The aftermath of the exam was a cacophony of sirens, shouting, and crackling radios. Defense Force squads had finally arrived, swarming the area, securing the perimeter, and evacuating the traumatized, but miraculously living, applicants.
In the chaos, no one noticed a naked man covered in grime slip out from behind the massive Honju corpse and find a discarded applicant uniform that was roughly his size. By the time the headcount was done, Kafka Hibino was just another exhausted survivor, nursing "minor scrapes and bruises."
He kept his head down, avoiding Reno's intensely probing gaze. The young man knew. He didn't know how, but he knew. The look in his eyes was a mixture of awe, terror, and a thousand unanswered questions. For now, thankfully, he was keeping silent.
The official story, concocted in seconds by the quick-thinking observation team, was already taking shape.
"The Honju was neutralized by a targeted orbital strike," Captain Orin's raspy voice announced over the comms, a narrative designed to cover up the two things they couldn't explain: Kaiju No. 8 and the monster's impossible death. "The new Kaiju, 'No. 8,' which appeared on the scene, is believed to have engaged the Honju before retreating when our forces arrived. Its motives remain unknown."
It was a clean, simple explanation that papered over a dozen impossibilities. But for the applicants who had been on the ground, who had seen the grey monster fight for them, a new, underground legend was born. They didn't know what it was, but they knew it hadn't been hostile.
High in the command tower, Captain Izumi Orin stood beside Soshiro Hoshina, watching the cleanup.
"Hibino," she said, her voice a low growl. "He was at the epicenter of it all. He charged the Honju, then Kaiju No. 8 appeared in the same spot. He was also the closest survivor to the final kill-zone. The boy is a magnet for chaos."
"Or a catalyst for it," Hoshina replied, his gaze thoughtful. He replayed the footage from Kafka's suit-cam. The last few frames before he supposedly disappeared into the dust cloud showed a look not of suicidal panic, but of resolute, grim determination.
"The 'orbital strike'..." Hoshina said, changing the subject. "My sensors didn't detect any incoming ordnance. They detected a massive, focused kinetic event that originated from ground level, approximately 1.2 kilometers east of the training ground."
Orin turned to him, her scarred eyebrow raised. "You're saying...?"
"The department store," Hoshina finished. "The location where the other Daikaiju appeared less than ten minutes prior. Another impossible kill. Another uncredited miracle."
The implication hung between them, unspoken. Their two biggest mysteries—the man who defied physics and the monster who defied biology—had just intersected. And Kafka Hibino, the unimpressive thirty-two-year-old applicant, was standing right in the middle of it all.
"He passed, by the way," Hoshina said quietly. "Hibino. His performance, combined with his actions to divert the Honju's attention, earned him just enough points. He is now, officially, a Defense Force Cadet."
Orin let out a short, harsh laugh. "You're letting a walking anomaly into our ranks. You're either a genius, Soshiro, or a complete fool."
"Time will tell," Hoshina replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Either way, it won't be boring."
"So let me get this straight."
In the bunker of Project Bald Cape, Kenji Tanaka stared at his team, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. He had just spent an hour cross-referencing Hoshina's report with their own surveillance data.
"Alpha leaves his apartment, motivated by a meat sale," he began, ticking points off on his fingers. "He is thwarted by a random Kaiju attack, which he neutralizes with an off-hand slap. Then, in a fit of pique over missing said sale, he launches a fist-sized, invisible, faster-than-light projectile over a kilometer away to vaporize the head of a second, unrelated Kaiju that was threatening a group of our cadets."
"That is a correct summary of the data, Chief," a young analyst confirmed.
"And in doing so," Kenji continued, his voice rising, "he inadvertently saved the life of our other primary person of interest, Kafka Hibino, who was at that moment engaged in a fight that we now have strong reason to believe involved him transforming into Kaiju No. 8."
"The correlation is statistically significant, yes."
Kenji buried his face in his hands. "This isn't an intelligence operation. This is a slapstick comedy written by a mad god."
The name of their investigation suddenly felt both ironic and perfectly fitting. "Project Bald Cape" had begun as a codename, a simple descriptor. Now, it felt like an all-encompassing prophecy. Everything, from global security to the success of their own entrance exams, now seemed to revolve around the whims of this one, inexplicable man. The joke of "Scanner Error" from that first day was no longer a technical glitch; it had become the central, governing principle of their new reality. The world was full of errors, and he was the source code.
He looked at the footage of Saitama on the department store roof, just a grainy thermal image. There was no grandstanding, no victory pose. After the punch, the thermal blob simply turned, rejoined its cyborg companion, and began walking away. Their audio drones had picked up his final words on the matter.
"Stupid monster. Now all the good meat is gone. Let's just get some udon and go home."
He saved an entire platoon of future soldiers, destroyed a city-threatening monster, and rewrote the laws of physics, and his primary takeaway was his ruined dinner plans.
"Update the profile," Kenji said, his voice hollow. "Under 'Psychological Assessment,' write: 'Subject's motivations are primarily driven by minor, mundane inconveniences. Global-scale threats are treated as irritating interruptions to his personal schedule. He is not motivated by good or evil, but by a desire for a peaceful, unbothered existence.' Underline it three times."
The entire framework of how they understood power and threat had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Their enemy wasn't a Bond villain; it was a frustrated suburban dad with nuclear-powered fists. And that was infinitely more terrifying.
The results of the exam were posted.
Kafka scanned the long, digital list of names, his heart in his throat. He scrolled down, past the high-scorers, past the mid-tier, down to the very bottom.
And there it was.
Cadet #5112: Kafka Hibino.
He had done it. Against all odds, he was in.
He looked over at Reno, who gave him a sharp, conspiratorial nod. A silent promise to keep his secret, for now. Kafka was no longer just a sweeper. He was a Cadet. He was one step closer to his dream.
But it was a hollow victory. He hadn't earned his survival with his own strength as a human. And the fight had been "won" by an accidental kill-steal from a bored god he now knew was looking for him.
He was a monster hiding among monster hunters, accepted into their ranks thanks to a confluence of impossible events he didn't understand. His journey hadn't just begun; it had gotten infinitely more complicated.
He felt a buzz from his new, standard-issue cadet datapad. It was a message, an automated welcome from the Defense Force system.
Welcome, Cadet Hibino. You are assigned to the Tachikawa Base platoon under the command of Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina. Report for duty at 0600 tomorrow.
He was going to be directly under the command of the one man who already suspected he was more than human.
Kafka leaned against a wall, a dizzying sense of vertigo washing over him. He was in. And he was already in way, way over his head.