“Ha ha. Oh yeah, that was me, wasn’t it?” Hoshina laughed jovially.
“I also got an email from the TV station expressing their gratitude. They said Ichikawa, Shinomiya, and Hibino were all a great help.”
Kafka too?
Hoshina had read Reno’s report about their rescue activities at Lake Kawaguchi. According to what he’d read, Ichikawa and Shinomiya had rescued the director together. So why had the TV station mentioned Hibino in the thank-you note?
Are they hiding the fact that Hibino was with them? But why would they do such a thing?
Kafka and Kaiju No. 8—for just a moment, something almost drew a line connecting the two in Hoshina’s mind. But an image surfaced of Kafka as he was in his daily life. Not once had he defeated a yoju in the line of duty, and even his drills were nothing but a succession of failures.
No way that could ever be, is there?
The feeling that Hoshina had for just a moment dissipated immediately, like an early-morning fog.
That night, many officers were gathered in the recreation room. Even Aoi, who tended to spend his off-hours on additional training, put in an unexpected appearance. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the television screen.
Notice had been given that barring any emergency bulletins, their segment would be broadcast tonight. Kafka was in the back of the room, staring intently at the TV screen. Next to him was Reno, who was having trouble keeping still.
“You think they’ll really show much of me, Ichikawa?”
“They interviewed you, so it’s definitely possible.”
“Kafka Hibino,” Kikoru said in a low voice beside him. “That isn’t what you need to be worried about. If by some chance they have footage of you transforming, the resulting scandal will be huge.”
“Not a problem,” Kafka said confidently. “I wouldn’t screw up like that. At least, I shouldn’t have.”
“Not losing our confidence now, are we?” Kikoru slyly asked.
Her words made Kafka uneasy. What if his partial transformation had by some slim chance been caught on camera? His stomach started tying itself in knots at the thought of it.
“Oh! This is it!” shouted Iharu, who had taken up a spot in front of the television.
Behind the newscaster, an image was displayed of Captain Ashiro. “Next up, we have a special report. Japan Defense Force Third Division, led by Captain Mina Ashiro, this year admitted twenty-seven new officers into its ranks. We followed these newly minted officers for an in-depth look at the lives of harsh training they lead.”
With a chorus of oooohs, a stir spread through the crowd.
“Twenty-seven members— Did they leave me out?” Kafka asked.
“Well, sir,” said Reno, “you hadn’t gotten your official letter at that point yet.”
The first thing the program showed was shooting practice. It began with a shot of officers holding weapons, and then Kikoru appeared, blasting holes through her targets one after another.
“Ah, it’s Kikoru!” Akari squealed happily.
For a time, clips played of Kikoru’s impressive training efforts.
“You are really, really standing out,” Kafka murmured unconsciously.
Looking immensely pleased with herself, Kikoru squared her shoulders, held her head high, and said, “Of course I am. I’ve also got the top scores, and most importantly, I am radiantly photogenic.”
“Hold on a minute. I was there shooting right next to you, so I might show up too—” said Kafka, his heart pounding with expectation.
The newscast continued: “Last year’s selection exam was the hardest they’ve ever held. The twenty-seven who were chosen are performing so well that it’s hard to believe they only just joined up.”
“Ah,” said Reno, “looks like they’re done showing shooting drills.”
“Ichikawa, is it just me, or did they blatantly leave out only me?” Kafka asked worriedly.
“If they did show you,” Kikoru said, “no one would believe the part about this being the hardest selection exam ever.”
Urk. Kikoru’s words stabbed like daggers, to the point that Kafka unwittingly clutched his chest.
Next, they moved on to newcomer interviews. First to appear on the screen was Reno, in close-up.
“Oh! It’s Ichikawa!” Kafka shouted.
“Ah,” Reno said, “this is from the first day, right after shooting practice.”
On the screen, speaking into the mic pointed at him, Reno replied to a question with a gallant look on his face: “I want to get stronger,” he said. “So I can defend those I care about most.” Seeing that, Iharu started roaring with laughter from his seat in the front, and said, “Wha ha ha, Reno! Putting on a hero act for the camera!”
“I-I was not!”
Reno’s interview ended, and the scene changed. Now it was Iharu answering the questions, with sweat trickling down his forehead.
“It—it’s me!”
On the screen, Iharu answered the same question that Reno had: “It’s still not enough,” he said. “I’m going to get stronger. I’m—”
“Iharu,” said Reno, “aren’t you saying exactly the same thing I did?”
“Sh—shut up!” Iharu replied angrily.
Next, the screen switched to the obstacle course. The duo of Aoi and Haruichi were shown running between vacant buildings. Aoi unslung his rifle and blew a hole through a target that emerged from the shadows. Haruichi, resting his head on his hand, saw this and murmured, “Aoi, your moves really are too stiff. If it was me in this scene, I’d have done it two seconds faster.”
Arms crossed, Aoi replied, “Haruichi, what you need to do is go back to the fundamentals again. First, master the basics, then put them into practice.”
“No, Aoi, even at Lake Kawaguchi, you were—”
“No, it was you—
The two began arguing, with no regard for the TV or the others watching it.
Scenes followed one upon another, showing the inside of the base. There was Hakua wolfing down her dinner in the mess hall, Akari listening intently to a lecture, officers training hard in the dojo. Cheers went up every time people recognized themselves.
And then, an alarm rang out inside the base, and officers were shown on-screen getting ready for mobilization.
The special report had been going for over fifteen minutes by this point, and the end time of the program was rapidly approaching.
Hey, now! What’s this? Kafka wondered. He had a sinking feeling he knew what would come next.
The screen showed Ashiro, facing her work desk in the captain’s office. “Defense Force officers have a harsh duty,” she said, “where they could die at any time. I want to fight with them on the front lines and be both their shield and their spearhead.”
The recorded footage of the Defense Force ended there. The program cut back to the studio and newscasters.
Kafka looked at Reno sitting next to him and shouted in a loud voice, “Hey, Ichikawa— Did they really not show me even once?”
“N-no, they showed you.”
“Huh? Where? Did I miss it?”
For just a moment, Reno didn’t know how to answer. Then he muttered, “You were in it for just a second. It was the scene in the dojo. You’d lost to Vice-Captain Hoshina and were lying on the floor.”
“I’d rather they cut that!” Kafka said, outraged.
“More importantly,” said Kikoru, “I’m just glad that nothing unusual was shown.”
“Yeah, well, that was a good thing, but— Urgh, just you wait! Next time a TV crew comes here, I’ll see to it the show is all about me!” Kafka said.
And I’ll be standing right next to Mina. That was his goal, after all.
Seeing this special report on their training from an outside perspective, the officers had noticed new things about one another, and not all of them were good or agreeable. Arguments were steadily heating up. Somewhere along the line, the recreation room had descended into a clamorous uproar.
That was why no one noticed the person lurking in the doorway.
What the—? Looks like I don’t have anything to contribute here.
Quietly, Hoshina gave a wry smile, turned on his heel, and walked off alone down the darkened hallway.
Behind the newscaster, the TV was running footage from the Lake Kawaguchi neutralization operation. It showed Reno, Kikoru, and Kafka from behind. It was the clip that the director had secretly shot at the very end. He’d done it to honor the three who had rescued him, and he’d fought hard to squeeze it in before his work suspension took effect.
Kafka was in the middle of an argument, however, and didn’t notice himself on the screen at all. The commentator wrapped things up with the following words: “Due to its extremely high frequency of kaiju emergences, Japan is called ‘the Great Land of Kaiju.’ We mustn’t forget that the reason we’re able to go about our daily lives as we do in this environment is thanks to the officers of the Defense Force.”
The uproar in the rec room carried on, with no end in sight.
It was going to be another late night for the newly minted officers at Tachikawa Base—all twenty-eight of them.