The second phase of the Defense Force exam was a world away from the sterile gymnasium.
The remaining one thousand applicants, a fraction of the original number, were transported to a sprawling, ruined cityscape. This was an old, quarantined zone, a city abandoned after a catastrophic Kaiju nesting event decades ago. Now, it served as the Force's most realistic training ground.
Kafka Hibino stood with the other applicants on a high observation platform, the wind whipping at his borrowed uniform. He felt profoundly out of place. He had passed the written exam through sheer, encyclopedic knowledge of Kaiju, honed by a lifetime of study and cleaning up their aftermath. His score had been shockingly high, earning him a few surprised looks. But now, they were back to the physical part. The combat part.
Soshiro Hoshina stood before them again, this time flanked by a woman Kafka had never seen before. She was tall, with a lean, wiry build, short, spiky white hair, and a series of long, thin scars that crisscrossed the visible parts of her face and arms. She had the cold, dead eyes of someone who had seen too much. She wore the uniform of a Division Captain.
"Applicants," Hoshina began, his voice cutting through the wind. "Congratulations on making it this far. You have proven you are either strong, smart, or incredibly lucky. From today, we find out if you are survivors."
He gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Captain Izumi Orin of the Second Division. Her division specializes in Kaiju suppression and urban warfare. She has designed this test. She will be your judge, jury, and if you are foolish, your executioner."
Captain Orin stepped forward. She didn't speak. She just stared at the applicants, her dead eyes scanning them one by one. Her gaze lingered on Kafka for a fraction of a second longer than the others, a flicker of cold curiosity in their depths. The unspoken message was clear: I know Hoshina flagged you. Don't disappoint me.
"The test is simple," she said finally, her voice raspy, like grinding stone. "This city is infested. We have released a hundred training-grade Yoju. Small, fast, aggressive, but killable. You will be equipped with standard-issue low-power rifles and a combat suit with a monitor. This monitor will display your vitals and your synchronization rate with the suit."
Her lips pulled back in something that might have been a smile, but it was all teeth. "When a Yoju kills you, your monitor will register a 'death.' The test ends when the last applicant is standing, or when the three-hour time limit is up. Your score will be based on your kill count, your survival time, and your demonstrated combat awareness."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "A piece of advice. Don't be a hero. Be a survivor. Good hunting."
With that, hatches opened in the platform floor. "Go!" Hoshina commanded.
The applicants began to drop into the city below. Kafka took a deep breath and jumped.
The moment he landed on the street, the world exploded into chaos. Screams, the thwip-thwip-thwip of rifle fire, and the high-pitched shriek of the Yoju filled the air. These training monsters were small, no bigger than large dogs, but they were blurs of motion, all claws and teeth.
Kafka's military-grade rifle felt alien in his hands. He took cover behind an overturned car, his heart hammering. He watched as a nearby applicant was overwhelmed by three Yoju, their suit monitor flashing a bright red before going dark. "DECEASED" scrolled across the chest plate.
He was out of his depth. He wasn't a soldier. He was a janitor.
Suddenly, a voice hissed from beside him. "Get your head down, old man!"
Reno Ichikawa slid in next to him, his rifle already hot. He fired off a precise, three-round burst that dropped a Yoju mid-leap. "Stop sightseeing and start shooting! They're drawn to sound and movement. You stay still for too long, you become a target."
Kafka nodded, grateful for the guidance. He finally shouldered his rifle and peeked over the car. He saw a Yoju scuttling along a wall. He aimed, his hands trembling slightly, and fired. He missed, the energy round searing a black mark on the concrete a foot above the creature's head.
The Yoju screeched and turned, its multiple red eyes locking onto him. It launched itself forward.
Time slowed down. Kafka's brain, the brain of a Kaiju scholar, took over. Vespidae-class Yoju. Exoskeleton is weakest at the joint articulation points. Specifically, the thorax-abdomen junction. Vulnerable to piercing attacks.
He didn't aim for the head. He didn't aim for the chest. He took a steadying breath and fired a single, deliberate shot at the tiny, almost invisible spot where the creature's torso met its tail.
The shot hit home. The Yoju convulsed, letting out a final screech before collapsing in a heap.
Kafka stared, surprised at his own shot. Reno looked over, an impressed expression on his face. "Nice shot, old man. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Read it in a book," Kafka mumbled, his heart still pounding. He was beginning to realize he had an advantage no one else did: an academic's knowledge of exactly where to shoot.
The Mega Monster Meat sale was a battlefield.
Saitama navigated the crowded department store with a grim determination he rarely showed in actual fights. He expertly dodged runaway shopping carts, sidestepped screaming children, and endured the sharp elbows of rival shoppers. This was a true test of his skill.
"Master, the highest concentration of A5-grade marbled beef is in the north-east quadrant," Genos reported calmly into Saitama's ear via a small communicator. "However, it is being guarded by several aggressive middle-aged women. Probability of success via direct approach is low. I recommend a flanking maneuver."
"I see it, Genos," Saitama muttered, peeking out from behind a pyramid of canned tuna. "You create a diversion at the deli counter. Ask them a complicated question about sodium content. I'll make a run for it."
"Understood, Master. Commencing Operation: Supermarket Sweep."
Genos, still in his conspicuous trench coat and sunglasses, strode towards the deli counter. "Excuse me," he said, his voice projecting through the store. "I require a full chemical and nutritional breakdown of your salami..."
As the shoppers and staff turned to stare at the bizarre man, Saitama made his move. He moved with a supernatural grace, a yellow-and-red blur (he'd put his hero suit on under his clothes, just in case), weaving through the distracted crowd. He reached the meat counter, his hand outstretched, ready to grab the last, glorious package of 50% off sirloin.
He was about to achieve his prize when the floor trembled.
BOOM.
The lights flickered. Dust rained down from the ceiling. A wave of panicked screams rippled through the department store.
Through the large storefront window, a monstrous head rose into view. It was a Kaiju, a massive, rhinoceros-like creature, its hide like armored stone. Its single, glowing horn began to crackle with destructive energy.
Saitama stared at the Kaiju. Then he looked at the package of meat, still inches from his grasp. An old woman beside him shoved him out of the way and snatched it.
She had gotten the last one.
A profound, dangerous silence fell over Saitama. The roars of the Kaiju, the screams of the people, the blare of city-wide alarms—all of it faded away.
There was only the empty space on the shelf where his steak should have been. And the new, inconvenient monster that had caused him to miss it.
Genos was instantly by his side. "Master! A Daikaiju has appeared! Fortitude estimated at 8.9! A significant threat! We must act!"
Saitama didn't say anything. He just started walking towards the exit, peeling off his hoodie as he went. His face was a mask of utter, terrifying emptiness. The shoppers scrambling to escape parted before him like the Red Sea.
"Genos," Saitama said, his voice chillingly quiet. "Tell me you got the kombu."
"It is secured, Master," Genos confirmed.
"Good."
The Kaiju outside roared, charging its horn for a devastating blast aimed at the department store.
Saitama walked out through the automatic doors. He didn't even look at the Kaiju's attack.
He just punched the air in its general direction.
pop.
There it was again. The sound of a world that didn't matter.
The massive energy blast the Kaiju had been charging... vanished. The monster itself froze, its tiny, stupid eyes wide with confusion. It looked down at its horn, where a moment ago a sun had been forming. Now, there was nothing.
Saitama kept walking towards it.
The Kaiju, acting on pure animal instinct, lowered its head and charged. It was a sixty-ton behemoth of muscle and armored plating, moving with the force of a freight train.
Saitama didn't stop walking. He didn't even brace himself.
Just before the monster's armored head could connect, he raised a single, open hand.
Thump.
It was a quiet, anticlimactic sound. The sound of a hand gently patting a dog.
But the sixty-ton Kaiju, its charge carrying enough kinetic energy to flatten a skyscraper, came to a dead stop. Not a skid. Not a slow grind to a halt. An absolute, physics-defying, full stop. Its legs buckled under the impossible inertia, and it crumpled into a heap at Saitama's feet, stunned and whimpering.
Saitama looked down at the defeated monster, his face devoid of any satisfaction. He had missed a sale. This wasn't a victory.
It was in that moment that a strange thing happened.
In his hiding place, in his training simulation, dozens of kilometers away, Kafka felt a faint, peculiar tingle. The Kaiju part of him, the secret parasite bonded to his soul, felt a tremor. A signal. The recognition of a dominant, alpha power so immense it sent a ripple across the entire Kaiju network. A quiet, terrifying declaration that a new king was on the board.
And on the street, Saitama looked down at the whimpering monster, feeling nothing but profound disappointment. Then his stomach rumbled.
He turned and looked back at the ruined city-scape in the distance, a place he now instinctively knew the 'leek monster' was in, and made a decision.
He turned to Genos. "That other monster... the one that ran away. Find him."
"For what purpose, Master?" Genos asked, taking notes.
Saitama's expression was grim. "He owes me. He stepped on my groceries. It's the principle of the thing."
A new, absurd alliance had just been declared in Saitama's mind. He and the monster-who-was-not-a-monster shared a common enemy: a world that rudely interrupted their dinner plans. He was going to find the Leek Monster. And they were going to have a nice, long talk. About compensation.