Kafka's voice rose over the clatter of bowls in the ramen shop. "Three months until the interviews. That's all we've got."
A few diners turned, startled. Akira Kurogiri bowed his head, murmuring apologies. "Sorry—he's not drunk. Just… passionate."
Chopsticks resumed tapping. The lanterns swayed in the draft. Kafka rubbed at the lines around his eyes, a laugh caught somewhere between relief and fatigue.
Akira studied him. More than a decade of rejection. Most people would have folded long ago. "You've held on this long," he said quietly. "Don't stop now. The Defense Force is just one more hurdle."
Kafka blinked, then smiled—really smiled, the way a younger Kafka might have. "So you'll apply too, Kurogiri? Having someone with me this time… it makes all the difference."
Akira weighed the thought. The cleanup company was still his best hunting ground—safe, quiet, rich with kaiju remains for Ravan to… absorb. But three months was time enough to grow without making noise. He nodded. "…All right. I'll apply."
Across the table, Reno Ichikawa nearly knocked over his tea. "Then we're doing it—together!"
Kafka's grin widened. "Together."
Akira filed for leave the next morning and took the written exam. The questions read like disaster protocols—evacuation routes, kaiju class indicators, tissue hazard controls. For anyone raised under sirens and barricades, theory was second nature. He finished early, laid his pencil down, and walked out.
The corridor outside the exam hall hummed with nerves. Other candidates trickled through the doors, faces pinched with post-test tension. Akira recognized more than a few from the dossiers he'd skimmed in the company's break room.
Reno emerged, breathless but proud. "I… think I did okay!"
"You did," Akira said simply.
Haruichi Izumo followed—quiet, aristocratic, shoulders held with that effortless poise that wealth and training taught. Aoi Kaguragi came next, wiry and restless, eyes darting like he was ready to sprint back into the hall and retake the exam for fun.
Then the air shifted. Attention tilted as if nudged by an unseen hand.
She stepped out with the confidence of a blade drawn an inch from its scabbard: golden hair tied, stride precise, a compact case at her side that hummed faintly. Kikoru Shinomiya. The prodigy. The scion. Recently home from America and already carrying the weight of a legacy.
Her butler, Seibuya, matched her pace, offering a businesslike nod. "Miss Kikoru, the car is ready. Your preliminary results will be delivered to the estate by morning."
"Mm." Kikoru's curt reply barely left her lips before her gaze snapped to Akira. The faintest crease formed between her brows. He's leaving already? Before me?
Seibuya followed her line of sight. "Likely a janitor from a cleanup company, judging by the clothes. They tend to finish theory quickly—familiarity with incident protocols."
Kikoru's jaw tightened. Excuses didn't interest her. She didn't lose—even in footnotes.
"Hey. You." Her voice carried like a command across a parade ground. "Stop."
Akira kept walking. The day wasn't over, and rumors in the crew chat said a wolf-type kaiju had gone down in the adjacent ward. If the remains were intact, Ravan could—
Her shadow cut across his path.
The case at Kikoru's side hissed as it unfolded, a sleek, compact suit wrapping her limb with a faint blue glow. She planted her feet, weight forward, fist chambered. No theatrics—clean mechanics, perfect form, the kind that came from thousands of drills.
She stepped in.
"Boom!"
Her punch tore the air.
Akira's hand rose.
The impact met his palm with a sharp quake that rippled through the street. Sparks spat where metal brushed synthetic fibers; a gust rattled exam posters free from the walls.
Gasps. A half-muttered curse. Feet skittering on tile.
Beside the shock, Akira felt only a crisp, clinical whisper.
[Ravan: Threat vector computed. Micro-shift stance—transfer momentum to ground. Musculoskeletal output +7%.]
He had moved before he'd decided to, the system drawing a precise line through physics and muscle memory. Not brute force—leverage. Not dominance—redirection.
Kikoru's fist trembled against his palm. She stared, eyes wide, pride stung raw. The suit's servos whirred as it recalibrated against unexpected resistance.
Haruichi actually took a step forward, composure cracking. "Her suit's augmenting at least fivefold—he stopped that?"
Aoi whistled, unable to help himself. "Yo, janitor-man, what are you made of?"
Iharu Furuhashi stood frozen, hand halfway to his mouth. "That… that was full commitment. She didn't hold back."
Reno hovered at Akira's shoulder, stunned. "Kurogiri…?"
Akira released Kikoru's fist gently, careful to give her space. "You'll strain your wrist forcing it," he said, tone even.
The world held its breath.
Kikoru shook out her hand once, eyes never leaving his. The glow around her arm dimmed as the suit returned to standby, the compact case folding its panels with a crisp click. No tantrum, no bluster—only an intense, evaluating silence.
Finally, she spoke. "Name."
"Kurogiri Akira."
Her gaze ticked to Reno. "And you?"
"Reno Ichikawa," he managed.
Kikoru inclined her head a fraction. Not approval—acknowledgment. "Kikoru Shinomiya." As if there were any chance they didn't already know.
Seibuya cleared his throat softly, sensing the attention they'd drawn. "Miss Kikoru, the car."
Kikoru didn't break eye contact with Akira as she replied, "In a moment."
She stepped closer, enough that he could see the fine machining lines in the suit's casing, smell the faint bite of ozone it left in the air. "That wasn't strength," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. "That was timing."
Akira didn't answer.
"Good." The corner of her mouth lifted by a millimeter—gone so quickly he almost doubted it. She turned on her heel. "I'll see you at the interviews."
Seibuya ushered her away, the car door shutting with a satisfying thud. Conversations resumed in her wake, hushed and fervent.
Aoi elbowed Haruichi. "You see that? She went all in and he just—palmed it."
Haruichi smoothed his jacket, masking the last of his surprise. "He redirected it. Subtle. Efficient."
Iharu exhaled shakily, relief and admiration battling on his face. "I thought that van was dead meat."
Reno finally found his voice. "Kurogiri… how did you—?"
Akira flexed his fingers once, feeling warmth buzz in his tendons. Leverage, small assist, nothing flashy. "Got lucky."
Reno stared at him, unconvinced, then broke into a grin anyway. "Well… lucky for the van."
They fell into step together, the exam hall shrinking behind them, the street opening into a city that was already resetting to its ordinary rhythm—sirens fading, traffic resuming, people moving on from a moment they'd tell as a story later.
[Ravan: External attention levels decreasing. Risk minimal.]
Akira let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. If the system had flared any brighter, sensors in a five-block radius might have noticed. But Ravan had slipped in and out like a ghost, leaving no trace but the faint ache in his palm.
Reno shuffled a little closer, voice dropping. "You're applying to the Defense Force for real, right?"
"I said I would."
"Good." Reno's steps lightened. "Let's both make it."
Akira glanced at him. The rookie's optimism should've felt naive. Instead, it felt… grounding.
A message pinged in the crew chat. Uncle De had posted a grimy picture of a loading bay and a wolf-type kaiju skull tagged for pickup. Bingo.
"Work calls," Akira said. "Come on."
They turned toward the van.
From the rooftop across the street, a pair of squinted eyes followed their movement, amused and sharp. Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina lowered the binoculars, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
"Interesting," he murmured, blade resting loosely against his shoulder. "Very interesting."
[Ravan System Note]
Status: Stable
Recent Assist: Reaction timing optimization / Output +7%
External Detection: None
Akira closed his eyes for a heartbeat, letting the hum fade. He would not rely on it. Not openly. Not yet.
But when the time came, he'd be ready—quietly, precisely, without flashing lights.
For now, it was enough to walk beside Kafka and Reno.
It was enough to keep moving.