The sterile air of Yokohama Central Hospital had become oddly familiar. For days, Akira Kurogiri had remained under observation. Doctors came and went, Defense Force personnel rotated on shifts outside his door, and the Shinomiya family's security detail lingered discreetly in the halls. It was suffocating to most, but Akira endured it with his usual calm.
Kikoru Shinomiya, however, was anything but calm. She had been drifting between her own ward and Akira's room since the night of the incident. At first, she'd told herself it was out of suspicion—he was too mysterious, too powerful, too composed for someone supposedly just another recruit candidate. But over time, she found herself simply… curious. He wasn't like the blustering rookies who either flaunted or crumbled under pressure. He carried himself with an aura she couldn't quite define, equal parts reassuring and unreachable.
She had noticed his late-night disappearances. No matter how closely the Defense Force monitored him, Akira always managed to slip away onto the rooftop, returning hours later with nothing more than the faint smell of grilled food or beer lingering in the air. She said nothing. Plenty of people were already keeping tabs on him—her family's men, Mina's orderlies, and most importantly, Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina himself. Sooner or later, someone would expose the truth, if there was a truth to uncover.
And yet, each time she sighed and turned away, something inside her whispered that maybe Akira was just… lonely, the same way she was.
On the rooftop itself, Akira leaned against the railing, a can in one hand, his gaze drawn to the sprawl of Yokohama below. The summer air was heavy, filled with humidity and distant sirens, but up here it was quiet enough to think.
[Ravan: Surveillance radius clear. Drone signatures detected, six total. Their weapons: non-lethal. Probability of containment attempt: 87%.]
Akira smirked faintly. "Let them watch."
The memory of Kafka's transformation still lingered sharply in his mind. His senpai had crossed a threshold no human could retreat from. The sight of Kafka smashing that kaiju with raw power—awkward, sloppy, but undeniably kaiju-class—burned itself into Akira's chest. Reno's frantic loyalty, too, stood out: the boy had chosen to run with Kafka instead of away from him.
"They'll figure it out soon," Akira murmured to himself, taking a swig from the can. "And when they do… what will they call him?"
[Ravan: Codename registered. Kaiju No. 8. Public spread imminent.]
The words hummed in his skull like a declaration.
Three days passed. The Defense Force could only remain on edge for so long before escalation became inevitable. Word arrived from Tachikawa Base that headquarters was dispatching investigators. They weren't doctors or simple tacticians—they were specialists in identifying anomalous signatures in human hosts. If anyone could peel apart Akira's façade, it was them.
Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina greeted them personally when they arrived. The lead investigator was a stern man in his fifties with sharp features and a polished uniform that practically bristled with authority. His name was Goro Shinazaki, one of the Defense Force's most relentless auditors. Two younger officers accompanied him—one lean and rigid, the other with a calm but perceptive gaze.
"Vice-Captain Hoshina," Shinazaki said curtly, shaking his hand only in formality. "We'll take it from here."
"You'll find no resistance from me," Hoshina replied smoothly, though his smile was tight. "But I'll caution you now—Kurogiri isn't ordinary."
"That's precisely why we're here."
At the hospital, Shinazaki wasted no time. His team combed through Akira's file, every report cross-checked against energy scan data. None of it fit neatly. A civilian with no remarkable record shouldn't have been capable of feats that even trained officers struggled to replicate.
"This isn't just talent," one of the younger inspectors murmured, tapping the holographic readouts. "His cells react to kaiju energy spikes like… like an echo."
Shinazaki's gaze hardened. "Or a disguise."
When they entered Akira's room, Kikoru was already there, sitting on a chair with her legs crossed and an annoyed scowl plastered on her face. "More old men poking around? What a circus," she muttered.
"Shinomiya-san," Shinazaki said coolly, "this is not your concern. We're here for the subject."
Akira looked up from his bed, setting aside the light novel he'd been pretending to read. His expression was calm, almost bored. "Subject, huh? You make me sound like a specimen."
Shinazaki ignored the remark, gesturing for his aides. One held up a compact scanner. A faint hum filled the room as the device began reading energy signatures.
[Ravan: Scanning pulse detected. Energy dampening engaged.]
Akira's lips twitched.
The scanner whirred, lights blinking erratically before flatlining into a neutral read.
"No kaiju residue detected," the aide reported. "Completely human."
"That can't be right," the other muttered. "His readings were irregular in the field."
Shinazaki studied Akira for a long, heavy moment. His instincts screamed that something was off, but the data refused to agree.
"You're clear… for now," he said at last, his tone laced with skepticism. "But I'll be watching."
When the investigators filed out, Kikoru leaned closer to Akira. "You really are something else. They can't find a shred of proof, and yet you still make them sweat."
Akira smiled faintly. "Guess I'm just lucky."
[Ravan: Falsehood rating: 92%.]
Akira ignored it.
That night, as always, he found himself back on the rooftop. The moon was full, casting silver light across the restless city. Somewhere out there, Kafka and Reno were hiding, trying to make sense of their new reality. Mina and Hoshina were balancing command and suspicion, caught between duty and doubt. And now, headquarters had joined the fray, sniffing for cracks.
Akira sipped his beer slowly, savoring the bitter taste.
"They're tightening the noose," he murmured. "But they don't know what's inside it yet."
[Ravan: Prognosis—containment inevitable. Recommendation: accelerate integration.]
"Not yet," Akira whispered. "I'll choose the pace."
The city below pulsed with life and danger in equal measure. Somewhere in its sprawl, Kaiju No. 8 was moving, and soon enough, all their paths would converge.
For tonight, though, Akira simply watched, a lone figure straddling the line between suspicion and salvation.
And Yokohama, tense and trembling, waited for the storm to break.
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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