The humid air of the communal bath was thick with steam, a haze that clung to skin and dulled the fluorescent lights overhead. After an entire day of grueling physical trials, every rookie candidate had stumbled into the facility with aching limbs, bruised egos, and just enough pride to keep their backs straight.
The bath itself buzzed with life—water sloshing, chatter rising, and laughter echoing from tiled walls. Reno Ichikawa sank to his shoulders in the hot spring, sighing long and deep. "I swear… I thought my legs were gonna fall off during that sprint test."
Kafka Hibino plopped down beside him, his large frame sending a splash across the surface. "Legs? My whole body's screaming. These kids are on another level!"
The word kids stung Reno a little, though he let it slide. His gaze swept across the bath where clusters of candidates gathered, each radiating their own energy. Some laughed loudly, others sat in silence, measuring the competition with sharp eyes.
And then there was Akira Kurogiri.
The boy leaned casually against the edge of the bath, hair damp, expression composed as if he hadn't just dominated every event in the trials. His muscles were corded with restrained power, his breathing steady. If exhaustion touched him, he didn't show it.
[Ravan: Vital metrics stable. Comparative output exceeds 98% of candidates. Probability of envy-based hostility: increasing.]
Akira tilted his head faintly, water dripping from his bangs. The system wasn't wrong—he could feel the stares, hear the mutters beneath the chatter.
"Oi, check him out. That's the guy who broke the strength meter, right?"
"Akira Kurogiri. Nineteen. Height, 178. Release force? Ninety-nine percent."
"No way. That's higher than most officers already."
The voices carried, equal parts admiration and resentment.
Not to be outdone, one boy with a cocky grin splashed forward, his voice loud enough to draw the room's attention. "Name's Iharu Furuhashi! Sixteen, 165 centimeters. Release force, twenty percent!" He flexed an arm that trembled more than it impressed. "Don't underestimate me just 'cause the numbers are small. I've got guts, and that's all that matters!"
The bath erupted in chuckles.
"Guts won't save you from a kaiju, kid," Aoi Kaguragi muttered from across the pool, his tall frame and aristocratic posture making him look every bit the "genius recruit." "Some of us actually trained for this."
Iharu flushed. "What was that, pretty boy?!"
Kafka laughed nervously, caught between admiration and second-hand embarrassment. Reno, though, glanced toward Akira. To him, Akira's calm dominance was something beyond reach. Not arrogance—just unshakable presence.
"Man," Reno whispered under his breath, "he really is built different."
[Ravan: Observation—Ichikawa Reno displaying reverence. Probability of future bond strengthening: 74%.]
Akira closed his eyes, ignoring the chatter. It wasn't worth feeding into rivalries this early. But he couldn't deny the growing tension swirling in the bathhouse. A dozen rookies, each a potential soldier, measuring themselves against one another—it was less relaxation and more a battlefield without weapons.
On the other side of the dormitory, steam curled from the women's bath.
Kikoru Shinomiya sat with her back against the stone, towel draped over her head, staring blankly at the ceiling. Around her, other female candidates exchanged chatter, laughter, even gossip about the "monsters" in the men's bath.
"You should've seen Kurogiri," one whispered. "He didn't even flinch during the pull-up test. Like, his arms didn't get tired. At all."
"Ugh, I know. And that Ichikawa kid—he's not as strong, but he's so loyal to him. Always at his side."
"And then there's that older guy… Hibino, right? He barely scraped through."
Kikoru clenched her jaw, sinking lower into the water.
Her whole life, she had been praised as a prodigy, the Shinomiya heir, a generational genius destined to surpass her father. But ever since Akira appeared, her brilliance felt dimmer. It wasn't just that he was strong—it was that he carried himself as though the battlefield already belonged to him.
"…Tch." She grabbed another shrimp chip from a small pack she'd smuggled in, crunching furiously. The hot water wasn't enough to ease the frustration burning in her chest.
Why does he never look tired? Why does he never stumble?
And then there was Kafka Hibino. Her eyes narrowed, remembering the way he had thrown himself into danger for Reno, the way he tried so hard despite looking… ordinary. That man baffled her most of all.
He's weak. And yet… people follow him.
The thought unsettled her. If Akira was an unreachable wall, Kafka was something else—a contradiction that tugged at her curiosity despite her better judgment.
[Ravan: Observation—subject Shinomiya agitated. Probability of rivalry fixation increasing.]
Back in the men's bath, the voices rose again as rookies introduced themselves in turn—Haruichi Izumo with his sniper pedigree, Aoi Kaguragi boasting of his family legacy, Iharu insisting on his guts. Each declaration painted the room with color, ego, and nervous ambition.
The words hung in the steam like a chill draft, and though laughter quickly returned, Akira's eyes flicked open.
He said nothing, sinking deeper into the water, but a faint smile curved his lips. Whatever storm was brewing, it would reach them soon enough.
By the time the rookies left the baths, exhaustion had dulled their bravado. Friendships had begun to sprout, rivalries to sharpen, and in the silence between words, seeds of doubt and foreshadowing had been planted.
Akira stepped out last, towel slung over his shoulder, his expression as unreadable as ever. Reno and Kafka followed, walking a step behind him as if by instinct.
For now, the night was quiet. But the path ahead was anything but calm.
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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