The kaiju's body twitched one last time, the glow of its core fading beneath charred flesh. Dust hung in the Kawasaki air, ash drifting down like snow. The only sound was the clicking of rifles—soldiers tightening their fingers on triggers, waiting for a command.
And in the middle of it all sat Akira, sword buried in the rubble beside him, chest heaving.
[Ravan: Host pulse stabilizing. Cellular regeneration engaged. Pain receptors suppressed to 62%.]
He shut his eyes briefly. The voice was a tether, cold and steady when the world wanted him gone. He had learned to trust it. Still, his body screamed, every breath tearing along the edges of his ribs. If he stood now, he might collapse before even reaching Kikoru.
But that wasn't the problem. The real problem was the wall of guns pointed not at the dead kaiju—but at him.
Kikoru stood tall atop the beast's carcass, rifle still trained on its skull. Her defiance was clear, though her jaw was tight, betraying the pressure of siding with him in front of everyone.
Kafka and Reno pushed closer through the haze. Kafka's gut twisted, his instincts screaming that this stand-off could turn bloody in seconds. Reno's eyes, sharp and distrustful, never left Akira's face.
"Oi, Akira," Kafka muttered under his breath, voice shaking. "Don't push it too far…"
But Akira didn't move. His grip only tightened around the hilt beside him.
The ground trembled as headlights cut through the night. Armored carriers screeched to a halt, and figures stepped out—captains, squad leaders, the authority of the Third Division embodied in sharp uniforms and sharper eyes.
At their head was Mina Ashiro.
Her white coat fluttered lightly in the breeze, long hair glinting under floodlights. Byakko, the great white tiger, padded at her side, golden eyes locked on Akira like a predator measuring prey.
Beside her walked Soshiro Hoshina, twin blades at his hips, crooked grin plastered across his face despite the tension.
The air shifted instantly. Soldiers lowered their rifles half an inch, awaiting their captain's judgment.
Mina's eyes swept the scene once, cold and calculating. Kaiju slain. Shinomiya out of formation. Hibino and Ishikawa present without orders. And at the center, a boy—sword in hand, bloodied but unyielding.
"Report," Mina said, her voice even.
Komugi's voice stammered faintly through comms. "Kaiju neutralized. Final blow delivered by Shinomiya. Subject Akira exhibited abnormal combat output. Possible liberation rate spike… near ninety-nine percent."
For the briefest flicker, Mina's brows tightened. Ninety-nine. Not possible. Not without years of suit mastery. Not without the kind of training even elites struggled to endure.
Her gaze locked on Akira.
"Who exactly are you?"
Akira tilted his head back and laughed once, dry and hollow. "Who am I? Just human." His eyes, sharp despite exhaustion, swept across the line of rifles. "Though judging from your faces, none of you believe that."
[Ravan: Host emotional spikes detected. Recommend restraint.]
"Shut up," Akira whispered under his breath.
Kikoru's eyes flickered at the whisper. She recognized it—not madness, but the same muttering she'd caught before, when he fought like a man possessed. Her lips pressed thin.
Mina stepped forward, her words carrying the weight of command. "No human has ever surpassed the Defense Force. Talent is forged in training, tempered by combat suits, and honed through years of service. That is the path."
Akira's eyes narrowed. "And yet I'm standing here."
Hoshina chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Kid, you've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts don't change the fact that right now, you look more kaiju than human to half the men here." His hand brushed one of his blades casually—but the tension in his shoulders betrayed he was ready to draw in a breath's notice.
"Come back with us," Mina said firmly. "Undergo an examination. If you're human, I'll personally vouch for you. I'll welcome you into the Defense Force myself."
It was not an offer made lightly. Mina Ashiro didn't waste words. To her, truth was as blunt as the recoil of a cannon.
Kafka's heart skipped. This was his chance, their chance. If Akira agreed, suspicion could end here.
But Akira's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Examination? No. Once doubt takes root, you'll keep finding excuses. Today it's an exam. Tomorrow it'll be chains."
Reno bristled. "Then what do you expect us to do? Just take your word for it? That you're not one of them?" His hand finally gripped his sidearm, knuckles white. "How do you expect anyone to trust you if you won't prove it?"
Akira's gaze snapped to him, sharp as glass. "You think proof changes fear? If I bleed human blood, you'll still flinch the moment I swing a sword too fast. Fear doesn't need proof. It just needs an excuse."
Reno faltered, lips parting but no words coming.
Kafka stepped in, desperate. "Akira—listen to me. Don't make this worse. If you just go with them—"
Akira cut him off with a shake of his head. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet for the chaos around them. "Kafka. You said once I wasn't fighting alone. That I didn't have to carry it all myself." He gritted his teeth. "But right now, every gun is pointed at me. Not the kaiju. Me. You tell me—who's standing with me?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Kikoru's hands tightened on her rifle. Her voice broke the stillness, sharp and angry. "Idiot. Do you think I'd have pulled the trigger if I didn't trust you?"
Mina's eyes flicked between them, measuring, calculating. "It seems you refuse to be examined." Her tone cooled to steel. "Then you leave us no choice."
Byakko prowled forward, shoulders rolling with restrained power. The tiger's growl rumbled through the broken street, deep enough to vibrate in bone.
Hoshina's hand fully gripped his blade now, grin curling wider. "Captain, permission to test him? Just a little?"
"No," Mina snapped, eyes never leaving Akira. "We'll take him in alive."
Akira rose slowly to his feet, sword sliding free of the rubble, tip gleaming faintly in the searchlights. His legs trembled, but his stance was firm.
[Ravan: Warning. Host surrounded. Probability of hostile engagement: 92%. Recommend immediate strategy.]
Akira smirked faintly at the voice. "Yeah. Figures."
He leveled his blade at the ground, eyes burning with defiance. "If you want me to come quietly… you'll have to prove you deserve to call yourselves humanity's shield."
The battlefield held its breath.
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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