The morning sun had barely broken over Tachikawa Base when the rookies were dragged out of their futons. Groggy protests echoed through the barracks as instructors stormed in, barking like drill sergeants.
"Up! You've had your beauty sleep. Today we see if you can fight, or if you're just numbers on a chart!"
Kafka Hibino stumbled out with his hair sticking up like an unkempt scarecrow, muttering, "Morning already…? Didn't we almost die yesterday?" Reno Ichikawa grabbed his friend's collar and yanked him into line before the instructor could snarl at them again.
Akira Kurogiri was already standing sharp and awake, letting the chaos wash over him. His body still ached from the physical exams, but the discomfort was only background noise. Mornings like this had been his routine long before the Defense Force.
From the girls' side, Kikoru Shinomiya stepped forward with her usual poised composure, though the shadows under her eyes betrayed another sleepless night of training. She took her place at the front, her chin raised, unshaken by the murmurs of admiration and envy that always followed her.
The group was marched onto the wide training grounds. Dust clung to their boots, the air thick with oil and steel. High above, Captain Mina Ashiro and Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina stood on an observation deck, flanked by aides and diagnostic techs.
Hoshina clapped his hands together, his grin as lazy as ever. "All right, brats. Yesterday was numbers. Today's about steel. Let's see how well you can dance."
Mina's voice carried cold and precise across the grounds. "Pair sparring will determine combat aptitude. You will be ranked not only by victory or defeat, but by control, adaptability, and teamwork."
The rookies stiffened, nerves rolling through the lineup.
One by one, the release force values were announced again, a reminder of where each stood.
Kikoru Shinomiya — 46%.
Haruichi Izumo — 36%.
Aoi Kaguragi — 34%.
Akira Kurogiri — 63%.
[Ravan: Suppression successful. Actual output concealed. Perception manipulation stable.]
Reno Ichikawa — 18%.
Kafka Hibino — 1%.
Jeers and whispers rippled through the crowd at Kafka's pitiful number. He scratched his head and laughed nervously, while Reno's jaw tightened at the mockery. Akira's gaze lingered on Kafka for a moment before drifting away, unreadable.
The first spar was called: Ichikawa Reno versus Furuhashi Iharu.
Iharu shuffled forward, pale and trembling, his blade shaking in his grip. "I-I'm not cut out for this," he muttered.
Reno grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Relax. We're rookies, right? Let's give them something to watch."
The match began. Iharu swung wide and clumsy, the weapon nearly slipping from his sweaty palms. Reno sidestepped, his movements crisp from weeks of chasing Akira and Kafka through kaiju-ridden streets. He didn't overpower his opponent. Instead, he moved with careful restraint, letting Iharu adjust.
"Breathe," Reno said mid-swing, parrying smoothly. "Don't think about winning. Just think about landing one clean hit."
Encouraged, Iharu steadied. His strikes came sharper, faster, but his eagerness betrayed him—he lunged too far. Reno pivoted cleanly, slipped behind, and tapped the boy's shoulder with the blunt edge of his blade.
The match was over.
The rookies applauded, surprised by Reno's calm maturity. Iharu panted but smiled, grateful for the guidance.
On the observation deck, Mina nodded slightly. "That boy fights with patience. Not for himself, but to steady his partner."
Hoshina tilted his head. "And the other one's shaking like a leaf. Cute pair, don't you think?"
The next names were called: Haruichi Izumo versus Aoi Kaguragi.
This time, the clash was immediate and furious. Haruichi moved like a textbook—low stance, balanced, every strike clean and deliberate. His expression was calm, unshaken, like a hawk tracking prey.
Aoi, in contrast, roared as he charged headlong, his blade whistling with sheer force. "What's the point of tradition if I can beat you head-on?!"
Steel rang against steel, sparks bursting in the air with every impact. Each strike echoed across the grounds, drawing cheers from the rookies. This wasn't cautious testing. It was a clash of wills.
"You fight recklessly," Haruichi said evenly, parrying and twisting his wrist. "Discipline will always—"
"Shut up!" Aoi snarled, swinging harder, sweat flying from his brow.
Their blades locked. Haruichi's stance rooted like stone, Aoi straining with all his strength. With a sudden twist, Haruichi disarmed him, sending the blade spinning across the ground.
Aoi staggered back, panting heavily, but his lips curved into a defiant smirk. "Guess the old ways still work."
Haruichi extended his hand. "You have spirit. That counts."
Their rivalry had only just begun.
From above, Mina's eyes flicked briefly to Akira. He stood calmly among the rookies, arms folded, unreadable.
"Kurogiri," she murmured. "He's hiding something."
Hoshina grinned knowingly. "Sharp as always. And Hibino? One percent on paper, but I've seen the look in his eyes. Might be the biggest gamble here."
Mina's lips pressed into a line, but she didn't disagree.
[Ravan: Observation confirmed. Officers suspicious. Host standing out regardless of suppression.]
Akira ignored the voice in his head, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.
The sparring ground fell quiet as the next names were called.
"Kurogiri Akira. Shinomiya Kikoru."
Whispers shot through the crowd. "The sixty-three percent monster versus the Shinomiya prodigy!"
Kikoru stepped forward, rolling her shoulders, her glare sharp as a blade. "Stop holding back, Kurogiri. You think we can't tell?"
Akira smirked faintly, his weapon resting on his shoulder. "Guess we'll see."
The tension thickened.
Hoshina leaned forward, grin wide. "Now this'll be fun."
Mina's gaze sharpened, unblinking.
The drumbeat signaled the start.
To be continued…
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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