Chapter Text
Sato did not relish sleeping in late. He could not appreciate gently rising in the dawn, nor could he enjoy the quiet of a peaceful morning. The fact of the matter was that he was unaccustomed to a silent home. Emi had made her celebrated return to kaiju island. Mina, his lifelong assistant drone, had turned to scrap along with his house. Even after the whirlwind of danger and hospital visits and baseball games, Sato moved back out of his dad’s apartment and into a new mini-mansion, assuming they’d still be close, but his father set off on a research expedition to kaiju island.
All the extravagance was lost on him. The glowing attention from the season’s victories was fading, and he was settling into his lonely routine once again. He found himself filling the empty space with something he never thought he would embrace: defending the city from kaiju.
After practice, he glued himself to the news, tuning in to any mention of activity. He threw himself into fight after fight, and he was unsatisfied if the day did not end with him sore and aching, fresh with bruises. He had to be the hero he had once resented. Ken Sato was of unimportance outside of the Giants, but the city needed Ultraman.
Taking care of Emi changed him. Everyone knew the difference, even if they didn’t know why he changed. He looked after his teammates, took notice of their hard work. He listened to Coach Shimura instead of arguing every criticism. His cynicism had fallen away, and now every kind word was a repentance.
However, this matured Sato raised more flags when things went inexplicably awry. His coach couldn’t understand why Sato would frequently turn up late to practice, flush and bedraggled, eyes wide and smile strained. His teammates quietly noted fresh bruises and injuries every week, and when they confronted Sato, his excuses always felt vague.
This continued until Coach called Sato to his office after practice. Sato slipped into a familiar chair, expecting a typical discussion on schedules and teamwork. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”
Shimura took a deep sigh. “I wanted to inquire about your activities outside of practice. I can’t help but notice that you seem frequently tired or late to practice.”
“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” Sato bowed his head. “I had no idea it had developed into a pattern. I’ll–”
Coach held up his hand, silencing him. “I do not question your commitment to the team. You’ve proved your dedication to me. Sato,” he said, his stare unwavering, “your teammates are worried about you. I am worried about you. What is going on with you that brings you to practice looking like the dead?”
Sato froze. Like the dead? Those long nights made him alive. He felt great each day, he felt new. What was so alarming to his teammates? He’d been doing so well, working so hard. “I don’t understand, sir.”
Shimura sucked air through his teeth, grinding out, “What are you doing every damn night that has you looking like hell?”
He laughed nervously. “Oh. Well, you know how it is. Parties. Girls. Stuff. Amiright?”
Shimura did not react. “Your teammates seem to think you haven’t thrown any parties in months.”
“Right.” Sato ducked his head, wiping his face with his hands, scrambling for excuses. “We’re arguing!” he blurted. “My girlfriend and I. Yeah. But we’re good now. It’s fine.”
“Girlfriend? Your teammates have noticed you have been badly bruised. Did any of the arguments get… physical, between you? I know men are typically portrayed as the abuser in these scenarios, but if she’s hurting you, it’s not acceptable. You can–”
“No, no, no! It’s not like that, Coach! The bruises are from–” he swallowed, the lie forming with adequate shame, “uh, you know, doin’ the dirty, as they say.” Sato’s words trailed off, his face burning red.
Shimara leaned back in his chair, eyes raised to heaven. “Dear God,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, Coach–”
He halted him again. “What the hell, Sato.”
“I really shouldn’t have phrased–”
“Silence, Sato. I need a minute.” He massaged his eyes. Sato sat hunched in his chair, still flushed, staring at his feet.
Shimura finally said, “Whatever you and your girlfriend do, it should not impact your performance at practice. You signed a contract, and your extracurricular activities should not adversely affect your physical condition. Please keep it professional. I don’t want to know what you and your girlfriend do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring your girlfriend to the team dinner. I hope you two do more together than just the dirty, as you phrased it.”
Sato inhaled sharply, jerking his gaze up from his lap. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“The team dinner tomorrow night. Bring her there. I need to discuss with her the importance of your physical condition.”
Sato’s mouth gaped open, sputtering, “Sir! Please, it won’t be a problem again.”
He shook his head. “She will be there. Otherwise, this will not be the end of our discussion. You are dismissed, Sato.”
“Sir, –”
“Do you want to continue this discussion?”
Sato smartly shut his mouth. “No, sir.”
“Good. Eight o’clock practice tomorrow.”
Sato nodded and rose, walking out in a daze. His teammates had already cleared out, free to enjoy their evenings. He raked a hand through his hair. An imaginary girlfriend. Who leaves him consensually bruised and injured. And will be at the party tomorrow night. He whistled softly.
Sato gripped his shoulder, rolling it and stretching, a habit formed from an old injury. No matter how many times he transformed into Ultraman, he was always human again by the end of the night.
Ken hopped on his motorcycle, zipping home on twilit streets, letting his mind wander. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since he lived in the states. They never lasted long, with his insufferable practice hours coupled by an arrogant demeanor.
He’d like to think he changed.
When he arrived home, he’d come to a conclusion about the only viable candidate for a fake girlfriend. The only person whose contact information he had in his phone, apart from teammates. Everyone else was from his old life.
He rubbed his temples as he dialed her number. Whatever she asked, he had to comply. He needed a good excuse for her, too. A reporter, of all the people to entrust with discretion.
The phone rang twice before she picked up. “Mr. Sato?”
Kenji ruffled his hair, smiling to himself. “Ms. Wakita! How are you doing?”
“I’m well. Why are you calling?”
“Strange as it sounds, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you,” he said, his voice edged.
She huffed. “Mr. Sato, is it always something strange with you?”
Sato leaned against the wall, still grinning. He barely knew her, and yet, they fell quickly into a pattern. Ami Wakita, quick and efficient, while he continued evolving, always flustered and urgent. “I can’t help the things I get myself into.”
“Hmm.”
The line went quiet, and Sato was swept up in the enormity of what he’d called to ask of her. He couldn’t do this! More than anything, this was rude to her, a woman he had a professional relationship with.
“Mr. Sato?” Ami said softly, “Is everything alright?”
Kenji exhaled slowly. “This favor, it’s so silly, I shouldn’t have called you.”
“Ken, it’s okay, just tell me what’s going on. I’ll turn you down if it’s too much, but out with it.”
“I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “You’re right, you’re always right, I should just—” he sank down onto his couch. “—tell you. I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. My coach wants me to bring my girlfriend to the team dinner tomorrow night. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Wakita burst out laughing. It occurred to Sato that he hadn’t heard her laugh like this before. Then, it occurred to him that he was being laughed at. “Hey!”
“You, the famous Ken Sato, need a date for a team dinner?”
Sato buried his face in his hands. Somehow this was worse than he imagined. “Look, I need help. Shimura thinks I’ve been dating someone for a few weeks at least, and he’s been really stubborn about the subject.”
"If it’s so last minute, can’t you just say your girlfriend couldn’t make it that night?”
“I guess, but I don’t like lying to my coach.”
Sato could hear her exasperation through the phone. “You’re asking me to lie to him about being your girlfriend! If you don’t like lying, how did you get into this situation?”
Sato's watch buzzed—an incoming kaiju attack. He tried not to scream in frustration. “Please, can we discuss it over lunch tomorrow? You can make a decision then. I know this is a big ask.”
Over the quiet that settled between them, Sato could make out the faint sounds of Ami’s daughter playing and laughing. “Eleven o’clock. Lunch at the same place you took me for that interview. I need all the answers and details. Come prepared to convince me, because you haven’t done a good job yet.”
“Thank you, Wakita. Eleven o’clock, I’ll be there.”
“You certainly are one of a kind, Ken Sato.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He hung up, running out of his house. He had a kaiju to catch. He took out his beta capsule, pressed the button, and launched skyward. The transformation engulfed him, sending flashes of red and silver energy traveling up his body, the bursts of light mixing with the dark navy of the evening sky. High in the sky, his body felt weightless despite multiplying in size. Ultraman’s glowing eyes sent beams down on the city as he scanned it for the kaiju.
When he landed, it sent tremors throughout the earth. People who were running away stopped to stare. His metallic skin gleamed with the city lights. Ken Sato raised his beaming eyes to level with the kaiju. It was six-legged and scaly, curved silver horns sprouting on its head and down its spine. Its eyes glowed gold, solid and lidless. The kaiju shrieked a roar so great, Sato felt the vibrations shiver on his skin.
The kaiju opened its mammoth jaws and shot a jetstream of energy, and Ultraman responded in kind with an energy barrier. Sato dug his heels into the street, holding his ground. Tongues of flame licked across the shield until the maelstrom ended. Sato charged up an Ultra Slash, letting the disc slice the kaiju’s hide while the kaiju rammed into him.
The kaiju’s strike threw Sato into a building, the metal rending under the huge Ultra. He groaned and pulled himself up, crossing his arms for the final blow. “Now is your final chance to make a peaceful return to kaiju island.”
The kaiju pawed at the ground before racing forward in a bull charge. “So much for a peaceful return,” he muttered, firing his specium ray. The creature balked, collapsing and crying out.
Kenji’s limbs shook as he lowered his arms, but he did not hesitate as he reached for the hurt kaiju. His voice was shockingly gentle as he shushed the creature, taking it into his arms. “Let’s get you back to where you belong.”
Even though the kaiju was equal to Ultraman in size, Sato leapt into the sky, carrying it. He soared off to the ocean, traveling a few miles from the shore before releasing the creature to the ink-black waves. He murmured a quick blessing of parting and swept back up into the sky, one with the stars. Ultraman rippled through the sky like a ship in the night, distant to the observers in the city below. He was tired, his back aching and spasming where he hit the building, his arms trembling with exhaustion. On a night like this, the return home was sweet with weariness.
He could almost forget that he was coming home to loneliness.
Almost.
How could he forget, when there was no one to tend to his injuries or praise him for a swift end to the fight? He plunged into an ice bath when he got home, letting the cold numb his aching body and stinging feelings. A pathetic, pathetic sound escaped his lips. He looked at the time. For the first time in a week, he was back before midnight. He sank under the water, bubbles trailing from his mouth. This was a hellish week, just like the last. The specium ray left him feeling hollowed out, like a cup left on its side. He wished his father were here. He would know what to do.