The hiss of an electric saw still echoed faintly in Akira Kurogiri's ears when the voice returned.
[Ravan: Host is handling Class-4 canine remains. Potential absorption targets detected: Fangs, Claws, Olfactory Enhancement.]
Akira froze, saw blade trembling against enamel. His pulse quickened. This is it…
His lips moved soundlessly. "…Absorb."
A low hum spread through his chest, a ripple only he could feel.
[Ravan: Absorption executed. Energy concealed. No external anomalies detected.]
Relief washed through him. The system wasn't just powerful—it was careful. He wouldn't have to worry about Defense Force sensors flaring when it worked.
Then came the impact. A sudden jolt hammered his skull, flooding his senses with alien impressions: the wet heat of blood on air, the sharp tang of rust miles away, the thrum of footsteps two blocks beyond the barricade.
Akira gasped, reeling. Smell… it's sharper. Too sharp.
Not just that—his fingertips ached faintly, phantom pressure where claws might sprout if he let them. His jaw clenched as if fangs tugged beneath his gums. The monster's instincts bled into his human body, restrained but alive.
For a brief, reckless moment, he thought of what he could become—an elegant predator like Sesshōmaru from an old anime he once loved. Beautiful. Tragic. Untouchable.
But he shook the thought away. There would be no flowing silks or silver hair. Only subtle shifts. Only survival.
The best part was, outwardly he looked unchanged. His body was still human. No glowing veins, no kaiju carapace, no reason for the Defense Force to start poking needles into him.
"Hey, Kurogiri, you spacing out again?" Reno called over, struggling to wrestle the saw into the second fang. His rookie grip was all wrong, too much tension in the shoulders.
"I've got it." Akira steadied his arm, guiding the saw down with practiced ease.
Reno exhaled, grateful, though his eyes lingered on Akira with quiet curiosity.
Kafka's voice carried from above, still perched on the kaiju's head. "Good work, you two! Keep this up and I'll start feeling like the lazy one!"
Even Uncle De, trudging nearby with a bundle of storage tags, grumbled, "Hibino, you're always lazy. Don't dump praise where it's not due."
The three days that followed blurred together in a rhythm of blood and steel. Cleanup was dirty, thankless work—scraping bone, sawing hide, cataloging organs for disposal or sale. But for Akira, each moment was a lesson. He learned where a kaiju's power pooled, which tissues carried residual energy, how deep the system could reach without notice.
All the while, Reno observed and asked questions endlessly. He was earnest, quick to adapt, never letting mistakes fluster him. Kafka watched over them both with the kind of warmth only a man who'd endured failure could give.
By the third evening, under a crimson sunset, Kafka pulled off his mask with a tired grin and clapped Akira on the shoulder. "You've really grown, kid. Let's grab a drink. My treat."
Akira chuckled, brushing gore from his gloves. "I won't say no."
Reno perked up from across the lot. "A drink? Ah… but I'm still underage, huh?"
Kafka laughed. "Don't worry, Ichikawa—you'll come along for ramen. Tea for you."
The rookie smiled sheepishly.
The shop was cramped, its paper lanterns swaying in the evening breeze. The rich scent of broth and pork filled the air, weaving comfort around weary bones. They squeezed into a corner booth—Kafka with his sake, Akira with barley tea, Reno with a steaming ramen bowl nearly too big for his head.
"Haha! You've changed so much, Kurogiri," Kafka said, raising his glass. "Back then you were dragging your feet like they weighed a ton. Now you're the one pulling us along. I'm proud."
Akira raised his own glass, the clink ringing softly. "I'm just doing my best. You've been a good mentor, Kafka."
Reno slurped noodles loudly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Senpai, I can vouch for that too. Kurogiri's been helping me nonstop. He's… reliable."
Akira felt his ears warm faintly. Reliable. A small word, but in this world, it meant everything.
Kafka's smile softened, shadows dimming the lines around his eyes. "Reliable, huh… Mina would've liked that."
His gaze drifted to the table, distant. "Back then, she and I promised we'd join the Defense Force together. She made it. She's already a captain. And me… I kept failing. The gap between us only widens."
Reno looked between them, stunned. "Captain Ashiro is your…?"
"Childhood friend," Kafka said simply. His voice carried a weight that made Reno fall silent.
Akira listened quietly. He'd known this story, but hearing it bleed raw from Kafka's lips struck deeper.
"This year is my last chance," Kafka admitted, his smile brittle. "If I don't get in before thirty-two, that's it. And I'm already thirty."
Akira raised his tea. "Then we'll make it count. Don't give up now, senpai. You'll succeed."
Reno nodded fiercely, broth dripping from his chin. "Yeah! You're strong in your own way, Hibino-senpai. I can see it."
Kafka laughed, shaking his head at their youthful conviction. Still, something lit in his eyes again.
Then his gaze slid back to Akira, sharper now. "But tell me, Kurogiri—why did you join the cleanup crew in the first place?"
The question lingered heavy between them.
Akira forced his expression neutral. "…To make a living. I grew up alone. This was stability."
It wasn't a lie. Just not the truth that mattered.
Kafka nodded slowly. "Fair. But have you ever thought about joining the Defense Force?"
Akira almost choked on his drink. Reno glanced up, eyes wide.
"Not really," Akira said quickly. "I'm fine here. The pay's steady. The work suits me."
But Kafka leaned closer, his voice suddenly earnest. "Kurogiri, come with me. Apply too. If I fail, I'll at least recommend you. It's the least I can do for someone who's worked this hard."
Akira blinked at him, stunned. His first instinct was to scoff—you haven't even secured your own place yet, senpai. But beneath Kafka's stubborn desperation was something else: hope. The kind that refuses to die, no matter how often the world buries it.
Akira sighed softly. "…Kafka, don't give up on yourself. Not now. Not ever."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Kafka's shoulders eased, and his smile returned. "You're right. Thanks."
Reno raised his bowl. "Then it's settled! We'll all aim for it together. Defense Force or bust!"
His words rang with youthful fervor, and even Kafka laughed at the enthusiasm.
Akira looked down into his tea, the system's voice faintly whispering in his ear.
[Ravan: Alignment detected. Probability of shared path increasing.]
He closed his eyes, letting the sound fade. Shared path or not, he would carve his own.
But for now, sitting here with these two—one stubborn dreamer, one eager rookie—it felt almost possible.
Almost.