The Third Division base was a beehive of activity. News of the devastating attack on the headquarters, the Commander's brush with death, and the sudden, miraculous appearance of a powerful new asset had spread like wildfire, though the truth was carefully contained and repackaged. The official story was a masterclass in military obfuscation: a new type of intelligent Kaiju had launched a surprise long-range attack, which was thwarted by the timely intervention of a newly deployed, top-secret Numbers Weapon—a bio-organic suit assigned to a rookie operative.
That rookie operative, Kafka Hibino, now walked through the bustling hallways of the base, and it was the strangest, most alienating experience of his life.
For years, he had been invisible here. Part of the background. A janitor. People had looked through him, around him, but rarely at him. Now, every head turned. Troopers and officers alike stopped their conversations, their eyes wide with awe, respect, and a healthy dose of fear. They saw him not as Kafka the janitor, but as the rumored hero who had tanked an apocalyptic blast to save the Commander.
He was wearing a standard-issue recruit uniform that felt stiff and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the worn-out coveralls he was used to. Reno Ichikawa walked beside him, practically vibrating with an energy that was part vicarious excitement and part utter disbelief.
"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," Reno muttered for the tenth time, his eyes darting around at the gawking troopers. "All this time, Hibino-san… you were part of a top-secret program? And you never said a word? You're like a movie character!"
"Something like that," Kafka replied, his voice flat. He felt a pang of guilt at lying to Reno, one of the few people who had treated him like a real person, but the truth was an impossible weight he had to carry alone.
He was being escorted to his new quarters. Not in the standard barracks, but in a small, isolated private room in the officer's wing—a 'privilege' that was really just another form of containment, making him easier to monitor.
As they walked, a voice cut through the corridor. "Hibino."
Kafka and Reno turned. Soshiro Hoshina was leaning against a wall, flanked by two other members of the newly formed ATU. He had a file in his hands and a look of cheerful menace on his face.
"Just the man I wanted to see," Hoshina said, walking towards them. "I hope you're getting settled. Training for the ATU begins tomorrow. 0500 hours. Don't be late." He handed the file to Kafka. "This is your preliminary assignment. A full report on your… equipment. Capabilities, energy consumption, known weaknesses, regenerative abilities. Everything. I want it on my desk by tonight."
Kafka took the file. The message was crystal clear. Tell me everything you know about yourself, so I know how to control you and, if necessary, how to kill you.
"Yes, Vice-Commander," Kafka said, his voice a dull monotone.
Hoshina's smile widened. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only Kafka could hear. "And if your… sponsor… happens to offer any commentary, I expect that to be in a separate, confidential addendum." He tapped Kafka's chest with a finger. "We're all on the same team now. It's important we're honest with each other."
The Vice-Commander then clapped him on the shoulder again and walked away, leaving Kafka feeling like he'd just been pleasantly threatened. Reno just stared in awe. "Wow, you're working directly with the Vice-Commander! That's amazing!"
Kafka just nodded numbly. 'Amazing' wasn't the word he'd choose.
He finally reached his new room. It was sparse, clinical—a bed, a desk, a small private bathroom. It was also, he noted with a grim certainty, bugged. There would be cameras in the walls, listening devices in the vents. A cage with a fresh coat of paint.
"Well, I'll leave you to it, Hibino-san!" Reno said brightly. "I… uh… have to go clean the latrines on Floor 3." A flicker of the old dynamic, the old awkwardness, crossed his face before he grinned. "Man, that feels weird to say to my hero." He gave a small, respectful bow and then hurried off.
Kafka was finally alone. He tossed the file onto the desk and sat heavily on the bed, the mattress sighing under his weight. He was a Defense Force officer. He had a room, a rank, a uniform. He had everything he had ever wanted. And he felt completely hollow.
He closed his eyes, and instantly, he was aware of it. The leash. The Shadow Vow. A cold, quiet connection in the back of his mind that led to an impossibly distant, impossibly powerful consciousness. It wasn't actively pulling, but he could feel its presence. A constant reminder of his true master.
[Report your status.]
Jin-Woo's voice echoed in his mind, clear as a bell. Not a friendly check-in. A demand.
Kafka sighed. There was no hiding, even in his own head.
'I've been integrated into the Defense Force, into a special unit. They're calling me Numbers Weapon 8,' Kafka projected back, the mental conversation feeling disturbingly natural. 'They've given me an assignment to report on my own abilities.'
There was a pause, a feeling of cold, analytical thought from the other end of the line.
[This is an optimal outcome,] Jin-Woo's voice replied. [You now have access to their tactical intelligence, their sensor networks, their archives. You are a virus I have successfully uploaded into their system. Provide them with the data they ask for. Give them enough information to make them believe they are in control. It will make them more predictable.]
'And what about you?' Kafka asked, a bitter edge to his thoughts. 'What do I tell them about my "sponsor"?'
[You will tell them nothing,] the Monarch commanded. [My existence is not a topic for their files. Let them speculate. Let them fear. Their fear of me will keep you safe from their political machinations.]
He was right, of course. Jin-Woo was using the Defense Force's fear of him as Kafka's ultimate bodyguard. He was protected from termination because his master was too dangerous to provoke. It was a twisted, terrifying form of job security.
[Your training has not ended,] Jin-Woo's voice added, a new, sharp edge to it. [Every night, in your dreams, we will continue your lessons. The full biological armor is a crude first step. You will learn to wield your power with the precision of a scalpel, not the blunt force of a hammer. You are an embarrassment to my name. We will rectify that.]
Kafka slumped forward, his head in his hands. Not only was he a pawn in a waking nightmare, but his nights were now going to be spent in a spectral boot camp run by a cosmic drill sergeant. There was truly no escape.
A soft knock came at his door.
He groaned, getting to his feet. "Come in."
The door slid open. Kikoru Shinomiya stood there, holding two steaming cans of coffee. Her expression was guarded, her posture stiff. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
"Thought you might be thirsty," she said, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. She walked in, handing him a can. Their fingers brushed. For a brief second, Kafka felt a faint, static-like spark—an echo of the Sovereign's energy in her, resonating with the raw power in him. They both pulled their hands back as if burned.
She cleared her throat, avoiding his eyes. "So… a rookie again, huh? Funny how things work out."
"Yeah," Kafka said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Hilarious."
They stood in an awkward silence for a long moment.
"I…" Kikoru started, struggling with the words. "That thing on the roof. The orbital strike. You didn't have to… I was there. I could have… probably." The last word was a mumble of wounded pride.
"You'd be a puddle of melted armor," Kafka said bluntly, and then instantly regretted his harshness.
She flinched, but then nodded, accepting the truth. "Yeah. Probably." She finally looked at him, her golden eyes filled with a painful question. "Why are you still being… you? After everything. The power. That thing that talks through you. You're still just the same clumsy, awkward…"
"Janitor?" he finished for her, a bitter smile on his face.
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it." He sighed, leaning against the wall. "I don't know, Shinomiya. I guess because it's all I have left. This 'power'… it's not a gift. It's a parasite. And its master is even worse. Being 'me' is the only act of rebellion I've got left."
It was the most honest thing he'd said to anyone since this all began. And in her eyes, he saw a flicker of understanding. A tiny spark of the bond between two people caught in a storm far bigger than themselves.
She finished her coffee and placed the can on his desk, next to the file from Hoshina. "The training tomorrow is gonna be hell," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its usual sharp confidence. "Hoshina won't go easy on you just because you're a secret monster. In fact, he'll probably go harder."
She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. "For what it's worth… about the rooftop… thank you, Kafka."
She was gone before he could reply.
He stood there alone in his sterile room, a cold can of coffee in one hand and an impossible assignment on his desk. He had an ally, maybe. A rival, definitely. A terrifying drill sergeant in his dreams, and a manipulative spymaster as his new boss.
His dream of being a hero had come true. And it was nothing at all like he'd imagined.