The threat against Mina Ashiro sent the entire Defense Force into lockdown. Her penthouse became a fortress. Her every move was shadowed by a squad of First Division elites. But everyone knew it was a temporary measure. A public symbol cannot hide forever.
Kaiju No. 9's gambit was working perfectly. The Pragmatist faction, now rallying around their endangered leader, became more insular, more suspicious. The Radical faction, led by Hoshina, saw the threat not as an attack on a comrade, but as a test of their new philosophies.
"The old ways are failing," Hoshina argued in a tense, closed-door meeting with the Director General. "Our static defenses, our reactionary tactics—they are an invitation for an enemy that can strike with such precision. The only true defense is an overwhelming, proactive offense. Unleash me. Unleash Numbered Weapon 8. Let us hunt it down and end this."
His request was denied. Shinomiya, ever the politician, would not risk his two most valuable, and volatile, assets on a wild goose chase. The cold war festered.
The breaking point came a week later.
Kaiju No. 9 made its move, but it was a feint, a masterstroke of strategic misdirection. It didn't attack Mina's penthouse. Instead, a massive, Fortitude 9.0 Kaiju, a lumbering behemoth of stone and magma, surfaced in the middle of Yokohama Harbor. It was a classic, city-destroying threat, a monster straight out of the old playbook.
The Defense Force had no choice but to respond.
Mina, as the Force's most powerful long-range weapon, was dispatched immediately, taking the bulk of the First Division with her. It was her duty, a duty she couldn't refuse. But she knew, with a sickening certainty, that it was a trap.
The moment her transport lifted off, the second phase of the attack began.
At Tachikawa Base, alarms didn't blare. They were silenced. The communication lines were cut. A localized, powerful EMP, detonated by a burrowing Kaiju, plunged the base into a terrifying, isolated darkness.
This was Kaiju No. 9's true target. With the base's protector gone, and its communications severed, it was launching a decapitation strike of its own. Its goal: to capture Kafka Hibino.
In the subterranean containment cell, Kafka felt the power die, the hum of the energy field flickering out, replaced by the ominous red glow of emergency backup lights. He leaped to his feet, his heart hammering. He knew what this meant.
The heavy, reinforced door to his cell hissed open. But it wasn't Kaiju No. 9 that stood there.
It was Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina, flanked by a squad of his most loyal, fanatical soldiers from the Radical faction. The look in Hoshina's eyes was one of cold, unwavering purpose.
"The base is under attack, Hibino," Hoshina stated, his voice calm. "The enemy is inside the wire. Our command structure has been compromised. Standard protocol in a 'decapitation' scenario is to move all high-value assets to a secure, secondary location. You are our highest-value asset. You're with me."
Kafka's mind raced. On the surface, it was a logical, by-the-book order. But he saw the truth in Hoshina's eyes. This wasn't a rescue. This was a coup.
In the chaos of the attack, Hoshina was using protocol as a cover to seize sole control of him. To take him away from Mina's oversight, to his own secret facility, where there would be no rules, no regulations. Only research.
"I can't do that, sir," Kafka said, his voice surprisingly steady. "My orders are to remain here unless Captain Ashiro personally—"
"Captain Ashiro is twenty kilometers away, fighting a battle that was designed to draw her out," Hoshina cut him off, taking a step into the cell. "Her authority, in this moment, is irrelevant. My authority is all that matters. Now, come with me. Willingly." The unspoken end of that sentence hung in the air: or not.
Kafka took a step back. He was trapped. To obey was to become a willing lab rat. To refuse... was mutiny.
The standoff was broken by a third voice.
"I don't think so, Soshiro."
Kikoru Shinomiya stood at the end of the corridor, her battle axe held loosely in her hand. Her father had sent her to Yokohama with Mina, but she had doubled back, a deep-seated suspicion telling her that the real fight was not at the harbor. She was flanked by Reno Ichikawa and a handful of younger officers, cadets she had personally trained, loyal to her, not to Hoshina or the old guard. They were The Pragmatists' last line of defense.
"Captain Shinomiya," Hoshina said, a flicker of annoyance in his cold eyes. "This is an internal security matter. Stand down."
"You're using an enemy attack as an excuse to abduct a Defense Force asset," Kikoru countered, her voice ringing with youthful, arrogant confidence. "I think that makes it my business. Let him go."
This was it. The schism had just turned into an open, armed confrontation. In the dark, red-lit corridors of Tachikawa Base, two factions of the Japan Defense Force were about to go to war with each other, with Kafka Hibino as the prize.
And outside, crawling through the ventilation shafts, silently bypassing the internal conflict, Kaiju No. 9's new, specialized infiltration units were closing in, the real enemy in a house that was already divided against itself.
"This is your last chance," Hoshina warned, his hand moving towards the hilt of his blade. "Stand aside."
"No," Kikoru replied, a savage, excited grin spreading across her face. She raised her axe. "I believe the cadet has a right to choose."
The siege of Tachikawa had begun. It was not just a battle against monsters. It was a civil war.