“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
The enormous kaiju, big enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with high-rise buildings, came tumbling down. The helpless man below it was certain of his impending death. No matter what he did, there was no escape. His body would be crushed to pulp, to the point where no one would be able to identify it.
Mr. Ooka—the director of the TV news special—saw fond memories of his life flash before his eyes like images in a zoetrope. His father had been a journalist. He’d captured images of kaiju with his camera, and had been a famous man within the industry. In 1972, however, he had lost his life in Sapporo while photographing the beast that would later come to be called Kaiju No. 2.
The boy had looked up to his father and had now become a director who had photographed many kaiju himself. But shooting kaiju up close—especially giant kaiju—was strictly forbidden.
The director had put in a request to cover the Third Division precisely because he’d always wanted to shoot a kaiju up close. He’d been thinking that it would be quite the twofer if he got to go with JDF officers to the scene of an emergence. Ultimately, it had been impossible to get into an emergence area, but he was not going to let a chance like this get away. The director and his crew had been hiding on the opposite side of the emergence point, flying the news drones, but—never had they dreamed that the point would move toward them.
The kaiju was closing in. The director closed his eyes tightly and thought, I’m gonna die. Am I gonna die in a place like this? Somebody, help me.
A partial transformation of the legs later, Kafka ran swiftly through the middle of the volcanic smoke. When he came out of it, he was able to see the shape of a human up ahead. Sunk down on the ground was the director of the TV crew that had been covering the Third Division.
What’s that guy doing here? No, never mind that. It doesn’t matter!
The kaiju was closing in from directly above the director’s head. Kafka kicked off the ground and lunged. He transformed, changing all the way into Kaiju No. 8. He clenched his fist and went into a windup with his arm. A brilliant light was beginning to shine from his body.
Drones were in the air above, but this was no time to hold back on their account.
“Uooooooooooooooooooooo—!”
Swinging his fist around sideways, Kafka struck the kaiju with all his strength. An incredible shock wave ran through the surrounding area. Powerful winds were blowing everywhere.
One blow.
With one blow, the dead kaiju’s collapsing body was utterly blown apart. Splatter from it went flying off toward Lake Kawaguchi. Meaty chunks pulverized by the punch came falling down from above as it rained blood on the whole area. Kafka, carrying the director, headed off in the direction opposite of the spot where they’d lured the kaiju, where there didn’t seem to be any officers.
Kafka laid the director down against the wall of a civilian home. The man seemed to have merely fainted.
Whew! But as Kafka let out his breath, he heard a sound behind him. The memory of battling Hoshina after the events at Sagamihara flitted through the back of his mind.
Not good! Kafka thought, trying to find something to hide behind—but he calmed down once he saw who it was. Both Reno and Kikoru were headed his way as fast as they could run.
Ichikawa! And Kikoru—
Thinking they were coming to greet him, Kafka waved his hand at the pair.
And then—
“What’re you doing?” said Reno.
“What are you doing?” said Kikoru.
“Uge—!”
The instant they met, Reno and Kikoru both slammed their fists into Kafka’s face. Hands on his cheeks, Kafka fell backward and landed hard on the ground. When he looked up at them, both Reno and Kikoru glared at him in rage. They were expressions of fury like Kafka had never seen before.
“Y-yikes!” Kafka said, surprised. “W-what’s the matter, you two? Hitting me all of a sudden like that!”
“Will you hurry up and turn off that kaiju form already?” Kikoru shouted.
“S-sure. Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kafka said. “Look here, back to normal.”
Kikoru wasn’t satisfied and said, “Don’t you give me ‘sorry’! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“It’s all right, though, isn’t it? Nobody saw him but us, right?” Reno asked, hoping that Kikoru would calm down.
“Yeah, there was nobody else around,” Kafka said. “Well, there was that one drone, but—”
Reno’s and Kikoru’s eyes opened wide as saucers. They both shouted “Drone?” in unison.
“Yeah, this guy was probably the one flying it. But it’s fine, I tell ya! It got swept up in the shock wave from that punch just now. I don’t think any images survived.”
Kafka gave them a hopeful thumbs-up sign, but Reno and Kikoru were talking to each other with somber expressions.
“This just got messy, didn’t it?” said Reno.
Kikoru agreed. “Yeah, we’ve got to do something.”
“Hm? Why is that?” Kafka asked. “The drone was destroyed, so what’s the problem? It’s gotta be smashed beyond recovery. I didn’t let anybody see what I—”
“Mr. Hibino, today’s cameras send their data to computers,” Reno explained.
“Huh?” Kafka was still perplexed.
“The drone must have been doing that in real time. Recording should have stopped when the drone was broken, but the video up until that moment is likely saved securely on the cloud.”
Kafka still didn’t fully understand, but he knew the color was draining from his face as he said, “I-in other words, um?”
“Kafka Hibino. Your transformation scene is without a doubt perfectly preserved on video!” Kikoru shouted.