The sterile hospital room felt less like a ward and more like a secret council chamber. The remains of Akira's caloric siege had been cleared away, leaving only the four of them—Akira propped up in bed, Kafka in his usual chair, and Kikoru and Reno seated on a bench brought in by a sympathetic nurse. The door was shut, granting them a fragile bubble of privacy.
The air was thick with unspoken words. The relief of survival was palpable, but beneath it ran a current of tension, centered on Kikoru Shinomiya. She sat stiffly on the bench, her hands clenched on her crutch, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall between Kafka and Akira. The disgust and betrayal she'd felt upon learning Kafka's secret had curdled into a complex, silent anger.
Reno broke the silence, his voice still weak but clear. "We need to talk about it. All of it. We can't just pretend it didn't happen."
Kafka flinched, his shoulders hunching. "I... I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to see that. To be involved in this."
"It's not about being involved," Kikoru said, her voice low and sharp, finally turning her amber eyes on him. "It's about the lie. Every day, since we met, it's been a lie. You, the eager, clumsy old man, always tripping over your own feet. Was that all an act? Were you laughing at us this whole time?"
"NO!" Kafka's response was immediate, desperate. He leaned forward, his expression raw. "That's me! That's all me! The clumsiness, the failing the exams, the... the everything! This... this thing inside me... it's not something I asked for! It's a nightmare I can't wake up from! The only thing that wasn't a lie was wanting to stand with you all. To protect people. That promise I made to Captain Mina when I was a kid... that's the most real thing about me."
Akira watched silently, letting them hash it out. This was a bridge they had to cross themselves.
[Ravan: Emotional distress levels high in all subjects. Conflict resolution is crucial for unit cohesion. Probability of successful reconciliation: 65%.]
"You could have told us," Kikoru shot back, though some of the heat had left her voice, replaced by a confused hurt.
"And say what?" Reno interjected softly, wincing as he adjusted his position. "Hey guys, I turn into a disaster-class kaiju sometimes, hope that's cool?' They'd have locked him in a lab and thrown away the key. Or worse." He looked at Kafka. "You did what you had to do to survive. And then... you used it to save us. That's what matters."
Kikoru fell silent, looking down at her hands. She remembered the feeling of utter helplessness against the Kaiju No. 9. She remembered the blue monster placing itself between them and death, taking blow after blow. She remembered dragging Kafka's human form into the dark, her heart hammering with a fear that was equal parts for him and of him.
"You protected me," she murmured, not looking up. "When Captain Ashiro and Vice-Captain Hoshina came. You lied for me. For us."
"I owed you that much," Kafka said, his voice thick with emotion. "You and Reno... you fought for me when I couldn't. Telling the truth would have... I don't know what it would have done. Thank you. For trusting me enough to do that."
The final piece of Kikoru's resistance crumbled. The anger wasn't gone, but it was now directed at the situation, not the man. He was a victim of it too. She let out a long, slow breath. "Don't make me regret it, Hibino. If you ever lose control... if you ever become a real threat..."
"I won't," Kafka vowed, his eyes earnest. "I'd rather die."
Akira finally spoke, his voice cutting through the emotional atmosphere with its usual calm precision. "Good. Now that's settled. The bigger problem is that it got away. It's out there, adapting. Next time, it'll be stronger. Smarter. We need to be ready."
The door to the room hissed open, breaking the moment. Mina Ashiro stood there, Vice-Captain Hoshina leaning casually against the doorframe behind her. Their expressions were unreadable, but their presence commanded the room's attention.
"Glad to see you're all finally communicating," Mina said, her sharp eyes scanning each of them, missing nothing. The tension, the red-rimmed eyes, the determined set of Kafka's jaw—she filed it all away. "It saves me the trouble of repeating myself. What happened in the Northern District was a warning. The rules of engagement have changed. We are no longer fighting mindless beasts. We are fighting a cunning, strategic enemy."
Hoshina pushed off the doorframe, his grin present but lacking its usual laziness. "Which means we can't keep training like we're fighting mindless beasts. Effective immediately, all training protocols are being overhauled. For everyone. From the rawest rookie to the most seasoned platoon leader."
"The four of you," Mina continued, her gaze lingering on them, "will be at the forefront of this. Kurogiri, your analytical skills and raw power are unmatched. You will be expected to help develop new tactics. Shinomiya, Ichikawa, your combat performance, while reckless, showed tenacity. Hibino..." She paused for a fraction of a second, the only sign of her lingering suspicion. "...your survivability and situational awareness are... notable. You will all be pushed harder than you thought possible."
The message was clear. They were being given a mandate to get stronger, together. And they were being watched.
The training grounds of Tachikawa Base were about to become a special kind of hell. The news of the new "Adaptive Threat Response Training" spread through the ranks like wildfire, met with a mixture of excitement and dread.
A week later, the recruits and key platoon leaders were assembled on the dusty field. The sun beat down mercilessly. Mina and Hoshina observed from the raised platform, their presence a constant reminder of the stakes.
"Alright, maggots!" Nakanoshima bellowed, his voice echoing across the grounds. "Forget everything you think you know! Your enemy is faster, smarter, and meaner than any kaiju you've faced! Your old tricks are worthless!"
The first drill was brutal simplicity. The recruits, including Iharu, Aoi, and Haruichi, were pitted not against static targets, but against agile, AI-controlled drones that mimicked the Blade Locusts' skittering movements and could "sting" with a painful electric shock.
Iharu Furuhashi yelped as a drone zipped past his guard, shocking him on the shoulder. "Hey! Not fair!"
"Shut up and adapt, Furuhashi!" Higarashi snapped from the sidelines, clipboard in hand, analyzing every failed dodge. "Your release force is a pathetic 15%! Compensate with better positioning! Use your environment!"
Grumbling, Iharu tried again, his movements becoming less frantic, more calculated. On his next attempt, he used a low wall for cover, timing his shot to take out a drone as it rounded the corner. His release force meter flickered: 16%.
Nearby, Aoi Kaguragi was faring better. His raw power and aggressive style allowed him to smash through the drones, but he was taking too many hits. "Power isn't everything, Kaguragi!" Hoshina's voice called out. "You're wasting energy! Be precise! A scalpel, not a sledgehammer!"
Aoi scowled but adjusted, his greatsword movements becoming tighter, more controlled. His output held steady at 34%, but his efficiency rating on the monitors climbed sharply.
Haruichi Izumo was a picture of calm precision. His rifle barked in controlled bursts, each shot finding a drone's weak point. He didn't move much, but he didn't need to. His release force, already a respectable 36%, didn't need to increase; his effectiveness did.
But the main focus was on the four survivors.
Reno Ichikawa, his body still tender, was drilled relentlessly on evasion and tactical shooting. His task was to provide flawless cover fire for the others while avoiding any direct confrontation. His jaw was set in a grim line of determination, his release force climbing steadily under pressure to 23%.
Kikoru Shinomiya was pushed to her limits. Her drills involved fighting multiple drones while protecting a static "civilian" target. It was a direct test of her ability to be both shield and spear. Her axe was a blur, her movements sharper, more economical than before. The pressure and her resolved internal conflict pushed her output to a new peak: 50%.
Kafka Hibino's training was... different. His drills, designed by Akira and overseen by a watchful Mina, focused on control. Not power. He was placed in scenarios where brute force would cause collateral damage, forcing him to use minimal, precise applications of his strength. It was agonizingly difficult. He spent most of the day sweating and straining, not to be stronger, but to be gentler. His recorded output remained a laughable 1%, but those watching closely saw the focused intensity in his eyes, the way he could now crack a specific brick on a wall without touching the ones around it.
And then there was Akira Kurogiri.
He moved through the advanced drone courses like a ghost. His 99% liberation was a fact of life now. But his training wasn't about increasing power; it was about orchestrating it. Hoshina himself sparred with him, their blades clashing in a whirlwind of sparks.
"Too wide!" Hoshina would taunt, his movements a blur. "You're leaving your left flank open for a faster opponent!"
Akira would adjust instantly, his next parry perfect. He began integrating his absorbed abilities seamlessly into his swordsmanship—using a micro-burst of Toad concussive force to create distance, a hint of Mantis precision to find microscopic weaknesses in Hoshina's defense, the Carapace ability to absorb a blow and counter in the same motion.
He was no longer just a recruit with high numbers. He was becoming a master of his own eclectic, terrifying arsenal.
From the observation deck, Mina watched it all, her arms crossed. The progress was undeniable. The recruits were evolving, adapting. The platoon leaders were being forced to rethink their own tactics.
But her eyes kept drifting back to Kafka, straining to hold back his power, and to Akira, whose every move was a little too perfect, a little too prescient.
"The pieces are moving," Hoshina said, landing beside her after his spar with Akira, not even out of breath. "The question is, are we the players, or are we just on the board?"
Mina didn't answer. She just watched as the next generation of defenders hardened themselves in the crucible of impending war, their bonds strengthened by shared secrets and their resolve tempered by the knowledge of the intelligent horror that awaited them. The game had indeed changed, and the next move was anyone's guess.
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T/N :
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