Soshiro Hoshina leaned lazily against his desk, toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. His mushroom-cut hair swayed as he tilted his head at the surveillance monitor, eyes narrowing to slits that glimmered with predatory sharpness.
On the screen, Kikoru Shinomiya's aborted strike replayed again and again. A single frame captured the moment—her gauntleted fist frozen midair, fingers straining, veins taut, and opposite her, a boy with a sickly frame holding her blow as though it were nothing more than a passing breeze.
"…He stopped her. Just like that." Hoshina's lips curled into a grin, shark-like. "This year's batch is shaping up to be real interesting."
Across from him, Mina Ashiro leafed through a neat stack of recruit files. She didn't look up as she spoke, her voice steady and cool.
"It was only the written exam today. Don't get ahead of yourself, Hoshina."
"Yeah, yeah, Captain." Hoshina waved her off, though his gaze never left the boy on the monitor. "But a rookie who can stall Kikoru Shinomiya? That ain't something you see every year."
At the mention of her name, Mina finally glanced at the footage. Kikoru—her commanding officer's daughter, trained abroad, prideful and peerless—was glaring furiously at the boy as he walked away.
"…Akira Kurogiri," Mina read softly from the file. "Age nineteen. Orphan. Currently employed at Kaiju Corpse Cleanup Company, Yokohama branch."
"A cleaner, huh?" Hoshina chuckled darkly, tapping the desk with two fingers. "Guess we'll have to see just how clean he is when a kaiju's bearing down on him."
Mina flipped another page. "His written score… above average. Nothing remarkable. But there's little data about his combat background."
"Which is why I already put someone on his tail," Hoshina replied, teeth flashing. "We'll have answers before the interviews."
The van ride back from the exam grounds was quieter than expected. Reno Ichikawa sat in the backseat, arms folded, sneaking glances at both Kafka and Akira.
Kafka hummed tunelessly, one leg bouncing against the floor as though brimming with energy despite the whispers that had followed him earlier. "Man, those questions were brutal. Good thing I crammed last week, huh?"
Reno forced a grin. "Yeah… you did fine, senpai."
His eyes drifted toward Akira, who was driving with his usual silence. Reno still couldn't get that image out of his head—the way Akira had caught Kikoru Shinomiya's punch, her golden twin-tails snapping in frustration as she was forced back.
He's not like anyone else here. Not like me. Not even like Kafka-senpai. Just who are you really, Akira?
Kafka turned toward the window, gaze lost in the clouds. Despite the ridicule earlier, a spark lingered in his eyes. Reno noticed it—the same stubborn fire he'd seen countless times during cleanup jobs. No matter how many times you fall, you still get back up…
He clenched his fists. Then I'll do the same.
That evening, the trio changed back into their company uniforms and reported to the day's cleanup site: a Level 2.4 wolf-type kaiju that had rampaged through a residential block before being slain by a Defense Force squad.
The carcass sprawled across the street like a toppled tower. Its once-majestic black pelt was slick with blood, its fangs jagged as steel. Defense Force tape sectioned off the area, but by the time Akira, Kafka, and Reno arrived, the battle squad had already left.
"Another wolf…" Kafka muttered, pulling on his gloves. "Guess we got the easy jobs today."
Reno wrinkled his nose at the stench. "Easy for you to say, senpai. This thing still reeks."
Akira stood silently before the massive corpse, his gaze sharp. The system stirred.
[Ravan: Corpse identified—Type: Canid Kaiju. Residual vitality negligible. Absorption possible.]
Absorb, Akira commanded inwardly.
A faint warmth spread through his fingertips as he laid a hand against the beast's fur. There was no flash, no outward sign—only a subtle ripple through his muscles.
[Ravan: Ability acquired—Enhanced olfactory tracking (minor). Physical constitution—incrementally improved.]
Akira exhaled softly. His senses sharpened. The copper tang of blood, the faint oil of Defense Force weaponry, even the trace perfume of a civilian who had passed hours ago—all of it flooded his awareness.
He stepped back before either Kafka or Reno noticed, concealing the flicker of change in his expression.
"Hey, Akira, you spacing out again?" Kafka called, already hauling a saw to sever the kaiju's hind legs.
"…Just focused," Akira replied.
They worked late into the evening, stripping down the carcass, extracting usable materials, and packing cores for Izumo Tech's collection trucks. The work was dirty, exhausting, and thankless—but the three of them moved in sync.
Kafka whistled as he wiped sweat from his brow. "You know, having you two around makes this job feel a little less miserable."
Reno smirked faintly. "Don't get used to it, senpai. We won't be doing cleanup forever."
Akira glanced at them, a rare shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.
But elsewhere, their actions had already stirred waves.
Reports spread quickly. By the time the trio clocked out, Akira Kurogiri's name was already circulating among rookies and officers alike. Kikoru Shinomiya demanded Seibuya compile every scrap of data on him. Aoi Kaguragi exchanged messages with Haruichi Izumo about "the janitor boy." Even Iharu Furuhashi, usually aloof, had quietly noted his name.
At Third Division HQ, Soshiro Hoshina flicked off the surveillance feed and leaned back in his chair, grinning.
"Looks like this year's test won't be boring after all."
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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