The appearance of Captain Gen Narumi had fundamentally altered the chessboard. He hadn't just ended a battle; he had ended the entire strategic conversation as it was previously known. He was a walking, talking paradigm shift.
Kafka stood before him, his Kaiju form feeling brutish and clumsy in the presence of the Aeterea suit's sleek, sublime power. The threat Narumi had just issued wasn't loud or bombastic. It was a simple, factual statement from a man who had just erased a mountain from existence. It was the most terrifying threat Kafka had ever received.
But something else was happening. In the deepest, quietest part of his mind, the part where the Monarch's essence resided, there was a flicker of something new. Not fear. Not anger.
Interest.
[This one… is different,] Jin-Woo's voice echoed in his thoughts, a low, thoughtful hum that was completely unlike his usual bored or critical tone. [The energy he commands… it is not of this world. It is ordered. Controlled. It resonates with an authority I have felt before.]
'Before? Where?' Kafka asked.
[On a very different battlefield.] The Monarch's answer was curt, evasive. He was observing, analyzing, cataloging this new, unexpected piece on the board. He saw Narumi not as the Captain of the First Division, but as a rival power signature, an unknown variable of immense potential.
Before the standoff could escalate, the whir of multiple transports filled the air. Hoshina, Kikoru, and the rest of the ATU rappelled down, forming a protective, if woefully outmatched, cordon around Kafka. They were his keepers, and they would not relinquish their charge easily, not even to a living legend.
"Captain Narumi," Hoshina said, his voice a smooth, respectful, but firm barrier. "Special Operative Hibino is an asset of the Third Division, under the direct command of Commander Ashiro. Any plans regarding his 'cultivation' will have to go through her."
Narumi's helmeted head turned slowly, his unseen gaze settling on Hoshina. "Vice-Commander Hoshina. Your loyalty is commendable, if misplaced." His voice held a condescending patience. "The Daitetsu was a Class-Zero threat. Its emergence is a matter of national, not divisional, security. As of this moment, all assets related to 'unforeseen Kaiju phenomena' are under the purview of the First Division. Commander Ashiro will be receiving her new directives shortly."
He was not just taking over the mission. He was taking over them.
With that, Narumi simply ascended, a silver angel rising into the night sky. "See that your… asset… is returned to base," he commanded as a parting shot. "He and I will be having a more… formal introduction soon." And with a ripple of distorted space, the Aeterea suit vanished, its speed making the most advanced jets look like they were standing still.
He was gone.
A collective, shuddering breath was released by the entire ATU squad. It was as if the sun had just appeared, shone with blinding intensity for five minutes, and then disappeared, leaving them in the dim twilight, trying to re-adjust their eyes.
"That…" Kikoru breathed, her axe feeling like a primitive club in her hands. "...is the strength of humanity's strongest soldier."
"No," Hoshina corrected, his eyes still fixed on the spot in the sky where Narumi had been. "That's the strength of Numbers Weapon 10." A grim, weary smile touched his lips. "It seems that while we were fighting monsters with axes and swords, the geniuses in R&D have quietly built a god."
He finally turned to Kafka, his expression a complex mess of emotions. "You were reckless. Insubordinate. You disobeyed every order." He paused. "It was also the finest display of monster-brawling and Kaiju-taunting I have ever had the pleasure to witness." He clapped a hand on Kafka's monstrous shoulder. "Now, revert before the entire First Division shows up with a bigger cage for you."
The return to the Third Division was a somber affair. The news of Captain Narumi's intervention and his de facto seizure of command had already reached them. Mina Ashiro was in a secured, high-level video conference with the Joint Chiefs and, presumably, Narumi himself. The entire chain of command was in flux.
Kafka was immediately confined to his room, his status as "hero of the hour" already being eclipsed by his new status as "object of interest to the terrifyingly powerful First Division Commander."
He sat on his bed, the adrenaline of the battle fading, leaving behind a deep, gnawing anxiety. What did Narumi want with him? What was this "formal introduction" going to be?
And what was the Monarch thinking?
[The Architect is a pest. The Golem was a nuisance,] Jin-Woo's voice suddenly announced, a summary judgment on the night's events. [That man, Gen Narumi, and the weapon he wields… they are a legitimate threat.]
It was the first time Kafka had ever heard the Monarch describe anything as a "threat" to himself. The casual acknowledgment sent a colder shiver down his spine than any of Narumi's own pronouncements.
[His power feels like the remnants of my ancient enemies,] Jin-Woo mused, more to himself than to Kafka. [The Rulers. Beings of creation and order. It seems a fragment of their power, a sliver of their authority, has found its way into this world and into the hands of your species.]
Rulers? Like… Ruler's Authority? The skill Jin-Woo himself used.
[It is of a similar origin, but fundamentally different. Mine is the stolen power of a creator, now wielded by a king of the dead. His… is something else. Pure. Unblemished.] There was a dangerous, predatory curiosity in the Monarch's tone. [He will be an interesting challenge.]
The Monarch didn't see Narumi as an ally against the Architect. He saw him as a future, more worthy, opponent. The game was becoming more complicated, the players more powerful, and Kafka was still trapped in the dead center.
[You are outclassed,] Jin-Woo stated, the critique swift and brutal. [Your performance against the Golem was… marginally adequate. But against the wielder of Aeterea, you would not last a second. We must accelerate your growth. Your next lesson will be… unpleasant.]
Kafka groaned inwardly. What could be worse than Beru and Igris?
Before the Monarch could elaborate, the door to his room hissed open. It was Mina Ashiro.
Her video conference was over. She looked completely drained, the weight of the political battle she had just fought evident in her posture.
"Well," she began, her voice devoid of its usual sharp edge, "the good news is you are not being court-martialed. The bad news is… you are no longer entirely my problem."
She walked in and sat down at his small desk, a sign of her exhaustion. "Captain Narumi has asserted command. You are now a joint asset, co-managed by the First and Third Divisions. That means, for the next few weeks, you are being temporarily reassigned. To him."
Kafka's blood ran cold.
"I fought it," Mina said, looking at him, her eyes holding a deep, pained sincerity. "I argued. I tried. But the Daitetsu event has given the First Division all the political capital they need. He has convinced the Joint Chiefs that you are too important, and too dangerous, to be left to a single, 'provincial' unit."
So that was it. Hoshina's gamble, Kikoru's plea, his own desperate heroics… it had saved him from a cell, only to deliver him into the hands of a man who looked at him like a bug under a microscope.
"What does he want me for?" Kafka asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Mina shook her head. "I don't know. He was… vague. He spoke of 'diagnostic tests' and 'evaluating your potential'. But I know Gen Narumi. He doesn't run tests. He runs trials by fire." She leaned forward, her expression urgent. "Listen to me, Kafka. You cannot trust him. He does not see people. He sees weapons, threats, and objectives. He is the coldest, most pragmatic man I have ever known. Do not show him any weakness. Do not show him anything he can use against you. And whatever you do… survive."
The warning from his childhood friend, the commander who had just fought to keep him, was the most terrifying thing he had heard all night.
He was being handed over. From a group of keepers who had come to reluctantly care for him, to a new master who saw him only as a tool to be measured, and perhaps, broken. And in the back of his mind, his other, truer master was already planning his next brutal lesson, preparing his favorite weapon for a potential future clash with his newfound rival.
Kafka felt like a prized sword, being passed from one wielder to another, all while the smith who forged him watched from the shadows, eager to see who would fall on his blade first.