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The First Division's Base was quieter than usual. Captain Narumi Gen, the strongest Anti-Kaiju Defense Force officer alive, had been out of commission for three days. A stubborn cold--nothing glamorous, nothing battle-related--had flattened him. The man who could solo a kaiju with both eyes closed was now reduced to a sniffling, blanket-burritoed disaster in his private quarters.
Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro stood outside the door, arms crossed, mask pulled up over his nose and mouth like he was entering a hot zone. He'd drawn the short straw. Or rather, no one else had even bothered to pick one up. When the order came down to assign someone to "cater to Captain Narumi's every need during recovery," the entire division had suddenly remembered urgent training, paperwork. Or started suffering from sudden bouts of food poisoning. Hoshina had said yes to the vice captaincy two years ago. This felt like the fine print he'd ignored.
He knocked once. No answer. He sighed and let himself in.
The room smelled like menthol, instant ramen, and the particular brand of expensive cologne Narumi insisted on wearing even when bedridden. The captain himself was sprawled across his oversized bed, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, gaming controllers, and half-empty tissue boxes. His usually sharp red eyes were glassy, his silver bangs a chaotic mess sticking to his forehead. A thick blanket was wrapped around him like a cape.
Narumi cracked one eye open. "Hoshina. Finally. I've been dying here."
"You have a cold, Captain."
"It's strategic weakening. The universe is testing me." Narumi sneezed violently into a tissue, then immediately held it out like evidence in court. "See? This is worse than last year."
Hoshina took the tissue with two gloved fingers and dropped it into the biohazard bag he'd brought. "Your tea's here. Same as yesterday."
Narumi sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off one shoulder. Even sick, he managed to look dramatic. "Temperature check."
Hoshina handed over the mug. Narumi took a sip, paused, and wrinkled his nose.
"Too cold. It's supposed to be exactly 63 degrees Celsius. This is maybe 57. My throat needs precision, Vice Captain."
Hoshina stared at him for a long second. "I'll reheat it."
As he turned toward the small kitchenette attached to the captain's quarters, he caught himself thinking--not for the first time--that this was ridiculous. Narumi Gen was a walking ego with a sword. He'd seen the man shrug off injuries that would hospitalize entire platoons. Yet here he was, reduced to temperature policing over tea. And here Hoshina was, playing nurse.
It's duty, he told himself. Nothin' else. The guy would drive anyone else insane in ten minutes. That's why it's me.
He reheated the tea, tested it himself (it was fine), and brought it back.
"Better," Narumi declared after one sip. Then he coughed, a wet, miserable sound. "Now soup. The one from the officer's mess. But tell them to make it thicker. Last batch was basically water with ambition."
Hoshina wrote it down on the small notepad he'd started carrying specifically for this. "Thicker soup. Got it."
"And crackers. Not the plain ones. The ones with the little ridges."
"Ridge crackers. Copy."
Narumi leaned back, looking pleased with himself despite the red nose, watery eyes, and chapped lips. "You're surprisingly competent at this, Hoshina. Most people can't handle my standards."
"Most people have the good sense to quit," Hoshina muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothin', Captain."
The afternoon dragged on like a bad training simulation. Narumi's demands escalated with his fever.
"Hoshina, my pillow arrangement is off. I need the left one higher. No, higher than that. I’m trying to achieve optimal sinus drainage here."
"Hoshina, the lights are too bright. But not all the way off. Dimmer setting 3. Exactly 3."
"Hoshina, can you read my battle reports out loud? I need to stay mentally sharp. Start from the one where I took down the Honju with the new suit upgrade. Emphasize the part where I was flawless."
Hoshina read them. He emphasized nothing. Narumi still looked smug.
By evening, things took a turn for the truly unhinged.
Narumi emerged from the bathroom holding a small sterile container, looking oddly determined despite the blanket still draped over his shoulders like a royal robe.
"Mucus sample," he announced. "I need you to take this to the lab. Tell them to analyze for any secondary infections. The complete lab work."
Hoshina accepted the container without flinching. He'd handled worse in combat. "Fine."
Narumi wasn't done. He shifted uncomfortably, then produced another container. "And... stool sample. For a comprehensive gut microbiome check. You know how important gut health is for combat performance-”
Hoshina's hand shot up. "No."
Narumi blinked. "What?"
"I said no. I'm not helpin' you shit into a box, Captain."
The silence stretched. Narumi's fever-flushed face somehow managed to convey genuine offense. Then he sneezed again, a spectacular explosion that sent the blanket fluttering.
Hoshina pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get up."
"Why?"
"We're goin' to the hospital wing."
Narumi clutched the blanket tighter. "Absolutely not. That place is a cocktail of germs. I'll get more sick. You know I need controlled environment recovery. My immune system is-"
"Up."
Narumi stared at him. Hoshina stared back, arms crossed, the picture of vice-captain authority mixed with pure exhaustion. Something in his expression must have gotten through, because Narumi grumbled, shifted, and slowly stood. The blanket stayed wrapped around him, trailing on the floor like a train.
Hoshina had given him that blanket last year after Narumi had ignored three separate medical check-ups. The note had been blunt: a coded insult disguised as concern, translated roughly as "Please leave me alone and start going to the hospital wing like a normal person." Narumi had never acknowledged the message. He just used the blanket every time he was under the weather.
Denial, Hoshina thought. Fits him.
They walked the corridors together. Or rather, Hoshina marched and Narumi shuffled behind him, sniffling and muttering. A few officers passed them and quickly looked away, pretending not to notice their captain in full dramatic convalescent mode.
"You're enjoying this," Narumi accused as they turned toward the medical wing.
"I'm not."
"You've got that little smirk. The one you do when you think you're right."
"I am right. You need actual medical attention, not me playin' fetch with your bodily fluids. You have a 39 degree fever."
Narumi pulled the blanket higher around his neck. "I'm the strongest. A little cold isn't going to-"
He was cut off by another sneeze. Hoshina handed him a tissue without looking.
"Strongest idiot, maybe," Hoshina said quietly.
Narumi didn't respond. They kept walking.
---
Earlier that morning
Hoshina had started his day with every intention of keeping distance. He'd assigned the usual training rotations, reviewed the latest kaiju sighting reports from the Third Division, and told himself that Narumi's illness was none of his business beyond basic oversight.
Then the calls started.
First from the medical staff: "Captain Narumi refuses to come in. Says the hospital wing is 'suboptimal.' He wants a private attendant."
Then from operations: "Vice Captain, he's requesting you specifically. Something about trust and precision standards."
Hoshina had cursed in the old Kyoto dialect his family still used when no one was listening. He knew why it was him. Narumi didn't trust easily. For all his bluster and ego, the captain kept most people at arm's length. Hoshina had been there long enough--through battles, promotions, and the quiet moments after--to become one of the few exceptions.
Not that Hoshina would ever admit that mattered.
It's practical, he repeated to himself as he gathered supplies. Anyone else would quit or screw it up. I'm just efficient.
He ignored the small voice that pointed out how he'd memorized Narumi's preferred tea brand, the exact soup consistency the man liked, and the way he always got neurotic about secondary infections after even minor illnesses.
---
Back in the present, they reached the doors to the hospital wing. Narumi stopped just outside, blanket cocooned around him, looking like a disgruntled emperor.
"They're going to poke me with needles," he complained. "Run tests. Probably tell me to rest more. As if I don't know my own body."
"Ya don't," Hoshina said flatly. "You once fought a kaiju with a broken rib and called it 'minor discomfort.'"
"That was different. That was combat."
"This is you being a stubborn ass."
Narumi turned to look at him. For a moment, the usual cocky mask slipped. The fever made his eyes brighter, almost vulnerable. "You really think it's that bad?"
Hoshina's chest did something complicated. He shoved it down immediately. Duty. Nothing more.
"I think," he said carefully, "that even the strongest need backup sometimes. That's what vice captains are for."
Narumi considered this. Then he smirked, the familiar ego resurfacing. "Fine. But you're staying with me. I'm not letting some random nurse handle my samples. They don't understand precision."
"Of course they do. They're medical professionals."
"Still. You do it better."
Hoshina sighed. Long, theatrical, and full of the accumulated suffering of three days. "Yer impossible."
"You like it."
"I tolerate it. There’s a difference."
Narumi laughed, which turned into a cough. Hoshina automatically reached out to steady him, hand on the blanket-covered shoulder. The contact lingered half a second longer than necessary.
Just duty, Hoshina thought again. The words were starting to sound hollow even to him.
They stepped through the doors together. The nurses looked up, expressions shifting from surprise to professional sympathy at the sight of the blanket-swaddled captain and his long-suffering vice captain.
One nurse, a veteran who'd seen it all, smiled knowingly. "Captain Narumi. Vice Captain Hoshina. Usual suite?"
"Usual suite," Hoshina confirmed.
Narumi allowed himself to be led, still complaining under his breath about germ concentrations and suboptimal pillow counts. But he didn't pull away when Hoshina's hand guided him forward.
In the quiet hallway behind them, the blanket trailed like a flag of reluctant surrender.
Hoshina caught the edge and tucked it back around Narumi's shoulders without thinking.
Just duty.
Yeah. Sure.
---
The hospital wing of the First Division was mercifully quiet this afternoon. A few minor training injuries occupied the far beds, and the usual kaiju-related trauma cases were blessedly absent. In Exam Room 4, however, peace was not on the agenda.
Narumi Gen sat on the edge of the examination table, still swaddled in his thick gray blanket, his nose raw and red, and his eyes watery and unfocused. He looked less like Japan's strongest Anti-Kaiju captain and more like a disgruntled raccoon that had lost a fight with a tissue box.
Hoshina Soshiro sat in the plastic chair beside him, clipboard balanced on one knee, pen clicking rapidly. The intake form was long—ridiculously long--and the vice captain had already filled out the easy parts.
Name: Narumi Gen
Age: 32
Sex: Male
Chief Complaint: Cold and high fever
Hoshina tapped the pen against the paper. "How did it occur?"
Narumi sniffed dramatically. "After the battle in the rain. That big Honju last week. You remember. I was magnificent."
Hoshina wrote in neat, merciless handwriting: Refused to dry off or change after battle. Stayed outside in wet suit preening to junior officers for 47 minutes. Then he added: (self-diagnosed as "strategic weakening by the universe") to Chief Complaint.
Narumi looked up, one eyebrow raised despite the fever haze. "What are you writing?"
"Nothin' important," Hoshina said mildly.
He moved to the next section.
"Do you have a history of illnesses?"
Narumi let out a long, theatrical moan and flopped backward onto the pillow. The blanket tangled around his legs. "I feel like a kaiju entered my head and is trying to rip my brain out through my sinuses. This is worse than dying. Actually dying would be preferable. At least then I wouldn’t have to answer stupid questions."
Hoshina rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. He wrote slowly, reciting out loud for maximum annoyance: "Recurrent colds during monsoon and winter seasons. Exacerbated by the patient's idiocy in refusing to visit the doctor until he can no longer stand upright."
Narumi sat bolt upright, scowling. The motion triggered a massive sneeze that nearly launched him off the table. Hoshina handed him a tissue without looking up.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Narumi grumbled, voice muffled by the tissue.
"I'm doin' my job, Captain."
Next question.
"Diabetes?"
"No."
Hoshina checked the box.
"Kidney disease?"
"No."
"History of migraines?"
"No," Narumi said firmly.
Hoshina paused, then wrote: Gives the entire division migraines on a weekly basis. He underlined it twice.
Narumi caught the extra writing and scowled harder. "What did you just add?"
"Medical accuracy."
The questions continued, each one more grating than the last.
"Behavioral issues?" Hoshina read aloud, already grinning internally.
Narumi sensed danger. "Don't you dare--"
Hoshina wrote cheerfully: Stays awake until 5 a.m. boasting about game stats to anyone who will listen. Also insists on personalized temperature requirements for beverages.
Narumi shouted, "Hey!" which immediately turned into another explosive sneeze. "Fine, fine, whatever! Write your little novel."
Hoshina patted his arm condescendingly. "Thank you for yer cooperation."
"Depression?"
"No."
"Anxiety?"
"No."
Hoshina tapped the pen. "Anythin' else? Please specify."
Narumi threw his hands up, blanket slipping off one shoulder. "What does any of this have to do with a stupid cold?! I got wet, I got sick, end of story! This form is longer than my combat report after the No. 9 incident!"
Hoshina hummed thoughtfully. Then, with perfect calm, he wrote in the margins: Possible psychosis. Patient believes he is immune to basic biology.
Narumi screamed. Actually screamed--a hoarse, indignant sound that echoed down the hallway. A passing nurse peeked in, saw Hoshina's serene expression, and quietly closed the door again.
"You're psychotic!" Narumi accused, pointing a shaky finger.
"I'm not the one refusin' basic medical care for three days while demanding custom soup viscosity," Hoshina replied.
He flipped to the next page.
"Lesions and skin conditions?"
Narumi crossed his arms. "None."
Hoshina raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that tattoo on yer hip that says 'Cool like the Ice.' Real professional, Captain."
Narumi swore colorfully in three different dialects. Hoshina wrote it down as Patient reports no notable skin conditions. Exhibits defensive Tourette's-like outbursts when reminded of poor life choices.
"I'm going to kill you the second this fever breaks," Narumi growled.
"Threatening your vice captain. Noted."
By the time they reached the end of the form, Narumi was a fuming, sneezing, blanket-wrapped ball of indignation. Hoshina stood, stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. The clipboard felt heavier than most combat reports.
"Stay here. I'll submit this."
"Don't add anything else!" Narumi called after him.
Hoshina waved without turning around.
At the main desk, the head nurse--a stern woman in her fifties who had seen captains come and go--accepted the clipboard. She scanned the pages, lips twitching at some of Hoshina's more creative entries.
"Relationship to patient?" she asked routinely.
Hoshina opened his mouth and, for one catastrophic second, his brain short-circuited.
"I wish--" He caught himself, face flooding with heat. "I mean--vice captain. Subordinate. I'm his vice captain."
The head nurse raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Her gaze flicked from Hoshina's reddening ears to the exam room door where Narumi's muffled complaining could still be heard.
"Mm-hmm," she said, utterly unconvinced. She nodded to the nurse waiting nearby. "Room 4. Full vitals, bloodwork, and a chest X-ray. The usual Narumi Protocol."
The nurse, a brave second-year, saluted and headed off to face the storm.
Hoshina lingered at the desk, pretending to read a poster about hand hygiene while his pulse refused to calm down. I wish. What the hell kind of Freudian nightmare was that? He didn’t wish anything. This was duty. Pure, exhausting, migraine-inducing duty. The fact that Narumi only trusted him with this nonsense didn't mean anything. The way he'd wrapped himself in that specific blanket didn't mean anything. The way Hoshina had memorized the exact way Narumi liked his tea--63 degrees, no more, no less--was just... efficiency.
Yeah. Efficiency.
From down the hall came the unmistakable sound of Narumi arguing with the nurse about needle gauge.
Hoshina allowed himself one tiny, private smirk before schooling his face back into neutrality.
He was halfway back to the room when his phone buzzed. A message from Narumi, sent despite being ten meters away:
Bring back better pillows. These are flat. And tell them no decaf. I need full caffeine for recovery.
Hoshina typed back: You're getting whatever they give you. Behave.
The reply was immediate: You're mean when I'm dying.
You're dramatic when you have a cold.
Three dots. Then: Come back. It's boring without you annoying me.
Hoshina stared at the message. His thumb hovered. He typed Idiot and deleted it. Typed On my way and sent that instead.
When he re-entered the room, Narumi was sitting up again, blanket pulled tight, looking equal parts pathetic and imperious. The nurse was setting up the blood pressure cuff with the air of someone defusing a bomb.
"Took you long enough," Narumi said.
"Paperwork," Hoshina replied. He dragged the chair closer and sat down, elbows on knees. "They're doing full tests. Try not to terrorize the staff."
"I make no promises." Narumi sneezed again, then immediately looked offended by his own body. "This is clearly a kaiju-level threat. We should classify it."
"I'll write the report later. You dictate, I'll type."
Narumi's expression softened--just a fraction--before the ego slammed back into place. "Good. Make sure to note how bravely I'm enduring this."
"Of course, Captain. The bravest cold in recorded history."
The nurse hid a smile behind his clipboard.
Hoshina leaned back, watching as the blood pressure cuff inflated. Narumi kept shooting him glances, like he was checking if his vice captain was still there. Still tolerating him. Still playing along with the endless demands.
Hoshina met his eyes and didn't look away.
Just duty, he told himself again.
The lie was getting harder to sell with every passing minute.
---
Three hours later
Narumi was officially admitted for observation--mostly because the doctor had taken one look at Hoshina's annotated form and declared, "We're keeping him overnight before he convinces himself he can fight kaiju with a 39-degree fever."
Hoshina had been given a cot in the corner of the private room. "For support," the head nurse had said with a knowing smile.
Narumi was dozing now, finally worn out by his own theatrics. The blanket was still wrapped around him like a security measure. Hoshina sat beside the bed, updating division reports on his tablet. Every so often Narumi would mumble something in his sleep--complaints about soup thickness or demands for game stats.
Hoshina reached over without thinking and adjusted the blanket so it covered Narumi's shoulder properly.
He caught himself mid-motion and froze.
Duty.
The word had never felt so unconvincing.
From the bed, Narumi cracked one eye open. "Hoshina..."
"Yeah?"
"Don't leave."
Hoshina's chest did that annoying complicated thing again. He sighed, long and suffering. "I'm right here, Captain. Try to sleep before ya come up with more ridiculous demands."
Narumi smiled, small and fever-loopy. "You're the only one who puts up with me."
"Someone has to."
Silence fell, comfortable despite everything. Hoshina went back to his reports, but his free hand stayed near the edge of the bed.
Outside, the head nurse passed by the window, glanced in, and shook her head with fond exasperation.
"Vice captain my ass," she muttered, continuing her rounds.
Inside Room 4, Japan's strongest captain and his long-suffering vice captain weathered the great cold epidemic--one sarcastic comment and one ridiculous demand at a time.