat signature and possibly, the mole kaiju's to Ariake’s Command Operations Center.

Minutes later, multiple of screens pinged, and came multiple data feeds. Yozora Y/n was analyzing it real time until another pinged caught her ears;

Another feed emerged, a mapped terrain; Nagano Prefecture, grid marked and glowing red across the highland edge.

“Multiple seismic spikes, mountain ridge east of Matsumoto,” came the voice of Fourth Division’s Liaison Relay Officer, currently assisting with nationwide coordination.

“Status,” Yozora Y/n said calmly, shifting her weight as she stood before the multiple  screens from her platform, prosthetic arm producing barely any sounds in response to movement.

Operational Leader Mizuno Shigeki, a senior member of the Fourth Division, answered over the shared line.

“Target emerged from below Lake Misuzu. It’s a cephalopod based Kaiju. Hybrid aquatic with heavy dermal armor." A pauser, clicking of keyboards could be heard from the other line,

"Estimated length; thirty seven meters. Movement is erratic. Tentacles are burrowing through sediment strata like pressure drills.”

Y/n's eyes narrowed. That meant foundation instability.

“Estimated civilian exposure?” she asked.

“Moderate,” Mizuno replied. “Matsumoto city edge within potential strike radius. Estimated impact in fifteen minutes if trajectory remains southward." he paused, looking at his screen,

"Local evacuation already initiated. No aggression markers, but it's already moving.”

Y/n didn’t hesitate.

“Fourth Division has intercept authority,” she declared. “Prepare military tank and biothermal suppressants. I want it forced inland, away from water bodies." She paused, as she adjusted her mic attached to her headset,

"Prioritize non lethal deterrents, but if it begins collapsing urban terrain, make Captain Ogata Jugo switch to execution protocol.”

“Understood.”

The feed flickered again, infrared readings spiked on one tentacle. In the frontline, at Misuzu lake, Fourth Division Captain Oagata Juzo saw it too.

He tagged his earpiece, "Beginning erratic flailing. It may be sensing internal instability. We may not have fifteen.”

Yozora Y/n watched it for a long moment, sinking Ogata's words in, then her eyes narrowed, calculations forming in her mind with the precision of an eagle.

“Get the biolab on standby. If this thing ruptures, I want contamination containment inside five minutes. If it's false alarm, proceed with your plan, Captain Ogata, that kaiju is all yours." 

Fourth Division Captain Ogata Jugo's gruff voice crackled throughout Ariake's command room, "Solid copy, chief."

Yozora Y/n nodded, wiping sweat from her forehead before breathing for air. Another voice crackled, from the Fifth Division,

"Chief, you might want to see this." Operational Leader Yozora Ume interrupted.

She didn’t look away from the one of the command's screens, where the spider drone no 7's live feed twitched and jittered along the cavern walls.

"Drone 7 just breached the secondary shaft, there’s movement. Faint, intermittent. GPR is showing a hollowed out chamber behind the eastern plate. Large. Bigger than what we projected. And..." she hesitated.

"like something’s been nesting there for a while .”

Yamashiro Yamamoto looked up from his monitor to watch the feed ahead, eyes flicking between the spider drone’s live visual and the GPR overlay.

The feed stabilized just as the drone’s lens panned through a narrow opening.

The camera passed through loose shale and beyond it an entire subterranean stretched across the feed; vast corridors and latticework hollows carved into the dirt, like tunnels built by ants.

Yozora Y/n exhaled, "Where's Captain Yozora Daichi? Whose squad behind the drone?"

A voice crackled throughout Ariake's command center, but it wasn't Ume, "Chief, it's Platoon Leader Mori of thr Fifth. Captain and his men were few meters behind us," a pause, 

One spider drone caught visual of the aforementioned platoon leader with what to be his 14 men, each thermal scanned body were tagged with a name through the huge screen beyond Y/n, 

From the other screen, Fifth Division just forwarded each deployed officers' kanji tagged names, their profiles and their biometrics showng their heartbeats.

The sound should’ve been reassuring, a rhythmic pattern. A sign that the officers were alive. But to Yozora Y/n, it dragged her backward; Shikoku Island. The Eighth and Ninth Divisions, where half the grid flatlined one after another.

Back then, the rising lines had turned from steady to silence in under three minutes, and she’d never forgotten the way the absence of beeping could sound louder than any scream.

Y/n inhaled one big breath before pressing the keys from her  headset to call her cousin, "Captain" she rasped,

A beat of static crackled before stabilizing.

“Yo, couzin,” came the reply, light, casual, the grin in Daichi’s voice unmistakable.

Y/n didn’t need a camera feed to know Daichi was grinning in the dark somewhere beneath a mountain. Probably half covered in dust, armed to the teeth, and smug as hell.

Yozora Y/n didn’t answer at first. Her eyes flicked to another display, then to the operational leaders around her; 16 liaison relay officers assigned to each divisions, multiple operational leaders of the First divisions looked up curiously .

First Division Operational Leader Aira was struggling not to react. A few snorted under her breath.

Tanaka Eijichi tried not to laugh outright, turning his face discreetly to cough. Even Kurusu Akira of the First tilted grinned slightly from his station, amused.

She ignored them. “You’re past the fallback zone,” she said sharply, eyes narrowing. “With Platoon Leader Mori, with the exception of one squad at the surface.”

“Yup,” Yozora Daichi replied, completely unfazed. “Calculated push. My guy Mori and I figured we’d post deeper, reinforce the frontal collapse site just in case things go sideways.”

“Unilateral call?”

“Nope,” Daichi answered. “Just heard our Fifth Division science guy on open comms earlier, Dr. Kurobane, yeah? Karst this size? Fault line this unstable? He said surface microfractures make large group movement a bad idea."

Daichi doesn’t believe in going 100% into a mole kaiju burrow without backup topside in case of collapse or worse an ambush.

Her brow furrowed, but only slightly. Her fingers moved over the railing, tracing the cold metal bar in rhythmic pattern.

A slow nod.

“That’s smart,” she admitted. “Karst system’s unstable enough to act like a glass floor. The more mass, the faster the break.”

On screen, the tunnel systems shimmered; natural tunnels with unnaturally clean curves. Too precise.

“Mole type kaiju can surface anywhere,” she added, eyes focused. “Ant farm structure. Dividing your units gives us broader sensor coverage, and…” she tapped a finger in the railing, producing a faint tinking

“…makes you a good bait.”

Daichi wheezed through the comms. “Wait, what?”

Tanaka Eijichi blinked, Y/n glance at him, he's still listening? She thought, before glancing back at the screen, 

“You and Platoon Leader Mori,” she continued crisply, “are holding the lure position." Now drumming her fingers at the metal railings, fast and then slow, 

"Half the plan is to agitate the stragglers out of their burrows while the squads you left above snipe anything that breaches. Keep your location active. No funny business unless I say so.”

There was a pause. 

Y/n blinked, waiting for Yozora Daichi's response, "... Captain?" 

“…You just praised me,” Daichi murmured, suddenly quiet.

Yozora Y/n blinked again, confused. “…What?”

“You totally did,” he cooed. “Koshi! Bro! You hearing this? She praised me. Our mean, i-will-kill-you-if-touch-me cousin actually praised me!" 

A second voice chimed in across the feed, flat as coffee left out in the rain,  “Loud and clear, bro. I even recorded it.”

Y/n scowled, face reddening. “Koshi, stop encouraging him.”

Daichi's laugh was heard crackling through the comms as he wheezed, "Cant wait to see you in our family reunion! Koshi, make sure to play that in high volume" 

Koshi laughed, which just sharpened her glare, cheeks flushed with rising heat as her scowl twisted into something lethal. "Solid copy"

From the platform below, a chorus of stifled snickers. Aira was biting her lower lip. Tanaka had both hands clapped over his mouth. Even Kurusu coughed suspiciously into his sleeve.

Yozora Y/n’s glare swept across them like how she used to do with her scope from her sniper rifle. Instantly, all three straightened and went back to monitoring their consoles.

Even Yamamoto, across the deck, sighed with a long suffering exhale.

Yozora Daichi’s voice was still in her ear, smug as ever. “Little cousin thinks I’m competent~”

She glared, her face flushing as her scowl deepened. “I will disconnect your line.”

"nah, you love us"  Operational Leader Yozora Koshi teased somewhere in Kyoto, it was cute if it weren't covered with smugness.

Yozora Y/n didn’t dignify it with a reply. She adjusted her headset roughly, the silence itself was her answer.

Koshi only chuckled. "That’s a yes.”

---

 

Kyoto, Year 2009,

 

The rain hadn't stopped for hours.

It hammered down on the slate roofs of the neighbourhood of Kyoto like the angry fingers plummeting the ground. Thunder rolled slowly over the mountains; low and heavy, the kind of sound that sat in your chest.

Somewhere far off, lightning momentarily silhouetted the pagoda skyline. But down in the alleyways of Gion, everything was dark. Not a single light, not a single source of power.

Kyoto was dead silent except for the rain.

It had to be. The blackout protocol was clear; No electricity. No power. If Kaiju No. 0 was in the region, and reports confirmed it was; you killed the lights and prayed it passed through.

Seventeen year old Platoon Leader Yozora Y/n moved like a ghost, boots slipping slightly on wet cobblestone, sniper rifle fle slung over her shoulder.

The SR-2000 sniper rifle was too long for alley navigation, kept swaying behind her awkwardly. Her soaked hair clung to her eyes.

Behind her, three Fifth Division officers crept in a low formation. Beside her walked Mochizuki Tao, a fellow Platoon Leader, older a few years than Y/n and twice as arrogant.

His rifle, was cradled low. Both squads had been dispatched by their Caotain's order after a few convincing from Tao; search and recover of Officer Sasakibe Tomoyo.

They hadn’t found anything for hours. Not even their operational leaders could do anything. Which is bad because they're running out of time.

Until now.

"Wait," Tao said, pausing near the mouth of a narrow, shadowed alley. “That’s her.”

Y/n's eyes narrowed. There she was.

At the far end, a figure slumped near trash bins and collapsed crates. Her familiar kaiju synthetic suit, shoulders hunched, unmoving.

They could barely make her out through the rain, but the shape was right. The posture. The braid down her back. Her voice, too.

“...Help.”

It was weak, almost drowned by the storm. But unmistakable.

Platoon Leader Mochizuki Tao exhaled a relieved scoff, his mouth pulling into a crooked grin. “Dumbass’s gonna get herself eaten one day. Kaiju No. 0 doesn’t give second chances.”

Y/n side eyed him sharply. “She’s competent. This isn’t her fault, you idiot. You’re the one that got us running in this flood.”

“I’m the one that, what?” Tao snapped, wiping rain from his eyes. “You dragged your entire squad into my jurisdiction.”

Annoyed, she felt her eye twitch, “I’m leading the operation, you broke the protocol!”

“Help…”

They both froze.

The voice had said it again. Exactly the same.

It was strange. Almost uncanny. No change in her pitch. There was no urgency. Just a;

“Help.”

Tao clicked his tongue and stepped forward, boots splashing. “Alright, alright, we're coming. Just sit tight right there,”

“Stop.” Yozora Y/n’s voice was tight. Her hand was on his arm.

“What?” Tao blinked through the rain.

“Her mouth,” she said.

Tao squinted.

Ignoring the alarming red flags, Y/n said it again, “... it's not moving.”

The rain thickened, pattering like static in their ears. And that unnerving, uncanny voice of Sasakibe Tomoyo came.

“Help… Help…”

Now it wasn’t just wrong. It was wrong. Mechanical. Like a music playing the same sentence over and over again tha your ear get used to it.

Same voice was repeating again, and listening to it now, Tomoyo hadn't even called one of their names since they arrived. Tao’s breath hitched.

“…Y/n,” he whispered, taking a step back. “The hell is...”

Yozora Y/n raised her rifle, clicked the flashlight on.

Sasakibe Tomoyo was already dead.

She sat slumped, body folded unnaturally, a deep gouge running from clavicle to waist. Her kaiju synthetic suit was cracked and her black shirt within was soaked black with blood, staining the cardboard boxes beneath her.

The rain did nothing to dilute it. Her mouth hung open. But it didn’t move.

“Help…” the voice said again, now seemingly coming from nowhere. Or everywhere.

A thunderclap split the sky, and with it, lightning. For one split second, the whole alleyway lit up.

And there's Kaiju No. 0.

Perched directly above them, claws dug into the rooftop, concrete groaning under its weight.

Its body was monstrous, but elegant in the way a spider is elegant, neck too long, eyes glowing dull in the rain. That trademark of his, that bioluminescent markings  of purple and blue pulsed faintly, casting an eerie glow against the storm’s darkness.

Yozora Y/n blood boiled seeing it again since she was just seven years old, but the sight carved itself hard into her bones. 

“Y/n…” Yozora Hoshiguma’s voice was quiet, eyes were red. In his hands, he held a small wooden box, it was light.

“There’s no body. The report says Kaiju No. 0 swallowed Michikatsu whole.” He offered the box gently. Inside, were only stones. A tradition the JAKDF still held from WW2. Replacement of a comrade and father who would never come home.

Its head tilted just slightly, registering them.

Both Platoon Leader tensed, that Kaiju had mimicked Tomoyo.Mochizuki Tao staggered backward, horrified. “Shit. Shit, that fucking bird mimicked her,”

“MOVE!” Yozora Y/n screamed, and the alley exploded into multiple rounds of rifle firing at one subject.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

GPR sweeps of the mountainside above the suspected kaiju den. The constant clack, clack, clack of keyboards mixed with the faint murmur of liaisons relaying division updates into earpieces, the occasional shout of coordinates punctuating throughout the room.

Yozora Y/n ignored them all.

The artificial light gleamed off the sharp cut of her uniform, she exhaled through her nose and folded her arms, thinking every possibilities;

The tunnels are splitting in eight. Multiple egress and structural choke points. she exhaled through her nose and folded her arms, too unstable for full force mobilization... collapse risk is above 70% on impact.

Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer looked up from his station, and reported, "Captain Yozora Daichi’s group is registering about six meters behind Platoon Leader Mori's. Third squad still in reserve.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t look at the Liaison. Her eyes were already tracking the vertical striations through the feed.

“Geological fault lines intersecting here… here... and here.” her eyes traced across the screen, looking at each choke zones. “One blow from a mole kaiju and we lose two squads to collapse. If we stack everyone in one tunnel, we risk total entrapment.”

"Extraction protocol?” Yamashiro Yamamoto asked, hesitantly, adjusting his glasses.

The Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer was still waiting for her relay.

“No good,” Yozora Y/n snapped, looking at the GPR feed Operational Leader Yozora Koshi provided, “GPR’s only mapped 78% of the interior structure. That’s a gamble we can’t afford.”

She tapped her earpiece, opening a secure channel. "Daichi." 

"Couzin?"

Screens flickered in steady synchronization along the curved perimeter of the command pit; each one loaded with topographical overlays, heat signatures, bio scans.

Y/n stood watching them all, “Daichi. You’re six meters behind Platoon Leader Mori. Confirm position."

Daichi responded immediately, voice level but tight, “Confirmed. Second passage in visual. Awaiting orders. You want us to join Mori's squad?"

Yozora Y/n didn't hesitate, “Negative. We split deployment. Now.” There was a pause on the line,

Just long enough for Yozora Koshi and other Fifth Division Operational Leaders to look up from their monitors in Kyoto, curious and already anticipating the relay.

“...Split?” Yozora Daichi repeated. “You’re changing our formation?”

Yozora Y/n's voice stayed sharp, “Two squads, 15 each;  that’s 30 bodies. Split them even; five per tunnel. Eight tunnels, six teams. You lead Tunnel 1 with five. Vice Captain Yozora Sanae takes Tunnel 2. Tunnel 3 goes to the other five of your squad. Tunnel 4 goes to Mori. His second leads Tunnel 5."

Before the final word left her lips, Koshi’s fingers flew; outing squad feeds, updating each deployed officers' HUDs, pinging Daichi’s system with the adjusted pathing and command overlays.

Yozora Koshi leaned forward, speaking into his own secure line, "New grid sent. It's a whole ant maze down there, good luck, bro.”

"Tunnel 6 goes to the remaining five left over. Ten more for Tunnel 7 and 8 are from the squad 3." Y/n finished, 

"That's forty." 

Yozora Daichi’s voice cut through the comms, no longer sarcastic or mischievous. He was all business now.

"I left them behind on purpose,” he said.

“We're not walking into a goddamn pit blind. One squad stays above ground. If we lose our fallback, we lose everyone.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t flinch. Her gaze was steady as she tapped her finger, circling the metal rail,  “That leaves five active,” she said coolly.

“and sniper designated. Perimeter only. Each squad sweeps their assigned tunnel. You search any signs of survivors, tag the clusters, and fall back.”

"Daichi, this is the only plan when the tunnel underground are literally karst system. The more you go to each tunnel, the faster you found those victims...." 

She looked up. “Then we fire.”

Yozora Daichi’s brows furrowed. But it was their cousin, Yozora Sanae who questioned this time, “Fire how?”

“Coordinate baiting,” she replied. “Full wide. We place non lethal explosives, which wouldn't collapse the karst within." A pause, looking through each screens,

Y/n continue, "limestone this fragile, noise and seismic pulses work better than force. The kaijus won't resist pressure, then you draw them to breach them out.”

Realization clicked in Operational Leader Yozora Ume's expression as she caught up. One hand on her earpiece, 

“You want the five turned snipers to hit them as they surface?”

Yozora Y/n nodded once. “Exactly. One shot per target. Before they scatter underground again.” Her voice hardened. “This is textbook emergence behavior. They hide. That’s their evolution."

Looking at Yamamoto's station and he nodded in confirmation from his previous cross reference, 

She continue, "But the quakes force movement. They only come up when driven out.” and since they're hostile when agitated.

There was a beat of silence. Daichi stared through his visor helmet, which showed Yozora Sanae's heat signature, then slowly shook his head in understanding. 

Realising that his plan about the third squad earlier, Y/n weaponised it, “…This was the plan all along.”

Y/n blinked, steady as stone. “No, Daichi. This was the contingency.”

Yozora turned to the Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer with a sharp, clipped tone. “Tell Operational Leader Ume to break the third squad of fifteen into three fireteams; five members each." She nodded, the liaison already typing in his console,

"First and second fireteams will advance into Tunnels 7 and 8, respectively.”

Her eyes narrowed as she continued. “Then redirect the last five personnel to establish sniper overwatch along the south perimeter; rooftops, scaffolds, wherever they can get clean lines. I want precision eyes on it before it surfaces.”

The liaison gave a quick nod. “Copy. Orders relayed, Chief.”

---

 

Fifth Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Everyone was occupied and running at full capacity as urgent relay orders crackled through Fifth Division Liaison Relay officers' orders from Yozora Y/n herself, relayed from the Ariake Maritime Base.

Operational Leader Kirisagi Yaya's fingers moved swiftly across her console, one hand pressing tightly to her earpiece, her tone clipped and precise.

"Platoon Leader Amon, divide your ten man team into five. Move through the Red Zone and secure Tunnels 4 and 5. Confirm and proceed."

A second Operational Leader, posted behind her, adjusted his earpiece and cut in to the same comm line, issuing parallel orders with barely a glance. “Switch to sniper loadouts. Perch on the southern rooftop."

Hunched over his own console, at the same time l, directing multiple recon drones. "will deploy recon drones within the next thirty seconds. Await visual confirmation before firing.”

Across the map overlay, Operational Leader Yozora Ume narrowed her eyes and keyed into the channel for another field unit. The containment perimeter was holding for now, but the ground was unstable and riddled with collapse zones. Every second counted.

"Operational Leader Yuzuki, status report."

A pause. Then the static voice of Yuzuki came through from her darkened van stationed three kilometers east, close enough for high fidelity drone deployment, far enough to stay out of collapse range.

"No anomalies detected in spider drones five, six, and four... Wait..."

Spider drones one through seven blinked steadily on her monitors as she leaned in closer, brushing hair from her face to refocus.

Spider drone four’s footage jittered as it tried to re stabilise with it eight robotic limbs. A shape moved through the thermal vision.

Actually, no... Beneath it?

Then Operational Leader Yuzuki's eyes widened. "Oh my god..." 

Ume's eyes darted to the large central screen. Yuzuki's voice changed, closer, tighter; as she leaned toward her interface.

"Operational Leader?" 

In the background, the sound of frantic keyboard tapping began to spike over the channel.

"Yuzuki?" Ume tried again, more urgent now. Yozora Koshi looked up from his monitor to look at his cousin, 

"Yuzuki, respond! What's happening?"

the rising panic in Yuzuki's voice, punctuated by the tremble of fear that seaped past Yozora Ume's earpiece.

"Oh my god, Captain! Captain, watch out!"

Notes:

So.... This is kind of awkward? Just a lil heads up (and something to finally let go what's been bothering me for a month now?)

Ever since I started disabling comments (using the AO3 setting that lets authors choose whether to make them visible), I’ve received a flood of update requests; messages like “please update” or “I want to see what happens next.” And while I get the excitement behind those words, it honestly feels like many people aren’t even acknowledging the chapter itself. It’s cute at first, but over time it starts to feel like the work I already shared was skipped over, like the only thing that matters is the next update not the time, effort, and emotion that went into the one I just posted. That’s why I keep the comments off: not out of spite, but to preserve the space I need to write without being reduced to a content machine.

I want to speak honestly, especially to those who keep commenting or messaging things like "Please update!" or "Can you update? I want to see what comes next!". I get it, as a reader, I’ve felt the exact same way. That excitement. The curiosity. The eagerness. But as a writer, I need you to understand something important; Comments like "please update" don’t motivate me. In fact, they often do the opposite. If you enjoy the story, the most meaningful thing you can do is leave a thoughtful comment about the chapter itself. Tell me what you noticed. What hit you. What confused you. What stayed with you. I’d rather get one sincere reaction than fifty “update pls” messages. Writing isn’t just about giving people more. It’s about telling the story right. (And... Because i cant see some fanfic of the way i want, so i created my own)

Also, this one sort of took the cake? I’ve seen some comments assuming I used AI to write this, and while I get where that’s coming from, especially if the style feels too “sophisticated,” I want to be clear; I didn’t. My biggest inspirations have always been Haruki Murakami, Pablo Neruda, author of The Little Prince and to an extent Lang Leav. I’ve said before that I love writing with sensory detail; I build scenes from feeling, smell, texture, and that might make things sound more stylized or atmospheric than expected. That doesn’t mean it’s not mine. Yes, I use grammar checkers because English isn’t my first language. Sometimes I mess up tenses or phrasing, but I learn by doing. Maybe my characters dialogue aren’t always perfect to canon AND I’ll own that, but I’m telling the story my way, with care. And if you compare the latest chapter from the first chapter of this fanfic, you noticed so many differences, the pacing? The paragraphs pacing? And while i still haven't found my writing style, i always goes with whag my mind tells me to do, if i want a scene where MC or Hoshina felt angsty, then i'll go for how Haruki Murakami write, because no author could write loneliness better than him, or if i want something whimsy and fluff, I'd measure that up to how Lang leav writes, but overtime im leaning more to that comedic, simple and a lil sarcastic writing especially from Hoshina scenes at the previous 2 chapters... Yeah, and I’m still going to keep going, at my own pace. People will and still talk, even long after you’re gone, so I’m letting this go and focusing on writing. That’s what matters.

Thanks for understanding and thanks, truly, to those who have been reading and responding with care. You’re seen.

Chapter 17: Dead Air 3.0; Wound Catalogued

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

electric eels are not true eels. They are actually knifefish, more closely related to carp and catfish, and belong to the order Gymnotiformes. Electric eels have a long anal fin and no dorsal fin, unlike true eels. True eels elong to Anguilliformes. (My life is a lie)

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Red Zone, Year 2024,

 

Fifth Division Captain Yozora Daichi was pretty sure he died the moment the ground gave way beneath his boots, just were dropped like a bad idea through a rotted karst system.

Karst system. Figures. 

He was also fairly certain he caught a glimpse of Platoon Leader Mori and four others heading into Tunnel 4 and the other team of five right before the whole world tilted sideways,

Probably the reason why Operational Leader Yuzuki was screaming bloody murde over their comms. Something about mole Yoju. Something about the ground give away. Karst system.

And now, with four of his own stuck beside him in what could only be described as a subterranean pool built by Satan himself, Yozora Daichi was absolutely, painfully, tragically certain...

…they’d landed in a pit of shit.

For a solid five seconds, no one spoke. The stench hit before the impact. The kind that didn't just went to your nose, but climbed into your lungs. And probably strong enough to slap your ancestors too.

Someone, probably Hamura gagged first.

Loud enough to echo through the karst chamber and over the wet, sloshing sounds of their own horror. They stood waist deep, and god, that smell.

“This isn’t just a tunnel.” Kuronuma growled.

“This is a goddamn karst sink full of Kaiju's diarrhea. And i am currently standing covered of their shit.” he wiped his rifle, but to no avail,

"Yeah, no shit, Kuronoma," Rintaro rolled his eyes behind his visored, ignoring the middle finger the latter send his way, 

"Literally."

"Just shut up, Rintaro."

"Fine"

Yozora Daichi surfaced with a slow, grim rise, emerging up to his ribs in what could only be described as a nightmare. 

A foul slime, reeking sludge, and something suspiciously granular that crunched ominously beneath his boot.

“…I swear to every god in Heaven above,” Daichi said, his voice was mixed with disgust and dangerously calm, “if I get pinkeye from this, I’m defecting to the Civilian Affairs Bureau.”

"Captain..." Hamura called behind him, but Daichi was not having it,

"Dont" He raised a hand, voice flat. “Unless it’s the direction out or the name of the bastard who planned this tunnel split, you don’t speak.”

He wiped his cheek with the back of a gloved hand and stared at the result. “That’s not mud. That’s not even pretending to be mud.” he coughed from the smell of it all.

A wet gag echoed behind him as Hamura staggered upright, struggling to breathe. “Captain, after this, can i switch jobs?"

Before Daichi could respond, Tamura, halfway through climbing the slick, slimy slope of the pool they had just stumbled into, lost his grip.

His boots slipped out from under him with a wet shloop, and he vanished beneath the surface in a splash of suspiciously warm sludge.

The group recoiled in synchronization. Kuronuma made a wheezing noise. The silence that followed was almost comical.

Tamura exploded out of the brown mire a second later, coughing violently, feces and who-knows-what falling off his helmet.

"Mother of!” he barked, tearing his visor up as if it had betrayed him personally.

Yozora Daichi stared at him. Just stared.
No pity. Not even a fit of rage. Just the silent contemplating of a man who couldn't contain his intrusive thoughts anymore.

A beat, then he asked, "Tamura, did you just die now?" 

Tamura inhaled and snorted his nose because of the foul smell, blinked at his captain, "... No?" 

“Shame.”

The silence that followed was almost comical.

Thanks to the thermal visors they're wearing, in the dark, Hamura, with his heat signature, muttered under his breath, 

“They never warned me the mission would eventually be literal shit.”

Kuronuma didn’t even blink. “Five years. Five years I’ve kept my kaiju synthetic suit clean. This is a hate crime.”

“Captain,” Rintaro's voice piped up behind him, tremulous and squeaky with disgust. “Permission to die?”

Yozora Daichi deadpanned, still trying to wipe his forearms, “Permission denied. Youre suffering with us, boy.”

Rintaro tsked, "That's crab mentality, Captain"

Daichi rolled his eyes, "Whatever" 

“Captain,” Tamura hacked, trying again to rise from the muck, still dripping from the head down. “You ever hit a point in your career where you realize retirement’s just not early enough?”

Yozora Daichi didn’t look at him. “Tamura, if you speak again, I will personally make you do toilet duty once were done with this mission.”

Tamura instantly shut his mouth.

He scanned the pit’s jagged, glistening perimeter; walls marked with thick, curved gouges from clawed tunnel bores.

“Judging by slosh depth, this pit’s been layering for months. Maybe years.” he glared, he realized he still has his thermal visor on. 

“Alright. Enough whining. Weapons ready. If we’re lucky, it’s just animal that somehow get lost or the victims were trying to rescue...” he gagged mid sentence, "god! It's stinky out here!" 

“And if we’re not?”

“Then God help us all," he tried to haul himseld, "because I sure as hell won’t.”

A static from Daichi's earpiece made him halt. It was Yozora Koshi, voice tight with worry.

The signal dipped, then returned as Daichi tapped his earpiece. "Daichi?... Daichi, how copy?" 

"Daichi, can you hear me? How..."

"Solid copy bro," Daichi answered, flicking muck off his face. "and four of my men too," 

Operational Leader Yozora Koshi exhaled in instant relief, Daichi could here multiple clacking of consoles on the other side, "Thank god, Ume! Captain's good, along with the others!" 

A faint skittering noise turned their attention, eight metal legs clicked over roots and sludge.

A small robotic drone emerged from the shadows. Boxy, spider like, a camera lens blinking in the middle.

“Yuzuki’s drone,” Hamura muttered, squinting. “Took her damn time.”

The spider drone blinked red, then green, live footage uploaded instantly.

“Confirmed visual,” came Operational Leader Yuzuki’s voice across shared comms. “Sending feed to Fifth Division and Ariake Base now. Location locked. You’re on the map.”

Above ground, the Fifth Division command room lit up. Koshi stared at the screen. Then burst into laughter. Operational Leader Yozora Ume and Kirisagi Yaya were bamboozled.

“Bro. Are you in a pool of shit?” Koshi wheezed.

Daichi groaned, as he put his hand on his earpiece. “It’s organic sludge, you smug bastard.”

Both Hamura and Tamura looked up, with his visor on. “They’re all watching this, aren’t they?” already hearing some faint laughter through their earpiece. Hell, the whole Fifth Division were laughing at them.

“Yup,” Koshi said, not even hiding his grin. Thinking about not complaining anymore about his back pain from sitting 14 hours a day, "Ariake too.”

Rintaro sighed. “We’re never living this down.”

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

Yozora Y/n had just opened her mouth to request the deployment of the Fifth Division’s GPR radar, to scan deeper than Ariake’s seismic limit and locate potential life signs beneath collapsed strata, when the central screen flickered.

The live feed relayed from spider drone no 3. There they were; Captain Daichi and his team, waist deep in a pool of feces. Some avoided looking, but her cousin was glaring at it.

First Division Operational Leader Aira happen to look up from her monitor and did a double take, "Oh my god..." 

Kurusu Akira and Tanaka Eijichi glance at her, confused, "what?" Before looking up and coughed down a wheezed. They failed.

Y/n's mouth opened, straining for a word that refused to come, before she cleared her throat.

“Daichi, visual confirmed. Good to see you in one piece. We'll work on retrieval coordinates.” then Y/n gave herself a sharp, tap at her sternum with the side of her fist, to  resist the urge to laugh back down into her stomach. 

"Oh fuck you, i demand a raise, cousin"  he complained, glaring through the drone, "and a paid vacation,"

Yozora Koshi's muffled laughter, already trying and failing to be discreet, erupted through the shared comms like a cannon blasting through the command room, only crushing Daichi and his men's pride.

"shut up, Koshi!" Kuronuma growled, followed by following colourful curses from the others.

Daichi only raised a gloved, dripping hand, a very clear middle finger toward the camera. "Eat this, Koshi!"  One eye twitched behind his goggled visor.

Then groaned dramatically, "This is why i dont do cave exploring, Y/n!"  shoulders tense and fury mounting, pretty sure that his body's heating up from the thermal footage,

“and if one of you shitheads so much as sniffs this footage for memeing purposes, I swear to god I’ll personally shove a stick where the sun don’t shine.”

Yozora Y/n only sighed, saving Daichi from further embarrassment, "Koshi." She started, "Mute your mic if you can’t keep your shit together.”

A static, before her cousin reply, "sorry..."

Another voice cut through the shared comms, firm but urgent. "Operational Leader Yozora Ume," she identified herself. "Yuzuki just found the others."

That shut them up, Y/n crossed her arms, frown deepening, "Proceed," she ordered, 

It was Operational Leader Yuzuki herself who spoke this time, her voice crackling over the channel with a strained undertone.

“Bad news, Chief… Spider Drone no 2 and 4 spotted them, Platoon Leader Mori and fourteen of his squad...”

A pause. Yuzuki hesitated, her voice tight with remorse.

“…Dead. All of them. Shredded. Some unrecognizable due to the claws of the mole Yojus. Some buried. Still no sign of Vice Captain Yozora Sanae’s team or the three missing civilians. Orders, Chief?”

It was quiet, Y/n didnt say anything. Even Daichi and his four man team went quiet, likely processing the weight of it. Mori and his entire squad, wiped out.

The sudden ambush attack likely caused the Karst system to fall under Platoon Leader Mori and the rest of his team divided in those tunnels to die suddenly, she thought, shaking her head, ignoring the incoming headache.

Not only the moles are the headaches, but Karst system are also something they need to be mindful of... Shit.

Yozora Y/n finally exhaled, slow and controlled. She gave a sharp nod, her voice steady. “Deploy the drones deeper. I want live updates every step of the way.”

Operational Leader Yuzuki was already typing, the sound of each drones activating filling the background.

Spider drones no 1 through 6 scuttled deeper into the branching tunnels, their feeds lighting up the board, minus one drone, already lost. And the one currently with Yozora Daichi's.

“Koshi,” Y/n said, without looking up. “Use your GPR. I want a full map of the mountain’s interior; every nook, cranny, and collapsed shaft."

"If there’s a path the drones missed, I want eyes on it.”

“Solid copy, Chief,” came the curt reply.

Y/n's not finish yet, “Ume, contact the ten third Squad members assigned to tunnels Seven and Eight. New objective.” voice was clear, firm, but she swallowed hard.

On the other end of the line, Operational Leader Yozora Ume sitting if front of her monitor as she relayed orders. She tuned out the constant relay of orders and the relentless clacking of keys from Operational Leader Koshi, who was hunched over the GPR display.

The screen pulsed faintly in the darkened command center, showing unstable caverns beneath Kyotamba.

Yozora Y/n continued, her heel shifting subtly, grounding herself as she read the tunnel data coming across one of the seven live drone feeds.

“Have them retrieve every body from Platoon Leader Mori’s unit. Prioritize caution, karst system’s unstable.

"If recovery’s impossible, then just the dog tags. And call in a dozen ambulances.”

Ume responded immediately. “Roger.”

From the Fifth Division, her form was lit by the blue wash of live feeds. One hand on her earpiece.

“Get me the previous ten from third Squad. Tell Amon to reroute from tunnels 7 and 8. Objective’s changed.”

She didn’t need to explain why, Operational Leader Yuzuki's  recon drones already captured the wreckage of what had been Platoon Leader Mori’s squad.

Half were dead. The rest… scattered, mangled, or buried.

Tension braced in her shoulders as she leaned slightly toward the monitors. Her eyes tracked multiple screens at once, flickering between thermal feeds and the GPR schematics pulled up by Yozora Koshi.

Each Yuzuki's drone’s visual streamed directly to the visors of the active rescue team, and to their screens as well.

“Chief orders to prioritize body retrieval. If retrieval's impossible, dog tags at minimum. Caution them on the karst system beyond the Fallback Zone.”

There was a short pause. Then Ume added, without looking up, as she types from her own keyboard, “And we need dozen of ambulances. I don’t care if it overloads the local network, we need them in twenty minutes, max.”

One of the Operational Leaders beside her turned, stopped relaying orders for a moment, hesitating.

Operational Leader Yozora Ume snapped her fingers repeatedly, “Now.” and they spring to actions, already relaying orders to the third squad,

A separate line lit up, and Ume switched channels. “Local Fire Department, this is JAKDF'S Fifth Division. Requesting two fire trucks on standby. Repeat, two units, rapid dispatch near Perimeter Operation Zone.”

The fire chief on the other end barely had time to ask why when Ume’s tone turned dry, almost annoyed. “Because our officers are about to surface covered in kaiju's waste. I’d like them to recover their dignity before the press arrives.”

She already ended the call and joined a new line, and she added, almost unprompted, "Captain, I requested the local fire department, having two firetrucks on standby.”

A male voice cut in over the comms, Yozora Daichi. “Appreciate that.”

Yozora Y/n's  eyes flicked from screen to screen, each feed a narrow thermal snapshot from the spider drones crawling through the sub tunnels.

Tunnel six was now buried, but one of the spider drones managed to squeeze through.

She leaned forward, one hand braced on the railing, the other tightening around the mic clipped to her headset.

“Captain,” she said, sharper now. “Stick to the plan. Locate the victims. Let the drone lead, stay one meter behind." Y/n shifted her stance again, just slightly, discomfort disguised beneath her uniform, 

"Those mole type Yojus could still be burrowed ahead. Its camera feed is linked to your visor. Do not deviate.”

Without waiting, Daichi turned and began trudging toward the tunnel, each steps made a squelching sound.

One by one, the rest followed, one spider drone leading them deeper, 

Few seconds passed, and only the ambient sounds of relentless clacking fingers and immediate voices of operational leaders could be heard. Too much stimulation.

Yamashiro Yamamoto got used to it.

The map of western Japan stretched across Yamamoto’s monitor, flashing with layered seismic overlays. He narrowed his eyes at the rising topography markers blinking near the Kyoto-Hyogo border.

“Chief,” he called out. His voice cut across the operations floor without needing volume. “Does the Fifth require joint deployment? Sixth Division’s proximity makes them ideal.”

Hoshina Soichiro.

Yozora Y/n didn’t immediately answer. Her eyes flicking left and right, tracking the GPR activity relayed by Yozora Koshi. 

Daichi and his four men team had descent deeper when they got unexpectedly got ambushed and miraculously survived because of the pool of feces breaking their fall.

But how would they found their way back? Also finding the three victims? She leaned forward. A fault line blinked into overlay.

The Yamasaki Fault Zone.

One of the most active inland fault systems in Japan. Running dangerously close to where Yozora Daichu's signal dropped earlier.

Y/n tapped her headset. “Koshi, confirm depth and relative distance to nearest fault line. Are they crossing over into Hyogo?"

Koshi’s voice came crackling back, steady despite the technical strain. "Confirmed."

"GPR readings suggest Daichi’s last ping came from a shaft roughly 200 meters deep, projected breach range within 3 kilometers of Hyogo likely under the Yamasaki system.”

Yozora Y/n's jaw tightened. There's no hesitation now. The opportunity is literally waving in front of her.

She looked towards the Sixth Division Liaison Relay Officer stationed just across the room, 

“Patch in the Sixth Division. I’m authorizing coordination on joint recovery and seismic risk protocols." her boots tapping against the platform she's standing on.

"Captain Yozora Daichi's team may have breached active fault territory.”

The Sixth Division Liaison Relay Officer didn’t waste any time. Consoles flicked back to life, secure channels opening between command towers.

Yamamoto watched her work with a small, tired grin, ignoring the fatigue gnawing at his frame.

Nearly three decades of service behind him, and half of them spent watching Y/n when she was Third Division Captain as her assigned operational leader. Now, she ran the damn operations floor.

“Well done, Chief,” he muttered, with the kind of pride you don’t wear on your sleeve.

Notes:

The whole landing on a pile of poop was actually inspired from a movie called Descent.
Also with so much consideration, Karst systems form from limestone erosion, leading to caves and sinkholes. If urban development collapsed into one, sewers or kaiju carcasses plus their feces could’ve contaminated it over time. The "sludge" pool could realistically preserve biomass for decades, the foul-smelling, thick, and sticky enough to trap bodies. Falling in wouldn’t cause immediate death due to their kaiju synthetic suits (falling meters drop beneath) but the psychology distress and inhalation risks from chemicals would be high.

Also, i could be wrong from my research, but after so mamy considerations that Daichi’s team plausibly end up underground near the Hyogo-Kyoto border. Kyotamba, which is a rural, mountainous region in western Kyoto Prefecture, known for its karst terrain, underground water systems, and proximity to the Yamasaki Fault Zone. Karst systems (with sinkholes, caves, and underground drainage) are common in areas with limestone geology, and Kyōtamba fits that bill. The Yamasaki Fault Zone, one of Japan’s most seismically active fault lines, runs very near the Kyoto-Hyogo border. If Daichi and his squad were scouting subterranean anomalies (tremors, tunnel movement, kaiju activity), they could easily fall through a collapsed karst ceiling or into a fissure. Is it believable that the 6th Division would be considered for joint ops once the location is verified near Hyōgo???... Meh maybe (and in a chain-of-command and operational geography perspective), and Daichi needs all the help they could get, MC confirming the squad is near the border via Koshi's GPR (Ground Penetrating Radar) data is a good use of division specialists. Upon learning this, she immediately reaches out to the 6th Division Liaison. That's exactly what a tactical leader would do in multi-jurisdictional coordination. Or at least in my vision.

This is supposed to be the last arc but i noticed it's kind of getting longer (i decided to shortened the chapters from here on) so i split it again, next chapter would be the last arc of Dead Air, and Hoshina's featuring there... Which one?👀👀👀

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 18: Dead Air 4.0; Something Left Unsaid

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Those whiskers we saw in carps, koi or catfish are actually called barbels.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024

 

"How are things going at Hyogo?" Y/n asked the Sixth Division Liaison Relay Officer who was currently typing at their keyboard while relaying information from the Sixth Division.

"An operational leader from the Sixth just reported that Captain Hoshina and his squad finished terminating a Honju class at Kobe. They’re now redirecting to the appointed mountain you mentioned, Chief," the officer said, glancing from their monitor to the raised platform where Yozora Y/n stood.

"Orders, Chief?"

Yozora Y/n crossed her arms, frowning at the multiple screens. No sign of the three victims yet...

"Chief, the two five man teams just rescued half of Platoon Leader Mori’s squad. Minimal casualties," Operational Leader Ume reported.

Through the comms line, Y/n could hear the faint shuffle of movement and the sharp clicking of equipment being adjusted.

"One team are currently retrieving three more bodies," Ume continued.

"The bodies are being loaded into ambulances... Minus two. I’m holding those for the three victims, and in case Captain Yozora Daichi’s team needs them once they resurface."

Y/n ignored the last comment for now, still thinking, the safest assumption was that Daichi and his four man team were still somewhere near the border of Hyogo...

... And they could bring those mole-type Yojus with them to Hyogo. Since they’re blind, and territorial, their sensitivity to sound makes it highly likely they’ll follow Daichi…

She clicked her tongue, nodded once, and turned back to the Sixth Division Liaison Relay Officer, who was still waiting patiently for her instructions.

"Tell them to standby. And make sure Captain Hoshina Soichiro keeps his and his men’s guard up. Daichi’s team isn’t the only thing coming out from underground."

The liaison nodded nervously and keyed the Sixth Division’s comms again.

Yozora Y/n exhaled through her nose. "Ume," she called.

"Chief?"

"Your main objective is to oversee Daichi’s team. Make sure every spider drones and GPR scan picks up anything inside, and guide them through the safest route. I don’t want them falling again because of the karst system."

"Roger that."

Her eyes fixed on the topographical layers of the Kyotomba's mountain range. “Cross reference for me,” she said sharply, not looking at the station of Yamamoto.

"Survival patterns in karst terrain. I want to know how they can stay underground without collapsing the whole mountain on themselves.”

Yamamoto adjusted his thick glasses and pulled up a separate data sheet. His voice was even, but the grainy screens lit the tension in his face.

“They adapt by using natural voids in the karst instead of tunneling through solid limestone. Minimal structural disturbance. Their claws are for clearing debris and expanding chambers, despite its design for force digging... And tearing their prey” He scrolled further, eyes narrowing.

“And that means they can keep moving even in unstable systems like Kyotomba’s without triggering collapse.”

Yozora Y/n’s jaw tightened. “Which Daichi’s team won’t be thinking about. They’ll just be running with the survivors.”

Yamashiro Yamamoto nodded slightly, then tapped a section of his notes. “One more thing, core signature on these Yoju variants is low and offset." He paused, Y/n raised an eyebrow, 

"Buried under the thorax plating, toward the lower abdomen, not the standard chest target." Yamamoto paused, scrolling further the data provided, he squinted his eyes,

"But get this, when they burrow, the armor shifts upward. It briefly exposes the underside. That’s our opening. Mid burrow, from below.”

Yozora Y/n's gaze sharpened, already calculating the possibilities, “Relay that to the Sixth Division operational leaders. Core’s offset low, under the thorax plating. Armor shifts mid burrow; that’s their window. Make sure his team knows it before they make contact.”

She turned toward the Sixth Division Liaison Relay Officer, again. The liaison’s earpiece clicked as they obeyed, fingers flying over the comms console.

Y/n didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. She switched to the Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer, her voice clipped. “Tell the Fifth to adjust engagement protocol for the recovery teams in the fallback zone." She stopped, watching as the liaison typing over the keyboard, 

When they looked up, Y/n continue, "Same variant. Core location and exposure window are the same; pass it down to every sniper in the field.”

"Solid copy." The liaison replied, and Y/n's eyes cit back to the screens.

If the mole types circled wide through the karst voids, they could surface behind the fallback teams, right where Mori’s bodies were being retrieved.

Reinforcement or not, it would be slaughter if they were caught unprepared. She exhaled once through her nose. This is not the gamble she's willing to bid.

“Double the drone sweeps along the fallback perimeter,” she added. “Anything breaks the surface, I want the shooters in position before it draws breath.”

---

 

Fifth Division Base, Year 2024,

 

“Takomi to Fifth Division, Vice Captain Yozora Sanae located. She’s with four others, all alive, unconscious. But alive.”

Instant relief could be felt around the base, Yozora Ume keyed back instantly. “Haul them to the fallback zone. Careful, the ground’s brittle. Karst system’s unstable.”

Before Officer Takomi could answer, Operational Leader Yozora Koshi cut in on the open channel, voice sharp ane alarmed. “Takomi, move! Ten mole Yojus inbound from your east. Closing fast.”

Operational Leader Yozora Ume didn’t hesitate. “Then hurry! You don’t have time to be gentle.”

And they did, boots hammering against the underground with speed, not caring how each step against the fractured limestone beneath them could trigger a sink hole.

Ume snapped. “Signal the southern rooftop snipers, those Yojus are about to surface any time now.” She was already switching channels.

“Chief Yozora. Ten moles on Platoon Leader Amon’s team. Snipers are in position.”

Static hissed, then Yozora Y/n’s cool voice came back from Ariake, “Wait for my signal to shoot. Key me into the sniper channel.”

From her station, Yozora Ume watched the GPR display as Amon, Takomi, and the others tore across the surface, red predator blips gaining behind them.

The other operational leader’s voice confirmed sniper readiness, but the timing wasn’t hers to call.

Ume leaned back, muttering dryly under her breath, “So much for coordinating bait.” The original plan; lure them into non lethal explosives to avoid collapsing the karst, was already dust.

They’d been ambushed. Again.

Platoon Leader Amon’s breath tore in his throat as he led the charge through Kyotamba’s ruptured tunnels, the ground cracking under each impact from their borrowed speed from their kaiju synthetic suit.

Officer Takomi was a half step behind, hauling the barely conscious Vice Captain Yozora Sanae in a fireman’s carry, while Officer Kato staggered with Sasaki slung over his shoulder.

His boot caught on a jagged lip of stone and he nearly went down, slamming Officer Sasaki’s head against the limestone wall with a sickening thunk.

“Son of a...! Hang in there, you’re not dying on my watch, you stubborn bastard!” Kato barked, shifting his grip.

The karst system around them groaned and cracked like a brittle eggshell, as the Yoju moles came closer, two men already gone to the dark without a sound, with the unconscious officers they're carrying.

Amon, Kato and Takomi didn't looked back.

Operational Leader Yozora Ume’s eyes locked on the feed from the recon drone, the high resolution image showing Platoon Leader Amon running across the fractured terrain, an unconscious officer draped over his shoulder.

Behind him, Officer Takomi emerged from the dust cloud with Vice Captain Yozora Sanae, both were moving like their lungs were about to give out.

Across the operations deck, one of the younger operational leaders, one hand clenched white around his mouse, blurted,

“Why the hell haven’t the snipers fired yet?”

Instantly, Yozora Y/n's voice crackled back, unshaken. “It’s not ready yet.”

The young operational leader swallowed, stammered an apology, but before Ume could say anything, Koshi’s voice cut in, sharp.

“Kato's nearing the surface!”

On the feed, the jagged lip of a sinkhole split wide. Kato's head broke the surface, Amon dragging him clear, right as the earth heaved and six mole Yojus tore through in a spray of stone and dirt.

Y/n's tone dropped like a bomb through the shared comms, “Fire!"

From the southern containment zone, the snipers moved as one. Five sniper rifles cracked, the sound rolling back through the valley seconds before the impact.

Through Ume’s screen, she watched the first round punch clean through the underside plating of the lead Yoju, its momentum snapping the creature mid lunge.

The others barely had time to screech before the next rounds hit, lower abdomen, just where Yamamoto had said. Clean kills.

The moment the uni organ bullets punched through, the light died in their eyes, and their bodies hit the dirt as if someone had cut their strings.

Empty shells clattering to rooftop ground as four more targets broke through, the next volley was already chambered before the other kaijus could pursued the three officers, 

Few minutes passed, “Targets neutralized, i repeat, targets neutralised." Officer Miyuki’s voice crackled over the comms, steady despite the adrenaline.

The Fifth Division base cheered, breaking the tensioned air. the weight of dread lifting just enough to feel the relief.

“Operational Leader Ume! I’ve located the three victims. I repeat, the victims have been found.”

The room fell silent. Operational Leader Yozora Ume didn’t waste a second. “Status, Yuzuki?” she asked, eyes locked on one of the screens displaying the spider drones’ feed.

Reaching for her earpiece, she added, “Chief, are you seeing this?”

“Crystal clear,” came the steady reply.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

Beyond the underground, the spider drone spotted at least fifteen more heat signatures; Yoju class mole type Kaijus, lurking nearby. In the far corner feed showed three heat signatures huddled tightly against a rock, squirming away from the approaching Kaijus.

Ishida, Yukari, and her son Ren.

First Division Operational Leader Kurusu Akira, seated alongside Sakamoto Aira and Tanaka Eijichi, tensed in their chairs. (Narumi Gen and his squad had already completed their mission in the east.)

Confused, Tanaka turned to Aira. “Why aren’t those Kaijus eating the three?”

Tanaka winced at the phrasing. “I mean... aren’t Kaijus usually attack first, then eat?” Aira shrugged, still watching the feed, realising that one of them was just a child.

"Heard earlier from Operational Leader Yamashiro that they're typically docile unless provoked..." Kurusu Akira offered, Tanaka hummed,

"But still, weren't they supposed to be hungry by now?" The latter pressed,

"Who knows?" Akira says, muttered, brows furrowed.

At his own station, Yamashiro Yamamoto frowned and asked, “Is there any audio the spider drone can pick up?”

“There is. Permission to listen, Chief?” Yuzuki  asked.

“If it means communicating with the victims, then yes,” Yozora Y/n nodded firmly, eyes fixed on the live feed from the drone trailing just a meter beyond Daichi’s team.

The screen showed shifting heat signatures of the mole type Yojus beneath the earth. The surrounding darkness was absolute, no visible light, only the faint outlines of fur and claws moving with intent.

Yamamoto squinted his eyes, "There's another faint heat signature there..." His eyes widened in realization, "another survivor?" 

Y/n blinked "that must be one of the local rescuers from earlier."

A guttural, snarling sound could be heard through the audio feed. Suddenly, two large signature heats blurs lunged toward a smaller, writhing form. Tani.

They collided violently, making a tug-of-war of what everyone from the base could make out of. And the horror on their face when they realised what they're looking at.

The sounds they heard twisted into wet, ripping noises; bones cracking, flesh tearing, as the two Yoju fought mercilessly over their prey.

The smaller heat signature from Tani, was caught between them, helpless and alive, his faint, flickering heat signature splintering as his body was pulled apart in agonizing brutal way.

The operational leaders exchanged grim looks, the room’s now soured over the horror they just watched.

No image could fully capture the brutality, only the raw, bleeding bone chilling sounds of life being shredded apart.

One First Division Operational Leader muttered from his seat, "I need therapy." He rasped,

The spider drone captured a quiet sobs and gasping sounds from the three survivors, huddled nearby, their terror palpable even through the static.

Tani was still alive and screaming. 

Yozora Y/n’s voice broke the silence, sharp and immediate, “Cut the audio. Now!” she barked,

The audio cut abruptly.

Tanaka Eijichi’s earlier question was answered in the most horrifying way imaginable.

“Fucking hell...” he muttered, voice barely hearable.

Sakamoto Aira and Kurusu Akira stared at the feed their faces pale. Some lowered their gaze to the terminals, unable to watch what was unfolding.

From the corner of Akira’s eye, Yamashiro Yamamoto cupped his mouth, rubbing his face as if trying to erase the images from his mind, thick glasses fogged up but he didn’t care.

Yozora Y/n stood apart, her glare cut across the room, sharp enough to make junior operational leaders drop their eyes. But Akira saw more than anger; there was frustration there too, tightening at the corner of her mouth betraying that he clearly sees as sel reproach.

He didn’t blame her. Before he’d ever became Operational Leader, he’d heard the numbers; casualty rates had plummeted the moment Yozora Y/n left the Third Division captaincy and stepped up as Chief of Command Operations.

It was a hard feat in any era, harder still after the disaster of 2014; a Numbered Kaiju incident that had wiped out two hundred officers and three division captains.

The official record called it unavoidable. The rumor still called the previous chief a coward, a man who fled when it mattered the most, and more lives were lost than necessary.

Kaiju No. 6 hadn’t just slaughtered cities that day; it had left a scar in the Defense Force’s memory.

Akira knew she might carry the weight of this moment, but she would never crumble.

Damn it. Y/n cursed, It had taken them this long just to locate the victims, and for what? To feed their ears something no one in this room would ever unhear?

Y/n cursed again under her breath, 

She was the Chief of Command Operations, she should have anticipated the risk, built a better plan, done something. Anything.

The shame gnawed like an old, familiar ache, the same one she’d felt at her father’s shogi board. Yozora Michikatsu never lost, not to anyone, and certainly not to her.

Y/n spent her childhood losing match after match, only managing to beat him once, and that was on a day he’d been distracted.

Right now, she felt like she was staring at that board again, not knowing what piece she shoulr move and how it begins to pressure her. She felt her stumped shaking and that familiar ache again.

Her jaw tightened. Y/n exhaled, slow and deliberate, forcing the pressure down before it crushed her completely.

Y/n flexed her prosthetic right arm, ignoring the stabbing and equally numbing pain.

No, she told herself, better they save those three and leave them alive, even if it would take years of therapy and waking up from nightmares. she blinked wiping sweat from her forehead, 

She exhaled, ignoring the phantom ache in her right shoulder's stumped, eyes locked on a single feed beyond the operations floor.

Keying her headset, she called, “Koshi.”

A burst of static, "Order, Chief?”

“Any path near the surface of Hyōgo on the GPR? If so, notify Daichi’s team and send coordinates to their visors, now.” Her tone left no room for hesitation. She could already hear frantic keystrokes on the other end.

She turned to the Fifth Division Liaison Relay Officer. “Inform all operational leaders assigned to Daichi’s squad: crank their synthetic suits to maximum fortitude.”

“Roger that,” the liaison said, already moving.

Y/n wasn’t finished. “Ume.”

“Chief.”

“Tell Operational Leader Yuzuki to guide the spider drone to the three victims. Activate the speaker, low volume, so the moles wont notice. Tell them the plan. Then sacrifice the drone to draw the Yojus away, give Daichi’s team a window. Copy?”

A pause. From the Fifth Division base, clearly she hadn't anticipated it, Operational Leader Yozora Ume gulped. “You’re… You're making them run for it?”

Yozora Y/n's patience was usually deeper than the Pacific Ocean, but at the situation right now, it thinned thinner than paper. “Yes. And if you’ve got more questions, they’d better be more important than you doing your job. Do you?”

“N-no, Chief. Relaying order now.”

Y/n sighed, rubbing her forehead, forcing herself to block out the gnawing phantom pain from her right shoulder.

Switching channels, she keyed Yozora Daichi, 200 meters deep, just shy of Hyogo border underground.

“Koshi already gave you the map?”

“Yeah,” Fifth Division Yozora Daichi’s voice came, but edged. “And I’m guessing shooting at those fifteen evil spawns won’t do much in a karst system, huh?”

“Correct. You caught that one, Daichi.” She blinked once, steadying her breath.

“And Daichi…”

“Yeah, cousin?”

I’m sorry. “You’ve got one minute. Pick three to carry the victims, two to cover against Yojus or falling debris. You’ll be jumping rocks to rocks, don’t fail us now.”

Notes:

So... Realised how this chapter and the word count was longer than i thought so i split it to another chapter. Again.

But prolly in this chapter just wanted to show that how hard it is to be a chief of command operation and that subtle reference of MC with the shogi board, likely how she was trained mentally, and disclaimer, that previous chief before MC is just made up, it's not canon to the actual manga/anime.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 19: Dead Air 5.0; Two Besties And a Funeral

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

The cardinalfish, use bioluminescent plankton in a way that might be perceived as breathing fire. They expel these glowing plankton to distract predators.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Red Zone, Year 2024,

 

A meter behind the victims, crouched behind a jagged boulder that was formed naturally underground, the five of them waited, hidden from the fifteen Yoju class mole kaijuz ahead.

“This is it, boys,” Daichi muttered. His voice was low, but they picked it up. “Once Yuzuki-chan’s spider drone finishes relaying Ume’s orders to the victims, and goes off to distract those evil spawns, we book it.”

He turned to his left. “Hamura, you go for the local rescuer, Ishida. Tamura, the mom. I’ll take the kid.”

A glance over his shoulder at the last two. “Kuronoma. Rintaro. You’re our eyes. Karst system’s a nightmare for shooting, but you’ll keep debris off us and to keep those evil spawns off our backs.”

They nodded, visors catching the faint orange glow from a distant thermal ping.

“Any objections?” Daichi asked.

Silence.

“None? Then it’s doomsday.”

He grinned despite the circumstances, and despite the stinking muck that caked over their synthetic suits, it was already dried, it clung like bad memories. And still as stinky as a rotten egg.

He was just reaching for his comm to key Operational Leader Yozora Ume when Hamura suddenly stiffened.

The four men turned to him.

“Wait…” Hamura said.

They froze.

He looked at each of them in turn. The visor hid his eyes, but his voice didn’t waver.

“…I love you guys.” 

Rintaro make some silent kissing noise as he turned the safety lock off from his rifle, Kuronuma muttering something about buying him dinner first before saying 'i love yous',

Daichi snorted. “Save it for after we’re not mole chow, Romeo.”

They chuckled, short, dry, and tired, but enough to take the edge off the tension. Then Daichi’s voice hardened again. “Let’s move.”

Above, Fifth Division Operational Leader Yozora Ume sat over her terminal, eyes flicking across the monitor as she prepped Captain Yozora Daichi’s fortitude level synchronization. She glanced left.

“How’s Officer Hamura’s fortitude level synchronization?” she asked without looking up for long.

“Nearly there!” replied Operational Leader Kirisagi Yaya, her tone quick and clipped. Around them, three more operational leaders worked from their own consoles, hands moving quickly as they monitored Kuronuma, Tamura, and Rintaro.

Ume’s fingers clacking each buttons, the light from her screen painting her face in shifting shades of blue and white with how dark the command room, 

“Fortitude level: 93%. Kaiju alignment locked,” the AI announced in a clean, metallic voice coming from her monitor connecting it to Daichi's.

From the other stations, almost in unison, the same confirmation echoed. Yaya gave a firm nod. “We’re ready!”

Ume keyed the comm to Yuzuki, stationed three kilometers away at the perimeter. “Waiting on your signal, Yuzuki.”

“Copy,” came the reply.

Far below, in the stale darkness of the karst tunnels, Operational Leader Yuzuki’s spider drone stirred.

Eight angular, jointed legs shifted against stone, the boxy frame whirring before it unleashed a shrill, piercing screech. The sound sliced through the underground like steel on glass.

Yuzuki make sure she increased the volume level to the max.

The fifteen Yoju class kaijus reacted instantly, twitching, snarling, then scattering towards the source with claws tearing through brittle rock. 

“Go!” Operational Leader Yozora Ume’s voice snapped through their earpieces.

Daichi and the others surged forward as the synchronization finalized. A surge of raw adrenaline hit them; thick and electric melding with the unnatural energy drawn from the kaiju cells embedded into their suits.

“Stabilizers synchronized,” the AI droned from Daichi's. “Unleashed Combat Power; 93%. Commencing final integration.”

Light tendrils of energy shimmered faintly along armored plates, tracing veins of pale lights across their synthetic suits.

Rintaro and Kuronuma’s visors glinted as they raised rifles, boots grinding grit underfoot.

Daichi didn’t wait for another order. With a burst of impossible speed, he was gone, boots pounding against stone, wind tearing past his ears, the world narrowing to a single target in the dark ahead.

Jumping over a massive rock formation, Daichi quickly grabbed Ren by the torso and hoisted him onto his shoulder in one smooth motion, holding him tight. “Hey, kid, you’re safe with me now. I promise.” His voice was steady, but the latter's sobs didn’t ease.

“W-where’s Mom? She’s gone quiet…” the boy sniffled against his shoulder. Then Daichi felt Ren's body tensed, "Wait! Is she... Is she even?..."

“Right here,” Officer Tamura called from a few paces behind Daichi. Yukari hung limp over his shoulder, her arms slack, eyes glassy and unfocused.

She didn’t even flinch when loose gravel clattered past them, clearly taking the toll of the memory of Hiroto being dragged into the dark, of Tani’s last, ragged scream cut short.

Tamura didn't need clear vision to see it, the way the woman he's carrying acts already told him enough.

Officer Hamura doesn't have much luck. Ishida, the local rescuer slung over his back, spat words between choked breaths..

“Y-you! What took you so long?! We had to sit here in the dark and listened to my colleague get mauled alive! His scream, the way he called my name!… and I didn’t do anything. Tani… Tani’s a good man…” Ishida sobbed,

Hamura stayed silent, thinking that letting the other man's anger heard instead of trying to comfort was the better option.

Behind them, multiple crack of rifles could be heard, Rintaro and Kuronuma firing at the swarm of moles now tearing after them. The kaijus had figured out the spider drone was no meal.

“Shit, Captain! They’re gaining on us!” Kuronuma barked.

“Just run! Watch the karst, unless you want to be mummified!” Daichi shot back, eyes darting to the semi transparent GPR map hovering inside his visor.

The glowing grid lines marked the safest path forward, pulsing faintly where the terrain thinned into treacherous pits. He adjusted his running without slowing.

“Roger!”

Two hundred meters below, the cavern felt like it was alive. The brittle limestone floor sloped unevenly, pocked with sinkholes where the ground had collapsed into unknown depths.

Stalactites stones hung like sharp teeth, the karst walls sweated moisture.

Yozora Daichi adjusted his grip on Ren who was slung over his back, then launched forward, planting his foot against a wall to pivot around a gaping fracture in the ground.

His other boot landed on a narrow strip of stone before pushing off again.

Officer Hamura mirrored him on the left flank, shifting his weight to keep Ishida from jostling, boots slapping across a ledge barely wide enough for one foot.

"Kid, how're you holding up?” Daichi called over his shoulder, voice steady despite the way his boots barely skimmed the edge of a fractured ground before pushing off to the next.

The boy’s reply came between jolts, less sobbing now. “Y-yeah… just don’t drop me.” he sniffed,

Officer Tamura cleared a crumbling step by leaping sideways, desperately avoiding brittle stones that could not support their weight.

None of them could risk the full power their kaiju synthetic suits offered, not with the bodies they carried.

Behind, Officer Rintaro was a different story. His visor showed the heat signatures of the fifteen mole class Yoju chasing them.

He took two steps up the wall, used the third to kick higher, and twisted midair to fire a three round burst of uni organ bullets into a weak seam in the ceiling.

The limestone split with a sharp crack, raining debris that shattered into shards as it hit the floor, forcing the lead creatures to swerve.

Officer Kuronuma threaded through the cave like water, boots barely touching the same surface twice.

He sprang off an angled column, landed on a jut of rock no wider than his boot, and rolled across his shoulder to come up facing the enemy.

His rifle barked twice; two headshots, clean and bright through the visor’s thermal overlay, before he dove sideways to avoid a claw swipe that scraped sparks off the wall.

“Hamura, Tamura, status on the victims on your back?” he keyed his earpiece, Hamura vaulted a low ridge, Ishida clinging to his back with white, knuckled fingers.

The terrain demanded adaptation at every step. Yozora Daichi and Officer Hamura kicked off parallel walls to clear a sudden dip where the ground had collapsed into an underground stream.

“Alive,” Hamura's grunt was heard from Daichi's earpiece. Tamura’s answer was the same, alive, which Daichi decided that was good enough for now.

Behind them, Rintaro used the wall to gain elevation again, firing down into the swarm, while Kuronuma used the jagged rock as cover, vaulting upward into the shadows and dropping low behind a column to flank the nearest Yoju.

The Yoju’s claws gouged fresh scars into the limestone as they pursued all fifteen of them growled and pursued even more, 

"Rintaro, Kuronuma, keep the pressure on those moles.” Two curt replies in his ear,  “Solid copy.”

Daichi vaulted over a collapsed section of the floor, free hand pushing off the wall mid stride to redirect momentum while keeping full speed, then keyed his comm to a different channel.

“Koshi, talk to me. How close are we to the Hyogo's border?”

Static hissed before Operational Leader Yozora Koshi’s voice came through, strained but clear. “Daichi, that GPR route Y/n pushed earlier?" Faint clicking of keyboard could be heard from the other line,

"The Hyogo chimney’s still your only open ascent. You’re six hundred meters from the Yamasaki Fault, it’s holding for now, but the last tremor loosened the walls. Move."

Daichi gritted his teeth, the tunnel ahead narrowing like the barrel of a gun. That means they’ve already covered about 2.4 kilometer of that 3 kilometer lateral run since Yozora Y/n first got the GPR reading.

They’re still 200 meters deep, but only 600 meters away horizontally from the chimney that leads upward.

If they want to surface, they have to run sideways through tunnels until they hit the Yamasaki Fault zone in Hyogo.

Yozora Daichi pursed his lips, they'll persevere. One way or another.

The GPR overlay blinked on Daichi’s visor; a jagged, twisting red path curling beyond. The Yamasaki Fault zone was less than a kilometers ahead now, the fractured chimney marked in hazard yellow.

“Sideways traverse from here!” Koshi’s voice crackled in his ear. “Follow the fracture ramp, it's narrow and sloped but stable enough for the suits. The moles can still follow, so move faster.”  

"Daichi, one more push and you're nearing the chimney, good luck bro."  Daichi gritted his teeth, 

The tunnel angled upward, a shallow climb slick with groundwater sheeting along the right wall. Daichi shifted Ren higher on his shoulder, his boots biting into wet gravel

Behind him Officer Hamura turned his body slightly inward toward the wall, so his inside shoulder and thigh are brushing it for stability. Ishida coughing raggedly on his back.

Officer Tamura was close behind, Yukari slung across his shoulders, her arms locked around his neck.

The ramp ahead pinched inward, wall pressing tight against their right shoulders, the drop opening on their left. Footing flattened to a single meter wide strip, the slope cutting across at a sharp angle.

The captain and his two officers staggered, one foot on the sloping wall, the other on the narrow floor, every step catches on wet stone. Their kaiju synthetic suits’ shock absorber took the jolt, but a single misstep sent shards of rock skittering into the dark fissure below.

"Sorry..." Yukari finally muttered when she suddenly yelped from a falling small rocks above her, "don't be," Tamura rasped, 

Each one gives their burden a quick shift, pulling them tighter and higher, so they don’t swing outward toward the drop with each step, 

“Youre nearing to the chimney!” Yozora Koshi barked. “Corkscrew ascent formation, brace for vertical climbing!"  

Both officer Rintaro and Kuronuma lagged behind to buy the others time, but the moles kept coming, regenerating as fast as they were shot. Without a clear shot to the lower torso where the core pulsed, every kill was temporary.

Two Yojus burst from the side fissures. One’s claw hammered Kuronuma sideways, his visor flashing red warnings.

“Kuronuma!” Rintaro's shout cut through the comms.

Another mole lunged at Kuronuma from above. The impact drove him down to his back, but the suit’s shock absorption held.

From that angle, the beast’s underside was wide open, his shot cut straight through its core. It shrieked, convulsed, and tumbled into the dark.

The floor gave way. A sinkhole cracked under Kuronuma, dragging him down with the corpse of the Yoju class mole. He scrabbled at the crumbling edge, but the gravel disintegrated under his grip.

Rintaro didn’t hesitate, one arm hooked under Kuronuma’s, hauling him clear. Rocks falling around them, forcing him to run from one collapsing slab to the next until his boots hit solid stone again.

Thirteen heat signatures still could be seen in their visors, closing fast. Kuronuma spat curses, still carrying by Rintaro, leaping over a gaped hole,

“Persistent little bitches!” Kuronuma shouted, 

“They’ll have to catch us first,” Rintaro growled, already sprinting to close the gap with the rest of the squad.

---

 

Fifth Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Firth Division Operational Leader Yozora Koshi sat hunched over his console, fingers clicking rapidly across his keyboard, the only sound in the command operations center.

All eyes were fixed on the massive wall display, the GPR overlay plotting Captain Yozora Daichi’s team as they navigated the Yamasaki Fault Zone.

Without warning, the feed cut to black.

"What?!" Koshi jerked back with a sharp yelp, his concentration shattered. Across the room, Operational Leader Yozora Ume spun toward him, voice tight with panic.

“What happened?!” she rised from her seat, "Koshi, that's the last eye we have when the spider drones are gone!"

“It’s the signal! Itmust’ve lagged, so shut up cousin,” Koshi snapped feeling pressured, already hammering at the controls. Ume glared and huffed,

In the corner, Kirisagi Yaya sat frozen, knuckles white on her mouse. Nobody could blame her, watching your captain and his men running around ahead of kaijus was like staring down death through a keyhole.

Koshi ignored her and kept working. A few tinkering then the GPR map blinked back to life.

Their eyes widened seeing the feed. Daichi, Hamura, and Tamura along with Ren, Ishida, and Yukari slung across them had cleared the vertical chimney.

They were out of the fault and in Hyogo's border.

Relief surged through the room. Voices overlapped until a comm ping cut through;

“Sixth Division here,  Captain Hoshina Soichiro has Fifrh Division’s Captain Yozora Daichi and two of his officers in hand.”

Ume exhaled hard, relieved.

Then Koshi’s eyes flicked to the trailing signatures. His stomach dropped.

“Rintaro and Kuronuma… they’re still on the far side of the chimney,” he reported, voice panicking. “And they got company... Thirteen of them.”

The room went silent again, the tension snapping right back.

---

 

Hyogo, Year 2024,

 

The two Sixth Division officers all but hauled Rintaro and Kuronuma over the jagged lip, boots scraping rock. The sudden open air hit them. Cold mountain wind, pine scent, and the sounds of birds perched on branches.

Down by the parked SUVs, medics were already wrapping Yukari, Ren, and Ishida with blankets. Yukari clung to Ren, both shaking, her son crying, Yukari apologising.

... And Fifth Division Captain Yozora Daichi and Hamura were getting hosed clean by firefighters, the reek of kaiju feces swirling down the drains. Tamura was already cleaned and was offered with a blanket none other than Yukari.

And Rintaro pretended not to notice Hamura clinging to their captain, who was flipping off the tall, two-toned-haired figure nearby. 

The man’s absurdly long sword rested on his shoulder, gleaming even in the dim light. He laughed openly at Daichi.

ah. That's why Hamura's trying to hold Captain down. Rintaro thought, already tired.

Kuronuma had just enough breath left to mutter, “We made it!” when the fault behind them split apart, and five mole Yojus clawed up from the dark, their eyes burning hot in the dusk.

Rintaro and Kuronuma couldn't react faster, frozen in place. A shadow stepped between the monsters and the survivors.

Sixth Division Captain Hoshina Soichiro didn't even draw his nodachi; the blade was absurdly long, longer even than a man’s height, gleaming dull silver in the dark.

The first mole Yoju lunged.

Hoshina Soichiro moved once. The nodachi traced a wide, scything arc, his hands shifting subtly on the hilt to adjust the swing’s balance mid motion.

Momentum carried the cut through hide, bone, and the glowing core beneath. The monster fell apart before it knew it was dead.

The blade never stopped moving. Soichiro pivoted, letting the sword’s own weight pull him into a low spin, through the air.

Another mole kaiju's neck burst, the head tumbling, its core was sliced in half like its torso. Soichiro reversed, stepped, turned the rotation into an overhead cleave that split the third clean down the center, spraying molten gore into the cold air.

The fourth and fifth came together. Soichiro pivoted, letting the katana’s length arc in a full sweep, the reach catching both at the midsection.

The blade pulled through, his wrists adjusting mid-swing so the edge tracked through each core like threading beads.

The entire exchange took less than three minutes.

Blood, dark, and steaming fell above, spattering the dirt and SUVs. Soichiro flicked the blade once, the gore splattered off before the tip settled back to rest against his shoulder. His expression didn’t change.

Yozora Daichi grinned, towel in hand, "Show off."

Kuronuma just stared, breathing hard. Rintaro muttered besides him, “Persistent little bitches huh?” he quoted back, the former just glared at him,

The rest of the remaining eight Yoju class moles slid into the hole, digging deeper to escape, the Sixth Division officers didn't bother to shoot them.

Up close, recognition hit the two. Hoshina Soichiro. First son of the Hoshina clan. Sword lineage stretching back to the Muromachi period. A name most officers only read in the academy’s history logs. 

Older brother of Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro from the Third Division.

Soichiro glanced over his shoulder, caught them staring. Somehow, The Sixth Division Captain's narrowed eyes made Rintaro and Kuronuma even more unnerved than their supposed death a while ago.

Kuronuma unknowingly squinted his eyes, how the hell can he see...?

Fifth Division had a joint operation with the Third once.

They met the cheeky Vice Captain. But Rintaro could tell that the older one has a a punctuation mark that says yeah, I know I’m that good.

Hoshina Soichiro grinned like they’d just walked into a summer festival, and not massacring five Yoju class kaiju like it was nothing.

“Welcome to Hyogo,” he said lightly.

Then he stuck his tongue out. Just for the hell of it.

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

Yozora Y/n was buried in reports.

The reports stacked like corpses on her desk were beginning to bleed into each other. The numbers didn’t make sense anymore.

Not when they spiked again. Not when the dates of emergence shrank between days, then hours.

She flipped a page, only for the next document to slide loose and slap against the edge of her keyboard.

Her fingers tightened. This is abnormal... On top of that, a mysterious Kaiju that appeared out of nowhere and disappeared without a trace from Tachikawa Base... Y/n scowled.

The amber light of her office desk lamp flickered with the air conditioner’s rigid sound. She reached for her pen when she felt a jagged jolt shot through her right side.

She hissed through her teeth, cradling the phantom limb.

Yozora Y/n slid open the drawer with her left hand and felt around for the bottle of Vicodin. Instead, her fingers brushed paper. Brittle. Dry.

She paused. Pulled it out.

A letter; yellowed with age, creased a hundred times over. Her father’s handwriting, still visible despite the decades passed, dated on Y/n's birthday year 1999. Months before he died.

She swallowed. Y/n didn’t open it.

She hadn’t in years. But the pain in her missing arm pulsed again, as if the words inside it had weight, and the grief she’d buried was reaching up like roots to pull her down again.

The phantom pain burned hotter.

“...You never did come back, did you?” she muttered, not knowing if she meant her father or her arm.

The door slammed open. And someone laughed, "Ya look like shit.”

She just blinked once, “Hoshina,” she said, and her voice was low, neutral.

Hoshina Soichiro stepped inside like he owned the place. That same lazy, lopsided grin. That swish of lilac to purple braid behind his neck. He hadn’t changed, not really. 

“Well, ain’t that a warm greetin’. After all these years, yer still call me by my family name?” he drawled in his thick Kansai accent 

“I’ve known mold on my bathroom tile just as long. Doesn’t mean I get sentimental about it,” Yozora Y/n said dryly, slipping the letter back into the drawer before he could notice.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be in Hyogo? Tokyo’s not your jurisdiction.”

Hoshina Soichiro shrugged, and crossed the room without invitation, perching on the edge of her desk like it was his own. She leaned away slightly, unimpressed.

“Ya tell me,” he said, voice easy. “Somethin’ must’ve gone wrong, else I wouldn’t be here. Ya ain’t the type to panic. But ya sure as hell look like ya did.”

Her expression barely flickered. “You’re fishing.”

“I’m right, though.”

He leaned in just slightly, enough to smell the caffeine and painkillers on her breath.

Yozora Y/n sighed. “I’m fine.” liar. Crisp and rehearsed.

And she knew that he knew it. The silence stretched. He raised an eyebrow, 

She didn’t believe Soichiro would know about her PTSD episode. Hoshina Soshiro wouldn’t have told him. The man barely texted his own uncle (if he and Soichiro even has one), let alone confided personal failures.

But that stumped on her right shoulder where her entire arm should've been, still itched and flared like accusing Y/n for not thinking of better alternatives.

For not thinking a good way to save it.

Yozora Y/n stared at Hoshina Soichiro. And Hoshina Soichiro stared at Yozora Y/n.

She looked away first,

Soichiro snorted softly. Jutting his tongue out, an annoying habit he didn't break, “Yer a bad liar, Y/n-chan. Always were.”

Y/n stiffened.

He continued, “Y’know, I ain’t heard from Soshiro in months." He stopped and twirled his braids, a sensitive topic, 

He sighed, "But a week ago, he texts me outta the blue askin’ for yer number. Just said he needed it."

"His reasons were bullshit by the way" that he laughed, sticking his tongue out. 

For a moment, something fractured, some rigid part of her spine loosened, no longer trying to hold back the tide. All of it shattered.

Hoshina Soichiro let his words sink in before finally looking down at Y/n, this time with his eyes open, and unmistakably maroon.

The kind of color that didn’t just belong to him, but was also seen in his younger brother, passed down in blood.

“That brother of mine don't ask for nothin’ without a reason,” he said gently.

Y/n's shoulders fell, something raw and tired and too complicated to name. "…I don’t understand him,” she said quietly.

It was true, Hoshina Soshiro had texted her a week ago. And she saw it. Stared at it. Locked her phone and turned it face down like a coward.

She never replied, just like in year 2008, back when they fought so badly Soichiro and Soshiro travelled home with the latter sporting a black eye and she never said sorry.

For years, she thought they’d never speak again.

But in 2018, out of nowhere, he started showing up in Ariake. No grudge. As if none of it ever happened. 

An part of her was still reeling from the shame of what happened at Tachikawa Base, not just for breaking down, but for how easily he had calmed her, how instinctively he knew what to say and when to say nothing at all.

Y/n saw no pity in his eyes, it was worse. It was recognition. As if he knew something about her that even she hadn’t admitted.

She didn’t know what to do with him now. 

"I'm going to Ariake tomorrow as the new Chief Of Command Operation, Mina... I hope you manage the Third Division better than I do."

"Ah. About the whole Vice Captain, we still haven't found a new one, you don't have to pick right away, but i think there's a good candidate from Hyogo. Do you know Captain Hoshina's younger brother?"

Soichiro didn’t reply right away. He just reached out, thumb brushing gently on her skin to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

“Ya don’t gotta,” he said. “Ya just gotta let him try.”

He shrugged, then grinned again. “The boy’s an idiot. Good heart, bad mouth. Same as his brother.”

She chuckled, “You’re not wrong.”

“Damn right I’m not.” He smirked, then he took something from a plastic bag that Y/n just noticed now, he held out a steaming, hot onigiri, 

"Ya want rice ball?"

---

 

Yozora Estate, Kyoto, Year 1999,

 

The air in the Yozora estate hung heavy with incense smoke, its curling and spiraling into the blue sky. Sutras rolled endlessly from the mouth of a chanting monk, behind him were lined members and different representative of multiple clans the Yozora clan were associated with.

Y/n kneeled still at the first row, seven years old, clad in formal black mofuku. Her small hands clutched a framed portrait of Yozora Michikatsu, the diagonal black ribbon wrapped around it.

Michikatsu's wake was a private one. Held in his very home, Media respected it and locals, especially people all around Kyoto came to their gate to put flowers as respect for the fallen patriarch.

Y/n didn’t cry. She wouldn’t, not here, not in front of the clan elders, her cousins, uncles and aunties, and JAKDF officers who once served with her father. They watched her now, as the last of the Yozora's main line.

Measuring her.

The zen garden was quieter. Away from them. Here, beside the koi pond, Y/n (after sneaking out) stared at the rippling water; at her father's reflection flickering in the glassy surface.

The cicadas screamed louder out here. But it was still quite. Y/n felt lost and numb at the same time.

“Frownin' makes ya ugly.”

She turned sharply. Exhausted eyes locked on a boy her age she’d never seen before. Long white-and-purple hair tied into a braid. A toddler sized sling hung against his chest, a tiny tuft of violet hair poking out.

She gripped Michikatsu's portrait harder. “Who the hell are you?”

If her grandmother had heard her curse at age seven, she’d have been forced to kneel on a pepper and salted cloth, or worse, been chased around with a machete.

A lady must be demure. A lady must be elegant. A lady must be kind.

But last year, she remembered her grandmother adding; “A leader is all three.”

But Y/n didn’t feel like a leader. She was just a girl who wanted to chase fireflies, not attend funerals.

She should’ve been running in the woods, eating watermelon with seeds stuck in her cheeks, not gripping the weight of her father's ghost.

Y/n was forced to wake up from thinking that rabbits doesn't actually exists on the moon. She stopped believing after Yozora Hoshiguma told her that her dad is gone.

Soichiro just blinked. “Hoshina Soichiro,” he said. “And like I said, cryin' makes ya ugly. Also, that kimono? That’s how they dress corpses. Ya sure ya tied it right?”

Something inside her snapped.

The air had already felt thick with smelly incense and her grief, but that boy, that boy, had said something so jaw droppingly inappropriate at her father’s wake that Y/n didn’t even register the adults anymore.

She discarded Michikatsu's portrait and grabbed a hoe besides her that someone must've forgotten to put it back in the gardening rack and pointed it at his head.

"Oi," Hoshina Soichiro said nervously, shifting his feet. "Why’re ya grabbin' that...?"

Glaring harder, “I’m the bitch that’s about to stab you in your stupid slitted eyes.” very demure.

He paled and actually opened his eyes. “Oi, oi, wait!”

She advanced. “You insulted me at my father’s wake! That grounds for a hoe to the face.”

“That’s not real logic!”

“It is my logic,” she snarled, and lunged.

He yelped and bolted for it.

She chased him, wielding the hoe like a samurai would. Dust kicked up as she stormed through the courtyard, shouting with the fury of a seven year old could muster.

“Come back here, slitted eyes!”

“I SAID I’M SORRY!”

Servants parted like reeds as the two rounded a corner into the inner veranda, their black garb fluttering behind them.

Several adults turned at the commotion; multiple narrow, slitted eyes blinking in mild confusion as the Hoshina clan’s first born son fled at full sprint, cradling something close to his chest.

“...Was that Soichiro?”

“Huh. He’s usually ain't that loud.”

“I think the Yozora heiress is tryin' to kill him.”

They said it casually, almost fondly.

One Hoshina elder smiled, “Ah, youth~"

The two children zigzagged across the engawa, the wooden veranda that wrapped around the inner residence. Y/n let out a battle cry.

Soichiro nearly tripped on his geta slippers, still clinging tightly to the cloth sling across his chest.

“STOP RUNNING!” she shrieked.

“THEN STOP TRYIN' TO KILL ME!”

Suddenly, she halted.

Her sandals scraped to a stop just outside the half open sliding door of Yozora Michikatsu’s room.

It hit her, where they were. The hallway smelled like cedar and smoke and that painful smell of ointment her dad always wore after deployment.

The paper walls looked thinner now, like they’d collapse with one breath. She wasn’t chasing some rude boy anymore.

She was standing at the place where she used to sleep over and her dad would tuck her in with stories about rabbits pounding mochi on the moon.

Y/n still wanted to believe there were rabbits on the moon.

But rabbits don’t live on the moon.

Not anymore. And not without her dad to say so.

Y/n felt her eyes brimming with tears again. She just wanted Michikatsu back. That this is just a big nightmare.

Hoshina Soichiro skidded to a stop several steps later, panting, hunched forward with panic still in his fully, blown, maroon red eyes.

Then he noticed her staring, not at him, but at the small form wrapped tightly in the sling.

Y/n blinked, wiping her eyes. "…Why are you carrying your brother?”

Soichiro hesitated. His voice was hoarse, but soft now. “Cause he always cries when it’s not me.”

He panted, wiping none existent dust at the sling, "His name's Soshiro by the way. He's two."

She stared.

The baby, barely two years old, was fast asleep, cheek pressed against Hoshina Soichiro’s chest, arms limp, mouth slightly open in a peaceful 'o.'

His tiny fingers curled against the fabric of Soichiro’s black kimono.

The hoe lowered.

Y/n's breath, still surging with adrenaline, steadied just enough to let her grief catch up again. “Tsk. Pussy.”

Soichiro raised his eyebrow at her insult, and staggered back when she raised her hoe again.

He muttered something she didn’t catch, but she saw him reached into his pocket, revealing a large but squished onigiri. “Ya want rice ball?”

A peace offering. 

Yozora Y/n stared at Hoshina Soichiro. And Hoshina Soichiro stared back at Yozora Y/n.

A passing crow cawed, baby Soshiro yawned. 

Maybe there aren’t any rabbits on the moon. But maybe her dad was up there anyway. He’d like the quiet there.

It made just enough sense to not cry again.

Y/n blinked again and throwing the hoe away,

“…Sure.”

---

 

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

He was definitely going to get chewed out by Ashiro Mina for skipping paperwork. Vice captain or not, shirking logistics for midnight errands wasn't exactly a shining example of duty.

He should be at his desk, buried under training reports and requisition forms. He should be proofreading Kafka’s disaster of a training performance report.

But here he was, again; loitering near Ariake with a konbini bag in hand like some lonely creep with a hundred yen for cold noodles and making poor decisions.

It wasn’t like he was stalking her. Obviously not. That’d be weird.

He was just… thoughtful. Yeah. That was it. That woman had a bad habit of eating at stupid hours, if she remembered to eat at all, and someone had to give a damn about that, right?

May as well be him.

And okay, maybe the food was just an excuse. Maybe he happened to know which brand of pre-packaged food she liked.

And maybe, just maybe, he was using that knowledge as a completely valid, not-at-all pathetic reason to swing by Command HQ on the off chance she wasn’t ghosting him on purpose.

He knows she’s busy. Hell, she runs half the damn Defense Force from a swivel chair and running on coffee. He gets that. But still...

...Left on read. No emoji. Not even a thumbs up.

And look, he’s not needy. He’s not. He’s just... observant. Hyper aware. Dangerously emotionally literate for a man with a sword obsession and a Kansai accent.

So he bought her, her favourite food. At 10 p.m. On a weeknight. Because that’s totally what normal coworkers and childhood friends do when they haven’t heard from each other in over a week. (Yeah right)

He opened Yozora Y/n’s wooden door quietly, still hearing Yamashiro Yamamoto’s parting words in his head, while ignoring the curious glances of Sakamoto Aira and Tanaka Eijichi as they clocked out for the night.

Yozora Y/n probably looked up with that usual raised eyebrow of hers, already halfway to asking why are you here and all that.

Hoshina Soshiro grinned at the thought, oddly giddy. What a weirdo.

“Hey, chief. Sorry to bother ya this late. Ya looked like ya might need...”

He stopped.

He opened his usually slitted eyes, just a sliver. And for a moment, he wasn’t Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro. Wasn't the Vice Captain of the Third Division.

He was a kid again, watching his older brother holding a real katana instead of a bamboo ones, 

When they were boys, Hoshina Soichiro was always the golden child. The incarnation of the Hoshina clan, their father once said, after Soichiro sliced through a dozen standing tatami mats at the family estate like it was nothing.

That day, Hoshina Soichiro became a legend in their household. Among the clan members.

Yozora Y/n didn't noticed Hoshina Soshiro, “You ever think about how stupid you looked?” she asked, voice smooth and sudden, a smile playing on her lips,

Hoshina Soichiro eyes opened, squinting at her. “I always look stupid a lot to ya. Ya have to narrow it down.”

And Y/n laughed. Actually laughed.

Hoshina Soshiro had always wondered what it felt like; to be the firstborn, to be the golden son. To be the best.To be the one Y/n always talked to, ever since he first met her at age eight.

But after carving out his own path, after becoming Vice Captain to Ashiro Mina, after learning to fight with twin swords no one else dared to wield.

Hoshina Soshiro stopped wanting to be his brother. He had the cooler weapons. Twin swords, who the hell even used those anymore?

While Soichiro still used a customised katana that's just a tad bid longer? Even pairing it with a rifle. That's basically just Vagabond 2.0 if you asked him. And those are nothing when Soshiro got speed, got range, agility... And...

... and incarnation, my ass.

It used to be enough.

But now… seeing Hoshina Soichiro sitting at Yozora Y/n’s desk, comfortably, like it was natural, and Y/n letting it happen, 

Hoshina Soshiro wondered again.

He wondered what it feels like to be Hoshina Soichiro.

He wondered what it felt like to be smiled at by Y/n. A real smile. Not a sardonic one. Or a polite nod.

His grip on a plastic bag tightened, She never smiled like that to me. Not once.

And suddenly, Soshiro didn’t feel like the Third Division's Vice Captain anymore. He felt like a child again.

Y/n's smile deepened, that small, elusive one that made her seem younger than she let herself act. "The one where i chased you around with a hoe? You screamed like a girl, Soichiro..."

Soichiro stared at her for a long beat. Then laughed, shoulders shaking and not realising Soshiro was there, "Ya remember that? Shit, Y/n-chan, ya gave me my first PTSD." 

He grinned, "Yer judging me the entire time. Knew theres a devil hiding behind that cute face of yers”

Y/n just grinned, leaned her weight against her hand, and smirk that defied the softness before, “I always judge you,”

The boy who looked at Hoshina Soichiro and Yozora Y/n like someone watching through a window.

Like he’d always be on the outside, looking in.

Notes:

Also for the cave part where Daichi's team has to literally parkour or do the lateral run thingy, im no expert and all of it were from google (that im prolly sure some are false?) so it's on me if it is not accurate.

The tatami reference is actually legit in a kendo and kenjutsu context. It’s called tameshigiri (test cutting) and tatami mats are often used for it. Mofuku refers to formal mourning attire in Japanese culture, typically a black kimono ensemble worn for funerals and other somber occasions.

And there's a lot more to unfold from their past, what happened in 2008, what fight is it, and what's Michikatsu's letter that made MC agitated etc etc, and this is kind of how im trying to portray their dynamics, obviously you would feel a little awkward if someone you know acts like nothing happened in the past and is now buddy-buddy with you... That's how im trying to portray MC since the first chapter where Hoshina found her at the rooftop. That kind of feeling friends used to know each other, reunited after so long and now didn't know each other. But they do talk. This isn’t the cold-shoulder kind of ghosting. Communication exists, but it’s banter, surface-level teasing, there's familiarity but avoiding emotional depth.

Hoshina treats it like a “we’re close” rapport; years of shared history, some unspoken affection, frequent light flirtation masked as jokes. He’s used to her being part of his life. MC, on the other hand, receives this with emotional hesitation. She interprets the interaction as two old colleagues or childhood acquaintances trying to stay in touch. She doesn't fully reciprocate the depth he’s unaware he’s projecting. He feels comfortable. His instinct is: “We’ve always talked like this. She’s always been blunt, right?” He doesn't realize that his growing affection, masked under teasing and check-ins, is one-sidedly emotionally loaded. What he sees as playfulness, she sees as occasional intrusions she doesn’t know how to categorize.... And because it has something to do with year 2008. Which will be reveal in the future chapters.

The big brother is finally here! He was only seen in flashbacks so far but hes here!😘 Hope i did him justice tho. Soichiro's sword is based on Kojiro Sasaki's "Laundry-Drying Pole" and it's even longer than Soshiro's custom made katana. According to the wiki. So basically a "nodachi" is a katana but longer, and im referring it as nodachi from now on, hence the "vagabond 2.0" jab from Hoshina Soshiro. Also those kenjutsu tournaments from YouTube is a huge life saver, if it weren't for them I'd prolly just winging soichiro's sword choreography🫠🫠🫠

And the angst and feels in this chapter tho... Hoshina risking mina's wrath only to find something that unknowingly break his heart.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 20: Before The Debrief

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Freshwater elephantnose fish “see” with electricity. They use weak electric fields to navigate murky waters and communicate.

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Hoshina Soshiro thought about 2008 the way most people think about dental surgery; unnecessary pain that you swear you didn’t deserve, even if you probably did.

He was eleven back then, desperate, angry at the world for the unfairness of it all and worse, mouthing off to a sixteen year Yozora Y/n like he had a death wish.

She didn’t even hesitate. But Y/n was kind enough to just swung her fist straight to his eye like it was nothing.

The punch landed square, blooming purple the same shade as his hair, like she’d gone out of her way to make the bruise personal.

It wasn’t the hit that stuck with him, though.(That his mother always clicked her tongue in disappointment saying something about 'don't disrespect a lady' and all. Because even the matriarch knows Y/n had been right, in ways he didn’t want to admit back then, and still barely admits now.)

It was how she didn’t flinch when he glared back, didn’t care that he’d remember. Because of course he would.

You don’t forget the first time someone proves you’re not even worth drawing steel for. Which stung.

Because Hoshina Soshiro really, really care about what Yozora Y/n opinion about him though. 

He’d cared since they were kids, since the first time she stepped between him and Soichiro without a second thought, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Since he noticed Y/n was pretty in a way that made his ears burn, even when she was scolding him.

Since he started peeling the stringy pith off her oranges because she said she hated it. and kept doing it long after she told him he didn’t have to.

Hoshina Soshiro was always been a "yes" to her. 

 

Hoshina Soshiro would've ran away with her to sell oranges together if she'd said so. 

 

If young Yozora Y/n had ever blurted something about how tired she was of life, young Hoshina Soshiro would have run away with her to sell oranges without a second thought.

Not because he liked oranges all that much (he hates them actually), they were sticky, and the pith and skin always got under his nails, but because she liked them, and he liked the way her face softened when she ate them.

He would have pictured it; a rickety cart full of oranges, the smell of citrus wafting in the air, both wearing straw hats, her laughing at some dumb jokes he made.

And the world was small enough to fit in their pockets.

But that was eleven years old Hoshina’s wishful thinking. Twenty seven years old Hoshina just wanted to go home.

Unfortunately, he can't, not when there were debrief reports piling on his desk (It was due three days ago and he's already behind.)

Reports he’d risked Ashiro Mina’s wrath to avoid by making a detour to Ariake… only to find his brother sitting in Y/n's office, laughing with her like they’d been doing it all their lives.

She had never laughed like that with him. Not once. Sad.

And of course it had to be with him, Hoshina Soichiro, Captain of the Sixth Division.

Wielder of a perfectly Izumo tech customised nodachi and that smug, “I just saved the world before breakfast” smile. And his stupid two toned hair. And his stupid narrow eyes.

…Okay, fine, Soshiro had narrow eyes too. In fact, everyone in the Hoshina clan had narrow eyes, like God was trying to save clay when He created each of their faces (no offence to The Almighty but Hoshina Soshiro honestly thinks that He ran out of ideas).

But on Soichiro, they looked noble. On him, they just made him look like he was squinting at the bill in a ramen shop.

Okonogi Konomi once compared him to a pokemon, Skitty, which was her favourite. And he'd taken it as a compliment.

Ashiro Mina, bless her heart, thought that Okonogi must’ve meant Makuhita… or that rock gym leader from Pewter City, Brock.

Which was unfair to be honest.

Sure, Brock was great with people. But he was also that guy no women in Kanto ever took seriously. And the kitty pokemon was waay cuter than Makuhita anyway.

He wasn't jealous (he was). Definitely not. He was just… keeping an eye on things. Like you’d keep an eye on a mosquito in the room.

Like, it was annoying enough to make you reach for a slipper. Unfortunately, this mosquito had his older brother’s face and was making Y/n laugh like that... 

He sighed and felt like his soul escape his body looking at the stack of papers. He frowned, as he took three papers, twirling his pen.

Kaiju no 8... He thought, tapping his pen rhythmically, strange, why avoid my attack as if... Hoshina Soshiro opened his eyes in realization, 

“He doesn’t want to fight?”

Scientists liked to compare kaiju's intelligence to that of apex predators; cunning enough to stalk, to trap, sometimes even to trick. Some weren’t that bright. Others…

Kaiju No 0, for instance, had mimicked human voices like a lyrebird to lure its prey from Kyoto.

Ashiro Mina had told him about the Hahakumo incident on Shikoku Island, the kaiju made out of spliced genetics and multiple clones.

The funerals for the Eighth Division, that Ashiro Mina personally attended, the very same place Bakko came from.

Hoshina exhaled through his nose. If No 8 had the brains to gauge his strength, maybe it had simply chosen not to engage. Or maybe Hoshina had been stupid enough to underestimate it and let it slip away.

He sighed harder, there's also sightings about a kaiju allegedly could transform into a human... He clicked his tongue, the JAKDF was right, Kaiju emergence this year is getting abnormal...

Another sigh. His eyes dropped to the performance report in front of him. Hibino Kafka. Strange…

The lights overhead buzzed faintly. The rest of Third Division personnel alongside Okonogi had cleared out for the night, the halls gone quiet except for the dull rickety sound of air circulation.

Hoshina Soshiro was halfway his paperwork when Ashiro Mina came inside his office, and put another stack of papers without much of a greeting. 

Great.

Hoshina was too tired to greet his Captain, and he so kept writing and has nothing to do with him skipping paperwork before, but he can feel Mina's eyes on him.

Ashiro Mina had known Hoshina Soshiro since from the beginning. 

She knows his habits, his routines, his knack for Mont Blanc, how he secretly feed Bakko extra tuna behind her back, his ticks and all that.

Ashiro Mina also knows that Hoshina Soshiro had been acting differently when he came back four days ago with a crumpled plastic bag of pre packaged food.

Some pre packaged food she thought she'd seen somewhere...

His remarks was half a beat too sharp when she asked about the overtime forms yesterday, and he hadn’t said a single inappropriate things in twenty five minutes.

She sighed, “You’ve been acting weird.”

Hoshina Soshiro raised a brow. “Weird? Me? Captain, that’s just my baseline.”

“No. You’re faking it worse than usual.” oof.

He tried to smirk but it landed crooked. "C’mon. That hurts. I thought I was sellin’ it.”

“You usually do,” Ashiro Mina said, stretching her arms over her head. “But not tonight.”

Usually, Ashiro Mina never pried into Hoshina Soshiro’s life, she respected his privacy, but it was a silent understanding that the two had come close. More than colleagues.

Once, he’d even joked they were “siblings from another mother” because of their matching red eyes, though his were just a shade darker, like they’d been steeped in too much coffee.

And she's just worried about Hoshina.

She walked past him to the cabinet for papers, slid a drawer open, Ashiro Mina pretended to look for something.

Didn’t look at him as she added, too casually, “I saw the roster log. You were at Ariake Maritime Base.”

“Yup.”

“Dropped by at Narumi Gen, didn’t you?”

He stilled for half a second too long, not caring his pen bleeding through the paper. “What, were ya trackin', me? Creepy.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“That’s a ‘none of yer business,’ technically.”

Ashiro Mina shut the drawer with a soft click and turned, finally meeting his eyes. There's no judgement in her red eyes, but Hoshina Soshiro still felt guilty in a way.

"Didn’t say it was my business. Just figured I’d make you say it out loud.”

He shrugged, lazy, flippant, and getting cornered. "What, yer jealous I didn’t bring ya back some sweets?”

Ashiro Mina frowned, crossing her arms, she can do this all day. “You left the back room ten minutes ago without making a single inappropriate comment about my handwriting, my uniform, or my love life.”

A paused. The clock was ticking too loud he realised.

"You always make fun of my handwriting, Hoshina.”

He tried to grin again. Failed. “I must be evolvin'” he suddenly felt his uniform was too hot. 

“You’re sulking.”

That one hit. His mouth twitched.

“I’m not sulkin'. I’m reflectin'”

Ashiro Mina raised an eyebrow, “On what?”

Hoshina didn't miss a beat, “On how unfairly attractive my brother is,” he muttered, then regretted saying it the second it left his mouth. No amount of backpedalling could reel it back.

Ashiro Mina raised an eyebrow, Hoshina Soshiro almost never talked about his older brother.

She’d met him in passing a few times, and Soshiro’s responses were always either some dry, cutting remark or a complete absence from the conversation.

And the silence between them were long enough for her to replay last week in her head; the sparring match he smugly won, the evasive grin when she asked where he learned her signature feint (the one Y/n taught her, by the way),

And then, of course, the moment his dumb face lit up like a busted halogen lamp when Yozora Y/n dropped by the base... Wait...

Ariake Maritime Base. Hoshina Soshiro. Yozora Y/n. Pre package food she thinks the same food Y/n used to eat in her office back then.

And that pre packaged food brand! Her favorite food brand, that she’d only ever mentioned to Mina.

Which meant... What the hell?

Hoshina Soshiro didnt went to Ariake Maritime Base for Narumi Gen! She realised, and how stupid she felt connecting the dots just now.

“Ah,” she said finally, the weight of it hitting her like a bad aftertaste. It wasn’t just the technique he was bragging about, it was the fact that he went to see her and he thought he knew Yozora Y/n better.

Which was rich, considering Ashiro Mina was Yozora Y/n’s former Vice Captain and he was just some emotionally stunted simp in denial.

“Ah,” she said again.

He straightened, instantly bristling. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ashiro Mina brushed past him again, picking up her coat from the sofa. She needs to feed Bakko anyway.

“Forget it.”

“Nope. That ain't not how it works. Ya don’t get to ‘ah’ me and walk away.”

“Hoshina." She said it lightly like a warning. Like an older sister who knew exactly when to quit the teasing before it touched bone.

But he didn’t let it get away. Not this time.

“Seriously, what was that? Yer got a face like ya just cracked a code and now yer too smug to share.”

Ashiro Mina didn’t answer at first. Just checked her inside pocket for some dried squid, then clicked her tongue when she remembered they weren’t there.

Then, almost as an afterthought, “You were always better at hiding it when you had nothing to lose.”

Hoshina Soshiro blinked. "What?”

Ashiro Mina gave him that slow, deliberate look, like she was trying to figure out if he was actually this dense or just dedicated to the bit.

“Nothing.”

Which, in what she meant; i know something and I’m letting you stew in it. And now he was stewing. Which he hated. He didn’t stew, he was more of a pan-fry kind of guy.

She headed towards the door.

“No, hold on!” He pushed off the chair he's sitting on and followed her, half a step behind. “That sounded like a thing. What does that mean? What do I have to lose?”

“I said forget it.”

“Captain.” he groaned,

Ashiro Mina sighed, feeling awkward at the realisation and what could be happening with Hoshina and her former Captain “It’s not my business.”

Hoshina Soshiro frowned, “Ya made it your business when ya hit me with that cryptic boss line.”

“Then take the hint.”

“What hint? Yer talking in riddles like we’re in some murder mystery case, what do ya think I’m hidin'?”

She stopped at the door. And looked at him with a rather petty look. why does she look at me like that? Hoshina wonder,

Ashiro Mina said very quietly, “I think you're not ready to know.”

Then opened it and walked out.

Leaving him behind, standing in that empty room, frowning, jaw tight, annoyed in the way only a man with no answer can be.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. The stack in his desk wasn’t getting smaller by glaring at it, but moving felt like too much effort.

Out of habit, he picked up his phone, thumb flicking over the screen. No new messages. Not from her, anyway. Figures.

At this point, it was just him manufacturing his own suffering.

He stared at the multiple chats from him for a second too long. Then he swiped his finger across his phone, 

Hoshina; 😠🫵🐸

Hoshina; this is you

Send.

He dropped the phone onto the desk, not even bothering why he added a frog emoji. Not that Y/n looked like a frog...

Whatever. She was used to his crap by now.

---

 

The First Division’s operational leaders were scattered across the polished expanse of the restaurant tables. Kurusu Akira pouring beer at Tanaka Eijichi, Sakamoto Aira inhaling expensive sushis than her monthly paycheck, some were just chatting their heads off.

At a table tucked away in the far corner, Yozora Y/n sat across from Yamashiro Yamamoto, the warm light catching on the rim of his thick glasses.

He poured himself a measured sip of sake but didn’t drink, fingers resting lightly on the glass.

“You always choose the corner,” he said without looking at her.

“Corners see everything,” Yozora Y/n replied. Her tone was even, but there was a distance in her gaze, like she wasn’t really here.

For a while, they let the noise of the room fill the space between them. The years they’d fought together didn’t need constant words.

Yamamoto finally spoke, voice steady. “Chief… back in the Third Division, I thought you’d never slow down. Even now, you’re still the sharpest mind I’ve seen on a battlefield.”

She arched an eyebrow. “My battlefield’s a desk these days.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His gaze met hers through the lens' glare. “You could still go back. The arm doesn’t change that. Not unless you let it.”

Her fingers stilled on her sake cup. The noise of the restaurant seemed to get quite, just a little. “They made that choice for me.”

“They made a choice,” Yamamoto corrected. “But it’s not the only one left.”

What Yamamoto meant was she still can go back, and that Y/n wants to go back. Hell, Yamamoto could see it right through her.

She looked away first, studying the city lights beyond the window. “I’m not sure if you’re encouraging me,” she said quietly, “or telling me I’ve been hiding.”

“Maybe both,” he said, and finally drank his sake.

The plates between them had thinned to empty bowls and small square dishes, the last of the sashimi had gone cold on the porcelain.

Y/n set her sake cup down. Her gaze drifted across the room before returning to Yamamoto. “Yamamoto… I’ve known you when I'm still the captain of the Third Division,” she began, her tone almost casual,

“and I’ve never heard you mention a wife. Or kids. Or… anything.”

Yamamoto didn’t look up immediately. He finished straightening the bottle of sake between them before speaking.

“That’s because there’s nothing to mention.”

The chatter in the restaurant had softened; most of the First Division’s operational leaders were now leaning back in their chairs, sipping slow drinks, voices no more than murmurs.

She blinked. “Never married?”

“Never interested,” he said simply, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “Between the kaiju, the schedule, and...” he gestured vaguely with his chopsticks toward the restaurant,

“... This work ethics we pretend is normal, there’s no room. Not unless you’re willing to watch your life go stale in a photo frame.”

Y/n lips curved faintly, feeling called out despite not the topic of their conversation anymore. “That’s depressing.”

32 years old. Going 33 next year, and yet still no significant other. Her clan elders were still persistent with their old school arrange marriage, being clan leader and all.

Half of her cousins had already been married. She and Daichi and Koshi were the only odd ones in the family. Hell, even Hoshiguma was single and he's pushing 70.

“It’s realistic.” He poured another measure of sake, even pouring hers. “And before you ask, no, I don’t regret it. Some of us are married to our work. Not noble. Just the truth.”

She picked up the cup, swirling the liquid once before setting it down untouched. “Retirement’s not so bad,” she said after a pause, then stopped, realizing the irony of the words, given their earlier conversation.

Y/n said instead, “You could have a little peace for once.”

Yamamoto snorted softly. “And live off the insurance? That’s your grand plan for me?”

“I didn’t say it was glamorous,” she replied, leaning back slightly. “But it’s better than dying behind a desk or in a uniform you’re too old to wear.”

“I’ve got a decade in me yet,” he said firmly, though there was no bravado in his tone. Tho Y/n could hear the fatigue in his voice. 

She made a mental note to give him a paid vacation at one of Kyoto's onsen. One of her aunt owns one. And Yamamoto doesn't have to pay for his stay.

That'd be nice. It's the least thing she could do for the man who's been with her since her captaincy of the Third Division.

He swirls his sake cup “Maybe two if the bones hold. After that, maybe I’ll consider your peace-and-quiet plan.”

That earned a chuckle from her, low and brief. She lifted her cup toward him. “Then here’s to your decade.”

He tapped his own cup to hers, the soft chime of porcelain carrying more weight than the gesture implied. “And to you,” he said, before drinking.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Aira and Tanaka were eating sashimi like they were in a timed competition (Aira was winning so far), Yamamoto nursing his sake like it held all of life’s answers

But the silence between her and Yamamoto felt… deliberate.

Maybe it was the sake loosening her tongue. Or maybe it was the way Yamashiro Yamamoto always had that look, the one that said he saw right through you and was just waiting for you to prove him correct.

She tilted her head at him.

"I still think you’ve got a shot at finding a wife after retirement," she said, tone carefully casual. "Older men are appealing, I’ve heard. What do you think of Vietnam?"

Yamamoto didn’t even blink. "You’re one to talk. Unless I missed out your wedding invitation." He set his sake cup down with the kind of precision that made her want to throw it at him.

Her eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"You know who…" He made an exaggerated thinking face, like a bad actor in a bad drama. "A certain subordinate… dropping by unannounced?"

Hoshina Soshiro.

Y/n's mouth moved faster than her brain. "That’s none of your business." She winced immediately. Why hadn’t she just denied it?

She poured herself more sake, as if drowning the admission in alcohol could make it disappear.

Yamamoto laughed, loud enough that Aira and Tanaka glanced over, then shrugged and went back to inhaling their food.

"Then stop pestering me about my nonexistent love life," he said.

"It’s called teasing," she shot back.

"Then you’re bad at it, Chief."

She grabbed a napkin and threw it at him. It hit his forearm dead on. He didn’t even flinch. "Shut up."

He downed his sake, almost casually, before muttering, "He’s quite diligent on his visits, i like it. He has my blessing."

Oh, now he was just doing it on purpose. Another napkin flew his way. "Shut up." And why was her face red? Definitely not the sake. Definitely.

Yamamoto kept laughing, refilling his cup like nothing in the world was funnier than her getting flustered. 

Y/n couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t denied it earlier…

... Or why her chest felt tight now, in a way that had nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with the mental image of Hoshina standing in her doorway, with that infuriating grin of his that made him... Him.

Somewhere in Tachikawa Base, Hoshina Soshiro sneezed and shivered, he looked from his paper work, "Must be the wind" he said.

Notes:

The “clay” reference comes from the creation story in Genesis, where God formed the first man from the dust of the ground (often interpreted or translated as clay). I used it here purely as a metaphor, with no intention to disrespect the original scripture.

Also, that pokemon reference was actually inspired from my friends, we were playing pokemon (gen 3 pixelated ones, y'know Gameboy) and they mentioned how Hoshina looked like that pokémon, and i only could think of were Makuhita or Brock. (Because Brock also has narrowed eyes) And when i think about it more, Brock comparison also works, not just the face value thingy; but because brock being “good with people” makes it sound like Mina’s jab is technically a compliment… but in Soshiro’s head, it’s still insulting because Brock is also a famously hopeless romantic who gets ignored by women all the time. So the subtext becomes; "Yeah, I’m good with people… but you’re basically calling me a desperate cartoon character with bad luck in love. Ouch.”

I’m kind of dancing around the events of 2008 right now, it’s too early to fully write them, but I figured a small snippet wouldn’t hurt for now. Anyway, Yamamoto! He’s one of my OCs I’ve been really attached to, and I think I might have failed to show just how close he is to the MC (aside from Mina, Soichiro, and Soshiro). He was her former assigned operational leader back in the Third Division, which says a lot considering his role as First Division operational leader is very flexible; he even handles status reports from different divisions.

His conversation with the MC here actually carries a lot of weight if you squint; it’s one of those subtle but significant conversations. This chapter is very much the calm before the storm! I’m closing in on Season 2, and I’m intentionally skipping certain episodes (and manga panels) because, honestly, there’s no valid reason for the MC to be in them. I’d rather focus on her character development than shoehorn her into scenes.

Oh and Mina catching on his feelings before Hoshina does?👀👀👀

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 21: Soft Targets

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Wrasses have gender flexibility. Many wrasse species can change sex during their lifetime. If the dominant male dies, the largest female can transform into a male, complete with behavioral changes.

Monster Sweeper Inc. Year 2024,

 

The automatic sliding doors of the Monster Sweeper Inc branch opened, letting Hoshina Soshiro and Okonogi Konomi step out into the busy afternoon streets.

Traffic crawled past, motorcycles cut between cars, and the air carried the stale smell of the city.

Hoshina Soshiro shifted and muttered, “The most we can do is find this guy as soon as possible.”

In his coat pocket, a folded photo pressed against his side; a pale man with dark, hollow eyes staring back. The image stuck in his mind, leaving him uneasy.

The man was uncanny. Like pretending to be human when it's not.

Okonogi followed, clipboard under her arm, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone out of place. But deep down, she knew no one in the cleanup crews had a clue where the man had gone.

She let out a quiet sigh and fell into step beside Hoshina, the noise of the city surrounding them.

Now on to the other news, in addition to the Kaiju appearance on Sagamihara City, the other day before yesterday some time before dawn, there are also reports of a humanoid kaiju sigjted on the scene, an investigation is underway.

The faint vibration against his uniform snapped him out of it.

Instinctively, he snatched up his phone, a little too fast, and unlocked it, heart giving a stupid little lurch. Maybe… just maybe… it was Y/n.

It wasn’t.

Instagram.

The notification preview was already taunting him before he opened it. A new post from Hoshina Soichiro.

Hoshina's thumb hovered over the notification from Soichiro, and for a second he considered ignoring it. Then curiosity won, as it always did.

And there it was.

Hoshina Soichiro, with that smug, toothpaste commercial grin, leaning on Yozora Y/n's desk like it was his own personal photo booth. She wasn’t looking at the camera, probably mid-discussion, but that didn’t stop the caption written;

Visiting our Chief of Command Operation today. Thank you for your service 🥰🥰🥰

Hoshina’s eye twitched. And muttered under his breath, "Oh, look at me, I’m Captain Soichiro, I take selfies with high rankin' officers, I’m so relatable, everybody love me."

That brother of his was the Sixth Division Captain. Did he think Instagram was part of his official duties now? Was this his new tactical strategy, weaponize likes and retweets?

Hell, if Director General Shinomiya Isao had Instagram, Hoshina hoped this popped up on his feed between coffee ads and sponsored posts.

Let him see the golden boy playing influencer instead of, you know, working.

And no, this wasn’t jealousy. Definitely not. He was concerned. Professionalism mattered. Someone had to think about their reputations.

…And maybe, the thought of Soichiro laughing with Y/n like that made something unpleasant twist in his gut.

He instinctively scrolled down.

Hoshina Soshiro wished he didn't.

The comments section was a swamp.

k_aiju_fan88; Chief Yozora always looks so serious 😭 Someone make her smile more!!

Going_for_milk; Captain Soichiro looking fine as hell 😍 bet the Chief blushed after, and why is he even visiting in the first place? Are they datin???

YojuSlayer_69; Man’s not just killing kaiju, he’s killing in the looks department too 🔥🔥🔥 

Hoshina’s eyebrow twitched. Going_for_milk? Reading the username and thought, Guess ya been thirsty a lon' time if that’s yer idea of romance.

And don't get him started with username YojuSlayer_69...

He locked his phone a little too hard, shoved it in his coat pocket, and muttered the username under his breath like it was a curse.

Okonogi Konomi knew Hoshina Soshiro ever since she landed her job as Operational Leader at Tachikawa Base, 

And she tried her best not to be nosey and all, but her Vice Captain has been glaring at his phone since they came out of the building minutes ago, 

Hoshina was mid step when she finally speak, "Vice Captain?”

“Mm?” He kept his tone lazy, acting casual like he's not caught scrolling through Instagram like a jealous ex.

“I, uh… saw your brother’s post.” There was a pause.

Okonogi’s grip on her clipboard tightened. “Personally, I think it’s very inappropriate that Captain Hoshina Soichiro to taking pictures of our Chief of Command Operations without her consent.”

Hoshina blinked. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Right. Consent. Very important.” He tried to nod sagely,

As if that had been his concern all along and not the fact that username Going_for_milk needed to be purged from the internet.

Okonogi Konomi's eyes then narrowed behind her glasses. “Vice Captain, you looked like you were about to throw your phone at the wall earlier.”

“…I did?”

"Yes.”

He fumbled for a subject change. “Well, Y/n was...”

Okonogi gape, "Y/n?, is that a first name basis?" She scooted closer, “You mean the Chief of Command of Operations?”

Hoshina Soshiro froze. He’d been about to say 'my brother’s friend', but the words that came out instead were, “…my childhood friend.”

Okonogi Konomi gasped like he’d just admitted to being secretly royalty. And her cheek brightened to rosy pink.

Her clipboard smacked against her chest, and her glasses caught the light in a way that made him squint.

“You mean you personally know Chief Yozora Y/n?!”

“Uh. Yeah?”

Her smile went full supernova. Hoshina had to look away before his retinas gave out. “Can you, oh my god! Can you get her autograph for me? Please? Since you’re friends and all?”

He rubbed his temple. “Okonogi-chan, she’s the Chief of Command Operations, not a pop idol.”

Okonogi Konomi, practically bouncing in place,  “That doesn’t answer the question, Vice Captain!”

---

 

Hyogo, Year 2005

 

The courtyard of the Hoshina estate still rang with the thwack-thwack-thwack rhythmic sounds of clashing swords, but eight year old Hoshina Soshiro had already retreated in defeat.

Five matches. Five humiliations in a row.

Each one ending with his older brother Hoshina Soichiro showing a smug grin and a fineness that made the gathered clan members chuckle.

Soshiro sulked on the engawa, hakama pants dusty from the gravel, his thin cotton, white kendogi clinging to his back with sweat. His bowl cut hair was matted with sweat and stray leaves from the sal trees that had caught his headlong retreat.

Muttering under his breath about “stupid older brothers” and “planning a revenge”, he turned around when he heard foot shuffling behind him,

Yozora Y/n his brother’s friend, visiting with Yozora Hoshiguma. She stopped just short of the engawa, setting down a small plate beside him. On it sat a perfect slice of Mont Blanc, his absolute favourite.

“You dropped your guard after the third match,” she said, already leaving. “Fix that, and you’ll win next time.”

Hoshina Soshiro blinked at the dessert, then at her retreating back. He leapt to his feet and sprinted after her. Hot on her trail that he even run passed his father who was walking with Yozora Hoshiguma,

They both raised an eyebrow, before walking ahead, talking something about politics and Y/n staying a couple of weeks due to typhoon closing in Kyoto. Kaiju No. 0.

Soshiro shouted at the top of his lungs, “Y/n-nee! When I’m older, I’m gonna marry ya!”

She stopped mid step and turned, eyebrows up. “…What?”

“I’m serious!" Then he stuttered, blushing, "I’m strong!... Well, I will be! I can run faster than my folks, except maybe Soichiro but he cheats!”

Her brows rose a little higher.

Hoshina Soshiro's face turned brighter red as he fiddled his dessert, “And I’m better at climbin' trees! And fishin'! And I don’t eat with my mouth open like he does! And I know how to fold laundry right!

Hoshina Soshiro had no idea what a dowry was, or if people even did that sort of thing even now at 2005.

What he did know was that Yozora Y/n loved oranges, the feel of a sniper rifle’s stock under her cheek, and that story about rabbits pounding mochi on the moon.

He listed on, "I will learn yer clan's culture! I'll be a good husband, supportin' yer role and backin' ya up as clan leader! Soichiro's a total bonehead! He only uses conditioner! Who does that?!”

Behind them, a few Hoshina women tried and failed to stifle their laughter, watching the scene before them.

Eight year old him had decided he would take Y/n there someday. The moon. Maybe that’s where they’d get married.

In his mind’s eye, she’d wear the pure white of a traditional shiromuku, her hair tied up beneath the gleam of a tsunokakushi.

She’d smile, that rare, real smile, and him taller, stronger, would stand beside her without tripping over his hakama.

Hoshina didn’t know what a promise meant, not in the way grown men do. He didn’t know about dowries or obligations or the weight of family names.

Hoshina Soshiro only knew the wild certainty of a small, stubborn heart; that maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

He gasped for air before continuing, "I'd even take yer surname, Y/n-nee!" Hearing that Y/n widened her eyes, and he blushed, 

Yozora Soshiro... Hoshina thought, huh, it ain't bad, i kinda like it 

Y/n then crossed her arms. “I’m not looking for marriage proposals right now.”

Panic flashed in Hoshina Soshiro's eyes. “But... But I’ll train every day! I’ll be the best swordsman! I’ll whip Soichiro ten times in a row! I’ll...”

“You should start with one,” she interrupted, walking off again.

He stood frozen for a moment, cheeks red, dessert still in hand. The giggles from the sidelines turned into outright chuckles.

And just like that, young Hoshina Soshiro decided this was going to be the hardest fight of his life,  and he wasn’t going to lose. He turned around and...

"... What the hell?" He blinked, pausing mid conversation with Okonogi Konomi

Hoshina Soshiro wasn’t sure what random neuron misfired to drag that memory back up from that dusty shelves of his brain, but suddenly there it was; Hyogo, 2005, him with a bowl cut, sweaty kendogi sticking to his back, yelling marriage proposals across the courtyard to Yozora Y/n like an idiot who thought climbing trees counted as romantic quality.

And I know how to fold laundry right! really, kid? That was the big selling point? 

He could practically feel his face heat up now, decades later, at the sheer audacity of eight year old him declaring he’d even learn her culture like some kind of pint sized homemaker in training; completely fine with her being the “man” of the family. (Honestly, present day him wasn’t opposed to it either.)

That was the ideal life for eight years old Hoshina apparently.

"Vice Captain, are you ok?" Konogi asked, clipboard tucked in her chest, but Hoshina was too embarrassed to hear her,

He could still remember the way she’d dismissed him like a pesky gnat, and the way his stubborn little heart had decided right then this was going to be the fight of his life.

... Which was utterly ridiculous and humiliating thinking about it right now, Hoshina felt his guts twisting at the cringe his younger self's shenanigans, 

I'd even take yer surname, Y/n-nee! he groaned, he was so desperate! Mina was right, he does resemble Brock! 

Okonogi Konomi warily glance at him, trying so hard to ignore  what coulf possibly made him groan in embarrassment,

And here he was, moping like a lovesick rookie just because he’d caught Hoshina Soichiro was laughing with her a few days ago.

Hoshina doesn't even know Y/n could laugh like that...

As if there was anything to be jealous of. The truth was, there never had been...

... Unless you counted the way his stupid heart had picked that exact moment to start pounding like he was back on the engawa (veranda), swearing that he’d never lose her.

"... Vice Captain," Okonogi tried again, "Are you ok?" eyes flicking over him like she was trying to diagnose whatever was wrong this time.

Hoshina kept his eyes forward. “Ya reckon they got somethin’ strong, rough to burn near twenty years clean outta yer head? Like, hell, ninety percent acid, ten percent alcohol?”

Okonogi blinked. “…Why?”

“Just remembered some stuff when I was a kid. Felt like dyin'. Hafta erase it somehow.”

She stopped mid step, gawking. “What?... Vice Captain, are you sure you're ok?" 

Hoshina laughed, dry and exasperated at the same time, and Okonogi is panicking, “I wanna be buried where the sun don't shine, Okonogi-chan,”

And then he kept walking, leaving her standing there, looking like she'd has to call an ambulance because she can't let him die without getting that autograph first! 

---

 

It was late, as usual. Yamashiro Yamamoto cursed under his breath as he rolled his shoulder with one hand, the ache from sitting all day grinding deeper than he cared to admit.

Dinner had been a konbini bento he devoured  between status reports, the coffee was stale and he could still taste it.

The phone clipped to his dash pinged. Gmail. He flicked his eyes at it; Yozora Y/n's aunt. One week vacation, Kyoto. Onsen.

He smiled, Heh. About damn time. 

The headlights tunneled forward and his smile fell away, eyeing someone who staggered into view just before the tunnel’s mouth.

A man was limping, his position looked wrong. Yamamoto leaned on his horn, pushing it twice. The person didn’t move. Yamamoto frowned.

“Is this guy drunk or what…” he muttered, already braking, shoving open the door.

He approached, phone in hand. The man’s face tilted toward him in the halogen light, and Yamamoto froze.

Pale skin, slack features, eyes black and uncanny, this isn't the look of a drunk man. And Yamamoto recognise the man.

One of the missing people.

Yozora Y/n's voice played back in his mind, about her latest meeting with the senior officers; Kaiju No. 9. Human form. Blending into society. Victims unaccounted for.

Shit.

Yamamoto slowed his steps as the figure limped closer, his thumb already hovering over the emergency call number.

“Stop right there!” he barked, voice sharp, practiced. His free hand hovered near the inside of his lab coat.

Training snapped into place. Yamamoto staggered two steps back, distancing himself, he lifted the phone higher, already forming the report. “This is Ya...”

He never finished.

Something flashed in the air. His arm was gone before his mind caught up, his body stumbling backward and he fell. Phone clattering far away.

Before clarity punched through. This man or what Yamamoto could only thought, Kaiju No. 9 sliced his hand clean.

Shit, shit, shit shit...

The face he's wearing grinned, "You don’t look like one of those stupid citizens, do you?” His voice was soft. It caught Yamamoto off guard.

The thing tilted its head, eyeing him. “Oh? That uniform… are you an operational leader?”

It walked closer. Yamamoto dragged himself back, his right arm pouring blood in road. His phone was too far. His car even farther. His breath came hot and fast, sweat stinging his eyes.

He exhaled, Ignore the voice. Focus. Five more steps, get to the car, drive... just drive,

Yamamoto's head swam. The blood loss was already pulling him under. 

"Yamamoto."

"Yes, Chief?"

“I told my aunt to give you a VIP vacation at her onsen. You needed it, Yamamoto. Don’t even try to decline, you deserve it.”

His chest shook with a ragged breath. Sorry, Chief... He thought, coughing and ignoring the pain from his right arm.

Two more decades. That was all he wanted. He thought of Vietnam. He thought of Yozora Y/n, back when she was still Third Division Captain, her sniper rifle cracking through the air.

He thought of the days where back then he was her assigned Operational Leader. He thought of Third Division. 

Somehow, he knew this is the end. Four decades in his career, Yamamoto couldn't think of a time where he took a vacation.

Probably never. 

Funny, he didn't even get to live his life yet. Yamashiro Yamamoto huffed a laugh.

The kaiju stopped. Tilted its head. “Oh? What’s funny?”

Yamamoto leaned back, eyes burning. The mask it wore still looking at him, god, it was so fake.

Yamamoto barked another laugh, louder this time, shaking. "God, you’re not even close. You’re trying so hard to blend in.”

He spat blood, teeth pink. "Of all the kaijus I've seen in my career..." his glare sharpened.

“... You’re the most coward, shitty thing I’ve ever seen.”

No wife. No kids. His parents long gone. His friends; good men, defense officers never even made it to forty. Somehow he had.

Four decades of his career, going home tired and sleep deprived, and not even a single acknowledgement of his hard work behind the scenes.

Funny, he didn't even get to live his life yet.

But along the way, he got to meet Yozora Y/n, and seeing her in the frontline saving lives and then working behind the desks, calculating strategies in real life in number of minutes...

He was sure he did get to live his life. Not an ideal one, but he cherished every successful mission deployed he worked with Y/n.

I'm so sorry, chief, he raised his chin, maintaining eye contact with Kaiju No. 9, and it was annoyed, good. Yamamoto grinned, 

"Show me your real face, motherfucker!" 

Yamamoto's head was gone. Crushed in one foot like a rotten fruit. Bones and brain fragments covered the asphalt.

The body slumped over, twitching, pumping out what little blood it had left. Yamamoto's eyeball rolled over Kaiju No. 9's other foot.

Kaiju No. 9 straightened, his true form stretching tall, skeletal, beige against the street lights.

He plucked a piece of grey matter from the mess and rolled it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. 

“Well,” he said, voice calm again. “That’s a shame. I’ll have to collect the rest of him if I want the disguise right.”

He bent down, peeling pieces of flesh and bone with patient hands. Already thinking about the headquarters. Kaiju No. 8.

Already planning the next step.

Notes:

A kendogi is the traditional uniform worn in kendo, the Japanese martial art of swordsmanship. A shiromuku is a traditional pure white kimono worn by brides during Shinto wedding ceremonies. In japan it symbolizes purity, innocence, and new beginnings. The term “shiromuku” literally translates to “white purity/innocence.” The tsunokakushi is a traditional bridal headdress in Shinto weddings. Brides wear it to conceal their “horns” (a symbol of jealousy or selfishness), representing their intent to enter marriage with humility.

This also explains why the MC is often around Hyogo in the flashbacks. Whenever a typhoon is near, Kaiju No. 0 is there as well, and the Yozora clan doesn’t want to risk her life since she’s their upcoming leader. And Yamamoto!😭 his death had to happen, even though he’s one of my favorites. It ties directly into the MC’s character development and angst. I’ll probably give Hoshina a break from suffering (for a while), and it’s the MC’s turn now… or maybe it’s time to start building more interactions between them. Who knows what fate has in store 🤫🤫🤫

And this is probably already obvious, but Hoshina’s dialogue is my (poor) attempt at a Southern American drawl. Hoshina’s from Hyogo, meaning he speaks Kansai dialect. In subtitles, Kansai dialect is often rendered as a Southern American accent, so I’m just leaning into that. I’ve gotten used to hearing the Kansai accent while reading it as a drawl, and honestly, details like that make character voices feel alive. (Besides Hoshina, examples are the Miya twins from Haikyuu!! and Hirako Shinji from Bleach.)

Probably not important to say, but my timeline pacing is quite different from the anime/manga (which is also why I tagged this as canon divergent). What started as a mistake turned into a deliberate slow pacing. I kept saying we were closing in on Season 2, but actually, I was wrong. Besides, the filler episode happened before Kafka was arrested anyway. And i INTEND to add that filler in my fanfic😈

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 22: Nothing To Report

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Climbing gouramis can breathe air and walk on land. Some gouramis, like the Anabas testudineus, can gulp air and use their gill covers as makeshift “feet” to move between water sources.

Ariake Maritime Base, Year 2024,

 

Yamashiro Yamamoto didn't show up today. Or the day before yesterday. It was noticeable, since the senior was nothing but punctual.

The command room at Ariake Maritime Base was louder tho, earpieces crackling, keyboards clacking, status updates spilling in from every direction.

Four divisions were deployed at once; First, Second, Third, and Sixth, and the Division Liaison Relay Officers were firing off reports nonstop. Screens flashed with kaiju signatures, and map grids updated by the minute.

For Yozora Y/n, this was just a routine. She was used to juggling multiple deployments at once; reshuffling unit positions in real time, adjusting strategies as intel changed.

Around the room, a few operators traded quick glances. They’d seen it before, how Yozora Y/n could juggle two deployments, rework a battle plan mid report, and still keep track of every moving piece.

But watching her do it never stopped being a little unreal.

Redirecting officers across two different prefectures without missing a beat. That part was second nature.

What she wasn’t used to was Yamamoto not being there.

“Yamamoto, can you cross reference that bipedal reptilian kaiju for me?” she asked without looking up.

Silence.

Yozora Y/n blinked. “Yamamoto, I said, cross reference the bipedal reptilian kaiju for me,”

“Uh, Chief…?”

She glanced down. Tanaka Eijichi sat stiff at his station beside Sakamoto Aira, both shooting wary looks her way.

“Yamashiro-san didn’t attend today…” Tanaka said carefully.

Ah. Right. She had given him that paid vacation, one free week at her aunt’s onsen. Still, two missed days? That wasn’t like him.

She let out a small sigh, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. Guess he deserved the break.

Waving it off, she refocused. Looking at the dark haired male besides Tanaka "Sorry. Kurusu-san, can you handle the cross referencing?"

"You’re basically second to Yamamoto.”

Kurusu Akira straightened in his chair, clearly surprised she’d singled him out. “Roger that, Chief.”

Sakamoto Aira couldn’t hold it in anymore. She sighed dramatically, “Heeey, Chief~” she pouted, looking up from below Y/n’s raised platform.

Tanaka, Kurusu, and the other Operational Leaders near her all shot Aira the same look; like she was on a death wish for breaking the silence.

Y/n just arched an eyebrow, meeting her gaze.

Aira didn’t back down though. Y/n almost found it charming for the newbie. “Isn’t it a little unfair that only Yamashiro-san got a paid vacation and a free week at an onsen?” she pressed, lips jutted out like a sulking kid.

Tanaka gave her shoulder a harsh pat, her senior’s way of telling her to shut up, but Aira kept going. “It’s unfair! I rarely take days off too!”

“That’s because you’re broke,” Tanaka muttered.

“Shut up, senpai!”

“Hey, we’re in the middle of deployment. Keep it down, you two!” someone hissed.

Amused, Yozora Y/n chuckled. That alone was enough to make all three of them freeze. Tanaka, Aira, even Akira.

Suddenly insecure under her attention. Y/n coughed into her fist to ease the tension.

“If you keep your finesse like that, I’ll consider it, Sakamoto-san.”

Aira’s grin went full supernova. “Chief, thank you!” She even threw her hands up in a heart gesture.

Tanaka side eyed her. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

Y/n and Akira ignored them, but her mind wasn’t as steady as her face. but still... Yamamoto isn't even one to take a day off, Yozora Y/n thought

That alone was wrong,  the man treated work like breathing, never missing a day. The unease coiled, heavy in her stomach, but she shoved it down and fished her phone out of her jacket.

A distraction. Anything.

The screen lit up.

One unread message.

For a second, she didn’t open it. Just staring at the notification, thumb hovering, bracing for the worst.

Maybe it was Hoshina still messaging her. Something she could handle.

She swiped.

It wasn’t Hoshina... Surprisingly.

Yozora Hoshiguma.

And her stomach dropped before she even tapped it. Ah. It was that time of the year, huh? Y/n knew. Of course she knew.

Hoshiguma; Are you going to visit Kyoto this week for Michikatsu’s death anniversary?

Her throat went tight. The words pressed down inside her stomach, Y/n blinked, and exhaled. Ignoring the constant yelling of status reports in the background.

She remember Michikatsu’s handwriting, the smell of old ink, the words she’d only half understood when she was seven.

---

 

Kyoto, Year 1999,

 

Y/n's only parent was Yozora Michikatsu.

She never knew her mother; only that she died when Kaiju No. 0 struck Kyoto during a typhoon. Her father never spoke about it, and she never asked.

Michikatsu was the kind of man who could sit for hours on the engawa (veranda), cigarette in hand, and staring at nothing. He didn’t smile much, and when he did, it never reached his eyes.

(Except when Y/n showed him her chicken scratch drawings of him then his eyes lit up for a moment, brighter than the sun, and he would ruffle her hair...)

He spoke plainly, sometimes formally, it depends really. He moved with boulders set between his shoulders because that's what a clan leader is, and Yozora Michikatsu carried himself like someone who had already seen the worst the world could offer.

Yozora Michikatsu’s only real friend was Yozora Hoshiguma, a scarred man with a white eye but he smelled of oranges and Y/n loves him.

They’d known each other since they were boys, back when their biggest worry was sneaking into the river to fish without getting caught.

Even when retired, Hoshiguma still had a way of dragging Michikatsu into things he claimed he didn’t have time for; a quick drink after patrol, a late night shogi match that ended up arguing about one of them cheating.

To Y/n, Hoshiguma felt like the uncle who was quiet but that kind of friend who wouldn't leave you no matter what kind of person you'd become. 

To Y/n, her father was everything.

Her hero, her whole world, her dad.

Yozora Michikatsu was the one who taught her how to think ahead, how to stay calm when everyone else panicked, and how to see danger before it came.

He wasn’t just strong, he was unshakable! The kind of man who stood between her and the world without ever seeming afraid.

Y/n believed there was nothing he couldn’t do, and as long as he was there, she thought nothing could ever touch her. Not even the spider lurking in the corner could stand a chance against his slippers!

To her, Michikatsu is the best dad in the whole universe. And she would fight anyone who said otherwise.

Y/n lay on her futon, staring up at the round, pale moon. One thought crept in, the kind she had as bedtime stories. She wondered if he’d found them, if they’d given him a place to rest, and if, when he looked down, he could still see her.

That maybe Michikatsu saw the rabbits he's talking about, those rabbits she once imagined pounding mochi with a mallet. 

"They say they'll only give mochis to anyone who would find them."

"Do you think you'd be able to, dad?"

"... I think i can, but..."

"But what?" 

Y/n had forgot what Michikatsu told her that night, even when she's racking her brain to remember it, she couldn't. And her heart sank.

Her hands tightened around the folded paper. The letter had been given to her on her birthday, with instructions not to open it until later. She chose tonight, after his funeral.

She wished she hadn’t. Because whoever wrote the letter, wasn't her father. The letter read;

To Y/n,

You will read this when I am gone. It's not a goodbye, I have no time for such sentiment things, but follow the instructions I will passed on.

You are my heir. You will lead the Yozora clan when the elders deem you ready. That is your birthright, and your burden. Accept it without complaint.

Second, I don't want a daughter. I want a successor. I will not have you waste yourself chasing monsters, with weapons in mud and blood. I have buried too many soldiers to pretend that the frontline is a place for someone of your value. The JAKDF needs its strategist, not another pawn sent to die.

The shogi matches we played were not games. They were lessons. Every time we played, I moved a piece you don't want to be moved, sacrificed what you thought should be spared, and forced you to adapt. Leadership is the same, you will make choices you despise, because the clan must survive whether you like them or not.

Third, if you join the frontline, you will be disobeying my last order. If you die there, you will be proving me right, that you were too selfish to serve the greater good from where you are most needed.

I don't want a daughter. But alas, you were born. I have to make most of it.

Don't look for affection in these words. I leave you no warmth, because warmth will give you comfort and comfort will not keep you alive in this world.

I have no wish for you to remember me fondly.

Remember me as a reminder, and surpass me. That will be my victory.

Yozora Michikatsu,

Tears fell from her eyes and the paper shook in Y/n's hands as she read the last line. Her father’s words were blunt and cold, leaving no love she's hoping for.

Dad doesn’t love me, she thought, pressing her lips together, fighting back the tears. He never wanted me. He just wanted a leader.

But another thought followed, sharp and desperate; Then why did his eyes light up when I drew for him? Why did he smile then?

She don't know the answer.

Her chest hurt. The words blurred. She went outside, staring up at the same pale moon. It felt so far away. Just like he was now.

Yozora Y/n glared, there's no rabbits on the moon, she thought, staring back at his letter, sniffling, it's just a myth... 

For the first time since she heard of his death, she wondered if he had ever looked at it and thought of her.

Yozora Y/n snapped the phone off, staring at her reflection in the black screen.

“…Not again.” she rasped, expecting another migraine coming in,

The words barely left her lips before the ache started; a sharp pull, crawling phantom pain along her right stump.

Y/n inhaled once, exhaled slow, as if breathing could trick her body into forgetting the limb it had already lost.

It didn’t work. It never worked.

Yozora Y/n forced her eyes back up, to the command center’s massive monitor glowing at the center of the room.

She tried to listen to Kurusu Akira's cross referencing, it was different. His voice wasn't like Yamamoto. It was fast and stuttering while reading unlike Yamamoto's gruff and tired voice.

Yamamoto's... Ah.

Y/n remembered Yamamoto wasn't here. 

I don't want a daughter. I want a successor. I will not have you waste yourself chasing monsters, with weapons in mud and blood.

The JAKDF needs its strategist, not another pawn sent to die.

if you join the frontline, you will be disobeying my last order. If you die there, you will be proving me right,

Yozora Y/n gritted her teeth. Her voice cut through the air, steady again. “Status report.”

---

 

Hoshina's Condo, Year 2024,

 

Hoshina Soshiro stepped out of the bathroom, towel low on his hips, hair damp and dripping down from his face.

If anyone asked, he'd say he's refresh.

In truth, he looked like a man who forgotten to buy shampoo and was just hoping conditioner counted as one.

He stopped halfway across the room, glanced at the stack of paperwork abandoned on his dining table, and didn’t bother.

He’d finished a batch yesterday. Now a fresh pile had appeared like weeds, waiting for him. He wasn’t in the mood. It didn’t matter if he cleared a stack, by the time he blinked, another sprouted.

The JAKDF should study that regeneration rate instead of kaiju biology.

Hoshina Soshiro ignored it, dropped onto the couch, legs spreading out. He still carried that tension in his shoulders from a recent kaiju emergence earlier.

Hoshina Soshiro should’ve just put the damn phone down. Really, he should’ve.

But no, his thumb betrayed him, and instead of checking his battery saver like a normal adult, he found himself staring at the cursed little square app he swore he didn’t care about.

Instagram. Hoshina Soichiro’s Instagram.

He muttered, “This is pathetic,” even as he tapped it open.

His eyes were greeted by Hoshina Soichiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, national treasure, unofficial face of the JAKDF.

Smiling like he’d just solved world hunger with his stupid Izumo tech's customised nodachi strapped behind him.

The comments section was worse.

Soichiro_is_my_bae; ✨Mmg! Captain Soichiro, marry me!!!✨

Going_for_milk; You're so hot Hoshina-sama🔥🔥🔥 

Kinykinkin; I LOVE YOU SIR! SLAY ME NEXT TIME🥵🤭😏

KaijuKisser99; Daddy Soichiro please step on me 🙇‍♀️🔥

BladeBabe21; Forget the kaijus, you can cut ME in half any day 😩🗡️

Ashiro_Mina_is_my_Queen; I volunteer as tribute to be your wife, sir 🥺💍

GenNarumi__Stan420; HOW IS IT LEGAL TO BE THIS HOT IN UNIFORM??? 🚨👮‍♂️

Sakamoto_Aira; Captain, respectfully… I’d let you ruin my life 🤧💦

“God, do none of ya have jobs?” Hoshina muttered, scrolling faster. His eyes squinted, it's that username Going_for_milk again...

Mid scrolling, he froze. Damn near choked  too. Because in between Soichiro’s endless look-at-my-muscles-through-my-compressed shirt-shots...  Which, guilty as charged, Hoshina pulled the same crap.

But never mind that! His eyes zeroed in to that one picture. Y/n.

Hoshina Soshiro blinked, she wasn't posing, not even looking at the camera. Just at her desk, mid scribble, hair coming a little loose from her hairstyle.

She wasn’t even the subject because she's behind Soichiro, but to him, the whole picture tilted.

“…Well, yeah.” His thumb twitched, ready to swipe away, but it lingered.

He scrolled down further. More of the same; Hoshina Soichiro’s smug grin front and center, Y/n at the edges, half blurry.

And then one picture stopped him. Clearer than the rest. Y/n turned her head at the wrong moment, and Soichiro’s camera, by some freak miracle, had caught her sharply.

Hoshina Soshiro eyes opened wider. He caught himself biting his lower lip, the kind of dumb, nervous tic he thought he’d outgrown at eleven.

Damn it. He was staring too long.

He stared at Y/n without shame, her mouth caught mid word.

She looked tired, and dark circles tucked under her eyes, a little blemish by her temple, hair not quite as perfect as it was in the morning. 

But that picture makes her look more normal than any filter he saw people used these days. More human. Real.

And beautiful. Always beautiful. At least to him.

He sighed, thumb brushing over her face on the screen, it lingered. “…Damn you, Soichiro. Ya can’t take a decent photo of yer own blade, but ya manage this?”

He chuckled. Because damn! He lost a few years growing up with Y/n, and he ignored that other voice in his head blaming him for what happened in 2008.

He blinked. Staring at Y/n.

Even if we hadn’t fought, she’d have gone and joined the Defence Force anyhow. Been too busy for the likes of us, no matter what. He thought, thumb still lingering on her captured picture.

And it was ok! They're talking, he's teasing. She's judging him as if he's some twerp, he swallowed his pride and went to Ariake Maritime Base at 2018 after all.

But that didn't mean Hoshina Soshiro didn't think of the what ifs; Y/n was still visiting. Probably there to see the first time he beat Soichiro.

Probably they even get to sell oranges together in that rickety cart, him inflating the prices too high just to make her roll her eyes. Young Hoshina Soshiro, thinks that was the peak of living.

 

Young Hoshina Soshiro would’ve sworn that was the dream.

 

... Too busy for me, His world was centered around swords as a kid. It was his whole life, his whole passion.

Then he thinks it was too childish so it's all about killing kaiju and following his father and brother's footsteps.

But for a brief moment, his world shifted, and in that brief moment. his world revolved around Yozora Y/n.

The thought lodged in his chest like Hoshina was gutted, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, towel slipping low on his hips, hair still damp from the shower.

“...The hell’s wrong with me,” he muttered, raking a hand over his face.

Heat prickled under his skin, worse than any fever. His leg bounced restlessly; his shoulders twitched. He was even squirming.

“Get it together, Soshiro,” he hissed at himself, sitting up only to slump again. “Yer ain’t eight years old.”

But no matter how many times he cursed under his breath, the truth didn’t change.
His stupid, stubborn heart had shifted.

The phone dimmed, threatening to die. He should’ve charge it now. But Hoshina caught himself staring again.

At her eyes, frozen in that screen, like she’d been looking through the camera at him.

Which was ridiculous.

Really, really ridiculous.

He looked at his phone, two percent and bleeding. Which was fine. Totally fine. He wasn’t waiting on anything important.

Not like he was hoping to see Y/n's name pop up after… what? A week? Three? Long enough that late reply turned into that communication he wasn’t invited to.

Still, muscle memory was stronger than his dignity. He opened their chat. And, always, it was just him. Him and his one sided conversation.

Hoshina; Y'know, keep actin' like that, civilians gotta think yer Hydra property, WWWW

Hoshina; Heard MCU has Ironheart and Shehulk... Ya think yer still have time for an audition? 🤔

Hoshina: If ya did, can i think of the trigger words? How's 'pineapple juice'? 

Hoshina; Captain Ashiro Mina’s tea was so bad I died 🍵💀

Hoshina; 🦑🕺

No wonder she hadn’t replied, who would?

Hoshina Soshiro is the type to chat with nothing but emojis and expected people to understand. (at least he's not one of those who send voice message every time)

And because his brain loved humiliation, his thumb typed more;

Hoshina; If Izumo Tech starts sellin' limited edition vibranium, ya want me to preorder two or three?

He grinned and added another.

Hoshina; 👿🔪 That’s yer face when ya caught me and Soichiro messin' with yer sniper rifle in 2007.

That one made him laugh, even if no one else ever would. He could still picture it: him and Soichiro looking like idiots in a tree, Y/n was below staring and thinking whether homicide was worth it.

Then his thumb betrayed him.

Hoshina; 🍜👀?

He stared.

Not a harmless message. Not the 'wanna eat?' kind. No, this one carried weight. The kind that asked questions he wasn’t brave enough to answer.

He deleted it. Typed it again. Deleted it.

The two emojis burned at him like neon; Want to see me outside of work? Want to change… whatever this is?

He leaned back, towel tugging loose at his waist, muttering, “It’s just ramen, idiot.” A beat later, quieter: “…Yeah. Just ramen.”

But it wasn’t. Not with Y/n. Not with Yozora Y/n.

And because he hated himself, he hit send.

The world immediately collapsed. His stomach bottomed out. His mind rushed through scenarios like a checklists; 

1. She ignores it.
2. She says no.
3. She says yes... And then what? He actually has to follow through?

Panic settled in, “Shitshitshitshitshit” He lunged for the delete option, thumbs fumbling, not minding that his hair was dripping over his couch,

Battery, one percent.

The screen went black.

He sat there, staring at the dead phone and his own reflection in the glass. Hair dripping, shoulders tense, looking like a clown in a towel. 

Oh god, what would Yozora Y/n think about that emojis?.... If she even checked his texts... But what if she did and just never texted back?

Hoshina Soshiro is an idiot and he's in trouble.

He rubbed his face and exhaled, defeated, thinking how he'd been so stupid these past few days, 

Why's he even jealous of his brother for? He's not eight, his kiddie crush of Y/n long died since since she punched him in the eye.

Hoshina Soshiro was thinking how he's so stupid right now.

“…Fuck me,” he muttered.

And, because his brain was cruel and predictable, it whispered; What if she actually says yes?

Notes:

I’m trying my best to make this part angsty, but maybe some of y’all won’t really feel it that way. Honestly, it’s safe to say I’m much better at writing angst for side characters than for the MC 🫠🫠🫠. Still, I wanted to capture the grief of a seven-year-old who believes that the one figure they love most actually hates them. There’s something raw about being a child and seeing your parents as your personal heroes; like they’re the best, untouchable, while everyone else is just losers, lol. And then reality hits, and it hits hard. That’s the kind of angst I was aiming for here (whether I pulled it off or not, you can be the judge). And Michikatsu's letter tho, it already hinted that MC disobeyed his instructions since she did joined 5th division, making it into platoon leader and became a Third Division Captain.

Small detail if you squint at one of Hoshina's texts were the "WWWW", it's basically the Japanese's "lol", w is short for warau, which means to laugh.

Also, in case it wasn’t obvious: the very first chapter, the one that introduced Kaiju No. 0 in 1999, was the same year Michikatsu died. We’re just a few chapters away (one or three at most) from officially closing in on Season 2, yay! Quick warning, though: not every upcoming scene will have the MC front and center. Some are flashbacks of her time as platoon leader of the Fifth Division, and others focus on her unresolved (soon-to-be-resolved) tension over her forced “retirement” from the frontlines. And whatever happened in 2008. Think of it as part of her character arc. And of course, there’ll be scenes with Hoshina.

I’ve said this before but I’ll repeat it: the rabbit is called Tsuki no Usagi (the Moon Rabbit). In Japanese folklore, the rabbit isn’t handing out mochi to whoever finds it, it’s usually shown pounding rice into mochi as an offering, often tied to devotion or worship of the moon deity. So it’s not about a shop mochi giveaway, lol. It’s more of a metaphor, kind of like how people tell kids Santa is real, or how Krampus will snatch you up if you misbehave. I twisted it into something personal for MC, to capture that made up but not too far lies from the actual folklore.

Also, fun fact: that last scene with Hoshina was originally supposed to take place in his office, but I figured that’s too overused, so I switched it to his condominium instead. 👀👍 Oh, and let’s just ignore Soichiro’s thirsty comment section for now.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 23: Blood in Floodlights

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

Hawaiian gobies migrate upstream by climbing waterfalls with their mouths and suction fins. Some climb over 300 feet against sheer rock faces, basically suction-cupping their way to freshwater breeding grounds.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Kyoto, Year 1999,

 

The Fifth Division Captain didn’t stand a chance.

Before Yozora Michikatsu could even process what was happening, Kaiju No. 0’s beak sank into his torso, tearing through his kaiju suit and piercing through layers of cells and skins of the engineered kaiju like they were paper.

The pain hit immediately and it wasn’t long before he was yanked from his feet, his body lifted into the air as though he were nothing more than a ragdoll.

"Y-you..." He paused mid sentence, coughing blood, "You bastard..." Michikatsu glared, staring head on to Kaiju No. 0's cold eyes,

The initial shock dulling his senses as he flailed helplessly, trying to get some kind of grip on the ground beneath him.

A voice could be heard through his earpiece, "Captain! The remaining team you ordered to retreat are now hiding safely in the emergency underground tunnel, help is on the way, please hold on!" 

Before Michikatsu could reply, his ribs cracked with a sickening snap as the kaiju’s beak jerked violently, lifting him higher.

Michikatsu legs kicked out uselessly, and every attempt to free himself only worsened the pain. His head flopped from side to side, a caused by the kaiju's savage shaking.

It felt like his body was being torn apart, each jolt further splintering his bones and leaving him gasping for air.

Desperation clawed at him, and through the pain, he reached for his combat knife. His heart raced, but there was no power in his limbs. The kaiju synthetic suit, designed to enhance human performance, was failing him.

His systems were overloaded, depleted from the relentless power of the creature's attack. The energy he needed from his suit was locked, sealed, inaccessible, there was no surge to empower him.

Yozora Michikatsu's thoughts screamed for him to draw on the suit’s fortitude, to access its full power, to tap into the reserves that should have been available at his command. But his mind and body were too far gone. The connection was severed. His strength was gone, his body too damaged to use the suit’s capabilities.

“Captain Yozora, respond! Captain, do you copy?!” The operational leader's voice crackled through his earpiece, but it was distant,

“I can’t...” Michikatsu gasped through gritted teeth, his fingers slipping weakly from the hilt of the knife. His mind was flooded with panic and disbelief.

"Captain!" 

He should have had the power, the strength to fight back. But the suit had locked him out, and his body was unable to tap into that energy.

With what little strength he had left, he slashed at the kaiju's beak, the blade meeting the creature’s tough hide with a dull, lifeless clang. His heart sank. The dagger didn’t even leave a scratch.

“Goddamn it...” Yozora Michikatsu muttered, barely able to form the words as he fought for air. Forcing himself to focus, to channel what was left of his strength into the synthetic suit’s energy conduits.

But nothing. His thoughts became clouded, the panic suffocating him as he felt the world spinning out of control. “I can’t... take it…”

The kaiju’s beak twisted deeper into his flesh, lifting him higher, dragging him closer to its throat. His body went limp, his strength fading. 

“Don’t give up Captain, please! Hold on! Backup is coming, stay with me!” The operational leader's voice was frantic now, but Michikatsu's synchronization to his suit was severed, and with it, any hope of survival, fading. 

“I... can’t...” Michikatsu managed to rasp, but it was no use. The suit had failed him when he needed it most. His body was too broken, and his will too exhausted to call on the strength he had once commanded.

Before the operational leader could respond, Yozora Michikatsu was thrown up in the air, his eyes widening before gravity pulls him straight to Kaiju No. 0's wide, open beak.

Knowing it's his end, Michikatsu braced for the worse, "Tsu... Tsubaki, t-tell my men to gra..." He coughed blood, "Grab rocks in compensation fo... For my body. I want to go home."

Yozora Michikatsu escaped death once because Kaiju No. 0 let him. But this time, he's not going anywhere. He closed his eyes.

Operational Leader Tsubsaki's scream was met with a wet, gurgling rasp as Kaiju No. 0’s jaws clamped down, through her earpiece, 

"Captain Yozora!!!" 

Darkness swallowed him, the stench of rotting meat and acid thick enough to choke Michikatsu. His synthetic suit hissed and melted almost instantly, the metal blistering as sizzling acid soaked through to his skin.

Then came the real agony, his own flesh sloughing away in sheets, pale muscle exposed and writhing under the acidic burn. 

He could see it, his forearm skin bubbling and peeling back, fingers skeletal beneath the liquefying tissue; before his vision blurred into a boiling haze. The acid filled his ears, his mouth, his nose, until there was no scream left to give, only his body dissolving alive.

As Yozora Michikatsu screamed in pain, his earpiece already melted with his ears, only thinking about how the pain will soon be gone. And one of them was the face of Y/n's mother. His wife.

In the command center, Tsubaki stared at the screen in horror, watching as Fifth Division Captain Yozora Michikatsu's heart rate dropped to zero.

The comms were silent. The entire command center was quite. Tsubaki was crying. She raised her hand to salute as tribute.

One operational leader keyed her earpiece, calling the Yozora clan directly. "Yozora Hoshiguma-san, this is Operational Leader Kirisagi Yuya..."

---

 

Kyoto, Year 2024,

 

Once, Kyoto was home to you. 

The kind that latches to your bones and senses and never really left. Something you'd think about when the nights are long and you can't fall asleep, 

Kyoto was home. Was.

But nostalgia hit the most when it was unexpected. Yozora Y/n could still smell the grilled squid, chocolate bananas on a stick and candied apples from festival stalls.

Fireflies blinked in the distance, slipping out from the trees like tiny sparks, daring you to chase them.

She remembered tugging on Soichiro’s sleeve, pointing, wanting to run after them. But she never did.

You didn’t stray too far from family, not in those days, not when Japan is not normal and kaijus lurking in the dark. Instead she stayed close, sandals scuffing against the stone, watching the fireflies vanish into the dark.

Kyoto was home. Was.

The gate looked smaller than you remembered. When you were seven, it had been taller than the sky, a wall that only grown ups could open.

Now Yozora Y/n stood in front of it with her own hands on the handle, and it felt like cheating.

This used to be your kingdom. Gravel paths and paper lanterns, koi pond and fireflies, every corner waiting for you to claim it again. At seven you'd promised yourself you would grow up fast. At fourteen you told yourself that you already had.

Standing there now, Yozora Y/n couldn’t decide if she’d been right, or if she'd just stolen something from herself too early.

Y/n took a deep breath, her right prosthetic arm clenching and released it, and clenching it again.

A passing tabby cat meowed at her, Y/n ignore it.

She should’ve walked through without thinking; it was her home, her ground, her blood. But her feet stuck to the stone like she’d never belonged here at all.

Kyoto was home. Was.

Her ancestors had bled on these streets, carved out a foothold against kaiju when the rest of Japan bent or burned. Kyoto stood because the Yozoras refused to give it up. That history pressed on her chest harder than the uniform ever did.

“A Yozora doesn’t fail where Kyoto still stands.”

Y/n had heard it her whole life. Back then it just meant one thing; don’t lose. Don’t break. Stand your ground. As a kid, it sounded simple enough. 

Now it felt heavier, twisted, especially today. Her father’s death anniversary. Yozora Michikatsu; the standard she decided to never reach, and the consequence was losing an arm, her purpose and possibly Michikatsu's disappointment. 

Yozora Y/n could only think he's screaming in the afterlife because she wanted to prove that she can be more than a strategist and their clan leader by carving her own path.

But Yozora Michikatsu's shadow was the thing she couldn't outrun. And in the end, Yozora Michikatsu won.

Three days. That was all she’d allow herself here. Three days, then back to where she actually mattered. Or she thinks that mattered. Being the Chief of Command Operation is boring compared to being a frontline officer.

Yozora Y/n's hand hovered at the gate’s handle, but it wouldn’t move. Fingers stiff, shoulders locked. She almost laughed. Chief of Command Operations of the JAKDF, and here she was, sweating like a sinner in a church.

“Get yourself together,” she muttered under her breath.

But the words didn’t bite the way she wanted them to. The estate wasn’t home anymore. Every step past those gates just reminded her of Michikatsu, his death, his shadow, that damn letter.

That was the real reason she stalled here.

She noticed the tabby cat was still besides her, licking its hind legs, Y/n stared at the cat, the cat stared back, dont look at me, it's not my problem, it seems to say,

Y/n glared at the tabby cat and shooed it away. She drew in a breath sharp enough to sting her lungs. Three days, then she bail. Anger them if she had to. If the elders thought she’d failed, then Michikatsu or every forefather could roll in their graves.

Her hand tightened, and finally, she shoved the gates open.

 

---

 

Yozora Estate, Kyoto, Year 1999,

 

Yozora Hoshiguma ran across the courtyard with two maids trailed after him, they were mumbling something but Hoshiguma didn't listen.

“She was seen in the late clan leader's private room.”

“She dragged the sniper rifle out herself.”

“Michikatsu-sama’s weapon!… It’s too heavy for her!”

Hoshiguma’s scarred brow furrowed. He hurried his stride, from the corner of his eyes, he noticed Daichi and Koshi were also running towards the commotion he's heading, he also ignored them.

As he rounded the corner, the sight hit him like a hammer.

The veranda was crowded; uncles, aunts, cousins, all pressed close, murmuring, eyes fixed on the child in the center.

Yozora Y/n stood in the middle of the courtyard, small body puffed up, both hands locked stubbornly around the long barrel of her late father’s sniper rifle.

The weapon dwarfed her body, the stock dragging lines in the dirt as she tugged against the iron grip of her uncle, Soichi.

“Y/n,” Soichi snapped, voice low but he already lost his patience. “Enough. This isn’t a toy! Put it back before you hurt yourself!”

“No!” her voice cracked, raw with fury. She planted her feet, tugging harder, hair falling loose across her flushed face. “It’s mine! Father left it!"

Most seven year olds played tag or scribbled in notebooks. But Y/n clenched rifles until her arms shook. She was proving to her father that she wasn’t small anymore.

That she's capable of going to the frontline.

Yozora Michikatsu just told her through the letter that she wasn't strong enough to go to the frontline. That she was fitted more to a desk.

She hated that more than anything. It reminded her how naive she was. She hated crying, hated waiting. Every second wasted meant the world kept moving without him. And she refused to be left behind.

Yozora Y/n hated the fact that Yozora Michikatsu has no faith in her, she's not going to be a strategist. She will prove she can fight kaijus with her strength alone.

She yelped when Soichi dragged the sniper rifle closer, "and I’m the next clan head when I turn fourteen! You don't have the right, you don’t get to keep it from me, second born son!”

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Her uncle Soichi's ears burned, and he stepped forward, angry. “Watch your mouth, child. You don’t speak that way to your elders." He sneered,

"You disgrace yourself by dragging this out like a child throwing a tantrum.”

“Im not having a tantrum!” she shouted back, throat tight. “I have to train! If I don’t!...” Her voice faltered, teeth sinking into her lip as if to bite the harsh writing of Michikatsu's letter away.

“If I don’t… I have nothing...” she gripped the sniper rifle tighter, "I have to prove father something," she glared at Soichi, 

"So don't get in the way, that's your leader's order, uncle!" Soichi's glare hardened, jaw tightening, Hoshiguma's eyes widened, pushing one member away,

Soichi yanked the sniper rifle then forcefully grabbed Y/n by the shoulder, one hand about to strike her face, "You brat!" 

“Soichi, enough!” Hoshiguma’s voice cut through the crowd like a gunshot.

Silence fell. All eyes turned as he stepped between the two. His ruined white eye caught the light, he blinked at Soichi. 

Yozora Soichi was Yozora Michikatsu's twin brother. But Soichi was the angrier one, consumed by envy and hatred.

Envy had stolen every pieces of joy from him; where Michikatsu’s face was lined with fatigue from juggling captaincy and clan duties, Soichi already looked like death.

Hoshiguma sighed, “Soichi. Release her.”

The uncle hesitated, then, with a grunt, let his niece go. The rifle sagged in Y/n's arms, nearly falling with its weight. Before she could stumble, Hoshiguma’s hand was there, steadying the barrel, gently easing it from her grasp.

Her fingers clenched tighter. “Don’t take it from me!” I don't want dad to be taken away from me again.

Desperation covered her voice so much it cracked, "Not you!" Hoshiguma stopped, and stared at her for a few seconds, eyes softening.

“I’m not taking it,” he said, his tone gentle. He crouched so they were eye to eye. “You may use Michikatsu’s sniper rifle one day. It's yours. But not today. Not like this.”

Her small chest heaved, her breaths shuddering. “Then when? If I wait, I’ll be weak. I can’t be weak.” Her lips pressed hard, fighting the sting in her eyes. 

Hoshiguma’s hand lingered over hers on the cold steel. His voice dropped to something only she could hear, even in the courtyard full of prying ears.

“You are not weak, Y/n. You are grieving. And it's not a weakness.” Her eyes blurred hearing his validation her heart melt.

In the end Y/n was just a kid. And right now, she wished her dad was here. Looking at the moon together hoping they'd see a rabbit hopping around.

 

That'd be the ultimate dream.

 

But Y/n thinks she's in a nightmare instead. And she just wanted to wake up from it, “It’s just time. And right now, time’s the only thing you don’t have enough of.” I lost someone too, and that someone was special, we can grieve together. 

That cracked her. Her fingers slipped, and when the rifle left her hands, the sobs came with it.

She buried herself against Hoshiguma, the weight she wanted so badly to carry spilling out all at once.

Yozora Hoshiguma held her like how Michikatsu would whenever Y/n has nightmares.

Like how he thinks Michikatsu would protect a small fire against the cold winter, so it would ignite, burn brighter. Like how a father would.

---

 

Yozora Estate, Kyoto, Year 2024

 

After hours of said reunion and 'you-finally- come-home-speech' fom the elders, Yozora Y/n was eating her well deserved dinner with her uncle, Yozora Hoshiguma.

Yozora Hoshiguma was never supposed to outlive Yozora Michikatsu. Back then, Michikatsu was the serious one, the clan head and Fifth Division captain who carried the weight of Kyoto on his back.

Hoshiguma was the quiet shadow, Michikatsu's Vice Captain (but retired when his injury would only bring hindrance to the Division and Michikatsu kept walking,) the one who was supposed to follow his friend into the fire and never come back. 

But life had twisted their roles cruelly. Michikatsu was gone, and Hoshiguma had to keep walking. By 2024, that walk needed a cane.

Age had softened him in ways that the frontline never did. He wasn’t as strict as he once swore he would be, not with Y/n.

The grief in her eyes was too much like her father’s, and the thought of breaking her with discipline felt like betrayal. Michikatsu wouldn't want that. Not with how he turned out.

Yozora Hoshiguma let her talk back sometimes, let her and Hoshina Soichiro goes to the same river he and Michikatsu would go for fishing, let her storm out when she should’ve stayed.

In some ways, he spoiled her. In others, he was just too tired to play the hard hand anymore.

That night, Yozora Y/n watched him eat his dinner in peace, hand shaking slightly as he lifted the spoon, then sprinkling salt until the stew nearly crusted white.

“Uncle, you need to watch that,” she said, half scolding. “I remind you every time.”

Hoshiguma didn’t even look up as he answered, “And I choose to ignore them.” To drive the point home, he tipped the shaker again, deliberately heavy.

Y/n sighed in exasperation. Hoshiguma only smiled, winked at her and took another bite like nothing in the world could touch him.

It was quiet. They let the sound of patting rain filled the quietness between them. It's nice, it's so normal, so... Alive, in a way.

They rarely have dinner like this. 

Yozora Daichi prefers dinner over his Division because his father would just talk his ear off, says something about letting Y/n get the glory making the dinner tastes bland and dry like concrete.

Hoshiguma had to give it to the younger man, he never let envy get the best of him unlike his father. Daichi never once hated Y/n. But loved her as a sister he and Koshi couldn't have.

The senior smiled fondly, looking up from his stew, and watched Y/n deboning her fish with her chopsticks. He contemplated it at first but decided to just pull the bandaid.

“Why’d you even come back?” Hoshiguma asked. His voice was casual, but it pushed against her chest until she felt seven years old again, answering to him after breaking something she couldn’t fix.

Y/n stiffened, chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth. “You know why,” she said quickly. 

“It’s Father’s death anniversary.” She kept her tone flat, like if she spoke it cleanly enough it would pass as truth.

They said the age sixteen was supposed to be fun. Well they're wrong, Yozora Y/n spent most days being pissed off. Pissed at the world for being so damn small. If strength was the only way to get bigger, then fine, she’d carve it out herself.

Yozora Hoshiguma blinked. He set the shaker down carefully. His gaze lingered on her, and though he didn’t say anything, Y/n knew he didn’t believe her.

Seven years old Y/n played shogi until her eyes burned, tracing every move like it owed her money. Thirteen years old Y/n trained with Michikatsu’s sniper rifle until her shoulder bruised.

Every calculation, every shot, was proof she wasn’t weak. Proof she wasn’t the kid she used to be.

Thirty Two years old Y/n tried to hold his stare, but the heaviness of his eyes pressed down until she had to look away.

The fish in front of her had long gone cold.

“Three days,” Hoshiguma muttered, as if to himself. Then louder, with that rough edge of a man who’d outlived too many truths, “Don’t feed me excuses. If you’re here for him, then say you’re here for him. If you’re here for something else, don’t expect me to play dumb.”

Y/n swallowed hard. She felt like a kid again, damn it.

She's not a kid anymore. But she still believed, that tiny inner child, that stupid inner child inside Yozora Y/n still believe that rabbits existed on the moon.

And still, Hoshina Soshiro followed her around like a persistent tail. He was too young to get it, too soft. And yet, somehow, spending time with him, he made her soft too.

Back when Michikatsu was alive. Back when she thought her father actually wanted her. Before that letter. Before she realized she was supposed to be a disappointment.

Yozora Hoshiguma leaned back, The corner of his mouth twitching. “Still lying through your teeth,” he said. “Just like your father.”

And then he took another bite of stew, salt and all, as if the conversation hadn’t cracked her wide open.

He glanced up, caught the look on her face. “What?”

“You know why I’m here,” Yozora Y/n said. She ignored the pain in her stumped shoulder slowly building up. She thought she could say it without folding. “It’s father’s death anniversary.”

She hated that softness more than anything. It reminded her she was seven again, believing in rabbits on the moon pounding mochi. That kid was dead. She had to be.

Hoshiguma gave a grunt, swirling his spoon. “Doesn’t matter if you came or not. The dead are dead.”

She blinked hard, her grafted prosthetic right arm clenching once, the phantom pain sparking sharp as she tried to shove it back down.

He keep swirling. “Some people have perfect attendance, doesn’t mean they’re being genuine.”

The words stuck. Y/n shifted, the edge of her sleeve brushing the table. “You think I’m not being genuine?”

“I think you’re still trying to measure yourself against him,” Hoshiguma said with the same weight as stone. “Doesn’t matter if you stare at his box full of rocks four times or forty. He won’t answer you.”

Your father returned home as rocks inside a wooden box. It was a WW2 practice for soldiers who couldn't return home. Seven years old Y/n couldn't even hold it.

It was quiet again. Y/n pushed her fish around with her chopsticks. She felt like that seven year old again. Y/n exhaled, she hates being soft.

Finally, Hoshiguma leaned back, eyes narrowing the way they always did when he decided to tell the truth that needed to be said.

Whether she liked it or not, he said it anyway. “No daughter could hate their father, Y/n.”

Y/n's head snapped up, ready to argue, but he’d already turned back to his meal, sprinkling one last pinch of salt he didn’t need, like a period at the end of a sentence.

Notes:

Kaiju No. 0 was originally inspired by Rodan at first, anyway. In the end, he became more of a mixture between Ghidorah and Rodan; Rodan’s appearance and size combined with Ghidorah’s power. So, yeah, spoiler alert, electricity and thunder. (I think it was already obvious since he only shows up during typhoons.) But then I realized something; if you compare Rodan to Kaiju No. 8’s classification system, Rodan would basically fall under a Super Giant class kaiju. And in Chapter 14, I mentioned that Kaiju No. 0 was too big for a standard Daikaiju, its fortitude level exceeded 8.0, qualifying it as a Numbered Kaiju in the first place, but too small to be considered Giant class. So… I reluctantly redesigned its appearance into something closer to a winged dinosaur, a Quetzalcoatlus, but far larger than the real thing.

It’s safe to say I’ve finally “found” my writing style (yay!). Not gonna lie, re-reading my first fanfic Daylight and Unshackle, especially chapters 1 through 4, I couldn’t help but cringe. Back then, I remember straining myself to make up for dialogue (out of fear of writing characters OOC) by piling on heavy sensory details in a more poetic style. I’ve always leaned into that, teaching myself to write “sophisticated” narratives by studying authors like Lang Leav and Charles Baudelaire. But reading those old chapters now, I realize how TOO poetic they were😭. These days, I’ve found a middle ground. I still love writing sensory details and emotional atmosphere, especially for angst and feels, but I balance it with simpler, blunter writing; almost mocking, depending on the POV. I find myself straining less for perfection now, and I’m enjoying the process a lot more.

And, Hoshiguma! He’s the kind of old soldier who doesn’t bother with sentimental illusions. Pragmatic, gruff, blunt. He’d cut through the weight MC carries with Michikatsu in a way only someone who loved Michikatsu (and outlived him) could. Also; “It doesn’t matter if you came or not, the dead are dead.” He's not being an asshole. He’s lived long enough to know showing up for death anniversaries aren’t for the dead, they’re for the living. He’d see through the idea of anniversaries as obligations and call it out with a veteran’s bluntness... “Some have perfect attendance, doesn’t mean they’re being genuine." That’s Hoshiguma’s quiet jab at the clan elders who show up every year like clockwork, but with hollow words and cold hearts. He’d be saying, don’t measure yourself by their standards; they’re faking half of it anyway... “No daughter could hate their father.” this is layered. Hoshiguma would probably say it not as some flowery affirmation but more like a fact. In his eyes, hatred still comes from attachment, so even if MC resents her dad, that’s still a form of love she can’t erase. He’d put it in the simplest terms, because he knows were overthinking it.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 24: Armistice With Teeth

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

elephantnose fish use weak electric fields not only to navigate and find food, but also to communicate. Each fish has a unique “electric signature,” kind of like an ID card, that lets others recognize them in murky waters.

Disclaimer:

I'm no military personnel, and all the information I gathered comes from Google and YouTube, (videogames), mixed with my creative writing. If I made any errors regarding military hierarchy or ranks, I'm open to criticism.

As mentioned in the tags, this fanfic contains violence and slight body horror (nothing too extreme), as I believe kaijus could be even more brutal than what’s shown in the anime/manga.

Fujisawa, Year 2017, 

 

Rain hit hard in Fujisawa. The streets were drowned, lights broken, towers half collapsed. And most importantl, civilians were safely evacuated.

Yozora Y/n stayed still on a rooftop. Her suit was soaked, the synthetic fibers of kaiju cells clinging to her skin, but she didn’t move. She kept her scope on the target.

The target was a Honju. It looked like a gorilla, except worse. Four arms, muscle stacked on bone, black fur soaked with rain and mud.

The thing’s body was marked with glowing veins, and it had more eyes than a face should have. Red, twitching, rolling everywhere.

The Honju wasn’t alone. Its Yojus swarmed the ground. Small ones, but fast. They pulled cars apart, ripped everything it sees, and hurled rubble like weapons.

Some were even carrying parts of collapsed buildings, throwing them into the fight like artillery.

Another kaiju had already entered. A Daikaiju. Big enough to stand over towers, wide enough to make whole blocks vanish behind its frame.

Its body cracked and hissed with energy. Every time its mouth opened, light built, and then a laser beam ripped out, wiping half of Yojus from the city.

That Daikaiju wasn’t on their side. It wasn’t on anyone’s side. It was killing everything in reach.

Having two different classified Kaijus in the same city fighting for territory is rare but never zero.

Honju against Daikaiju. Yojus against anything that moved. And in the middle of it all, the JAKDF.

Ashiro Mina was perched on north. She had her target, the Daikaiju, which is fit for her customised cannon.

Yozora Y/n was south. She had her sniper rifle. Izumo Tech’s SR-2000. Customized for speed. Not like any regular sniper rifle. Bigger, heavier, built to throw a round faster than most militaries thought possible.

She exhaled and adjusted her scope. Waiting.

The comms crackled. No signal yet.

The Honju roared and tore another chunk of building free. The Daikaiju answered with another beam. Third Division Captain Yozora Y/n didn’t move. She kept her eye to the scope. Waiting.

The plan was simple. Half of the Third Division platoon leaders and their squads would distract and wipe out the Yojus. The rest would lead the two monsters into the middle of Fujisawa.

Once both kaiju were locked in the center, Ashiro Mina would fire her customized T-25101985. Built by Izumo Tech, the cannon was designed for her alone. With her raw strength behind it, the weapon could crush a Daikaiju with only one round.

She could only carry so many Uni organ rounds, and the chamber held one at a time, that makes it five maximum. Every shot had to count.

On the south side, Yozora Y/n had the SR-2000 ready. North and south. Two snipers. Two lines of fire aimed at one kill zone. When the signal came, both women would fire. One shot each, enough to end the fight.

The ideal weapons. The ideal Division. The ideal duo.

Yozora Y/n adjusted her scope, the rain streaking down the lens. Her breathing was steady, clipped in her earpiece.

“South position, distance holding. Three kilometres from center. Visibility, clear enough.”

A regular military sniper rifle would never manage three kilometers clean. Past two kilometres the bullet drops like a stone, wind turns it off course, and the time of flight gives any target a chance to move.

You’d need perfect weather, a stationary target, and a miracle.

Static hissed through her earpiece, then Third Division Operational Leader Yamashiro Yamamoto’s voice cut in.“Copy that, Captain. North confirms ready."

Rough, tired, like a man who hadn’t slept in years. "Third Division squads still sweeping Yojus. Minimal losses. Keep your eyes steady.”

The SR-2000 is different. It isn’t built from steel and polymers like a human weapon, it’s made from kaiju tissue, reactor cores, and Izumo Tech stabilizers. The rifle bleeds power into its rounds, keeping velocity brutal and flight stable.

Its scope reads wind, pressure, and micro vibrations in the city air. Yozora Y/n fires something closer to a guided organ round. That’s why three kilometers is possible.

Hard, but possible, because her weapon isn’t for military purposes, it’s for killing kaijus in her way.

Yozora Y/n shifted her sniper rifle slightly, finger resting beside the trigger. "Acknowledged. No movement on my end. Waiting for signal.”

A pause. She heard muffled voices in Yamamoto’s background, other platoon leaders feeding in data. Then his voice came back, heavier.

“Update. One of our platoon leaders reports a breach, the Honju took a hit from the Daikaiju. They’ve seen the core." 

Y/n was watching the Daikaiju and Honju still currently fighting front and center. She wondered how's Mina holding up.

Yamamoto cleared his throat, before continuing, "Location; back of the nape, just under the fourth eye cluster.”

Yozora Y/n’s left hand tightened around the stock. She nodded, “Confirmed target. Core at the nape.”

Another pause, rain static filling the silence, then Yamamoto spoke again. His tone was firm, clipped, "That’s your shot. You can shoot it through. Good luck, Captain.”

"Copy." She exhaled,

Yozora Michikatsu died in 1999. The media praised his daughter for following his footsteps. They called her the Hero of Kyoto.

Later, when she rose to Captain of the Third Division at age 20 just few days after her birthday and lead the Third to stood on equal ground with the First, the headlines loved her even more.

Already accomplishing such feat at a young age. Yozora Y/n was the standard.

But Yozora Y/n never cared. For nine years in the JAKDF she had been grinding. Grinding before that! Since age seven, sharpening her mind for tactics.

Since thirteen, bruising her shoulder raw to get used to the recoil of sniper rifles. All of it was for one thing; to prove to Michikatsu that she belonged on the frontline.

She thought she had done it when Kyoto named her a hero. But she didn’t stop. She never stopped.

And yet his words still haunted her. The letter he left before he died.

I don’t want a daughter. I want a successor. I will not have you waste yourself chasing monsters, with weapons in mud and blood.

The JAKDF needs its strategist, not another pawn sent to die. If you join the frontline, you will be disobeying my last order. If you die there, you will be proving me right.

The memory of her crying at that letter stung like an old wound. She gripped her SR-2000 tighter, knuckles pale against her weapon.

Maybe he was right. Maybe not. Either way, she was here. He's dead, Y/n can do whatever she wants.

She exhaled, then keyed her earpiece “requesting synchronization calibration. South position. Standing by.”

“Calibrating,” said the flat mechanical voice of her suit AI.

Miles away, Yamashiro Yamamoto swiped across his terminal “Fortitude level 96%. Kaiju alignment locked. Countdown in ten.”

You never stopped proving yourself to your father, even after you accomplished everything. Did you?

Y/n thought she’d won, too. She’d carved her place on the frontline with her own hands, not because the media called her a hero, but because she refused to sit in the back and crunch numbers.

Transferring to Tokyo, into the Third Division, having a fortitude synchronization of 96 percent higher than his felt like spitting in Kyoto’s face, in his face.

Yozora Michikatsu was the Captain of the Fifth back then, all stoic and stubborn, and she wanted to show him that she could stand in the mud, bleed in the same dirt, and take the same shots.

If she did die out there? Fine. She’d go down raising both middle fingers right at him, because that’s the kind of daughter Yozora Y/n was.

The kind who loved him enough to disobey him, and hated him enough to never stop chasing his shadow just to prove him wrong.

You won. You won. What's more to prove? Yozora Y/n exhaled again, blinking to wash over her thoughts. She looked again through her scope.

Fujisawa was a mess.

Dozens of Yoju, small as men but vicious as wolves, scrambled over broken streets, hurling cars and slabs of concrete like angry insects stinging at the Daikaiju’s legs.

The Honju, seized a half toppled building in its arms, rending it apart with another pair of arms before flinging the jagged building at its foe.

Through Y/n's scope, she could see the Daikaiju’s breath seared the first to ash in midair, but it never saw the second.

The skyscraper slammed into its eye with a sound like thunder breaking, and the Daikaiju staggered back, roaring, as the Honju beat its chest in a guttural snarl.

“Calibration lock and loaded, take the... Shit" Yamamoto’s gruff voice turning sharp. “Shit! Get out of there, Captain. Jump, now!”

Yozora Y/n blinked from her scope just in time to see the impossible; thirty blocks away, the Honju stopped throwing buildings at the Daikaiju and turned its head.

Its multiple eyes locked on her perch. Y/n felt the back of her hair stood up. Then it wrenched another skyscraper out of the earth and hurled it like a spear.

Mina's voice shouted through Y/n's earpiece, "Captain, get away from there!" 

Her blood iced. The skyscraper wasn’t fast like a bullet, with law of physics slowing it down, but it's heavier with steel and concrete rolling toward her in a death arc.

Yozora Y/n scrambled, hands clutching for her rifle even as Yamamoto’s voice cracked through her earpiece, 

“Where’s the chopper?! Where’s that damn chopper support?!”

Funny, how Yozora Michikatsu's face was Y/n's last thought before the building’s shadow swallowed her firing nest. 

"Captain!" 

"Captain Yozora!" 

She gasped for air, Yozora Y/n came to her senses with her ears ringing, vision split between dark and red from the dust cloud.

It was still raining, and she could feel her head splitting in pain. Her earpiece crackled; Yamamoto’s voice breaking through, panicked, overlapping with other comms.

"Captain! Do you copy?!... Do you... Shit. All units, converge on her position now!”

“We can’t! She’s buried in debris! Honju’s still active, we’ll be cut down!”

“Goddammit, Vice Captain Ashiro Mina, how far are you?!”

“Three kilometers. By the time I breach, it’ll be too late. But there's one squad near, they could at least give her protection til then!”

"Copy! I'll dispatch an ambulance by then, handle that Daikaiju Vice Captain!" 

Yozora Y/n groaned, pushing against the weight pinning her chest. Her synthetic suit had absorbed the worst of the drop, but the right side of her body screamed with pressure.

She blinked, turned her head to her right and froze.

Her right arm was crushed under a slab of concrete and twisted steel. She tried to flex her fingers and felt nothing, just the raw fire of nerves screaming in her shoulder.

Y/n's breath quickened. She looked around and her sniper rifle lay half buried five meters away, just out of reach, its scope glinting mockingly at her.

For a second, she just stared at it. The JAKDF’s 'Hero of Kyoto,' flattened, helpless. Michikatsu’s last words in her head, mocking her; If you die there, you prove me right.

The comms spat more static; Yamamoto yelling something about extraction, Mina cursing under her breath. But Y/n knew the truth; no one was coming. Not in time.

Not before the Honju leveled another blocks.

So she did what Yozora Y/n always did.

She slid her left hand to the junction of her shoulder and clenched. For a moment, she froze. Rationality screamed at her; wait, extraction is coming.

But another voice; the feral, stubborn, venomous one that had kept her alive this long, snarled back, No one’s coming in time. Move or die here like a useless piece of meat!

Yozora Y/n pulled the leather glove from her left hand and bit it hard to keep her jaw from shattering. Then she pulled.

She tried tearing her arm free, but the synthetic suit’s reinforced fibers didn’t budge. Normally, the lock system could only be disengaged by her operational leader, Yamamoto

But with comms half dead and couldn't move much, she didn’t have that luxury. The suit wasn’t built to self mutilate, so every pull just wrenched her nerves raw without tearing.

She stopped. Rain showering her. Dust and metal swirling in her nose, Y/n could only stared at her trapped arm.

For a moment she hesitate.

It was so quiet despite having two kaijus in one city. It was so, so quiet it drove Y/n insane.

She felt thundering footsteps, meters away, Yozora Y/n saw the Honju coming near. Multiple eyes locked in with her,

This must be what Yozora Michikatsu meant. Heh, Y/n could almost laugh, 

The JAKDF needs its strategist, not another pawn sent to die. If you join the frontline, you will be disobeying my last order. If you die there, you will be proving me right.

Her earpiece roared, "Captain! Do you copy?! This is officer Ebina! We are nearing your location, so please stay calm!" 

Ignoring Ebina, and still locking eyes with the Honju, she sucked in a breath, exhaled hard, then yanked, As if I'll let you kill me, she thought,

"As if..." snarling through her mouthed glove, she shoved past the screaming pain and used nothing but raw strength and adrenaline to rip her own arm straight from the shoulder,

The synthetic suit resisted at first, fiber layers whining as they stretched against the pressure. The nerves burning one by one, her chest was in pain so sharp she thought her spine would snap.

The glove muffled her scream, blood seeping past her teeth. "As if..." Yozora Y/n grunted, feeling hot despite the rain and her veins on her temple popping out,

"As if I'd die here!" She shouted, anger flooding in and she pulled harder. She wrenched again, breaking through the suit’s durability by sheer force,

Muscles after muscles inside tearing one by one, until Y/n felt a wet, splitting crack, and the shoulder gave.

Flesh tore free, blood sprayed hot and red against the rubble. Yozora Y/n's body convulsed, her vision tunneling, heart hammering like it wanted out.

"Fuck... you!" Gasping and half conscious, her breath fogging in the cold air.

Yozora Y/n dragged herself forward, cradling the gory stump tight against her left hand, leaving blood dripping across the broken concrete.

It was painful moving but her eyes locked on the rifle lying just out of reach. With a desperate lunge, she seized it, the steel slick under her blood.

Yozora Y/n propped the weapon against a tilted slab of concrete, forcing it higher until she had a clear line of sight. The Honju was moving closer. But still too far for a guaranteed kill. She glared through the scope anyway, rain and blood running into her eyes.

Her left hand trembled on the trigger, her shoulder slick with blood. She bared her teeth and whispered to herself, “One clean shot. That’s all i need." 

She keyed then her comms crackled, Yamamoto’s voice breaking through the static.

“Captain! You’re alive! thank god. Sit tight, we’re moving in!”

“Calibration,” Yozora Y/n rasped, her throat raw.

There was hesitation. “…Captain, in your state, recalibrating will make yo...”

“Do it!" she snapped, voice breaking into a snarl. “Lock me in, Yamamoto. Now.”

Silence, then a weary exhale. "…Roger that. Calibration lock, standby.”

Yamamoto’s voice barked something in her ear, but it was already fading, echoing, hollow. The city around her blurred, the concrete, the blood, the smoke, all bleeding together into white static, Y/n tried to blink and...

And Y/n jolted awake, gasping. Her lungs fought for air as if she were still buried under the rubble.

Sweat slicked her skin. Her left hand clawed instinctively at her right arm, only to grasp at nothing. Phantom pain licked the stump where flesh were used to be.

Y/n was in her old room, at her clan estate she remembers. She exhaled, sweat pouring down her forehead, "Fuck..." 

The shot was still ringing in her skull, her body shaking as though she’d just torn her arm off again.

"Ashiro Mina is the next link. The resemblance is uncanny. With your mind and her raw power, neutralising kaijus will never be the same."

The voice stabbed into her skull like shrapnel. The phantom pain flared. Yozora Y/n gritted her teeth and tried to breathe through it.

In the end she did killed that son of a bitch. 

Ignoring the slight shaking of her right stump, she ran her fingers through her hair, still gasping for air.

Fujisawa 2017 was also her last mission. 

When the Neutralisation Bureau reported Y/n's retirement to the frontline and was promoted Chief of Command Operation, some mourned for you. Some were just thankful you survived being thrown by a literal skyscraper and live to tell the tale.

"You're not going back to the front."

Everyone knows how Yozora Y/n's retirement came to be. And it made you feel sick.

People would remember Yozora Y/n, Third Division Captain not just as 'the strongest sniper,' but also as 'the lunatic who ripped off her own arm and still fired the kill shot.'

But they still called you a hero.

And it made you feel sick. 

"The Defense Force needs your mind more than your rifle," 

Her fingers trembled against her temple. She dug her nails into her scalp. Y/n inhaled and exhaled again.

"Your strategies have saved more lives than your sniper rifle ever could. Your leadership has shaped the future of this organization. Putting you back on the front lines is a waste of a resource Japan can’t afford to lose."

Her stump throbbed. Y/n shuddered at the feeling of tearing her right arm, raw and each strand of muscles inside pulling apart slowly and all at once.

It screamed at her.

"I'm going to Ariake tomorrow as the new Chief Of Command Operation, Mina... I hope you manage the Third Division better than I do."

Her throat seized. She swallowed a bile, and coughed, and nearly choked on her own spit.

"Ah. About the whole Vice Captain, we still haven't found a new one, you don't have to pick right away, but i think there's a good candidate from Hyogo. Do you know Captain Hoshina's younger brother?"

Yozora Y/n clenched her jaw, chest rising and falling, trying to breath. The phantom pain roared until it drowned everything else out.

The JAKDF needs its strategist, not another pawn sent to die. If you join the frontline, you will be disobeying my last order. If you die there, you will be proving me right.

She pressed her palm into the sheets, desperate to ground herself. Y/n gasped once, twice, then let her head fall back against the pillow. Sweat dripped into her eyes.

In the end, she did killed that son of a bitch. She tore her right arm off and pulled the trigger, and she won.

But Yozora Michikatsu had won more.

Yozora Y/n wasn’t the strongest sniper anymore. She wasn’t even a soldier. She was exactly what he wanted her to be; a strategist, a mind without a sniper rifle, could never fight again.

And the phantom pain it was laughing with her father.

She curled forward on her futon, pressing her forehead to her knees, willing it to pass. The pain pestering her with memories; Fujisawa, the skyscraper crushing down, her own bloodied hand tearing her arm free just to line up the shot.

Y/n inhaled again, "Go away, go away, go away..." 

It didn't go away. Y/n glared, fuck you. she thinks, blaming jer brain for thinking something that doesn't exist anymore.

Her left hand groped blindly at the towering shelf beside her futon, searching for her water bottle. Instead, something light and long slipped forward and fell into her side.

Y/n stared at it, and her heart made an involuntary clench. fuck you, she thinks again,

She stared at the taped up toy rifle, the kind only an eight year old could think was worth giving, all crooked and ugly and so him. It should’ve been junk, something to laugh at, but instead it sat heavy in her chest.

Her stabbing pain from her right stump eased a little.

Yozora Y/n's finger trembled as she sat up and peeled the multiple layers of worn, faded blue wrapper Hoshina put together. It was taped too much, Y/n sniffled.

Y/n can imagine eight years old Hoshina Soshiro would help fourteen years old Yozora Y/n peeling the tape off, grinning and blushing like the cute little dork he was.

if she peeled it open back then. But fourteen years old Yozora Y/n didn't because she felt guilty.

An eight year old boy with too much pride in his voice, handing her this ugly little thing because he noticed how she always took Michikatsu's sniper rifle with her in Hyogo.

He didn't know the reason why but Hoshina Soshiro noticed how Y/n loved to carry it with her.

"Hoshina Soichiro is promising. I can see that. But the younger one… well. He clings to a dying art. A nd those who cling to the dead eventually become ghosts themselves."

And when he turned to her for reassurance, waiting for her to deny her grandmother's words, Y/n had said nothing. 

She was fourteen, silent, selfish, proud.

The tape revealed a sniper rifle. It looked stupid. It looked perfect. The guilt still stuck with her. Later, she hurt him worse that pushed him away. She left marks on him that never went away. 

And yet, this was what he gave her. Something simple. Something that is so Hoshina Soshiro.

Y/n let out a few tears and pulled it close anyway. The phantom pain roared in her stump, but her grip shifted, pulling the toy rifle close against her chest. She hated how light it was. She hated that it steadied her breathing.

Funny that the rifle she reached to in her darkest nights wasn’t her custom made SR-2000, wasn’t her record breaking sniper rifle.

It was this toy. Messy. Breakable. Given by the boy she failed.

Hoshina Soshiro made this for her. Eight years old, persistent and stubborn, but he had thought of her. Not Soichiro. Not anyone else. Her.

Y/n lay back down on the futon, the rifle clutched awkwardly between her shoulder and chest, like a lifeline she didn't earned.

Her breathing steadied. The pain slowly fading. Yozora Y/n can breathe again.

The pain in her arm didn’t matter. It smelled like dust and old cardboard, and it reminded her of being thirteen where eight year old Hoshina Soshiro used to make her feel soft.

Hoshina Soshiro used to make her feel soft. That feeling of being seven again, back when she thought rabbits actually exist on the moon.

"Thank you." Y/n whispered, looking at the prosthetic arm laying beside her, then to the toy.

Hugging it to her chest, she shut her eyes and, finally, the pain eased enough to let her sleep. It was full moon that night, a distinct pattern of a rabbit was visible.

Notes:

Anyway, the Fujisawa Incident’s kaiju are basically like Kong and Godzilla, and it’s a full-circle moment from chapter 4, the guilt our MC felt when she didn’t give Hoshina the words he wanted, afraid of giving him something to cling to that would turn out false. (And Yamamoto's back in the flashback because well, i just miss him, and because he was the assigned Operational Leader to our MC) if you noticed the name "ebina" he's actually a canon character and even appeared in Kaiju No 8 B Side manga, needling Hoshina who was transferred from Hyogo, figured adding Ebina wouldn't hurt.

Also, it’s finally revealed (if you were paying attention in earlier chapters) why the MC didn’t really talk to the younger Hoshina. Half of it was because he softened her up, made her feel like a seven-year-old again... Which is self explanatory, and half because he distracted her from her own goal. This is different from the 2008 fight, which will be revealed a few chapters later. (MC’s got plenty of issues, but this chapter is where she starts to notice Hoshina.) And also, because he’s not Soichiro, lol. Not in that way. She and her so-called best friend Soichiro were just being at eachother's throats.

As for the sniper rifle and the whole 3-kilometer thing in this chapter, based on my research, I learned it’s NOT IMPOSSIBLE, but it’s extremely hard to pull off. Extreme long-range sniper rifles do exist. The current world-record confirmed sniper kill is 3,540 m (3.54 km), made in 2017 by a Canadian JTF-2 sniper with a McMillan TAC-50 chambered in .50 BMG. Before that, British snipers with the L115A3 (.338 Lapua) and Canadian snipers with TAC-50s had hits around 2.4–2.7 km. But those are exceptions, not standard. At those distances, the shooter has to factor in: bullet drop (measured in tens of meters at 3 km), wind drift across multiple layers of air, spin drift, Coriolis effect (Earth’s rotation), and even temperature. The bullet’s flight time is 8–10 seconds, meaning if the target moves even slightly, the shot misses. Even with .338 Lapua. But with the very largest rifles like TAC-50 or experimental .416 Barrett, it’s still barely doable. That’s why world records exist, but they’re treated like once-in-a-generation shots. In Kaiju No. 8 terms, it works fine to say MC’s SR-2000 makes 3 km a normal operational shot, because compared to human rifles it’s beyond insane.

SPOILER: which is funny, because I’m using Lady Nagant’s ability (for the future, not the current SR-2000). Her rifle range is listed as 20 km at best, but she managed to hit Shigaraki at 200 km (something I’m also using 👀). And believe it or not, that actually bested Ashiro Mina’s Super-Giant-Class Kaiju cannon, Keraunus, from the Second Wave arc in the manga, since it can only reach about 20 km.

Also, kudos to the one who figured it out and commented that the MC’s weapon was inspired by Lady Nagant. I thought it would take a few chapters before anyone caught on, but nope, lol.

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 25: Armistice With Teeth 2.0; Anniversary Dinner and a Date?

Summary:

You were Ashiro Mina before Ashiro Mina. The strongest, the best of the best, the one who leads the Third Division that rivaled the First.

And now, youre no more than just a voice in an earpiece, guiding the battle you no longer can fight. And you must decide; fade into the darkness or break free.

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

The Brazilian Sharpnose shark lives in shallow coastal waters so they're often get affected by human activities and was shown evidence of exposure to chemical substance. 13 out of 13 tested positive for cocaine.

Yozora Estate, Kyoto, Year 2024,

 

Yozora Y/n wants to go back to Tokyo.

For two days straight, they dragged her around. Charity lunch. Donation dinner. Dinner with clan affiliation from Hokkaido. Pictures with people she didn’t even know.

Smile here, nod there, pretend her prosthetic arm that is basically grafted from her skin wasn’t staring at everyone in their faces.

By the second night she gave up. When the incense from Michikatsu’s twenty fifth memorial service had give out, Yozora Y/n already knew the vultures were circling.

And sadly, Y/n was the dead meat.

She barely stepped out of the hall when Elder Fumiko materialized with her binder, posture straighter than the temple priest, as if missing this moment would bring the whole clan down without Y/n's tabs.

“Y/n-sama. Urgent matters demand your immediate attention. Several cannot be delayed.” She blinked, staring at Y/n

"The Osaka branch were asking if you’ll attend their ceremony this year. They see your silence as disrespect.”

Yozora Y/n arched a brow. Father's incense isn’t even cold yet and you’re already scheduling my nightmare.

"I'm not staying long,” she said evenly. “Prioritize what’s worth my time. Which most of it werent.”

Elder Fumiko was about to object when her cousin deliberately pushed Fumiko aside, Y/n tried not to scowl, this particular elder used to whack her knees with a guava branch every chance he got.

Said Elder Haruto thundered in next, leading her to their dinner table. “The Kendo Association sponsorship. You must settle it tonight, Y/n-sama! Delay or we lose our reputation.”

“Not tonight,” she replied, not breaking stride. Maybe never, if it requires listening to you shout like an ox at every meeting.

Yozora Hoshiguma was seated next to her, as she's in the front, everyone took a seat, the long table was filled with mouth watering plate of different varieties of sushi and salmon but Y/n has no appetite when she's being watch 24/7.

Honestly, she can't understand why Yozora Michikatsu prefer this job for her instead of the frontline. She cant breath when their elders literally breathing down her neck.

It always started the same way. One elder shoved a plate of salmon at her. “You’re too thin. Bones sticking out. You’ll scare off any suitor.”

Before Yozora Y/n could answer, another reached over and dumped more greens on her plate.

“She’s not thin. Look at her waist, she’s soft and plump. She needs to watch herself if she ever wants a husband.”

Y/n tried not to get offended.

“Too thin, too fat,” she muttered, eyes on her plate. “Pick one.” she rolled her eyes.

They didn’t hear her. Or pretended not to. 

The drinks sucked and the fake 'we’re so sorry' lines sucked worse. By the end her prosthetic arm itched so bad she thought about just booking it to go back to Tokyo.

“You’re almost thirty, aren’t you?” someone said down the table.

“Already past it,” another cut in. “At this point she should think about adoption.”

“No, no! We want pure blood! She should freeze her eggs first. Our clan can cover the cost.”

Y/n stabbed her chopsticks into the rice, knuckles white. She’d fought kaiju with less whiplash than this dinner table.

That’s when her eyes lifted and found Hoshiguma’s, she stared. Some have perfect attendance, doesn’t mean they’re genuine. The words hit her like cold water. She almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, she drained her sake in one go and set the cup down hard enough to rattle the dishes.

The real pain wasn’t these so called family reunion or duties of a clan leader disguise in her father's memorial anniversary. It was the talk. Always the same talk.

Marriage. Not about her health, about her right arm, not about the years she fought, not even a simple 'How are you? How's being the nation's Chief of Command Operation holding up?' 

Your clan doesn't care if you achieve world piece or even if you somehow create a cure for cancer or dementia, they wouldn't give a dead dog about it.

All they care about was the empty ring finger. Aunts going on about heirs. Uncles saying something about Y/n's line ending with her. Some idiot cousin saying she should freeze her eggs before they went dry and useless.

"A Yozora doesn’t fail where Kyoto still stands.”

It used to be about kaijus or defending their homeland. Now, it was about marriage charts and bloodlines. The same line they used on her like it was a duty she couldn’t dodge

Kyoto 'still stands' because the clan endures. And the clan endures through heirs, apparently.

Personally, she thought the clan was leaning too hard on a slogan that was meant for kaiju fights, not matchmaking. But saying that out loud would only start another argument, and she’d already had enough for one night.

Yozora Y/n was mid chewing her greens when Elder Naoko switch places with Elder Fumiko, the latter glared at her with a huff,

Naoko ignored her, and grinned with that creepy lenses of hers that made her eyes bigger than it should. "Still no husband then? Or will you make me wait until next year before I scold you again, child?”

Yozora Soichi stifled a laugh at his sleeve, he was sitting across from her. Y/n always hated her uncle.

Y/n gave her a thin smile. “My campaigns aren’t finished, Naoko-san. Unless you mean to wed in my place? I hear men prefer women who doesn't suck their money dry.”

The other elders tried to hide their laughs, Elder Haruto didn't even bothered to hide his laughter from his sister.

"Shut it, you old fart!" Elder Naoko glared,

Elder Haruto wheezed, "You first, old bat."

Yozora Y/n ignored them, she looked at Hoshiguma again and he was smiling at her and winks. Y/n smiled back, but the real poison came from Yozora Soichi who muttered just loud enough, 

“Thirty two… hmm, no man would want her. Too old. Practically a barren.”

Y/n blinked, lowering her chopsticks, Hoshiguma stop drinking his sake, the bustling members hushed and stared at their current clan leader and twin brother of their former leader, Michikatsu.

But Yozora Soichi didn't bother, he actually likes the attention, "What? It's true, isn't?" He sipped his miso,

"No facts could hurt you if it's true." 

Yozora Hoshiguma glared and slammed his hand on the lacquered table, "Soichi..."  the aforementioned man didn't even bother to look at him,

"Barren?” Y/n repeated, voice mild enough to make spines straighten. Hoshiguma turned to her and didn't say anything else.

“Thank the gods, then. That means no chance of breeding another mouthy disappointment like you, uncle.”

The elders drink their sake in silence, nervous eyes darting between them, Even Elder Fumiko blinked, 

Soichi glared at Y/n, but Elder Naoko beat him to it, "Now, now, Y/n-sama! Isn't that a bit too muc" but Y/n cutted her off, looking at her straight in the eyes

"It's what uncle said, didn't he? No facts could hurt you if it's true." she smiled sardonically before turning to her seething uncle,

Pretending to take a sip from her sake, "There's a reason grandfather chose my father even when you're the eldest, uncle." 

"Shut your damn mouth!" Yozora Soichi threw his chopsticks down, and pushed himself up and stormed out.

Yozora Y/n hated him. Hated the way his face wore the same skin as her father, but twisted; Michikatsu’s face had been tired, human, and carrying weight she’d never understand.

Soichi’s was nothing but spite carved into flesh. And worst of all, he carved the same poison to his own son. No wonder Daichi and Koshi rarely showed up for clan dinners.

The silence that Soichi left was ugly and heavy. Like everyone wanted to talk but was scared their own words might choke them first. 

No one dared to speak first. Y/n closed her eyes and exhaled, rubbing her temple.

Then Elder Naoko coughed. That was all it took.

“When will you sign the Kyoto land papers?”

“The sponsors want answers about the Kendo tournament, Y/n-sama, it can't be delayed.”

“Osaka branch feels insulted that you never attended at least once, when will JAKDF let you come again?"

One cousin asked, “You’re thirty two and still childless. Do you want the clan to die with you?” and other chimed in, "Are you stepping down? Tell us now if you are.”

Questions piled on top of each other, louder and faster. Nobody asked if she was tired. To them, Y/n wasn’t family.

She was a tool. A chair to fill. Something to keep the machine running. This is what Yozora Michikatsu endured everyday and this is what Y/n hated doing. It suffocates her.

She wondered how Michikatsu wasn't swallowed yet,

Her chest tightened. Every word pulled at her until she thought something inside would snap. Y/n involuntary clenched her right hand.

Then Yozora Hoshiguma slammed his hand again, "Enough.”

Elders stopped talking and turned towards Hoshiguma. The whole room froze. Haruto stared at Hoshiguma. Mouths stayed open but nothing came out.

He looked at Y/n briefly as she exhaled, and nodded at him, he continue, “You shame the food on this table. You turn this dinner into another council meeting."

One elder coughed, 

"She comes home rarely, and all you can do is throw papers at her. Clan duty means nothing if you can’t even sit and eat like family.”

Elder Fumiko tried to justify after being called out, her voice clipped. “Were not being disrespectful, Hoshiguma, you know that. These matters cannot wait. The clan...”

“Clan duty is never finished,” Hoshiguma cut her off, voice flat. “But dinner ends. Food turns cold. You know which one can wait.”

Y/n looked at her bowl. The rice was cold now. She barely touched it. Her chopsticks felt heavy. She didn’t want to lift them.

“Uncle. It’s fine.” Her voice was low, tired. “They won’t stop unless they say their piece. Let them.”    
    
Yozora Hoshiguma’s jaw tightened. “No. They’ve had their piece every year. This dinner was supposed to be for Michikatsu.”

Elder Haruto shifted in his seat, grumbling, “Bold words, coming from a man who never had to sit in Michikatsu-sama’s chair." 

Hoshiguma glared, "Excuse me?" 

Elder Haruto huffed, "If she is to lead, she must endure what her father endured. Questions. Demands. Pressure. That’s the weight of it. Or do you mean to shield her like a child?”

Yozora Y/n raised an eyebrow at that, finally releasing her clenched hand, voice flat, “Then maybe you should asked him instead. Too bad father is already dead.”

Hoshiguma turned his head at her, Elder Fumiko stared and Haruto choked on his own saliva hearing it from their current clan leader.

"I... I..." The elder couldn't come up with better answer as Y/n glared at him, Hoshiguma's words from their dinner rang truer than before,

“Doesn’t matter if you came or not. The dead are dead.”

“Some people have perfect attendance, doesn’t mean they’re being genuine.”

Y/n could deny it til she died, but he was right. You couldn’t really hate your father, even when your uncle’s words were true and straight up facts.

They stung because they weren’t lies. Maybe that’s why she came every year. Out of guilt. Out of hate. Maybe even out of love, buried somewhere under it all.

But the more she thought about it, the more Y/n chest tightened. Was she being genuine? Or just playing the part everyone expected?

Sometimes Y/n thinks her father would’ve cupped both her hands, like she was a little fire he had to keep safe from the wind.

But he’s gone, and she’s still just that flame, trying not to go out in the cold. Her head throbbed with the weight of it, splitting apart under questions she didn’t want answers to.

“That’s enough.” Elder Naoko’s voice cracked like a whip. The others shut up.

Her wrinkled face tightened, guilt tugging at the corners of her mouth before she forced it smooth again. "I started this mess. My tongue gets ahead of me.”

She turned to Y/n, meeting her eyes. “Forgive us. We disrespected Michikatsu-sama's death anniversary.”

Haruto and Fumiko widened their eyes before looking down in shame, some elders drink their sake, Naoko blinked, "Welcome home, Y/n."

At that Y/n sighed, "I'm home." It sounded flat. Apathetic. Not like someone who hadn’t been back in years.

Hoshiguma started eating his portion of his food but didn't said a word again, Naoko swiftly swatted Fumiko and Haruto's arms. Both yelped.

The others started to talk. No one asked about clan politics again. One elder asked their cousin when their grandchildren will come to visit from the city.

Chopsticks moved to different plates. Sake pouring cups again. Everyone pretended that the dinner was normal.

It was oddly domestic. It feels like home again.

Y/n didn’t say a word. She just looked at Hoshiguma, he nodded at her before placing her favourite food at the top of her rice bowl. 

It feels like home again. And finally, she could breathe.

---

 

"Oooh, it does look realistic!" Yozora Daichi exclaimed, his hands squeezing Y/n's right prosthetic arm like a kid at a festival booth.

He turned it this way and pressing into the palm like testing if it would spring back.

“Cousin, how much did it cost?”

Y/n didn't missed a beat, "8 million yen." 

"8 million yen?!"  Daichi gaped, suddenly holding the arm firmer than before, "damn, that's worth 2 years of my paycheck."

Yozora Koshi, crouched over the small portable grill, scoffed as he flipped the meat. “Not as much as our paycheck as operational leaders. Japan is so cheap.”

“That’s because we’re risking our lives every day, bro,” Daichi shot back.

Koshi waved the tongs at him. “We keep you alive, Daichi!”

Yozora Ume laughed softly beside Y/n, shaking her head at the brothers’ back-and-forth. The smoke from the grill smelled like charred soy sauce and sizzling fat.

Koshi finally turned, curiosity get the best of him. He set the tongs down and leaned closer to examine the prosthetic.

His fingertips pressed against the forearm, tracing over the knuckles. “Man… Izumo Tech really outdid themselves this year.”

He tilted the hand, squinting at the nailbeds. “But why does it look so human, tho?”

Ume blinked as if he’d just asked why water was wet. She looked at Daichi, who only shrugged, "You two don't know?"

Then she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. Koshi froze, suspicion flickering in his eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand.

After the whole dinner drama earlier, Yozora Y/n just wanted to relax, but her cousins surprised her. For once, she didn’t bother to hide her grin.

And because her cousins look so stupid right now, “That’s real skin. Grafted from my thigh and back.”

Daichi blinked. "what?" 

Koshi was quiet. Daichi's mouth opened, close d, opened again. Ume was still laughing. Y/n stared at Daichi. 

Daichi tried again, fiddling her realistic arm, "You're kidding, i thought the skin was..." 

"Fake?" Y/n finished it for him and her cousin just nodded stupidly. Ume laughed hard.

Then, after two long seconds, he let out a strangled noise and flung the arm away from him like it was a cursed object.

Yozora Y/n gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. “Why did you do that, genius?!”

Ume nearly double over, while Koshi muttered something about creepy scientists as he rubbed his hands furiously on his shirt.

He quickly turned back to the grill, realizing too late that the meat had been left too long, one meat was charred black.

Y/n sighed, scooping up the prosthetic from where it had landed in her futon. The scarred stump always felt colder without the arm attached, she carefully aligned the socket and clicked the prosthetic back.

She glared at Daichi, he shifted uncomfortably, scratching his cheek. “...Okay, I might’ve overreacted.”

“Might’ve?” Y/n deadpanned, crossing her arms. “You threw my arm like it was a cockroach.”

“I panicked!” Daichi protested, hands flailing. “You can’t just drop ‘it’s real skin’ in the middle of dinner like that, cousin!”

If said dinner is still considered dinner at 12 am.

“You asked,” she cut in, her glare sharp enough to pin him in place.

Ume, sitting far too comfortably and recovering from laughing, smirked. “Come on, Daichi, it’s just skin. Yours, even. Shouldn’t be that gross.”

Daichi groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? You act like she slapped you with a corpse.” Ume leaned toward him, grin widening. “If anything, you basically touched her thigh.”

Daichi’s face went scarlet. “Ume!”

Y/n rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “Don’t encourage him. The last thing I need is Daichi developing a phobia of my arm.”

Koshi finally spoke up, voice was unsettled. “I’m just saying, it feels weird. Real skin on a prosthetic… And it doesn’t rot? That’s unnatural.”

Y/n snapped her head toward him, exasperation in every line of her face. “That’s the point, Koshi."

She sighed, "That’s why it cost eight million yen.” She raised her right hand, flexing the fingers, it didn't clink like any prosthetics do.

“Synthetic nerves. Grafted skin. And no, before you ask, they haven’t added pain receptors yet.”

“Good,” Koshi muttered, turning back to the grill. “If I burned myself flipping meat through your hand, I’d never live it down.”

Ume chuckled, Daichi mumbled another apology under his breath, and Y/n sighed, "And here I thought I'd have a good night rest after that dinner gone wrong." 

Daichi suddenly broke into a grin, leaning forward across the low table. “Wait, wait, cousin, tell me you actually grilled Soichi in front of everyone."

"Like, full-on roasted him?”

The smile on Yozora Y/n’s face flattened instantly. “Daichi...” Her voice was low, warning, but her cousin’s smirk only widened.

“You did, didn’t you?”

Her fingers twitched in her thigh, the sharp retort at the back of her throat ready to spill, she hates how Daichi made her remember it again when all Y/n wanted to do was to forget them all.

Until she caught the look on both brothers’ faces.

Daichi and Koshi never came home anymore. Not even when the Fifth Division was stationed here in Kyoto.

Damn. They didn't even call her uncle, Dad anymore. Soichi and that inferior complex of his really took a toll on Daichi.

Yozora Daichi is a good man. A good brother and cousin.

Her shoulders dropped. “…Yeah. I did. Walk out cursing my name.” The words came out flat, almost tired. She leaned back, sighing.

Daichi barked a laugh, Koshi following a beat later, both of them doubled over.

“Unbelievable,” Koshi said, wiping his eyes. “You torched him by yourself? Damn, cousin.”

Y/n scowled, “And for a second, I thought you three were going to be there. Instead, I sat through it alone.”

Ume slide closer and looping her arms gently around Y/n’s shoulders. “We were late because Fifth Division was deployed."

"And the moment we heard you were back? We ran straight here.” Her voice was warm, teasing.

Different from being the professional head operational leader that she was “Don’t sulk, Y/n-chan~”

She scoffed, "I don't sulk."

Koshi smirked, jabbing his tongs towards her. “Yeah you do. Clan leader baby cousin, don’t forget, we did it for you.”

Yozora Y/n groaned, the oil stink of the grill made her nose itch. “If you did it for me, you  spared me the smell. My room stinks of oil already.”

Ume laughed again, 

"And why in my room?" 

Daichi broke into another fit of laughter, pounding his fist against the table. “Privileges, duh! That’s what you get for being clan leader. Dinner delivery straight to your room.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. But her eyes softened, three of her cousins grinned. Now this feels like home.

She flexed her hand, watching the grafted skin crease in ways that were disturbingly natural. 

Yozora Y/n ignored her cousins stuffing themselves with barbecue and turned to Ume instead. She smiled faintly, leaning closer.

“Still can’t believe you’re back,” Ume said softly.

“I always come back.”

Ume laughed. “Not like this. You only ever come for uncle’s memorial, and even that’s rare. The Chief of Command Operation doesn’t usually have time to sit on the tatami with us.”

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling while Daichi and Koshi bickered in the background about who’d grill next.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Ume added with a snort. “Still, you’re so cool when we hear your voice over the comms."

Y/n blinked, "Making calls left and right, saving our asses when everything goes wrong… Makes me proud to be related to you.”

She blinked again. Compliments weren’t something she got often. It was just a curt 'good work' or 'as expected.' Yamamoto was the exception, but still, he was her former Operational Leader.

This… felt different. It's nice.

When they were younger, Yozora Michikatsu had introduced her to Ume mostly because they were both girls, he was afraid Y/n would turn out like Daichi.

And Ume was beautiful.

“Oh, and…” Ume suddenly grinned. “You’re scary sometimes, cousin. Maybe tone it down?”

Never mind. Yozora Y/n decided Ume was the ugliest cousin she had.

“Fuck you,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Ume just laughed, unbothered, as she shifted on the futon, hand brushing against something hard below the blanket.

She frowned, tugging the edge free until the barrel of a faded plastic sniper rifle peeked out.

“…Is this...” She pulled it halfway into the light. “Wait. This old thing?”

Y/n's eyes flicked over, and froze. Her face gave nothing away. Then she clicked her tongue. “You don’t have to dig through my stuff.”

Yozora Ume held it up anyway, brand new, since she just opened it previously. “Soshiro-kun gave you this, didn’t he? Back when you turned fourteen?"

"I remember him bragging about it. Said you’d outshoot everyone in the yard, he got lost searching for you, i told him that you were in the pond.”

Yozora Y/n exhaled through her nose, somewhere between annoyance and something softer. “He's...” an idiot. "Silly." 

“Silly or not, you kept it,” Ume said, grinning. “I mean, he kept visiting the estate with Soichiro-kun."

Putting the toy from where it was found, Ume continue, "Especially after you joined the Fifth. Half the time I’d bump into him waiting outside the estate.”

That stopped Y/n cold. “He what?”

"That he'd been visiting the estate from Hyogo for years until it was his time to enroll to Sixth Division?" 

What

Y/n swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that Hoshina had been travelling 75 kilometres from Hyogo to Kyoto just to... Y/n didn't want to think about it.

Daichi raised an eyebrow towards them, but figured she and Ume are having one of those 'girl talk' so he leave them be.

Ume shrugged, oblivious to whatever triggered her cousin. “Said he was checking in. But you were never around, you're busy as an officer, so he just… left. Guess he didn’t mind being brushed off.”

The last words stung. Sharper than Ume meant them to be, sharp enough to split old scabs open. Y/n's mind caught on them and pulled her backward whether she liked it or not.

She remembered Hoshina Soshiro trailed behind Hoshina Soichiro, always a step behind, always hovering like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He was just… there. Orbiting around his brother because she never gave him space of his own.

Hoshina would stand at the corner, waiting for Y/n to notice. Waiting for her to invite him in. She never did. He get that restless look, the one where he shuffled his feet like he had somewhere better to be, like he didn’t care.

But she remembered him watching. Watching her interact with Hoshina Soichiro like he's the only person in the world.

Watching her share a smile that was never meant for him.

That was Hoshina Soshiro’s role. The Friend B. The extra of someone else's story. The kind of kid who watched from the outside looking at Soichiro and Y/n who is obviously her number one.

Yozora Y/n' chest tightened. She blinked, hard, but the futon in front of her swim in and out, refusing to stay solid.

The Yozora estate had a pond that looked huge when she was a kid. Carps swimming under the surface, she and Soichiro would squat by the edge, throwing rice cracker bits just to watch the fish go nuts.

And, like always. Hoshina was there. The tag along. He wasn’t invited, but he showed up anyway. Knees sticking out of his shorts, pretending he cared about the fish. He just didn’t want to be left behind.

Back then Y/n figured she probably knew those fish better than she’d ever known Soshiro. Back then it didn’t matter. Now it sat in the back of her mind, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch.

Y/n blinked, when was the last time she and Soshiro spend time together without Soichiro around? 

Nothing.

Thinking what happened in 2008; Y/n would  lay awake, staring at the ceiling like it might give her comfort. She tried pulling the blanket over her head, but it didn’t scare the thoughts away.

Didn’t block the memory of Hoshina Soshiro at eleven, glaring at her like she was the villain.

His eyes weren’t just mad, though. They were hurt. She hated remembering that look. Especially when she's the one who caused it.

Her grandmother used to say hate comes from love. Yozora Y/n knew he liked her, everybody did, he wasn’t subtle, he was a kid, it was normal, but that didn’t make it easier.

He looked at her like she betrayed him. Like she wasn’t just some girl trying to survive something.

But Y/n still brushed her teeth, same as always, but every time she caught her reflection, she wondered if she was making herself into something worth it, or just someone harder to love.

He makes her soft. And she has a goal to achieve.

She thought about being sixteen again and joining the Defense Force, about walking out on him after that fight. He’d called her selfish. She’d called him pathetic. That shit sticks.

... And who the hell punched an eleven year old kid? A complete lunatic. An angry, complete lunatic, and someone named Y/n apparently.

The truth was, she couldn’t forgive him for the words he threw at her, and she couldn’t forgive herself for what she threw back. Maybe she never would.

---

 

It was morning and Yozora Y/n lay flat on her futon, staring at the ceiling like it owed her money. She wasn’t tired, she’d lived through worse. If she wanted to move, she could.

She just didn’t feel like walking out there and running into Yozora Soichi again. That would go south fast.

Sure, she wasn’t on the frontline anymore, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to throw hands. Hoshiguma knew it too. Probably why she stayed put.

If she lost her temper, he’d be the one dragging her off before she could rearrange Soichi’s face. And Daichi? He’d probably join in just for the fun of it. Honestly, the mental image almost made her laugh.

She let out a sharp sigh and rolled onto her side. God, she was an asshole. She could admit that now. Ignoring Hoshina hadn’t been about him, it was about her.

He reminded her too much of who she used to be. And she hated that. Still, that wasn’t an excuse anymore.

Her phone sat right there, screen lighting up in the dark. The chat she’d been dodging for whatever days had been was still open, waiting. She hovered her thumb over it. Tap or not tap. That was the question.

She frowned, He's just checking on me, thinking about Soichiro mentioning about the younger Hoshina asking for her number,

probably has something to do with the whole mess in Tachikawa Base's comfort room, him catching her mid panic, I owe him that much. 

Y/n sighed and trapped the app open. Mid scrolling, her brow climbing higher with each line.

Kafka passing. Bakko the oversized tiger. A string of emojis she couldn’t even decipher. And then; 

Hoshina; Ya think back when yer still usin' yer old prosthetic arm, ya would hear some blonde American soldier said ‘I’m with you until the end of the line? 🤔

She froze. What the hell?

The next ones didn’t help. Hydra jokes. Trigger words. Pineapple juice.

Her face went flat. Did this idiot really just called her the Japanese Winter Soldier?

She exhaled hard through her nose, equal parts flabbergasted and exasperated. She looked down, 

Hoshina; 👿🔪 That’s yer face when ya caught me and Soichiro messin' with yer sniper rifle in 2007.

Before she could stop herself, she laughed. Genuine. Because it was funny! There's no gardening hoe, but there was a stick she grabbed while chasing both brothers until they scrambled up in a tree.

She did manage to whack Soichiro in the butt, though. Thinking about kid Hoshina Soshiro made Y/n’s eyes soften, her smile loosening.

A part of her felt seen, maybe even happy, that Hoshina remembered something so trivial. If he hadn’t brought it up, she never would’ve remembered it at all.

“Y/n-chan, I heard from Uncle Hoshiguma it’s your last day here. It’s my day off, want to go shop... Who are you smiling at?”

Her reflexes kicked in fast; she quickly slammed her phone down. If it weren’t for the fact that she got caught, Y/n might’ve been proud she still had that reflex of a sniper.

“Nothing,” she said flatly, praying her cousin took the bait.

Ume didn’t. Instead, she grinned. And giggled. Giggled! Yozora Y/n felt her face burn.

"Y/n-chan, is that a boyfriend? youre smiling at? Who’s the poor bastard, I mean, lucky guy?!”

“I don’t!” Y/n snapped, they said it at the exact same time, which made it sound even more suspicious. Her glare could’ve cut steel, but all it did was make Ume smirk harder.

Feeling hot in the face from embarrassment of getting caught red handed, she asked, “And didn’t I tell you to knock, Ume?” did i really smile that much? 

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Ume plopped herself down beside her, leaning in like a vulture.

Yozora Y/n shoved her phone under the futon with the same stubborn energy of a five year old hiding candy.

Ume frowned, "Come on cousin," she whined, "You never told me about your love life! I promise I wont tell the elders!" 

Y/n growled, "because there is none to talk about!"

Her cousin stared, "Don’t tell me you’re single by choice. That's tragic. Even the furniture deserves some action at this point.” genuine concern was evident in her voice.

Well damn.

Yozora Ume just called Yozora Y/n lonely. NBSN apparently. (No Boyfriend Since Birth) Even Yozora Hoshiguma's multiple cactus has better social life than her. Someone get her a pity cake.

Y/n opened her mouth to rebuke, then shut it. Hard. That one stung more than she cared to admit, especially coming from her cousin, her cousin who was literally about to get married.

Y/n scowled, cheeks still red. “…I’m not attending your wedding.” was all she could said.

“Not without your mystery guy that youre smiling at, you’re not.” Ume shot back instantly.

"I attended our cousins marriage alone, and I'm attending yours the same way. I'm the clan leader by the way."

"Oh now were pulling the 'clan leader' card now?" 

Y/n just glared, embarrassed. Face still hot and her hands clammy.

The two stared at each other.

Finally, Ume stood up, giving up. “Okay fine, whatever. But you owe me shopping, Y/n-chan.”

“…Whatever,” she muttered again, still flushed. When Ume finally left, she glanced down at her phone. At the guy she's allegedly.

One text caught her eye tho.

Hoshina; 🍜👀?

Yozora Y/n blinked. One thing she was right was she don't know what to do with Hoshina Soshiro, such as now.

Y/n was not one to assume things. But was the Vice Captain of the Third Division really asking her out for ramen? 

No message came after that. Now that made her suspicious now. 

Yozora Y/n hesitated, but Hoshina Soshiro had been making an effort, she realized. Yeah, they went on their separate paths, but he visited her in 2018, and ever since then, he’d made vaguely night visits (not daily,).

He was really trying. Didn’t she owe him that?

... And she could eat, ramen does taste good. Sighing, she typed, 

Yozora Y/n; Does your offer still counts? 

Sent.

Yozora Y/n; If you have a day off I can adjust my schedule to yours. I can do that.

Sent.

Notes:

MC FINALLY SAID YES, PEOPLE!

This is a short arc for our MC. The purpose of her visit is just to reconnect, or to show how toxic family dynamics and generational trauma affected Michikatsu. (The cons of world-building; sometimes you have to justify stuff 🫠.) Being a division captain and a clan leader takes a toll, and hint; Michikatsu never really wanted either role in the first place.

I’ve been hinting at this since chapter 14, when he’s dealing with PTSD and the horror of our MC wanting to join the JAKDF. In a way, he’s projecting, trying to control someone else’s autonomy. And who doesn’t love drama? Especially when one family member talks big, picks flights, but just goes away to lick their wounds, lol.

Basically, this arc shows the progress of MC’s relationship with Michikatsu, and her slowly noticing Hoshina.

I posted two chapters for two reasons: one, I wanted to get this over with and move on to season 2 already. And two, I’m excited for you to read their not-so-date (or whatever this is) in the next chapter. Stay tuned, people! 😃

Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Chapter 26: Hoshina's Day Off

Summary:

It’s Hoshina Soshiro’s first (friendly, definitely not a date) outing with Yozora Y/n. He’s got the plan, the car, the schedule. What could possibly go wrong?

Notes:

Fish fun fact of the day;

The flashlight fish has bioluminescent bacteria stored under its eyes. It can “blink” by covering the glowing organ with a flap of skin, using it like a flashlight to disorient prey, communicate, or confuse predators in pitch-black waters.

Song; Rude! By Magics

Third Division Base, Year 2024,

 

Hoshina Soshiro stared at his reflection in his office's mirror, tilting his head like maybe the angle will improve what he saw.

Spoiler; it didn’t.

The guy looking back at him wasn’t exactly the poster boy for romance; a nervous face, a bowl cut hair and a habit of carrying his twin swords to social gatherings.

Real smooth.

Anyway, why is the Third Division Vice Captain (and handsome) Hoshina Soshiro feeling giddy and nervous at the same time?

Oh, right. Because somehow, against all odds  and common sense, he’d managed to land a 'friendly' date with Yozora Y/n.

Him. The guy whose last big romantic gesture was splitting a convenience store bento with Platoon Leader Ebina during an all nighter.

Still, somehow, somehow, he’d managed to bag a date with the chief of command operation. And not just any 'grab lunch in the cafeteria' kind of thing,

But an actual, honest to god evening out. This must’ve been his lucky day… or her moment of extremely poor judgment.

He tried not to feel giddy, because why would he? It’s not like this meant anything. It was just two colleagues hanging out.

Completely normal. Totally platonic. Which didn’t explain why his stomach felt like it was staging a fireworks show.

“Calm down, man,” he muttered to his reflection, fixing his strayed hair. “Ya fought kaiju the size of apartment blocks without breakin' a sweat, pretty sure ya can handle a bowl of ramen with a coworker.”

The reflection didn’t look convinced.

Either way, he wasn’t about to waste it, not that it was a date. Friendly date. Totally different. Way less pressure. Right?

Hoshina Soshiro glanced down at his phone, scrolling through the neat little list of errands he’d mapped out for the day.

If he played it right, he could juggle them and still make it to that new ramen place in time.

Sure, 'buying top quality dry squid' and 'deliver old version of twin sword' and 'attend kindergarten kaiju emergence drill' weren’t exactly the kind of ideal pre date warmups, but he’d make it work.

He always did. (Look what he get from his consistent one sided texting, consistency was key, folks!)

But he kept telling himself it wasn’t a date, just a 'friendly thing' with Y/n. Which, coincidentally, was exactly what a man in denial would say.

His eyes zeroed to the door where Okonogi Konomi looked up from her tablet. “Vice Captain, are sure you can handle it when you're in your day off?" She adjusted her glasses, frowning.

"These drills never stay on schedule,” she warned.

He waved her off with a grin. “Relax. I’ve got this. Emergency drills ain't my first rodeo.”

Famous last words.

---

 

The cafe smelled like roasted coffee beans and lemon peel and blood oranges, the kind of place where everything was real and authentic.

No factory powders, no shortcuts, no processed anything. Even the cups felt too fancy. It wasn’t her kind of place. Yozora Y/n belonged in briefing rooms and high stressed situations, not here with pastries lined up like they meant something.

Still, she was here.

The order was simple; Director General Shinomiya Isao wanted a good Darjeeling tea set for Kikoru. Something proper, something that said 'you earned it.'

Y/n hadn’t argued, she never did with Isao,  but she knew what it was. A late congratulations, nothing more.

She blinked, realising it was Kikoru's favourite flavor. Heh. Y/n never said anything about Isao being a bad father. 

Anyway buying the black tea part was easy. The hard part came when her eyes slid to the glass case full of pastries.

Mont Blanc.

She remembered Hoshina as a boy, sitting on the engawa, practically glowing at a slice like it was treasure.

Hoshina Soshiro who would peel the pith off of the oranges because she liked it that way.

Hoshina Soshiro who promised he's a good husband candidate for her and his qualities was good at folding laundry and he's willing to take her surname for her.

Hoshina Soshiro who would eat pomegranate with her while wearing a white kendogi, risking his mother's wrath for staining his sleeves. 

Because she was eating pomegranates alone that summer day.

Yozora Y/n hadn’t thought about that in years. She also didnt mean to remember it now. She wasn’t here for old memories. She wasn’t here for him.

But she was already talking to the cashier. Her voice already asking, “Do you have a whole cake of Mont Blanc?”

The smiling cashier frowned, apologetic. No whole cakes left, she said. Out of ingredients.

Y/n felt her chest tighten. Stupid to get thrown off by something so small. She could adapt to battlefield changes and kaiju's unpredictable attacks without blinking...

... but this? This felt harder than it should’ve been.

Yozora Y/n should’ve just ordered something else. The Mont Blanc was gone. She stood there staring at the empty spot in the glass case, and it felt stupid how much heavier her chest got.

She could’ve picked cookies, or cheesecake, or even the cheap cream puffs. But she hesitated. Because the truth was, she didn’t know if he’d mind or not. Hoshina Soshiro wasn’t the type to throw a fit over dessert. At least, she didn’t think he was.

Yozora Y/n didn’t know if Hoshina Soshiro hated cookies or if he secretly hated chocolate.

Was he even a picky eater? Did he hate raisins? Did he like his coffee bitter or sweet? Y/n didn’t know.

She didn’t know if he stayed up too late at night or if he still wake up early for training. She didn’t know what his favorite song was, or if he even cared about music at all.

And she realized something ugly; other than swords and Mont Blanc, and that mule headed stubbornness that they both shared, she didn’t know him anymore. 

Or rather Y/n never really paid attention to him. It was always Hoshina Soichiro. And no amount of excuses could change that.

Yozora Y/n didnt know Hoshina Soshiro. 

She stopped learning him. Maybe she never really knew him at all.

And that stung. Because what kind of a friend forgets someone until they’re basically a stranger?

What kind of a person agrees to a date, but has no idea what he likes now, no idea who he’s even become? Just a pathetic attempt to cover it up with some cake from their past.

What a shitty friend you are, Y/n.

Y/n's jaw clenched. She almost told the cashier to forget it.

But the girl behind the counter spoke up, cheerful. “Our bestseller’s the Hokkaido chocolate milk. People really love it.”

It wasn't Mont Blanc. But Yozora Y/n nodded anyway. “Two, please.” the cashier smiled, it eases Y/n a little.

The bottles were packed neatly into a paper bag. She paid without thinking, but her hand lingered on the bag longer than it should.

Yozora Y/n think about Hoshina Soshiro and his text about eating ramen together.

This was why she said yes, wasn’t it? Not for the free food, not for the way he still got under her skin, because deep down she was trying to fix something. Trying to reconnect.

That's still a good friend, right? 

She tried to tell herself it was just her being careful, just tying up loose ends. But when she picked up the bag, the thought hit anyway;

She wasn’t careful. She wasn’t reliable. Hell, she wasn’t even a good friend.

What a shitty friend you are, Yozora Y/n.

---

 

Furuhashi Iharu and Ichikawa Reno thought they were being slick. Five steps behind, trying to blend into the crowd, whispering something like "told you he's buying gifts for his girlfriend" countered with "no, he's not!".

Hoshina Soshiro didn’t even have to look back,  their reflections in the polished glass of the seafood stalls were enough to give them away.

He just grinned to himself and kept wandering between rows of tanks and counters, letting them think they weren't noticeable.

The Hokkaido market’s air conditioning couldn’t hide the smell of Japan's fresh catch. Live crabs in shallow tanks, scallops and fish in trays of ice, one eel gave Hoshina a mean look before getting scoop up by a vendor.

In one far corner, the treasure he's looking for; top quality dried squid. Not the supermarket kind. This was the kind that came laid out in a wooden box, sealed in paper and tied with a cord.

Mina’s instructions had been specific, and when the price tag flashed at him, Hoshina understood why. When he went closer, thr vendor look ay him and frowned.

The vendor shook his head with a wince, tapping the empty display case where Mina’s top quality dried squid should’ve been.

“Sold out this morning,” he said, tone apologetic. Hoshina leaned an elbow on the counter, giving the display one last hopeful glance, as if the squid might materialize if he stared long enough. No luck.

Hoshina Soshiro sighed. Of course. Of course the one thing Ashiro Mina wanted had to be the one thing they didn’t have.

He tapped his phone awake, glanced at the time, he can still make it to their ramen date after his two errands. And started mentally mapping the route to the next market branch. If traffic was light, luck is still in his side.

He thumbed out a quick text,

Hoshina; 10 mins late, promise. Captain Ashiro's dried squid ran out of stock, had to go to a different market.

He then spotted a neat little pyramid of oranges at a side stall, the seller was a stooped old woman, content with sitting behind her oranges.

He paused. He didn’t need oranges. Ashiro Mina didn't asked for oranges. But the sight of them flicked him straight back to the memory of sitting across from Yozora Y/n,

Peeling every stubborn bit of pith off for her because she’d wrinkled her nose at the bitter taste. It took forever, but she’d eaten the slices with a smile. Young Hoshina wanted to see that kind of smile more.

“five, please,” he told the old woman, slipping them into a paper bag. As he turned to leave, he caught two movement in the corner of his eye; Iharu’s arm yanking Reno back behind a vending machine. He didn’t let on he’d seen them. 

“Five minutes before they start imaginin' a secret love child,” he mused, already heading towards the exit.

---

 

Yozora Y/n sat in the corner booth of the brand new ramen shop, the kind that its polished wood counters and menus still had that fresh print smell.

She’d picked the seat for its view of the door; easy to spot Hoshina when he walked in, late or not, but it also made her the perfect centerpiece for the entire restaurant.

And honestly? Y/n is beginning to question why she even agreed in the first place. Fuck you Ume! 

The booth for two felt like it was getting smaller by the minute. She noticed every table around her seemed to have been carefully chosen by the universe to remind her she was the only one not laughing over their ramen.

Across the aisle, a couple was feeding each other noodles and the girlfriend blushed when her boyfriend winks at her. ugh.

Another table had a guy wiping a sauce stain from his girlfriend's cheek, and Yozora Y/n was starting to feel like she’d accidentally wandered into a live taping of “Things You Can’t Relate To.”

Yeah, she knows she's single at 32, but damn.

She checked her phone for a new update, none. Only the chats that were sent hours ago that was glaring at her;

Hoshina; 10 mins late, promise. Captain Ashiro's dried squid ran out of stock, had to go to a different market.

Hoshina; Little rascals of mine followed me, want to mess with them a bit, promise I'd jump on my car once the kindergarten emergency drill practice is over 🚗🌬️🌬️

She sighed and close her phone, 

Yozora Y/n didn’t bother texting Hoshina Soshiro that she arrived early. He was already stuck running errands for Mina, and besides Kikoru’s favorite black tea shop had closed at one sharp. Logically she needs to get there early, (Isao owes her big time)

And, she just wanted to be out of Kyoto. Away from the meddling relatives who kept circling back to her “nonexistent love life,” as if matchmaking was the only hobby they had left.

Her uniform didn’t help. Civilians weren’t used to seeing the Chief of Command Operations hanging out in a cozy ramen shop, and the glances she got ranged from;

'is that a cosplay?' to 'should we be worried about a kaiju attack?' to 'is she waiting for someone? Was she stood up?'

Excuse her for not having any dating experience, but she didn't know she was that early!

Yeah, Yozora Y/n wanted to go home, she's sure Hoshina wouldn't mind, right? 

Before she could even decide, something brushed against her boot. She glanced down to find a tuxedo cat, tail swishing like it owned the place.

It meowed at her and it reminded her far too much of Hoshina’s smirk. Even its color pattern on its head resembled Hoshina's fringes!

“Oh, great,” Y/n muttered under her breath, already done with the universe. “Now even stray cats are hitting on me before my date shows up.”

It just meowed at her in return. She felt like its mocking her or something. It took a seat across from her, the table was low enough for the cat's face to be seen, 

Yozora Y/n stared at the tuxedo cat and the tuxedo cat stared at Yozora Y/n.

This place really does scream ‘you’re single'  and now she made it worse by bringing a cat as her plus one.

Its meow broke her sulking, (at least she's not alone anymore.) sitting there like it was her date instead. The black and white markings, the cocky little tilt of its head, damn it, it really does reminded her of Hoshina.

She lifted a hand to flag down the waitress. “Tuna,” she said.

The waitress blinked. “For you?”

“For the cat,” Yozora Y/n replied, deadpan. “And I’ll cover the plate if he doesn’t finish.”

When the small dish arrived, the cat dug in like it had been starving all day, tail swishing in content.

Y/n leaned back in her seat, watching the couples laugh over their bowls, her “date” named Hoshina Soshiro is still nowhere to be seen.

---

 

Hoshina’s little yellow and black car wasn’t much. Not like Tony Stark's Mustang, not like Han Lue's 1997 Mazda RX-7, not even the Chevy Impala of Dean Winchester named “baby” (for some reason). Not the kind of car people would stop, look at it and says "damn!"

But he bought it with his first paycheck. Nobody could take that from him. And it still ran smooth, its AC was working, so as far as he was concerned. 

Which meant he loved it. Which meant it has sentimental value that he couldn't afford to replace it. Same difference.

Ashiro Mina was kind enough not to say anything. Platoon Leader Ebina said it was shit. And Okonogi Konomi, bless her heart says it reminds her of mustard and she loved mustard. 

(But Hoshina Soshiro had a feeling that Okonogi only said that so she has free ride going home. She paid for the gas tho!)

But enough of bashing about his precious car, and not enough about how it's such a good day today! Hoshina Soshiro is practically doing a carpool karaoke right now! 

He had Mina’s dried squid riding shotgun, the old twin swords in the back, and a plan so simple it almost felt suspicious; do the kindergarten emergency drills and exhibition of his weapons, grab ramen with Y/n, then go home.

That was it. No way the universe could screw it up.

Naturally, the universe answered with Magic!’s “Rude” blaring on the radio. Hoshina Soshiro sang like he meant it,

“Saturday morning, jumped out of my bed, and put on my best suit!” he belted, snapping along to the beat like he was auditioning for something.

He pointed out the window at nothing in particular, because why not.

“Got in my car and raced like a jet all the way to you!” He drummed the steering wheel with his fingers, not because he's excited about said ramen date or anything.

The car next to him actually waved. Recognized him. He waved back like he was some damn celebrity at a red light.

It was pathetic, but he didn’t care. He laughed at his own reflection in the mirror.

He caught Iharu’s bike back there, Reno hanging off it, and decided not to acknowledge them.

Just sang louder instead, like drowning out the world would keep him on top of it. Maybe if he kept singing, the day would stay simple.

Heh.

Then the phone rang. Okonogi. “Yo, Okonogi-chan, what’s up?” he answered, still in that cheery voice.

Her reply wasn’t cheery. “Vice Captain, you grabbed the new weapon. Not the old one. You can’t take that to the exhibition!" Her voice was distraught.

There was a pause. Hoshina Soshiro’s laugh came out low, almost like he could bluff through it. “…Yer kiddin'”

She wasn’t. He could hear the operational leaders yelling in the background like someone had just pulled the fire alarm.

Hoshina Soshiro's stomach dropped. His laugh disappeared. Smooth plan, flawless execution. Gone.

"Damn it..." He smacked the wheel once, hard, before spinning the car into a U turn that made Ashiro Mina's squid slide.

This was the part where a better man would’ve called it what it was; a screw up.

He had taken the wrong sword. The new one. Not the old one. The shiny piece of tech that wasn’t supposed to leave Tachikawa Base.

But like the first stage of five stages of grief, Hoshina Soshiro told himself it wasn’t fatal. He could swap the sword out, still run the demo, still get ramen with Y/n.

It's fine. Really fine. Nothing wrong with a little detour here and there. He wasn’t going to be the kind of guy who left her waiting.

That wasn’t him. Or at least, he wanted to believe it wasn’t.

The radio didn’t care. “Tough luck, my friend, but my answer is no!” it screamed back at him.

He jabbed the power button, cutting it mid chorus, and muttered, “Yeah, no kiddin'..." 

Furuhashi Iharu was still convinced that Hoshina Soshiro's going to see his allegedly girlfriend tho.

---

 

The cat was halfway finishing its tuna when Yozora Y/n caught herself glancing at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes.

She looked again at the notification, 

Hoshina; Might get a lil late after the exhibit with the kids later, got a switchin' catastrophe goin' on🫠

Y/n sighed and put the phone down, at least one of them is having fun inhaling its tuna...

As much as she hated to admit it, and she really, really hated to, Yozora Y/n didn’t get dates. Not the “dress up, sit across from someone, and pretend to be interested in their childhood pet stories” kind, anyway.

The closest she’d come to was planning an entire deployment down to the minute, but right now she was just staring at a cup of unused chopsticks and wondering if there was a manual for this sort of thing.

Hell, she's wearing their standard uniform in her first "friendly" date. Real romantic. She could practically hear her cousins, Daichi and Koshi, laughing themselves sick somewhere.

She made eye contact with a girlfriend and what seems to be her boyfriend, and said couple quickly averted their eyes.

Sighing, Y/n's mind wandered, a dangerous habit.

Hoshina Soshiro was handsome, she’d known that since the day he was tall enough to block the sun when he stood in front of her at 2018.

Handsome, disciplined, probably the kind of man who’d had… girlfriends? She could picture it; women laughing at his easy grin, maybe brushing a stray hair from his face while he talked about anything.

Surely, somewhere in all those years, he’d had someone.

Maybe more than one someone. She tried to imagine him leaning across a table like this, smiling at some other woman. some other woman who has dating experience than her and who actually knows Hoshina.

Probably. Perhaps. Maybe. She don't know. Maybe even an occasional fling? He was handsome, confident, annoyingly competent… why wouldn’t he?

And... What the hell? 

Y/n shook her head, irritated at herself. Since when did she care? Since when did she notice the way his uniform somehow managed to stay crisp no matter how much he moved?

Or the colour of his eyes weren't actually red but a deep maroon ones? She immediately regretted thinking about it. Oh, great. Now she's being nosey.

And now she's glaring at the cat like this was somehow its fault. She rubbed her temple and sighed. First time Yozora Y/n actually notice Hoshina Soshiro like that and he’s not even here to see her spiral.

Fantastic.

And still no Hoshina Soshiro.

The cat flicked its tail again and looked at her  like it's trying to say you’re hopeless, and she sighed, muttering, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not even sure what I’m waiting for.”

She remembered her conversation with Hoshina Soichiro, and she was right, she doesn't understand him.

---

 

Sometimes, Hoshina Soshiro question whether the universe hates him or not. 

He got it all planned; go buy Ashiro Mina her top quality dry squid. Deliver his old version of twin blades. Attend his so called exhibition. And teach kids about the drills when kaijus appear.

But apparently, the universe took one look at Hoshina Soshiro and give him a middle finger. He blamed the song 'Rude!' By Mag!c. Might as play 'Im Just A Girl' by No Doubt for good measure.

Well, at least he had fun pranking Iharu and Reno for half a day, and hoped Kikoru and her besties had fun eating at the newly opened restaurant. Then he blinked, and look down at the paper bag of five oranges.

Hoshina Soshiro wondered what Yozora Y/n is doing right now. 

Is she wearing a dress or pants today? Is she taking her time at her vanity before going out to the new ramen shop? Is she as excited as him for this very day?

Somewhere in the back of his head, that scrawny, awkward kid version of him was probably doing backflips. A date, a date with his kiddie crush! 

Hoshina Soshiro may not solve world peace, world hunger or even created a formula for curing cancer, but he had managed to score a date with his childhood crush.

And honestly? That felt just as historic. Put it in the textbooks, carve it on a monument, he didn’t care.

And that is the goal. No one could take that from him. Eight year old Hoshina probably throw a parade. With fireworks and a marching band just for pulling this off.

She’d been his impossible crush, the kind you grow out of once life gets busy and messy. And he had grown out of it... This is just a ramen outing with a coworker who happened to be your childhood friend.

Hoshina Soshiro remembered the morning her text came in. Two notifications of his phone, and his brain short circuited so hard he spilled scalding coffee all over his hand.

It burned like hell. Still, he couldn’t even be mad, not when the message on his screen was from her. He’d read it once, twice, five times, the burning sensation in his palm already gone.

It was stupid, really, how a handful of dry words could leave him grinning like that. Maybe anyone would’ve smiled at a message like that… or maybe not.

He didn’t bother thinking too hard about it. All he knew was that, in that moment, even with coffee dripping down his sleeve, his day had already been made.

Hoshina Soichiro who? His lil bro has a date to attend! 

Hoshina Soshiro flinched in his seat when Okonogi Konomi called, he answered, "Okonogi-chan, what's up? I didn't left my actual swords this time, huh?" 

Okonogi laughed, "Luckily not this time, Vice Captain, you sure are fast retrieving the actual twin swords and and made a run for it without saying goodbye to us" she mused through his phone,

"you must be excited to get this over with and enjoy your remaining day off?" 

Hoshina chuckled, "My bad, Okonogi-chan..." He saw in the corner of his eyes were Iharu and Reno being joined by Kikoru, Izumo and the others,

Oh? He raised an eyebrow, this is interestin'...

"Well either way, im just checking up on you, Vice Captain, you are in the kindergarten, right?" She asked for clarification, Hoshina wasn't even offended, if he were Okonogi, he wouldn't trust himself either.

"Yeah, Im actually here, just waitin for an old colleague of ours to meet up here," he glanced again through his window, and grinned, seeing how his subordinates probably losing their minds thinking of whatever misunderstanding they could think of this time.

"Welp, see ya later." He ended the phone call.

---

 

Yozora Y/n told herself she was just going to 'walk around for a bit' to kill time before Hoshina Soshiro showed up.

In reality, she’d already drained her tea at the ramen shop, spent too much time pretending not to notice the couples staring at her with pity from the surrounding tables, and decided she’d rather do literally anything than sit there looking like she’d been stood up.

(The tuxedo cat was such a slow eater, that's the reason why it took Y/n too long to book it... At least it rubbed its head in her boots before scampering away.)

The nearest mall was busy with the crowd, its polished floors reflecting the gaudy seasonal sale signs.

She drifted along, half looking at displays, half watching the clock on her phone. She wasn’t really paying attention when she rounded a corner, and slammed into something solid.

Or rather, someone. The next thing she knew, strong hands caught her by the waist, steadying her before she could stumble back.

“Whoa! Hey, careful there...” the voice was casual, light hearted, like he was talking around a mouthful of gum.

She looked up. A hoodie. Messy two toned hair peeking out from under the hood. Multiple oversized shopping bags dangling from both arms.

She caught flashes of game logos, merch tags, and... Was that an action figure of Narumi Gen?

Said man blinked down at her. His gaze widened. “...Chief brain?!”

Yozora Y/n froze, halfway between prying his hands off and pretending she’d never heard that nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

But Narumi was grinning now, the kind of grin that said he’d found unexpected entertainment in his otherwise very successful haul.

“You are chief brain! Man, what are the odds? You mall shopping? You don’t look like a mall shopper. What’d you get?” He tilted his head, 

“Let go,” she said flatly, but without much bite.

He finally released her, Narumi Gen didn’t seem in any rush to end their conversation. 

Looking at Kikoru's black tea and Hoshina's two Hokkaido Chocolate Milk, he raised an eyebrow, but he ignored the latter,

"...Chief Brain, you are a grandma." You rolled your eyes at that. 

She didn’t even blink. “At least I’m not a raccoon.”

Gen clutched his chest like she stabbed him. “Rude! Raccoons are resourceful!”

“Uh huh. So’s garbage.”

One passerby snorted into their drinks, two couples passing by laughed, and Narumi Gen was close to strangle Yozora Y/n in minutes.

Grinding his teeth, red in the face “Yeah? Well, better a raccoon than a... Than..." It was so funny looking at Narumi scrambling for better words... Honestly he's all bark and no talk.

"... Than a grandma who shops like one!” He jabbed a finger at her bag, scowling like a petulant child.

“Don’t think I won’t spread it around headquarters that Chief Brain spends her days buying tea and… Whatever old lady snacks you got in there.”

Yozora Y/n just rolled her eyes.

And  he quickly regained that shit eating grin as he stared at her, “Or are you here on a top secret classified mission? Should I salute?” he teased.

She exhaled slowly. “I was waiting for someone. Got bored.” which also says every couple from that ramen shop thought i got stood up so i left

He blinked, "That’s tragic,” Narumi Gen said, his smirk oozing from his voice as he adjusted his grip on the mountain of merch bags.

Yozora Y/n ignored him, looking at her own haul, good thing Narumi’s grip was basically a vice, because if it wasn’t, she would’ve been scraping glass and chocolate milk off the mall tiles.

And not just any chocolate milk, Hoshina Soshiro’s chocolate milk. Pricey as hell, too. Hokkaido or not, she wasn’t about to watch it go splat.

And yeah, fine, she was already guilty as sin for realizing she knew basically nothing about Hoshina beyond “likes swords, likes mont blanc, probably thinks he's a womanizer.”

But that didn’t mean she was gonna let his supposed gift die in a puddle. If she had to stand here looking like a stranger holding his gift, then damn it, she was at least gonna protect the gift.

Narumi Gen seems that he didn't realise she's not really paying attention to him, because he's still talking,

she looked up, and sure enough, he was smug as hell,

“Lucky for you, you ran into me. I know all the best spots in this place, better than the guides, better than the locals. Oh, and there’s this limited gacha on the third floor. Bet you wouldn’t even find it without me.”

This raccoon, Yozora Y/n swear.

When he’d finished giving her a once over his mouth curled in that lazy, needling smirk of his.

“Well, I have to say, never thought I’d see the Chief of Command Operations not drowning in paperwork or barking orders." He laughed like a hyena, 

"This is a once in a red moon event!"

"It's blue moon" Yozora Y/n crossed her arms. “And don’t get used to it. I was waiting for someone.”

“Uh huh. And that someone’s late, which means you’re free. Which means you can buy me a coffee.”

She arched a brow. “Why would I?”

He grinned, "Cuz you got stood up obviously chief brain, so you're stuck with me~" First Division Captain, everyone.

Y/n was about to say something when one of his shopping bags just enough for her to see inside.

Between the boxed figurines, limited edition keychains, and game merch, she saw a glossy action figure of him, perfectly posed with his signature bayonet weapon.

She almost forgot about the action figure.

Her tone sharpened. “Didn’t know you were a narcissist on top of being a racoon. Buying a plastic version of yourself? You should've bought a mirror too.”

For a moment, Narumi just stood there, blinking at her, mouth half open as if searching for a comeback.

His jaw tightened, staring dumb at her and then clicked his tongue. “You! Tch… damn, that was good.”

She laughed and Narumi Gen glared at her like a petulant kid. Again.

“Alright, that’s it.” He shifted all his bags into one hand, grabbed her wrist with the other, and started walking.

“Come on. We’re going to my favorite cafe before you say something else that makes me question my entire existence.”

“I didn’t agree tp this,”

“Too late, Chief brain. This is what happens when you roast me in public. Consequences.”

The 'favorite cafe' turned out to be tucked away on the top floor, a cozy little place with low lighting and the faint smell of roasted beans. Y/n would've thought to be an internet cafe or manga cafe, it suited him more.

Narumi Gen dumped his haul into the seat beside, then leaned back and stretches with his body like a starfish, ignoring the fact that there's a woman in front of him.

“Don’t say I never take you anywhere chief brain,” he said, already waving the waiter over.

She gave him a flat look, and scoffed but the corner of her mouth betrayed the smallest twitch. She glance at the waiter, 

"Coffee for me." 

---

 

Ichikawa Reno is not nosey. He considered himself a good person. And by good person, he meant a good man. 

He's a dedicated soldier, protecting the weak. Never revealing Hibino Kafka's secret. He even went above and beyond to take care of his senpai's health because of one big stomach ache treating it like a life or death situation.

He’s disciplined, hardworking, and loyal to a fault. He shows up early, double checks orders, and always keeps his weapons clean.

He respects the chain of command, and he respects people’s privacy. Reno doesn’t pry into things that aren’t his business, he prides himself on that.

Ichikawa Reno is a good man. He's not nosey...

Well... It's just that, seeing the Vice Captain of the Third Division going quiet, stomping his foot and occasionally checking on his phone is quiet suspicious. 

Reno wouldn’t believe it if someone told him Hoshina got tired from today’s errand. He’d seen his Vice Captain run and kill kaiju twice his size, leaping from building to building without breaking a sweat!

"Maybe he’s on a date with his girlfriend!" Iharu's theory earlier suddenly reminded him again, today.

Ichikawa Reno shook his head, refusing to believe his friend’s theory. No way. Absolutely not. The more likely reason? Today’s kindergarten emergency drill had taken a toll on him.

That make sense, earlier, Hoshina Soshiro surrounded by a multiple of kids, all demanding his undivided attention.

Some wanted piggyback rides, others wanted him to show off his swords, and at least three of them had probably tried to climb up his legs at the same time. That would exhaust anyone.

Yeah. That had to be it.

…Still, when Hoshina glanced at his phone again and let the smallest smile slip, Reno couldn’t help narrowing his eyes.

A good man isn’t nosey.

But a good man notices things.

And Reno definitely noticed this.

Too bad his reflexes weren't as sharp as his eyes (at noticing things that weren't supposed to noticed) when Hoshina Soshiro head lifted, narrow eyes catching him mid thought. Reno stiffened, straightening like he’d just been called to attention.

"Oh crap..." he muttered under his breath.

The Vice Captain’s grin was all teeth. He strolled over, casual as ever, and phone in hand. “Ya should’ve taken a picture, Ichikawa. Lasts longer that way.”

Ichikawa Reno nearly choked, then barked out a laugh that was a little too nervous. “S-sorry, Vice Captain...!”

Hoshina waved it off with a flick of his hand, not bothered in the slightest. “Relax. Long day, yeah?”

His gaze drifted past Reno, to where Shinomiya Kikoru and Furuhashi Iharu were already bickering loud enough for the whole people to hear.

Hoshina let out a small huff that could’ve been amusement or exhaustion. “Kids’ emergency drill’ll do that to anyone..."

From the corner of his eye, Ichikawa Reno caught one kid accidentally blast Furuhashi Iharu in the head with a water gun.

Iharu’s squawk from the assault made him snort, and before he could stop himself, Reno tried to fill the silence.

“Your weapon delivery and that whole kindergarten drill must’ve taken a toll on you, Vice Captain.”

He paused, noticing Hoshina's gone quiet, thinking he's listening, then Reno added without thinking, “It’s your day off, and I saw you were… restless. So maybe go easy on yourself, Vice Captain.”

Hoshina blinked. Just for a beat, his easy, toothed grin faltered, and his voice came back with the faintest hitch.

“…Oh. Yeah.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket a little too quickly.

Ichikawa Reno frowned. Something about the tone was off, but he couldn’t put a finger on it...

Then Hoshina recovered, flashing him with that practiced grin. “Didn’t think I’d be dodgin’ piggybacks in the late afternoon,” he drawled,

“But I’ll take that over kids losin’ their homes and loved ones any day.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable. Too reasonable. Reno gaped, and blinked for the nth time, because... Because! Hoshina Soshiro is acting suspicious! And he's the only one noticing it so far...

... Or  it's just him going crazy. 

Reno tried to let it go, but he couldn’t unsee the way Hoshina’s grin slipped for half a second moments ago, or how his voice hitched before smoothing over again.

Subtle. Way too subtle for anyone else to notice, except Reno that is.

Great. Now his brain was running laps. Maybe he’s hiding some secret injury? He thought, Or maybe Iharu's right! Vice Captain does have a girlfriend! Or... crap, maybe it’s Reno who’s going crazy.

And getting nosey,

But before he could answer, Hoshina dug into his uniform pocket, pulling out a small brown envelope.

Without warning, he held it out. "Here.”

Reno looked down. Medicine.

“Oh, thank you?” he held the envelop, but Hoshina still didn't let go,

“Let Kafka drink it,” Hoshina said smoothly, he let go of the herbal medicine and grinned at the younger officer,

"He ate a lot last night, huh?" He mused, Ichikawa Reno blinked, 

"Hence he didn't accompany ya to follow me me today..." 

Ichikawa Reno blinked again,

what

Hoshina Soshiro continue, "Guess he shoulda be collapsed in his room right now..." Reno blinked again, dumbfounded,

He straightened up, his thoughts grinding to a halt. As he stared at Hoshina's back facing Reno “... How did you...?”

“I heard ya and Furuhashi bickerin' about it earlier,” Hoshina cut in, tone light and his grin was all knowing.

Reno realized with a sinking weight in his stomach; the Vice Captain had known. He’d known all along, from the very beginning!

Distracted, Hoshina turned his back against the younger officer as he fished for his phone again, relieved that he might've get Reno off the hook now,

Looking down at the text message, he unconsciously grin again, hey, don't blame the guy, he couldn't help it!

Yozora Y/n; Dont be late enough for Mina to chew you out.

He could almost hear her flat voice, deadpan, like she was already unimpressed with him. Thinking about the shenanigans he pulled with the youngsters, which made him a couple minutes late for the drill... Yeah, he deserved that one.

Yozora Y/n; Ah. Mina told me about the emergency drills with the kids. If you lose to a bunch of five year olds, don't even bother to show up. 

This one made him laugh out loud, before consciously looking around the kindergarten if they heard him. They didn't. Good.

He re read the second text again, If you lose to a bunch of five year olds, don’t even bother to show up.

“Ha! Rude,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he was still grinning like an idiot. Leave it to her to turn his whole heroic Vice Captain image into a playground joke.

And then he read the last one.

Yozora Y/n; Drive safe.

... That was it. Two plain words. It has no bite and so Y/n coded. 

But they sat heavy. Hoshina Soshiro's grin slipped, shoulders easing like she’d reached through the phone and tapped straight on his chest.

Stupid, really. He fought kaijus for a living, took punches from monsters the size of office towers, and here he was, floored by a text message.

From her.

Hoshina Soshiro went quiet, his narrowed eyes opened a little wider, (as if that could help him, and nope, it didn't.). Just gives him a nice view of Yozora Y/n's dry, plain and not so romantic text... That hits him hard nonetheless.

what a weirdo.

Cuz damn it, he didn’t know what was wrong with his heart doing somersaults. It wasn’t even a big deal. People told other people to drive safe all the time.

Ashiro Mina told him. Okonogi Konomi told him. Hell, even some store clerk once told him when he bought Mina's dried squid. None of those ever made his chest feel like it was both caving in and filling up at the same time.

And yet, because it was Yozora Y/n, it mattered. Way more than it should.

He dragged a hand down his face, half laughing at himself before exhaling. “Get it together, Soshiro. It's  not a love letter, or anythin'.”

Before he could text a reply, the emergency siren suddenly wailed louder for everyone in the room to hear.

It was the same old sound he's familiar with all his life, and with all the things happening earlier, it's not even funny anymore, not when he was already running late. Not when she was probably checking the time, waiting.

Hoshina clicked his tongue, ya gotta be kiddin' me... He thought, of all the days a kaiju emergence surgin', it has to be today? 

Now he can't even text a reply of why he's late, better cancel it than having her wait forever

His earpiece crackled. "Kaiju emergence in Chofu. Fortitude  Level 3.8. I repeat, Kaiju emergence in Chofu. Fortitude Level 3.8."

Now that's a problem. A real one. If he deployed, he’d be hours late, later than before, if he even made it at all. But if he didn’t deploy, he’d be the guy who ditched duty for a date that technically wasn’t even a date.

Ashiro Mina would string him up for it. Hell, he would string himself up for it.

His thumb hovered over his phone. Cancel? Postpone? Lie and says it's traffic? He hated all of it. Y/n deserved more than a half assed excuse, but the JAKDF didn’t exactly care about his social life.

Vice Captain of the Third Division; that was his job, his pride, his whole identity. But the idea of her waiting for him, maybe getting annoyed, maybe deciding he wasn’t worth the wait at all… that chewed him up in a way no kaiju ever could.

The kindergartners’ cries turned sharp as teachers ushered them toward the exits. A retired defense officer, the deputy director now, clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you going to be deployed, Hoshina?”

Hoshina blinked. For half a second, his hand hovered over his phone instead of his twin blades. The screen lit up.

Yozora Y/n

Not even really her, if he wanted to get technical. Just a shot Hoshina Soichiro had posted weeks ago, where she wasn’t even looking at the camera, head bent over some scribbles.

Half blurry, hair slipping loose, circles under her eyes. Nothing polished. Nothing staged. But it looked real than any filtered photos nowadays.

And for some reason, Y/n looked more beautiful than ever to Hoshina.

He told himself it was just because Soichiro’s smug face wasn’t front and center for once. That was all. Simple, a nice wallpaper. Good and neutral. (Yeah, right.)

His thumb brushed over the screen tad bit longer than necessary.

Hoshina Soshiro sighed, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. Of course he was going to deploy. Of course he’d rather be late.

Yozora Y/n would kill him herself if she found out he’d stood still while civilians, kids, were in danger.

That’s what she’d want. That’s what he wanted.

Hoshina Soshiro, Vice Captain of the Third Division, could live with Ashiro Mina chewing him out.

He could live with being late, again. But he couldn’t live with the thought of someone’s life ending because he hesitated. Not when he already knew exactly what Y/n would expect him to do.

So he slid his phone back into his pocket, grinning.

“Yeah. I'm deployin'.”

---

 

Yozora Y/n got to admit, this is a nice cafe. 

The cafe wasn’t anything special, (which contrasts to Narumi Gen's personality) chipped mugs, sunlight sliding through the glass, the voices of people talking over while staffs were tinkering the espresso machine.

"You strike me the type to prefer gaming cafe." Y/n said, thanking the waiter as he placed her cup of coffee, 

Narumi Gen rolled his eyes, taking a huge bite of his red velvet cake, "Whatever, Chief Brain." The bastard then smirk and added, "The fact that you know what's a 'gaming cafe' even is a miracle!" 

A visible vein could be seen from her forehead, "I'll stick this fork straight up to your nose." 

Narumi blew his tongue at her, "Leave my perfect nose alone." 

She narrowed her eyes, twirling the fork. “Perfect nose? It's like an oversized GPS. I could track a lost kid in Shibuya with that thing.”

Narumi Gen almost choked on his cake, coughing through his laugh. “Big talk from someone who needs GPS to find her own car in a parking lot.”

Staffs were staring at them from afar, both ignored them, 

Y/n's cheeks heated, and she jabbed her fork into his cake with unnecessary force. “That was one time.”

“One legendary time,” he shot back, smug as hell.

Y/n opened her mouth for a comeback, but nothing sharp enough came to her tongue. Instead, she clicked her tongue and leaned back, pretending it didn't bother her. Narumi laughed again, 

Silence settled in, two customers went inside, one staff placed a fellow customer their cappuccino in their table. The strong smell of coffee wafting in the air. 

Narumi was now occupying his console, few clicking and sounds of characters could be heard, and Yozora Y/n stared at the younger man.

Narumi Gen was the strongest defense officer, she knew that much, though she’d never say it out loud.

He was the only one who’d been pulled into the JAKDF without even enrolling, handpicked by Shinomiya Isao himself back when the man still led the First Division.

Yozora Y/n frowned at the memory; she’d been the Third Division Captain back then, before she became Chief of Command.

But whatever the title, Narumi Gen was special. Special in the way only someone with ridiculous talent could be. Special enough to piss her off.

Because with him, it always came down to being the best, and the moment anyone outshined him? He’d sulk, complain, and drag everyone else into his ego.

"Hey, Chief Brain..." He drawled, not looking at her, still focus on his game.

She hummed as she sip on her coffee. He heard it; his thumbs slowed for a beat before he spoke again.

Narumi briefly glance at her, before focusing back on his game, "What's your deal with Hoshina?" 

Oh shit. He knew?!

Y/n blinked, "What?" 

"Don't play stupid with me, he's your date, right?" Narumi rolled his eyes, but it widened in a nano second, "Gah! Damn it! I lost again." 

Yozora Y/n opened her mouth but no words came out, she closed them again, watching Narumi resuming his game, 

"It's not like that..." She tried to say. Even she hated how uncertain it sounded. Because what the hell was this, really? An apology tour? A half assed attempt at fixing whatever she broke with Hoshina?

Trying to make up for the fact she was a shitty friend.

Narumi Gen frowned, "Ha?" He looks up from his console again, "Not interested in your love life, Chief Brain..." 

"Just saying… you got a weird taste. Hoshina? Outta everyone?”

Yozora Y/n blinked. 

Oh yeah, this guy had beef with Hoshina Soshiro. Narumi Gen had never forgiven Hoshina Soshiro; not for beating him at games, and for brushing off his offer to join the First Division. Y/n wasn’t sure which one stung his pride worse.

Probably both. 

Well... Guess that settles it. Like what Narumi Gen told her, he's not interested in her love life that doesn't even exists.

Ugh. Yozora Y/n doesn't like misunderstanding. But she take it a win when Narumi is not interested in whatever Hoshina related apparently.

But what comes next was the tip of the ice burg, 

Narumi Gen was still hammering his console, "By the way, sam him walking outta your hallway weeks ago with that bag. You don’t just get that brand for anyone, Chief Brain.”

Her brows furrowed. “…What bag?”

He snorted. “Pfft. I already said I don’t give a crap about your love life..." She snatched the console straight out of his hands.

"Hey!”

“Narumi. What. Bag?”

Narumi Gen blinked at her, finally catching on she wasn’t faking it. “…The plastic bag with that pre packaged junk that’s been around since the Stone Age?"

"With the design, thought it was your thing. Looked like your favorite brand or whatever.”

Yozora Y/n froze. That brand. She hadn’t touched eat in years, but it was the same one she used to wolf down as a kid.

The one she never mentioned, not even to her own division, with the exception of Mina. Hoshina had known. Hoshina had gone all the way to Ariake, bag in hand... Only to leave without a word.

Her grip loosened. Narumi snatched his console back before it hit the floor, but she barely noticed.

All she could think was, why hadn’t Hoshina stepped into her office? Why hadn’t he said anything?

Narumi went right back to button mashing, grumbling, “Anyway, all I’m saying is your type is trash. Guy’s got no manners!"

He complained, not realising her dilemma, "Literally shoved past me when I tried to talk to him. You’re a real weirdo, Chief Brain.”

Y/n didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The insult slid right past her, because all she heard was the plastic rustling in Hoshina’s hands. All she felt was the weight of him showing up and probably choosing not to be seen. 

She blinked. If she did the math right, it was also the same night Hoshina Soichiro visited... Her mouth gaped.

“Said he was checking in. But you were never around, you're busy as an officer, so he just… left. Guess he didn’t mind being brushed off.”

It was not really the best time to remember Ume's words and Soichiro never told her everything, but Y/n knew at some point the younger Hoshina would be fed up with Soichiro's bullshit if he didn't stop tormenting and mocking Soshiro.

"Y’know, I ain’t heard from Soshiro in months."

Yozora Y/n inhaled deeply before chugging her coffee down in one gulp. Busy thinking about the new found revelation, Y/n didn't realise she received a text from Hoshina one hour ago;

Hoshina; Hey Chief, sorry but I'm runnin' really, really late this time. An emergency alarm broke off and i was needed. 

Hoshina; Yer call. I totally respect it. Ya don't have to wait if ya want it to cancel.

---

 

It was past nine when Hoshina Soshiro finally shook free of Ashiro Mina’s errands. He pulled over to the side of the road, thumb hovering over the wheel.

Because apparently, this was the reality; you don’t just save the day and then catch up to your date. No, you save the day, return to the exhibition, wrangle screaming kids, file a damn debrief, and only then maybe get a shot at making it.

Hoshina had never been so mad at the universe for how unfair it all was. 

He could almost feel his younger self glaring at him; a small, awkward kid in a hakama, scowling like it was his job.

“It’s yer fault!” the boy snapped, his Kansai accent thicker than his old man’s beard.

Hoshina Soshiro swerved again, lips pulling into a crooked grin despite himself. At least Ashiro Mina had her dried squid. And Y/n… his eyes dropped to the five oranges sitting on the seat beside him. Her favorite.

He let out a breath, fingers dragging through his fringe. “Yeah… sorry, bud.”

Hoshina Soshiro loves reading. Be it historical, fictional or academical. Part of it was when he was nine; he heard Y/n love reading too, especially about military tactics so he bleed his eyes red until he couldn't squint his eyes anymore.

All of it was to hope he impressed his crush... (It didn't work because she doesn't even talk to him much.)

But other than thick hard bound books, Hoshina loves manga and comics, especially the flimsy, glossy page imported from America! There's a reason why he's popular in the elementary.

But Hoshina Soshiro had already come to terms with the fact he’d never be Tony Stark. Hell, he wasn’t even Peter Parker. He was Happy Hogan; the loyal extra, the guy who is in the background, held the umbrella when it rained. (He remembered fetching an umbrella for Y/n but Soichiro was already there, sharing the umbrella with her. Sad.)

And yeah, fine, he could live with that.

What he couldn’t live with was the occasional asshole who said he could be the Japanese  Guy Gardner. Bowl cut and all!

Sure, Hoshina had a streak of being a little shit, Narumi Gen could stand for that, but not to the point of being punched by Batman like a certain Green Lantern.

And sure, Guy Gardner literally recreated organs inside his body to stay alive, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem the comparison.

Gardner was brunette (or blond) and loud, Hoshina was dark purple and deliberate, still, he hated it. He’d rather be Happy Hogan forever than carry the curse of that comparison.

Well, enough about the Green Lantern... And his brain went back to the missed opportunity.

A once in a lifetime date gone wrong. Tragic. He could almost hear the headline in his head. Vice Captain of the Third Division, reduced to a chauffeur with a bag of fruit.

He tapped the steering wheel once, twice, then sighed. What was he even doing, thinking oranges and timing could beat out missed opportunity and duty?

The seatbelt tugged against his chest as he leaned back. Against his judgement, he reached for one of the oranges, thumbed the skin but he didn’t peel it.

Too sweet for him anyway. He shoved it back into the pile.

“Guess I’ll settle for the tragic, supportin' character,” he muttered. “At least Captain Ashiro Mina's squid got a happy endin'...”

He sighed, his phone buzzed against the console. Hoshina ignored it at first, probably another operational reports, or Ashiro Mina asking where he dumped the receipts this time.

But the name flashing across the screen froze him cold.

Yozora Y/n; The ramen shop closed an hour ago. I’m here waiting at the park.

Yozora Y/n; Call me if you're already here.

Hoshina Soshiro just stared. Then his heart slammed into his throat. Fifty four minutes ago. She’d been sitting there. Waiting. For him.

“God, I love ya!” His grin returned, maybe the universe doesn't hate him after all! 

He jammed the wheel hard, tires screeching against wet asphalt as the car swung into a U turn. A honk blasted from behind, but he didn’t care. 

Maybe yer not really Happy Hogan... his mind whispered. Ya could be Natasha Romanoff.

Not Tony Stark. Not Peter Parker. Not some goddamn Guy Gardner knock off. But as Natasha. Sharp, powerful, and lethal when she needed to be.

His pulse goes erratic as he drive towards the park. For the first time, the comparison didn’t sting. It felt right.

---

 

Hoshina Soshiro parked fast and got out quickly as if his life depends on it, phone pressed to his ear, eyes darting over the park. Too many people for this late at night. His chest still hadn’t calmed from driving too fast, every step felt too quick to process.

A group of civilians, mostly high school girls wanted to take a picture, but he quickly gestures them that he's not in the mood. They bowed in apologies.

He waved them off. Because right now, all he could think of was a woman. Named Yozora Y/n. Has h/c. Has e/c. And s/c with a perpetual frown.

Might as well be the Mona Lisa.

And then, of all things, some dumb memory hit him. A high school subject, Philosophy. Plato’s story about how soulmates came to be.

How people used to be born with two heads, four arms, four legs. And they were whole. Complete. Then the gods ruined it by split them in half, left them wandering the earth, desperate to find the part that was ripped away.

Because Greek gods were assholes like that. Petty. Cruel. So full of themselves, that splitting soulmates just for the hell of it wasn’t even surprising. 

He used to think it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. A fairy tale for lovesick idiots. (even tho he found the story of Hades and Persephone romantic).

He even laughed out loud when the teacher explained it. But now, shoving past strangers under the streetlights, he couldn’t shake it.

Maybe that was why people were always chasing someone. Maybe that was why his chest hurt like hell right now, searching for her face in this crowd.

Back then, Hoshina Soshiro thought it was bullshit. He’s not laughing now. God, the face his teacher be making right now if they saw Hoshina in this state.

“Chief..." he muttered, eyes scanning around him, crowd blurring around him. “Where the hell are ya?”

The line clicked, and then, “...Hoshina?”

Her voice. And he could finally breathe again. Air rushing in sharp and clean, like mint washed down his throat with cold water.

Like running barefoot through his mom’s flower garden in the middle of summer, back when life was simple.

He closed his eyes for a second, just holding the sound of her. Then he started moving again, fast.

“Yeah. It’s me. Where are ya at?”

A paused, "I'm here at the fountain. At the center. Where are you?" 

"I'm here... I'd just go straight to ya. Don't move, chief." He rasped, squeezing in with the crowd, eyes looking for the center of the park.

She said softly, “I’ll hang up now. Wave if you see me.”

“No!” The word shot out of him too fast his voice cracked.

A pause. “…No?" Yozora Y/n tone tilted, confused.

Shit. 

Why the hell did he say that? Hoshina didn’t know. His chest tightened, throat dry, and he just listened to his own heartbeat. His mind fumbled for an answer, any excuse, while the line stayed open between them

“I mean... Just don’t. Keep the line open. Easier that way. In case, y’know… anythin'.” His throat felt dry.

“Besides, better to hear yer voice than lose ya in the crowd.”

Silence.

Hoshina Soshiro could hear people chatting from over the line. And Yozora Y/n didn't say anything. He's getting more nervous now.

Few seconds she answered, "... Ok."  His shoulders eased and he exhaled.

He wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it. They haven't spoken since the Third Division recruitment of the rookies, literally weeks and now he could suddenly face one hundred kaijus but at the same time fumble just because he heard Y/n's voice?

... Meh, probably not. It's prolly the adrenaline.

"Chief, ya sure yer in the right place? Couldn't see ya anywhere." 

He paused. Hoshina Soshiro wasn’t sure if Yozora Y/n was his other half. She was closer to Soichiro, laughed with him, listened to him. Closer in ways he’d never be.

It's something his younger self had to painfully accept growing up. Sad but true.

But a small, stubborn part of him wanted to believe that she was. Wanted to think that maybe, against all odds, she was his other half.

That the voice on the line, soft and steady, was meant for him. "Look around. I’m literally in the middle of everyone. Try harder, Vice Captain."

Hoshina Soshiro grinned despite everything. Head darting around in hopes to see her, "Right… middle of everyone. Figures ya pick the hardest spot for me to find ya."

Maybe it didn’t matter if she was his soulmate or not. Just hearing her, even through the phone, made something in his chest with a mix of relief and longing he hadn’t expected.

Were talkin again, isn't that what i always wanted? He thinks, still looking around then he stops at seeing one figure in the middle.

Hoshina Soshiro didn't hesitate. He literally run amongst the crowd with full speed, some shouting at him in anger. 

"Chief!" he shouted, swiftly dodging a group of kids running around, 

"Hoshina? Are you running? Where are you?" 

He didn't answer but he ran faster than before, all Hoshina could think of was whether Y/n was fine with him wearing his standard uniform on their date. 

Which he immediately dismissed when he finally get to see more of her, he's closer now. Yozora Y/n was demanding answers but Hoshina didn't answer her.

That hair... That body... That uniform... That posture...

As he neared the fountain, his breath came in short and urgent gasps. 

Hoshina Soshiro grabbed Yozora Y/n's wrist, "Chief!" 

She turned slowly, as if sensing the weight of his gaze on her back. Her expression was a blend of surprise, recognition, and something deeper, something Hoshina couldn't decipher.

Hoshina Soshiro took a moment to steady his breathing, to gather his thoughts. His voice was rough, yet filled with a sense of victory and relief.

"Finally found ya."

Her lips curled into a faint, dry smile, and his heart did another somersaults. 

"You're late, Vice Captain," she replied, her voice was soft, exasperated and mocking irritation all at once.

Hoshina couldn't help but laugh. It felt like a release, earlier he had been all depressed and even his younger self was blaming him. 

"Are ya happy now?"  He asked the eight year old, small and awkward self, wearing a dirty hakama from a day's practice.

His younger self grinned wider, revealing his missing tooth, "very, very happy." 

"Couldn't make it easy, could ya?" Hoshina quipped, taking a step closer. Still holding her wrist.

She shrugged lightly, a graceful movement that seemed to encapsulate her entire being. "Where's the fun in that?"

She stared at him, before reaching out, all that running made the leaves from the trees tangled against his hair. Yozora Y/n's fingers brushed against a strand of his hair.

Hoshina let's her. And her eyes softened, and for the first time, Hoshina saw the vulnerability beneath her stern exterior.

It was a fleeting glimpse, but it was enough to reaffirm what he had always known...

"I found ya." he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

...That he didn't know whether Yozora Y/n was his soulmate or not. But he knows this.

Her gaze held his, unwavering. "I've been waiting."

---

 

The ramen stall was barely a bump on the sidewalk, tucked between a shuttered drugstore and a restaurant kicking out drunk salarymen. It was not fancy but it feels like home.

A battered menu hung crooked behind the old man at the cart, and steam curled upward into the air with the smell of broth.

It was nearly past midnight. Quiet, except the occasional slurps and clinks from the other two customers who were clearly trying not to stare.

Yozora Y/n ignored them.

Hoshina Soshiro didn’t.

“Hey chief,” he said, elbow resting near her bowl, “if people keep catchin' us eatin’ together like this, they’re gonna start rumors.”

Yozora Y/n didn’t look up from her bowl. “Let them.”

He raised an eyebrow, then grinned, "Yer not worried about your public image?” he teased, turning slightly toward her.

“Chief of Command Operations, sharin' ramen with the pretty one from Third Division?”

She lifted her gaze, flat and unimpressed. Y/n was more concerned of his self proclamation of being the 'pretty one' than his teasing actually.

“If I wanted eye candy, I could afford better.” damn.

Hoshina clutched his chest like she’d shot him straight. “Oof. That hurts, Chief. I thought we had somethin' special.”

She let out a sardonic smile, “You thought wrong.”

The other customers tried harder to look like they weren’t eavesdropping. The old man behind the cart gave a low chuckle as he stirred broth, obviously trying not to smirk at their bickering.

Hoshina, of course, noticed and leaned back with a grin. “See? Even he thinks we sound like a married couple.”

Yozora Y/n’s look could’ve split stone. “Eat your ramen.”

He raised a brow. “So… Not denyin' the 'eye candy’ part?”

Hoshina Soshiro laughed, "I mean, yer loaded, I'm pretty. Works in the hypothetical relationship right?" 

She sighed, deliberate, and pulled out her phone like she was looking for a bank app.

“I’ll wire you the money to keep your mouth shut.”

Hoshina blinked. Then grinned; slow, smug, like she’d just handed him a victory on a silver platter. He knows he's stepping on the line, but he knows Y/n enough not to ticked her off, and right now, she's not really that pissed.

And besides can't he be happy? Hoshina Soshiro deserve this! After a whole day of errands, wrangling kids and killing an unexpected kaijus that popped out of nowhere, Hoshina definitely deserve this outing with Y/n.

“Damn. Sugar mommy treatment? Thanks, babe.”

Hoshina Soshiro gave her a wink. Yozora Y/n didn’t return it, she just slid him the boiled egg from her bowl without comment.

He blinked at it. “What’s this?”

“Payment. Now shut up.”

It sat there, steaming gently on his bowl. Hoshina Soshiro took it. Of course he took it.

Then he looked at her again. Really looked.

Her face was still turned toward the counter, but her shoulders had relaxed. Her eyes were just a little softer than usual.

He thought about saying something real; about 2008, or her not replying to his texts, or how he still remembered her favorite ramen order after decades.

Hoshina Soshiro never think about it but it really is crazy how fast the night changes.

Many things may be temporary, but eating ramen are set for life!

He examined the egg with ith his chopsticks, “An egg as payment? C’mon, Chief. That’s some Bucky Barnes energy right there.”

He tapped his chopsticks against her bowl. “Tradin' favors, metal arm, broody stare; yer basically the Winter Soldier.”

Yozora Y/n's eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me a brainwashed assassin with trauma?”

Hoshina laughed. “Relax. I meant the cool metal arm part. Besides, if yer Bucky, then who the hell am I? Cap? Falcon?”

He paused, remembering what he thought earlier, then leaned in with a grin. “Wait, scratch that. I’m Natasha Romanoff. Dark haired hottie that even Bucky can’t resist.”

She just stared at him over her bowl. Flat. Silent. Y/n's expression was flat enough to scrape the life out of his punchline.

Because what the hell? This man whose childhood nickname's Nobita (by Hoshina Soichiro) really compared her to Bucky Barnes, of all people.

Hoshina's grin faltered. “…Or maybe not.” He sighed, leaning back. “Fine. I’m Happy Hogan.”

Y/n's mouth twitched, just enough to show she was enjoying this. “Happy gets to date the boss.”

Hoshina almost choked on his noodles. “...Happy doesn’t date the boss.” 

“Exactly.”

Funny how two syllables could feel like a verdict.

Hoshina Soshiro had made peace with a lot of things; the paperwork he’d never finish, the fact that somewhere out there he’d been doomed with a bowl cut childhood nickname he’d rather bury six feet under.

If the universe wanted him to be the Happy Hogan of this story, fine, he could live with that.

Hell, he’d even take being the assistant if it meant keeping his people alive. Just don’t call him Guy Gardner, and for the love of god, don’t bring up Nobita.

For a while, they ate mostly in silent. The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t easy either. When the bowls were stacked and the stall owner came to clear them, the other customers were also gone, so it's just them.

As if he’d just remembered, Hoshina reached down and pulled a small paper bag from his side, sliding it across the counter toward her.

Yozora Y/n looked up from her bowl, "What's this?" 

Hoshina thought about saying it's her favourite fruit. But grinned again, wanting to stew a little bit. Y/n caught it, and she eyed the bag suspiciously.

"What?" He laughed, "Scared of a brown paper bag? Open it, Chief."

Yozora Y/n did and inside were oranges;  bright skinned, fresh, and fat and round. She stared.

“Picked ’em up in Hokkaido market,” Hoshina said casually. “Where they had dried squid for Captain Ashiro Mina, and, well, I saw these. Figured ya’d still like ’em.”

Something fluttered in her chest, sharp and unwelcome. He remembered. After all these years! Like, who does that?

“…You remembered.”

“Course I did. Ya practically lived off these when we were kids." Watching her, his grin softened, just a little. “Some things don’t change.”

She stared at the bag too long, then set down her own. “Then take this.”

He blinked, curious, before pulling out the bottles. Hokkaido chocolate milk. Two glass bottles, neatly tucked in crisp paper. The kind that were expensive.

For once, he looked almost thrown. “…Ya got me somethin'?”

“It was supposed to be Mont Blanc,” Y/n said quickly, like she had to get it out before she changed her mind. "They didn’t have it.”

The fact she even remembered his favourite dessert just made his night even better for some reason.

Hoshina Soshiro snorted, then grinned wide, snatching the bag from her hands before she could pull it back. “Hey!”

“This is better.” He held one bottle up like it was gold. “Ya remembered my sweet tooth.”

“I didn’t...”

“Don’t lie. Ya did care.” He cracked it open with a pop, downed half, and sighed like it was heaven. “Ahh. Perfect.”

Yozora Y/n stared at him, really, really stared... He looked happy like this, and the guilt and worry in her heart lifted and her eyes cleared up a little and the night was beautiful.

"You're supposed to drink it later. You'll get a stomach ache." 

Hoshina Soshiro chugged one down drom the bottle, "Hmm? Can't hear ya chief~ really lovin' this chocolate milk of yers." 

She turned her face away, but heat crawled up her neck. Ignoring him, she picked up the orange from the paper bag and peeled them open.

The smell clung to her fingers immediately, bitter and clean. And Y/n jolted when Hoshina tapped her hands with his, she looked at him,

“Don’t strain yerself, Chief. I got it.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let the orange roll into his palm. “I wasn’t straining.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thumbs working the peel and spiraling it off into a ribbon. “Ya hated the smell stickin’ to yer fingers.”

Yozora Y/n blinked. Her lips pressed thin, but the warmth crawling up her throat betrayed her. He remembered. He noticed.

Hoshina Soshiro didn’t seem to think much of it. He also stripped the pith away like she always wanted, slow and careful, before holding out a slice on his palm.

His smile was easy, thoughtless. Beautiful.

"Here.”

Yozora Y/n stared at the wedge in his hand, and took it anyway. An orange slice. Just an orange slice.

Nothing special. Nothing life altering. (But expensive. It's Hokkaido, everything is expensive now)

Definitely not worth the way her chest suddenly felt like it had been drop kicked.

Because how the hell did he even remember that? That she hated the smell sticking to her fingers? That she hated the pith? That was a thing from forever ago.

A childhood fun fact. A footnote from a time before duty, scars and entire lifetimes wedged between them.

He wasn’t supposed to remember. Hoshina Soichiro doesn't know that. Hell, she barely remembered.

And now? Now Y/n's pulse was tripping over itself like a drunk trying to run. Her neck was hot. Her face was probably hot. Great. Amazing. Just what she needed.

Yozora Y/n was not... Emphasis on not... About to swoon over a citrus. There was no manual for this.

No handbook titled 'So Your Childhood Friend Is Weirdly Considerate And You Have No Clue What That Supposed To Mean.'

Step one; don’t panic. Step two; definitely don’t let Hoshina notice. Step three; well, too late, because her heartbeat had just done another somersault anyway.

Y/n kept staring at the wedge. Stupid. Really, really stupid. And yet her hand moved on its own, popping it to her mouth before she could think better of it.

It was sweet, and too fresh. Stupid! She wasn’t smiling, not really... Except, maybe she was, because Y/n's cheeks felt hot and her lips had betrayed her.

Yozora Y/n raised her eyes with the old man at the stall, ladle in hand, watching her with the kind of smug little look that said;  I saw this played out multiple times, lady, don’t think you’re special.

Her face went hotter. From embarrassment, obviously. It had to be! (No, don't fool us) 

Y/n lifted a hand in a sharp little flick, shooing him off like an annoying fly. Mind your own business, that gesture said.

The old man only chuckled as he stirred his broth.

---

 

"Whaaat?!" Shinomiya Kikoru exclaimed, almost dropping her popsicle in the process, eyes widening and piercing at the two like they're some suspects.

"You two mentioned earlier that you stalked Vice Captain Hoshina, but because of a bet that he's seeing his 'girlfriend?'" 

Said two suspects sweats like a sinner in a church (that didn't really help their case) Furuhashi Iharu grumbled and looked away, Ichikawa Reno just chuckled.

Blushing, Iharu snapped "Hey, we were just curious! And no way a man like Vice Captain is single!"

Shinomiya Kikoru blinked, that caught her off, "... Well, fair, i guess." 

Furuhashi Iharu grinned, "Damn right!" But deflated moments later, "but kinda embarrassing that Vice Captain knew we were tailing him from the start."

Kikoru and Reno both sighed, the latter was fishing his ice cream in the plastic bag, "Well he is Vice Captain after all." 

It was already late... More like one am in the morning, after wrapping up another successful mission in Chofu City, their little celebration dragged on longer than expected.

And instead of going straight to bed like normal people, the gang decided they had to try the newly released limited-flavor ice cream before it sold out.

Great idea in theory, fun in practice, just not so fun for being the one to actually buying it. That leads to Iharu, Kikoru and Reno on ice cream patrol.

But hey, Kafka's stomach ache was gone so he has two pair of ice cream, so yay!

Ichikawa Reno trip over on his own shoelace, Iharu and Kikoru didn't noticed, they were already ahead of him, bickering over who's better at hand combat,

Cursing, Reno bent down to tie them again when at the corner of his eyes he noticed two figures walking towards the parking lot near the park.

Ichikawa Reno's eyes widened, Vice Captain Hoshina?! He looked over at Hoshina's right side and Reno nearly doubled over, And the Chief of Command Operation?! 

He looked again where Iharu and Kikoru were, still bickering and clearly not seeing at the fact that their Vice Captain of the Third Division was with Yozora Y/n, 

Wait... Why are they still here? At one am? Reno stared for a tad bit longer and noticed Hoshina Soshiro was being casual with the Chief of Command Operation.

More like teasing her actually, Yozora Y/n doesn't seem to mind, But Ichikawa Reno saw how she glared at their Vice Captain tho, but without any malice.

He couldn't hear exactly what they're saying, but it didn’t matter. Hoshina Soshiro was doubled over laughing, loud and clear, while Yozora Y/n's face flushed red.

Only tidbits of it like;

"Pfft!! Chief, ya can't be serious, 6 ain't afraid of 7 because it's a prime number, hahaha!.." 

"Shut up, it was a good guess!" 

"It's 7 ate 9, Chief! But oh well, prime numbers can be intimidatin'"

"Haha, funny" 

Ichikawa Reno blinked. Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro with the Chief of Command Operation. Alone. Being Casual. Hoshina Soshiro being ansty earlier... 

Ichikawa Reno widened his eyes, and opened his mouth wide in realisation. Holy shit! Iharu was right! Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro does have a girlfriend!

Reno’s brain stalled. Okay, okay... He couldn’t just jump straight to calling it dating. That was reckless.

Still, looking at them like this, it was hard not to think it.

He glanced ahead at Iharu and Kikoru. Iharu especially. The guy would lose his mind if Reno told him what he was seeing.

He’d probably demanding to see them, blow it up into something loud and stupid. And Hoshina would probably resign the both of them.

Should he tell Furuhashi Iharu?

Ichikawa is a good man. And a good man isn’t nosey.

Reno looked back. Their Vice Captain was still laughing, shoulders loose, like the weight of the world had finally slid off him.

The Chief of Command Operation’s face was still red, but Reno noticed she's enjoying whatever Hoshina was telling her.

They were just… Talking. Normal. Comfortable.

And for some reason, Ichikawa Reno’s chest tightened. Hoshina Soshiro looked so happy. Happier than before, if that makes sense.

Did he really want to ruin that with a dumb bet?

Besides, privacy was a thing. If Hoshina Soshiro had someone in his life, that was his business, not theirs.

Reno let out an exasperated exhale, smiling to himself. He stood, dusted off his pants, and ran to catch up with Kikoru and Iharu.

Yep. Ichikawa Reno is a good man.

Notes:

First off; special thanks, everyone! 🎉 We just hit 2k hits, and to those who left kudos and comments; all of you are seen 👀. Bet some of you had a mini heart attack in the middle, thinking Hoshina would reschedule the date because it was getting late, huh? Not gonna lie, the original draft was a smooth cat cafe date, but honestly? That felt overrated. Then I rewatched the filler Hoshina’s Day Off and loved Iharu’s theory that the Vice Captain was secretly on a date. In this fic, well… he’s not exactly wrong, lol. I went with the “your date is late and you’re waiting for them” trope instead. It fits Hoshina. He juggles a lot as Vice Captain, but he’s also the type to get sidetracked if something funny or chaotic comes up, just like when he tricked Iharu and Reno.

Writing Hoshina is always fun for me. There’s a specific style I fall into with him; casual, sarcastic, a bit self-deprecating. Basically, I enjoy poking fun at him, though the tone shifts depending on whose POV it is. Oh, and remember the cat? He’ll be back 😉🫵. Don’t mind me being so detailed I even included that funny looking car he drives. (Kinda looked like a Kia Soul model? If not, that’s on me. I’m no car expert. Hoshina COULD afford better, or maybe it’s just a company car.)

While this chapter leans fluffy, MC’s side still has a thread of angst. It ties back to her issues and her falling-out with Hoshina in 2008, showing their slow shift from strangers to civil colleagues. Gen Narumi also makes a reappearance here, felt like the right time, but I’ll admit I was nervous about getting his voice right compared to canon. The Hokkaido chocolate milk detail was inspired by the ending credits of Hoshina’s Day Off. This was meant to be pure fluff, but I couldn’t resist slipping in a bit of angst from MC’s perspective.

For anyone confused about the Natasha reference: when I was in my Marvel phase, I was hardcore against Natasha x Banner. I was all-in on WinterWidow (Sebastian Stan himself has confirmed it’s canon 👀). That’s why Hoshina’s been joking about MC being Bucky through texts in earlier chapters.

And not really a DC fan but after much convincing from my friend, I finally give in and Nathan NAILED it as Guy Gardner... And you know it, literally went to my drafts typing about how Guy Gardner and Hoshina has some similar traits😜 also not really important but the Guy Gardner joke is actually a projection. Hoshina hating Guy Gardner actually makes perfect sense, even if it feels ironic; Guy Gardner’s “douche” energy hits too close to home. Gardner is technically a Green Lantern, but he’s never the main Green Lantern. He’s the backup, who fills in when Hal Jordan or John Stewart are busy. That hits home for how i portrayed Hoshina, he kind of has that second brother syndrome, and it's also technically his job to fill in since he's the vice captain; whenever mina is away.

And Hoshina despises Gardner's lack of discipline because it’s the opposite of his whole identity as a fighter. But at the same time, Gardner wins anyway, and that’s the part Hoshina can’t stand. And the bowl cut is the cherry on top😛 and if you think about it, being compared to Happy Hogan is more ok because Unlike Guy Gardner (loud, abrasive, insecure), Happy is the competent everyman. He knows he’s not Tony Stark, but he’s still essential to Tony’s survival and success. And spoiler; which Hoshina does with kafka, literally helping the guy when he's questioning his worth and place in JAKDF.

And the Nobita comparison, well Nobita is thr archetype for being someone's punching bag, a loser, the one who gets low grades and yeah, the bowl cut again, and his kanji name; 野比 のび太 which literally plays on the verb "Nobiru" (to grow/stretch) and the common name ending "Ta" (big/strong). So his name basically suggests “a boy who’ll grow a lot.” The irony? Nobita never grows into much at all. He’s clumsy, gets bullied, and always relies on Doraemon to save him. Because of that, “Nobita” became shorthand for “helpless, bullied kid with a bowl cut.” So if Hoshina Soichiro teased his little brother with it, it was like stamping Soshiro with “pathetic" on his forehead. AND At face value, if you just mash “Nobi” = stretch and “Ta” = big/fat, you can jokingly read it as “stretchy fat.". That’s not the official meaning. But Japanese kids prolly see it that way with how kanji has different meaning and word play. That’s why Hoshina Soshiro hates it so much.

Thanks for sticking through my Ted talk, and thanks again for helping this fic hit 2k! Please do not repost or copy any part of this work. If you see it elsewhere, please let me know. I don't have any other platforms other than AO3.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of You Gotta Step Into The Daylight And Let It Go