"It was him. I'm sure of it."
Kikoru Shinomiya's voice was sharp, cutting through the sterile quiet of the debriefing room. She stood before her father, Director General Shinomiya, her combat suit shed for a standard officer's uniform. Her face was a mask of cold fury.
"Anomaly-Alpha," she stated, her fists clenched at her sides. "He was there. The one from the reports. The 'Caped Baldy'."
Director General Shinomiya steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Mina Ashiro and Soshiro Hoshina listened intently, the gravity of the situation settling heavily in the room.
"Describe the encounter precisely," Shinomiya commanded.
"There is little to describe," Kikoru admitted, her frustration palpable. "He and Beta appeared on a rooftop during my engagement with the new Kaiju variant. He said... we were being too loud." She practically spat the words. "And when I moved to pursue the Kaiju... he looked at me. That's all. He just looked at me, and I couldn't move."
Hoshina's eyes narrowed. "It's the same thing I experienced. A pressure. Not physical, but... absolute. A paralysis of intent."
"So he possesses some form of psychic ability?" Mina asked, trying to fit the impossible event into a tactical box.
"No," Kikoru and Hoshina said in unison.
Kikoru continued, struggling to articulate the feeling. "It wasn't a power being used on me. It was a realization that came from within me. The realization that I was... insignificant. That any action I could possibly take would be meaningless. It felt like shouting at a hurricane."
Shinomiya absorbed this, his mind cold and analytical. "And his companion? Beta?"
"Stood silent. Observed. His presence felt… secondary. A follower. But the threat radiating from his chassis was significant," Kikoru reported.
Shinomiya turned his attention to a holographic display showing a 3D model of Kaiju No. 8, reconstructed from Kikoru's suit-cam footage.
"And this creature. Your report says it displayed unusual behavior. Aversion to combat. Protecting civilians. And a unique energy signature."
"Yes, sir," Kikoru confirmed. "It wasn't fighting to kill. It was fighting to escape. And it was abnormally durable. My standard attacks barely scratched it."
The Director General zoomed in on the creature's energy readings, his brow furrowing. "Dr. Arisugawa's team found traces of the same energy pattern at the twitcher incident. And..." He paused, bringing up another file. "...we found faint, residual traces of it on the body of an injured Monster Sweeper employee who was near the initial point of the Cataclysm Kaiju attack. Kafka Hibino."
Kafka's name hung in the air. To Shinomiya, it was just another data point. A coincidence to be filed away. But to Mina, it was a jolt.
Kafka? Was he that close? Is he alright? She hadn't spoken to him since the attack. The weight of her new, fabricated fame and the secrecy surrounding it had built a wall between them.
"So we now have two new major unknowns," Shinomiya summarized, his voice a low growl. "An entity of immeasurable power who treats our world like his personal backdrop, and a new, seemingly intelligent Kaiju variant with a strangely defensive nature. And the two appear to be connected, if only tangentially."
He stood, his presence filling the room. "Our priorities are twofold. Project Bald Cape is to be given Alpha-level clearance. I want Kenji Tanaka and his team to have access to every resource we have. Their mission is to find Alpha, learn his motives, and determine if he can be controlled or... neutralized."
A chill went down Mina's spine at the final word.
"Secondly," he continued, "I am issuing a capture order for this new Kaiju, codenamed 'Kaiju No. 8.' I want it brought in alive. I want to know what it is, where it came from, and why it is different. Kikoru, you are assigned lead on this. You've fought it. You know its capabilities."
Kikoru gave a sharp salute, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Yes, Father. I will not fail." It was a chance to redeem herself. She couldn't match Alpha, but she would damn well capture the monster he had dismissed as 'boring'.
Across town, in a newly rented, sparsely furnished two-bedroom apartment, Saitama sneezed.
"Ugh. Someone talking about me?" he mumbled, rubbing his nose.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the empty living room, staring at the wall. The apartment was clean, spacious, and anonymous. Genos had secured it using his newly created financial empire, paying for a five-year lease upfront in a single, bafflingly large digital transaction that gave the landlord a minor heart attack.
"It is a common superstition, Master, but it lacks scientific basis," Genos said. He was meticulously cleaning a single smudge from his metallic finger with a microfiber cloth. "It is more likely that you are reacting to the higher-than-average airborne pollutants in this city's atmosphere."
Saitama wasn't listening. "Man, I'm bored."
This statement, for Saitama, was as natural as breathing.
"We have shelter, a stable source of income, and have procured all necessary ingredients for tonight's hot pot, Master. According to my calculations, our situation is optimal," Genos recited.
"Yeah, but there's nothing to do," Saitama complained, falling backwards to lie flat on the floor. "The monsters here are weird. And that girl in the power armor... she was all flashy, but her punches had no weight behind them. And the other monster just ran away. No good fights at all."
He let out a deep sigh. He had hoped a new world might mean new challenges. Stronger enemies. Maybe even a monster that could withstand more than one of his normal punches. But so far, it was just more of the same. Annoying situations followed by one-sided, unsatisfying conclusions.
"Perhaps we should integrate further into this world's hero society?" Genos suggested, always seeking a way to legitimize his Master's power. "This 'Defense Force' appears to be the primary organization. If we were to join, your heroic deeds would be properly recorded and credited."
Saitama sat up, considering it. "Join them? You mean, like, get a job? Do they have a written test?"
"My preliminary research indicates they have a highly rigorous screening process, including both physical and written examinations."
Saitama immediately lost interest. "Nah. Sounds like too much work. Written tests are a pain."
His gaze drifted to the window. The city sprawled out before him, a sea of lights under the darkening sky. It was another city in another world, but the feeling was exactly the same. An endless, unbeatable opponent that had nothing to do with monsters or power: his own profound, soul-crushing boredom.
He was a god in a world of mortals, and all he could think about was what was for dinner.
In his own cramped, lonely apartment, Kafka Hibino pulled on a cheap sweatshirt, his body still aching from the transformation and the fight.
He looked at his phone. The screen was filled with alerts about a 'Mysterious New Kaiju' clashing with Kikoru Shinomiya. His face, in monster form, was now plastered all over the news. He was officially a wanted man, and also a monster.
Reno's face flashed in his mind. The look of shock and awe. Reno had seen him. He hadn't seen him transform, but he had seen Kaiju No. 8 up close, had seen it save them. Did he suspect anything?
And then there was the bald man. The quiet observer who had stopped the fight with a look. The being Kafka knew, with bone-deep certainty, was the most powerful thing on the planet. And that being had called his ultimate, desperate struggle 'boring'.
Kafka clenched his fists.
He's right, a voice in his head whispered. You weren't trying to fight. You were trying to survive. You were scared. What kind of monster is scared?
For years, he had made excuses. He was too old. He wasn't strong enough. The dream belonged to people like Mina. But something had shifted. The arrival of Saitama, the encounter with Kikoru, the fear and desperation—it had all coalesced into a single, hard point of clarity.
Hiding wasn't an option anymore. Cleaning up messes wasn't enough.
If he was going to be a monster, he would be a monster that mattered. He had to learn to control this power. To use it. To become someone worthy of standing on the same battlefield as the heroes he admired.
And maybe... just maybe... to be interesting enough to be noticed by a god.
He looked at his phone again, scrolling past the news articles until he found what he was looking for. A digital flyer.
Japan Defense Force. Recruitment Drive Now Open. The Age Limit is 33. Protect Your Country. Fulfill Your Destiny.
He stared at it, his heart pounding. Reno was right. He had one last chance. It was insane. It was suicidal. A monster, trying to join the organization that hunted monsters.
But for the first time in a decade, the suffocating scent of disinfectant and broken dreams was replaced by something else.
Hope.
With a trembling finger, Kafka Hibino pressed the "Apply" button. The ripples from a single, casual punch had finally pushed the janitor toward his abandoned dream.