"Granny Ori!" Daigo called out warmly as they approached the modest apartment building where he'd once lived as a struggling university student.
The elderly landlady was already waiting by the entrance, her kind face lighting up with genuine pleasure at seeing her former tenant. Despite her advanced age and slightly hunched posture, her eyes sparkled with the same maternal warmth Daigo remembered from his student days.
"Daigo, my boy! It's been far too long!" She shuffled forward with surprising energy, reaching up to pat his arm affectionately. "Look how handsome you've become! And so tall!"
"It's wonderful to see you again, Granny Ori. How have you been keeping?" Daigo's smile was genuine, filled with the fond memories of an elderly woman who'd treated a broke college student like her own grandson.
"Oh, these old bones keep moving, that's what matters." She waved dismissively before her curiosity overtook politeness. "Now then, what brings you back to my little building? Don't tell me TPC doesn't pay their people enough for proper housing!"
"TPC?" Daigo blinked in surprise.
"Of course I know where you work, dear boy. That Defense Team of yours is all over the television these days, fighting those terrible monsters and protecting everyone." Her chest swelled with obvious pride. "I tell all my neighbors that one of my tenants is a real hero now!"
Heat crept up Daigo's neck. "Granny Ori, I'm just—"
"Just nothing! You always were too modest." She finally noticed Camearra standing quietly behind him, taking in this domestic scene with barely concealed fascination. "And who might this lovely young lady be? Your girlfriend, perhaps?"
"She's... a friend," Daigo managed, acutely aware of how the word seemed to wound something in Camearra's expression. "Her name is Camearra, and I was hoping you might have a room available for her to rent."
"A friend?" Granny Ori's knowing look suggested she didn't buy that explanation for a second. "Daigo, a woman doesn't look at a man the way this girl looks at you if they're 'just friends.' You'd better move quickly before someone else snaps her up!"
The matchmaking advice made Daigo want to sink through the sidewalk, especially when he caught Camearra's slight smile at the elderly woman's assessment.
"Actually, Granny Ori, about that room—" he said desperately, trying to redirect the conversation.
"Oh yes, of course! You're in luck—your old apartment just became available last week. Same rent as before, naturally." She began shuffling toward the building entrance. "Come along, let's have a look!"
The climb to the third floor took considerably longer than Daigo remembered, Granny Ori pausing frequently to catch her breath while maintaining a steady stream of chatter about neighborhood changes and other former tenants. Camearra followed silently, her attention divided between their surroundings and Daigo's obvious nervousness.
"Here we are!" Granny Ori produced an ancient key ring, fumbling through dozens of options before finding the right one. "Home sweet home, just as you left it!"
The apartment was exactly as Daigo remembered—roughly twenty square meters of efficiently utilized space, with a tiny kitchenette, a compact bathroom, and a single window overlooking the street. The furnishings were basic but functional: a narrow bed, a small table with two chairs, and a wardrobe that had seen better decades.
For someone raised in the cosmic grandeur of ancient civilizations, it should have seemed impossibly cramped and primitive. Instead, Camearra surveyed the modest space with something approaching wonder.
"It's perfect," she said softly, running her fingers along the windowsill. "So... normal."
"The rent is quite reasonable," Granny Ori continued, naming a figure that made Daigo's eyes widen. It was the same amount he'd paid as an impoverished student—roughly half the market rate.
"Granny Ori, you can't charge the same price from five years ago," he protested. "Property values have gone up significantly since then."
"Nonsense! An old woman like me has simple needs, and I can tell this girl will take good care of the place." She patted Camearra's arm with the same maternal affection she'd shown Daigo. "Besides, if you feel guilty about it, just visit more often. These old bones enjoy the company!"
The genuine kindness in her voice made Daigo's throat tighten unexpectedly. "Thank you, Granny Ori. You're too generous."
Since they were old friends, no formal documentation was required. After Daigo paid three months' rent in advance, Camearra officially had a place to call home—her first legitimate address in thirty million years.
"We'll need to pick up some personal things," Daigo explained as they prepared to leave. "Bedding, toiletries, that sort of thing."
"Of course, dear. The shops down the street have everything you'll need." Granny Ori pressed the apartment key into Camearra's palm with both hands. "Welcome to the neighborhood, sweetheart. Take good care of our boy here—he works too hard and doesn't eat enough vegetables."
The nearest supermarket buzzed with afternoon shoppers, its bright fluorescent lighting and endless aisles of consumer goods presenting yet another aspect of modern life for Camearra to process. She stayed close to Daigo as they navigated the crowds, her eyes tracking the casual interactions between strangers with obvious fascination.
"Thank you," she said quietly as they selected bedding from the home goods section. "For everything. I know this situation is... complicated. I'll find a way to repay you."
"You don't need to—" Daigo began, then caught himself. "I mean, with my TPC salary and living alone, I don't have many expenses anyway. Besides, you and I..."
The words died in his throat as he realized where that sentence was heading.
"What about you and me?" Camearra asked, her voice carrying careful hope.
"We... we don't know each other without fighting first, right? Haha..." The awkward laugh didn't fool either of them, and Daigo found himself unable to meet her gaze.
The light in Camearra's eyes dimmed perceptibly. After thirty million years of imprisonment, she'd hoped for something more substantial than jokes about their violent first meeting.
"Come on," Daigo said with forced cheer, "let's finish shopping."
They gathered necessities in companionable silence—sheets, pillows, towels, basic toiletries, and enough non-perishable food to last several days. Camearra observed everything with quiet attention, learning by watching how Daigo compared prices and selected items.
Back at the apartment, Daigo demonstrated his unexpected domestic skills, efficiently making the bed and organizing Camearra's new belongings while she watched from the doorway.
"You're very good at this," she observed.
"Living alone teaches you to be self-sufficient," he replied, smoothing the bedspread with practiced movements. "There—all set."
They shared a simple dinner of convenience store bentos, eating in comfortable silence as the sun set outside the small window. When it came time for Daigo to leave, he hesitated at the door.
"Here," he said, pressing a bank card into her hand. "The PIN is written on this paper. It's not much, but it should cover food and other necessities until we figure out something more permanent."
Camearra stared at the plastic card as if it were an alien artifact—which, from her perspective, it essentially was.
"Daigo..."
"I have to get back to headquarters," he said quickly, avoiding whatever she'd been about to say. "I'll check on you tomorrow, all right?"
The door closed behind him before she could respond.
The drive back to TPC headquarters gave Daigo entirely too much time to think. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he tried to sort through the emotional tangle that had become his life.
Camearra was beautiful, powerful, and utterly devoted to him. By any rational measure, he should count himself incredibly fortunate to have earned such fierce loyalty. But the memory fragments that occasionally surfaced in his dreams suggested their relationship's history was far more complex than simple romance.
More pressingly, her lack of legal identity posed enormous practical problems. In an age of ubiquitous surveillance and AI-assisted facial recognition, an undocumented person couldn't remain hidden for long. Every security camera, every random background shot on television, every routine database check threatened to expose her existence.
And what then? TPC would demand explanations he couldn't provide without revealing the existence of Ultraman Tiga. The government would want to study her, classify her, possibly imprison her. Other nations might see her as a potential weapon or threat.
Lost in these grim scenarios, he barely noticed arriving at headquarters until his teammate's voice startled him back to the present.
"Hey, Daigo! Why the long face? Vacation not relaxing enough for you?" Shinjo's cheerful greeting carried just enough mockery to sting.
"Just thinking about some things," Daigo replied with a practiced smile that fooled no one.
"Ooh, woman troubles?" Shinjo leaned in with exaggerated interest. "Did someone finally break the great Daigo's heart?"
"Unlike certain people, Daigo doesn't get dumped every other week," Horii observed dryly, appearing from around a corner with perfect comedic timing.
"You little—!" Shinjo immediately abandoned Daigo to chase after their communications specialist, their mock battle disappearing down the corridor.
Grateful for the distraction, Daigo slipped away toward the command center, where he found only Yazumi on duty, hunched over multiple computer monitors with obvious enthusiasm.
"Working late again?" Daigo asked.
"Someone has to monitor for unusual activity," Yazumi replied without looking up. "Besides, when I'm alone on duty, I can test some new algorithms without anyone complaining about processing power usage."
The command center's relative privacy sparked an idea—desperate, perhaps, but better than any alternative Daigo had considered.
"Yazumi," he said carefully, "hypothetically speaking, how difficult would it be to create a complete identity profile for someone?"
"You mean forged documents?" Yazumi's fingers stilled on his keyboard. "Daigo, that's illegal. And highly dangerous if discovered."
"Not forged—just... comprehensive background information for someone who legitimately needs to exist in our society but lacks proper documentation."
Yazumi turned to face him directly, curiosity overriding caution. "What kind of someone?"
Daigo took a deep breath. "I met someone during my leave. A woman with no official records anywhere in the Metropolitan Security System. After investigating, I discovered she's... not entirely human."
"An alien?" Yazumi's voice pitched higher with excitement and concern in equal measure.
"Her family was killed, and she's the sole survivor of her species. She begged me not to report her because she just wants to live peacefully among humans." The lies came easier than expected, built on a foundation of genuine emotion. "I've verified she poses no security threat, but without proper identification, she can't integrate into society."
"Daigo, protocol requires reporting all alien contact immediately," Yazumi said, though his tone suggested internal conflict.
"I know the regulations. But she's completely alone, Yazumi. Her entire civilization is extinct, and she's doing everything possible to adapt to our world." Daigo leaned forward earnestly. "I've confirmed she means no harm to anyone. Can't we show a little compassion?"
The appeal to Yazumi's better nature was calculated but sincere. Of all his teammates, the young communications officer was most likely to bend rules for humanitarian reasons.
"If this ever gets discovered..."
"I'll take full responsibility," Daigo promised. "Any consequences fall on me alone."
Yazumi stared at his monitors for a long moment, weighing professional duty against personal ethics. Finally, his fingers began moving across the keyboard with purpose.
"What's her name?"
"Camearra."
"Age? Background? Any details about her appearance or history?"
"She appears to be in her mid-twenties. Very intelligent, well-educated, but with gaps in knowledge about modern technology and customs. She'll need a background that explains those inconsistencies."
Over the next hour, Yazumi worked his digital magic. Birth records appeared in hospital databases, school enrollment files materialized in educational archives, and employment histories took shape in corporate systems. Camearra's fictional life story wove itself into existence with masterful attention to detail.
"There," Yazumi said finally, pushing back from his workstation. "Camearra Yuzuki, born twenty-four years ago in a small rural prefecture. Parents deceased, limited formal education due to family circumstances, recently relocated to the metropolitan area seeking opportunities. Should hold up to casual scrutiny."
"Yazumi, I owe you more than I can repay."
"Just... be careful, Daigo. And if she really is what you say she is, make sure she understands how important it is to maintain a low profile."
As Daigo headed home with Camearra's new identity secured on a USB drive, he reflected on how quickly he'd adapted to deception and rule-breaking. A week ago, his biggest concern had been routine monster patrols. Now he was harboring an interdimensional entity and falsifying government records.
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