If Vice-Captain Hoshina's silent scrutiny was a form of psychological torture, Kikoru Shinomiya's presence was a series of small, controlled explosions.
She had graduated top of her class and, as the daughter of the Director General, was given a provisional officer role, ostensibly to oversee the training of the new cadets. In reality, everyone knew she was there for one reason: Kafka Hibino.
She didn't believe the official story about the Honju and the orbital strike. Her suit's sensors had registered the same anomalous kinetic event as Hoshina's. But more importantly, she had seen Kafka charge in, and Kaiju No. 8 emerge. While the connection was insane, it was a data point she couldn't ignore.
Her approach was the polar opposite of Hoshina's. Where he observed, she provoked.
During hand-to-hand combat training, she would single Kafka out.
"Cadet Hibino!" she'd shout, her voice sharp. "You're sparring with me."
The other cadets would immediately back away, forming a wide circle. Kafka, his heart sinking into his boots, would have no choice but to comply.
Their "spars" were a farce. It was Kikoru, a prodigy with a state-of-the-art training suit, unleashing a flurry of lightning-fast, powerful attacks. And it was Kafka, desperately trying to block and dodge, all while actively suppressing 99.9% of his actual strength and durability.
Thwack! A kick sent him stumbling back.
Whump! A punch to the gut made him double over, gasping for air he didn't really need.
"Pathetic!" Kikoru would sneer, standing over him. "Your reaction time is abysmal. Your form is sloppy. How did a man like you even pass the exam?"
Every taunt was a test. Every blow was a question. She was trying to get a rise out of him, to push him until his control slipped and he revealed the monster she suspected was hiding inside.
Kafka would just pick himself up, wincing for show. "My apologies, ma'am," he'd wheeze. "I'll do better."
The act was infuriating her. She knew, on an instinctual level, that he was holding back. The way he absorbed her best hits—he'd go flying, yes, but he never seemed to actually get hurt. There were no broken bones, no lasting bruises. It was like punching a sandbag that was pretending to be made of glass.
His quiet endurance, his refusal to be baited, became a new kind of challenge for her. It was almost as maddening as the bald man's apathy. Kafka wasn't ignoring her; he was deliberately tanking her attacks, and she couldn't prove it.
This dynamic reached its peak during a live-fire simulation. The cadets were tasked with clearing a building of training drones designed to mimic Yoju.
Kafka, partnered with Reno, moved through the corridors with practiced ease. Reno handled the aggressive forward assault while Kafka provided pinpoint support fire, his "book knowledge" allowing him to disable drones with single, efficient shots.
Suddenly, a massive, reinforced wall exploded inwards.
Kikoru stood in the breach, her training suit glowing. A high-level 'Boss Drone,' a spider-like machine the size of a van, crawled in behind her. It was a machine far too advanced for cadets to handle. A test for one person only.
"Hibino!" she commanded, pointing at the drone. "Engage the target. Everyone else, observe."
Reno looked at Kafka, his face pale. "That's a Captain-level simulation drone. Our rifles won't even scratch it."
"Do you have a problem, Cadet Ichikawa?" Kikoru asked, her voice dangerously sweet.
"N-no, ma'am," Reno stammered.
Kafka knew what this was. She had backed him into a corner. He couldn't defeat this thing as a human. If he failed, he'd be washed out. If he won... he'd reveal himself. It was checkmate.
He raised his rifle, his mind racing. Think. Analyze. There's always a weak point.
The drone fired a volley of energy blasts. Kafka dove behind cover, the shots melting the wall where he'd been standing. He was pinned. This was it. The end of his short, ridiculous career.
Then he heard a new sound. A sound that was becoming disturbingly familiar.
pop.
A small, perfectly circular hole appeared in the center of the Boss Drone's head. Its optical lights flickered and died. The multi-ton machine shuddered, then collapsed, its metal limbs clattering uselessly to the floor.
Silence.
Everyone stared at the dead machine. Then at Kafka, who was still hiding behind the wall, his rifle unfired.
Kikoru was the first to react. She spun around, her suit's sensors going haywire, trying to locate the source of the attack. "Where did that shot come from?!"
Her comms crackled. "Captain Shinomiya! We have a perimeter breach! An unidentified... bald... civilian has just entered the training ground!"
Kikoru's blood ran cold.
The cadets heard footsteps. Slow, casual, crunching on the debris.
Saitama walked into the room, dusting off his hands. He was wearing his hero suit, having just come from stopping a bank robbery on the other side of town (he'd mistaken the robbers' getaway van for an ice cream truck).
He looked at the dead drone, then at the stunned faces of the cadets.
"Oops," he said, his voice flat. "Was that yours? I thought it was another monster. My bad."
He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the faces. They finally landed on Kafka.
"Oh, hey. It's you. The leek guy," Saitama said, pointing.
Kafka felt a hundred pairs of eyes—including Kikoru's and Reno's—swivel to stare at him. His secret life as a Kaiju was one thing. His secret acquaintance with the most powerful and mysterious being on the planet was something else entirely. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Saitama walked over, ignoring the fact that Kikoru was now aiming a fully charged arm-cannon at him. He stopped in front of Kafka.
"I've been looking for you," Saitama said. It wasn't a threat. It was a simple statement of fact.
"Y-you have?" Kafka squeaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.
"Yeah. Look, about my groceries..." Saitama began, launching into a detailed, monotonous explanation of the cost of the leeks, the emotional distress of finding them crushed, and the general principle of the matter.
Kikoru stood there, her cannon humming, her mind trying to reboot itself. The greatest threat and mystery in the world had just illegally entered a top-secret military facility, destroyed a million-yen piece of hardware with an invisible finger-flick, and was now here to... complain about groceries.
She looked at Saitama, then at the terrified, bewildered "Leek Guy" Kafka.
Her investigation into Kafka Hibino had just become infinitely more complicated. She wasn't just dealing with a man who might be a monster. She was dealing with a man who was apparently on a first-name—or first-vegetable—basis with a god. And that god seemed to be his irate, penny-pinching landlord.