> "Commander Katsuragi, there's one more application form…"
A voice called out just then. A NERV staff member stepped forward, holding a sheet of paper in his hand.
> "Hmm? Let me see that…"
Ritsuko Akagi quickly took the form, and as her eyes scanned the details, a flash of light passed through them.
> "Heh… Misato, looks like your intuition was spot on this time."
She lifted the form and gave Misato Katsuragi a knowing smile.
> "It's him. He showed up."
> "What?!"
Misato rushed forward and snatched the form from Ritsuko's hands.
> "Yes! It's him—no mistake!"
Her eyes locked onto the photo at the top of the application.
It was him—the student from the rooftop.
She let out a deep breath, as if finally letting go of a weight she didn't realize she'd been carrying.
On the application, the name was printed clearly in bold letters:
> Ryota Kitazawa
> "So that's his name… Ryota Kitazawa."
A soft smile spread across Misato's face as she spoke the name aloud.
She didn't even know why she had such high hopes for this student.
Maybe… maybe she saw something in him—a reflection of the person she used to be.
---
Meanwhile, NERV's recruitment tests were proceeding in an orderly fashion.
> "Class 2-A, Kensuke Aida, step forward!"
Inside a large, sterile testing room, a NERV officer in white uniform and cap called out name after name from a thick clipboard.
Kensuke, clearly nervous, stepped forward and walked up to the physical aptitude testing machine.
The device was one of NERV's latest inventions—capable of instantly analyzing and scoring an applicant's physical potential without the need for manual testing.
As soon as Kensuke stood on the platform, a robotic voice rang out:
> "Measurement result: 35. Physical aptitude… not qualified."
His face went pale, then shifted into a bitter, awkward smile.
The test was scored out of 100. Anything below 60 was an immediate disqualification.
Kensuke Aida had just lost his chance.
This new system had been implemented after Shinji Ikari's death—a strict standard born from harsh lessons.
Without the proper body strength, piloting Unit-01 was now forbidden.
> "Next."
One by one, more applicants stepped forward—but none scored higher than 60.
The mood in the room began to darken. NERV personnel were already on edge—they all knew how critical the situation was.
If no suitable candidate appeared soon, all of NERV's years of preparation might go up in flames.
Even in the observation room, Misato and Ritsuko watched silently from behind a tinted window.
They both shook their heads. The results were worse than expected.
They'd hoped for at least someone close to compatible—but reality was harsh.
> How can we send anyone to fight the Angels if they can't even pass the most basic physical test?
Otherwise, they'd just meet the same fate as Shinji Ikari—dying instantly in the cockpit.
> "Toji Suzuhara—Physical Aptitude Score: 85!"
The announcement cut through the silence like a blade.
Gasps erupted across the room.
Everyone turned to Toji, eyes wide with disbelief and awe.
> Eighty-five.
A stunning result.
A score above 60 was considered fit.
Above 70? That was elite-athlete level.
But 85?
That was military-grade. Monster-tier.
> "Finally… someone with a top-tier score. Maybe there's hope after all," Ritsuko murmured, tapping the ash from her cigarette.
She looked calm, but there was clear relief in her voice.
> "Compared to that other kid you were interested in, I think this Toji Suzuhara is a much more reliable candidate," she added.
> "Heh… Ritsuko, I wouldn't be so sure," Misato replied, her smile returning.
"I have a feeling that student—Ryota Kitazawa—is anything but ordinary."
Ritsuko frowned but said nothing more. Misato's eyes turned toward the testing floor—her confidence unshaken.
---
The room remained silent for a long moment—until the tension finally broke into scattered cheers and conversation.
Toji's score had stunned even the staff.
Whispers filled the air, and students stared at him with admiration, envy… or fear.
But Ryota Kitazawa?
He remained expressionless, unaffected by the commotion.
As Toji stepped down from the testing machine, his face was full of smug superiority.
He looked straight at Ryota with a provocatively raised chin.
His eyes said, "One day, I'll crush you underfoot."
But to his surprise, Ryota didn't even glance at him.
Instead, Ryota stared at the ceiling, as if Toji didn't exist.
Toji's expression twisted. His pride burned, and rage surged inside him.
> "Heh… Kitazawa Ryota. I can't wait to see what you score."
He passed Ryota and muttered in a low, mocking voice.
> "You think you're something special? Let's see your results."
> "Don't get cocky, Toji," Ryota replied coolly, not even turning his head.
"There's always someone stronger. Always."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward and approached the platform.
> "Next! Ryota Kitazawa!"
The staff—still reeling from Toji's shock score—hurriedly called out his name.
Ryota stepped up.
Almost immediately, he felt a wave of crushing pressure engulf his body.
But it didn't faze him.
He knew this sensation well.
After all, in the second half of his War God Space training, this kind of pressure had been his daily reality.
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