“No kidding. But Kikoru, you weren’t putting on a well-bred-lady act, were you?” Kafka asked suspiciously.
She answered him with an unapologetic look. “It’s perfectly normal to put on a good face for the public. I got interviewed time and again back in college.”
Even Reno remembered seeing Kikoru interviewed on television before. They’d called her things like “the greatest talent of all time,” and he had come to realize that was no exaggeration.
“Anyway, that’s just how things go when I’m around.” Gloatingly, Kikoru gave a self-assured little laugh. As she was doing so, the news crew closed in on Reno. “Could we have a word with you next?” the director asked.
“Uh, sure.” Reno had never dreamed they would want to interview him, so he immediately felt awkward.
“Can you tell us your name and affiliation?”
“I’m Reno. Reno Ichikawa. Starting this year, I’ve been assigned to Third Division.”
“Oh, so you’re Mr. Ichikawa. I’ve heard you were seriously injured in your first battle but have finally been able to return to your duties. Can you tell us how you feel about your first mission?”
Reno hesitated for just a moment, wondering how to phrase it. “I feel ashamed.” He had decided to cough up exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t used to putting on a public face like this. “I fought that monster desperately with everything I had. But even so, my attacks didn’t harm it.”
“But I’ve also heard that you’ve put down a number of yoju,” the director added.
“That alone doesn’t help,” Reno said bluntly. There was no way he could be satisfied with any more ability than that. Reno’s goals always lay ahead of him. “I want to get stronger so I can defend those I care about most.”
“I see, that’s a wonderful goal. Thank you for speaking with us.”
The interview ended, and Reno let out a long sigh of relief. Some way off, Kafka was observing Reno with displeasure.
“What’s the matter, sir?” Reno asked. Had he blurted out something that rubbed Kafka the wrong way?
“Ichikawa, there was nothing for you to be ashamed of. You did a fine job on your first outing.” Kafka said.
“I really didn’t, sir. What I wanted to achieve was—”
His decisive strike having failed to reach Kaiju No. 9, he had been saved by—
“Excuse me, would you mind if we asked you a few questions?” the director said coaxingly.
“Huh? Who, m-me?” Kafka unwittingly pointed a finger at himself.
“Who else but you is left?” said Kikoru mockingly.
“It’s my first time doing a TV interview. I’m pretty nervous.” Kafka cleared his throat repeatedly.
“Well then,” the director continued. “I’d like to talk about the operation at Sagamihara, which was the first battle for the incoming recruits. Speaking as their senior, how did the junior members do?”
“Well, let’s see, speaking as their senior— Wait, what?” After a moment’s awkward silence, Kafka pointed at himself. “By ‘senior,’ do you mean me?”
“Y-yes,” said the director, as if it should have been obvious whom he meant. “How did junior members Shinomiya and Ichikawa appear in the eyes of a seasoned officer? I’d like to hear your opinion on that.”
“Pfft!” Standing off to one side, Kikoru had one hand over her mouth and her whole body was quivering with outrage. “He’s asking you a question, Mr. Senior Officer, sir!”
Kafka could only sputter incoherently.
“Um!” Reno put in without thinking. “When I call him ‘sir,’ it’s not because he’s a senior officer! That’s just how I address him personally. He joined the force the same time that we did.” Reno’s formal mode of address had invited misunderstanding. To avoid any further mistakes, Reno gave a simple explanation of how he’d come to call Kafka “sir.”
The director stared at Kafka’s face and said, “I see now! In that case, you must be Mr. Hibino, the eldest of the Defense Force’s new recruits?”
“Eldest, huh. I mean, that’s right! But that kind of feels like being called an old man.”
“I said it before—how are you not an old man?” Kikoru said with a frosty glare.
“Maybe I am old numerically, but I still feel—” Kafka paused to find the right words, and Kikoru swiftly interrupted him.
“There’s nothing so unsightly as an old man who can’t admit he’s an old man.”
With a wry smile, the director turned his mic toward Kafka, who had barely yet recovered from Kikoru’s harsh words. “Officer Hibino, may I interview you?”
“Uh, yessir!”
“All right, I appreciate it. Sorry to bother you during training,” the director said.
“S-same here,” Kafka said nervously. “Thank you very much!” Kafka and the director bowed to one another, and Kafka moved away from the camera back to Reno and Kikoru.
“I wonder if what we talked about was all right?” said Kafka. He wasn’t at all used to being interviewed and appeared confused and shaken by the ordeal.
“I know, right?” said Kikoru. “You were nervous and said ‘um’ way too many times. They’ll either cut your interview down or not use it.”
“I’m not used to this like you are!”
“Actually, I’m kind of relieved,” said Reno as he lightly patted his chest. Given Kafka’s hangover and nervous state, Reno had been on pins and needles, assuming that a partial transformation was in the cards for today. Kafka seemed pretty much back to his usual self, though, so that had apparently been needless worry.
Just then, the director bopped his palm with the bottom of his fist. “Oh, that’s right! Could I also get your opinions on Kaiju No. 8, the one the public is so worked up about?”
Kaiju No. 8—at those words, Kafka, Reno, and Kikoru froze up.
“Hey,” whispered Kafka. “He’s asking about No. 8!”
“This is nothing to panic over,” Kikoru whispered.
“Mr. Hibino, Shinomiya. Let me go first,” whispered Reno.
Reno cleared his throat a little too loudly and then began to speak. “Regarding No. 8, from the standpoint of information management, we can’t say anything more than what’s publicly been released. My apologies. Still, as Defense Force officers, locating No. 8 swiftly and securing the citizens’ safety—”
“Ah … ah …” Standing next to Reno, Kafka’s mouth suddenly opened wide. “Ah … aaaaah … choo!”
At the instant Kafka sneezed, it started to happen. A pair of long horns sprouted from his head.
“Ah!” shouted Reno.
“Huh?” said Kikoru, eyes snapping wide.
“Whu?” said the director in confusion.
“Crap!” said Kafka, scrambling to cover his head.
“Raaaaaaah!”
The combat power was released. In the next instant, Reno let loose with a loud yell and gave Kafka a swift kick that sent him flying.
“Umph!”
It was a blow made possible by Reno’s suit. Taking the kick, Kafka was blasted away with incredible force and plunged headlong into a nearby pile of rubble.
The director, unsure of what had just happened, was rubbing his eyes. “M-my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I could’ve sworn Mr. Hibino was growing horns.”
“You must be seeing things!” Kikoru insisted. She began forcibly dragging Kafka out of the rubble he was now buried under and shoved the dust-caked Kafka in front of the camera. His horns had already vanished.
“See?” Kikoru said. “Any way you look at him, he’s just a dim-witted old-timer!”
“H-hey, there,” said Kafka. “I’m a dim-witted old-timer!”
“Why don’t you know when to quit?” The same Kikoru who had been calmly answering questions in her interview was now sweating profusely. “Come on, you,” she whispered in Kafka’s ear. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you not realize you’ll be neutralized if it gets out that you’re really Kaiju No. 8?”
“S-sorry,” Kafka said. “I was nervous, so when I sneezed, it just—”
“Don’t transform when you sneeze!” Kikoru insisted angrily.
The director frowned and called out to the nearby cameraman. “Hey, were you rolling just now?” The cameraman shook his head no, but the director looked even more suspicious.
“By any chance, is this what you saw just now?” At the sound of Reno’s voice, all eyes fell on him. On Reno’s face was a creepy skull mask—he had transformed into Kaiju No. 8! Before his startled audience, Reno peeled away the paper mask covering his face.
Kikoru said, “Reno, is that—?”
“Yeah, it’s one of the posters the JDF put out to warn the public.”
Kaiju No. 8 was the first monster since the JDF’s founding to have gotten away. Based on witnesses’ testimony, an image of it had been created and circulated on television (naturally), and even on posters that had been put up around town to warn the public.
“I pulled it out right as Mr. Hibino sneezed. Was this what you saw?” Reno asked.
“That? Well, maybe. Hmmm.” With the director’s head still tilted in uncertainty, the crew picked up their things and moved on to their next filming location.
As Reno breathed out a sigh of relief, Kafka clapped him on the back. “Nice one, Ichikawa! When did you make that?”
“Last night. When I heard they were filming, I got it ready in a hurry just in case. And by the way, that wasn’t a ‘nice one’ at all! If I hadn’t had this thing, how were you gonna talk your way out of that?”
“W-well, I figured somehow my enthusiasm would help?”
“It would just overwhelm him!”
“Kafka Hibino, try to be a little more self-aware,” Kikoru chided. “It would be a massive problem if they found out an identified kaiju had wormed its way into the JDF.”
“I-I’m sorry. It’s all right!” Kafka gave a thumbs-up. “I won’t slip up again. No matter what happens, I won’t transform, so you can set your minds at ease!” Kafka was bursting with confidence. Kikoru and Reno looked at one another.
“You get the feeling there’s some obvious foreshadowing here?”
“I do. I do get that kind of feeling.”
Reno couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Would tomorrow’s obstacle course come off safely or not?