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Generally, Sakomizu didn’t mind the graveyard shift. Well, that wasn’t entirely true: Sakomizu didn’t mind the graveyard shift because it only meant that one other member of his team was forced to stay up at an ungodly hour. It was enjoyable to see how each member coped: some, like Teppei and Marina, simply quietly got on with work, filling in reports or liaising with the other departments. Others, like George and Ryu, would moan and complain the entire day leading up to the shift, using it as an excuse to get out of work due to ‘needing to rest up’. However, when actually on shift, Sakomizu was at least slightly surprised to find that they both were just as productive as Teppei and Marina could be — intermittent yawning notwithstanding. Konomi was also similar, struggling to stay awake as the night wore on, and periodically would check in on the Captain’s condition otherwise. Sakomizu eventually moved to substitute most of her night shifts with the early morning ones, which she took to much more readily. Something about it being similar to getting up early to prepare the classroom for the coming day? Sakomizu was just glad he could bring a bit of familiarity to her routine. They would all have to return to their former lives once this was all over (whatever this was). The whole point was that they would have something to return to, after all.
There was, of course, one more person, who Sakomizu found was particularly adept indeed. Too adept, actually.
“Mirai, I can’t have you take all of the nighttime shifts. That’s not fair.”
“But I don’t need to sleep like the others do! So long as I can get enough sunlight, I could probably stay up for a few days straight if needed!”
“Mirai,” Sakomizu said, nursing an oncoming headache, “please tell me you’re not suggesting I put you on for multiple days' worth of shifts at once?”
“I could totally do that! Then everyone else could get a break for a few days. Please, Captain?” Mirai replied with the most pleading look he could.
“Mirai, that’s a breach of your employees’ rights. I can’t do that.”
“But technically, those are for humans, right? So I could-“
“It’s illegal, Mirai. I appreciate the thought, but the answer is no.”
“Awwww…”
Sakomizu had to stifle a chuckle at the memory. It was 2:30 AM now, four hours into their eight-hour shift. He looked up to see what his fellow ‘graveyard keeper’ was up to. True to form, Mirai was busy typing away, completely engrossed in whatever report that Sakomizu would personally find mind-numbing. Due to his non-human nature, Mirai never became lethargic in the evenings like the others did. As a result, he was able to get through much more work than even the coffee-as-a-plasma-replacement Sakomizu could. He would even offer to do some of the Captain’s work once he had finished triple-checking his own. Rarely would he oblige Mirai (some things were just too important), but on the more stressful days, it was nice to be able to palm off some of the more tedious emails to his subordinate. He would even get comments the next day, complimenting him on his ‘more chipper attitude’ in said emails. He resented that — he could be perfectly chipper! Just not at the same time as the local bat population.
“Are you alright, Captain?”
Sakomizu was pulled out of his musings with a start.
“Ah, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” Mirai said with that worried expression he gets, “I just noticed you’d dozed off, is all. You had said you had an important report you wanted to get done tonight, right? I just didn’t want you to fall asleep while doing it, that’s all.”
“Ah, right, thank you, Mirai,” Sakomizu replied in the most appreciative tone he could muster. Not that he could muster much: he’s been putting off this report for the better part of six months now, and, quite frankly, if he could put it off until the heat death of the universe, he would gladly.
Mirai tilted his head in concern.
“Is it a tedious report, Captain? Is there any way I can help?”
Sakomizu sighed. “Unfortunately not, Mirai, though thank you for the offer. It’s not tedious, per se, it’s just… difficult.”
“How so?”
Sakomizu paused, carefully considering his next words. Going for the simplest explanation would normally not be the best idea; it relied on context and implications that Mirai simply did not understand. But that was for reports whose topics were intermingled with bureaucracy and general office politics. This…
“It’s… well, it’s about the first Dinozole attack from a while ago. I… still haven’t written a full report analysing damages and… casualties.”
The last word came out bitterly. Casualties. It was a word akin to ‘collateral damage’ to him. Ugly, degrading, completely belying the fact that almost the entire GUYS unit had been killed. But he wasn’t supposed to use those words, oh no. Captain Sakomizu had to use terms such as ‘MIA’ and ‘loss of life’ and anything else that would help distance the higher-ups (read: government) from admitting that they had grown complacent over the past 15 years. Sakomizu had offered to take complete responsibility for the tragedy (because it was his responsibility! It was his fault! Those brave souls had died on his watch!), but he had been pressured not to. Instead, he’d been offered this opportunity: to no longer sit behind a desk in a padded room, far removed from the consequences of his actions. In a rare breach of protocol, he could now operate on the front lines, so that the promise of never again he would say to himself every night would be fulfilled every day.
And maybe, just maybe, at this close of a distance… Sakomizu could finally respond to their hearts.
Sakomizu suddenly realised that he’d fallen back into his musings again, and had also realised that this was probably a sensitive topic for others in the room as well.
“Sorry, sorry, Mirai, I don’t mean to bring something like that up,” he said hurriedly, “It’s just…” he couldn’t bring himself to say part of the job, so he shrugged instead, “It’s something I need to get done, anyhow. Perhaps it will teach me how not to let something like this happen again-“
“But it wasn’t your fault!” Mirai cut off, “None of you could’ve known that the satellite network wouldn’t work, or that the Dinozole could… do that. If anything, I’m the one-”
“Mirai don’t. Please.” Sakomizu glanced over to the clock on his desk. 02:47 AM. “It’s too late at ni- well, maybe too early in the morning for this.” He tried to inject some lightheartedness into his voice. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s natural to start having self-doubts when you’re exhausted.”
“But still, I completely messed up! If I had just been a bit more careful, a bit stronger, a bit faster-” Mirai’s voice cracked, and Sakomizu could see the exact image flashing across his face.
Oh no. Not happening. Only one person was allowed to painfully reminisce tonight, and Sakomizu had taken that spot.
He stood up and gently placed a hand on Mirai's shoulder. Mirai looked up, fists clenched on the desk, tears welling in his eyes.
“Mirai, do you remember what Ryu had… uh… Said to you, after you just defeated Dinozole?”
Mirai gave a sniffly chuckle. “You mean what he shouted at me on the rooftop? Um, I think he said… ‘Look around you! You didn’t protect a damn thing!’ And he was right, I didn’t-”
“Is that all he said, Mirai?” Sakomizu cut off gently. Mirai paused, tilting his head in thought.
“Um… I think he said… ‘Just like me’, right?”
“Do you understand why he said that?” Sakomizu asked. Mirai paused in thought again, but eventually just shook his head.
“It’s because humans like to think that they are invincible. That, given all the right conditions, they would make the perfect decisions every single time. Anything outside of that must be a failure on their part, not because life, and by that same token, humanity, is imperfect.” Sakomizu smiled sadly. “Perhaps seeing you struggle reminded him of that. That perfection isn’t really attainable, even for an Ultraman.” He chuckled, “Ryu’s a good man at heart: while it’s natural to want to look to someone else to blame for your own perceived shortcomings, Ryu’s got a… shall we say, strength of character, that drives him to face his mistakes and move forward.”
“But.. Ryu didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone tried their hardest!”
“Everyone?”
“Yes!”
“So that includes you as well, right?” Sakomizu said with a small smile. Mirai faltered.
“Uh… well… I don’t really count since I’m not human…”
“But you’re mortal, aren’t you? You’re not a god.”
“Well, no, but-”
“So you could do no more than you did.” Sakomizu cut off. “So long as you all endeavour not to have the same tragedy repeat twice, then there’s no reason to beat yourself up about it after the fact. What’s done is, unfortunately, done, and there’s nothing in the universe that can undo that. Unless Ultras have some time-rewinding powers that I don’t know about?”
Mirai shook his head.
“Then there’s nothing you need to worry about. Now, I’ve got to get this report done by tonight, so don’t continue to muse over past events. That’s my job, alright?” Sakomizu said with a smile. Mirai still didn’t seem fully satisfied with that answer, but offered no complaints as he headed back to his desk. Happy that his impromptu life lesson had gone down relatively well, Sakomizu turned back to the report. I’m giving life lessons to a several thousand-year-old alien, he chuckled quietly to himself. How on Earth did I end up here?
———
Unfortunately, Sakomizu didn’t end up finishing the report before the shift was over. Granted, he had made a significant dent in it, perhaps buoyed by his late-night/early-morning conversation with Mirai. If he was hoping he would be able to stay up to try and finish the report, though, he was sorely mistaken.
“Not a chance, Captain.” Marina said, crossing her arms, “You are going to go straight to bed. Isn’t he, Mirai?” Mirai nodded in determination.
“Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I really-”
“Sleep is important!” Konomi huffed, copying Marina’s posture, “If you don’t get enough sleep, you won’t be able to make good decisions the next day. Plus, you’ll be more emotionally drained! What happens if there’s a kaiju attack? We need our Captain to be in top form!”
Sakomizu felt like he was back in school again.
“Like it or not, you are going to bed, and Mirai’s going to make sure of it.” Marina said with an air of finality, “Goodnight you two! See you in a couple hours!”
“We’ll have everything held down whilst you sleep, don’t worry!” Konomi called after the two graveyard keepers, as Sakomizu was shepherded out by a still-bright-eyed Mirai.
After managing to convince Mirai that he wouldn’t give him the slip, the two of them headed back to the dormitory wing of the GUYS headquarters in silence. Sakomizu was grateful for it; after everything that had happened that night, he was feeling more than a little drained. He was only pulled out of his sleepy daze when he noticed that Mirai had fallen further behind. He was about to try and ask what was wrong when he heard Mirai’s footsteps suddenly stop behind him. Then-
“Captain, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”
Mirai’s serious tone was enough to shake Sakomizu fully out of his daze. While he was never sure if Mirai did it deliberately every time, Sakomizu knew that his subordinate taking that lower register indicated that he was no longer speaking from his perspective as Mirai Hibino.
“Hm?” was all Sakomizu could manage as he turned around to face a stare that was equal parts intense and concerned.
“When you were talking about how humanity was imperfect, and should learn to be more forgiving with itself, you weren’t including yourself, were you?” Mebius asked.
Sakomizu smiled sheepishly. “No, I suppose I wasn’t. I was mostly talking in the context of Ryu, though; as your captain, and somebody who has been doing this for quite a while, it’s expected that someone with my age and experience would make better choices.”
“So the older someone is, the more experienced they are?”
“Yes, that’s generally how it goes.”
“Then what does that make me?” Mebius asked. Sakomizu went to reply, before faltering, and then faltering again, realising he’d fallen right into Mebius’ trap.
“Mirai, I-”
“It’s alright.” Mebius said with a sad smile, “I understand. I’m not…” he clenched his fists, “I’m not really at a point yet where I can be considered experienced.”
Sakomizu went to speak again, but he was cut off. “It’s fine! This isn’t something I’m upset about, I promise. It’s just made me realise that… well, I’m not sure you’re entirely right. About the reason why Ryu — and humans — act like that, I mean.”
Sakomizu could only stare quizzically. Mebius continued:
“I think it’s a case that, well, only you know everything that’s going on inside your head, right? And then you judge every single thought and judgment call as if you were acting on every single one. I think you’d get a warped view of yourself if you were constantly putting yourself under that much scrutiny.”
Sakomizu shrugged, “Well, I guess that’s a pretty human trait. We are our own worst critics.”
Mebius shook his head, “It’s not just a human thing. Plenty of Ultras do it too. Which is why I don’t think you can just make an exception for yourself — you can’t make such a judgment and then call it ‘objective’. There will always be a time when your ‘experience’ won’t be enough, and you just have to take the fall and, well, learn to do better like you said. Sometimes you have to do that a lot. Sometimes you even have to do that multiple times a day — I know I have.” Mebius laughed, though it lacked its usual warmth.
“And don’t get me wrong! I don’t think your assessment was entirely incorrect either. I just- I feel that Ryu was also realising that sometimes, you can be put into situations that you are so incredibly under-experienced for, and that there was no way any change in your life up until that point could have ever made you actually ready for it. And that can feel really, really frustrating! And it can make you feel helpless! And for someone like Ryu, whose whole life is about trying to help other people, that helplessness can feel really… destabilising. Speaking from experience.”
“So you’re saying I should… accept that I’m never going to be completely ready for my own job?” Sakomizu asked, finding the task to remove every last trace of incredulity from his voice that bit harder in the midst of his exhaustion.
“Sort of? Ultras aren’t gods, like you said, and neither are humans. I think it’s natural to sometimes find yourself out of your depth. Is it fair? It certainly doesn’t feel like it!” Mebius furrowed his brow, “But… I think that’s a part of being alive: never feeling like you’ve completely got it together, but also taking comfort in the fact that everyone else feels the same way. It’s a sort of… universal baseline, and I think that, in a weird way, makes it easier to connect with other people. No matter how different you may look on the outside, everyone feels the same within.”
Mebius looked back up, and Sakomizu almost had to do a double-take to make sure that the face he was looking at was still human.
“Captain. I don’t think it’s fair to yourself to suggest that you’re somehow an omnipotent being that’s also somehow a failure. You’re not either of those things! You’re kind, courageous, and way smarter than you give yourself credit for. And you’ve taught me so much about this world, and how humans live, and how to live, that I’m not sure if I could ever teach you anything in return. You should be more willing to accept your shortcomings! I mean, that’s the only way you’re ever going to stop history from repeating itself, right?”
Sakomizu laughed in response. “I suppose you might be right. But I’m not sure how quickly I can get to that point, so don’t hold your breath.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any need to rush! Plus, I’ll…” Mebius went quiet for a moment, “I’ll be around for a lot longer than you, so… so I’ll be right there to see you succeed!” He recovered, beaming with a smile that didn’t quite match his teary eyes.
Sakomizu nodded. “Please look forward to it.” He said in mock seriousness. Now the smile was reaching his eyes, and Sakomizu smiled in return.
“Anyways, you should be getting to bed! Marina and Konomi would get so mad if they knew I was the one who had been keeping you up,” Mirai said, beginning to usher Sakomizu on again.
“It’s alright, Mirai, I’ll head off to bed now. As should you, actually. You do look more than a little tired.” Sakomizu said, surpassing a yawn. Mirai opened his mouth to process, but, perhaps realising that there was more than a little truth in the captain’s statement, promptly closed it again. So he just nodded and followed Sakomizu down the corridor.
They both stopped once they came to an intersection. Sakomizu’s quarters were just ahead, with Mirai and the rest of the GUYS team situated on the corridor branching to the right.
“Well, Mirai, I’ll see you in a couple of hours. And thank you for keeping me company during the night shift.” Sakomizu said more than a little wearily.
Mirai’s smile in response was almost blinding. “No worries, Captain! Try to get some rest if you can!”
“I will, don’t you worry.” Sakomizu replied, “Oh, and Mirai?”
“Hm? Yes, Captain?”
“I’m not the only teacher here. You’ve taught me so much more about the world and humanity than I likely would have otherwise, even now! You have a much larger impact on the lives on others than I think you realise. Don’t ever forget that, ok?”
Now Mirai’s smile was definitely blinding. “Roger!”
Sakomizu laughed at his subordinate’s beaming face before beginning to walk off.
“Goodnight, Captain!” Mirai called out after him.
Sakomizu checked his watch. 06:47 AM.
“Good morning, Mirai.”
Sakomizu smiled to himself as he heard the sounds of his joke landing successfully. He gently opened the door to his quarters. Inside, it looked almost entirely untouched, save for the coffee machine perched on the countertop. He looked over to his bed. Well, can’t hurt to try and get some rest, right? Despite everything he was, perhaps it was time to give himself that much.
Sakomizu muttered a silent prayer in the hopes that there would be no major disasters waiting for him in the next 24 hours. Today, more than any other day, he really wanted to rest.
Unfortunately for him, the local kaiju population had other ideas.