Japan.
Yokohama.
Monster Cleanup Company.
Akira Kurogiri stirred awake to the sound of metal doors groaning open, the morning bustle of workers already filling the air. The smell of disinfectant mixed with kaiju blood clung to the walls—a scent that would make most people gag, but to Akira it had become strangely ordinary.
"Damn it, the Third Division again? This time, we're really in for it,"Daisuke the Clean up Crew Head grumbled nearby, his wild afro shaking as he dragged on his gear. Years of exhaustion clung to his features.
Third Division… Mina Ashiro… Yokohama's guardians. Akira's lips twitched faintly.
His eyes swept the noisy workroom. Defense Force divisions, kaiju, Mina, Hoshina—the names were burned into his memory. He knew them. Too well. This was no dream, no idle fantasy. Somehow, impossibly, he was living inside the world of Kaiju No. 8.
Akira pressed his palm against his chest. The weight there was too real. His own pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips, steady and alive. This wasn't someone else's story—it was his now.
"Ah, Uncle De, we're just the cleanup crew. Hard work's part of the job. As long as civilians are safe, that's what matters," said a warm, unshaven man stepping into view.
Kafka Hibino.
Akira's breath hitched despite himself. In the flesh, Kafka looked less like a protagonist and more like a tired uncle. But behind his easygoing smile was something Akira recognized instantly: resolve that refused to die, even when the world ground it down.
So this was where the story began. Before Reno, before Kafka's transformation, before the Defense Force exam.
Akira clenched his fists at his sides. He had time. Time to prepare, time to build his own path alongside the one already written.
"Uncle De, Hibino-senpai's right," Akira said, his voice carrying more weight than he expected. "We may not stand in the spotlight, but that doesn't make us any less necessary."
Kafka blinked at him in surprise. A week ago, Akira had dragged his feet and cursed every shift. Now his words carried the fire of conviction.
What changed? Kafka wondered, though he smiled faintly. Whatever it was, it suited the kid.
Heroes don't always stand where the light shines brightest. The thought stirred an ache in Kafka's chest, the memory of a childhood vow with Mina Ashiro—the promise to rid Japan of kaiju. Mina had kept climbing, higher and higher, while Kafka struggled to even leave the ground. He was thirty-two now, and dreams had a way of slipping further out of reach with each passing year.
"Kafka, don't forget to apply for the Defense Force this year," Akira said suddenly, flashing him a grin.
Kafka chuckled, scratching at his hair. "Of course! Already took the written exam—" He froze mid-sentence, his face stiffening.
Akira's gaze sharpened. So it really was close. The gears of fate were about to start turning.
"Hah! You applied again, huh? You're a rare breed, Kafka. A guy who only grows thicker skin every time life kicks him down," Daisuke said admiringly.
"The next exam's in three months, right? Let's get moving. Time to work!" He was already strapping on his equipment, grumbling all the while.
Akira nodded and reached for his own gear, fingers tightening on the straps. On the surface, today was just another cleanup assignment. But for him, it was the first step.
Because unlike the others, he wasn't stepping into this story empty-handed.
Inside him pulsed something alien, something whispering in the depths of his mind.
[Ravan: System initialized. Adaptive protocol active.]
The faint, mechanical voice sent a chill racing down his spine every time it spoke. Ra-One: Ravan—the strange system that had awakened the day he opened his eyes in this world.
With it came the ability to devour and evolve. A kaiju's senses. An animal's swiftness. The potential was endless.
But he had no illusions. This wasn't some game where he could power-level freely. Not yet.
For now, the system offered only whispers of support—tiny shifts in stamina, flickers of heightened perception. Small things that could pass for adrenaline or instinct. Just enough to prepare him for the storm he knew was coming.
"Akira Kurogiri."
He turned to find Uncle De watching him with a rare seriousness.
"About what you said earlier. If that fire's real, prove it. Show me you've really embraced this work. Otherwise…" His eyes narrowed. "I'll have no choice but to cut you loose."
Akira blinked. Fired? From the monster cleanup crew? The irony nearly made him laugh. What job could be more disposable than scraping kaiju guts off concrete?
But in truth, this job was everything. It kept him close to the action, to the corpses he could learn from. To Kafka. To the beating heart of the Defense Force.
"Don't worry, Uncle De," Akira said, his voice low and steady. "I've grown up. From today on, I'll take the hardest, dirtiest jobs you throw at me."
He clenched his fist, feeling the faint vibration of the system stir in response.
[Ravan: Determination registered. Monitoring host progression.]
Akira smirked. Whatever this world threw at him, he was ready to meet it head-on.
Because this was no longer just Kafka Hibino's story.
It was his too
This story is inspired from various fanfics i have read from around the world so if you find any similarities please dont mind . Thank you
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T/N :
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