Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a typical day at the Ariake Maritime Base. Kafka is spending it training as always, diligently following the routine Vice-captain Hoshina gave him. At the moment, he’s nearing the end of weight training in the gymnasium. If he were a regular officer, he would’ve done his training in the specialized weight room with everyone else, but the First Division officers would always send wary glares toward their resident daikaiju. Kafka, feeling like a fish out of water, didn’t want to work out with a sea of distrusting eyes boring into him. It’s dehumanizing.

Not that he blamed them, of course. He knows what he is. He finishes his last set and stares down at his sweaty hands, turning the right one over to reveal a patch of kaiju scales. He flexes his hand, watching as the coal stripe stretches like black licorice. He frowns at the sight. Kafka isn’t human. It only made sense that the other officers kept their distance. They’d heard through the grapevine about how Kafka had fought against the late Director General, they heard about how monstrous he was. Kafka rubbed his hands with a towel and then dabbed his face to collect the sweat dripping down his face. To them, he’s a ticking time bomb, an imminent threat. They’re just hoping he doesn’t go off on them instead of Kaiju No. 9.

Truthfully, Kafka worries about his stability, too. But Kikoru told him that day, the day her father died, not to treat his allies as if they were weak. If anything happens, if Kafka can’t reign in his monster, his allies will be able to stop him. He’s certain of it now. Those distrustful eyes that follow him around Ariake will mobilize to destroy him, and he’s thankful for it. Kafka lets his sweat towel drape along his shoulders.

Maybe it’s for the best that he limits himself socially to the training he has with Hoshina and the occasional laps he’ll do with Kikoru, the only real friend he has on base. It’ll allow the other officers to retain the neutrality that his friends can’t, no matter how hard they try to. Kafka is acutely aware of how much it would hurt his close friends to have to play executioner. His childhood friend, Mina, with her plan to save everyone from everything, she’d have to go against her heart to do it. The others would have to betray their hearts, as well. Reno, Vice-captain Hoshina, Kikoru… and all the others from the Third. They’d have to be ready to cast aside their compassion. He hates that, the thought of turning their hearts cold.

The only person he felt could truly complete the task emotionally unscathed was him: The First Division’s captain.

As Kafka begins his cool-down stretches, he hears his phone buzz from the bench. It clatters against the wooden surface. The vibrations of the small device signal that there is something demanding attention. Quitting his routine, he jogs over to read his notifications.

Speak of the Devil.

It’s a message from the First Division's captain, Gen Narumi. From the moment they’d been introduced, Captain Narumi had threatened to gut Kafka and wear his corpse. Even if the others couldn’t, Narumi would make sure a berserk Kaiju No. 8 was eliminated quickly and efficiently.

Kafka’s heart, or rather, heart-like core, skips a beat. His nerves go haywire.

It’s a simple message: “We’re meeting at 10.”

He sighs, feeling rival emotions of dread and determination rise in his chest. The captain is letting Kafka know that he’s available to have another training session tonight. Kafka would have to, purposely, lose himself again and tap into No. 8’s potential. His stomach was beginning to churn. No, he can’t get nervous; he has to stay strong! He’d asked for this, after all, and the captain had been merciful enough to go along with it. Kafka remembers the steely look Narumi had given him when he first requested assistance, those kaiju eyes monitoring him as if Kafka were a fly trapped in a web.

Kafka shoots a text back, “Yes sir!”

The text goes unread. They always do.

His body is rigid as he puts away the training weights. ‘Only a few more times. Only until I have a grasp on it,’ Kafka’s mind works to console him. Not that it’s ever worked. Every time he does this could be his last. He’s not sure how much longer he can play Icarus before the sun consumes him for his hubris.

He arrives for training thirty minutes sooner than necessary. He knows he’s early but he hopes some extra pre-training warm-ups will loosen the ache in his core. He needs a confidence boost before dancing with the Devil. He opens the doors ready to carry out his plan.

To his surprise, Captain Narumi is already there. He’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of a bench while equipt with his tailored numbered suit. Behind him, his bayonet leans against the facility’s dark gray wall. The custom weapon’s reflective metal appears deadly as always. Eyes snapping back to the sitting man, Kafka notices that Narumi’s hair is down over his eyes. That strikes Kafka as odd because the captain is holding a pocket-sized game system in front of him, rapidly clacking away at buttons with his thumbs. ‘How can he see the screen like that?’ Kafka ponders. Come to think of it, he’d never seen the captain play games until now. He’d only ever heard about the captain’s bad habit second-hand from Vice-captain Hasegawa and Kikoru. The latter sounded angry about the problem, whereas the former had been irritated but resigned.

Without looking up from his device, Captain Narumi speaks, “You’re early.”

Kafka isn’t sure he wants to explain that waiting made him anxious so he fumbles out a bunch of nonsense. He says something about being determined to train, which wasn’t a lie, per se, but it certainly isn’t the full truth. Captain Narumi doesn’t care much, though. He grunts and continues with his game. When Kafka rocks on his feet, tensely fidgeting his hands, Narumi speaks again.

“We aren’t starting until 10. Find something to do.”

‘I planned to warm up but it’s weird with you sitting there!’ Kafka’s mind screams in frustration.

Now feeling twice as nervous as when he first arrived, Kafka moves to the opposite side of the facility to a bench across from the captain. If he were training with anyone else he would’ve stayed close while warming up but the kaiju-eyed captain unnerved Kafka. Even with the distance between them, Kafka can feel goosebumps forming on his skin. The kind of goosebumps he only gets around daikaiju that want him dead. He tries his best to shake the tension as he stretches, to no avail.

‘Yeesh, I can’t believe he gets me this worked up and he’s not even looking at me!’ Kafka groans internally.

As the minutes tick by, Kafka’s thoughts wander to the future task at hand. He’s about to go full-kaiju again. It was never fun. He’d spoken to his inner kaiju, Kaiju No. 8, before. It seemed to hate kaiju just as much as him but that didn’t mean it cared about human life. All it says is “kill kill kill” which isn’t helpful in the slightest! Apathy toward human life made it a threat, kaiju-killer or not. Having to sink himself into that intense, feral world is far from ideal. To put it plainly, he’s unpredictable in that state, and that’s scary.

At least here, in this dull gray training facility, he knows that the only one he can harm is Gen Narumi. And Gen Narumi is not going down without a fight. Or, at all. Narumi’s overwhelming strength relaxes Kafka enough to go through with this crazy training idea.

Without meaning to, Kafka’s gaze finds its way back to the captain from across the room. His bangs still curtain his eyes and his nose-deep is still deep into his game. Narumi’s distant form appears docile, vulnerable, but Kafka knows that if he were to show unexpected aggression, his head would be severed by that bayonet in seconds. He shudders at the thought.

‘My life is in that guy’s hands, huh?’ Kafka continues his stretches, working as many muscle groups as he can. Narumi stays focused on his console while Kafka observes him. ‘What game is he playing, anyway? Is it really that interesting?’ Before Kafka can continue down that trail of thought, Narumi abruptly sits up and catches Kafka’s stare. Kafka freezes like a deer in headlights.

The captain breaks the eye contact as he sets his game down on the bench. He stands and grabs his weapon from the wall. He gives it a spin, calibrating himself to the death machine, before advancing toward the middle of the room.

The captain is ready to begin.

In a quick motion, he pushes his right hand through his hair, sweeping his bangs from his face. Kafka now has an unobstructed view. The pupils of Narumi’s eyes are narrow slits. His irises morph into the shape of four-petal flowers. They blossom with kaleidoscopic intensity. It looked painfully but he’d never seen the captain flinch so the appearance must be misleading. Narumi’s glare is venomous and predatory. His eyes are bright even from far away. Kafka’s throat dries and his mind goes blank. For a brief moment, his instincts tell him to run.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that…” Kafka’s voice trails off, unsure if he’s trying to talk to the captain or himself.

“It’s 10,” Narumi says, voice monotone, shifting his bayonet to a combat-ready position.

Kafka takes in a breath as he steps forward, closer to the danger in front of him. With every step, he can feel No. 8’s power rising within him. His body is hot and cold at the same time, as all his organs are enduring chemical reactions. Bones shift like tectonic plates. Muscles melt into new forms like molten lava. His core vibrates as it commands fresh veins to rope through Kafka like a puppet being re-strung. Kafka isn’t entirely sure what his body is doing if he’s being honest. However the process only takes a few seconds and the next thing he knows, he’s towering over his opponent, head fuzzy with heightened senses. Everything is too vibrant now.

Captain Narumi wastes no time, sneering at Kafka. He barks, “Show me results, kaiju.” The words cut Kafka where he’s tender. He hates the coldness of it all. He almost wants to reverse the transformation right there to prove his humanity.

No, he needs to do this! He needs to get as strong as he can. When Isao Shinomiya first proposed that Kafka join the First Division he had told Kafka to show his usefulness. So that’s what he’ll do. He’ll be useful to the First Division, he’ll be useful in the fight against No. 9, and when it’s all said and done, if he isn’t dead, he’ll finally be useful to Mina.

Kafka roars and he knows he’s no longer human.

He can only hold this state for one minute. It feels like an hour.

Afterward is awkward. Anything with him and Captain Narumi alone together is awkward, actually. It was another “successful” training session. Kafka didn’t completely lose his mind and Narumi didn’t have to kill him. That’s a win if Kafka has anything to say about it! He thinks he’s getting a handle on it, or as much of a handle as he can get in a situation like this.

Like clockwork, the captain leaves first, abandoning an exhausted Kafka to sort himself out in the privacy of the gray walls that entrap him. Kafka can’t place why that bothers him. His chest aches but that might be from shifting. He’s not sure.

Either way, he finds himself excited to go back to the serenity of his small room and lay in his standard twin XL bed. As he finishes his nighttime routine, Kafka spends a little extra time in front of the locker room mirror. He’s not doing anything, just looking. Turquoise eyes, bushy split eyebrows, hair on his chin. His reflection is human, not kaiju at all. If he’s being honest he never thought of himself as all that bad, even in his kaiju form. Monstrous? Of course. But never all that inhuman. Maybe a bit scary to kids, though. He cringes as he remembers making a little girl cry.

‘Only a few more times,’ Kafka reasoned with himself. He’s not sure he believes his own words.

Kafka sleeps curled into himself that night. He’s unsure why, but it made him feel a little better.

Later, He calls to ask Reno what his friend thinks about his kaiju form. He was the first to see it so his opinion is probably the most correct.

“It was freaky at first but I got used to it.” Reno says plainly.

“That’s… great…” Kafka deflates a little.

“What? Did you want me to say you looked harmless or something, Sir?”

“I don’t know…” Kafka struggled to find the right words without revealing too much of his inner turmoil, “Would you say it’s, like, hideous, though?”

“Not really. But then again, I saw some pretty ugly Kaiju working clean-up with you.” Reno paused and then added, “Kaiju or not, Sir, you’re still you. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Leave it to Reno to comfort Kafka at his lowest!

“Seriously, you’re such a good kid!” Kafka laughs.

That earns Kafka a huff of annoyance mixed with embarrassment, but it had to be said.

He’s happy to know that even if he’s a dangerous and unstable kaiju, he’s not a terribly unsightly one. Kafka could only take so much and being “hideous” is where he drew the line. He already despised so much about the situation.

His discomfort gets the chance to dissipate as the days go on. Hoshina kicks him into gear again with squadron-style combat training and it helps Kafka ground himself. It’s not enough to fix anything, but it makes Kafka feel like he matters outside of his kaiju form. He knows deep down that it’s futile, Hoshina knows it too, but they’ve both gotten very good at pretending. That said, he gives the training his all, he wants to grasp onto whatever bits of human connection he can get. He wants to make all of them; Hoshina, Reno, Kikoru, and Mina, truly proud.

Captain Narumi would eventually message him again.

“Midnight.”

That’s all he says. That’s all that needs to be said. Kafka is nervous all over again.

Kafka arrives right on time, not wanting a repeat of the last session’s awkwardness. Though he’s not particularly pleased with how late the captain wanted to meet this time around.

Narumi sits in the same spot on the bench. Though this time he’s got his phone up to his face and not a game console. Sounds bounce out from the small device. Kafka can make out muffled voices. Another surprise. This was his first time seeing the captain watch a video. It’s something so basic that he kind of assumed that the captain would be above such a mundane action. Even though the man’s face was covered by his bangs Kafka could see that Narumi was watching intently. So much so, that he didn’t notice Kafka draw near.

Kafka waits for the captain to notice him, but he just… doesn’t. Discomfort growing, Kafka clears his throat. In an instant Narumi’s are on him, No. 1 active and searching. To say that Kafka was confused was an understatement. ‘Was the video really that captivating?’ Kafka can’t bring himself to voice his question.

“Damn, this is so annoying,” Narumi mumbled, rolling his eyes. He looks away from Kafka.

‘Why are you irritated!? You chose the time!’ Kafka wants to complain but can’t. He couldn’t upset the delicate balance between them. The captain was doing Kafka a favor, not the other way around.

“Everything, er, alright, Sir?” Kafka asks instead.

“Huh? Fine. Just peachy.” Ok, so he’s definitely upset. Narumi starts talking again, glued back to his phone, “Look, can you wait for, like, 10 minutes? Maybe 20?”

“Is it an emergency?” If it’s serious they should probably reschedule.

“No, I’m trying to finish this video.” Narumi clicks up the volume on his phone and Kafka can hear the voices clearer now. It sounds like an announcer giving a presentation.

“Sir?” Kafka isn’t comprehending.

“They announced some video game releases earlier today and I don’t want to get spoiled online so I need to watch it now,” The captain adds as if that clears up everything.

So the captain wants to push back the already incredibly late-night training to watch a game announcement video? Kafka thinks he finally understands some of the behavior Kikoru has been complaining about. Part of him wants to object and pull Captain Narumi back to what they’re supposed to be doing. But another part of Kafka, one he hadn’t felt as strongly since joining the First Division, took the wheel. It’s the part of Kafka that wants to connect, to socialize. This is the closest to friendly Captain Narumi has ever been to him and he didn’t want to snuff it out. In fact, he wanted to embrace it.

He shouldn’t try to get closer. Knowing that he’s going down what could be considered a self-sacrificial path to defeat No. 9, he has too many people he worries about letting down, or worse, hurting, as it is. However, it’s just not Kafka’s nature to be so… distant with people.

“Can I watch?” Kafka’s mouth decides for his brain.

The captain looks back to Kafka. His brows are furrowed in confusion, lips flapping but no words come out. He looks like he wants to say no but he’s struggling to justify why.

“Do you even play video games?” Narumi finally asks, sounding bewildered.

“I used to. Back when I-”

“Yeah, yeah. Ok, whatever.” The impatient man cuts him off. Narumi slides over on the bench to make room for another person. An invitation.

Kafka’s brain is barely processing but fortunately, his body moves automatically into position next to Captain Narumi on the bench. He makes sure there is a reasonable amount of space between them but leans in to view the phone screen better.

As Kafka thought, an announcer is standing on a stage with a microphone. The well-dressed man spoke for a bit and then a game trailer is shown, replacing him on the screen. From the corner of his eye, Kafka notices Narumi’s leg bounce in anticipation as the announcer man mentions something about “Guramon”. The franchise is familiar to Kafka. He vividly recalls playing the older games as a kid. Before Kafka can mention that to Narumi, the trailer starts and he watches as Narumi tenses, leg halting, likely in an attempt to conceal his excitement. Kafka finds it funny. He’s witnessed Iharu do the same thing on many occasions. “Guramon: Blazing Brilliance and Guramon: Frozen Frenzy are set to release for all major platforms next Fall!” Narumi’s leg is animated once again at the sound of that. Kafka chances a glance at the man’s face. Through open slits in Narumi’s bangs, Kafka sees amusement twinkling in his eyes. Reflections from the phone screen make him appear softer. He hadn’t realized the captain was capable of looking so… normal? Kafka can’t help but imagine a version of the captain that’s a lot looser, more informal. The version he hears about from Kikoru and Hasegawa.

The video ends a few short minutes later. The captain is quick to pull his phone away, setting it face-down on the bench. He stands immediately, pushing hair out of his face. He doesn’t say a word to Kafka as he grabs his bayonet and walks to the center of the room again. Kafka’s chest pangs. Just like that, they were at odds again.

“Let’s get this over with, 8,” Narumi yawned, seemingly disinterested.

Right. He’s just Kaiju No. 8 at the end of the day, huh? Kafka has to peel himself away from the bench where he had been enjoying a peaceful moment with the captain only minutes prior.

“Yeah, ok,” Kafka numbs.

He transforms. A minute ticks by with the urgency of a snail. He uses the time he’s locked inside himself to wonder who else has watched videos with the captain. Did he bounce his leg then too? Does he have other quirks? What are things that make him expressive? Is Guramon important to him?

Should he mention to Narumi that he might still have some of his old Guramon games in his parent’s storage?

As the training concludes, Kafka returns to himself. Narumi departs only seconds after he determines that Kafka isn’t an active threat anymore. Kafka makes his way back to the bench, wishing Narumi had stayed a little longer. Who’d have thought that one positive interaction would send Kafka reeling?

“Maybe I should ask my mom to send over that old junk,” He says to an empty facility. She had wanted it gone anyway and Kafka could use a distraction from everything. It would give him something to do with his hands when he’s up late thinking.

Two packages arrive a week later. His mom was so glad to be rid of it that she didn’t even question why it had to be sent to the First Division’s Ariake base. Kafka is grateful for the lack of interest, he’d hate to have to explain everything going on with him. He doubts his mom could handle the stress anyway.

The boxes are standard medium-sized cardboard boxes, worn with time and taped shut with clear packing tape. Kafka receives questioning glances as he brings them back to his quarters, stacked so high in his arms that they limit his view of his surroundings. The mailroom had done about a hundred scans to make sure their kaiju wasn’t bringing in anything he wasn’t supposed to. Kafka hated how surveilled he was but after Tachikawa was demolished there had been an increase in paranoia. How he wishes that their paranoia didn’t only extend to his activities.

Once he’s in the “privacy” of his room (he’s certain they have cameras in here somewhere) he opens the boxes. The first box was full of game systems, one chunky cube-shaped home system that takes discs, two small hand-held rectangular systems that take cartridges, and a large tangled mass of controllers and cables for the devices. The other box is filled to the brim with the discs and cartridges that belong to the different consoles.

Kafka begins sorting through. He finds his core bubbling with a nostalgic feeling. The game titles bring back memories; Guramon 2, Guramon 3, Guramon: Dark Shadows, Shade the Rabbit, Gegaman X5, and the list goes on. Kafka wishes he still had the original Guramon 1 but it had been destroyed in the same kaiju cataclysm that killed Mina’s calico. He chuckles to himself remembering how upset Mina had been at him for complaining over losing his game. That was the day they chose this path, the path of a defense force officer. Mina had held true from the start. Now here Kafka is playing catch-up and smiling bitter-sweetly into a box of what the kids today call “retro” games. He’d stopped playing video games the day he first failed the Defense Force exams, thinking that cutting out distractions would help him get in next time. It didn’t, but he hadn’t touched his games since.

All at once, Kafka is filled with determination. He wants to replay these games and complete them before fighting No. 9. He wants to make the most of his humanity while he still has access to it.

It takes a while to get the cables untangled and it takes even longer to decide which game to start with. He has a lot of good options, but he finds himself gravitating toward Guramon 2 so the decision is made. He slots the game into one of his hand-held systems and boots it up. The screen lights up, a flurry of color shines out. Kafka smiles from ear to ear. Rediscovering Guramon is perhaps the best idea he’s had in a long, long time. Kafka begins his adventure, immersing himself in the world of digital monsters.

He didn’t consider his new hobby to be a problem. It didn’t get in the way of training and he really only played during his free time. Today, however, he’s having trouble with a gym and decides to try again at lunch with Kikoru, who makes sure to vocalize her disappointment.

“Officer Kafka Hibino, you’re turning into my moronic master and I’m worried.”

“What? Be serious, Kikoru! I’m reasonable with my screen time,” Kafka huffs defensively, “I normally only play at night but this part is kicking my ass.”

Kafka clicks away and is met with another sad ping of noise, game over. Again. His monster trainer is sent back to the start of the gym.

“Gah, I don’t know how I played this as a kid,” Kafka groans in frustration. This was impossible! Weren’t games supposed to be fun?

“Let me give it a shot. Surely you’re just doing it wrong.” Kafka rolls his eyes but hands the device over to Kikoru.

She gets further than Kafka but the sad ping still echoes, game over. She doesn’t hand the game back though, she tries 10 more times until she completes the gym level, every single challenger. She plays as if she’s possessed. Kafka gets goosebumps on his arms. She’s become a daikaiju threat.

“Ha! I finished your game!” Kikoru finally hands the game back to Kafka, looking proud. She’d done the challenge perfectly. Kafka is so charmed by her enthusiasm that he almost doesn’t break the news to her. Almost.

“Thanks. Definitely not done though,” Kafka laughs.

“What?”

Kafka’s laugh intensifies at her confusion.

“I don’t know how to tell you this… but that was only the second gym. There’s more. A lot more.”

“No way I’m helping you with all that! Get the idiot captain if it’s that important to you!” Kikoru shouts, looking scandalized.

Well, there’s an idea. Asking Captain Narumi for help with Guramon 2? Kafka wants to laugh even harder at how ridiculous the suggestion is. The man didn’t even like Kafka.

‘But he does like Guramon,’ a rebel voice in the back of Kafka’s mind calls out.

Kafka thinks about Kikoru’s words for longer than he cares to admit. He’s 99% sure Kikoru wasn’t seriously suggesting the idea but he decides to humor the thought. Could he truly ask that of the captain? The last time Kafka asked Narumi for something, the request for secret training, he was berated for seeking out a favor from a superior officer. In that case, however, it was a reasonable ask. It’s beneficial for them to do training together. It isn’t nearly as beneficial to play Guramon, unfortunately.

In the end, Kafka doesn’t say anything to the captain at their next session. Or the one after that, or the one after that.

As time pushes on, he’s getting good at the game. The gyms weren’t giving him trouble anymore. Now his final obstacle is the champion. This is where Kafka begins to lose his nerve. Even as a kid, Kafka hadn’t been able to defeat the Guramon 2 champion. His monsters would get wiped out in one hit. Now at 32, Kafka isn’t fairing any better against his 8-bit nemesis.

“Come ooooon, come oooooon…” Kafka clicks a button and watches anxiously as his monster attacks the champion’s monster. The opposing monster dodges and then counterattacks with a wave of light, knocking out Kafka’s monster instantly. One by one, Kafka’s party of monsters was taken down, unable to even scratch the opponent’s health.

“Damn it!” Kafka groans. “This is so much worse than the second gym.”

He rolls to his stomach and groans more, face buried in his pillow.

Maybe… it’s time to call for back-up. Or, technically, text for backup.

Kafka rolls to his side, grabbing his phone from the nightstand beside his bed. He shoots out a message to everyone he knows and waits for a response. He doesn’t have to sit around for long;

“Sorry, Sir. I never got into Guramon,” Reno replies.

“Nah, ol’ dude. I’m more of a first-person-shooter kinda guy,” Iharu rejects.

“I love Guramon! But I’ve never played the games,” Okonogi admits.

“Can’t help you there, bud,” Haruichi responds.

“No,” Aoi cuts right to the point.

“I’ve only ever seen the TV show, Kafka. I’m sorry,” Akari laments.

“Womp womp.” Kafka can hear Hakua’s laugh through the screen.

Kafka thinks he might cry. No one from the Third Division can’t help him. He’s utterly doomed!

‘Wait! There’s one more person I can ask!’ Kafka has an epiphany. He just needed to wait until tomorrow.

“Gura-what? Am I supposed to know what that is?” Vice-captain Hoshina squints at Kafka like he’d grown another head. Before Kafka can whine about his gaming misfortune, his superior officer sends him a punch to the gut. Asking a question in the middle of sparring was not his greatest idea.

After he’s done getting his ass kicked by the vice-captain for the day, Kafka sits on a rooftop bench. He breathes in the crisp evening air and accepts his fate.

He’s officially out of other options. If he wants to beat this game, he needs to ask the First Division’s captain and hope for the best.

The real challenge would be how to bring it up. He could always text the captain but Narumi didn’t seem eager to message Kafka. Besides, Kafka isn’t sure he feels comfortable clogging up the busy man’s work phone with a plea for video game advice. He’d have to talk about it to Captain Narumi in person. If he did it that way, maybe he wouldn’t come off as a burden. Kafka can already feel his body getting anxious. The outdoor air is working overtime to keep Kafka grounded.

‘It’ll be fine. The worst he can say is no!’ Kafka tries to convince himself of that lie.

Suddenly, Kafka’s phone buzzes. He pulls the device out of his pocket and stares at the screen. He stills when he sees the name.

Captain Narumi.

It looks like they’ll be training tonight. He almost starts laughing as the nerves finally shatter his brain.

“You know what? Fuck it.” Kafka says to the breeze.

He brings a bag with him to the rendezvous. It’s a mid-size black cross-body, large enough to house his game device. Kafka figures that Narumi won’t ask about it. He’s proven right as Narumi spares Kafka a single glance and goes back to playing his own game console. Kafka debates with himself internally as he observes the captain. He’d gotten there early so he’d have time to gauge the captain’s mood. The captain seemed neutral, which was as good as Kafka could hope for. Now, he had to decide whether he wanted to ask outright before they started or wait until after.

Were he to ask now, he could get it all off his chest. However, the captain never did like small talk with him before training started. Pleasantries weren’t the other man’s style. Kafka remembers distinctly how he’d tried chatting the first time they’d met up. The captain was disinterested, to put it lightly. Captain Narumi’s words exact words had been, “I really don’t care.” Kafka tried again a few sessions later and had been met with a similar response, so he kinda gave up on trying to talk to him upon arrival. Post-session wasn’t much better. Narumi is the type to do the task he sets out to do and then leave. Kafka has never even heard the man say ‘Goodbye’! This is going to be a tough decision. Kafka considers throwing in the towel, fatigued by indecision. His brain is going into overdrive, treating this encounter with the same energy he’d put into neutralizing kaiju. Kafka quietly gulps, adam’s apple bobbing. He begins to form a plan of pursuit, ‘I could-’

The choice is ripped away from Kafka immediately when Narumi interrupts his thoughts.

“If you have something to say, say it.” The captain doesn’t move his head but his eyes latch onto Kafka through his bangs.

Kafka snaps out of his contemplative state, eyes widening at the words. Ah, that’s right. He’s just standing around. Of course that would come off as odd.

“It’s actually another favor…” Kafka smiles awkwardly, embarrassed. He scratches behind his head.

“What is it with you and asking for-”

“You like video games, right?” Kafka mentally scolds himself for cutting off his superior officer but he feels like he might explode if he keeps in the information for a second longer.

That question causes the captain to scoff, “Why do you ask?” He continues playing his game but allows Kafka the opportunity to capture his attention.

“I can’t beat this game. I’ve been asking around if anyone could help and, uh, you seem like you’d be good at this sort of thing.” Kafka cringes at how silly the request is when spoken aloud. He then watches Narumi’s eyes briefly meet his own, lighting with interest. That light then quickly fades and his eyes morph back into their original neutrality. The captain appears to hesitate. Kafka almost backtracks, not wanting to cause discomfort, but, selfishly, he’s desperate to finish Guramon 2.

“Show me after.” The captain seems to have reservations but his curiosity won out.

“Yes, sir!” Kafka can hardly contain his relief. Finally! He’ll get this game settled so he can move on to the rest of his box! First though, he’d have to get through the uncomfortable part of the night. Another transformation overtakes him as they begin their spar. Kafka holds onto his thin thread of humanity, his lifeboat in the ruthless ocean of kaiju thoughts. Kafka holds onto the idea of completing Guramon 2, a beacon of hope in a sea of darkness. There isn’t much else to do but ride the waves.

When Kafka returns to human form, Captain Narumi is still there, strange glint in his eyes. His bangs are out of his face. Kafka heats under his gaze. Goosebumps travel across Kafka’s body. He can’t adjust to that stare no matter how much time passes. The captain frequently made faces like that around him. Kikoru had once mentioned to Kafka that whenever the captain wasn’t “making a fool of himself”, as she had put it, he has this seriousness to him. He looks every bit of the elite officer he is. Kafka catches himself focusing too intensely on Narumi’s form and tears his eyes away. This is usually when the captain wraps it up and heads out. Tonight though, he makes his way over to his bench and sits while Kafka collects himself. Kafka finds it easier to fight off the ill aftershocks of emotion now that someone is waiting on him.

Kafka joins the captain, sitting down beside him like he had that night they’d watched that video together. He feels his body warming as he reaches into his cross-body to retrieve his gaming system. All Kafka does is take out the game and turn it on, revealing the start screen. The reaction from Narumi is immediate. Up this close, Kafka can see every shift in his expression. He looks shocked, eyes popping out of his skull, and that surprises Kafka. He barely processes Narumi snatching the console out of his hands.

“You have the original Guramon 2?!” Narumi’s voice spikes in disbelief. The device rotates in his hands, his fingers lining the edges. It’s like he’s searching for something. He finds the mysterious quirk, pausing to read an imprint on the bottom of the console.

“What the hell? This is the first batch of this console too! They only made about 1000 of these before releasing an updated version.” His voice is giddy but then it turns interrogative, “How do you have these?”

“My mom bought them for me when I was a kid, Sir,” Kafka answers honestly.

“Lucky motherfucker…” Narumi grumbled in perfect earshot of the man whose game he was ogling. Kafka notices the captain’s leg bouncing slightly so he grows bold.

“Here, let me show you what I wanted your help with,” Kafka offers. Narumi reluctantly hands the console back. Not wasting any time, Kafka starts his game and loads his save data. He can feel Narumi inching closer to view the small screen.

In the game, Kafka’s player avatar is at the gates of a large building. This is where the champion, Kafka’s nemesis, awaits. Once the player enters through the gate, there’s no turning back. Either one succeeds against the champion and their council of challengers or they lose and have to restart at the gate. Narumi’s eyes dart all over the screen, taking in every bit of information. Kafka can only see Narumi in his peripheral vision while he plays the game but the intrigue radiating from the other man is thinly veiled. Kafka is in awe at Narumi’s awe.

“Essentially, the champion is giving me a hard time,” He says quietly, as if Narumi is a creature he might scare off by making sudden movements or loud noise. Narumi takes the game back from Kafka and reviews Kafka’s list of monsters. It’s a team of all Kafka’s favorites, the ones he’d gotten attached to through the trials and tribulations of the game’s plot.

A snort cuts through the serenity of Kafka’s mind. Kafka’s head snaps away from the screen to meet the face of the man beside him.

“Your team is so unbalanced, holy shit.” Narumi raises his eyebrows, incredulous, “How did you get this far?”

“I like my team!” He defends. Those were his loyal monsters! How dare the captain insult them like that!?

“This one looks like a flower.”

“I like flowers!” Kafka remains strong under unwarranted scrutiny. However, the ridiculousness of the situation is not lost on him and a chuckle escapes his lips.

That sends the captain over the edge apparently because he can hardly get out his next words through fits of laughter, “This team is so ass!”

Narumi is looking right at him, smirking, and for a split second, Kafka questions his reality. The smirk lacks its usual cold edge. This can’t possibly be the Captain Narumi he knows. What happened to the indifference? Not that Kafka truly cares, he’s too busy enjoying the rare moment of connection. No. 8 might be good on the field but only Kafka Hibino can score in this kind of encounter.

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, Sir,” Kafka feigns heartbreak. It’s so easy to goof around like this. It’s so easy to speak casually. This is Kafka’s element.

“Look, if you want to beat him, you’ll need a different team.”

In the end, Narumi convinces Kafka to, or, well, bullies him into collecting new monsters to fight with. Who knew the captain was this knowledgeable about monster stats and attack types?

“You should catch and train one of those too,” Narumi yawns, pointing at a small roguish reptile monster Kafka finds in grassy terrain. They’d been at this for an hour and a half. It was getting late.

“Those take too long to evolve,” Kafka counters. It’s true. Anytime Kafka had caught one in the past, he grew weary of training it and substituted it for something fast-paced on the evolution scale.

“The best ones are worth the investment,” Narumi says matter-of-factly.

The chatter dies down between them. The only noise left was the hum of the 8-bit original soundtrack coming from Guramon 2. Kafka trains away, grinding for experience to raise his lizard monster. Captain Narumi watches, analyzing the gameplay closely. Narumi confesses that he’s never gotten a chance to play the original Guramon 2. He’s only ever played a remake that altered a significant portion of the plot. That explains his initial surprise. Turns out Narumi is a larger Guramon fan than Kafka anticipated. The strongest JAKDF combatant is a complete nerd, he never would’ve guessed. Kafka finds himself getting into a comfortable rhythm, clicking away on plastic buttons. It’s trance-like.

Narumi abruptly leans away from Kafka, breaking from their collective daze. He stands and pushes his hair back over his eyes, sighing. Sauntering a few steps, he grabs the bayonet from the wall and begins his departure. Kafka wishes this could last a little while longer but it’s Narumi’s right to leave. He’s a busy guy with places to be.

“Thank you, Captain.” Kafka blurts out, not wanting to let the man go before he could express proper gratitude.

“Thank me by playing your game correctly,” Narumi gives a dry laugh, “And, no more favors.” It has less bite than his usual reprimand so Kafka considers it an olive branch.

“Yes, sir!” And that’s that.

Kafka’s mind is buzzing as he lies down to sleep that night. He hopes he’s broken down a barrier or two between him and the captain. Enough that they could at least talk normally with each other.

He goes to sleep and dreams of four-petal flowers.

Kafka takes his time to do it right. Kafka raises the monsters exactly how the captain had instructed, as painstakingly boring as the grinding is. He endures judgmental glares from Kikoru in the cafe and “Sir, I still know nothing about Guramon,” messages from Reno whenever he talks about his hobby.

When Kafka meets with Narumi again, the captain doesn’t ask about his game progress so Kafka doesn’t tell him. Their routine went back to normal. But Kafka’s goosebumps intensify. He can feel Narumi sweeping his eyes over him frequently. It’s unnerving but there doesn’t seem to be any malice behind it. It’s a little creepy but Kafka is glad he’s getting something other than apathy. Kafka secretly hopes that the captain will ask about Guramon or anything at all. That doesn’t happen. Another interesting situation occurs instead.

As Narumi is leaving he nods his head at Kafka and gives a curt, “Later, Hibino.”

The grin on Kafka’s face is wide and sheepish. He’s not sure why he’s nervous.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Kafka calls after him.

Afterward, Kafka wonders if he imagined it all.

In the end, all that extra work to train his monsters pays off. Kafka is rewarded handsomely with the defeat of his long-time enemy. One by one the opposing monsters fall. The champion’s team stood no chance against Kafka’s new team.

He’s done it! He’s beaten Guramon 2!

He’s filled with childlike excitement. Kafka considers doing a cartwheel in his small room. He then remembers that he's never been flexible and decides against it.

“I beat him!” Kafka says it out loud to himself as if that’ll make it more real. He is then overcome with the sudden desire to talk to Captain Narumi about it. He knows the man is elsewhere on base handling captain affairs but he can’t help the urge. This was a large milestone for Kafka! He’d been trying to beat this champion since he was twelve!

He thinks back to Narumi’s unusual friendliness during their last encounter and he makes up his mind. He’s going to message Narumi about his victory. If he doesn’t get a response then so be it.

“I was able to beat Guramon 2! Thanks again, sir!” He hoped that the message conveyed his gratitude.

The response comes an hour later, “As expected, my advice is worth millions.” This is the first reply he’s ever gotten from the captain.

Kafka doesn’t mean to keep the conversation going but he’s too thrilled to stop. “The new monsters were worth the effort.” That tiny reptile eventually became a large dinosaur-like beast with an incredible strength stat. It got Kafka through previously challenging battles with ease.

Two hours and he gets another reply. “See how fun Guramon is when your team isn’t shit?” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. The captain has such a lovely way with words.

Kafka stares at the screen, satisfied with the interaction but feeling a little guilty for taking the captain’s time. He begins to disengage, leaving his final message. “Anyway, I’ll won’t bother you with the next one.”

This time Kafka receives a response in seconds. Short and direct.

“You have more?”

Kafka types back, “Yeah, I have Guramon 3 and a bunch of other games I’m trying to get through.”

Now that he’s thinking about it, he never did mention his collection to Narumi. He took a picture of Guramon 3 and his box of games, as well as a photo of the consoles. He attaches the photos to his message.

Narumi gets back to him quickly again. “Meet me in my office at 11. Bring everything.”

Kafka’s brain halts. He didn’t think he’d get this far. Sure, he knew there was a chance that he could get to know the captain over Guramon but now it’s rapidly becoming a real possibility. Kafka is ill-prepared for the excitement rising in his body. His core is doing a strange pulse-like fluttering. Maybe he’ll let the base doctors know his core is misbehaving at his next check-up.

He sits in disbelief. This will be his first time seeing the captain’s office. He’s only ever met privately with Narumi during training or on the roof.

It doesn’t take long to pack everything up as 8 pm approaches. A desire to impress the other man with his game collection strikes Kafka. He organizes everything neatly, putting Guramon games on top where they’d be most visible. This whole thing reminds Kafka of when he was a kid. The memories are a bit fuzzy but Kafka recalls spending nights over at friends’ houses to play video games with them. He’d make sure to bring his best games to the hangout. Now at 32, Kafka isn’t expecting, or wanting, a sleepover with the captain but he does hope they can spend a little while chatting.

The walk to the captain’s office is uneventful. Boxes are stacked high in Kafka’s arms as he keeps a steady pace. He does what he can to keep them from toppling over. Eyes follow him in the hallway but don’t interrupt his journey.

He reaches the door to the office. It’s a standard build for a superior officer’s room, a massive wooden door designed to convey a sense of grandeur. Kafka can’t help but feel a little put off by the importance of the space he’s about to enter. Should he have worn his uniform? Right now he’s in his training sweats and he’s feeling under-dressed. Before Kafka can delve further into his internal debate, the door swings open.

“Why are you standing around? It’s unlocked.” Narumi is now standing in front of him. His bangs are over his face but Kafka can see his irises split into four sections. Those x-ray eyes had caught Kafka in an awkward position again. He seriously doesn’t believe he’ll ever adjust to that gaze.

“Sorry, sir.” Kafka feels a bit silly for thinking he should change clothes because the man in front of him is also wearing casual attire. Narumi has on a loose white t-shirt, black sweatpants, and no socks.

Narumi grunts and holds the door open, motioning for him to fully step inside.

‘Oh my god, it’s filthy!’ Kafka’s mind yells immediately upon entry. Kafka is no clean-freak but even he is shocked by the display in front of him.

The office follows the same layout as Mina’s at the Third Division, keeping all the same furniture; a large wooden desk, a desk chair, a long built-in bookshelf wall, a couch with a coffee table, two lounge chairs, and floor cabinets. The big differences were the TV and the atrocious piles of miscellaneous junk littered across everything. Water bottles, soda cans, plastic chip bags, tissues, manga, magazines, and electronics galore! And, is that a vinyl record being used as a plate? There are depressingly few patches of the floor that aren’t covered in some kind of substance or item. The sides of the office are a mountain range of Yamazon boxes, some empty, while others appear unopened. The bookshelves house books, as they are supposed to, and also a large quantity of figures, as they are not supposed to. Garbage bags adorn the floor as if they are furniture.

Kikoru had mentioned that the captain was messy but now Kafka feels that that was an understatement.

Kafka is already overwhelmed and he arrived only seconds ago. This was worse than how he’d lived as a monster sweeper, and that’s saying something!

“I’ll make space,” Narumi says as Kafka’s brain stalls, moving objects off a floor futon by throwing them randomly across the room. Kafka hadn’t even noticed the futon before because of all the trash on it. Narumi then pats down the blanket cover to mimic a flat surface and sits patiently.

Kafka sets the boxes down on the area that Narumi has prepared and sits on the floor beside the futon, careful to avoid touching anything unsavory. The captain doesn’t take time to address Kafka or give him a proper greeting as he rummages through the boxes like a raccoon into an open dumpster. Kafka stares in disbelief.

‘This guy wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face!’ Irritation in Kafka is reaching its peak. Sitting in the captain’s gross office while being ignored is not how Kafka thought this would go.

Kafka clears his throat, “Uh, excuse me, Sir, do you want to know more about any of these?” He figures he can at least get a conversation going. He’d love to explain to Narumi that he was on a quest to complete the games, leaving out the personal details regarding why, of course. Kafka has been sitting on so much joy for the games that he thought he might combust. Talking to a fellow gamer who recognized these older games seemed like exactly what he needed right now.

“No, I recognize the titles.” Narumi doesn’t even look up from the boxes as he shuts down Kafka. He takes each cartridge out, scans over it, then returns it to the box.

Kafka should’ve known better. Obviously, the captain isn’t interested in getting to know him. He’s only interested in the video games Kafka brought.

“Can I buy these off you?” Narumi looks up from the box, finally. He has the nerve to look almost bored.

That’s the final straw, Kafka is officially annoyed. Were he not talking to a superior officer he would’ve snapped by now!

“Nope and I just remembered I have somewhere to be-” Irritation wasn't meant to seep into his voice but it did. Kafka motions to grab his box away from the vexing man. Narumi’s grip remains strong however and his face finally breaks into an expression that’s readable for Kafka. Narumi shakes his head, frantic.

“Wait, wait! Name your price! My next paycheck is in a week!” Narumi flails, pulling the box closer to himself, and Kafka along with it. It’s a juvenile action. That only adds fuel to the fire in Kafka.

“Sir, hand me my stuff back-” How can this be the same captain that’s been giving him cold looks since he joined the division? Kafka’s not sure he can take this guy seriously right now. He’s beginning to mourn his prior ignorance.

“Hibino, relax! Think about it!” Narumi wouldn’t let up! He’s dead set on keeping Kafka’s boxes. Kafka is discovering so much about this man today. “They’d go to a good cause! Consider it an honor to be able to bring entertainment to your captain!” He’s completely lost it!

“No thanks!” Kafka chirps politely despite wanting to scream.

“Let me have Guramon 3 at the very least!” The captain’s grip won’t break. Kafka has trained with the captain up close so he knows how freakishly strong the man is, suited or not. Sometimes Kafka believes that Narumi is the true daikaiju of the two of them. This predicament is unwinnable. Kafka’s strategy switches to bargaining.

“If it’s that important to you, we can play it together!” Kafka grits out in frustration.

That causes Narumi to still, brows furrowing. His grip on the boxes loosen enough for Kafka to take them back into his arms. Though Kafka is relieved to have his possessions back, he freezes as the implications of his words register. He’s asking for something well above what lower-ranked officers have access to, a superior’s time. He has a habit of doing that, it seems.

He and Narumi are not friends. Honestly, they aren’t anything to each other. Up until recently, Narumi hadn’t ever answered a text from Kafka. It’s surprising how far he’d been able to get with the captain in such a short time. There isn’t a good reason for Kafka to ask for so much. And yet, he bites his tongue and doesn’t rescind his offer to Narumi. Kafka is learning things about himself. He’s greedy. Perhaps the loneliness on this base is getting to him.

Narumi still isn’t speaking. He has that same hesitance on his face that he had when Kafka asked to watch that video with him and when Kafka had asked for his help with Guramon 2. Eventually, the captain stands up and walks over to his desk. He picks up one of the many unfinished sodas to take a swig. Kafka battles anxiety as he contemplates how he might apologize if Narumi decides he won’t humor the kaiju masquerading as a human. Narumi chugs the drink completely and sighs. He plays with the fringes of his dyed hair, lost in thought.

“Alright,” Narumi relents.

“Wait, really?” Kafka thinks he might be hallucinating.

“Yeah, whatever.” Narumi concedes.

Kafka can’t believe it. He convinced the First Division’s captain to play games with him. If he’d known retro games were the man’s weakness he would’ve used them as incentive from the start. Kafka manages not to cue Narumi in on the true level of his astonishment. Narumi adds on,

“How do you wanna go about this? Guramon games are single-player.” Damn, that’s right. Kafka had entirely forgotten the logistics. His suggestion was made in the heat of the moment.

“We can… trade off? There are an even number of gyms so we’ll just switch each gym. I’ll start us off.”

“And the other person watches until it’s their turn?” Narumi tilts his head.

Kafka nods slowly, still not convinced that this is actually happening.

Narumi hums, soaking in the information.

“So be it.” The captain doesn’t sound happy about it but he accepts the proposal.

“Well then,” is all Kafka can say. They stare at each other blankly.

Narumi breaks the silence. “Didn’t you say you had to be somewhere?”

Oh, that’s right. Kafka completely forgot his earlier lie, “R-Right! Definitely! Uh, I’ll just-” Kafka pulls both boxes into his arms, finding it incredibly easy because that powerhouse of a man isn’t holding on.

Kafka exits, half-confused, while carefully avoiding the mess on the floor. He can feel Narumi’s eyes follow him out.

The next day he confides in Kikoru about his awkward encounter with the captain.

“I can’t believe I had to beg him to train me meanwhile you can ask to play a dumb game and he just agrees.” The pig-tailed prodigy groans.

Kafka laughs, “Yeah, he’s kinda… weird.”

“Kafka Hibino, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. Grass is green, the sky is blue, and the First Division’s captain is a weirdo.”

“I thought you were exaggerating! He’s normally pretty reserved around me!”

“In that case, it’s even weirder that he agreed…” Kikoru taps her chin and looks off, thinking.

Kikoru hasn’t seen them around each other since her father was lost in the fight against Kaiju No. 9. For all she knows, Kafka hasn’t spoken to anybody but her on base in ages. Kafka wished he could talk about his two secret mentors so she wouldn’t worry about him becoming a complete hermit.

Kikoru snaps her eyes back to Kafka and gives him a catty grin.

“It’s good that you’ll have someone else to bother on this base. Finally, I’ll get some peace,” she mocks.

“Bother!? You knocked down my door today and dragged me out here!”

“That’s only because you’re acting like a recluse!” And there it is, Kikoru’s roundabout way of admitting that she wants to see Kafka socialize like he used to. She’d been the one to encourage Kafka to reach out to their friends from the Third, too. Kafka’s known her for long enough to recognize that her teasing is how she looks out for him. As much as he appreciates it, he doesn’t want her to stress over him so much.

“Yeah, I know, you little twerp.” Kafka smiles at her and hopes she can’t sense how much effort it takes to push through it all. After what happened with the late Director General, Kafka doesn’t want to see Kikoru cry like that ever again.

He doesn’t hear from Captain Narumi again until days later. Narumi sends out a text while Kafka’s in the middle of lunch.

“Guramon right now. My office.”

“Huh?! That’s so last minute!” Kafka yells out to the empty table he sits at. Kafka gawks at his phone in shock. He continues to whine as he gobbles up the remainder of his food faster than he would’ve liked.

“I guess this is what I asked for…,” He groans as he speed-walks to his quarters to retrieve both the game cartridge for Guramon 3 and the console required to play it.

This time, Kafka doesn’t hesitate to open the door to Narumi’s office. He quickly sets in and shuts the door behind him. The interior is just as messy as it was the last time he’d been there but furniture had been pushed around a little to make more space for two bean bags in the center of the room. Captain Narumi is currently sitting in one of the bean bags, dressed in his formal uniform, and clicking away on his laptop.

“Go ahead and sit.” Narumi reaches out one of his hands to pat the other bean bag, motioning for Kafka to take a seat.

Kafka obeys. Upon sitting, Kafka finds himself sinking deep into the malleable mass. He’s transported back a few years, sitting in a bean bag chair at his coworker’s apartment the night he decided to give up on his dream of fighting kaiju. At the time he thought he was done chasing all this. He felt hopeless and lost for a long time after that day.

“Are you good?” Narumi’s voice bursts Kafka’s rumination.

“Yeah, sorry.” Kafka shakes his head a little. He’s not there anymore. He made it. He’s a part of the defense force, at least temporarily, and right now he’s going to play Guramon 3 with its strongest combatant. Kafka privately laughs at the absurdity of his situation while turning on his game. In the bean bag to his left, Narumi is shifting his eyes from the console to his laptop, to the console, and back to the laptop.

“Are you good?” Kafka turns Narumi’s question back on him.

“Oh, this?” Narumi taps on his computer screen. “This is just a meeting about updating the base plumbing. Something about ‘bad water pressure’ on the west side.” Though his eyes are covered by dyed bangs, Kafka can tell he’s rolling them. He can’t be serious!

“Sir, that sounds way more pressing than Guramo-” Kafka’s complaint is quickly cut off by Narumi.

“You’re the one who refused to fork over the game so this is the arrangement!” Narumi’s are so wide with irritation that his bangs can’t hide them perfectly anymore. “We can beat it in a few sessions if we speed-run it. I’ll have a guide pulled up.” Finally, he huffs as his face returns to a neutral expression.

“Ok then,” Kafka couldn’t argue against that. There’s not a great way to merge their schedules, largely because of how busy Narumi is. It’s sort of a miracle they can even train together.

“Wait, so are all the sessions going to be like this?”

“Hibino, start the damn game.” If looks could kill then Kafka would be dead a hundred times over.

Kafka does exactly as told. Turning on the device, the first sight is of a title screen flashing with pixelated visuals of colorful monsters. Already the graphics are a step up from Guramon 2. Kafka finds himself getting excited all over again. If Narumi notices a shift in his mood, he doesn’t mention it.

In fact, Narumi seems too immersed in the console screen to even register that he was crossing into Kafka’s personal space.

“Huh, the colors are different in the PC version…” The captain mumbles. He’s inches from Kafka’s shoulder. Narumi suddenly remembers himself and gradually pulls away, gaze drawn back to the computer in front of him. “My meeting’s gonna start. Let me know once you’re past the tutorial. I’m picking our first monster, got it?”

The word “our” almost fails to register in Kafka’s head. It pauses briefly at the processing center in his brain as Narumi’s voice replays again to confirm what was spoken. This is real. Kafka Hibino is going to play all of Guramon 3 with the captain of the First Division for however many days it’ll take. He’s so far removed from his ex co-worker's apartment. If someone were to tell him a few years ago that this is what he’d be doing in his free time, he’d laugh in their face.

Kafka doesn’t have a response to Narumi. All he can hear is his heartbeat (corebeat?) pounding away in his chest. Is it normal to get this worked up over playing a game? Why is it always so intense with the captain? Kafka lets out a weak hum to signal that he heard Narumi’s request. Kafka then turns his attention to Guramon 3.

The tutorial is pretty boring but ultimately painless. All Guramon game tutorials are simple enough that a new player can jump into the franchise without any prior knowledge. Minutes chip away as Kafka clicks through paragraphs of dialogue. Beside him, the captain lets out the occasional annoyed sigh. He’s scoffing and giving blunt answers to the other people in the meeting. At one point, Kafka swears he can hear the captain cursing under his breath. Kafka waves his hand to get the captain’s attention, then points down to the game in his hands to indicate that he has completed the tutorial. He’s at the point where the player gets to choose their first monster.

“I’ve gotta go. Hasegawa, fill me in with the rest of the details later.” Narumi announces to the meeting in his lap.

“You can’t just-” Vice-captain Hasegawa’s voice is cut off by Narumi leaving the video call. Kafka apologizes mentally to the distressed older man for having to tolerate the captain’s behavior.

Narumi types away on his laptop and eventually turns it around to show Kafka. What’s revealed is a dense web page with information about the gameplay and plot of Guramon 3.

“According to this, we might benefit more in the earlier gyms from picking the grass monster but later on the champion’s monsters are weak to the fire.”

Huh, Kafka never considered the long-term impact of choosing his first monster. He’s the kind of guy to pick the one he thinks looks cooler. He hovers over the selections in the game and looks back to Narumi, “Do you have a preference?”

“Choose the fire monster, I’m not concerned about the gym challenges.”

“Got it,” Kafka selects the fire monster, it’s an angry little candle with glowing eyes. It lets out a haunting cry once selected. “What are we naming him?”

“I don’t name my monsters.” Narumi leans back into his bean bag and scoffs, as if what Kafka asked was childish. An ironic moment from such an immature captain.

“But it helps you bond with them!” He pleads. Is the captain allergic to joy and whimsy?

“Why get attached to monsters that I might swap out anyway?”

“Personally, I think getting attached is the best part. It makes everything more… fun?” Kafka isn’t sure how to explain how exciting it is to bond with a monster without sounding cheesy.

Narumi sneers at Kafka, making his spine shiver. “No wonder you were so hung up on your trashy team in Guramon 2.”

“They were valuable assets!”

“Name the monsters whatever you want, Hibino.” Narumi concedes to Kafka. He’s been doing that more frequently. Kafka isn’t sure what to make of that.

In the end, Kafka names the fiery fellow, “Candlestick”. The captain laughed at him so intensely that his laptop almost fell off his legs. After Kafka survives being labeled “basic and unoriginal” by the man beside him, the game gets started. The gameplay loop is practically identical across Guramon games; train, level up, and challenge the gym. Narumi’s guidance made the journey through the first two towns a breeze. Kafka reaches the first gym significantly quicker than he ever had as a kid.

They sat in silence, save for Narumi’s interjected advice. It was cold efficiency to the point of being stiff. Kafka can’t read Narumi’s mood. Is the captain frustrated? Is he bored? If these sessions we going to keep happening then Kafka figures they might as well develop some sort of banter.

“Sir, can I ask you something?” Kafka’s eyes are glued to the screen. He’s in the first major gym battle. This isn’t a good time to become distracted but he feels like he’s going to explode if the silence stretches on for any longer.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Narumi replies.

“It’s not a yes or no question!” Kafka groans.

“Just ask it then.”

“So, uh, when did you get into video games?” His voice wavers, confidence waning.

“That’s your big question?” Narumi’s tone is difficult to decipher, but he doesn’t sound irritated.

“Well, yeah, I don’t know, I’m...” Curious? Nervous? Trying to make this less uncomfortable? Kafka struggles to find the right words. Luckily, Narumi answers without him needing to finish his thought.

“I started playing a few games around middle school but I didn’t start collecting until I got into the defense force.”

“Really? I got the impression that you started collecting young.”

“I’d get chances here and there but I couldn’t keep too many possessions in orphanages.”

“You were an orphan?!” Kafka blurts out.

“It’s public information!”

“Oh.”

Quiet settles again, more awkward than before.

Once the gym is conquered, Kafka hands the device over to Narumi, who greedily snatches it from him. The laptop is then placed on the bio-hazardous floor, sitting lazily over top socks and crumbs, still open to the informative web page. Kafka briefly considers picking it up and reading through it but resists the temptation. Narumi instinctively slumps back further into his bean bag changing Kafka’s view of the game. Feeling bold, Kafka slowly shifts his bean bag closer to get a clearer view of the console in Narumi’s hands. He’s sweating with nervous energy, worried that the captain won’t appreciate the gap being bridged. However, his fears are dispelled when he notices how Narumi is too immersed in Guramon 3 to care. Kafka watches as the other man’s leg bounces slightly, a rhythmic up-and-down motion. Kafka was worried he’d become resentful after being forced into an observing role earlier, but Narumi honestly didn’t seem that upset. He must be enjoying this, at least a little, otherwise, he’d have let Kafka know, bluntly. There’s a tension that lifts in Kafka’s chest at that realization.

He considers the idea of a friendship between them; if it’s possible for them to lose all the tension between them.

If Narumi notices Kafka lean in closer still, he doesn’t mention it.

Instantly, it’s clear that Narumi has an entirely different play style than Kafka. The first thing he does is rearrange their team of monsters from highest to lowest level, swapping them out during battle more frequently. “It’s for gaining optimal battle experience,” Narumi answers Kafka’s unasked question. “Optimal” is a perfect descriptor for how Narumi plays; finding hidden items, catching rarer monsters, and swiftly defeating enemies with minimal damage taken. Kafka has to admit, he’s impressed. He opens his mouth to ask Narumi about his battle strategies but doesn’t get a word out thanks to loud knocking.

Narumi pauses the game, turning his head to the office doors and watching as the visitor lets themselves in. Vice-captain Eiji Hasegawa’s large frame enters the room, carrying a mountain of paperwork. He wears a scowl, veins popping along his head and face. Kafka worries for the man’s health.

“Damn. Fun’s over, huh?” Narumi snarks, resuming the game despite Hasegawa’s presence.

“This unprofessional attitude of yours knows no bounds! What do you have to say for yourself!?” Hasegawa kicks over Narumi’s bean bag and sends the captain flying. Narumi miraculously keeps his grip on Kafka’s console, sticking his arm up to prevent it from hitting the ground with the rest of his body.

“Relax, will you?! We already decided what we’re doing about the plumbing months ago! Why bother meeting again!” Narumi’s eyes get wide as he frantically argues back, squirming on the floor. From where Kafka sits, the captain’s behavior gives the impression of a roach begging to not get squashed.

The vice-captain pushes on, “You also failed to report for the two meetings after that!”

“Cut me some slack!” Narumi whines like a teen caught skipping classes.

Kafka glances back and forth between the captain and vice-captain, “Should I step out?”

“Hello, Officer Hibino,” Hasegawa acknowledges him. Kafka would never tire of hearing his official rank spoken aloud. He’s happy that at least one person on base other than Kikoru thinks of him as an officer first and biological weapon second. Hasegawa then bowed, “I apologize for Narumi forcing you to play with him. I know he can be insistent.”

“Whoa! Hey! Wait! Hibino came to me!” And that’s the truth, not that Hasegawa looked like he was buying it.

“Sure he did,” Hasegawa hissed, unbelieving. He takes the game console out of Narumi’s hands while the shorter man sputters out complaints. Hasegawa looks as if he’s about to pocket the small thing, confiscating it from the man throwing a tantrum.

“It’s mine, actually,” Kafka chimes in meekly. Hasegawa hands him back his device and Kafka ushers out gratitude, “Thanks, Sir.”

The captain and vice-captain resume their bickering as Kafka maneuvers out of his bean bag and exits the office. In the hallway, he’s sure to create a save file on the game. It would be awful if after all that they lost the progress after hours of gameplay.

He now walks back to his room, thoughts overflowing and core racing. Overall, despite the tension, it was nice to spend time with someone like that. Kafka isn’t equipped to process this alone. He needs to talk to someone about this! The moment he enters his room he dials a friend.

One ring and Reno picks up the phone. Before Reno can greet his fellow officer, Kafka unloads his day onto the tired, post-workout man.

“You’re gaming with the captain of the First Division because he’ll whine if you don’t let him play your game?” Reno’s incredulous tone ripples through the phone, “How does that even work?”

“Don’t worry about it.” It would take too long to give the details of their unique arrangement; mostly because it’s entirely up to Narumi’s whim. Besides, it’s not like he can tell Reno that he’d been training in secret with the captain beforehand which spiraled into video game bonding.

“Sir, I’m not sure why you keep putting yourself in these situations. You have to stop getting roped into things.” Reno sighs deeply, and, for a moment, Kafka is reminded of his mother’s voice when she’s disappointed in him.

Kafka withholds the semi-vital information that he was the one who cornered Narumi into playing together. He’s not sure he can take any more justified criticism. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” The older man makes a futile attempt to convince his green-haired friend that he knows what he’s doing.

“Well, Sir… If it makes you happy, I guess I can support it.” Reno sounds unconvinced but remains neutral. Like, Kikoru, Kafka’s sure Reno wants him to talk to more people.

“Don’t say it like that! That makes it sound like I’m dating him!” Kafka finds himself flustered at the notion. Like Hell he’d date the guy who’s been swinging a bayonet at him with semi-intent to kill! Plus, Narumi is too hard to read! And then there’s the issue of dating since Narumi is technically his boss- wait, why is he even humoring this hypothetical? Kafka mentally scolds his wandering mind.

Reno groans, “Fine, I’ll re-word it….Um… I support your lifestyle, Sir.”

“That’s worse!”

Reno grumbles and the conversation drifts to other topics.

As Kafka gets ready for bed, he can’t shake the memory of sitting next to Narumi in a bean bag chair.

He dreams again of four-petal flowers.

It’s only a little later in the week that Narumi reaches out again. This time he wants to train first and then play Guramon into the night. Kafka groans at the captain’s aptitude for choosing the least convenient times. As the rendezvous draws nearer, Kafka notices his core beating faster in anticipation, however, for once it doesn’t feel like anxiety.

Training is mentally draining; nothing out of the ordinary there. Interestingly though, the captain is more animated than usual. The captain sits next to Kafka on the bench glaring at his phone, he seems frustrated about something. Kafka, unapologetically nosy, asks him about it. So far, Narumi has humored his every whim so why not keep poking around? Narumi surprises him by answering with another question.

“Hibino, do you have Snapgram?” Narumi probes.

“I do. I haven’t posted in months though. Why?” He wasn’t nearly as active on there as people his age and younger. Most other defense force members weren’t active on their accounts either, giving monthly updates, if any at all. That’s why it’s a bit of a shock that the captain is curious about his. A captain would be too busy for that kind of thing, right?

“I need 70 thousand more followers to beat Ashiro’s account.” Narumi declares, as if it’s a completely normal statement.

“Huh?” Why would that ever be important to someone?

The captain ignores his confusion and begins ranting, “I don’t get it! I mean, I’m the captain of the First Division! I have the highest combat power ever! We got promoted around the same time so I should have the same amount of followers by now!” He’s scrolling through his phone while pacing, “And the crazy thing is, she doesn’t even post! She has like one picture of her damn lion on there!”

“Bakko’s a tiger,” Kafka interjects.

“That’s what I said,” Narumi blatantly lies.

He then pauses scrolling and looks up at Kafka, “Anyway, follow me and I’ll forgive you for not selling your games to me.” He proposes the idea as if Kafka needs to atone for his actions.

The nerve of this guy! If Kafka wasn’t so exhausted he’d argue back against the captain’s suggestion. Though he’s annoyed by the entitlement, part of him enjoys that the captain is loosening up around him. Discovering more about Gen Narumi couldn't be more different than how Kafka thought it’d be. He’ll take whatever this is over the cold shoulder any day. That’s why, right there sitting on the training room bench, Kafka logs into his old Snapgram account and finds Captain Narumi’s official defense force account. He doesn’t observe any of its content, he simply follows the account and logs off.

Narumi visibly relaxes, content, as he watches his follower count rise by one. It’s bizarrely endearing, Kafka decides. The subtle response reminds him of how Mina would act when an alley cat let her pet it when they were kids. Kafka lets out an abrupt, involuntary puff of laughter. Narumi’s eyes are on him instantly, confused.

“What?” The captain nips.

“I was thinking of something funny.” And that’s where Kafka leaves it.

They split up so they can shower and they agree to regroup at Narumi’s office to continue their Guramon 3 play-through. It’s unbearably late but months of staying up past lights-out at the Third Division prepared Kafka to withstand the grogginess rusting his subconscious. It seemed that Narumi was faring well, too. When Kafka opens the office door he’s met with a rowdy Narumi playing his BS5 on the floor. Narumi is wrapped in blankets as he lays on his floor-futon. Hearing the door slam shut, Narumi speaks, refusing to look away from the TV screen, “Gimme a sec, I have to get to a save point!”

Kafka takes a seat in the bean bag he sat in days before. He relaxes into the mold of the chair and sighs. Somehow his eyes end up on Narumi again. Flashes of light highlight Narumi’s face, the only part of him that sticks out from his blanket wrap. Kafka takes a moment to observe how the light contours across Narumi’s profile. Narumi has longer eyelashes than Kafka thought. They frame Narumi’s eyes nicely. In fact, Narumi’s whole face has a nice shape. The only downsides are those purple bags under his eyes. Come to think of it, Kafka has never seen him without eye bags. It’s the only blemish on his otherwise smooth skin. Even with them though, Narumi is handsome. Kafka figures the knots in his stomach while staring must be jealousy of some sort. Odd, considering he’s never been that insecure about his appearance before.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Narumi clicks his teeth, shuffling out of the blanket. In milliseconds, Narumi does a cannonball leap onto the beanbag beside Kafka. The older man sees his life flashing before his eyes, nearly falling over. Narumi settles into his bean bag, lazily smirking as Kafka’s core attempts to recover from the spontaneous excitement.

The first words to leave Narumi’s mouth after his dramatic dive are rather direct, “Fork over the goods.”

Kafka follows the command, handing over his game console. He mumbles out a weak complaint, “Next time, give a guy some warning…” His core is still pounding ferociously.

Narumi pays him no mind and starts the game.

Things are relatively quiet, save for the crunchy music streaming from the video game. Narumi takes his time gathering experience for the monsters in their party and teaching them new moves to use in battle. He also fills out the party with specific rare monsters, as he puts it, “These ones are gonna be useful later on.” Kafka watches him closely and tries to memorize strategies he should use when they swap again. To his surprise, this time Narumi names one of the monsters he caught. Kafka shifts forward to get a better look.

He stares at the neon-yellow monster and reads the name aloud. “Disciple?” He questions.

“Because it looks like Shinomiya,” The captain states, sating Kafka’s curiosity.

Kafka is almost ashamed of how ferociously he laughs at Narumi’s comment. Almost. He’ll have to show Kikoru the lopsided monster sometime. She’ll probably beat both of their asses over it. Narumi chuckles too, the menace, clearly proud of his insulting humor. Kafka feels the knots pull tighter in his stomach.

Narumi beats the second gym in half the time it took Kafka to beat the first one. Narumi saves the file, solidifying his progress.

“Here, take it,” Narumi extends the console out to Kafka, yawning. The baton-pass is a bit clumsy and their fingertips brush together. Narumi has cold hands. Or maybe Kafka’s are too warm. Kafka jerks back slightly, flustered at the mishap. Narumi, though, is completely unfazed. Kafka accepts the device and seamlessly resumes the play-through. The first thing he does is assign names to the rest of their unnamed monster team. Narumi clicks his tongue but doesn’t stop him.

Kafka reaches the third gym by the time when he notices Narumi’s shoulder brushing against his. In his peripheral vision, he notices Narumi nodding off slightly. The swaying of his head would be completely unnoticeable if they weren’t so close to each other. They’ve been at this for hours now, it’d be wise to wrap things up here. Additionally, Kafka needs to rest so he’ll have enough energy to train with Vice-captain Hoshina tomorrow evening. The problem is, Kafka can’t bring himself to break this moment.

“Ok, I’m gonna pass out if we keep this up.” Thankfully, Narumi decides for him. The captain leans away, sluggish. Kafka saves the game file at the captain’s words, preparing to leave. It’s difficult to resist the temptation to sink further into the comfortable bean bag he lounges in but he manages to stand up. He stretches his back.

Suddenly, there’s a distinct popping sound that echoes through the room.

Heat rushes to Kafka’s face. So embarrassing! Of course, his joints just had to pop at a time like this. Narumi spares him zero sympathy, bursting into a fit of laughter immediately.

“Uh oh, did I keep you up too late, old-timer!?” He’s choking out the words, struggling to breathe through uncontrollable laughter.

The older man’s face is pink with frustration. “It’s not just an old person thing! Also, 32 isn’t old!”

“It’s old as hell!” The captain seems like he’s trying to get a rise out of Kafka on purpose. Kafka bites back this time.

“Aren’t you 27? We’re the same generation! Uh... Sir!” Kafka just barely remembers to tack on an honorific at the end.

“And yet, you’re old and I’m youthful.” And then, to Kafka’s bewilderment, Narumi sticks his tongue out at him. Kafka, despite his better judgment, lets out a laugh at the randomness.

“Okay, sure, whatever you say,” Kafka yields, half-offended and half-amused. It’s starting to feel like the banter he’d have with the officers at the Third Division. That comforts him.

He finally walks over to the door, ready to leave the cackling captain behind. As Kafka has his hand on the door handle, he looks back at the captain. He slumps back into his bean bag, messing with the fringes of his pink under-bangs. Magenta eyes bore into Kafka’s. They shift into a new form.

A cross-section of color. Four-petal flowers.

Kafka’s not sure why he’s so hung up on it.

Blinks are slow, breathing is shallow. Sleep deprivation makes Kafka’s tongue loose, “This was fun.”

“S’nice,” It seems Narumi’s tongue isn’t faring any better, “I’m fucking starving though.”

“Next time we should get food,” Kafka laughs. They should turn this thing they do into a proper hangout.

“Not a bad idea,” Narumi yawns again, gaze heavier. He slides off his bean bag and down to the floor in a childish display of laziness. He rolls on his side over to his futon and crawls under the blanket. A real weirdo, he is.

“Are you sleeping in your office tonight?” Kafka watches, utterly baffled by the other man.

Narumi snorts, “Yeah, wanna join me?” He’s joking of course, but Kafka’s core does a funny pulse in response. Kafka pauses, throat dry, thoughts filter through but make no sense. Narumi tilts his head in annoyance at Kafka’s prolonged stare. He shoos Kafka with a wave of his hands, “Alright, beat it! Scram!”

“Good night, Sir,” Kafka forces his mouth to move.

Narumi grunts softly in response, shuffling further under his blanket.

Kafka leaves Narumi to sleep, stumbling back to his room.

As he falls unconscious the minute his body hits his bed. He dreams of a figure next to him in bed. He’s faced away from them so he can’t make out who it is. But he can hear them behind him, shuffling around, mumbling in their sleep. He hears a grumble, “Old-timer… move over… s’too damn hot…” And before Kafka can ask who they are, or respond at all, he wakes up to his phone buzzing on the dresser beside his bed.

With the speed of a sloth, Kafka reaches over to grab his phone. He winces once the bright screen illuminates his face. Through bleary, sleep-filled eyes, Kafka reads the text he’s received:

“I’m going out of town. Finish the third and fourth gym without me. I’ll pick up on the fifth.” It’s a message from the captain.

Kafka feels a pang in his core. The captain has always been unpredictable so but this feels extra unexpected. Sighing, Kafka deflates. “He’s a busy guy. He can’t always make time,” Kafka attempts to rationalize to himself. He is perfectly capable of understanding that, and yet, there’s a noticeable drag in his steps for the remainder of the day. Vice-captain Hoshina calls him out on it while they train.

“Get yer’ act together, Kafka,” Hoshina chastises him. His delivery is harsh and strict, but Kafka knows it’s just a guise. The vice-captain’s concern radiates off him like heat from a fireplace. He’s just trying to keep Kafka warm. All Kafka can offer is a clumsy apology. He regains some focus after being flung around by his superior officer.

He doesn’t return to Guramon 3 until late that night. It takes him longer than he’d care to admit to accepting the reality that Narumi wasn’t going to text him, demanding that Kafka come to his office. Under any other circumstance, he’d jump at the opportunity for some uninterrupted gaming. This time though, he found himself so acutely reminded why he prefers company. Even in the long periods when they weren’t speaking, it was still nice to have Captain Narumi around. The blunt back-seating is dearly missed as Kafka resumes the game. He defeats the third gym without issue, using the variety of tactics he learned through watching Narumi play. However, he doesn’t even come close to being as efficient as the captain was.

An unexpected problem hits when the plot takes him through a cave that requires a water monster in the party to allow the player to traverse it. The first thought that enters Kafka’s mind involves contacting Narumi to consult with him about which monster on their team should be swapped with a water monster. Guilt creeps into him. Here he is again, about to pester the captain with another unimportant task. At some point the captain will get tired of humoring him, he’s sure of it. Kafka grabs his phone to search online to find an ideal monster candidate that he can catch near the cave. Just as he begins searching though, he receives a text.

“Heads up, if you get stuck near Mirror Cave on route 17, evolve Disciple. She’ll learn to swim automatically.” It was as if Narumi read his mind. The timing felt almost divine. He’s happy that Narumi messaged him but he’s conflicted with the advice he’s given.

Training Disciple will be tricky. It needs maxed-out happiness points, which can only be obtained by walking thousands of steps in-game. Those who suffer through the grueling process, are rewarded with a powerful water-sky evolution, but the majority of Guramon players, Kafka included, felt that it was too much of a hassle. Why bother? He could just catch a different water monster to get him through the cave. But he trusts the captain, so he tolerates the inconvenience.

Kafka reluctantly reacts to the text with a thumbs-up. Taking a sharp breath as he accepts his fate, he starts training to push their monster to evolve. Training is a rather mundane process, in all honesty. All it takes is walking until the random generation decides a monster will approach, flinging the player into combat. Levels tick up and up and up. After Disciple gains six levels Kafka is reminded why he didn’t bother keeping one of these monsters as a kid. Encounter after encounter goes by and Kafka’s frustration grows and grows. Eventually, he breaks, texting Narumi again. Perhaps he could persuade his gaming partner to allow him to swap the monster out. It shocks Kafka how quickly Narumi texts him back.

“Show me results!” Turns out Narumi is very stubborn about keeping Disciple in the party.

Kafka stares down at the words, annoyance bubbling. “I thought you said you didn’t get attached to your monsters?” Kafka whispers angrily to himself as he continues to dutifully follow Narumi’s orders.

Or, he tries to follow the orders. As the levels tick up, Kafka’s motivation goes down.

He scrolls on his phone to look for any way to get Disciple to evolve faster. All he can find are unhelpful fan blogs, unanswered questions on old forums, and videos that give instructions on hacking. Kafka cringes at that last option. Narumi would hate it if he cheated. The man is obsessed with hard work and its byproducts. If Kafka hacked his game, Narumi would probably think less of him. The idea brings him discomfort.

Kafka cares about what others think. He cares about not being seen as burdensome. He cares about not being seen as weak. He cares about not being seen as useless. He cares about not letting anyone down, especially someone he likes. And Kafka’s starting to like the First Division’s captain. They aren’t friends, not yet, but it’s going well. Friendship is within reach. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize the progress he’s made.

Resolve returning, Kafka plays on.

It’s 4 am when Disciple evolves.

Kafka cries in relief, saves the game file, and immediately passes out in his bed. The next evening he swims across Mirror Cave and beats the fourth gym while relaxing in the base cafe. He feels accomplished, despite Kikoru’s unfiltered criticism.

“You let him name that thing after me?! You’re both idiots!” Honestly, she took the joke better than he thought she would. After all, she could’ve chased him around with her ax.

Later, after solo training, Kafka retires to his quarters. Without so much as a pause, he whips out his phone to send a text to the captain. “The fourth gym has been completed,” Kafka excitedly notifies Narumi.

“And Disciple?” Narumi probes.

“Evolved and kinda over-leveled, Sir.”

“Good.” Narumi’s reply is short but it sends Kafka reeling. Kafka can’t help but feel like he passed an unspoken trial.

Kafka nearly chokes on air. His core beats like the wings of a bird. Impressing Captain Narumi is no small feat and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little flustered.

“By the way, Hibino,” A message comes in. Another message right after, “You still haven’t accepted my follow request on Snapgram.”

Narumi wanted to follow him back? Kafka thought the man just wanted more followers of his own. He can’t help but blink dumbly, taken aback.

“Ok, one sec,” Kafka speedily writes out. He logs into Snapgram and accepts Narumi’s request.

He then looks through Narumi’s page. Apparently, no one who Kafka follows also follows Narumi. Which makes sense considering the competition between the Third Division and First Division. None of the other captains in the JAKDF follow Narumi, which strikes as odd. He scrolls down to look at Narumi’s posts and quickly understands why the other captains aren’t aligning themselves with the dumpster fire in front of him. The captain is under every single negative, and even neutral, comment under his photos replying in unhinged paragraphs. Good grief!

The posts themselves are a catalog of accomplishments. He’s often dressed in his formal uniform holding up ribbons, badges, trophies, and… anime figures? Kafka couldn’t help it, he laughs. What a strange captain. Now that they’re mutuals he’ll be seeing posts like these on his timeline indefinitely. They’re closer to that friendship that Kafka has been craving.

He’s about to log out again when his direct message notification signals. It’s from Narumi so Kafka clicks without hesitation.

“Why are you mutuals with Ashiro’s family on Snapgram?”

“Because they know me?” Kafka isn’t sure why this is surprising. His file notes that he grew up with Mina. Narumi had to have seen that detail, it’s hard to miss.

“Holy shit, you really are childhood friends with Ashiro.” Narumi messages back quickly.

“Well yeah, I’ve been to her house like a million times.” It’s no secret. He’s been open about it.

“Interesting. She’s so out of your league that I thought your files were wrong.”

“What!? Why would I lie about that!?”

“You’re kind of a strange guy.”

Oh, that’s it! Kafka has to call him out on this! “You’re no better, Sir!”

Narumi tacks a thumbs-down sticker to Kafka’s message. What a brat!

Kafka rolls his eyes at the captain’s behavior. He didn’t want to encourage Narumi’s antics but Kafka had to admit to himself that the banter was fun.

“My office, 6 pm tomorrow. We’re playing Guramon.”

Kafka, suddenly feeling a tad mischievous, tacks a thumbs-down sticker to that.

“You have 10 seconds to apologize before I send Hasegawa to confiscate your phone.”

“Honestly, I feel like the vice-captain is more likely to confiscate your phone than mine.”

“Alright, I’m assigning you 1,000 push-ups, too.”

“Well let’s not be hasty, Sir!” Kafka quickly remembers that he’s talking to a superior officer, a captain, at that.

“Order pizza tomorrow and I’ll overlook your disrespect.”

Kafka snorts, and types,“Ok, fine.”

The conversation ends there. Narumi however, doesn’t seem to be done interacting because Kafka’s phone pings with another notification from Snapgram. Narumi had commented on an older photo of him from his early twenties. He wrote, “What is this outfit?” with three laughing emojis trailing behind the words. Kafka feels his eye twitch. The captain was mocking his past fashion!? “That’s what was popular at the time!” He replies to the comment.

He’ll show Narumi! He’ll find an unflattering picture of the captain and comment the same thing!

However, that proves to be difficult. Even in sweats, Gen Narumi is handsome. There’s no denying it. Even his hateful comments admit to thinking he’s good-looking, though unprofessional.

He scrolls down. Interestingly, his bangs are completely concealing his eyes in almost all the photos. There’s a not-so-small part of Kafka that grieves the loss of that sight. Narumi’s eyes were beyond unique, Kafka’s sure the captain would be able to reach his follower goal if he showed them off.

Kafka scrolls further and further until he comes across an older post that makes his throat tighten. A single picture with a short caption. It’s a simple image of Captain Narumi standing next to Isao Shinomiya. Both are wearing formal attire. Isao’s face is stoic as always but Narumi smirks widely, hands in his pockets like a delinquent.

The caption reads:

“Out with the old, in with the new! The First Division’s fossil passes the baton to me!”

This is a photo to commemorate Narumi becoming the captain of the First Division. He hadn’t thought about it much but the captain had been rather close to Isao, hadn’t he? He attempts to scroll past it but he accidentally likes the post. Fuck!

Maybe Narumi won’t notice? No, Narumi will definitely notice, he’s sure of it. Kafka resigns himself to looking socially awkward and gives up on his attempt to find a bad picture of the captain.

The next day he’s up on the roof enjoying the sun before subjecting himself to hours of gaming in a messy office with Narumi. He lays down on a bench, face up with his eyes closed to soak in the warmth of daylight. He hears the clacking of military boots near him but he doesn’t dare peek his eyes open and put an end to this peaceful moment. He breathes out a sigh of contentment. He hasn’t felt this good in a while. He’s going to continue a play-through of one of his favorite games with someone that he’s beginning to enjoy talking to. Things are going well. Well, as good as they can under these difficult circumstances. Gradually losing his humanity while perhaps the greatest threat to Japan in hundreds of years roams free, isn’t exactly ideal. But things are good right now, and for Kafka, that’s enough. A strange rumbling starts in Kafka’s chest, creeping up to his throat.

Is he… purring?

Kafka didn’t know he could do that. He doesn’t hate the feeling.

“Is that a kaiju thing?” A familiar voice shatters the moment, Captain Narumi’s voice, to be exact. Kafka sits up, scrambling to regain composure. The rumbling in his chest halts.

“Captain Narumi, you’re on the roof,” Kafka states the obvious, not sure what else to say. It flusters Kafka to have been caught so unaware. They still had a few hours before they were supposed to meet and it’s rare for him to see the captain casually around the base. Typically, he spends his days around his platoon leaders and they aren’t exactly eager to spend time with Kafka, not even when Kikoru’s there.

“At ease,” Narumi’s voice is low and dull. He wears a distant expression, bangs concealing more of his eyes than usual, if that’s possible.

Kafka straightens his posture anyway, “Yeah, it’s a kaiju thing.” Embarrassment swells within him at having to explain his inhuman behavior.

Narumi walks over to the wire fence that perimeters the roof. He stares straight at the horizon.

“Hibino, did you find whatever you were looking for at the bottom of my Snapgram?”

Kafka startles, “Sir?” Oh no, was Narumi genuinely mad about that? But he was the one who started it!

“Mr. Isao held nothing but hatred toward any-and-all kaiju. I didn’t understand why you were an exception. If I had been making the initial decision, I would’ve turned you into a weapon that same day.” He’d forgotten how cold Narumi could be if he wanted to. Kafka swallows thickly, this was not the direction he was expecting the conversation to turn. “But that would’ve been the wrong call. You have use here and I’ll need your assistance in the neutralization of No. 9.” Then Narumi is quiet for a long time. His voice sounds uncharacteristically frail when he speaks again.

“It’s different without him here.”

So that’s what this is about. Narumi’s not upset with Kafka at all, he’s grieving Isao. He probably came up to the roof to be alone.

A pang of guilt shoots through the older man. He can’t help but blame himself for liking old photos and dredging up the captain’s grief. Kafka’s eyes drop to the floor as he slumps on the bench. He senses kaiju eyes activate and attach themselves to his frame, goosebumps form along his arms. Narumi clicks his tongue.

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy! I said I’m glad I didn’t kill you!” Narumi snaps at Kafka, loud and crass. Kafka, though not appreciative of the delivery, finds the message endearing. He grins wide and bright at the captain. He can’t help it, he’s happy that Narumi wants him around!

“I’ll do everything I can to defeat No. 9.” And he means every word.

Narumi sends him a look, “Yeah, yeah. You already know what I’m gonna say to that.”

Kafka does. He assures Narumi of that, “I’ll show you results, Sir. I promise.”

“Good.” Kafka’s core rumbles at that, he purrs involuntarily. Luckily, Narumi ignores the social faux pas. Kafka thinks he might die of embarrassment.

Moving away from the fence, Narumi eyes Kafka further. Kafka gulps as Narumi stands directly in front of him. For a moment Kafka’s mind replays the memory of Narumi grabbing his collar when he’d been asked to stay and fight No. 9. Then his mind goes blank as Narumi breaks into his typical smirk, wolf-ish and snide. The captain opens his mouth to speak, “Don’t forget to order the pizza.”

Ah damn, that’s right; Kafka “owes” Narumi pizza this evening. “What toppings do you like?”

There’s no pause. “I’ll eat anything,” Narumi gives a thumbs up. Based on the various food messes Kafka has seen around Narumi’s office, he’s certain that the captain isn’t lying about that.

“Alright, Sir,” Kafka nods as an affirmative. Narumi returns the gesture and then leaves.

Kafka watches as Narumi walks off. His core does a dizzying dance in his chest. He can’t wait to see the captain again later. Those smirks were something he could get used to.

As 6 pm approaches, Kafka ends up getting two pizzas delivered; one plain cheese pizza and one pepperoni pizza, plus a batch of bread sticks. They’re classic flavors so there’s no way Narumi wouldn’t enjoy them.

He’s validated in his decision when Narumi opens the boxes with the fervor of a starved animal. The captain inhales the greasy food as if he’s never eaten before. The paper bag that housed the bread sticks rips from rough handling.

Panic rises in Kafka at the realization that Narumi intends to eat everything, “Save some for me, Sir!”

“Early birds get worm, Kafka,” Narumi gnaws on another slice. Did the captain just use his given name? Were they familiar enough for that now?

“That doesn’t even apply in this situation!” He whines but Narumi shrugs and continues his gnawing.

The two of them devastate the pizza and leave nothing but grease stains behind in the box. Narumi reaches over to the game console Kafka placed on the floor in front of them.

“Don’t get grease on the screen,” Kafka warns Narumi. Narumi quickly wipes his hands on his black sweatpants.

“I won’t!” And then, as he puts up the console, his greasy hands proceed to leave outrageous fingerprints on the helpless device. Kafka shoots Narumi an annoyed look.

“My bad.” Narumi glances away, slightly embarrassed. Kafka feels satisfaction in shaming the unhygienic captain. Teasing his friends is a favorite pastime of his and he’s hoping that once this maybe-friendship progresses there will be more of it to come.

Narumi reaches his hand between the cushions of the couch and pulls out a small stack of napkins, crumpled and fraying. Kafka winces in disgust. Narumi wipes the screen clean and offers Kafka one which he politely declines. Instead, Kafka leaves to wash his hands properly. When he returns Narumi sits in his bean bag, leg bouncing with anticipation. Kafka takes a seat in the bean bag beside him.

Narumi resumes their gameplay, and, oh, how Kafka missed this.

The captain picks up where Kafka left off as if there was never a pause to begin with. They’re veering into each other’s space, bean bags mashed together. They always had to sit deep with the other’s bubble to watch the tiny console screen but today Kafka found it to be particularly distracting. He’s not sure why but everything about Narumi is louder to him right now. Not in a literal sense, but in the sense that Kafka finds his presence hard to dismiss.

His gaze drifts from the game screen to Narumi’s hands. The captain’s veins shift below his skin as he presses the buttons. Following the path of the veins leads Kafka up Narumi’s muscular forearms, which sit exposed, barely concealed by his oversized t-shirt. Rising from there, Kafka’s eyes are drawn to Narumi’s jaw. It’s firmer than Kafka remembers. There’s a natural, perhaps roguish, energy to his overall appearance. Dyed hair and shortened eyebrows are exactly what his mother told him to avoid in his teens. According to her, they were a sign of trouble. Kafka thinks he disagrees with his mother on this one, Narumi isn’t half-bad.

“What?” Narumi questions, making eye contact with his spectator.

Kafka runs his mouth, “Nothing! I, uh, guess I think you look… cool?”

“Cool?” Narumi laughs in bursts, “You talk like my fanbase, dude! What the fuck?!”

“Whatever, keep playing.” Kafka wishes he kept his mouth shut. His face grows warm.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as Narumi presses further, “No no, let’s hear about how cool I am!”

“Captain,” Kafka leans away and averts his eyes. He can feel himself blushing tomato-red now.

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I’m cool like that.” Cheeky.

Thankfully, Narumi lets it go and continues gaming.

As always, Narumi leaves Kafka in awe will how skillfully he can play Guramon. Even with guides at his disposal, Kafka had struggled when playing by himself. In a laughably short amount of time, Narumi clears the fifth gym. He yawns, as if it was no big deal, passing the console to Kafka. The skill difference is evident once again. This time though, there was the reassurance that the captain could assist whenever Kafka needed him to.

He reaches the sixth gym quicker with Narumi at his side. Halfway through the gym, Narumi’s shoulder brushes against his, sending a shudder through his body. Kafka’s core goes berserk and pulses as if his life depended on it. He just can’t stand it. Why is this always happening around Narumi? It’s not like the captain is trying to intimidate him like he used to. So why was his body going wild? Kafka attempts to shift away from the contact Narumi provided, only to abruptly be pulled back by Narumi’s hand on his shoulder.

“Stop moving so much! Stay right there so I can see better,” Narumi grunts, none-the-wiser of his impact on Kafka’s malfunctioning core.

Kafka ushers out a weak apology and does his best to ignore the prolonged touch. He wonders if it’s his proximity to Kaiju No. 1 that’s causing him to react this way. No. 8 didn’t like Isao’s No. 2 either. By some miracle, he completes the gym. He offers the console to Narumi without a word spoken. Narumi didn’t seem to mind and took the game without complaint. The foreign hand leaves his shoulder finally. Poor Kafka sits perfectly still mind going blank, core still pulsing. He’d gone to the medical staff about it days ago but they couldn’t explain it, giving him worried stares. They look at him like he’s a cyst needing to be lanced, so he won’t go back unless he’s summoned.

Random and inexplicable sensations are the worst part about being a kaiju, Kafka has decided.

Narumi cuts through his rumination, “This is a good stopping point. We’ll finish the eighth gym and the champion next session.”

Wait? Did Narumi already complete the seventh gym that quickly? Had Kafka spaced out enough to miss it? Whatever is going on with him is becoming a serious problem!

Narumi sends him a questioning look, cocking his head slightly. The other man is expecting a response. Kafka’s brain is slow on the uptake but his social reflexes kick in to save him from yet another conversation blunder.

“Ah, yep. Yeah, that works!” He lets out a polite laugh. He can’t believe he zoned out. There’s a part of him that mourns missing out on watching Narumi play. Narumi continues to stare. Kafka freezes like a deer in headlights. The other man leans his face in. Kafka swallows thickly, unable to read Narumi’s actions.

“Ya’ know, Kafka? You’ve got some weird ass eyebrows.” Narumi notes plainly, eyes dancing across the whole of Kafka’s face.

The older man sputters in surprise, “And you think yours are normal?!”

The captain huffs out a laugh in response. He reaches down toward the previously demolished paper bag to chomp on the last bread stick. Kafka is starting to think the other man is having fun getting under his skin.

Kafka doesn’t think he minds all that much.

Narumi is about to say something else to him when an obnoxious ring breaks out through the room. It’s Narumi’s cell phone; it’s playing a song. Kafka swears he’s heard this tune before. It sounds like the opening from that robot anime he’s heard of from Reno. He can hear Reno’s voice in the back of his mind, “Sir, I told you, they aren’t robots! They’re mobile suits!” Narumi must be a fan of that too, whatever it is. Narumi pulls the device out of his pocket and lets out a long sigh. In a reluctant, delayed motion, he answers the call.

“Yeah, Hasegawa?” Narumi groans.

“Narumi! The flight is in thirty minutes, where are you?!”

“Relax, I’ll get there dude. It’s only a ten-minute drive to the airport. I do have to pack though,” He lets out a yawn.

Hasegawa yelps making Kafka wonder if the older man is going to have a heart attack. “You aren’t packed?!” Hasegawa sounds furious.

“Sir, that’s irresponsible,” Kafka chimes in, sympathizing with the vice-captain. That prompts Narumi to shoot him a glare. In a flash, Kafka is being shooed out of the office, “Alright, wise guy! Get outta here so I can pack then!”

Hasegawa’s volume increases, “Narumi, don’t tell me you were playing video games all this time? I made sure to tell you that-.” The remainder of the conversation is cut off from Kafka when Narumi shuts the door on him. Kafka shakes his head at the utterly comical level of procrastination Narumi has achieved and leaves him to deal with the vice-captain’s wrath. As he’s walking down the hall he realizes that he completely forgot his console.

He texts Narumi a message telling him to leave the device on his desk for their next session, after all, that’s the cleanest place in his office. Narumi reacts with a thumbs-up.

An hour passes. As Kafka lays in bed he gets a message ping from Narumi:

“This egghead wouldn’t let me have the window seat.” With the words, a picture of Vice-captain Hasegawa is attached. The picture is taken from an extreme downward angle to exaggerate Hasegawa’s bald head. The man is frowning deeply, veins about to burst open.

Kafka laughs but then guilt creeps in and he criticizes Narumi. “You’re so mean to him, Sir. He deserves a nice window view,” Kafka expresses camaraderie with the distressed man.

“Don’t take his side!” Narumi snips and then he adds, “I get back in tomorrow night, we’ll train and finish Guramon 3.”

Wow, they were going to have their final session soon. It makes him a little sentimental. Kafka thinks for a moment then replies, “Should I order more pizza?”

An instant reply, “If you don’t, I’ll crash out.”

Kafka laughs at Narumi’s text. If ever there was an indicator that they’ve spent too much time together, it’s that. If Kikoru were to catch him encouraging Narumi's jokes he’d get shamed on the spot. He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep.

This night the tone is different. He dreams of unfamiliar scenes. He stands on a battlefield, flooded with generals and foot soldiers running past him to fight… a kaiju? No, it seems to be so much more than that. Kafka can hardly make out what he’s seeing. A large body with many arms rounding its sides and many eyes lining its middle. It’s horrifying. With only a few swats of its big claws, entire fleets are cleaved. Human debris clutters the field. Kafka’s not sure why but he knows he’s going to die on this field. And he’s never felt so alone before. The beast draws closer. Dozens of eyes meet Kafka’s pair of two.

Kafka wakes in a panic, finding his body has transformed in his sleep. Coal-black scales coat him, his entire body is a weapon now. Perhaps the transformation is a subconscious attempt to remind him that he’s not powerless. But Kafka knows there’s more to it. He can’t make out his emotions anymore. He can’t separate his panic from his kaiju’s sorrow at… whatever that nightmare was. Minutes tick by, and through considerable effort, he’s able to return to his human form.

Once he’s back in the right body, he focuses on breathing, patting his chest over his scar. He finds himself struggling to remember the details of the nightmare. All he can discern in his memories is the moment of his death and a deep, consuming fear. As he sits now, that fear has dissipated, having been replaced by another ill feeling. Kafka feels inferior, embarrassed even. He doesn’t know why.

He drags through the day with the passion of a corpse. An ache lingers in his chest, adding to the mass of his body. He can’t decipher it. It’s a dull burn. It’s a suffocating emptiness.

Kafka finds himself becoming uneasy at the thought of training with the captain on a day that has started so horribly. So much so, that he tries to cancel.

“What do you mean, you’re “busy”? Ditch your other plans. As captain, I should take priority anyway,” Narumi texts him back.

He should’ve guessed that lying wouldn’t get him anywhere. But he couldn’t tell the captain that he was simply “feeling bad”, could he? He was supposed to “show results” and there’s no way Narumi wouldn’t perceive it as Kafka bowing out of his promise, right?

So in the end, Kafka agrees to go. After all, he’s pushed through discomfort to train with Narumi in the past, he can do it again.

Kafka arrives early in an attempt to regulate himself before Narumi arrives. Tonight the training facility seems unusually big. There’s an openness that causes him to feel vulnerable. His smallness in the room bothers him. Kafka imagines himself as a mouse in a wide field as hawks circle above. His core pulses fast, an ugly emotion rises in his chest. It’s the one from earlier that morning. It’s that sick sense of inferiority.

Narumi gets to the facility early too, smirking widely. The captain appears to be in good spirits but Kafka can’t say he’s thrilled to see the other man. Right now, he isn’t looking forward to the events that come after the captain’s arrival.

Fully-suited with his bangs combed back, Narumi sits on the bench beside Kafka. The captain scrolls on his phone, entirely obtuse to the storm brewing inside the kaiju next to him. In Kafka’s peripheral vision, he steals a glance at Narumi’s weapon. The shine of Narumi’s bayonet makes his hair stand on end.

“Alright, I’m done checking my socials. Let’s go,” The younger man sets his phone down on the bench and reaches for his weapon. He plants the blade end into the ground in front of him and uses it to hoist himself up off the bench. He flashes Kafka a toothy, wild look.

Kafka takes a deep breath. He’s going to push through.

He rises from the bench to join Narumi in the center of the room. The transformation into No. 8 takes mere seconds. Narumi’s eyes shift. An eager, animal glow grows within them. They both resemble beasts.

It’s Narumi who approaches first, lunging with a long swipe. In his kaiju form, Kafka can smell the blood of the former kaiju that the captain’s bayonet has slain. No matter how a weapon like that is cleaned, it’ll always carry the devastation with it. He narrowly evades the hit. Though, he isn’t truly evading, as the blade wasn’t meant to hit at all. Thanks to Narumi’s numbered weapon he can hit Kafka whenever he pleases. Any dodge Kafka achieves has already been planned in the captain’s vision. It normally impresses Kafka, inspiring him to rise to the challenge. Today, however, he feels like a cornered animal. Narumi has always been dangerous, but right now, for some reason, Kafka hates it.

“What are you waiting for?” Narumi shouts, “Hurry up, I wanna try something!”

No more stalling, Kafka, despite his better judgment, hands the reigns over to the chaos inside him.

One minute. He’s got one minute.

From then on, it’s a little hazy but Kafka hears himself roar. Phantom sensations tingle up his appendages in the places that reshape and reform. He moves, it moves, with the urgency of wild boar. Claws clash with blade, blasts collide against scales, fangs graze metal. A duet of violence. Narumi takes the lead; the beast within him follows, but can’t perfectly match the rhythm. Kafka feels a foreign desperation, a dark frustration, creeping into his subconscious. He feels the body that used to be his, tear at the ground in an attempt to close the gap between it and the man who dances around it.

Narumi carries out his usual attacks, knocking against No. 8’s body with blasts that leave a sting across its scales. It hisses and swings its right fist toward Narumi, which is easily avoided by the all-seeing combatant. Abruptly, Narumi’s movements break from their usual pattern. He advances with greater force than Kafka is accustomed to. Narumi’s eyes glimmer a mixture of green and magenta. This must be part of the new technique he wanted to try. The captain is about to land a strike when his expression changes. His eyebrows furrow, like he’s trying to understand something he sees. No. 8 lunges forward to bite at him, which Narumi slides past easily. Narumi’s eyes return to their pink-ish coloring, he jumps back and raises his right arm. That’s the wave he does to signal Kafka to stop. It conveys that he believes Kafka is getting too unruly. He hasn’t needed to use the signal in weeks.

Kafka attempts to gain control but he’s met with a wave of bitterness. “Kill kill kill kill kill-” that’s all Kafka can hear. No. 8 is miserable. It won’t listen to him. It roars again and Narumi’s eyes narrow. He circles No. 8 slowly, watching for sudden movement. The way No. 1 stares No. 8 down makes it angrier. No. 8 strikes first. There is no reason or method to its madness. Kafka hadn’t felt this out of control since his fight with Isao. It’s as if hundreds of hands are pulling him deeper into himself. They’re trying to drown him in their sorrow. Kafka fears this time he might lose himself for good. Damn it, not like this! He knew this was a risk and yet now as it happens, he realizes how grave of a situation he’s put himself in.

Ten minutes have passed. He’s well out of his depth now. No. 8 fiends after No. 1 with the passion that a cobra has for a mongoose.

He’s consumed by rage and it hurts. It hurts so much.

Narumi glides across the field, avoiding blows. Each of No. 8’s attacks leaves a crater behind. Kafka knows what Narumi’s doing. The captain is staying on the defensive, trying to buy him time to get control back. If the captain wanted to use this as an excuse to put him down, he would’ve done so already. Narumi wants him to pull through on his own.

But he can’t.

Narumi goes full release at fifteen minutes.

Even the captain can lose his resolve, Kafka supposes. Narumi is on the pursuit now. The unforgiving bayonet slices off his arm instantly. No. 8 reconfigures itself to form a new one in mere seconds. Narumi then uses the kaiju’s focus on healing to puncture its left leg and drag it to the ground. No. 8 hisses and extends its uninjured arm up to scratch at Narumi’s face. It’s aiming for his eyes. It misses, of course.

Kafka is still drowning. Everything hurts.

The captain continues to hack and No. 8 continues to claw. It’s become a matter of who will overheat first.

That is, until Narumi does something new.

Something Kafka hasn’t seen before.

It goes so fast he doesn’t get to process it. He thinks he’s getting cut up but he can’t tell. He can’t tell where he ends and No. 8 begins. It’s bizarre.

No. 8 immediately distributes energy to rebuild parts of their body. Sharp metal abruptly stabs their chest and they let out a guttural howl. Narumi is pressing his blade into them as they lie on their back. He’s pinning them down with his weight. The area that Narumi cut into is directly next to their core. Narumi could probably feel the vibrations of its pulse ripple up through his large weapon.

Narumi is breathing heavily. Sweat drips down his face, falling like raindrops from his chin to splash on their scales beneath him.

Narumi locks eyes with them. He’s hovering over them as a reaper would a cadaver.

The captain does not blink. Four-petal flowers bloom wildly, now with the coloration of green carnations.

“Kafka,” His voice is quiet, yet resolute, much like the metal piercing through their chest.

“Snap out of it.”

Kafka rushes back into his body.

It’s awkward once it’s over. Like, really awkward.

It’s scarily silent as Narumi slides out his blade from Kafka’s chest and backs away slowly. Narumi’s eyes revert to their original magenta. Kafka is able to heal every wound he has in seconds. Then he changes back into his human form. He half expects Narumi to leave right then and never talk to him again. Kafka had confirmed every bias against him; he is as dangerous as they believe him to be.

But Narumi doesn’t leave.

He stands stiffly as Kafka collects himself, wearing a blank expression. Kafka would pay anything to know what the captain was thinking. Those eyes reveal nothing to him. Does he still want to play Guramon after all that? Kafka doesn’t know; he can’t read him. Either way, Kafka wants to go back to his room and forget he exists.

“I’ll go back to my room now.” He says, voice cracking. If he tries to play Guramon right now he thinks he’ll combust.

“I’ll walk you back,” Narumi states, still horribly stiff and terrifically unreadable.

The two of them don’t say anything to each other on the walk there. Kafka’s not sure why Narumi is walking him back at all. Does he still see Kafka as a threat? If so, why did he leave his bayonet? There are too many questions swarming in his head.

When they reach Kafka’s room, he fumbles with the keys, nervous with Narumi behind him.

Without looking back, Kafka mutters a “thanks” to which he receives a hum in response.

Man, Narumi must be so unimpressed by him. Weeks of trying to prove his humanity down the drain. He hates himself for dragging someone else down with him. He must look pathetic.

“Go ahead and finish the game without me. Have the vice-captain bring it to me when you’re done,” Kafka directs. He’s selfishly taken so much from the First Division’s captain. The least he could do was let the man play Guramon alone like he’d wanted to from the start.

Kafka is beginning to wonder if he’s the real parasite and not No. 8.

He enters his room and closes the door without ever glancing back at Narumi. He couldn’t face those eyes, not right now.

Kafka curls into his bed feeling lost.

Minutes pass before he hears Narumi’s footsteps retreat into the distance.

The next week comes and goes in a blur, he can’t recall any of it. He eats, he trains, he sleeps, he eats, he trains, he sleeps. He talks to no one. He thinks of nothing. He dreams of nowhere.

On the eighth day of his haze, Kikoru pounds on his door with the force of a battering ram. It scares Kafka right out of his catatonic state. It turns out that terror is a strong motivator for him! He scurries to the door and receives a brutal lecture from the young woman.

“As punishment for ignoring all my texts, you’ll be my disciple for the day!” She doesn’t wait for an answer before she yanks Kafka out of his room.

Kikoru fully commits to making Kafka her assistant. He has to record all her training scores, times, and percentages. He carries her incredibly heavy weapons around the base. He even helps her rearrange the furniture in her room. These are all things she has no issue doing herself but she’s getting a real kick out of bossing someone else around. Kafka secretly believes she’ll make a fine captain one day. As the day winds down, the two of them sit in the lounge and eat snacks that Kikoru made Kafka buy.

“You’re an idiot, you know. Everyone’s been blowing up my phone,” Kikoru suddenly punches his arm. Aw man, he didn’t mean to get everyone freaked out.

“I know, I know,” Kafka can sense the start of tears threatening to pour down his face. How he wishes he could tell someone about it but he can’t, the training has to stay secret. He appreciates that Kikoru doesn’t ask but seems to get the gist somehow anyway.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss seeing you gaming around the base. Even if it makes you look like a dork.” Kikoru gives him a second punch just for the heck of it.

Kafka laughs. He misses it too.

This brings up another concern. Narumi hadn’t returned his game yet.

In fact, he hadn’t heard from or seen Narumi at all. Kafka figures that Narumi has changed his mind about the training and he really can’t blame the man. There goes everything he worked to build with the captain. Gone as quick as it came. When Kafka is alone again, he considers texting the captain about it. He can’t muster up the courage to press send on any of his messages so he does the next best thing. He goes to the vice-captain about it.

It’s easier to locate the vice-captain because, unlike Narumi, he has a routine that he genuinely follows. Kafka runs up to him during a break in the First Division’s rookie training.

“Vice-captain Hasegawa, have you seen my game console?”

“The one you and Narumi have been playing?” Hasegawa asks.

Kafka laughs uncomfortably at the mention of his escapades with the captain, “Yeah that one.”

“Yes, it’s been sitting on his desk the last couple of days. I don’t know why, he never touches it.”

“He hasn’t played it at all?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Do you want me to retrieve it for you?” Hasegawa offers.

The captain hasn’t played since the incident? Why? Was he busy? But he’s always been willing to skip out on responsibilities for a game so that doesn’t add up.

“On second thought, I’ll just talk to the captain myself. Where is the he?” The more Kafka talked about Narumi, the worse it felt not to see him. He missed the man, even if Kafka’s almost certain Narumi doesn’t miss him back.

“Your guess is as good as mine. He’s been all over the place… more than usual, that is.” Those words have Kafka more worried than he feels like he has any right to be.

Kafka sets off to search for the man, having an inkling of where Narumi might be.

His hunch is right. Narumi is on the roof, by the fence, staring out into the distance.

“Captain,” Kafka calls. Narumi turns to look at him, hands buried in his pockets.

“Kafka.”

Four-petal flowers monopolize Kafka’s vision.

Kafka’s mind goes blank. Everything he wants to say about the console, Guramon, training, and nearly losing his humanity piles up on the tip of his tongue. When turquoise eyes meet magenta, he spits out something entirely different.

“Are we ok?” Kafka doesn’t know why he asks that but he now desperately wants an answer.

Narumi snorts, it makes Kafka’s throat dry and his core pulse. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m an unstable kaiju but I want to be treated human anyway. I’m sorry I pulled you into my mess. I’m sorry you had to see me like that at training. We can stop now. With training, with Guramon, with anything. I won’t ask you for any more favors.” There, now all that guilt is off Kafka’s chest. It hurts but he doesn’t want to keep latching onto the captain like a leech. He won’t drag Narumi into his kaiju identity issues or human identity issues or human-kaiju identity issues. He lived without Narumi before, he’ll live without Narumi again. “But for what it’s worth, I had fun with you.” That concludes what he came there to say. Well, minus the console thing but he can bring that up another time.

Kafka doesn’t think he’s ever seen Narumi so blatantly confused. His eyes are comically wide. His mouth flaps but no words come out. If Kafka didn’t feel so ill, he’d make fun of the man.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Narumi is utterly bewildered, “Look, I didn’t get all that. It’s fine. We’re fine. You think too much. I just figured you’d want space. However, I do want to talk to you about training.” He pauses, “I’ve come to… accept you. You’re a friend, kaiju or not. I’ll do this with you as long as you want to.” He pauses again, “That said… if you ever can’t come back, if you can’t return to me as Kafka Hibino, I’ll put an end to you. So do me a favor for once, and ensure it doesn’t come to that.”

Yep, Kafka can feel his tear ducts overflowing. He swallows thickly, “I’m glad, Sir. I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” And that’s true. He’s felt that way since Isao’s death.

“Stop crying, old-timer! In the end, I’ll take care of you. I promise.” Kafka knows that Narumi means that in a murder way, which is kind of dark to think about, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

“I can’t help it!” He sobs, snot dripping down from his nose.

“Gross, dude,” Narumi snickers, no real malice behind it. “Quick question though, would you wanna be a spear or a trident? You aren’t suitable to be a gun.”

Kafka pales.

Narumi backtracks, “It’s a joke, chill out!… Well, half-joke. What? Too soon?”

It’s back to business as usual with their gaming, much to Hasegawa’s dismay. Two days later they’re playing Guramon in Narumi’s office again. They order more pizza and relax. It’s the final stretch, Kafka completes the eighth gym and he offers up the last part to Narumi.

“Captain, do you want to do the champion battle?”

“You can drop the formalities, Kafka.”

“Alright, uh, Narumi.”

“Still too formal.” Huh?

“Gen?” Kafka tries, core pounding.

“Good,” Gen smirks at him. Kafka fights the heat that’s creeping into his face.

The champion battle is pretty anticlimactic. Candlestick and Disciple are the only two monsters needed in the fight but they do bring the full party for back-up. As Gen battles all Kafka can think about is the way Gen accidentally rubs against his side. The friction is making his core do tap dances.

This is always happening around Gen! Initially, Kafka thought it could be caused by No. 8’s kaiju-hatred directed toward No. 1. He’s felt No. 8’s anger and that’s not what this is. This is something else entirely. The way his stomach churns and his core flutters. Maybe it’s a human sickness? His body is trying to merge the biology of two creatures, it wouldn’t be far off to assume that it’s causing side effects.

Gen tries to take a sip of soda from one of the dozen sitting on his desk but it slips from his hand and spills all over his shirt. The only human in the world with future vision and he still makes a mistake like that? Kafka mocks his friend, who responds by sticking his tongue out. Gen hands the game to Kafka so it can’t get wet.

“Ah shit, I’m gonna have to take this off.” Before Kafka can understand what his friend is saying, Gen takes his shirt off. Kafka is speechless.

Were humans even supposed to have that many abs?

Oh. Oh.

Kafka retracts his previous assessment. This has nothing to do with his kaiju-fication.

He’s got a crush on Gen Narumi.

Huh, that explains a lot.

Oh god, he’s got a crush on Gen Narumi.

“Hey, do you see a spare shirt lying next to you? Kafka? Earth to Kafka?”

Kafka realizes he’s been looking at Gen’s torso for longer than appropriate, “Huh? What? No, I wasn’t staring!” He’s totally fine! Not freaking out about his crush on Gen at all.

Gen sends him a curious look, “You good?”

“Just peachy!” Ok, maybe he’s freaking out! But only a little bit!

Gen finds a shirt under his desk that he puts it on. Kafka doesn’t question it, he’s just thankful that the terribly distracting view is out of sight now. He does his best to remain calm but all he can think about is Gen.

His crush is so obvious in hindsight, Gen has him completely wrapped around his finger!

“What now?” Kafka says to himself.

“You said you have a whole box full of stuff right? Let’s pick another one. A two-player, preferably,” Gen answers, unaware that the question wasn’t for him.

Then out of nowhere, Gen smiles at him. Technically it’s half a smirk, but it’s got this softness to it that stops Kafka’s breathing. How is Kafka’s core supposed to survive these conditions?

“Yeah ok,” Kafka says, without much thought. How could he possibly think when Gen does that?

On his way back to his room, the profound depth of his romantic, and sexual, feelings crash into him.

This feeling is old and new simultaneously. Fleeting interests had come and gone over the years but never, not ever, could he have predicted that he’d find himself in this position. Head-over-heels and totally enamored with a captain. Somehow on his journey to befriend the man, he took a detour and ended up with romantic desires. A genuine crush.

What is he going to do about this? Their friendship had only recently become official and here comes Kafka throwing in another complicated element. His first instinct is to ignore it. Then as he rolls in bed, unable to sleep, he considers confessing.

It’s not like Gen has to reciprocate. It’s about Kafka getting it out of his system, right? He never did like withholding information from friends, anyway. He currently has to hold too many secrets as it is.

He tries to get the words out when he brings his games over for Gen to choose from but his tongue ties. Gen leisurely sorts through Kafka’s box of games, not at all privy to the yearning that radiates from the man sitting on his couch.

Gen sits up to stretch. Kafka drags his eyes over Gen’s athletic frame. It’s concealed by his baggy clothes but Kafka has a vivid imagination. He’s experienced Gen’s power first-hand. It takes concentrated effort to stop from salivating. Now that Kafka has accepted his crush he’s decided to go all in and embrace it. Internally, at least.

‘Get a grip! He’s going to notice!’ Kafka gives himself a mental reprimand.

As if on cue, Gen looks over to Kafka with activated eyes. He has an inquisitive expression, head tilted. He’s so attractive that Kafka can’t believe he’s real.

“Something wrong?” Kafka can barely find his voice but he asks Gen the question anyway. Perhaps there’s a particular game Gen is searching for but can’t find.

“You know, I don’t think I ever told you this but your core kinda looks like a melon in there.” Leave it to Gen to say the most random thing.

“Please don’t call my core a melon,” Kafka pleads with him. “I don’t like my kaiju organs,” He laments.

Gen hums in contemplation, “I’ve seen them so damn much that I’ve gotten used to it all.”

“Is that why you look at me so much?! Are you staring at my organs, Gen?!”

“I mean… yeah… so what?” Gen breaks eye contact and turns his head away from Kafka, a rare moment of shyness.

“That’s creepy as hell,” Kafka teases.

“Fuck off!” Gen barks back, getting upset.

“I’m kidding! I’d be a hypocrite if I judged you for your kaiju eyes. I’m weirder than you by a long shot.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” Gen smirks and it’s Kafka’s turn to look away.

Kafka lays down on the couch as Gen continues sorting. “You should take more pictures of them,” Kafka says, “Your eyes, I mean.”

A few minutes pass before he receives a quiet reply, “Maybe.”

Gen sorts through everything and discovers that Kafka doesn’t have any two-player games.

“Shit, we’ll be trading off again then,” Kafka sighs.

“Or,” Gen starts, “We can play my games.”

And there’s a glint in his eyes that makes Kafka’s insides melt.

“Okay.” Kafka hopes he doesn’t sound too dazed.

That’s how they start gaming on the BS5.

Kafka has difficulty keeping up with the technology and Gen, irritated as hell, shows him how to use the controllers over and over and over again. Kafka enjoys getting a rise out of Gen as much as Gen enjoys getting a rise out of him.

Everything is great.

Well, except for the elephant in the room.

“Sir, you should probably confess to whoever you’ve got this big crush on. I can’t tolerate you moping anymore.” Reno has been worn down by Kafka’s love shenanigans long enough.

“Oh, but Renoooooo! This person and I are worlds apart,” Kafka groans, “Young-ins like you wouldn’t get it!”

“Actually Sir, um. Iharu do you wanna tell him-” Kafka hears ruffling as Reno passes the phone.

“Ol’ dude!” Iharu shouts, making Kafka wince in pain, “Me and Reno are going steady!”

“What?! When did this happen?” Kafka can’t believe his ears.

“Last week! I asked and he said yes so here we are. Seriously just go for it, dude!” Iharu makes it all seem so easy.

Could he really just confess that easily? Should he try it?

He needs a second opinion. And he knows where he can get one.

“Love troubles, eh?” Vice-captain Hoshina immediately pulls Kafka into a headlock. Kafka regrets looking for a second opinion. “Why are ya’ worried about love at a time like this?!” Hoshina scolds.

“Please release me,” Kafka cries out weakly. Fortunately, Hoshina lets him go.

Hoshina then pokes his arm, “Who is it anyway?”

“I, uh, can’t say, Sir.” He’s aware that Hoshina and Gen don’t get along much so he tries to redirect Hoshina’s curiosity, “It’s no one you know.”

“Eh!? You can’t say who it is but I don’t know ‘em? That makes no sense! I do know ‘em, don’t I?!” That backfires.

Kafka tries to hurry away but the vice-captain won’t let an opportunity to tease go by. Hoshina follows him through the halls asking questions about his love life. He tries putting Kafka in another headlock when they’re interrupted.

“What are you doing here without my clearance, Bowl-cut?” Gen’s deep voice hammers through the corridor. Kafka’s mind wars between being happy about Gen’s sudden appearance because of his crush and being annoyed at Gen’s sudden appearance because that meant he’d start bothering Hoshina.

“Can’t I visit my officer?” Hoshina asks, voice polite but laced with venom.

“You mean, my officer,” Gen corrects Hoshina. Kafka’s core does a flip. ‘Not now! Have a little decorum!’ Kafka casts judgment on his body’s involuntary response.

“My close friend, then,” Hoshina alters his wording. Kafka is flattered to know that the vice-captain views him as a close friend. Gen, on the other hand, is livid.

“You know what?! You’ve got five seconds to get off the premises before I kick you off myself and slap you with a ban! You weren’t invited so get lost! Make it snappy!”

“Later, Kafka. Be ready to fess up next time I see ya’,” Hoshina ignores the captain, giving Kafka his goodbye. With that, Hoshina leaves down the hall.

Gen glares down Hoshina’s retreating form so angrily that Kafka thinks smoke might come out of his ears. Kafka chuckles at the captain’s complete overreaction to the presence of a Third Division officer on base.

“What were you talking to him about?” Gen interrogates, not finding any humor in the situation.

Kafka is so surprised by Gen’s sour mood that he only narrowly avoids letting the truth slip to ease the other man’s distress, “We were-” Kafka settles on a half-truth, “catching up.”

“Right, ok.” The other man is unconvinced.

“What’s with you?” Kafka can’t make heads or tails of Gen’s behavior.

“Nothing,” Gen grumbles, sauntering off.

Gen is weird the next time they see each other. Weirder than normal, that is.

Gen fidgets on his floor-futon, unable to get comfortable. Kafka tries to focus on the kart racing game they’re playing but Gen keeps shifting around.

Kafka decides to point it out, “You’re acting funny.”

“Stop hanging out with Bowl-cut,” Gen comes right out the gate swinging.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like him.” A concise response. Kafka has learned to respect Gen’s bluntness but that doesn’t mean he agreed with what the captain had to say.

“He’s my friend!”

“Friends don’t look at you like that! Or get all, touchy and stuff!”

“You think he has a crush on me?” He and Vice-captain Hoshina? Now there’s an idea! He doesn’t think Hoshina likes him that way. Not that it mattered though, it’s Gen who caught Kafka’s attention. “Would it bother you if he did?”

“Yes,” Gen begins ranting, “You let him climb all over you! I know you train with him. You’re a bad liar.” Gen appears exhausted, like this has been on his mind for a while. His hands squeeze his controller tighter.

“It doesn’t sound like the vice-captain is the one with a crush,” Kafka jokes, all just wishful thinking. It’s not likely that Gen feels the same.

“What? You think I have a crush on you? Get real! Nope, no way! Never in a million years! In your dreams, loser,” Gen’s voice is uncharacteristically squeaky and he talks way too fast. His face flushes pink. Wow, he’s worse at lying than Kafka is.

Kafka stares in disbelief.

“What?! Stop looking at me!” Gen’s face is now crimson.

“I’m just gonna say it,” Kafka announces, mostly to himself for encouragement.

“Say what?”

“I like you, Gen.”

“In a kissing way?” Gen asks, dead-serious.

“In a kissing way,” Kafka confirms.

And there it is, it’s all out in the open now. It seems that neither of them is getting their heart broken today.

Gen’s eyes are enormous. His mouth flaps but no words come out. If it weren’t such a serious moment, Kafka would laugh at him.

When a response arrives, it's more of a squeak, “Cool, me too.” Gen gives Kafka a thumbs up.

Kafka observes Gen’s social faux pas and fights back a laugh that might scare the other man away.

“Let’s finish this race,” Gen coughs and looks back to the TV, face red and leg bouncing.

They don’t say much while they continue to play. Kafka glances constantly at Gen, who is intentionally avoiding eye contact. When they finish the race Gen pauses the game. He’s looking at the floor, unsure what to do next.

Kafka can’t help it, he starts laughing like mad.

“What’s so funny!?” Gen’s still looking anywhere but at his face.

Kafka struggles to push out the words, “Everything! I can’t believe we started this because of Guramon! You used to hate me!”

Gen finally meets Kafka’s eyes again.

Four-petal flowers greet him. It’s becoming Kafka’s favorite sight.

“I didn’t hate you. It was… calculated distrust.” Gen huffs, defensive.

“Gen.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll get more followers on Snapgram if you push your bangs back. Your eyes are gorgeous.”

Gen’s face gets impossibly redder, “Quit laying it on so thick!”

“Sorry, I’m just happy,” Kafka laughs, content.

Gen tilts his head and asks,

“Does this make me a monsterfucker?”

“Excuse me?!”

--------

END