Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Good work today, everyone,” Captain Ashiro’s voice rings out in their earpieces.

The Third Division of the Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force had just finished subduing the large honju that terrorised the area near its Tachikawa base, Captain Ashiro having shot down the large kaiju with her personal weapon as she’s always done.

“Hoshina,” the same voice calls out, reaching for her second-in-command. “You and I will search the perimeter for any lingering yoju and eliminate them,” she commands, voice never faltering like the capable leader that she is.

A woman stands on a rooftop that overlooks the whole subjugation area, her short purple hair flowing in the wind with a finger on her communication device as she takes in the order.

“Roger,” the woman responds, already heading in the direction where her captain is located.

—

“Ahh, now this is the life,” a voice sighs in relief, water heard splashing as a body lowers itself into the communal bath, water temperature hot enough that steam can be seen rising from it but warm enough that it doesn't burn when soaking.

Another body joins the first, dipping a leg in to test the water's temperature before finally sliding in and letting the warm bath envelop their person.

The first has a smile on their face as they turn to look at the other that just appeared.

“I didn't think you'd join me here, Captain,” their voice beams, a hint of surprise coating their tone but it turns into a pitched yelp when their captain reaches a hand over and sprays water in their direction.

“Wha—? Hey!”

“This is a public bathhouse, Hoshina. Anyone can use it regardless of position and rank,” Ashiro reminds her vice captain, her tone a little petulant like she didn't expect that her subordinate would think she wouldn't associate herself with the base’s amenities.

Hoshina laughs it off, her voice bouncing on the walls of the empty bathhouse. It was late at night where everyone on base should be asleep by now, except those who were on night patrol.

And well, she and her captain too. Considering how both of them were considered workaholics by their platoon leaders.

But they just got done with today's subjugation report, so they deserved this time to soak alone without the rest of the division around. That's what Hoshina thinks, at least.

“I just thought that our venerable captain here would appreciate it more if she could take a bath in her home alone,” Hoshina remarks casually, lifting her hands in front of her face to shield herself in case Ashiro splashes her again.

The black-haired woman just scoffs, lightheartedly as she shakes her head at Hoshina's words. “Just wanted a change in scenery, I guess,” she says offhandedly with a shrug.

They sit there, talking about work and other menial things before the conversation settles and a comfortable silence wraps around the both of them.

It's Ashiro that disturbs the silence between them this time.

“The joint training with the First Division is coming up,” she recalls, looking straight into Hoshina's eyes.

The purple-haired woman reciprocates her staring, even when she tilts her head at Ashiro’s words.

“Right, I'll be heading over to Ariake with some of our unit members,” Hoshina breaks eye contact with her captain, opting instead to lay her head on the ledge behind her. “Though, I admit that I am a little anxious about leaving Tachikawa with only half of its forces. Especially right after the raid with Kaiju No. 10,” she laments as she stares at the ceiling, her mind wandering.

She misses the smirk that sneaked its way onto Ashiro's face. “Oh? Are you saying that I wouldn't be able to handle protecting this base without you for a few days?” Her captain teases, a chuckle leaving her lips when Hoshina finally shakes herself out of her reverie and visibly panics at her accusation.

“That's not what I meant—!”

“I know,” Ashiro interrupts before Hoshina can dig her own grave any further. “I'm grateful you are my vice captain, Hoshina.”

The way she says it, with unconcealed gratitude painting every inch of her words, colours the mentioned woman's face a deep shade of red that reaches up till her ears. Hoshina turns her head away, in a futile attempt at hiding her face as her own words stumble clumsily out of her mouth.

“I-I'm glad that I took you up on the offer.”

“I’ve never actually been to Ariake base before,” one of the younger troopers says offhandedly, voice slightly muffled by the rumble of the transport truck. He’s a recent transfer from the Tenth, newly folded into Ebina’s platoon, and still wide-eyed enough to make conversation for the sake of it.

That one line is all it takes.

“Ariake?” Ikaruga barks out a laugh from his corner, propped up against a crate. “Hope you’re not expecting anything flashy. It’s nothing compared to Tachikawa.”

“Smaller too,” adds Nakanoshima, stretching her arms overhead with a lazy grin. “Their mess hall’s nice, though. Big windows. Ocean view. Might be the only thing they’ve got on us.”

“I heard their gym has cold floors,” someone mutters from the back.

“And too much white lighting,” another says, clearly offended by sterile interior design.

The back of the truck fills with good-natured groans and exaggerated complaints, all of them clearly exaggerating out of homebase pride. Even Hoshina, sitting a little apart from the others with one knee propped up, can’t help the amused exhale that escapes her nose.

Her division’s loyalty runs deep, if nothing else.

“Still weird to think the Force’s HQ is there,” the transferee says again, trying to steer the conversation back. “Is it true they got a new captain recently?”

“Yeah,” Nakanoshima replies, glancing toward Hoshina with something like curiosity. “I heard Director Shinomiya handpicked him himself.”

That gets everyone’s attention. Heads turn—too many at once—and Hoshina feels the weight of their gazes like a stack of bricks ready to topple over.

“...What?” She asks, eloquently, clearly haven't been paying attention to their riveting talk.

“The First Division captain.”

“Okay?” Hoshina cocks an eyebrow, still not understanding what is expected of her. “And what about him?”

“You’ve met him, right? With your rank and all?” Nakanoshima presses, grinning.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she deadpans, brushing some lint off her uniform distractedly. “Haven’t had the pleasure. Vice captain work keeps me on this side of the city. Captain Ashiro’s probably the only one from our unit who’s met him face-to-face.”

Her last sentence, thrown casually, catches their attention and everyone immediately clings onto that little bit of information like vultures circling around a corpse.

“She say anything about him?” It's Itakura this time that's asking, and as much as she's always known that her unit members are hardcore gossip-heads, she's still surprised that he is also one of them.

Hoshina hums, reaching up to tap her chin as she searches the dusty corners of her memory.

“All I really know is that he's the youngest officer ever promoted to captain. Supposedly the strongest soldier in the Defense Force currently too, confirmed to be compatible with Numbers Weapon 1.”

Her officers listens to her every word, clearly impressed and with awe visible in their eyes—until she adds, almost too casually:

“But… he’s also foul-mouthed, plays video games even during missions, dumps paperwork on his vice captain, and skips most meetings. And when he does show up, he’s always late so honestly, it's better when he doesn’t show up at all.” She huffed—too smoothly to be quoting someone else.

“And this guy’s a captain?” another trooper asks, half-laughing, half-dreading what that means for the Defense Force’s standards.

“Apparently the strongest soldier we’ve got,” she replies with a shrug. “Can’t argue with results. Just… maybe keep your expectations flexible.”

The chatter picks back up—louder now, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and speculative chaos about what kind of man this infamous Captain Narumi really is.

Hoshina lets their voices wash over her, gaze slipping toward the narrow slit of a window at the side of the transport.

The scenery outside is already shifting—the city giving way to the long stretch of coastline. Light caught her eye—and in the window’s glare, her reflection looked back. Drawn face. Mouth in a line. The same expression she wore the day she left.

A long pause. Then she exhales quietly, almost too soft to be heard.

“Captain, huh?”

—

The transport truck gives a low hiss as it rolls to a stop just as it passes the Ariake Maritime Base gates. Sunlight glints off of steel and concrete, a sprawling network of docks and buildings framed by the distant sea. Despite the impressive scale, some of the Third’s troopers were visibly underwhelmed as they dropped down from the vehicle.

“Told you,” Ikaruga mutters under his breath, hopping down from the truck. “HQ base or not, our Tachikawa’s got more personality.”

“Don’t let anyone from the First hear you say that,” Nakanoshima warns, stretching her arms overhead as she scans the area.

Hoshina's the last one to climb out—the doors closing behind her automatically—and her official Defense Force uniform flowing in the wind as she struts her way to the front of the group, her heels clacking rhythmically beneath her.

Standing ahead of them are several familiar faces.

“Welcome to the First Division. I hope the trip wasn’t too rough,” Hasegawa greets them with his usual calm. Standing beside him are Kikoru—her twin tails catching the sea wind and an arm in a salute when she catches sight of Hoshina—and Kafka, who also greets her with a salute before dropping it and giving a quick wave with an easy grin. A few of the First’s platoon leaders linger in the background, observing the new arrivals.

“Smooth as it gets,” Hoshina replies, stepping up with a casual wave. “You’re lookin’ well, Hasegawa-san.”

The man just sighs as the other officers behind him look sheepishly away, Kikoru has her face in a grimace and even Kafka had a hand over his nape, scratching at it awkwardly.

“As well as one can be when working under a new captain,” Hasegawa lets out under his breath, not really intending for her to hear that. Her own division members that were right behind her had clearly heard the taller man as well, judging by their whispered murmurs.

Hoshina tilts her head, confused as to what he means. “Did something bad happen recently?”

Hasegawa has a hand on his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose but ultimately saying nothing to her question.

“Regardless, it's protocol that the visiting division reports to the captain of the hosting unit. Soushirou, you should go on ahead and check in with Narumi,” the man recites as he gestures her towards the direction of the captain's office.

“I can guide you there if you need it, Vice Captain,” Kikoru offers, arms at her side and trying her best to not look so excited at seeing her old division again.

Hoshina lets out a good-natured laugh—surely, the captain's office hasn't changed locations that drastically from when she last came here four years ago, back when she first became Ashiro’s deputy—but considers taking her up on the offer.

“I might need someone to show me where the office is,” she says nonchalantly, looking pointedly at the young recruit. Kikoru's eyes light up before she catches herself, clearing her throat before giving her another salute.

“Gladly,” she turns around to lead the way, but Hoshina can spot the way her cheeks blush a subtle pink.

She catches up to Kikoru and hears Hasegawa behind her leading her subordinates to their temporary settlements before walking past the First’s squad leaders. She gives them a nod to acknowledge them and they reciprocate back, showing her respect even if they weren't as excited to greet her like Kikoru and Kafka had been.

She doesn't let her gaze linger on them for too long, but she does notice how almost all of them have dyed parts of their hair in some way. Not thinking much of it, she disregards the coincidence as a secret rite of passage in the First Division.

—

They walked side by side through the winding halls of the Ariake base, boots tapping in sync against the polished floors. Despite the sterile lighting and sharp corners, there was an ease between them—a sense of familiarity formed through shared battlefields and mutual respect.

“So,” Hoshina starts, hands tucked in her pockets and exuding the very epitome of calm. “How’s the First been treatin’ ya, Shinomiya?”

Kikoru glances over at her, taking in her easy smile. “It’s been good. The platoon leaders have been sparring with me, trying to sharpen my combat skills. I even got Captain Narumi to train me.”

That made Hoshina raise an eyebrow, her interest peaked. “Oh really now? And how’s that been goin’ for ya?”

Kikoru grimaces—the kind that says more than words ever could.

“He’s... strong,” she admits after a pause. “Ridiculously strong. He’s great at neutralizing kaiju, and his combat instincts are crazy sharp.”

Hoshina smirks a little, catching onto the way the younger words her statement. “But?”

“But,” Kikoru mutters, her eyes rolling to the side as she continues on complaining, “he’s also impossible. He slacks off whenever he can, dumps his paperwork on Vice Captain Hasegawa, and always has a game console in his hands. It’s like he goes out of his way to be the most aggravating person alive.”

The girl lets out a sigh and crosses her arms as they round another corner. Hoshina almost feels bad for her—and anyone who's had to interact with him, clearly.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even bother,” Kikoru’s silent for a while, contemplating on whether she should even say her next thoughts aloud. “But... if my father—the director general—thinks he’s worth acknowledging, then I need to be strong enough to surpass him. That’s my goal right now.”

Hoshina glances at her, something unreadable in her gaze, but says nothing. Just proceeds to nod once, a small acknowledgement to Kikoru's inner struggles.

Before long, they came to a stop in front of a particular door—scuffed at the edges, with a crooked “Do Not Disturb Unless Base Is On Fire” sign taped to it like a half-serious joke.

Kikoru turns to face her and gestures towards it with a dry expression. “This is it. I guess I should warn you to brace yourself.”

Hoshina looked at the door. Then at the sign. Then back at Kikoru.

“We sure this is it?” She asks, a little skeptically.

Kikoru nods.

Hoshina gives her another disbelieving look before knocking on the door, three resounding hits one after the other, and waits for it to swing open.

She waits a while, but the door still hasn't budged. So she knocks on the offending partition again, a little louder this time, and waits.

Only to be met with the same view.

She looks to Kikoru but the only thing she gives is a shrug at their current predicament.

“Captain Narumi is inside as far as I'm aware. He never really leaves it, without making a ruckus, that is,” Kikoru tells her, a sheepish expression on her face as she does.

Deciding to crack open the door herself, Hoshina reaches a hesitant hand towards the handle, the chill of the metal grounding her as she turns it.

The door creaks as it opens, like its hinges haven't been oiled in a while, and she's met face-to-face with the mess coating almost every inch of the room.

Crushed soda cans. Crumpled sheets of paper. And most notably—boxes upon boxes of Yamazon packages stacked precariously high, forming towers that look one sneeze away from disaster. There isn’t even an office desk in sight—in an office, no less.

In the middle of the room, in lieu of the table, is a white futon. A figure bundled up beneath the blankets, busy vying for a new high score on a video game on his BS5.

The audio from the game—some flashy action title—bounces off the walls of the room before Hoshina decides to clear her throat in order to catch his attention.

“So this is what the strongest soldier’s office looks like?” She asks into the air, rhetorically as she continues looking around the room, settling her focus on Narumi who’s tangled up in his sheets. “Sure glad I got Ashiro as my captain.”

Narumi jolts upright, clearly not expecting company and his thumb slips—his character on screen moans in pain as it gets hit by the opponent character’s laser beams, the words ‘K.O.’ taking up the whole screen.

“Are you kidding me?! Hasegawa, I swear to—“

He turns, mid-rant.

And stops.

There’s a beat.

Hoshina blinks, trying not to show anything.

Narumi stares at her, recognition blooming across his face like a sucker punch. His hair’s longer than she remembers—still black, but with pinkish-gray bangs now—and his shirt’s a crumpled graphic tee with the words ‘sincerity’ written in kanji.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then Narumi scrambles upright, still half-wrapped in his blanket like a disgruntled ghost.

“You—what the hell are you doing in First Division territory?!”

“I’m here to report in,” she replies, after realising she’s been silent for too long. “Protocol. For the joint training. Hasegawa-san told me to check in with you.”

Narumi blinks, like he's buffering.

“Right. Joint training,” he says, clipped, as if he forgot about even agreeing to it—which wouldn’t be out of place, knowing that it was probably Hasegawa that made him approve of it in the first place. “Cool. Great. You’ve checked in, so get going already. You’re messing up my tempo.”

He waves her off and flops back down onto the futon, grabbing his controller like nothing happened.

Hoshina doesn’t move.

She watches him for a moment—his eyes back on the screen, shoulders tense, like he hadn’t just spent the last five seconds frozen in place.

Just as she turns to leave, the door swings fully open behind her.

“Seriously?!”

Kikoru’s voice rings out, exasperated. She strides in, arms crossed, eyes already rolling as she takes in the room.

“Captain, you’ve got a guest from another division and that’s how you greet her? Like she ruined your snack break?!”

Narumi groans. “She already reported. That’s protocol. What more do you people want from me?”

“You’re a captain, not a shut-in with a badge!”

He waves his controller limply in protest.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re in sweatpants!”

“Combat-ready sweatpants,” he mumbles.

Hoshina raises a hand half-heartedly. “It’s fine, really—”

“It is not fine, Vice Captain.” Kikoru grumbles, shooting her a look that says ‘don't enable him’.

Narumi scowls but sinks further into the futon, muttering something about betrayal and how no one appreciates a man with priorities.

“I’ll see myself out,” Hoshina says, already stepping into the hallway.

Kikoru gives a dramatic sigh and follows. “Vice Captain Hoshina, you have my sincerest apologies on behalf of the entire unit.”

Hoshina waves her off with a soft laugh, but her gaze lingers on the door. Inside, Narumi can be heard grumbling something along the lines of “dumb disciple” and “just needed five more minutes.”

She walks away.

Later, in the quiet of her assigned room, Hoshina sinks into the cot and finally lets herself relax.

The mental image of Narumi, flailing around in a blanket burrito while yelling about high scores, floats unbidden to the front of her mind.

Narumi hadn’t really looked at her.

Except… he had, hadn’t he?

She tells herself it doesn’t matter. That it’s been years. That it’s fine.

That night, the mess hall was buzzing—laughter, clinking of glasses, the warm clash of voices from two divisions unfamiliar but quickly warming up to each other. The long tables were lined with trays of food and bottles of alcohol, and some had even helped themselves to a few drinks. It wasn’t a formal celebration by any means, more of an impromptu welcome party for the visiting Third Division members.

Everyone had swapped out of their stifling official uniforms in favor of more casual gear. Hoshina herself wore her personal Defense Force tracksuit, the jacket zipper left undone at the collar to reveal the sleek black turtleneck beneath—an ensemble that was a familiar sight to anyone who has ever interacted with her before.

Hoshina sat near the center, her own glass of beer in hand, engaging in easy conversation with a few First Division officers. Her manner was relaxed, tone light as she responded to each and every comment with her signature disarming smile on her face.

Every now and then, a burst of laughter would erupt from their little group—half at her effortless charm, the other half being her own. She fit in seamlessly, the officers murmuring between themselves about how different she is from their own captain.

“It's not fair that the Third gets both Ashiro and Hoshina as their captains,” one of the First officers laments, sitting at one of the side tables—the one closest to all the booze—with cheeks already flushed a dark red from the amount he had consumed. “Can't imagine how you'd get anything done with them around.”

His cohort—eager-eyed, clearly rookies who had only just joined the First's ranks—all let out drunken sounds of agreement, the main perpetrator himself clinging onto Ikaruga's shoulders in a half hug as he leaned in to not-so-quietly whisper in the other man’s ears.

“Seriously, you guys are lucky as hell. God knows what I'd give to have them giving me orders,” he slurs, the arm draped over Ikaruga’s shoulder like dead weight, the half-full glass in his hand tipping haphazardly.

Ikaruga goes rigid, eyes locked in horror on the amber liquid sloshing just inches from his pristine uniform. “The Third has more dignity than to lust over our leaders, you inebriated fool!” He yells, loud enough that even Hoshina, who had been preoccupied in an enlightening conversation with another soldier, caught onto his words.

The atmosphere in the cafeteria turns awkward then, with the thought now unleashed into the wild—raw, unfiltered, and far too honest for the amount of alcohol left in the night. A few officers chuckle nervously, others try to change the subject, but the tension hangs like a knife suspended in air.

Hoshina, catching only the tail end of Ikaruga’s outburst, blinks in confusion before glancing towards the source. She finds him mid-sputter, trying to escape from beneath the drunk man’s arm while Kafka—who was near the scene—tried diffusing the situation, all while tipsy himself.

She tilts her head slightly. “Is everything alright over there?”

Before Ikaruga can even try to explain the situation, the cafeteria doors slam open with the dramatics of a stage play, drawing everyone’s attention like a spotlight.

In walks Hasegawa with his stretched-out patience already threadbare, dragging Captain Narumi with him by the collar like an unruly stray cat.

Narumi—unintentionally fully immersed in his role—is struggling in the older man’s hold on him, his arms and legs swinging and just shy of actually landing a hit on Hasegawa.

“Hasegawa, you—! Put me down right this instant!” The captain practically hisses in his ear, unceremoniously dropped onto the floor when Hasegawa does as he's told. He's a little disheveled from the drop and he's about to run off again when the taller man instead grabs onto his arm, pulling him down into a seat at the front and center of the whole room.

Clearing his throat to gather everyone's attention, pointedly ignoring Narumi's complaints, Hasegawa raises his voice so that it reaches even the back of the room.

“In order to kick off our joint training, and to formally welcome the Third Division to Ariake, I would like to invite First Division Captain Narumi to give a toast as a way to inspire us during this collaborative effort.”

The room falls quiet—out of curiosity more than respect—as all eyes settle on Narumi, who now sits slouched in his seat with a sullen expression, chin resting in his palm like a moody teenager forced to attend a parent-teacher meeting.

He looks around, eyes narrowed under his bangs, clearly weighing the cost of staying silent versus the effort of stringing together a sentence. Hasegawa doesn't blink, standing behind him like an unmoveable statue. Eventually, with a long-suffering sigh that somehow manages to sound louder than any shouting could have been, Narumi raises his half-empty cup.

“Right, yeah,” he starts, already sounding bored. “Welcome to Ariake, I guess.”

The awkward tension from before creeps back in, this time sliding through the tables like fog.

Narumi doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just doesn’t care—as he continues, swirling the liquid in his glass lazily.

“Let’s do our best to make this joint training worthwhile,” he says, then adds with a smirk that’s all sharp teeth and no sincerity, “and hope the Third Division won’t slow us down too much.”

A sharp inhale cuts through the room. Like a reflex, a couple Third Division officers straighten in their seats, shoulders tensing at the slight. Even the First looks mildly uncomfortable, some shifting in place, some looking anywhere but at the man who just said the thing everyone was trying not to say.

Narumi tosses back his drink without blinking, the glass clinking dully as he sets it down.

A beat passes.

And then another.

The silence is on the cusp of boiling over—until the scrape of a chair interrupts the moment.

Hoshina stands—not in a dramatic, sudden way—but smoothly, rising from her seat almost politely. Her expression doesn’t change much, still pleasant and still poised, as if she didn't catch Narumi's sly words. But her eyes flicker just enough to betray her facade.

She lifts her own cup, voice cutting through the tension with the crisp clarity of a blade—not unlike the ones she wields in battle.

“Well,” she says, smiling like she hadn’t just been publicly insulted, “we wouldn’t want to disappoint the strongest now, would we?”

Her tone is light, teasing even—but there’s steel underneath it, the kind that makes her subordinates sit straighter and the First Division pause mid-sip.

Narumi blinks.

Then scoffs.

He leans back in his chair, the picture of smugness, crossing one leg over the other. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”

“Guess we will,” Hoshina returns with that same smile, then tips her glass in Narumi's general direction before downing the rest in one smooth motion.

The room collectively exhales, tension dissolving into laughter and noise again as if nothing happened. Someone cheers—whether for Hoshina’s clapback or just to defuse the mood, no one can really tell—and soon, the party stumbles back into motion.

Narumi looks vaguely irritated.

Hasegawa, on the other hand, looks vaguely relieved.

And Hoshina?

Hoshina just sits back down like nothing at all had happened, already reaching for a piece of grilled fish from the shared tray in front of her.

She's not even deterred whenever Narumi keeps glancing her way, with narrowed eyes like he’s trying to figure something out, only to be distracted by someone shoving another drink into his hand.

He wasn't even aware of who gave it to him.

He drinks it in one go.

—

The night drags on, rowdy and brimming with the unmistakable noise of too many tipsy soldiers in one room. The aftertaste of Narumi’s half-assed toast still lingers in the air like smoke—bitter, awkward, and slowly smothered beneath the rising volume of banter and beer.

“Hey you. Hibino,” Narumi slurs, voice carrying across the table with all the subtlety of a hand grenade.

Kafka, midway through reaching for another dumpling, freezes. “Me, Sir?”

Narumi squints at him like he’s trying to see through fog. “Yeah, you. You think you’re slick?”

Kafka blinks. “N-no! Of course not, Captain!”

“I saw you. You’ve been starin’ at me for a while now, Hibino,” Narumi continues, dramatically jabbing a finger in Kafka’s general direction. His elbow knocks over a soy sauce dish, and it spins on the table before miraculously righting itself. “You wanna go?! Huh?!”

Kafka panics, holding his hands up like he’s under arrest. “I was just wondering if you were gonna eat the gyoza in front of you…”

“You’re talking back to your superior and calling him a liar?” Narumi growls, rising halfway out of his seat, wobbling dangerously. “Didn’t know you were so brave—especially after almost killin’ the Director General!”

“I—I didn’t mean to—!” Kafka pleads, eyes wide, glancing to the others for backup.

Hoshina, watching from across the room, sets down her drink slowly, already bracing to stand.

But Hasegawa gets there first.

“That’s enough, Narumi.” His voice is cool steel—quiet, but firm. He moves in with practiced efficiency, gripping Narumi by the collar like one might grab the scruff of a stubborn cat.

Narumi flails. “What?! I wasn’t finished—!”

“You are now.” Hasegawa doesn’t break stride, pulling him back into his seat with a hand steady as stone. “Officer Shinomiya, I'm sorry to trouble you, but can you help bring the captain back to his room?”

The mentioned girl lets out a heavy sigh, a sign that she'd rather do anything else than help her drunkard captain, but stands up regardless. Just as she was about to take one of Narumi's arms, an elegant hand intercepts her and grabs it instead.

“Here, let me do it,” Hoshina offers, already looping Narumi’s arm over her shoulder with practiced ease.

“No, Vice Captain! I can do it—” Kikoru starts, indignant.

“It’s alright, Shinomiya,” Hoshina placates with a soft smile. “I think you’d be more useful helping Hasegawa-san with the others. I’ve got him.” She reaches up to gently pat the younger girl’s head—a gesture of casual authority that somehow doesn't offend, just reassures.

Kikoru’s mouth is left agape but doesn’t argue further.

And so Hoshina begins the long trek back to Narumi’s quarters with the said man in tow.

In tow, as in, she quite literally had to drag him with every step she takes. Between the captain stumbling over his own feet and nearly bringing them both to the ground more than once, the short walk stretched into something closer to a forced endurance test.

“Captain, please. We need to get you back to your room.”

“No!” Narumi bellows, digging his heels in with the enthusiasm of a rebellious child. “You ruined my fight with that Hibino guy! He was supposed to go down!”

“Yeah? Well, if you keep trying to trip me again, it'll be us who's going down.”

“Then let go of me, I can walk back just fine!”

“If I let go now, you'd kiss the floor in seconds.”

“I so won't.”

“You so will.”

He doesn’t respond after that, either out of pride or because he’s already forgotten what they were arguing about. Hoshina takes the quiet as a victory and presses on. Their banter slips into a lull, and in the silence, she gets reminded of a distant past where the bickering was always a constant between them.

Then suddenly, softer—softer than anything he’s said tonight—Narumi speaks again.

“Miko cried, y’know?”

She freezes at the mention of the name, feeling his weight shift as he leans more heavily against her from the sudden stop.

“Huh?”

“When you left.”

The hallway stretches ahead of them, but it suddenly feels too narrow, too quiet.

Hoshina says nothing, just tightens her grip on him and keeps moving.

“I waited,” he mumbles.

Still no response. Not because she didn’t want to, but because—what was there to say? Her steps falter for a moment, then resume at a slower pace.

“Why’d you go?”

That question lingers, sharp and unforgiving. A ghost of the past coming back to demand answers.

“I had to,” she says quietly. Not a confession. Not an apology. Just a truth he wouldn’t remember come morning.

Narumi goes silent after that. When she looks over, his eyes are closed, his breathing heavy. Passed out.

Or pretending to be.

By the time they reach his room, the mess from before is nowhere in sight. The floor is cleared. The Yamazon boxes are nowhere in sight, his futon is laid out properly, and there's an actual desk in the room now—miraculously.

‘Hasegawa's work,’ she thinks, not ungrateful.

She guides Narumi to the futon and lays him down with more care than necessary. A captain who wasn’t hers. A boy she no longer had any obligation to. And yet—

She fetches the blanket folded on the nearby sofa and drapes it over him and lingers, even when she knows better not to. She stares at Narumi's sleeping form—how the rise and fall of his chest shows his breaths evening out in his slumber, the soft snores he lets out inconsistently as if one side of his nose is blocked, and the way his body is sprawled out on top of the futon.

His face looks softer in sleep. Less sharp. Less… guarded.

She considers just letting him be and leaving, but something inside her bids her to stay a little longer. So, she drops down to her knees and grabs Narumi's lanky limbs in order to tuck them under the blanket.

She finishes wrestling his legs under the covers and is about to do the same to his arms when she catches it—a small flash of color. Purple. Frayed. A hair tie, hanging limply on his wrist as if the elastic has worn off but still holding on strong—stubborn, like its owner.

Her chest tightens.

“He must've bought it,” she tells herself, because anything else was a thought she couldn’t afford. Not now. Not with alcohol in her system and too many memories clawing at her ribs.

She turns toward the door, the warmth of the room clinging to her skin like a second coat.

And nearly jumps out of it when she spots Hasegawa leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, face stoic as ever.

“Shit. You scared me, man,” she mutters under her breath, hand on her heart while keeping her voice low so it doesn’t wake the sleeping idiot behind her.

“Apologies, Soushirou,” he says, tone measured. “And thank you. For taking care of our captain.”

“It's fine,” she brushes it off, waving her hand around nonchalantly. “Honestly, I think I got off with the better part of the deal. I'm sure wrangling that many drunk officers with only Shinomiya to help you was harder than having to drag back one measly man.”

Hasegawa offers her a small smile. “Regardless, thank you for your help. It's getting late, and you should get some rest yourself. Would you like me to escort you?”

She shakes her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm good.” She bows her head, signalling to the taller man her gratitude and heads out.

He steps aside to let her pass, but she pauses just before the doorway.

“Say,” she starts, hesitant and eyes wide, as if surprised that her mouth moved of its own accord. “That hair tie... how long’s he had it?”

There’s a beat of silence before Hasegawa responds. “Why?”

“...Just wondering.”

She has her head down, so she isn’t aware of the knowing look Hasegawa shoots her.

“As far as I'm aware,” he says, slowly—cautiously, “he’s always had it. Even before the Force recruited him. When I first met him, he’d gone back to the orphanage during a kaiju attack to grab a single bag—and that hair tie. Said he ‘forgot something important.’”

Hoshina doesn’t respond. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. Her hands are fists at her sides, trembling from the force she puts into them.

“I see,” she says eventually. “Thank you, Hasegawa-san.” She nods her head again and this time, she really walks away.

Not briskly, not calmly—but something between the two. Something close to fleeing.

She passes by each hall, each wing of the Ariake base, until finally—finally—she reaches her room.

She doesn’t head for the bed.

Instead, she leans back against the door after shutting it behind her. Lets the cool metal press against her spine like it can quiet everything rattling inside her chest.

“I had to,” she whispers again. But this time, there’s no one left to hear it.

The air was crisp the next morning, the sky above Ariake a pale, cloudless blue that promised heat despite the hour.

Too early, if you asked Hoshina.

The chill clung to the air, but it couldn’t mask the weight of last night’s alcohol. Groggy expressions. Sluggish steps. The scent of misjudged courage still lingering.

Today marks the official start of the joint training between the First and Third Divisions. And members of both units are expected to gather on the training field for their first session of the day.

Joint field exercise.

They've lined up in neat rows, hangovers still visible on their faces but their posture straight from muscle memory. Roll call commenced, Hasegawa ticking off names on his clipboard with practiced efficiency. When the final name echoed through the open range, all present had been accounted for.

Except Captain Narumi, that is.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Hoshina spots him from across the range—head down, sunglasses on, that same slouch like the world owes him sleep.

She wants to say something. Anything.

What comes out is a weak: “Rough night?”

Too soft. She clears her throat. “You're lookin' awful, Captain.”

He trudged closer, grimacing as he reached where they were on the field. “Thanks. I noticed,” he muttered, tone sharp and flat.

Hoshina laughed politely, but her eyes flicked briefly to his wrist.

The hair tie’s still there. Worn like it always belonged to him.

She looks away.

Instead, she watches the lines of his face for anything—any shift, any flicker of memory from the night before. From that conversation.

She couldn’t forget the look on his face, the things he’d left hanging in the silence between them. And now, standing here next to him, the quiet of the morning seemed to magnify everything that hadn’t been said.

Would he bring it up?

Did he remember?

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

But then Narumi turned towards Hasegawa, voice grating like he was nursing a migraine and a grudge at the same time.

“What are you doing here? I thought I dumped this job on my dumb disciple.”

And just like that—like a flicked switch—her heart let go of the tension coiled inside it.

No recognition in his tone. No narrowed eyes. No smirk or jab that might suggest he remembered a damn thing from last night. If anything, he looked like he’d scrubbed the whole party from his memory.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—but it catches halfway in her throat. Of course he doesn’t remember. Of course he’s acting like it never mattered.

The mentioned man just sighs. “You did. But you forget that officer Shinomiya is still a rookie, she has no obligation to take over your specifically assigned work. That's why I decided to take over.”

“This is why I keep you around,” Narumi said haughtily, as if he had any say in making Hasegawa vice captain. “No one else is half as competent as you.”

The words were wrapped in his usual smugness, but they felt like a sideways dig—one aimed squarely at her. Still, Hoshina only smiled, especially at the sight of Hasegawa clearly resisting the urge to throttle his captain.

“What’re you laughing at?” Narumi asked, suddenly turning to her.

“Nothing, Sir. Just admiring how efficiently you hand off your responsibilities,” she replied, sweet as honey.

Narumi clicked his tongue. “I'm a busy man. Being captain isn’t just for show.”

“Busy playing video games, you mean. Sir.” She tacked on the honorific as if it were an afterthought, just enough to needle him.

She can see his eyebrows starting to furrow in anger at the jab and just as he was to go off on a spiel to defend himself, Hasegawa cuts in before it could spiral.

“Today’s joint training will simulate a coordinated civilian rescue operation,” he announced, voice carrying easily across the training grounds. “Standard rules apply. Mixed-unit teams. Points awarded based on efficiency, strategy, and number of civilian-simulated mannequins retrieved. Low fortitude yoju have been released into the training grounds. Which means personal weapons are authorized for use, but RT-0001 and the transformation of Kaiju No. 8 are off-limits.”

He didn’t have to name names. His pointed glance towards Narumi and Kafka said enough.

Kafka just nods, finding the handicap understandable.

A certain captain, however, had more to say about the matter.

“What?! That’s no fair!” Said captain blurted out, slouch snapping straight. “You’re just scared I’ll steal all the points and win, aren’t you?”

“You’re welcome to try,” Hasegawa deadpans.

Narumi scoffed, crossing his arms in front of him like a sulky kid. “Fine, I’ll show everyone I don’t need kaiju powers to win anyway.”

“We’d love to see it, Captain,” Hoshina said lightly from her place beside Hasegawa.

Narrowing his eyes, Narumi hisses out, “You mockin’ me?”

She shakes her head, that signature grin tugging at her mouth. “Just looking forward to seeing the Defense Force’s strongest in action. Surely you won’t disappoint.”

Clicking his tongue, Narumi turned with a dramatic sweep of his coat and stalked off toward the gear tent, muttering something under his breath about “stupid squinty-eyes throwing my words back at me.”

Hasegawa facepalms. “He’s going to break something.”

“Not one of the dummies, hopefully,” Hoshina murmured back, a sigh leaving her lips.

—

Hoshina adjusted the connection of her sheath to her suit as she approached the portable display, where a digital map of the training zone flickered under the morning light. Several assigned team leaders were already gathered around it, murmuring among themselves. The rest of the soldiers lingered just behind, eyes flicking between their captains as they waited for orders.

She took a moment to scan the mock field setup—a makeshift urban district cobbled together from steel shipping containers, rusted scaffolding, and overhead wires strung with smoke machines. Rubble had been deliberately scattered across the terrain, mimicking the aftermath of a large-scale attack. A few of the “civilian” mannequins were already visible from a distance—some dressed in torn clothes, others half-buried beneath foam-concrete slabs and fractured plastic rebar.

It was a decent simulation. Challenging, but not impossible.

When she reached her designated group, she found herself paired with Kafka, two officers from the Third, and two from the First. Kafka spotted her first and lifted a salute, the others quickly following suit.

“It’s been a while, Vice Captain,” he greeted with a familiar grin.

She returned the gesture, nodding lightly. “Considering how drunk you were last night, I’m surprised you remember.”

Her face lit up with the tease, amusement curling in her voice.

Kafka laughed, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, well—sorry you had to see that.”

She waved him off easily. “If I got bothered by stuff like that, I wouldn’t have made it in the Defense Force.”

Her tone shifted as the time to start got nearer. “You’ve all been briefed. We’re assigned to Sector C—southern block. Denser ruins, two alley chokepoints, and limited access routes. Higher risk of yoju clustering.”

Kafka and the Third officers nodded with calm familiarity. The two from the First Division still looked a little wary—but they were listening.

“Not ideal for ranged weapons,” she continued, eyes scanning the pathing overlay, “but close-quarters? Heaven-sent in these kinds of conditions.”

Her hand slid to the hilt of her swords, fingers curling around the grip with unconscious ease. The familiar sensation grounding her.

The ones who had fought beside her before shared a subtle smile. They knew what she could do. And more importantly, they trusted her to lead.

Who better to command in a cramped environment than the strongest close-quarters combatant in the Defense Force?

“We move light and fast,” she orders, slipping into her command tone. “Prioritize civilians. Don’t waste time on fighting scattered yoju unless they’re obstructing a route. Two on diversion, the rest move in for retrieval. Clear?”

Her team straightens at that, a chorus of “Understood, ma’am!” leaving their lips as they raise their arms in a salute. Even the two First Division officers have had their prior hesitation wiped from their faces at her authority.

—

As her group moved to make final checks on their gear, Hoshina caught sight of movement a few rows over—another cluster forming just past the northern gates. She didn’t need to hear him to know who it was.

Narumi stood square at the center of the group, one hand in his pocket and the other gesturing lazily toward the map clutched by the soldier beside him. His sunglasses were still on—despite the shadows—and his coat half-zipped like he couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly. Even from this distance, his posture radiated casual arrogance.

He was talking. Loudly.

“Listen up. We’re going through the west alley, I’ll take care of the yoju myself. Just retrieve the dummies and let me do the heavy lifting.”

The First Division officers surrounding him nodded in varying degrees of reluctance. Hoshina recognized them—not rookies, but not his trusted platoon leaders either.

“Captain, wouldn’t it be faster to split into pairs and cover both access points?” One of them offered.

Narumi scoffed. “If we split up, someone’s gonna screw it up and waste time. Stick together, we bulldoze straight through. Unless one of you wants to compete with me in a speed run?”

They gave tight, awkward chuckles. No one took the bait.

Her eyes then flicked briefly to the three Third Division officers posted near the back of his group.

They looked focused, quiet. Maybe a bit resigned.

Narumi turned to one of them next—an officer she knew by name. “Hey, you’re from Hoshina’s unit, yeah? How do you guys usually run this sort of thing—pray for a kaiju to show up and give her an excuse to swing a sword?”

The officer didn’t flinch. Just shrugged politely. “We trust our vice captain’s judgment, Sir.”

“Right,” Narumi drawled, unconvinced. “Well, try to keep up. I don’t plan on waiting.”

Her gaze lingered.

He wasn’t a bad leader—far from it. His team followed orders, even when they were barked.

They respected him. Maybe even admired him.

But he didn’t seem to trust anyone else to get the job done without him.

Hoshina exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on her scabbard before turning back to her own team, who were already falling into formation behind her. They didn’t need to be barked at. They didn’t need the show. Just a clear plan and the quiet certainty that she’d be there if things went south.

“Vice Captain,” Kafka called softly, tilting his head in the direction of the mock city. “Timer just started.”

She nodded once.

“Let’s move.”

—

They moved as a unit—silent, efficient, sharp as a drawn blade.

Sector C stretched before them in a maze of twisted scaffolding, broken piping, and collapsed buildings. Smoke pumped steadily through floor vents, and the simulated terrain scattered debris in seemingly chaotic, but deliberate, pockets. Far enough to obscure vision. Close enough to feel real.

Hoshina crouched beside a hollowed-out structure, gesturing for her team to hold.

Her hand points towards the map on her HUD. “Two choke points ahead,” she states. “One on the right with partial visibility, one behind the fire barrel. Kafka, take the flank. The rest on me. Remember your roles—don’t wait for me to call everything.”

“Yes, Vice Captain.”

“Got it, ma’am.”

She waited, listened for kaiju activity, and counted the seconds it took for the team to shift positions. No wasted movement.

Her eyes darted up, scanning rooftops and upper ledges for dummies or threats, then down again—tracking the shifting shadows around broken archways and burnt-out storefronts. Her steps were deliberate. They had to be. In a real mission, a single misstep could turn recovery into retrieval.

The first mannequin was propped awkwardly under a bent steel beam. One leg angled wrong. Kafka spotted it first, already moving in when she gave the nod.

“Yoju to the left,” one of the First called.

“Don’t engage unless you’re cornered. Pull back, redirect through the alley we encountered 5 meters back,” she snapped, eyes already shifting to the exit path. “We’re here for civilians. Stay on mission.”

They listened. She didn't have to repeat herself.

Ten minutes in, they'd cleared four targets—each retrieved cleanly, logged, and marked on the portable tracker clipped to her wrist.

But as they cut through a narrow overpass littered with fake wires and scattered debris, the unmistakable sound of gunshots reached them.

It came from across the open intersection.

Narumi’s team.

They were hard to miss—louder, flashier, and more scattered than hers. At the front, Narumi vaulted over a pile of crates like a gymnast, GS-3305 glinting under the sunlight as he shot through a yoju with the kind of theatrical flourish that earned applause and eye-rolls in equal measure.

Hoshina signaled her group to pause, watching from a shadowed alcove as his team charged through the corridor.

His orders were barked, not briefed. “You two—check the left! The rest, just keep up. I’ll clear the rest myself if I have to!”

He wasn’t bluffing.

He was carving through the training zone like a storm front—fast, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. His team didn’t slow him down so much as trail behind him like dried leaves caught in his wake.

One officer from the First tripped slightly while trying to adjust his footing. Narumi barely looked back.

Hoshina’s jaw tightened.

Then her eyes flicked to the three Third officers in his squad, lingering at the rear. They were keeping up, but barely. Their gazes flicked toward each other in silent coordination—adjusting without being asked. Watching each other’s backs while Narumi surged ahead.

Hoshina motioned for her team to move again, pulling away from the chaos. There was no point running into them. She had her own sector to cover.

But the contrast stayed with her.

Narumi fought like he was the whole army.

She fought like she had one.

—

Another block down, they encountered a collapsed stairwell and found their fifth civilian.

It was lodged inside a splintered service tunnel, pinned beneath a fallen metal beam.

“Too narrow to enter from here,” Kafka murmured, examining the side.

“We’ll circle behind and collapse the supports to get a better angle,” Hoshina said. “Nobody move alone.”

It took longer—nearly five minutes of rerouting, careful clearing, and two close calls with yoju distractions.

But they got it out.

And no one was injured.

By the time they were circling into the eastern quadrant, they’d fallen behind slightly.

Hoshina knew it. But she also knew this wasn’t a sprint. And she wasn’t leaving anyone behind just to shave seconds.

Then came the alley.

The rubble field was tight. Smoke was thicker here, and the collapsed scaffold had created a narrow funnel between two buildings.

The mannequin lay visible just ahead—half-buried beneath a concrete slab.

She held a hand up, stopping her team.

Kafka crept forward, adjusting the grip he had on his pistol. “We can get it if we cut through the pipe on the left.”

“Hold on,” Hoshina said, brow furrowing.

Footsteps again.

A flash of movement from the alley entrance.

Narumi.

He was leading from the front again, moving faster than his team. She doubted he even noticed her group behind the broken wall, her team tucked behind the broken frame of an old van.

Her eyes narrowed. He was angling straight for the dummy.

She looked down. They were closer—barely. But she could tell from the way the slab leaned, from the sheer size of it. That slab would take time. Her blade could do it, but—

A bayonet would do it faster.

She weighed her choices.

Her team waited for the order.

But she gave a small shake of her head.

“Leave it,” she makes her call.

Kafka blinked. “Ma’am?”

“It’s too inconvenient. Let them have it. We double back to the water tower. There’s another civilian flagged there.”

The others didn’t question it. They knew her calls weren’t made lightly.

She lingered just a beat longer, watching as Narumi reached the dummy, shouted something she couldn’t hear, and rested his bayonet back across his shoulders.

He didn’t look around.

Didn’t realize she was there at all.

She turned away.

And ran.

—

The final siren cut through the smoke-veiled city like a blade, marking the official end of the drill.

Around her, soldiers began to ease up—their stances relaxing, weapons slung back over shoulders, respirator masks coming off. Low-level yoju corpses littered the simulated district, their bodies still twitching faintly as steam rose from open wounds, mingling with the smoke already thick in the air.

Hoshina holstered her swords and glanced back at her team who were gathering behind her. Kafka shot her a tired but satisfied grin as he approached.

“Fifteen civilians. Not bad for a morning workout.”

“That was solid work, everyone.” She praised. “I’ll buy you drinks if none of you bruised anything stupid,” her lighthearted teasing causes chuckles to erupt from her team.

Across the field, the other groups started filtering in one by one, forming loose ranks by division. Narumi’s group appeared not long after—louder, a little more scattered, and definitely more vocal about their success.

The man himself was at the front of the pack, bayonet now strapped over his back and focus already stolen by the Bintendo Switch in his hands.

Hasegawa stepped forward onto the low platform set in front of the field. Clipboard in hand, he wasted no time with pleasantries.

“Scores have been tallied,” he announces. “Each team has been evaluated based on civilian retrieval count, response time, and incident handling. Top three are as follows.”

A hush fell across the crowd.

“In third place, led by Platoon Leader Shinonome of the First Division: ten civilians recovered, two near-losses, minimal damage.”

Polite applause rang out. Narumi clicked his tongue.

“In second place, Vice Captain Hoshina’s unit: fifteen civilians recovered, clean retrievals, no injuries, and high marks for field leadership.”

Kafka turned to Hoshina, face already betraying his excitement and gives her a thumbs up. She returns it with a proud smile of her own. Even the two First officers in her team straightened a little with pride.

“And in first,” Hasegawa continued, raising his voice slightly as if bracing himself, “Captain Narumi’s unit. Sixteen civilians recovered, shortest completion time, three yoju engagements neutralized, and zero mission casualties.”

Cheers rose from the First Division. The Third clapped along out of respect.

Narumi made a low sweeping bow from where he stood, hand pressed theatrically over his chest—like a stage actor after their final act. “Thank you, thank you. What can I say—some of us are just built different.”

Narumi sauntered over like he’d just won a sports championship, chest puffed, to where Hoshina was standing. “Hate to break it to you, Vice Captain,” he calls out, smugness radiating from every word, “but I think that’s what they call a flawless victory.”

Hoshina offered a smile, one without teeth as she stared at his face. “Congratulations, Captain. You really do deserve to be called the strongest.”

The man huffs, head held high and face expressing the smugness he felt from her praise. “I know I am, and you better remember that in that mushroom headed brain of yours.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowed with a touch of amusement. “Is that so?”

He gave her a wink. “Come on, don’t look so sour. Second place ain’t bad. Especially for someone who’s clearly inferior to me.”

Kafka coughed awkwardly, but she waved him off.

“I’m not sour,” Hoshina clarifies smoothly, as if the jab didn’t land. “You earned the win. One point makes all the difference.”

Narumi grinned wider at that, missing the subtle shift in her tone.

“Damn right it does.”

He turned back toward his group, throwing a careless wave with the hand still holding the Switch over his shoulder.

“I’m leaving.”

Hoshina watched him go, her expression unreadable. Kafka eyed her from the side.

“You’re letting him treat you like that, Vice Captain Hoshina?”

The swordswoman just gives him an off-handed shrug. “Wouldn’t do any good to argue with a superior officer, y’know?” She says, turning away to take her leave as well.

Night falls, and Narumi—Switch still in hand and victory still singing in his blood,—was on his way to the cafeteria, when a clipped voice carried out from a nearby corridor—low, casual, but just loud enough to catch his ear.

“…should’ve been Hoshina’s, honestly. She was there first. Could’ve scored the win.”

Another voice followed, muffled behind the operation room’s partially opened door.

“Yeah, but did you see how she paused? She saw the captain was moving in and backed off.”

Narumi stopped mid-step.

The flickering grin on his face froze.

He blinked once, then glanced toward the source—the operation room tucked into the command wing, glass panes fogged slightly from the difference in temperature inside. The door was ajar. Inside, he could see the soft blue light of surveillance monitors, the outline of two operators hunched over the central console, chatting over paused drone footage like it was yesterday’s sports replay.

His fingers twitched around his console. The screen had dimmed, the game forgotten.

“Backed off?” he echoed under his breath, tone sharpening.

Curiosity burned into something sour—something tight. He turned slowly, retracing his steps, and stalked toward the open doorway.

The closer he got, the clearer the conversation became.

“—gave him the point, and he didn’t even notice,” the first voice said, a note of amusement slipping in. “She probably would’ve had top score if she’d taken it.”

“Guess she didn’t wanna upstage the captain,” the second operator added, chuckling.

Narumi’s eye twitched.

He stepped through the doorway, his shadow cutting across the monitor light like a guillotine.

Both operators froze mid-laugh.

“…C-Captain Narumi,” one of them stammered, already snapping upright.

He didn’t answer right away.

Just stood there in the doorway, eyes locked on the frozen frame of the paused drone footage behind them—smoke curling through the ruined alleyway, a dummy half-crushed beneath a slab of concrete, and in the far left corner of the screen, barely visible behind a wrecked vehicle…

A familiar figure. Still. Waiting. Then turning away.

Hoshina.

He stepped forward slowly, voice low and flat.

“Rewind it.”

They scrambled to comply. The feed jumped back ten seconds, and there it was: the mannequin under the rubble, smoke curling from a burst pipe just above it. His own figure was visible in the corner of the screen, approaching fast.

But someone else was already there. Just barely out of frame, behind a ruined van. A sliver of a silhouette. Unmistakable short purple hair. Twin blades sheathed. Hand raised. Motioning to her team to fall back.

Hoshina.

Narumi squinted. “Play it slower.”

The operators obeyed his words. The screen slowed to half-speed.

He watched as her figure leaned forward—already reaching the dummy than he’d been. He watches Kafka step up beside her, pointing in the direction of the damned doll.

She didn’t take it.

Instead, she shook her head and gave the order to withdraw.

The camera caught her turning away just as he burst into the alley, completely unaware.

His chest tightened at the implications.

“She was there…?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Neither of the operators dared to respond.

He stared at the screen, unmoving, as the rest of the clip played out—him claiming the dummy, barking an order to his team, spinning his weapon with that same cocky flourish.

He looked ridiculous.

He looked like an idiot.

His jaw clenched. Something knotted in his gut—something hot and cold all at once.

Embarrassment, maybe. Guilt. Confusion. That ache in his chest again.

“She let me win?” he said flatly.

Still, no one answered.

He turned away from the screen and stalked out of the room, fists tightening at his sides.

She let him win.

Why?

Why the hell would she—

Unless—

His eyes narrowed.

He changed direction without thinking, heading toward the barracks.

He needed to find her.

Now.

The training room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of fists against reinforced padding.

Hoshina exhaled as her palm connected solidly with the punching bag, the impact sharp enough to jolt it from the pole its hanging from. Her breathing was steady. Focused. Each strike flowed into the next—controlled, clean, efficient. Like muscle memory played to the tune of suppressed tension.

She hadn’t removed her gear completely—still in the turtleneck she wore as her underlayer, sweat beading along her neck and spine. The weight of the day hadn’t quite settled. Or maybe she was trying not to let it.

The field results didn’t bother her. Not really. Second place was still a win, and she’d done what she set out to do—led cleanly, protected her team, left no one behind.

But still…

Her knuckles met the punching bag again—this time harder, sharper.

Something clung to her. Something she hadn’t quite named yet.

The door slammed open with a bang.

She spun, instantly dropping into a guarded stance—half-expecting a kaiju alert.

But it wasn’t a messenger.

It was Narumi.

He stood in the doorway, breathing hard—but not winded. Something buzzed under his skin. His brows were drawn tight behind his bangs, and his fists were balled at his sides.

Hoshina blinked, straightening slowly.

“Captain?” she said, brow furrowed. “Didn’t think you were the type to do extra laps after winning.”

Narumi didn’t answer.

Just shut the door behind him—hard—and stalked toward her across the mats.

Something in his eyes made her go still.

He stopped a few paces away. Close enough that she could see the faint twitch in his jaw, the furrow in his brow that he couldn’t quite tame.

“Fight me.”

Hoshina froze.

“…What?”

He didn’t repeat himself.

The tension rolled off him in waves—hot, erratic, uncontained.

“Right here. Right now.” His voice was low, but sharp as a blade’s edge. “Hand-to-hand. No gear.”

She studied him. Really looked at him. His eyes were too wide. His breath too shallow. There was something brimming behind that anger—something raw and rattling the cage from inside.

“You’re not thinking straight,” she said carefully, tone cooling. “Whatever this is, it can wait till—”

“No, it can’t,” he snapped. “You let me win.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Just barely. But he caught it.

“You let me win,” he repeated, louder now, as if the words tasted worse each time. “I saw the footage. I wasn’t faster. You were already there. You looked right at the dummy and turned around.”

Hoshina’s expression didn’t move.

So he pushed further, fists curling tight.

“What the hell was that? What, you thought I needed the confidence boost? Thought I couldn’t handle losing? Or did you just not care enough to try?”

Still no answer.

Narumi lunges, already tired of the cat and mouse.

Fast—but not refined. His form was solid, but his strikes came in heavy. Angry. Wild. Like he was trying to land something that would rattle her—not just physically, but down to the bones of what made her tick.

She blocked the first punch with ease. Parried the second hit.

His third came from a tighter angle—a palm meant for her ribs. She sidestepped, pushed off her back foot, and spun him off-balance.

“I made a calculated choice,” she explained, tone clipped. “Your team was closer, and your weapon would've handled the boulder faster.”

He grunted—not listening to her words—and came at her again.

And again.

Each strike was more forceful than the last. His movements were fast, precise in isolation—but unfocused. All power, no discipline. Like he was trying to bleed his frustration into every blow.

She ducked under a swing and pushed his arm away with the flat of her palm.

“Captain—”

He didn’t stop.

A fist grazed her shoulder. Another brushed past her jaw.

She blocked both but could feel the heat behind them.

“You gonna listen to my explanation or keep up this tantrum?”

“Shut up!” he snapped, voice cracking.

And then he spun low—sweeping at her legs. She leapt back, catching herself in a crouch, eyes flaring now.

He surged forward again, aiming for her ribs—her stomach—her jaw. And for a moment, she let him.

She absorbed the blows. Blocked them, redirected them, let the pressure build.

Let him get in close.

Because she wanted to see it.

That look in his eyes.

That raw, stung betrayal behind all his fury.

And there it was—burning at the edges of his glare, swimming in the tight set of his mouth. A question he hadn’t asked yet. One she wasn’t ready to answer.

He landed a hit.

Not clean—but close. His elbow slammed against her side hard enough to make her grunt.

Her hand shot out to grab his arm before he could retreat. She twisted, pivoted behind him, and used his momentum to throw him down onto the mat with a heavy thud.

But she didn’t follow through.

Didn’t press her advantage.

She just stood over him—lungs stuttering with restraint, sweat beginning to collect at her temple.

Narumi stared up at her from the floor, chest rising and falling. He didn’t look hurt. Just furious.

“You’re not even trying,” he bit out.

Hoshina’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”

“You’re holding back—!”

“So were you when you didn’t swing at my head five seconds ago.” Her voice cracked, sharp and suddenly raw. “Don’t pretend you weren't aware of what you're doing either.”

He pushed himself up again, eyes flashing dangerously between his normal red and an otherworldly magenta. “You’re so full of shit. You’re just letting me swing at you because it’s easier than actually fighting back.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you—”

“Then stop acting like I’m some rookie you gotta protect!”

His voice was loud. Too loud.

And it echoed in her ears.

She stared at him—eyes wide, lips parted, hands slowly curling into fists at her sides.

“I told you,” Hoshina said tightly, “I made that call because it was the efficient one. You were closer. GS-3305 could clear the debris faster.”

She swallowed, shoulders tensing again. “I wasn’t trying to pity you.”

But Narumi’s face twisted.

“You think that’s the problem?”

He took a step forward, voice still rising. “You think I’m pissed because you pitied me?”

“You said I let you win—”

“Yeah! Because you did! You made that decision like I was still some dumb little kid who couldn’t make his own! You didn’t even look at me. You just—” He waved an arm sharply, as if the memory physically stung. “—just gave it up and walked off like it meant nothing.”

Hoshina opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He barreled on.

“You keep doing this—you always did this! You make choices for me, vanish when things get too complicated, and you never fucking explain why.”

“Narumi—”

“I’m not the goddamn little kid from the orphanage anymore!”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and unfiltered. Too loud for the walls. Too much for the room.

And then—he laughed.

But it wasn’t amused. It was a breathless, ugly little thing that barely survived being born.

“You still see me like that, don’t you? Still think I’m the brat with the attitude problem. You left, and you stayed gone, and when you came back you thought it’d just be the same again. That I’d sit there and—what? Forgive you? Be happy you showed up?”

He was spiraling now, and neither of them tried to stop it.

“Did you even think about how it felt? Thinking you walked away like none of it mattered? Like all that time you stayed with me—the problem kid with a short fuse, who's had everyone leave him—meant nothing to you?”

Hoshina’s breath caught.

Her hand twitched at her side, like she meant to reach for something and forgot what.

“You promised me,” Narumi said, quieter now—but only barely. “You said you’d stay until I got out.”

His voice broke again, but he didn’t try to hide it.

“I waited every day after you left, thinking maybe you’d show up again. That you’d at least say goodbye or—or explain something. Anything.”

He looked at her—not with anger anymore, but something worse. Something old and cracked and hollowed out at the center.

“But you didn’t. You just vanished. And now you’re standing here like none of it happened.”

Hoshina could only stare.

Her throat was tight. Her fingers numb.

“I didn’t know,” she muttered, so quietly it barely qualified as a defense. Like all the fight had bled out of her at once.

But instead of calming him, the words ignited something in Narumi again. The fire that had flickered—fueled by hurt and confusion—blazed back up, raw and spiteful.

Her quiet shook him more than her silence ever had.

“What the hell does that mean?” he barked. “That’s it? You didn’t know?”

He stalked toward her, footsteps deliberate, loud even against the padded mats. He stopped just short, squaring his shoulders, and dropped into a stance she recognized instantly.

Squadron style.

The Defense Force standard close-quarters combat—the one Isao Shinomiya had perfected.

And now, Narumi had it down.

Hoshina’s eyes widened a fraction. “Narumi…”

“I said we’re fighting,” he snapped. “And this time, I’m taking that top fighter title off you.”

The challenge hung in the air like smoke.

She hesitated.

But one look at his face told her there was no talking him down. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So she exhaled—deep, slow—and shifted.

Her right hand closed into a fist behind her back. Her left rose, open-palmed and steady, fingers loose but aligned. The back of it faced Narumi, wrist cocked at an angle only her clan ever used.

It was her family’s stance.

They stood like that for a beat too long—Narumi burning with fury, Hoshina hollow with resignation.

She moved first this time.

Fast. Sharp. A single step in.

Her palm shot out in a probing strike—not meant to hit, just to gauge.

Narumi responded immediately, deflecting her hand with a precise upward sweep, then twisting in with an elbow toward her ribs.

She turned with it, absorbing the momentum, and countered with a low sweep aimed at his ankle.

He hopped back—not dodging, adjusting—and came in again. Faster.

It wasn’t wild like before. He’d stopped trying to break her.

Now he wanted to beat her.

And Hoshina could feel it.

Every block she made, he countered. Every parry she threw, he met with force. The tempo picked up fast—too fast for most to follow—but his style was one she had become familiar with.

And it only made it worse.

Because for all his strength—for all the fury packed into his strikes—he wasn’t trying to hurt her anymore.

He was trying to prove something.

That he wasn’t the boy she left behind.

That he didn’t need her anymore.

She took a blow to the shoulder, staggered a step back.

He didn’t follow up immediately. He hesitated.

And in that half-second—she saw it again.

Not just anger.

But grief. Grief dressed up as a challenge.

“Is this really what you want?” she asked between breaths, voice low. “Another fight to pretend none of this matters?”

“No,” he bit out, surging forward again. “I want to know why you left me.”

Hoshina froze.

And that pause cost her.

His palm slammed into her sternum—not enough to knock her down, but enough to throw her off-center. He grabbed her arm, yanked her down into a shoulder throw, and for once—she didn’t resist.

Her back hit the mat.

Hard.

She blinked up at the ceiling, breath catching in her lungs.

Narumi stood over her, chest heaving. Hands trembling at his sides.

He didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, shadows slicing across his face.

Hoshina lay there for a beat longer, chest rising and falling. Not hurt. Just… winded in a different way.

Then finally, softly—she answered.

“I had to.”

Her words echoed the ones she spoke into existence the night before.

Narumi didn’t move.

So she sat up slowly, sweat clinging to her spine. Her hair dishevelled—half falling over her eyes.

“I finally got the offer of a lifetime. Someone needed me."

“Bullshit,” Narumi muttered, though his voice cracked on it. “I needed you.”

“Did you really?” she shot back. “Or did you just want someone—anyone—to see you for who you are?”

It was small. A twitch of the brow, a shift in breath. But it cracked something open all the same.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful—it vibrated with all the things they hadn’t said, all the weight they’d both carried in opposite directions.

Hoshina didn’t move from the mat. She sat there, legs tucked beneath her, spine bent just slightly. Her voice, when it came, was low. Barely above the hush of the ventilation hum.

“I—” Hoshina’s voice cracked. She gritted her teeth, forcing the rest out. “I thought it’d be easier if I didn’t drag it out. You hated it when I hovered. You always looked at me like I was… suffocating you.”

Narumi stared at her, disbelief etched deep in his features. “You seriously thought I wanted you gone? That all that yelling—those stupid fights—meant I didn’t want you around?”

“You never said otherwise!” she shot back, louder than she meant to. Her hands balled into fists, knuckles white. “Every time I tried, you’d snap or look at me like I was some annoying adult you couldn’t wait to get rid of. So yeah, I thought leaving was the right thing to do!”

Narumi took a step closer, his voice dropping but not losing its sharp edge. “And you didn’t stop to think that maybe that was the only way I knew how to keep you there?”

She froze, eyes widening.

He exhaled, bitter and raw. “I complained because I didn’t think you’d stay. No one ever stayed. So I figured if I acted like it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t hurt when you left.”

The words slammed into her harder than any hit he’d thrown. Her breath hitched, and for the first time, her stance faltered.

“I…” Hoshina’s throat closed up, and the rest of the sentence died before it could form.

Narumi’s expression softened—but only slightly. The hurt was still there, coiled tight beneath his frustration. “You think promises mean nothing if you’re the one who gets to decide when they’re over?”

Her chest felt heavy, like a blade lodged beneath her ribs. “No,” she whispered. “I just… thought if I walked away, it would hurt less. For both of us.”

“Bullshit.”

The word cut through the air between them.

She blinked at him, startled, but before either could say more—

RIIIIIINNNNNNNNGG!

The sharp wail of the kaiju alert split through the vents overhead, shrill and echoing off the padded walls. Red lights flared to life along the ceiling, bathing both of them in harsh crimson.

Hoshina was already moving.

She pushed herself to her feet in one breath, hair falling in damp strands around her face. No hesitation. No pause. Just instinct.

She headed for the door, already reaching for her comms. “Third Division’s on standby. I’ll have us mobile in under—”

“Stand down,” Narumi cut in, voice firm.

She stopped mid-step. Turned slowly, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“This is First Division territory. We’ll handle it.”

Her brow furrowed. “You think I’m gonna sit around while there’s a kaiju out there? Forget it. My division is suiting up.”

He glared at her, the tension snapping right back into place. “You’re not in charge here, Vice Captain. Stand down.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Narumi—”

“That’s Captain, to you.”

She gave a mocking salute. “Captain. Narumi.” She repeated, deliberately flat. “Eliminating kaiju is the responsibility of the Defense Force, not a pissing contest between units. Doesn’t matter whose turf it is when lives are on the line.”

Her voice sharpened as she spoke—clear, steady, unwavering. She recited the officer’s oath like it was scripture. If it still meant something to her as a deputy commander, then it damn well better mean something to him too.

Narumi sighed, stepping around her. She blocked his path.

“I’m well aware,” he said dryly. “But the First is more than capable. We don’t need your squad meddling in our operation.”

Her eyes widened, disbelief cutting through her composure.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that one point.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to. His eyes had already flicked sideways, betraying him.

“You so are.”

“I’m so not!” he snapped, face flushing. Then, grumbles out, “Fine. You can come.”

Hoshina opened her mouth—then stopped when he added:

“Just you. Third Division stays on standby. They move only if we fall.”

It wasn’t ideal. But orders were orders.

She gave a sharp, but less formal than the one she’d shoot Ashiro, salute. “Roger, Captain.”

And then she was off—already sprinting down the hall toward the locker room, lips twitching with something like disbelief, heart still thudding with the weight of everything unsaid.

Narumi stayed behind for a beat, watching her go.

Then he turned, clicked his comm, and barked, “First Division. We’re on the move.”

The suit sealed around her limbs with a hiss.

Hoshina adjusted her gloves, the familiar weight of the blades at her hips grounding her more than any breath could. The hallway lights flickered red in rhythm with the kaiju alert—fast, urgent, steady.

By the time she made it outside, the battlefield was already alive.

Roars echoed through the city blocks. The sky above was streaked with smoke trails and glints of weapons fire. Yoju swarmed like ants from ruptures in the concrete, and at the center of it all—massive and unmoving—was the honju.

It wasn’t special. No overwhelming heat signature. No evolving defense patterns.

But it was spawning.

Endlessly.

She leapt from rooftop to rooftop, her HUD calibrating target patterns and squad placements mid-air. The First Division had mobilized efficiently as expected. Their platoon leaders were handling themselves well, with sharp formations and coordinated strikes. But even they couldn’t catch everything. There were too many of them—the yoju.

A stray unit slipped past the perimeter. And Hoshina dropped in without ceremony.

Her twin blades flashed silver, carving through the first yoju before her feet even touched the pavement. A pivot. A spin. One more down. She didn’t stop to check if the officers had seen her—just moved.

The Third might’ve been told to stay back, but no way in hell was she going to watch people die just to keep up appearances.

She caught up with Narumi near the honju’s radius.

He was cutting down yoju in swathes, eyes glowing with the telltale magenta hue of his activated RT-0001. His bayonet swings were vicious, clean, relentless. The strongest soldier of the entire Force—no doubt about it. But the honju was guarding itself cleverly, birthing a fresh swarm every time he got within striking distance.

And now he was stuck in a loop. Slashing, advancing, getting swarmed, retreating.

“Behind ya,” she called, already sliding in beside him.

She didn’t wait for permission.

One blade up. One down. She tore through the fresh yoju line in a blur of curved steel and sidesteps. Where Narumi bulldozed with force, she cut through like a scalpel—precise, fluid, efficient.

Narumi clicked his tongue. “Didn’t ask for backup.”

She didn’t look at him. Just swept another yoju off its legs and pierced the back of its neck.

“Wasn’t offering charity. Just clearing your path, Captain.”

He grit his teeth this time. “Tch. Still didn’t need it.”

“No, but now you’ve got it. So shut up and do your job.”

Despite the words, their movements began to sync—awkward at first, but fast to adjust. She watched him adapt to her positioning, taking half-steps off his flanks to leave him openings.

They’d never fought together before—but you’d almost think they have.

Narumi had his retina active. Hoshina kept up anyway.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Surprise? Annoyance? It didn’t matter. The honju loomed large now, the yoju waves finally thinning as they cleared a path together.

Hoshina peeled off at the last second.

“Go,” she barked, already turning her blades on the next cluster. “Big one’s yours.”

Narumi didn’t hesitate.

In a flash, he was airborne—bayonet braced against his shoulder, the gun barrel glowing with his fully-released energy. He fired two clean bursts mid-air, each shot a crack of thunder that tore through the honju’s core. The blasts punched straight through its chest, detonating the monster from within—guts, tissue, and bone erupting in a wet, thunderous bloom as its body blew apart mid-roar.

“Honju neutralized,” came Akira’s voice through the comms. “No vitals detected.”

Narumi exhaled. “All that’s left are the stragglers.”

“Way ahead of ya,” Hoshina muttered, already deep in another sweep of the backline.

Together, they cleared the last of the yoju. What remained of the swarm was a fragmented, disorganized mess. Easy pickings for the platoons now that the source was gone.

A few cheers crackled through the comms.

A successful mission.

But it wasn’t over yet.

A roar cut through the relative silence.

Hoshina turned just in time to see a stray yoju—more massive, much faster than the ones before—barreling toward one of the platoons nearby still regrouping.

The group had scattered fast—training kicking in just in time—but one officer lagged behind.

New. Unsteady. Still glancing the wrong way when the yoju bore down on them with a howl.

Hoshina moved before anyone else could.

“Move!” she barked, already closing the distance.

Her muscles screamed from the earlier fight, but she didn’t hesitate. Her boots cracked the pavement on impact, blades already out. She didn’t think.

She just acted.

She slammed into the officer with enough force to knock them clear off their feet—sending them tumbling out of the yoju’s path just as its arm came crashing down.

Hoshina didn’t have the same luxury.

The impact hit her full-force.

The beast's claw caught her side and hurled her back like a broken toy. Her body flew and slammed straight through the upper floor of a building across the street. Concrete cracked.

Dust exploded outwards in a shockwave.

“HOSHINA!” Narumi’s voice ripped through the comms.

His bayonet was already halfway up before the scream had fully left his throat.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Not before the kaiju jerked—froze mid-movement.

And then its body collapsed—split open from the inside out, folding in on itself as the top half slid from its bottom like a cleaved fruit.

The dust from the building began to clear.

And there she stood.

Swords in hand, posture low, her uniform torn at the shoulder and thigh. Blood streamed down the side of her face from a gash at her temple—but her stance was solid. The ground cracked beneath her feet from the landing. Her blades glinted red under the moonlight.

She smirked a crooked little grin. Half from deliriousness, the other from amusement.

Because she’d heard it. Heard him call her name.

Narumi stared, heart hammering like he’d sprinted twenty flights in full gear. His hand dropped from the trigger. He scoffed, masking the shudder in his breath with a sharp click of his tongue.

“Tch. Show-off.”

“No more than you are, Captain,” she shot back, breathless but grinning. The laugh that spilled from her lips was light—startling even herself. Like something long-forgotten.

Narumi huffed. “If you’re well enough to joke, then you’re well enough to get treated. Move it, soldier.”

Hoshina raised her hand in a lazy salute, posture far from regulation. “Yes, Sir,” she muttered with a crooked smile, half-lidding her eyes like the title was a joke she still wasn’t done teasing him for.

But the moment she took a step, it hit her.

The blood loss. The full-body fatigue. The sharp, ringing dizziness pressing into her skull like a vice.

Her vision spun.

She pitched forward—knees buckling, breath catching in her throat.

But she never hit the ground.

Strong arms wrapped around her, steady and warm, catching her weight before gravity could finish what the kaiju started.

The world tilted again—softer this time—and the last thing she registered was the scent of sweat and gunpowder, and the sound of someone whispering her name far too urgently for someone who claimed not to care.

Then—

Darkness.