Japan was the world’s leader in kaiju-emergence rates—giant monsters had already become commonplace. From the ground, from the mountains, from the rivers, from the lakes, and from the sky—kaiju emerged from all manner of places and inflicted enormous damage.
The Defense Force existed to prevent such damage. Now faced with evidence of an actual kaiju emergence in front of them, the new recruits had a dawning realization of their new identities as Defense Force officers.
Kafka, of course, was also one of those new recruits. A kaiju lay dead on the riverbank. Up until now, he’d been cleaning them up in the role of a dismantler, but now things were different.
That’s right. My dream hasn’t come true yet. All I’ve done is put my foot on the starting line.
Kafka quietly let out his breath and moved away from Reno, and said, “Sorry, Ichikawa. That’s sobered me up.”
“Hold on. You’re still wobbly, aren’t you?” asked Reno.
“Don’t worry, I’m fi— Yikes!”
Kafka had tripped as soon as Reno had spoken, and for a moment it looked like he was about to fall backward and smack his head against the road. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his footing.
“Whoa there, old man!” Iharu said loudly. “Way to hang in there. I thought for sure you were going to land flat on your butt.”
“Ha ha ha! A layback worthy of Ina Bauer!” Kafka declared, but his attempt at making a joke earned him only blank stares.
“Huh? Who’s Ina Bauer?” Iharu asked the group.
“I dunno,” said Reno, tilting his head.
“Oh, I know. She’s that figure skater, right?” said Akari.
“What? Guys, what’s with that reaction?” Kafka exclaimed. Almost everyone in his generation knew who Ina Bauer was. But judging from the reactions around him, there didn’t seem to be many who understood the reference.
Hoshina got serious. He crossed his arms and said in a low tone of voice, “Kafka, there are already folks in their teens and early twenties who’ve never heard of her.”
“Seriously?”
Kikoru, having just looked up Ina Bauer on her smartphone, emitted a half-interested hum. “That was pretty far back, wasn’t it? Around when I was born.”
“Born?” Kafka gasped. How could that be when he was a young man himself? At times like this, the age difference between himself and his fellow recruits felt brutal. There was nothing but sadness in being reminded of the generation gap.
When they reached the front of the Defense Force’s main office building, Hoshina stood ahead of the others and looked them all over. “Good night, everyone. Starting tomorrow, it’s back to training as usual. Remember, there’s a sharp line between on-duty and off-duty conduct, so keep a firm hand on the switch. Izumo, I’m charging tonight’s bill to the expense account, so bring it to me for approval tomorrow.”
“Thank you very much, sir! Have a good evening!” Kafka and the rest all bowed toward Hoshina.
“Will do,” said Hoshina. “Oh, and take good care of the TV reporters tomorrow, will you? Night, all.” The officers stared back, dumbfounded at the words Hoshina had so casually lobbed their way as he left.
“Uh, p-please wait a minute,” said Kafka. “Did you just say ‘TV’?”
“Hm?” Hoshina tilted his head. “What, you haven’t been informed?”
“It should have been posted, but...” Okonogi said. Standing next to Hoshina, she pushed up her glasses and proceeded to fill them in. “It’s a special feature for public television. A camera crew will be coming on base to do an in-depth report on all of you.”
“They’ll be filming for five days,” Hoshina continued. “During that time, the crew will walk around the base, observe your training, and so on. Anyway, all you folks need to do is come to morning assembly, do your drills, eat your meals, and go to bed as usual. It’s not really anything to get worked up over. At any rate, be aware that this report will be shown to the public. Embarrass us too badly, and I just might have to assign some special training.” Everyone shuddered at the sight of Hoshina’s indomitable smile. Defense Force training was harsh in the extreme, and more of it could be assigned at the drop of a hat.
The group was dismissed, and on the way back to his room, Kafka thought, Still, though—it’s television! As a boy, Kafka’s heart had thrilled to the Defense Force’s exploits whenever they appeared on TV. But since becoming a man, he’d harbored a quiet, melancholy feeling and wondered, Why aren’t I on the other side of the screen? For someone like Kafka, appearing on TV as a Defense Force officer was truly something to celebrate. “All right, then, I’ll give it all I’ve got!” he said. As he thrust both fists high in the air like a champion, a voice called out from behind.
“Sir, have you got a minute?”
“Oh, Ichikawa. What’s up?” Kafka took a seat on a bench in the hallway, wondering what Reno had been reluctant to bring up in front of everybody. Was it something embarrassing?
“Mr. Hibino, a little while back, you moved away from me and nearly fell over backward, remember?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“You were right on the verge of slipping up and having a partial transformation, weren’t you?” Ichikawa asked.
Kafka’s heart skipped a beat. The not-yet-neutralized Kaiju No. 8 that had society in an uproar was in fact Kafka Hibino. He had been hiding the fact that he could change into a kaiju, and the only ones who knew the truth were Reno and Kikoru. “No, what are you talking about?” Kafka deflected.
“Right. On. The. Verge. Weren’t you?” Reno pressed.
Faced with the incisive follow-up, Kafka’s eyes cast about for something else to focus on. He tried to think of a way to gloss over what had happened, but he was unable to lie to Reno’s dead-serious glare. “W-well, just for a minute there. I was a little tipsy. It was a reflex. But nothing really happened, so—”
“Oh? Nothing really happened?” Reno asked demandingly.
“I-Ichikawa!” Kafka shouted.
“Were you listening to what the vice-captain said just now? You’re gonna be on television, sir. Television! Starting tomorrow! Do you realize what’ll happen if you get outed in front of the camera?”
“Hmph! Ichikawa, you’re not giving me enough credit!” Kafka insisted. “I’m training myself to control the transformation. As long as nothing serious happens, there’s no way I’m gonna change this time!”
“I wouldn’t call that reassuring from the guy who nearly transformed just from getting drunk,” Reno said.
“Kafka Hibino, he’s exactly right.” Kikoru had appeared on Kafka’s other side and was staring right at him. “This isn’t like the base or in town. If you change in front of the camera, we can’t cover for you. You won’t just be stripped of your position as a general officer in the force, you’ll be captured and slated for neutralization.”
“I-I know that!” Kafka insisted. “With the training I’ve done recently, I’ve finally learned to control it. It’s not like before, when I’d transform if I so much as sneezed.”
“Kafka,” said Kikoru, “you were transforming if you sneezed!”
“Well, only when I first started transforming.” Kafka scratched the back of his head in embarrassment and gave a weak laugh as Kikoru stood shocked to her core with her eyes wide.
“Reno. Is this idiot really okay?” Kikoru asked.
“I’d like to think so.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ichikawa! Kikoru!” Kafka’s voice cracked a little. “I’m finally set to be recognized as a general Defense Force officer. I am not going to screw up something like that!”
Reno and Kikoru looked at one another doubtfully.
For twenty-seven raw recruits and a single cadet, tumultuous days of TV coverage were about to begin.