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Chapter Text

1. Ichikawa Leno

When he has time in between training and rest, and the chaos that is their new officer life, Leno makes it a habit to go down to the Research & Development Bay tucked into the basement of Tachikawa Base’s training arena.

The place is nothing to write home about. They only have a few in-house scientific officers after all, most of their equipment built off-site and delivered by an Izumo Tech facility operating close by. The Third’s armory in comparison is almost six times the size of the lab. There are still the rudimentary dissection benches and storage freezers for the odd kaiju parts that are hauled over for further analysis, and a few tables where weapons can be tinkered with by staff if need be. 

Recently, Leno has started finding especially this part of the work interesting, even a little fun. Knowing how each different type of their equipment works, how you can mix and match weapons and ammo to suit exactly what you are fighting, is almost like figuring out a puzzle. He likes puzzles. More than that, Leno likes being prepared. What other kind of kid would have signed up for often unpopular monster clean-up work on the off chance that it would be relevant in an exam?

It’s still pretty early in the morning, on a Saturday no less, but it’s hardly a surprise to see Sir already elbow deep in some yonju guts on one of the benches in the back. He just grins and waves silently before going back to whatever he is doing, and letting Leno settle into what he has come to consider his bench.

Leno hums along to the music playing from his headphones satisfied, as he sorts out some notes he took of new kaiju trait combination bullets a couple weeks ago. There is order here, peace. He really appreciates mornings like this. He has always liked listening music a lot, but there is not much occasion to put on his favourite albums and unwind in the middle of a military compound on active duty.

He glances over to the back. People think Sir is loud and silly, and he can be, but he can also be really considerate and gentle, in ways many people don’t even notice. But Leno knows if he has his headphones on when he walks into the lab, Sir will just wave silently from his spot and not walk over or try to engage him conversation until he pulls them down to his neck and turns towards the other man himself.

Over time Leno has noticed Sir tends to become quickly aware of what others around him need, unspoken, and he likes taking care of his people. He was the same way with their Monster Sweeper Inc. crew. It’s one of the many reasons Leno has come to respect and idolize the older man. He also wants to be the kind of person who can take care of his comrades in ways that make them feel as comfortable, and as inspired, as Sir makes Leno feel.

He goes through the routine of disassembling and cleaning his standard issue rifle on the bench, and finally takes a pause to pull his headphones down over his neck. “You know, Sir, I could not have guessed you enjoyed dissections this much from the way you reacted to intestine duty back at Monster Sweeper Inc.”

Sir moves to scratch the back of his neck, a habit of his whenever he is embarrassed. There is already a warning on the tip of Leno’s tongue, but at the last moment he seems to notice his thankfully glove covered hand is dripping with blood, and lord knows what else, and thinks better of the action. Leno huffs amused. “Everybody hates intestine duty Ichikawa,” he shudders, “But I don’t think I would have stayed in that job as long as I had if I did not genuinely enjoy some parts of it.”

That’s fair. It’s a thankless, tiring job, but actually doing it had in fact made Ichikawa appreciate the intricacies of such work, and how so much hands-on anatomical knowledge could be surprisingly useful in the field. He understands now why clean-up was used as a trial for the Defense Force hopefuls.

“Don’t you think it’s at least a little cool?” Leno hears the older man ask.

Sir doesn’t even wait for an answer before he goes on excitedly, “Like, how these things even evolved like this?” Leno moves closer to the guts covered bench but stays out of what he considers the Enthusiastic Splash Zone of Sir’s gooey gloves gesturing as he works through a new thought.

“Venoms are just a cocktail of proteins that evolved for a specific function at the end of the day, just like any other protein. Different animal venoms have evolved with different functions because they have been selected by different evolutionary pressures. Their habitat, their prey, how they need to immobilize or kill said prey…”

“And kaiju evolved to kill humans,” Leno ventures.

“Maybe,” Sir hums, “But why would kaiju, as big and deadly as they already were, would evolve venom to prey on humans?”

Leno shrugs, “Happy coincidence?”

“They don’t need it,” the other man laughs looking back down at his instruments. “Not for humans at least, but maybe this venom has evolved to be able to fight against other kaiju?” He briefly cleans his scissors with ethanol before moving to cut another section closer to the neck.

“No, think about it! We are so busy just looking at all kaiju as our enemy that we don’t consider the hierarchy among them. If some evolved venom to kill another, would others also become poisonous as a defence against other kaiju higher in the food chain than they are?”

Sir is cheerful and loud, he is thoughtful and kind. Something a lot of people also miss because of his usually silly demeanour though, is that Sir can be really smart. He has always been interested in kaiju physiology sure, but Leno knows the man also stays up a lot to study all he can to increase his knowledge about how these monsters operate.

The man in question lifts up a truly horrendous looking sack of some kind, bubbled over with a viscous light purple substance. What Leno assumes is the venom gland, that spurred on this discussion.

“Gross, Sir.”

“You say that now, Ichikawa, but imagine how cool it would be to have poison ammo strong enough to actually affect kaiju?”

Huh. Well. There is something to that idea.

He grins wide, and Leno almost wishes for some protective goggles, that’s how bright Sir is.

*

The youngsters of the “Third Division Monster Generation”, as they had dubbed themselves in secret in honour of their monstrous big brother, tries to meet up at least a few times within the year if their posts allow it.

They have all settled into their lives in their new Divisions, but it’s hard to forget the bonds formed in training and your very first combat, especially if they involved events as traumatic as what their class had gone through together.

When Leno and Iharu walk into the izakaya in Koto Ward closest to the First Division that’s quite popular with Defense Force officers, Haruichi and Aoi are already waiting for them by the counter. They don’t ever mention it but there is an agreement among the four of them to meet closer to the First instead of the other bases more often than not, because Kikoru is the one most restricted in her travelling due to her new position. Shinomiya Kikoru, true to her character, valiantly pretends she is totally not aware of this and not at all touched by the gesture.

Seems like Aoi already has little bit of a flush forming on the dark skin of his high cheekbones, and Leno fondly remembers that despite his stature Aoi is somehow the biggest lightweight among them. Haruichi is the one who notices them walk up shouting a cheerful greeting, and gets one of the servers to move their party to one of the more private rooms in the back that have unofficially become theirs. The best for the Izumo Tech heir, of course.

As soon as they sit down Iharu has his arm thrown over his shoulder, and it makes Leno feel warm inside, even though he has yet to order a drink. He surreptitiously leans back into the touch.

They order their food and drinks, refills for Haruichi and Aoi, catching up with the usual So what’s the latest gossip in your Base?, and something in Leno slowly relaxes to know he is with his best friends again, safe. Kikoru is running late again, though also true to her character, she is usually the last to arrive to any gathering. In as dramatic of a fashion as she can get away with.

Leno and Iharu’s relationship does not constitute as “the latest gossip” in any stretch of the imagination, but Haruichi switches from a convoluted story about how the Second’s Captain Igarashi-san has sworn to make Okonogi her girlfriend, to teasing them as soon as Iharu, always more physically affectionate when he’s tipsy, leans all over him to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, no, Hibino is a nice old man, but imagine getting the shovel talk from Monster #8,” he says with a theatrical shudder.

“No one is getting the shovel talk-”

“Are you guys stupid?”

And there is the woman of the hour.

Four heads simultaneously turn towards Kikoru standing in the now open screen door with her chin tilted up in regular fashion. She wastes no time walking to her spot at the head of the table, shimmying out of her coat, and settles down, reaching for Leno’s drink without pause.

“Hibino Kafka will immediately start tearing up if you ever tell him you plan to make an honest man out of this guy,” and she ignores Iharu choking on his beer in the background to continue, “And then he’ll give you a big bear hug.”

She has a point. Leon knows Sir adores both Kikoru and himself, like his errant siblings at his best and his precious children on his worst sentimental moments.

“Hm, but if he does transform out of excitement he might break your spine with that hug?” Aoi nods sagely from his corner. “I can’t decide if I want to see how Hibino Kafka would react to you telling him the news or if I want to spoil the beans and ruin your surprise,” Kikoru says in mock contemplation.

She would never. Leno stares her down with a blank face, “You are so annoying.”

“Look who’s talking!”

Not to be outdone, Leno steals his drink back.

“There, there, now children,” Haruichi breaks in, “I’m sure Papa Hibino loves both of you equally.”

Both him and Kikoru go, “Shut up, Izumo!” without breaking their intense stare off. Iharu, the traitor, says “Siblings, amirite?” to Haruichi’s fake sniffling and Aoi rubbing his back in consolation in the background.

Ah, damn, Leno has missed his friends.

They are walking back to their temporary lodgings side by side, when Leno leans his weight a little bit on Iharu to get his attention, and says with all the seriousness in the world, “Sir will be happy, don’t worry.”

As expected, Iharu shoves him away with an angry blush on his face yelling, “Shut up! I wasn’t worried!”

They clear another block before Iharu speaks again, this time softly. Something about his voice, when it gets more quiet like this, always does something to Leno’s insides.

“Would ya’ like that?”

Leno is so distracted thinking about the other man’s voice in other circumstances that he has a bit of trouble catching back up to the conversation. What.

“What?”

It’s dark outside but the streetlights are enough for Leno to still make out the redness on his boyfriend’s cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. Iharu coughs and turns his face away, “Tying the knot. I know there ain’t no rules against officers being together unless it’s between like a captain and a cadet or somethin’, hell half of the force would get fired otherwise,” he laughs, “But, uh, we could. Do it, I mean. If you wanted.”

And Leno wants. Leno wants that so, so much.

“Are you proposing to me right now?”

“No! I mean- Fuck! Not like this! Even I can be more romantic than that.” He can’t help but chuckle quietly at Iharu’s embarrassment, but before he can get even more worked up Leno reaches for his hand threading their fingers together. He is still looking the other way but he squeezes Leno’s hand back.

“I’m just, checking, for future reference. Yeah.”

Iharu then turns back to face him grinning with all his sharp teeth on display. Oh no, he really is too handsome.

“Don’t get any ideas though, dumbass. You ain’t the one who’s gonna be proposing, I’ll be the one proposing to you.”

Leno whispers, “It’s not a competition,” but lets Iharu drag him down the street by their joined hands, grumbling something that sounds like The hell it isn’t!

Leno laughs without reservation this time, he can’t wait to actually tell Sir.

Chapter Text

2. Hoshina Soushirou

Soushirou has already made the decision to keep Hibino Kafka under his command for a while for observation until his suspicions are put to rest, one way or another. Though it isn’t until he sees Captain Mina smile after Hibino-kun makes an idiot out of himself during the welcome ceremony that he becomes truly intrigued. 

He later overhears that they used to be childhood friends, which at least explains why Captain Mina is a little soft on the guy, but it doesn’t answer any of the questions that have been simmering in the back of his mind since that disastrous entrance exam. The way he feels something off about the guy he can’t put a finger on. 

Unfortunately, there isn’t much opportunity to test what happened with Hibino’s combat suit. A simple momentary malfunction? It’s improbable, at least such a thing has never happened since the suits have been manufactured. Soushirou would not even know where to begin. He is too busy overseeing the training of their new officers anyway. They are improving by leaps and bounds every day, pushed by each others’ talents, staying over to practice more even when it’s not mandatory. Soushirou is pleased. 

He wants the Third’s new officers to impress their seniors. He wants them to succeed. Because succeeding means surviving in this world. They are already such bright kids, and he can feel they have the type of open mind and drive that he and Captain Mina are always looking for. Third has a certain reputation, unorthodox and often considered “a headache”, but so efficient that HQ can never complain. A reputation they work hard to cultivate. 

So for a while he settles on just passively observing Hibino-kun while he is busy teaching the rest of their promising young recruits. God bless him, Hibino-kun also tries his best to keep up even when his combat power percentage is far below the others. Practically nonexistent. Zero percent. 

Secret observation or not, being around Hibino-kun is hardly a chore. On the contrary. For one, intentionally or not the man is hilarious, and Soushirou can appreciate what a character like that do for team morale. For another, Hibino-kun is incredibly earnest and kind-hearted. It’s hard not to be drawn to him, or feel reassured when he claps a big warm hand on your shoulder. 

It’s a calm night, and the rest of the base has drifted off into that almost silence with only the machinery’s and night time personnel’s low sounds when he walks by the library to see Hibino-kun already there. 

He wouldn’t have pegged him as the studious type, but for a few minutes he leans against the door and just watches the way the man concentrates on his reading, the way he cross-references his notes, and decides it oddly suits him. 

“Workin’ hard, I see,” Soushirou ends up saying, startling him. 

What starts as a slight admonishment on better sleep schedules ends up with Hibino-kun telling Soushirou about his promise to stand by Captain Mina’s side. He starts feeling a little more respect for Hibino-kun when he stands up facing Soushirou directly to declare his intentions to take over his spot as Vice-Captain one day. 

Hibino Kafka is a big man. Tall, wide across the shoulders. Evidence of the hard labor he has done in life to build those muscles. He knows Captain Mina herself actually has biceps that can put a pro-arm wrestler to shame, not everyone can haul a cannon around the way she does after all, but, Hibino-kun. Ridiculous.

It’s not an easy thing to challenge Hoshina Soushirou over anything, let alone his hard earned position, but still, begrudging admiration aside he can’t help but feel a little annoyed. Goddamn upstart. Soushirou is the blade that cuts the path open for their Captain when she needs to shoot a threat. 

Hibino Kafka is a long long way from equaling them in power. Still, part of him can’t help but look forward to seeing how he will grow.  

The base is still reeling from the discovery that some kaiju can transform into humans. 

But Soushirou himself can’t stop thinking about his first meeting with Monster #8. Something just feel strange about the entire encounter. He has been in plenty of life or death fights but he has rarely felt the kind of pressure the daikaju was putting out, and yet. And yet, it did not seem like it was trying to kill him. The thing kept dodging his attacks but it wasn’t trying to maim Soushirou. In the few openings he thought the daikaju could have taken, it had almost seemed like it had hesitated. When it had attacked, it had went for his weapon and not his head. 

He thinks he sounds crazy even to himself. He has been in the gym all night, training through his frustrations, hoping the exhaustion will stop his thoughts from spiraling further. So far it has been useless because Soushirou is still wired up and thinking It doesn’t add up. 

In the end it’s Hibino-kun’s interruption that finally distracts him. 

It’s amusing to see him fall on his ass in panic as soon as Soushirou turns to him. The man is truly graceless. On closer inspection he can see a light blush dust Hibino-kun’s stubbled cheeks. Of course, Soushirou isn’t unaware of how he looks like, so he lifts up his shirt slow as can be to wipe the sweat beading on his face to torment Hibino-kun, and is immensely pleased to see his blush darken.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says casually, “Burnin’ the midnight oil again, I see.” 

He is still sprawled on the floor but, “We have got to stop meeting like this,” Hibino-kun says head nodding towards the clock on the wall. It’s almost one in the morning. 

It startles a laugh out of Soushirou, Hibino-kun has always been funny but he wasn’t expecting it, not like this, delivered all cheeky, and it makes something warm and buzzing settle low in his stomach. 

Hibino-kun slowly gets up from the floor and he is as earnest as ever when he declares he will do his best to support Soushirou now that he is actually a member of the team. He is blushing again when he mentions how he heard from Captain Mina that Vice-Captain believes in him. Ah, that won’t do. 

In a flash Soushirou is behind the man, grabbing him a chokehold yelling about how he shouldn’t get cocky. Give! Give! Hibino-kun smacks his arm so Soushirou relaxes his grip only for his body, big and solid and warm, to slump against Soushirou’s own for a second, before he wrenches himself away. 

Soushirou meets his eyes, reminiscent of a night that feels so long ago following another declaration but feeling entirely different, “I will say, I do have faith in at least 1 percent of you.” 

He is expecting more blushing but the embarrassed flush actually fades from Hibino-kun’s cheeks, his eyes growing serious, but looking at the pure resolution on his face is no better. 

“Come on, big guy, it’s late.”

Something almost like reluctance shadows Hibino-kun’s face then. Soushirou himself feels a little hesitant to call it good night, to burst this strange bubble they have created in the gym, but it is getting to be late, and they have training early tomorrow. 

“I know I’ve told you resting is just as important as training and studying in the long run,” he says. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

They are almost to the exit when Hibino-kun hesitates again, “What about-”

Soushirou smiles, he can somehow guess what the other man is about to ask so he takes the move instead. 

“What about I see you later for training? Tomorrow night, same time?” 

Hibino Kafka laughs. 

There is no way for Soushirou to know then, that he would not see Kafka later for a long long time. 

*

They meet again on the battlefield, in what could almost be a parody of the first time Soushirou had appeared behind Monster #8 in the alley during the Sagamihara Subjugation Operation. 

He is leaning against a wall to catch his breath, trusting his comrades to keep the honju occupied for a while. This isn’t like him, to lose composure but he has been feeling like a caged tiger, No offense Bakko, for the past few weeks. He has been slowly getting used to his new Numbered Weapon, courtesy of Monster #10. He got a little over-zealous, it’s fine. Everything is fine. 

Monster #8 appears behind him from the shadows, with that crackling sound unique to his transformation. Breaking of joints, re-formation of bone. The arc of turquoise lightning around him illuminates the space for a brief second. 

“Well, well, well, how the turntables,” he says.

“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Vice-Captain.” 

Soushirou can imagine Kafka the man furrowing his bushy eyebrows in confusion, though the skeletal mask of Monster #8 remains expressionless, with hell fire blue glowing from the eye sockets. The voice though is the same, if a little deeper in this form. It makes Soushirou shiver. 

“And here I thought you appreciated comedy.” 

Soushirou thinks he had fallen in love with Ashiro Mina instantly. After a life time of hearing Give up, Soushirou over and over again by his superiors, Captain Mina had extended her hand and told him that she needed his abilities. It had been game over the moment she had confidently asked Will you join my force, Hoshina?  

Falling in love with Hibino Kafka in comparison is a slow descent into what might very well be madness. Complicated, where with Captain Mina he hadn’t ever questioned where they stood or what had to be done. 

He turns to face Kafka, every nerve alight. It’s their first real meeting since Tachikawa Base fell and Monster #8 was taken away in handcuffs. Weeks where Soushirou didn’t know what was going to happen to Kafka. Worried for the man, and worried for Captain Mina, though no one but Soushirou would have been able to tell she was not handling the situation well. Then weeks more he at least knew Hibino Kafka was allowed to live but they couldn’t get him back. Where Soushiro didn’t know if the man was okay, if he was happy, or miserable, if he had missed the Third. 

Monster #8 looks just like Soushirou remembers. It’s hard to forget something you think, and dream, about almost every day. 

The transformation partially falls away from Kafka’s face, bone flaking off like ash, but he still towers over Soushirou in that alien body. A secondary set of sharp fangs are still framing the sides of his jaw on the outside even though now he can see Kafka’s human expression. That’s neat, he can’t help but think, Kafka seems way more in control of the transformation then he used to be according to Ichikawa. Reluctantly, Soushirou admits whatever they are doing to train him at the First must be working. 

Kafka doesn’t say anything for a while and Soushirou jolts when he realises he has just been blatantly staring at the man during the silence. Ah, so it’s true what they say about how absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

Only if it could be that simple. There are so many things unaddressed between them, Soushirou doesn’t know where to start. Alone as they are in the alley like this, the feeling of deja vu from their first fight hanging in the air, Soushirou considers asking about what happened then. About how many lies had filled the moments in between their nightly meetings until the fateful night it had all come crashing down. However, fault does not solely lie with the other man. Soushirou is not stupid. From their first meeting he had suspected something. Thinking back there had been so many hints he now knows he had disregarded just because he had been so helplessly charmed by Hibino Kafka.

“Why?” He ends up blurting out at the end. 

“What?” 

I’m going to kiss you on your big dumb mouth, Soushirou thinks, that’s what.  

But he doesn’t move. If he moves he might end up doing more than just kiss the daikaiju. Maybe. 

There is something else he is wondering. 

“Why then? Why not any time before?” 

It wouldn’t have been easy no matter what, but why hadn’t he come clean earlier? Perhaps in that alleyway when he had Soushirou alone, if only to save his life from the twin swords, when he could have explained he was the one who had saved Ichikawa and Furuhashi from Monster #9. Furuhashi had been knocked out then sure, but he knows now both Ichikawa and Shinomiya could have corroborated. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I would have liked to think everyone would be as accepting as Ichikawa and Shinomiya, but I know that was hoping for too much. I couldn’t have asked for that kind of trust in a kaiju. I thought you would have cut me down in that alley regardless.” 

Soushirou is about to argue back, but he pauses. He can’t confidently say at the time he would have let Kafka go. Captain Mina had looked devastated when Kafka had landed after destroying the bomb, but even so she had still pointed her gun at him and had called for the arrest. There was nothing else either of them could do without jeopardizing their positions, perhaps the entire Division. 

“There was an instant earlier though,” Kafka says, human but still unnaturally glowing turquoise eyes looking right into Soushirou’s, “Where I almost transformed to get to you, Vice-Captain.”

“When Monster #10 first showed up. But Ichikawa told me to not do anything reckless to expose myself. He reminded me that I wasn’t alone, that I could trust you, our squad, to hold the line. And I did. I knew you could do it.”  

And Soushirou had. He had fought with everything he had, until he could pass the baton to their Captain to save the day, as was his purpose. 

Kafka’s somber tone stops him from thinking further about the fight itself, “But when that bomb appeared, there was nothing you could have done. Not you, not even Mina.” 

That’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it is the truth. They would have all died. Soushirou looks down frustrated and misses the moment Kafka steps closer into his personal space. 

“I would do it all over again,” he says and a claw curls right over Soushirou’s elbow as if the other man is afraid he is going to move away and wants to hold him there. It distracts Soushirou, just how sharp those claws are, how exoskeleton covers parts of Kafka’s arm, the way blueish lights pulse through the tendons he can see on the outside. As close as it looks to a human shaped arm now he is acutely aware it isn't remotely human, he knows the it can all peel away and split into pieces with only a fleshy lattice to connect them, to transform into stranger structures to give Kafka even more power behind his punches. Something he faintly remembers from the night of the Raid. It makes Soushirou’s throat strangely dry. 

For a split second, it all makes Soushirou want to fight him. Really, truly, now with nothing to hide, to see who would come out on top at the end. The thought is just as electric as Kafka’s claws on Soushirou, it’s almost like Monster #10’s unquenchable thirst for a good fight is taking over him.  

Kafka continues unaware of Soushirou’s loss in focus, “If I was locked up for an eternity, if my limbs were taken away one by one to be made into weapons.”

“I would transform again and again to save you.” 

That sounds like a confession. 

“All of you.”

Ah, well. Still. A man can dream.

Chapter Text

3. Shinomiya Kikoru 

When Kikoru steps on a battlefield it’s hers. 

Training rooms are no different. She can’t afford them to be. 

She approaches each practice with the air of someone facing down a daikaiju. It is what one would expect of a Shinomiya. Of the only Shinomiya left. 

Of course she had always felt the pressure to succeed, but the desire used to be entirely focused on making her father acknowledge her, living up to her mother’s legacy. Nowadays, she feels like the entire Defense Force was watching her. 

Expecting her to fill the void left by Chief Shinomiya. 

She had allowed herself only a few days to shut down, a few minutes breaking down in front of Captain Narumi. A moment she still thinks she won’t ever live down. Then it was back to training. To eventually be able to hold the responsibility left to her by her parents. 

She knows the world could not stop for her. Yet, the grief comes and goes. There are days Kikoru doesn’t think about it, too busy with the next mission, the intel gathering about Monster #9, the new trainings she must attend with the crew of the First Division. 

Then there are days it comes to her all of a sudden, and she can’t think of anything else. Every little thing reminds her of her mom’s brilliance, her father’s strength. A blink, and she might cry in the middle of the most mundane chore. 

She has been training for a while and her mind has drifted off. Kikoru shakes off the thoughts and lifts her chin proudly, even when there is no one else to see her.  

She raises her axe again and lowers herself into a stance that should hopefully let her transition into Number Three: Half-Moon easier. She notices she is a little faster this way but it puts more weight on her elbow. She resolves to figure out how to deal with that later, and tries another swing. As much force as she can put behind it with the limiters on. 

Kikoru doesn’t realize just how tired she is, so out of it that she hadn’t even noticed his enormous presence, Stupid, until Captain Narumi’s hand easily catches her next swing. Frustration makes her eyebrows furrow. 

“That’s enough, Little Shinomiya.” 

His hair is down, obscuring his monstrous eyes, but she has no trouble picturing the disapproving look. 

“You don’t help your training nor my Division by destroying yourself in here like a noob.” 

Vice-Captain Hasegawa-san clears his throat from where he is stationed by the entrance, “What Captain means to say is that he is concerned for your well-being Kikoru-san, and that rest is just as important as training.” He ignores the petulant As if! he gets in reply with the infinite patience he seems to have specifically for dealing with their Captain. 

Captain Narumi is annoying, but he is also right. She knows that. Whatever rebuttal she was preparing dies on her tongue. 

Kikoru is also aware they have seen her at worse moments but it still smarts being scolded like this, as if she doesn’t know her own limits. It makes her shoulders tense again, even though her axe is now lowered. 

“Whatever, it’s just that I just need to use the training room right now and you are in my way brat,” Captain Narumi says but he claps a hand on her shoulder as he moves to pass by her, further into the middle of the ring, “So scram.” 

Despite the tone he squeezes her shoulder once, firmly, and Kikoru can’t help but let some of the tension go. She still has her pride though. 

“Fine!” She huffs turning her nose up as she pivots on her heel and marches to meet Vice-Captain by the door. She can’t help but her lower her face down embarrassed again as they make their way out of the training facilities all together. Hasegawa-san carefully doesn’t address what happened in the training room earlier and casually starts talking about a couple of briefings they’ll need to attend soon, and how the platoon leaders Miyake and Shinonome wanted to talk to her about it, before bidding her goodbye at the officers’ common room. 

Kikoru has only been inside the common room for 10 minutes, still a little restless but no wiser as to what else she could do to unwind when Platoon Leader Shinonome plops herself next to her. The older woman pushes something into her hands much to her confusion. It’s a tea mug, with tea still steaming inside. She takes a sniff, its darjeeling tea. Kikoru looks up utterly surprised. 

Shinonome actually looks a little embarrassed. 

“Um, Hibino. He told me, before he left. He said you always drank black tea, that darjeeling was your favourite.” 

Not knowing what else to say Kikoru just goes, “It is,” and grips the cup tighter in her hand. 

“Don’t look at me like that, sheesh!” Shinonome grumbles, “Captain told me you had a shit day and to "Take care of the brat", and what he says goes so I just grabbed some tea on my way back to the dorms. No big deal.” 

“My favourite tea,” Kikoru repeats. 

“Yeah yeah, your favourite you little shit. Now are you gonna keep being a sentimental weirdo or are you gonna drink the tea before it grows cold?” 

Kikoru takes a sip and relaxes automatically. It’s such a small thing really, what kind of tea someone drinks, especially in a military complex as busy as this one in between all the life threatening battles going on, but Hibino Kafka had noticed . And not only that he had taken the time to talk to Shinonome, to make sure someone would bring Kikoru her favourite tea even if he was gone from her side. 

He dotes on her too much. Pft, stupid old man. Kikoru feels so loved, it’s almost annoying. 

It’s been about a month since Kafka Hibino has left on his new assignment. He’ll be back, she knows. And she isn’t, can’t be, worried about him. He promised to come back and he will. 

And in the meantime Kikoru has to work harder, but smarter, to match him once he’s back. 

*

“Is that a new move?” is what Ichikawa Leno opens with, voice perfectly even as if they weren’t fighting for their lives a second ago. He isn’t even panting, the audacity. 

Well. Kikoru flips one of her pigtails over her shoulder and shoots back, “I know it’s not elegant but-”

“No,” he looks serious but a small smile quirks up his lips, “but it really does suit you perfectly.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

Leno skips away like an elf, together with his utterly ridiculous looking new bow and icy blue tipped arrows, to freeze down the yonju that are creeping down their right flank, ignoring her. 

Ugh, he’s the worst . Kikoru hefts her axe on her shoulder rushing forward, pointedly not thanking him for his help. She has to get to the main body where Hibino Kafka and Captain Narumi are fighting. The yonju hordes under Monster #9’s control are a complete nuisance, they aren’t too difficult to defeat but they can be overwhelming with their numbers. 

She runs through the destroyed residential area with Leno until they reach a chokepoint where an amalgamation of several gigantic millipede-type yonju sliding over each other are blocking the road in between the last buildings standing. The actual fight is beyond this barrier, and the time is running out. If they linger longer they are going to be swarmed from the back again.

Leno crouches behind her and draws an arrow with a bright red tip. “I got your back,” he nods towards the millipede monstrosity, “All yours, Your Highness.” 

Kikoru takes a step back right leg level with his side, left almost touching his back and hefts her axe back up. Her legs tense before she is off like a shot, with a war cry she swings into Number Two: Water Skimmer, the shockwave blasting through the creepy crawlies in their way. 

When they make it to the epicenter of the fighting, Captain Narumi is exchanging blows with several limbs reminiscent of a praying mantis, if praying mantis legs ended with scythes. His hair is swept back and his terrible pink eyes are glowing with the power of Number 1, still he is barely keeping up with the volley. 

He leaps back to put distance between himself and Monster #9, switching to use the barrel end of his bayonet instead, as soon as Hibino Kafka creates an opening for him with a punch that obliterates a section of the other daikaiju’s insect-like body. The core is visible for a second before new chitin grows over it. 

Leno doesn’t waste time either before nailing the thing’s side again in the same spot with nasty looking purple arrows. Where they touch the new flesh Monster #9 constructed starts just dying and slough off in pieces. It’s not fire, nor frost. It is incredibly disgusting. 

“Venom?!” Captain Narumi gasps almost sounding delighted, “Son of a bitch! You unlocked venom ammo?” 

Leno proudly yells back, “Courtesy of Sir.”

Unfortunately, this makes Monster #9’s attention swing back to the new arrivals. Specifically Kikoru. In an instant, its flesh is bubbling and morphing again until a terribly familiar face is looking back at her with blank blank eyes. It is a terrifying thought, that it has learned enough about humans to understand this is what will hurt Kikoru the most. 

A new arm, this one human adjacent forms from its side. Monster #9 is faster with its “shots”. That’s okay though, because Kikoru is faster than she used to be. Faster than she was the day of their entrance exam, when all she could do was to focus her shield to a single point to protect her heart, when she didn’t have a hope of dodging. Now, her combat suit is pushing 75%, she has never increased the output that high before, it’s exhilarating. And difficult. The harder she pushes, the more her energy is burning out. It is unfathomable to think Vice-Captain can operate at 92%, that Captain Narumi casually fights at 98%. But even they had trouble with Monster #9. 

She zig zags around the daikaiju wearing her father’s face and remembers when the human man had told her You must be perfect, for the sake of this nation’s future. 

And right now Kikoru has to be. All her life all she had ever wanted was acknowledgement from her father, that even if she wasn’t perfect he was still proud of her. Words she would now never hear. Desperately fighting, far from perfect, far from the poise or pride of either of her parents on the battlefield, it’s hard to believe he would be that proud anyway. But it doesn’t matter, Kikoru will settle for revenge. She grits her teeth through it and wills the suit to move. 

She vaults over Hibino Kafka to bring her axe down in a punishing chop, and watches disconcerted as her fathers face splits in two just before the slash, Monster #9 splitting into two clones. Half a human face remaining on each body. The right clone unhinges its jaw to blast Kafka Hibino away with the lightning of Number 2. 

“I’ve observed you long enough to know you are nothing but a dead-end in our evolution Monster #8,” it hisses, “You can no longer defeat me with these paltry moves.”

The left clone wastes no time to smack Kikoru out of the air before she has time to land correctly and she is slammed into the concrete wall of a crumbling building. Her left arm breaks upon impact. 

Captain Narumi moves forward again to cover her while Leno naturally moves to assist Hibino Kafka. She is sure the main body is fighting the those two, the speech too incensed with Hibino Kafka to not be the true #9. Captain Narumi makes short work of the clone left with them with a volley of bullets. Kikoru stands back up on shaky feet and looks down at her left arm. Her right arm is gripping her axe still but the gigantic weapon is a two handed weapon. 

She focuses everything she has into the suit, climbing 80%, then 85%, letting the power coat the left arm so she can will it to move by the sheer power of the suit. It’s going to injure her arm worse doing this but there is no option. She picks up the axe again with both hands and nods at Captain Narumi. With no words they run forward to assist the other two again.

The four of them do not let Monster #9 take another step, even if its body keeps morphing between types, core shifting in a way they can’t easily end the fight. Eventually while Captain Narumi’s assault breaks its sightline on Leno, Leno freezes down the legs with his arrows. It’s then that Monster #8, arm transformed into something Kikoru has never seen before leaps forward and his claw closes around Monster #9’s throat. Hibino Kafka doesn’t stop there though, he lets the momentum take him forward and rips the head away from #9’s body, spine following, letting two halves of its torn apart body almost slump around a now visible pulsating round core like a grotesque statue. It’s still alive and shouting at Hibino Kafka even as his head is no longer fully attached, another lightning blast is building in whatever is left of it’s throat aiming straight at Hibino Kafka’s face. 

Axe heavy, heartbeat in her arm, Kikoru runs. 90%, before she knows her body will shut down and she won’t be able to move again. 

You are NOT taking anyone else from my family!

It’s her that lands the final blow, her swing splitting the main core of Monster #9 into two. 

There is a split second everyone freezes. Holding their breaths, hoping this is finally the end but unable to truly believe it with how many close calls they have had with the same daikaju. The lightning dies. They watch as Monster #9 slowly but surely crumbles, the core completely gone. 

She falls to her knees like a puppet with its strings cut and just screams. It’s rage, regret, relief. A lifetime of expectation, of words unspoken for years, apologies that never had a chance to be given. Is she sobbing or laughing now? Her throat is sore. Her limbs are shaking with her adrenaline gone. But it’s over. It’s over. 

Mama. Papa. I did it. Did you see? 

Through blurry eyes she sees Hibino Kafka is rushing forward, and he skids to his knees when he reaches her. She doesn’t see it but she hears Leno slump to the ground behind her, then his back touching her own. She leans her weight back and takes a deep breath. Solid, warm. Hibino Kafka is still crouched in front of her, claws on her shoulders. Grounding. Her family. 

“Nice job,” Ichikawa Leno mumbles. 

“Kikoru! I’m proud of you,” Hibino Kafka says smiling so hard his eyes are closed, he looks terrible, “And I know Chief would be proud too.” 

Kikoru closes her eyes, tired down to her bones. 

“I know.” 

And this time it feels like she can actually believe it.

Chapter Text

4. Ashiro Mina

Mina waits. She is good at that. Always have been. Someone had to be the more patient one between the two of them when they were kids, and it’s a habit by now. She counts the seconds on the clock mounted above her office door. Almost. She waits. 

On the hour, Shinomiya and Ichikawa walk into her office with contrite looks on their faces, followed by Hoshina shepherding them in. It’s more telling than their reactions in the field the night before, devastated but resigned rather than shocked then, that they look so guilty right now. Like children with their hands caught in the cookie jar. Mina tries to not think about how Hoshina too looks like their parent, waiting to hear the principle scold his kids. They are still so, so young. 

“When?” No point in playing coy, that has always been more of Hoshina’s style anyway. 

Shinomiya, always more deferential to military authority due to her upbringing, looks even more chagrined. “Since the entrance exam.” 

“I- I was truly beat by Monster #9 when it appeared in the arena, and it was about to kill me when Hibino Kafka showed up.” 

Her face looks pained but she picks up speed as if she is also glad to be finally getting something off her chest. 

“It wasn’t me that held down the line for the evacuation to finish Captain, Hibino Kafka transformed in front of me and annihilated the honju Monster #9 had resurrected to save my life,” she bites her lip, “And when he begged me to keep his secret it’s not like I could have said No.” 

“But he was the one who should have been acknowledged for that day all along.” 

Mina briefly makes eye contact with Hoshina, and can practically hear the other man thinking, I fuckin’ knew it. 

There is a tense silence in the office for exactly a minute, Mina counts, after Shinomiya finishes and before Ichikawa sighs and looks at her in the eyes. 

“I knew before the entrance exam.” 

In her periphery, Mina can see Hoshina lean forward at that. 

“Aiding and abetting, hm?” He says to get a rise out of the stoic boy. Ichikawa, to his credit, doesn’t even blink. 

“He saved my life from a yonju during a monster clean-up operation.” 

“So you also saw him transform to fight off another monster?” 

“No,” the boy says firmly, and for all his feigned seriousness a tiny smile appears on his lips, “It was before. When Sir was just a human, he was helping show me the ropes during a clean-up job when the yonju appeared out of nowhere and almost got me. But Sir jumped towards danger and tackled me to safety.” 

Mina can’t suppress her amused huff, and notices Ichikawa seems a little more at ease at that. 

“He didn’t have a weapon, he didn’t have anything, but he stood in front of me and told me to run to safety and alert someone.”

Ichikawa briefly explains what happened after that, how Hibino had transformed for the first time later that day to the man’s own surprise, and their frankly hilarious escape from the hospital. But he sobers up at the end. Stands a little taller. Not once has his eyes strayed from hers own during his tale, and if nothing else Mina can appreciate that, not even her superiors can look her in the eye the way this boy has in defense of Hibino Kafka’s character. 

“Becoming a kaiju has not changed who Sir is.” 

“I know,” Mina says. I know Kafka better than anyone.  

I’ve been waiting.

Hoshina hasn’t made his call one way or another out loud, waiting himself to see how Mina will act in front of the new recruits before he assists, but she knows the other man has been fond of Kafka for sometime now. Frankly, she is half concerned Hoshina will orchestrate a rescue attempt on his own before Mina can plan one. 

“I can hazard guess as to what the brass at HQ is already talking about,” he says eyes closed and mouth smiling as always, but his tone just a little colder than usual, “But we all saw, when Hibino-kun transformed last night, he did it to save everyone.” 

Ichikawa nods, satisfied. Shinomiya is staring at her now with hope finally beginning to shine on her face. 

“We have to save him, Captain.” 

“We will.” 

When Mina walks up to the containment chamber’s observation deck, Hoshina is there leaning against the wall staring forward. He looks like he has been there all night, watching the science officers report on Kafka’s vitals, waiting anxiously for a sign of transformation that both of them know will not come. Monster #8 is not a rabid beast. 

“How long have you been here?” she asks. 

Hoshina just shrugs in return, all his good humour gone. Mina can’t really blame him. This transfer to HQ is a headache to deal with. Once Kafka is out the gates of the Third, they can’t control what happens to him. 

When she finally walks into the chamber with guards on each side, Kafka looks like he is expecting a scolding. 

The whole walk from there to the armored truck they’ll be taking to the HQ goes by silently, Kafka looking awfully resigned. Mina doesn’t like it, that attitude does not suit the man she remembers. 

They pass by the entire division standing guard outside in eerie silence. This is perhaps the most quiet her ragtag squad has ever been. It’s the bratty, but ever loyal, Ichikawa’s outburst, Sir, I have faith that you’ll come back, that makes her break her own silence once they are in the truck. 

“When you dashed in to save the base without a moment’s hesitation-”

“Mina-”

Becoming a kaiju has not changed who Sir is.

“I was shocked to see you as a kaiju, but I also thought This is such a Kafka move.” 

She tells him they’ll all vouch for him, that no one in the Third Division considers him a threat. Now, Kafka looks like he is going to start crying in a minute. There, that looks better. She can see him hesitate, touched, but she knows he’ll gather his courage to speak.

She waits. 

“Mina, can I still… Strive for a place by your side?” 

Ah, he is crying now. 

“Sure,” she expects nothing less from the man across from her, “I’ll be waiting.”

Mina is good at that. 

*

Mina wakes up minutes before dawn. She lets the seconds tick by unmoving. Breathe in, out. She is planning to go down to the gym but there is no rush, she knows Soushirou prefers training in the dead of night and none of the other officers tend to work out as early in the day as she does. 

There is a strange peace to these few moments where Mina is wide awake but she still has a little time before she needs to get up and don the skin of a Captain, with all its attached responsibilities. 

Ashiro Mina, esteemed captain of the Third Division, one of the youngest to reach the position in the history of the Japan Anti-Kalju Defense Force, fights for the entire humanity. Mina, caretaker of animals, lover of dried cuttlefish, childhood best friend of Hibino Kafka, that Mina, fights for two people. 

It hadn’t always been like that. She remembers the steady and cheerful presence of Kafka right next to her throughout their childhood into their teens, still burning with a shared desire to exterminate all kaiju. Together. 

But she can’t remember the exact point he left her side. When Mina had climbed the ranks so fast, by the time she looked back Kafka wasn’t there with her to celebrate. When I’ll see you after the next exam phone calls had started petering off. When unconsciously she had resolved to carry on for both of them regardless. 

So she trains twice as long, fights twice as hard. Enough for two people. 

Waiting, waiting, until she can fight as one person again. With her second right next to her. 

Being a Captain is hard, but it comes more natural than she thought it would be, because Mina has a vision. She just has to work hard and create the force that will share her dream and drive. Most days she is so busy she can ignore the Kafka shaped hole in her side. There is a job to do, she has to shape the Third Division into a force to be reckoned with. 

Thus, meeting Hoshina Soushirou is wonderful. Mina had known she wanted to recruit the young renowned swordsman as soon as she had seen his files. An unmatched talent, being wasted just because HQ had lost faith in traditional weapons against things like the kaiju. Mina had spent nights and nights reading through sighting and neutralization reports going back years to notice the kaiju were changing along with them, the increase in smaller but deadlier and faster yonju easy to miss in the spectacle of the bigger attacks. But they were changing, and Mina herself isn’t suited to fast paced close quarters combat, she is a heavy-hitting finisher. 

What they need is a specialist to complement her where she is lacking. 

Working with Hoshina comes naturally, he is an easy going man with witty quips at the ready when the situation calls for levity, and an absolute force of nature eyes as sharp as his blades when they are on the field together. Captain Ashiro and Vice-Captain Hoshina grow into the team Mina always knew they had the potential of becoming. 

And eventually they become more than a team. She knows Soushirou worships the ground she walks on as his Captain, and that she can trust her Vice-Captain with her life. And she respects and cares about Soushirou, would die for him in return just as easily. But it’s not the bond they develop as partners on the battlefield, or as co-leaders of the Third, it’s hard for Mina to not notice the way Soushirou orbits around her, the way he looks but never pushes. Mina is good at waiting, but it’s still her that makes the first move. No near death experience realization of feelings, no confessions or even any words at all, just one night they are filing paperwork in her office Mina leaning over to tuck a strand of hair that has fallen in Soushirou’s face behind his ear when he bends down to the desk. 

They are inevitable. Puzzle pieces quietly fitting together. 

It doesn’t feel like replacing Kafka. They’ll just make enough space for the Kafka shaped puzzle piece to slot into their picture once he is here. They settle into an existence that is comfortable but incomplete. It’s silly, Hoshina doesn’t even know Kafka exists, but it’s like he can sense there is a part missing from their relationship. Kafka is just as inevitable. Mina can wait. 

She gets up with a stretch and stares out the window, taking one last moment to appreciate the sun finally breaking through the horizon. 

She has training to get to. 

Kafka is here somewhere. She hasn’t had a chance to attend the briefing in person, but she hears from the comms after the operation is underway that Monster #8 has been sent into the field. They are dealing with new vulture-type kaiju circling the city high in the air, and despite their increased mobility thanks to the combat suits, most of the Defense Force fighters are bound to the ground. Kafka though can clear a building easy with a single jump, can shift his anatomy as necessary. She lets updates on his take downs filter through her headset and focuses on her own targets. 

Mina herself is situated on the roof of one of the taller buildings as a sniper. She braces against Bakko as she takes aim with her cannon again, and shoots down a several kaiju out of the air in what will surely be a mess of feathers and guts down below. The thought makes her appreciate the clean-up crews working around their fights. 

Once the all clear is given, she lets Bakko run off and stretches from her position. 

Good timing too, one breath, and she hears the crackle of energy that surrounds Monster #8 when he transforms before she sees him in the corner of her eye, and suddenly a hulking daikaiju steps right beside her. Feet exactly level with her. Not forward, not behind. The skeletal mask that can make grown men cry turns towards her, tilted in deference, and she can’t help but feel proud enough that her heart feels like it’ll burst out of her chest and take flight. 

Finally. 

I’ve missed you. 

“Mina, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” 

“Mhm,” she hums smiling, “Not at all.”

Chapter Text

5. Narumi Gen

Most other officers don’t respect power like Gen does. Even the top dogs who had been handed down Numbered Weapons don’t really understand. It’s different to wield a weapon crafted with metal and monster parts in your hand than to have to wield a monster part inside your own body. 

Gen has done both, so he knows. He viscerally understands the difference none of these noobs can. He’s heard the reports of how one of the officers had transformed into Monster #8 to save the Third Division during the Raid, but he’s still skeptical when the daikaiju is brought to their base. Gen is positioned in the rafters, ready to drop down in a heartbeat and end it as soon as the beast loses control. Chief Isao's test does not put his doubts to rest, not entirely, but if there is one man Gen will follow without question its Chief. The man has a plan.

But a tool is only a tool no matter how strong it is, unless you can wield it well and with purpose it is not true power. That’s why he can’t help but want Eight now, pretty much since the second he successfully transforms and all but obliterates one of the Monster #9 clones in Shinagawa. 

At least the public does not know the Defense Force is using a “friendly” daikaiju. Gen knows it would cause absolute panic among the public if they knew monsters like Eight and #9 could exist and walk amongst them with human faces, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. No, he can feel the discourse it would create on twitter and the thought that #Monster8 could trend before he ever did makes him feel apoplectic. 

Eight would definitely garner a lot of fans the cheerful dumbass that he is, it's gross. 

Gen sits in comfortable sweats and a shirt as he watches the Little Shinomiya fidget for the informal post mission briefing. Eight is standing a step behind her to the side looking at her in earnest concern on his idiotic face. They are in Gen’s room, it was only the three of them responding to a honju sighting this time so he doesn’t need to see the need for a formal briefing or even a report. 

It had been a test for the girl as much as it had been one for Eight. Their first test had gone to shit as soon as Monster #9 had shown up as the mastermind behind the ant-type invasion in Shinagawa and things had quickly devolved into a chaotic struggle for survival. It had been interesting to see the two of them on the field today, in a calmer environment, if you could call a crab-type honju demolishing a downtown office place calm that is. The way Eight had naturally fallen to a back-up position for the axe-wielding menace. 

The Little Shinomiya is getting better but she is still not up to joking around. She doesn’t even bother putting her nose up like she did every single time judging the mess that was his living space in mock disdain. They have all changed out of their combat suits and showered before meeting again but the hot water doesn’t seemed to have helped the brat. She still looks too wound up. If Gen is being honest, Little Shinomiya had performed just fine during the mission. Exemplary even, though Gen could duck a couple points for lack of flamboyant style. There is nothing to it though, no matter if she finished the job on paper or not, no matter who says good job right now, he knows the girl will continue to wrestle with her doubts for a while in the wake of Chief’s death. 

“Ah, is that the limited edition MHW Iceborn Zinogre figure, Captain?” is what snaps him out of staring at his new protégé. What? Of course it fucking is-

As he goes over to the shelves lined with his precious figurines already launching into a tirade about what he had to do to get his hands on that one, Gen pretends to not see Eight gently push the Little Shinomiya out the door with a whispered Good night Kikoru. Somehow he is even more parental off the field, which is probably a new record the way Eight acts while they are on duty. 

When he turns back the taller man is standing with a dumber look on his face and nodding at him excitedly. Gen tries and fails to not feel charmed by the way Eight tries to engage him, even though he knows it was a piss poor distraction attempt. 

“How do you even know what this is?” Gen asks, “You don’t really seem like the video game type.” 

And he really doesn’t, Eight seems too big, too clumsy. 

“No, guess not,” he says blushing in embarrassment and Gen wants to yell What are you blushing for like a teen walking into their crush’s room for the first time you dumbass?! “I don’t really play video games, but some of my coworkers were big fans.”

He gestures with his arms excitedly as he talks about people Gen cannot give less of a shit about, and how one time the company had just straight up declared it a holiday on the release date of the game because they knew almost everyone was going to call off sick to play anyway. 

“So do you want to play?” He asks. Gen wants to keep Eight in the room a little longer, the way he looks so refreshed after his shower, hair still a little damp with little drops wetting the collar of his old white shirt, a pair of comfortable sweats riding low on the bigger man’s hips. Any excuse is fine. 

Eight looks like a fish out of water at the question. Stupid, he is always so expressive.  

“I don’t think I’d be good at all, Captain,” he laughs, Loud too yeesh, “It looked a little too complicated.” 

Gen moves like lighting to grab Eight’s arm and tug him towards to the bean chairs in front of his gaming set up, sitting close enough to feel the heat coming off of him. 

“I’ll teach you, and I’m the best, so you should be fine.” He says. 

“Yes, Sir!” 

Gen hums as he turns on the console. 

“But if you break my limited edition controller in your gigantic monster claws, I will neutralize you.” 

*

At the Ariake Maritime base the First Division gets to use the best containment and training facilities available to mankind. 

Ariake is naturally the location of the commander of the entire Defense Force but the presence of the top brass alone wouldn’t have made the site into something other than an office building with a lot of stuffy meeting rooms. No, it was Chief Isao’s prowess with the Number 2 weapon alone that had necessitated building the chambers that could contain kaiju up to Resilience 10. 

Renovations of course had had to be made after the showdown between Chief and Eight, so the walls wouldn’t keep cracking every time they had to practice anything with the fully transformed man. 

It all works out in Gen’s favour anyway. He likes having a place outside of immediate battle to push himself to his limits. There are scant few places that can contain his force of attack. 

Same can almost be said about the man across from him. Coming from Gen, that’s high praise. 

He swings his bayonet behind him, and watches fascinated as the forearm he just severed grows back in several minutes. Eight curls his claws to test the new limb and when it seems satisfactory immediately rushes Gen. His reaction times are getting better. The monster pauses less after what would have been grave injuries to his human form, his instinctual hesitance is fading. That’s good. Maybe. 

Gen isn’t philosophical enough to discuss whether kaiju instincts overtaking his human ones is “good” or not, because ultimately it doesn’t matter. The second Eight loses control Gen will be there to put him down. For now, things are golden. They manage to fight for another hour, with no more injuries as drastic as the lost arm but plenty of bruises, before Gen calls for a stop. He is hungry. 

This is what well adjusted people do to court the one they want right? Wine and dine, or as the case may be beat the shit out of each other in the training room and then go to the cafeteria together for food? 

The entire way there Eight keeps up a steady stream of chatter about god knows what. Gen is not entirely paying attention, he just lets the man’s voice wash over him while he wonders if he could make a funny enough tweet about how fighting someone can be romantic. Something like, Yeah sex is cool but have you ever cut your crush’s arm off in the midst of intense combat? 

No, no, he is either going to be kink-shamed for that or nobody’s gonna get that it’s a joke, Or that his arm grew back pft, and Gen will be cancelled overnight. 

If Gen thought being seated with food would finally put a stop to his thoughts he is mistaken. While he eats he ends up being distracted by Eigth drinking his water, and is contemplating if he could also regrow his throat if Gen decided to bite down, when Captain Ashiro and her smug Vice-Captain Hoshina appear like wraiths from the entrance of the mess hall. 

Eight hasn’t noticed them yet. His mental prayer of Move on, losers, move on! goes unanswered as they walk up to their table to stand behind Eight’s chair flanking him. Like they are supposed to be there. Gen would say they almost look like the angel and devil over each shoulder, but that’s stupid, because he knows despite appearances both Ashiro and Hoshina are absolute dipshits.

Oh right, he conveniently forgot the Third Division would be having a meeting with the Deputy Director here today. 

He kind of respects Ashiro and Hoshina. They are the strongest people, after himself and late Chief Isao of course, to walk the planet in the last few decades. And they similarly disdain empty politeness and dignity when what matters is the fight. So sure, fine, he respects the two but that doesn’t mean they aren’t spectacularly cock-blocking him right now. 

Changing his retinas to Number 1’s would be too much of an actual threat so he settles for baring his teeth at them. Ashiro, as always, looks unimpressed. And who knows whatever the fuck the smarmy smile on Hoshina’s face means. In contrast, a grin that could chase the clouds away breaks out on the Eight’s face unaware of Gen’s rapidly plummeting mood. “Vice-Captain! Mina-” 

To her credit, Ashiro immediately slaps to back of his head with a curt, “10 push-ups for addressing a superior officer without the honorific.” 

“Oh no, I did it again!” Eight yells, but immediately gets up from his chair to drop down to the floor in perfect position to start his push-ups. It’s a wonder, and a testament to how weird the man is on the regular, that no-one in the mess hall blinks an eye at the display. Ashiro makes eye contact with Gen as if saying, See? See how he obeys me? 

So what? Eight is usually just as eager to please him. This is nothing. 

The Vice-Captain cracks his eyes open to pin Gen with a glare so sharp he thinks the man might as well have just removed his limiter and attacked him with a sword. Ohohoho, is that how he wants to play? He stands up from his chair with a screech and looks down his nose at Hoshina with a sneer. It would be an exaggeration to say he towers over the other man, but Gen does have 4 whole centimeters of advantage and he presses it at every chance he gets. 

“Can we help you? I’d assume the esteemed Captain and Vice-Captain of the Third would have better things to do than accost my subordinate during dinner,” Gen says. 

Eight, bless his dumb heart, seems to be unaware of the three-way staring contests happening above him, over him, as he counts his push-ups. 

Hoshina purrs, “No, actually,” and Gen doesn’t need his kaiju eyes to notice Hoshina’s arm tense, he can already imagine the brain signals he would have seen to predict the man wants to draw a blade. That’s fine, Gen isn’t fucking scared of Number 10 either. 

He glances at Ashiro from the corner of his eyes, body naturally tensing to strike at a moments notice. The woman might be a better shot then him, Barely, but she doesn’t have her fancy cannon. Though, Gen doesn’t have his bayonet with him right now either. Hoshina is the only one that is armed with his blades. If they were all standing on an equal playing field, Gen likes to think he would wipe the floor with the two. He has a gun and a blade in his chosen weapon, by simple math he his technically Ashiro and Hoshina put together. 

As much as Ashiro herself looks two seconds away from a fight, she touches Hoshina’s arm in a clear signal to Stand Down, and looks towards Eight who is now standing up and wiping the dust on his palms on his pants. He is smiling, how he is not feeling the tension surrounding their table is a complete mystery. 

“We wanted to check on a member of the Third,” she says, “We’ll be taking our leave now, Narumi.” 

The disrespect.  

The two Third officers move to leave, and for a split second such a raw and longing emotion passes through Eight’s eyes that Gen almost feels guilty seeing it. He doesn’t think the others noticed the momentary lapse, but Ashiro pauses and then turns back to Hibino extending her forearm with an expectant look on her face. Hibino, now grinning, clasps it with his own and nods. Gen is kind of amazed to see the famously stoic woman smile, as her Vice-Captain leans over Eight with both hands on his on his wide shoulders and whispers something Gen can’t hear. Great, now Eight looks flushed. With the still dopey smile on his face he looks ridiculous. Gen is going to destroy another training room after this. 

Fuck the both of them, fucking NPCs, First Division still has Eight for two more weeks.

Chapter Text

+1. Hibino Kafka 

As Hibino Kafka wakes one morning from uneasy dreams he finds himself transformed in his bed into an enormous monster. 

He handles it better than he did the first time it happened. For one, there is way less screaming, and thankfully no fainting old people. 

He gets up and starts packing. His time with the Second Division has been fruitful. He has a gift for Kikoru tucked in his backpack that he is sure she is going to love. Her mother’s journal when she had been Captain. Kafka would have figured something as important as Shinomiya Hikari’s journal was already been in a military museum somewhere, but it must have been lost during the chaos that had followed her death. He knows, now that it was found, Kikoru more than anyone else has a right to those memories. Kafka will keep it safe until his rotation with the First Division rolls back around. 

Aoi and Haruichi wave him away as he concludes his stay with the Second for the time being.

Late Chief Shinomiya’s “Strongest Unit” idea was ultimately proven and acknowledged by the rest of the headquarters, but after the clusters of disaster level encounters had ended, for a while at least, they had seen more merit in Monster #8 doing rotations in each Division for months at a time according to how Kaiju activity was predicted to migrate across the country. Three months with each Division through the year. Captain Narumi was more than capable of holding down First Division territory after all. This had been doubly true since he had been grooming Kikoru as his second in command. Having Kafka there on top of it just seemed overkill at times. 

Kafka welcomed this change in his life with the same gusto he had applied for the Defense Forces one last time after Leon had reignited his passion. Kafka was a people person, he had forgotten that. He liked interacting with all kinds of officers during his rotations.

But at the end of the day, Division Three is his true home. 

He is sure everyone can tell how he feels by the smile on his face when he comes back to Third to complete the last 3 months of the year. Platoon Leader Nakanoshima’s is the first face that greets him at the gates with a good natured slap on the arm. 

“Eager to be back I see,” she laughs, as she waves the rest of her platoon to go ahead. They seem to be on their way out for a patrol. 

“Always.” 

“Well go on, go on, I’m sure there are a couple of people just as excited to see your old face.” 

She winks at him before turning around to catch up to her men. Kafka can already feel a weight lifting off of his shoulders as he crosses the threshold and starts walking the familiar path to the barracks. He’ll drop his stuff off in his old quarters and quickly freshen up before meeting with the rest of the squad. 

They always have a big celebration dinner with everyone who is on site when Kafka returns to the Third. No one explicitly says it, they even act a little too casual about it, but Kafka knows they prepare for his arrival. It’s sweet. If he thinks about it longer though he might start tearing up, and someone will definitely know he caught onto them a while ago. He supposes it is impossible to not grow attached to someone, kaiju or not, that saved everyone along with the base from total destruction. Tends to make an impression. 

When he eventually makes it to the small traditional dining hall, the dinner seems to be in full swing. He pauses at the door just to bask in the atmosphere, watching. Before long though Ikaruga greets him with a characteristic loud welcome, alerting everyone in the room to his arrival. The other Platoon Leader hands him a glass of alcohol as he drags him in. It’s cheap beer, but that’s what Kafka loves best. 

He gives his thanks to Ikaruga, with quick a Good to be back!, as his eyes finally land on who he’s been searching for. The seat next to her is empty, as if she has been waiting. 

He doesn’t hesitate anymore, not like he used to at least, and he makes a beeline for Mina, absently calling out greetings to the others. Kafka sits down close enough that their thighs are touching. 

Mina doesn’t say anything but she hasn’t broken eye contact. She raises her own glass though expectant, and whatever remaining tension there was in Kafka’s body evaporates as he raises his glass to gently click against hers. It’s not visible to anyone else, and she doesn’t even miss a beat when she turns to re-engage the rest of the table, but he knows Mina relaxes in a similar fashion, her leg pressing just a little harder against his. 

Just because none of the officers notice the minute interaction between him and their Captain though doesn’t mean the silent welcome escapes the sharp eyes of the final person Kafka has been waiting to greet. 

The Vice-Captain of the Third gracefully rises from his seat from one of the other low tables across the room and saunters over. There are no other seats empty at their table but Kafka is expecting someone to vacate one for Soushirou or for the man to drape himself over his shoulders to fluster him. What he doesn’t expect is Soushirou to just fully throw himself on his lap. He has already been hyperaware and feeling warm since he sat down next to Mina, but the smaller man still manages to set his every nerve instantly on fire. 

Soushirou leans back smiling like usual, as if he is sitting on a throne and not literally on Kafka. There are cackles from the rest of the officers. Shameless, and always bit of a showman, Soushirou exaggeratedly wiggles in place while he settles down. Kafka trembles with the effort to hold his arms back from circling the man's waist and pulling him even closer. From where their thighs are still in contact he can feel Mina’s frame shaking with silent laughter. Traitor.   

Somebody behind them hollers, “Getting comfy, Vice-Captain?” 

“I have decided that this is hilarious, so you betcha’,” he yells back patting Kafka’s chest. Kafka tries, though probably fails, to not look as soft as he feels at the action, so he belts out a loud laugh to mask the pause instead. 

Soushirou cracks an eye open to meet his and Kafka is sure he is busted anyway. The other man lifts his own glass to clank against Kafka’s lying still in his hand.

“Cheers.” 

It’s so good to be home. 

It’s been a good night. His limbs are completely relaxed when Kafka gets out of the shower. He doesn’t think he is tired per se, but drowsiness settles over him as soon as he sits down on his bed. His belly is full, his body is warm. He is home. 

The little chime of a text alerts him briefly back to awareness. He gropes for his phone on the bed side table, it is a message from Leno. 

Sir, when you circle back to the Fourth, I have something I want to talk to you about. 

And almost as if the boy suddenly realized how serious that sounded, a curt follow up, Nothing bad. 

Good night, Sir. 

The light from the phone illuminates the grin on Kafka’s face in the otherwise dark room. He has an idea what the conversation is going to be about, and he is quite excited. 

Ah, and if Iharu already called him the week before to ask for his blessing to propose to Leno, and to Keep it a secret until I pop the question aight, ol’ man?, well, Leno does not have to know. 

Kafka can keep this secret. 

*

Mina has a suite on the top floor of the officer quarters of the Division. It’s a little smaller than Captain Narumi’s at the First’s building, but in contrast it is clean and organized. But Mina has always been that way Kafka thinks. The only disorderly thing in the living space, really, is the gigantic tiger on its back in front of the couch. Mina has always liked cats, since she was appointed as the caretaker for animals at their elementary school, but this is really something else. 

Bakko rolls over and hisses at him like a house cat, which is truly a baffling display coming from a predator as big as him. Though between the two of them Kafka is the bigger predator, and animals have always been able to tell since his initial transformation. He used to be a dog person, now he can barely get close enough to pet one before the poor things bolt away. He tries to not let it get to him much. Do canine kaiju even exist? If so can I get one as a pet?

His musings on the logistics of owning a monster dog and how to even feed it are interrupted by the opening of a door further inside the room. 

Soushirou is the one who walks in and quiets down Bakko. A little part of Kafka is envious, a larger part of him is busy admiring the way he looks in casual clothes. Perhaps due to his upbringing Hoshina Soushirou prefers traditional clothes. Though Kafka rarely sees him outside of his uniform. It’s really a shame. 

Neither the officer uniform nor the combat suit leave anything to imagination, all of Soushirou’s hard earned muscle on display, which is flustering for entirely different reasons of course, but Kafka likes seeing him in casual wear. When he is dressed to fight Soushirou seems impossibly strong, larger than life. Now though, as he stands across from him in a dark violet yukata that matches his hair, warm orange light spilling from Mina’s large windows across his face, he looks slender and almost soft. The fabric looks worn with age, Kafka wants to step closer and touch . 

Soushirou smiles like he knows exactly what Kafka is thinking of, but what else is new. 

“Come now, she is in the bath.” 

There is no need for another greeting. 

“Of course she is,” Kafka mumbles following him into Mina’s truly gigantic bathroom. 

Mina likes her baths. One can tell just by looking at her lavish bathroom. 

Soushirou moves into the space ahead of Kafka, shrugging his arms out of his sleeves with a casual shrug, letting the top half of his yukata hang over the obi at his waist. Kafka’s eyes follow him walk towards one of the cabinets to grab new washcloth, admiring the newly revealed skin. Leaner than Kafka, or Mina, but sinewy, muscles visibly shifting as the man moves gracefully. Kafka knows every scar on his chest, as few as they are, their Vice-Captain usually too fast to be ever pinned down by a stray claw. 

Soushirou returns to the bathtub and leans over to dip the new washcloth in, and squeezes it before gently dragging it across the pale arm that lifts from the water. Kafka slowly moves his eyes from the arm to the delicate collarbones with drops of water clinging to every contour, and up the slender neck to finally look at the beautiful face of Ashiro Mina. Who is already looking at him with half lidded eyes. 

In an instant he is kneeling by the tub, opposite of where Soushirou is standing, on her other side. 

“How was the journey? Any trouble?” Mina asks softly. 

She always asks that. Even though there is not much, short of a daikaiju with Resilience over 12 maybe, that can trouble Kafka anymore. Regardless, the answer is always Lonely, without you for company. He never says that though. 

Kafka just hums, “No trouble at all.” 

He doesn’t consciously realize he has somewhat transformed until he hears Soushirou’s pleased huff. Kafka does this sometimes. After fully accepting the kaiju part of himself he had found each transformation had come to him easier, fighting a little more fluid. He had started understanding his body better off the field as well, continuing to experiment with partial changes for a long time. Now, some parts of him would always remain kaiju, and shifting between states came as natural as breathing. 

Soushirou moves to his side, long fingered hands trailing Mina’s shoulders over her back, and Kafka focuses on that fluid feeling, letting his spine elongate breaking out of his tailbone rending human flesh. New joints building on each other, dark muscle covering the structure in the blink of an eye until he has a sleek tail covered with the spiky protrusions following the line of his spine that are characteristic of his regular form. He moves the tail to slowly part Soushirou’s yukata and slide up his leg. 

There are several uses to his new body. He knows from experience Soushirou especially likes the tail. 

And this way even when he is kneeling he is tall enough to easily see and reach all of Mina over the lip of the tub. He lets an arm dip in, to just as slowly trace the tips of his claws over Mina’s leg under the water, before meeting her hand to intertwine their fingers. Mina giggles, just a little ticklish. A side to her just Kafka and Soushirou get to see.   

I would rip my heart out and lay it at your feet if only you asked, he thinks, and I could do it too, I have done it before. But he doesn’t think anyone in the room would appreciate him saying that. He knows he could grow a new heart, and that he would rip it out again with his own claws to hand it to the two of them.  

He lays his head down cheek over the edge of the tub, with a quiet clink of bone on ceramic. He feels Mina’s other hand trace one of his horns softly. 

“I’m home,” he whispers into the humid air and waits with baited breath. 

Two voices chime together to say, “Welcome back.”