Inside the sleek black car, Kikoru Shinomiya sat with her arms folded, her golden twin-tails swaying slightly as she shifted. The faint ache in her wrist reminded her of the humiliation she had just suffered.
Her emerald eyes, sharp as blades, flicked toward the exam hall doors. Outside, murmurs ran through the gathered rookies like ripples in water.
"Did you see that? Shinomiya-san's punch was… stopped?"
"No way. That janitor guy caught it with one hand."
"But he's from the cleaning company, right? Aren't those just grunts who scrub kaiju guts?"
"Still, who the hell blocks Kikoru Shinomiya's strike like that?"
Kikoru's lips curled downward. Each hushed word, though not directed at her, stoked the fire in her chest. Her return to Japan should have been triumphant—yet in one careless moment, she had allowed herself to be belittled by someone utterly beneath her.
Her butler, Seibuya, stood silently by her side inside the car, posture immaculate even in the confined space. His gaze, calm and unwavering, lingered on the direction the cleaning company's van was parked.
"Seibuya," Kikoru said coldly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "Find out everything about that boy. I don't care if he's a janitor or the son of some obscure noble family—no one in my generation surpasses me. No one."
Seibuya inclined his head slightly. "As you command, Miss Kikoru."
Still, even he could not fully hide the flicker of intrigue in his eyes.
Outside the car, a different kind of stir was spreading. The rookies had just caught sight of another figure stepping out from the side of the exam hall.
Kafka Hibino yawned, tugging the mask from his chin and stretching his arms as though he had just finished a long shift instead of an exam. His messy hair and unshaven stubble earned him immediate attention.
"Wait… is that a candidate too?"
"You've got to be kidding. He looks like he's pushing forty!"
"Uncle-looking rookie, seriously? Did he wander into the wrong building?"
"No, I heard the age cutoff's thirty-two. He must barely qualify."
"Ridiculous. What's the point at that age? The kaiju would chew him up in seconds."
Laughter and derisive snickers followed him. Kafka scratched the back of his head awkwardly, pretending not to notice, though the crease in his brow betrayed the sting.
Inside the car, Kikoru watched with thinly veiled disdain. Pathetic. A man like that dares to dream of standing beside me? Uncle rookies and janitors—what a farce.
Not everyone shared her scorn.
Reno Ichikawa stood frozen a few steps away, his fists clenched at his sides. He knew that scruffy man all too well—Kafka Hibino, his senpai at the cleaning company. Kafka had taught him how to handle kaiju remains, how to endure the stench, how to laugh even after twelve hours of hauling corpses.
But can he really… fight kaiju?
The whispers cut deeper than Reno wanted to admit, because they echoed doubts he himself had never voiced. Kafka had heart, yes. A will that burned brighter than most. But in a world ruled by power, was will alone enough?
And then there was Akira Kurogiri.
Reno's gaze shifted to the company van parked nearby, where Akira leaned against the door with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, eyes cool, posture relaxed. Yet Reno could still picture the moment—Kikoru's lightning-fast strike stopped dead in midair by Akira's bare hand.
That image refused to leave his mind.
Just who are you, Akira-senpai?
Akira himself remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere.
[Ravan: Combat data recorded. Potential ability resonance detected.]
The system's calm tone faded as quickly as it came, leaving him with only the memory of Kikoru's strike reverberating through his bones. She was fast—faster than anyone he had encountered yet. Strong too, even with a suit doing half the work. But more than her power, it was her eyes that stayed with him.
Pride. Rage. A determination that cut like steel.
She'll be a problem later. Better to stay out of her line of sight for now.
He adjusted his stance subtly as Kafka finally approached, waving cheerfully as if nothing had happened.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, guys! Those written questions were tougher than last year's, I swear. But hey, I think I did okay."
Reno forced a smile. "You're late, senpai. Let's get going."
Akira opened the van door without a word. Kafka climbed into the passenger seat, Reno sliding in behind him. The engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb, carrying the three of them from the exam grounds.
Behind them, the murmurs did not fade.
"Unbelievable… a cleaner who blocks Shinomiya's strike?"
"And that old guy—Kafka, was it? He's applying too?"
"Crazy batch this year. Makes you wonder what the interviews will look like."
Kikoru sat in silence, staring out the tinted window as the voices swirled outside.
Janitors. Stray dogs. Uncle rookies. Let them dream.
She shut her eyes, determination sharpening to a razor's edge. When the time comes, I'll crush them all.
In the van, the mood was mixed.
Kafka hummed lightly, staring out the window, his mind drifting to Mina Ashiro and the promise they had made. Three months left… I'll make it this time. I have to.
Reno's gaze flicked repeatedly toward Akira, though he said nothing. His curiosity gnawed at him. If Kafka was the heart, then Akira was the enigma—an enigma Reno intended to solve before the interviews arrived.
And Akira? He simply drove, eyes fixed on the road, his mind already two steps ahead.
[Ravan: Data seed implanted. Future convergence probability increasing.]
The words echoed faintly, like the tolling of a distant bell.