Chapter-04 (Electroplate Now! A Space Sheriff is Born)
Author Note: Last chapter was just a trailer, this is the full picture, GUYS!
Time: 12:15 PM – NHN National News Broadcast
Location: Live from Tokyo Broadcasting Tower
The screen flickered.
Then, a solemn jingle played—one that every citizen in Japan recognized instantly. It was the alert tone of NHN News, usually reserved for natural disasters, national emergencies, or declarations from the Prime Minister's office.
The screen faded to the image of a newsroom. A somber-faced anchor, Reina Miyasaki, sat at the desk. Gone was her usual cheerful demeanour — her expression was grave, eyes swollen slightly as if she had been crying just moments before.
Her voice was calm, but every word quivered with controlled dread.
"Good afternoon. This is a special emergency broadcast from NHN. At approximately 11:00 AM this morning, the heart of Tokyo — the Shibuya district — came under attack by an unidentified hostile entity."
Behind her, the screen shifted to live aerial footage taken from a news helicopter. The image was grainy and occasionally distorted by smoke and atmospheric interference, but the devastation was unmistakable. A once-vibrant urban center had been reduced to ash and ruin. Buildings were levelled. Streets were torn apart. Fires still raged in pockets of destruction. Emergency sirens wailed in the background, barely audible over the muffled cries of survivors.
"Eyewitness reports and security footage confirm the creature to be a… monstrous being, approximately 20 feet in height, with a tan, insectoid body and a massive crimson claw resembling that of a pistol shrimp. Authorities are calling it—"
She hesitated, glancing briefly off-camera.
"—'Kaijin Shako.'"
The screen cut again — this time to a blurred, slow-motion clip. Shako Kaijin stood amid the smoke, his green eyes glowing brightly. Then the scene fast-forwarded to the moment his claw released its devastating cavitation blast. The footage went white from the impact.
Back in the studio, Reina exhaled shakily.
"The Tokyo Metropolitan Police responded quickly, deploying specialized riot and rescue units to evacuate civilians. Tragically, we must report that nearly every officer deployed to the scene was lost during the counter-offensive…"
A brief pause.
"Estimates suggest over 3,000 confirmed fatalities, with thousands more injured or missing. The area within a 2.7-kilometer radius of the Shibuya Scramble Crossing is now classified as a Level 5 Disaster Zone. Officials urge all citizens to avoid the area. Emergency shelters are being established in Setagaya, Minato, and Toshima wards."
Another video played—this time from a shaky smartphone clip, showing a massive red claw and the silhouette of the kaijin as it stomped through smoke, tendrils lashing out. In the background, people screamed and ran.
Reina swallowed hard.
"No group has claimed responsibility for the attack. The Self-Défense Force has been mobilized. We are also receiving unconfirmed reports that a foreign spacecraft was seen in the sky shortly after the attack began… but the government has not issued any official statement."
Her voice cracked slightly as she continued.
"We urge our viewers: remain calm. Follow evacuation protocols. Stay tuned for further announcements. The government has assured us that everything is being done to contain the situation."
"This is Reina Miyasaki… NHN News. Tokyo… is mourning."
The screen lingered on her face for a moment longer — a rare, human silence on live television — before fading into footage of medics pulling injured survivors from the rubble, and a firefighter carrying a bloodied child into an ambulance.
The broadcast continued, but for the people watching across Japan…
...the horror of Shibuya's last stand had just begun to sink in.
Outside a Retro Arcade
The neon lights of the arcade flickered lazily in the daylight, casting a faint glow over the sidewalk. Laughter and the chime of old-school game machines spilled out of the open door as Ichika and Dan stepped outside, their moods light, casual.
Dan stretched his arms above his head with a satisfied grin.
"Man, I still got it! Who knew you'd actually beat me at Fighter Blade X, though?"
Ichika chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Beginner's luck, maybe."
Dan nudged him playfully.
"Nah, nah, admit it—you've been practicing in secret."
Their light banter was cut short by a sudden shift in atmosphere.
From inside the arcade, a wave of silence rolled out like a hush through the crowd. The background sounds of beeping games and kids cheering faded into quiet murmurs. Heads turned toward the wall-mounted television above the prize counter — a flatscreen usually used for streaming anime music videos or tournament replays.
Now it showed something else.
NHN's emergency broadcast.
Smoke. Flames. Screams.
Shibuya in ruins.
"—an unidentified monster has caused catastrophic damage. Authorities estimate a death toll in the thousands. We advise all citizens to remain indoors—"
Ichika froze.
Dan did too.
The bright colors of the arcade now felt garish and unreal compared to the horror playing out on screen. Footage of the kaijin's crimson claw firing the cavitation blast played in slow motion, followed by the collapse of a building Ichika knew by heart.
The crossing.
The café with the red awning.
The place he and his sister used to visit on weekends.
"No…" Ichika whispered. His legs weakened slightly, and he stepped closer to the screen, his mouth dry.
Dan's expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to disbelief.
"Wait… that's— that's today. That's not a movie, right?" His voice was shaky now. "That's Shibuya…"
They watched as the reporter's voice continued:
"We repeat: This is not a drill. The area around the Shibuya Scramble has been completely annihilated. An evacuation has been issued for surrounding wards—"
Someone inside the arcade dropped their drink. A girl nearby started crying. One of the clerks stood motionless, a hand over her mouth.
Ichika stepped back, his heart pounding. His vision blurred — not from tears, but from sheer disbelief.
"This… this is the Makuu."
He didn't say it aloud. But deep inside, he knew it.
Dan turned to him, his eyes wide.
"You okay, man? You're shaking."
Ichika swallowed hard.
"I… I need to go."
"Go where?"
"Just—home. Or—no, I don't know. I just—" He turned away, walking briskly, his mind racing.
Dan called after him, confused and worried.
"Ichika?! What's going on?!"
But Ichika didn't answer. He felt it now — deep in his chest — a weight that went far beyond fear. This wasn't just some alien invasion story. This was real. People were dying. And somehow, he was part of this war.
He glanced up at the sky.
Blue. Quiet.
But he knew better now.
The storm had begun.
Phantom Task Headquarters – Private Surveillance Chamber
The lights were dim.
The only illumination came from a single panoramic screen displaying the live broadcast from NHN — replaying the attack on Shibuya in high-definition. The kaijin's monstrous claw glowed red. Buildings collapsed. Civilians died by the hundreds.
Madoka Orimura watched in silence.
She stood motionless, arms crossed behind her back, eyes narrow and unreadable as she stared at the devastation. She wore her custom IS combat suit, pitch black with crimson streaks — a prototype built for speed and assassination.
She said nothing.
Didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
Behind her, Squall Meusel, commander of Phantom Task, stepped into the chamber with a small folder in hand.
"Our operatives confirm the creature isn't affiliated with any military group or nation. It's not an IS. Not even tech we've encountered before. As far as the world knows — it came out of nowhere."
Madoka didn't turn.
"It's not ours," she said coldly. "So I don't care."
Squall arched a brow.
"It's heading for Kawasaki. I believe that's where—"
"I know where he lives."
There was no emotion in her voice. Just cold fact.
Squall tilted her head slightly.
"If he dies before you reach him, your plan—"
"I don't need him to live." Madoka finally turned, eyes sharp and empty like twin blades. "I only need her to watch it happen."
She stepped closer to the monitor, her gaze focused not on the kaijin, but on a grainy freeze-frame from earlier: a crowd running in panic. One blurry face — one boy — vaguely resembled Ichika Orimura.
Her lips curled ever so slightly.
Not a smile.
A judgment.
"If he dies now, fine. If he survives… I'll kill him myself."
Her fingers brushed the glass.
"But she'll suffer either way."
Squall folded her arms, standing just behind her.
"You're really that set on Chifuyu Orimura?"
Madoka's voice dropped to a whisper — colder than ice.
"She abandoned me. Left me to rot. And now she acts like a 'protector' to him?"
Her expression tightened into hatred barely contained beneath the surface.
"He's just a placeholder. A reminder that she chose him over me. That's why he dies first."
She turned sharply and walked toward the exit.
"When she's broken… then I'll kill her."
The door slid open. She paused in the frame.
"Don't interfere."
And with that, Madoka Orimura disappeared into the corridor — a blade in human form, ready to strike.
Outside The Arcade
NHN Broadcast – Breaking Update
As Ichika sprinted down the sidewalk, his breath short and erratic, the TV back in the arcade continued its grim broadcast.
Inside, the room had gone completely silent—dozens of people gathered around the screen, faces pale, expressions vacant.
The reporter's voice returned, this time shakier, the weight of breaking news pressing down on every syllable.
"—we have a critical update. NHN has just received confirmation from JSDF aerial surveillance: The kaijin, designated as B.E.M. Shako Kaijin, has begun moving eastward—"
"—it is currently en route toward the Kawasaki Ward—"
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"—I repeat, B.E.M. Shako Kaijin is heading toward Kawasaki, potentially placing over 350,000 residents in immediate danger. Authorities are issuing a Level 5 emergency evacuation order for the following districts—"
Dan stared at the screen in stunned horror.
"Kawasaki…?" he whispered. "No, no no—Ichika lives there. We live there."
He turned and bolted out of the arcade without another word, weaving through the street crowd now abuzz with panic and confusion.
Ichika's mind was a mess. Thoughts collided, overlapped, splintered.
"Shibuya's gone."
"Thousands dead."
"Kawasaki…"
He skidded to a halt in the middle of a pedestrian bridge, nearly falling as he leaned against the railing to catch his breath. His phone buzzed relentlessly in his pocket — alerts, warnings, missed calls — but his hands were shaking too much to check.
Then he heard it.
From a massive public screen across the street — another feed. The same reporter's voice echoing through tinny speakers over the urban skyline.
"—Kawasaki residents are urged to evacuate calmly and immediately. Do not use highways. Avoid bridges near Tamagawa River. The kaijin is moving along the JR Line corridor. A no-fly zone has been declared. Trains are suspended."
The screen flashed a grainy satellite image. A tan, hulking form, bathed in crimson veins of energy, lumbering eastward through suburban streets. It dwarfed homes. Trees snapped beneath its feet. Roads buckled under its claw.
"No…" Ichika's voice cracked.
His house.
Dan's family.
Everything he ever knew was now in the path of a monster built for annihilation.
IS Academy – Staff Command Room
The command room of IS Academy was unusually tense.
Typically, the large monitors displayed IS simulations, training schedules, and world news summaries. Today, however, every screen had been overtaken by one feed:
NHN's national emergency broadcast.
Footage played on loop: the monster's arrival in Shibuya… its claw glowing red… the devastating shockwave. Fire. Screams. Rubble.
Staff members murmured in disbelief, clustering around consoles with grim expressions.
At the center of the room stood Chifuyu Orimura, arms folded tightly, eyes fixed on the screen with an intensity that silenced the room around her.
Beside her, Maya Yamada clutched a tablet, reading through the latest updates being fed through emergency channels.
"Chifuyu-sensei," Maya said cautiously, "they just confirmed the creature is moving east—following the JR Line. It's approaching Kawasaki Ward."
The name hit Chifuyu like a punch to the gut — though her face didn't show it.
She simply nodded once.
Maya hesitated.
"That's… where your brother lives, isn't it?"
A long pause.
"Yes," Chifuyu said softly. "It is."
Her voice was level, but her hands had curled into fists at her sides.
Maya's eyes shifted nervously back to the monitor.
"Do you want me to try contacting him? His house line might still be working—"
"No."
The sharpness in Chifuyu's tone made Maya flinch.
"If he's smart, he's already moving. I taught him better than to sit still when the city starts collapsing."
Another blast rippled across the screen — buildings crumbled like paper, the monster advancing with monstrous, deliberate steps.
"He's just a kid, Chifuyu," Maya said, more gently now. "Even if you trained him a little… this is something else entirely."
"He's my brother," Chifuyu replied, her voice as cold as steel. "He'll survive."
But even as she said it, her eyes lingered on the footage. Her mask of control held — barely. Her knuckles were white.
"Please… be smart, Ichika. Run. Don't try to play hero."
She turned sharply, facing away from the screen.
"Notify the Japanese government that the Academy is on standby for humanitarian support," she ordered. "This isn't an IS matter yet. But if it becomes one, I want our top pilots ready."
Maya nodded and moved to relay the message, but as she turned away, she stole one last glance at her friend.
Chifuyu Orimura stood perfectly still, her back straight, her expression cold.
But Maya had known her long enough to recognize the storm brewing underneath.
The smoke on the horizon loomed larger by the minute. The distant sound of explosions and collapsing buildings echoed like the footfalls of a god.
Ichika Orimura ran.
His legs burned. His lungs ached. But he didn't stop.
He tore through backstreets, alleyways, and drainage paths—cutting a path toward the forest on the city's edge.
As he runs in the forest and reached at the meteor crash site, but
Beneath it…
was a spaceship.
As he reached the rusted gate, a low hum vibrated through the air — a pulse of alien tech cloaked from public view. The gate shuddered, then split apart with a mechanical whine, revealing a sleek metallic ramp descending into the earth.
He didn't hesitate.
He dove inside.
Jaune Arc's Ship – Medical Bay
The moment Ichika entered; the air changed.
The alien architecture hummed softly, glowing with dull green and silver-blue lines that traced the walls like circuitry. The ceiling shimmered faintly with projected constellations — maps of distant worlds he couldn't even name.
But the sight that caught his breath…
Was Jaune Arc.
The Space Sheriff stood near the center of the medical bay, sweat dripping down his brow, his uniform half-torn, bandages wrapped tightly around his leg and ribs.
He wasn't standing by choice.
He was fighting to stand.
Several mechanical arms extended from the med-bay ceiling, holding his shoulders, torso, and one leg in place — preventing him from moving further. They twitched with calculated precision, bracing his every motion.
"LET ME GO!" Jaune roared, teeth clenched in fury.
The AI system responded in a calm monotone:
"Your current vitals are unstable. Excessive strain will compromise tissue regeneration and neural stability. Standing unauthorized."
"I don't care!" Jaune growled. He struggled forward again, but the metal limbs locked tighter. "That thing is out there slaughtering civilians. I can't just sit here while—!"
His voice cracked.
He gasped in pain, the injury to his side flaring again — glowing faintly where the alien bandage pulsed with energy.
"I failed once already…" he whispered. "Not again."
Ichika stood frozen at the doorway.
"Jaune—!"
The older warrior looked up, startled.
Then exhaled in relief — and frustration.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low but firm. "It's not safe anymore. That thing heading for the city… it's not like the other. It's a full B.E.M-class Kaijin."
Ichika stepped forward, eyes wide with urgency.
"I know. I saw what it did. I saw people die. The whole city's—"
He faltered, voice catching.
"My friend Dan and his family, they're still out there."
Jaune's jaw tightened.
"Then run, Ichika. Get as far from here as you can."
Ichika shook his head.
"I'm not leaving you like this. And I'm not running again."
The ship went silent — even the humming seemed to fade.
Jaune looked at him carefully. Not just as a boy… but as someone on the edge of a choice.
"You know what you're stepping into, right?" Jaune said quietly. "This isn't some manga adventure. People die. You'll bleed. You'll be afraid. And once you take that first step… you never go back."
Ichika's hands trembled at his sides. But he nodded.
"I don't care. I want to help. I have to."
The room pulsed softly with alien light as Ichika supported Jaune, helping him stand upright despite the older man's obvious pain. Mechanical limbs still hovered nearby, uncertain if they should re-engage.
But Jaune's expression was focused now — not on his injuries, but on Ichika.
"You really want to help?" Jaune asked quietly.
Ichika nodded.
"I do."
Jaune's hand reached out toward the central console — an obelisk-shaped terminal pulsing with soft green light. He pressed his palm to the interface.
"AI, initiate new candidate biometric scan. Authorization: Arc, Jaune. Clearance Level: Sheriff Prime."
The interface flashed.
A mechanical voice filled the room.
"Biometric registration requested. Candidate not affiliated with Galactic Federation. Unknown civilian. No active Space Sheriff assignment."
Jaune glanced back at Ichika.
"Place your hand on the console."
Ichika hesitated.
"Wait, what does this mean—?"
"It means I trust you," Jaune said simply.
Ichika swallowed, stepped forward… and placed his hand on the pad.
The system lit up instantly.
A pulse ran through his palm, scanning biometrics, retinal data, nerve response, blood composition — even his DNA.
"Candidate: Orimura, Ichika. Match Found: 89.6% Compatibility – Gavan Frame Synchronization Threshold Breached."
Suddenly, the AI's tone shifted — sharper, more alert.
"ALERT. ALERT. Candidate selected outside official recruitment channels. No planetary authorization. This violates Galactic Protocol 7-Beta, Clause 14. Space Sheriff Gavan successors must be sanctioned by the Council of Planet Bird. Emergency override requested."
Jaune didn't flinch.
"Override confirmed. Command Responsibility invoked. Full accountability assumed."
A pause.
Then:
"Jaune… are you sure?" P33NY's voice softened — almost like concern.
"You know what this could mean. He has no training. No augmentation. No experience. No legacy."
Jaune looked Ichika straight in the eye.
"I saw that kid's eyes."
"He's got this."
"And whatever happens to him…"
He turned back to the terminal, inputting a final authorization code.
"…I take full responsibility for it."
Silence followed. The ship's hum faded to a whisper.
Then the console glowed brighter — the Gavan insignia forming in blue light above Ichika's hand. For a split second, he saw it reflected in his palm.
The mark of a protector.
He didn't understand it yet.
But something inside him stirred.
Destiny wasn't knocking.
It was unlocking.
Kawasaki Ward – 12:45 PM
The sun still hung in the sky, but it was hard to tell.
Thick clouds of smoke had turned daylight into a bleak grey haze. Ash drifted down like unnatural snow, settling on rooftops, abandoned cars, and shattered windows. What had once been a vibrant residential neighborhood was now a ghost town — as if every soul had been plucked from the earth all at once.
The only sound…
Was footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Rhythmic.
Thud…
Thud…
Thud…
Down the center of the road — cracked, warped, scorched — walked a figure.
Tall. Deformed. Alien.
B.E.M. Shako Kaijin.
Its hulking, tan body moved with grotesque grace, tendrils twitching along its sides like starving worms. The faint wet slurp of their movement echoed through the empty air, dragging along the pavement and walls like bloodstained whips.
Its massive red claw twitched once.
Click.
Like a predator priming its weapon.
There were no screams this time.
No sirens. No soldiers. No resistance.
Only silence.
Doors hung ajar. Curtains fluttered in shattered windows. Streetlights buzzed faintly, confused by the sky's sickly dim. A child's bicycle lay on its side near a toppled mailbox, one wheel still spinning lazily. A stuffed animal — a rabbit — sat half-buried in dust and ash.
The kaijin's glowing green eyes scanned everything, pausing at each house it passed — as if remembering something from another lifetime. Or savoring the emptiness.
It stepped through a garden.
Flowers wilted from heat, their petals shriveled like old skin.
One of its tendrils reached out, brushing against a wind chime hanging from a bent steel rod. The metal chimes gave a single eerie tinkle — a lullaby for the dead.
Thud… Thud…
The air felt thick, unnatural — like even sound was afraid to linger.
A crow, perched on a powerline above, let out a caw—then combusted into flame mid-cry as residual heat from the kaijin's claw pulsed upward. The body dropped like a smoldering stone.
In the distance, a small radio continued to play inside an empty convenience store. Its broadcast warped and static-filled, but a jingle from a snack commercial played like a sick joke:
" Sweet life, sweet treats — the best is yet to come! "
The kaijin paused outside the store, tilting its head slightly.
Its tendrils twitched again.
Then it moved on.
The deeper it walked into Kawasaki, the colder the air seemed to grow — not from temperature, but from something else. Something unnatural.
Even the city itself seemed to be holding its breath.
It was no longer just a monster.
It was a curse, walking on two legs.
And death was following in its footsteps.
But then
A high-pitched whine split the air.
From beyond the smoke-filled skyline, three glowing shapes streaked across the sky — jets of light trailing behind them, cutting through the ash like comets.
IS Units.
Sleek. Metallic. Glowing with synchronized energy fields. Their arrival shattered the silence as they descended in perfect formation, touching down across the crumbling main road of Kawasaki's industrial district.
Each pilot's face flickered across open communication feeds, visible through the HUDs of their suits. All women — elite IS operators from the JDSF's rapid-response task force.
"Target confirmed," said the lead pilot, a black-haired woman with a stoic expression. "All units: Formation Bravo. Engage with ranged suppressive fire. Maximum output authorized."
Their visors narrowed as their sensors locked onto Shako Kaijin, who stood several meters ahead — unmoving, its green eyes glowing faintly through the haze.
"It doesn't even react…" one of the younger pilots murmured. "Is it ignoring us?"
"Let's make sure it doesn't."
With a sharp command, energy rounds burst from their rifles — precise, concentrated shots of repulsor-like energy that struck Shako directly in the torso and shoulder. Sparks flew. The kaijin staggered back half a step.
Another barrage followed. One IS pilot flanked the creature and launched a shoulder-mounted missile. It struck true — the explosion engulfed Shako in smoke and flame.
"Direct hit!"
For a moment, there was hope.
Until the smoke cleared.
The kaijin emerged, slow but steady.
A long, oozing gash across its side — leaking glowing green fluid.
But its eyes…
Weren't angry.
They were amused.
Then it moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
"What—?!"
Before anyone could react, a tendril lashed forward like a whip, coiling around the nearest pilot's leg and yanking her into the air. Her scream was cut short as she was slammed against a ruined truck, the force crumpling the vehicle like paper.
The others responded with panic and fury, switching to close-range blade weapons, slashing at the kaijin's hide. One managed to sever a tendril. Another sliced into the monster's shoulder, sparks and ichor flying.
It roared — an inhuman, wet screech that shook the buildings around them.
Its red claw glowed.
Click.
"Scatter!" the lead pilot shouted, but it was too late.
The blast detonated at close range — a spherical shockwave of blistering heat and sound. The pavement erupted. Two IS units were knocked across blocks, crashing through buildings. The third was simply vaporized, her IS armor melting away in an instant, her final scream lost in the explosion.
When the dust settled, the kaijin still stood.
Burned. Wounded. Limping.
But victorious.
Only one IS pilot was left alive, dragging herself from the wreckage, her suit sparking violently.
The last remaining IS pilot gasped, blood running down her chin as she struggled to crawl away. Her suit's left arm was mangled. Her right thruster was blown. Her visor cracked and flickering.
And B.E.M. Shako Kaijin loomed above her — casting a monstrous shadow in the ash-filled sky.
It raised its tendrils, but just before it could strike—
KZZZT–!
A sharp buzz broke through the comms channel, even her broken headset picking it up.
"Eagle-01, visual confirmed on target. Locking. Firing anti-kaijin warhead—ETA five seconds."
Her eyes widened in horror.
Far above, slicing through the clouds, came a military aircraft — a sleek, black stealth bomber modified with experimental payload. From its undercarriage, a large missile dropped, trailing smoke and thunder as it barreled straight toward the kaijin's position.
It wasn't just a blast.
It was an erasure.
The pilot tried to scream—
"NO—!"
But Shako didn't flinch.
It moved.
Quickly. Calculated.
Its massive claw snapped open, and with a bone-crunching WHACK, one of its tendrils wrapped around the wounded IS pilot's waist and hurled her skyward — directly into the missile's path.
And in that same motion—
Shako Kaijin pointed his glowing red claw upward, timing the charge, aligning the shot.
Click.
The pilot, airborne, barely had time to register what was happening.
The missile met her mid-air—
—just as Shako's claw fired.
A blinding energy beam shot upward like a cannon — meeting the warhead and the pilot simultaneously.
She was vaporized.
Her body torn apart between kinetic force and plasma energy.
The missile detonated early, destabilized by the clash of energies — a flaming explosion high above the city, the blast wave tearing the bomber apart in the same moment.
Flaming debris rained down across Kawasaki like falling knives.
The sky lit up orange and black — but Shako Kaijin stood unharmed, basking in the fallout, its tendrils writhing in eerie satisfaction.
The horror wasn't just in his strength anymore.
It was in his mind.
He had used the pilot as a shield. As a weapon. As a distraction.
Not out of desperation.
But strategy.
And the city… trembled beneath his slow, unrelenting steps.
Phantom Task Observation Room
Static flickered across the surveillance monitor.
Then came the moment: the IS pilot hurled skyward, the missile approaching, and the crimson claw discharging.
A brilliant white-orange bloom lit up the screen. The pilot's body vanished between flame and energy. The aircraft exploded moments later.
And then… silence.
Madoka Orimura stood before the screen, arms folded, posture elegant yet cold. Her crimson eyes watched the event replay twice on a loop.
Once.
Twice.
Still… no reaction.
Until she spoke.
"Tch. That thing fights like I do."
Squall Meusel stood nearby, unsettled.
"It's smart. Sadistic, even. It used the pilot like a toy."
Madoka smirked, just a little.
"Good."
She turned away, her long hair flowing behind her like shadow.
"Let it tear this place apart. Let it make the world scream."
Squall raised a brow.
"Even your brother?"
Madoka's expression didn't change.
"If he's weak enough to die like that… I don't want him alive."
Tokyo Suburb – Home of Lieutenant Yumi Saito's Family
Time: 12:50 PM
The television was still on.
It shouldn't have been.
The moment they saw her IS Unit descend into the city, they should have turned it off.
But they couldn't.
They watched everything.
The fight.
The scream.
The missile.
Her death.
And now…
Silence.
The room felt dead.
No one moved.
Only the low buzz of the television filled the air — flickering shadows across a quiet living room that would never feel like home again.
"No…" whispered Mrs. Saito, voice trembling, lips dry. "That… that wasn't her. That wasn't Yumi. That wasn't her."
She reached for the remote, her hand shaking so violently she couldn't even press the button.
"They got it wrong," she said again, louder. "That wasn't my daughter. It wasn't. It's a mistake. They always make mistakes—don't they?"
Denial.
Her husband — Mr. Saito — stood unmoving, frozen like a statue.
Then his face twisted.
"She was restrained! That THING used her like a shield!"
The calm in him snapped.
He grabbed the remote and hurled it at the wall, shattering it into pieces.
"Where were the backups?! Where was command support?! WHERE WAS THE GODDAMN AIR COVER?!"
His fist slammed into the coffee table, splintering the wood.
Anger.
Mrs. Saito had fallen to her knees, clutching a photo frame of their daughter — her graduation picture, still smiling in her crisp IS pilot uniform. Her fingers dug into the glass, hard enough to draw blood.
"Please," she whispered, looking up — to no one, to anything. "Please… I'll give anything… take my legs, my arms—just bring her back…"
"Please, God—let it be a stunt. Let it be a training drone. Let it be anyone else—please—"
Bargaining.
But there was no voice in return.
No miracle.
Only the image frozen on the cracked TV screen — a snapshot of fire and sky, and the moment their daughter was erased between claw and missile.
And that's when it hit.
The silence.
The weight.
Mrs. Saito's hands fell limp. The frame slipped from her grasp and shattered beside her.
She folded into herself, face pressed against the floor.
She didn't wail.
She didn't scream.
She just—
Sighed.
A soft, broken, breathless sound.
"She's gone… she's really gone…"
Depression.
Mr. Saito slowly dropped to his knees beside her.
For a long time, he didn't say anything.
He just stared at the scattered glass and the curled photo now half-buried in ash from the open window.
Then, finally — barely audible — he spoke:
"She did her duty."
"She died… protecting people."
His voice broke again.
"Our little girl… our Yumi…"
Acceptance.
They held each other there, collapsed in the center of the wreckage that used to be a home. Surrounded by the smell of incense that had burned too long, the hum of the television that wouldn't die, and the ghost of a daughter that never would return.
And then—
Her body tensed.
Mrs. Saito's back arched. Her hands clawed at the floor.
And she screamed.
A sound ripped from the depths of her soul — primal, raw, and devastating. It wasn't a cry for help. It wasn't even a cry of rage.
It was a mother's scream — for the child she would never hold again.
A scream so filled with pain, it barely sounded human.
"YUMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
She thrashed and beat her fists against the floor, her voice breaking, choking on sobs.
"My baby! My baby! BRING HER BACK! I WANT HER BACK!"
Mr. Saito rushed to hold her, arms tight around her shoulders, trying to restrain her — to anchor her — to keep her from completely shattering.
"Please—stop—please—!"
But she didn't stop.
She turned her fists to his chest, hitting him over and over.
"You said she'd be safe! You said the IS would protect her!"
"I know. I know. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
His words were broken whispers through tears.
She gasped for breath, her strength failing, her body trembling in his arms.
Her sobs turned to dry spasms.
"She was… just a girl…"
Then her body slumped.
Her eyes rolled back.
And she went limp.
Mr. Saito froze.
"—Reika?"
He gently shook her.
"Reika?!"
No answer.
She had fainted — her body unable to carry the weight of her soul's devastation.
He held her tightly against his chest, rocking her gently, whispering things that no longer had meaning.
"It's okay… It's okay… I've got you… I've got you…"
But he didn't.
No one did.
And as ashes from Shako Kaijin's destruction continued to drift across the city miles away…
A single family's world had ended —
Long before the city would.
IS Academy – Command Room
Back at the Academy, chaos reigned. Staff scrambled to stabilize comms. Emergency channels were overwhelmed. And Maya Yamada was shaking, staring at the screen.
"Oh god…" she whispered. "She didn't even have a chance."
Chifuyu Orimura stood still — a statue in the eye of a storm.
But her eyes…
Her jaw…
Tightened.
"He weaponized her," she said, voice clipped and cold. "He didn't just kill her… he used her."
Maya looked to her, panicked.
"What kind of monster are we dealing with?"
Chifuyu narrowed her eyes, staring at the slowly advancing kaijin, stepping through smoke and ash as if nothing had happened.
"Something that sees us the way we see ants."
She turned, cloak whipping behind her.
"We need to prepare. This… isn't just an attack."
"This is a war declaration."
Dark Dimension – The Makuu Ship, Throne Hall
The Makuu Ship's inner sanctum pulsed with infernal light — the dark heart of the Dark Dimension.
The vortex chamber hovered at the center, projecting a shifting screen of Earth's current state. Kawasaki Ward burned beneath an ashen sky. What was once a living city now resembled a battlefield lost centuries ago.
At the center of the destruction stood B.E.M. Shako Kaijin, glowing claw raised like a crimson torch of death.
Seated on his throne of jagged obsidian, Don Horror loomed — vast, ageless, monstrous. His molten-red eyes gleamed with joyless satisfaction.
"A perfect example," he rumbled, "of fear weaponized."
Below the throne, the floor was lined with kneeling Makuu soldiers, motionless like statues. They bore no emotion. No voice. Just eerie, collective silence.
And standing to the right of the throne — half bathed in red shadow — was Mercury Black.
Impossibly composed.
He watched the screen with a faint, closed-lip smile — one that would pass as amusement to anyone else. But his amber eyes told another story: distant. Heavy.
Troubled.
"Heh," Mercury said softly. "Efficient."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a silver coin, flipping it idly between gloved fingers.
"They didn't even touch him. He anticipated the missile… used the pilot… turned the counterstrike into a show."
His voice was steady.
But he didn't blink.
Not once.
Don Horror turned toward him, his voice dripping with triumph.
"And Earth bleeds. Glorious, is it not? Their champions die like cattle. Their weapons… laughable."
Mercury nodded, eyes still on the screen.
"Yes. Very… impressive."
He flipped the coin again.
Faster.
Sharper.
But with every pass, his fingers trembled slightly more.
"Though I find it curious," Mercury said slowly, "how they organize their defenses. Those… armor suits — they aren't conventional military. And that academy crest—"
Don Horror scoffed.
"Insignificant. Let them keep their toys. They will burn with the rest."
Mercury's eyes narrowed just a hair — so faint it would go unnoticed.
He said nothing.
Inside, something twisted in his gut.
The IS pilots had been brave.
Young.
Determined.
They hadn't run — they had stood their ground. One of them, vaporized midair, screaming as she was turned into a weapon herself.
And now they were celebrating it?
Mercury's smile twitched — just slightly.
The coin dropped.
Clink.
He didn't pick it up.
"So this is the standard of victory…?" he asked absently, more to himself.
Don Horror's gaze burned hotter.
"This is conquest."
Mercury nodded once, hiding the knot in his throat.
"Of course."
But in his mind, images of the burning city replayed again — over and over.
Not with pride.
But with disgust he couldn't afford to show.
Not yet.
Kawasaki Ward – Crumbling Alleyway
The air was thick with heat and dust. Flames licked the sides of buildings. Sirens howled in the far distance.
Ichika crouched behind the wall of a burned-out corner shop, breath caught in his throat. Beside him, Jaune Arc leaned heavily against the concrete, one hand clutching his ribs, the other clutching his weapon.
They had seen everything.
The girl. The missile. The slaughter.
Jaune didn't speak. He just stared.
Ichika was trembling.
"He… he used her," he said quietly, voice cracking. "She wasn't even fighting anymore and he—he used her like she was nothing."
Jaune finally exhaled, voice grim.
"That's not a kaijin."
"That's a killer who enjoys what he's doing."
He looked over at Ichika, his tone changing — heavier, sharper.
"Now do you understand?"
"You step into this… and that's who you're facing."
Ichika didn't answer right away. He stared at his hands.
At the dust.
At the blood.
Then clenched them into fists.
"I don't care what he is," he whispered. "He has to be stopped."
Beside him, Jaune Arc leaned against the scorched brick wall, watching the boy. Blood soaked the edges of his uniform, but his eyes were sharp.
He studied Ichika for a long moment… and then moved.
With a quiet hiss, Jaune tapped his belt — a hidden compartment sliding open at his side. From within, he pulled out a sleek silver wristwatch with faint blue highlights. It pulsed softly with inner light, like it was breathing.
In his other hand, he held a small, curved earpiece with a blue crystal embedded in the center.
He stepped toward Ichika and held them out.
"Take these."
Ichika blinked.
"What are they?"
Jaune's voice lowered.
"The watch is your G-01 Start-Up Unit — your emergency transformation key. It's attuned to your biometric signature now."
"And the earpiece is your Combat Link Comm — it'll keep you synced with my frequency and the ship's systems. It also feeds you tactical data during combat."
Ichika stared at the items in his hands like they were made of fire.
"You're giving me… this?"
Jaune nodded.
"I'm not giving you a weapon."
"I'm giving you a responsibility."
Ichika hesitated, then slipped the earpiece in carefully. It locked in with a soft chime.
The watch clicked gently around his wrist, and for a moment, blue lines ran along its face, scanning his vital signs and confirming synchronization.
A small hologram blinked above the dial:
USER: ORIMURA, ICHIKA – COMPATIBILITY: ACCEPTABLE.
"I have programmed a suit into it" Jaune continued, his voice calm but serious. "Right now, it's just a basic safeguard mode — defensive armor, reinforced strength, motion booster. Bare minimum."
Ichika looked down at the watch again.
"Why give this to me now?"
Jaune stepped in close, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Because I know exactly what that thing is out there," he said. "I've seen what it does. What it becomes. And I can't stop it alone."
"But I saw you."
He nodded toward Ichika's eyes.
"You didn't look away when people were dying."
"You didn't freeze. You didn't run."
"You made a choice."
Ichika swallowed hard.
"I still don't know if I'm ready…"
Jaune gave him a faint smile — tired, but proud.
"No one ever is."
He pulled back slightly, his voice growing sharp.
"But listen to me, Ichika — do not use that watch unless it's absolutely necessary. You've had no combat training. You don't know what it'll do to you under pressure."
"It's a bridge. Not a crutch."
Ichika nodded slowly.
"Understood."
A faint tremor shook the ground beneath their feet. In the distance, a deep roar echoed through the sky — distant, but coming closer.
Jaune's eyes narrowed toward the smoke.
"We've got limited time. If Shako reaches the evacuation zone…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Ichika's hand hovered near the watch.
And for the first time — he understood what that power meant.
Gotanda Residence – 12:55 PM
Location: Kawasaki Ward, Residential Block C-21
The kettle had gone cold.
The tea sat untouched.
And the clock on the wall ticked too loudly in the silence.
Ren Gotanda sat at the edge of the couch, her knees together, hands trembling around her phone — screen locked, no new messages.
She checked it again.
Still nothing.
No call from Ran.
No word from Dan.
The television played on low volume in the background — emergency coverage from NHN. The anchors spoke in grave, controlled voices about the destruction of Shibuya, about evacuations, about "an ongoing threat advancing east."
She didn't want to hear it.
But she couldn't bring herself to mute it either.
"It's been an hour," she whispered, almost to herself. "She only went to get milk… just down the street…"
Her voice broke as she stood up suddenly, pacing toward the window. She peeled back the curtain, scanning the street.
Empty.
Even the birds were gone.
Behind her, a soft voice rose from the hallway.
"Renny…"
It was her mother, frail and thin, wrapped in a pale floral blanket, leaning heavily on her cane.
"Come sit," the old woman said. "You're making my bones ache with how tense you are."
Ren turned, forcing a smile, but her eyes betrayed her.
"She should be back by now."
Her mother lowered herself into the chair near the table, watching her daughter carefully.
"You're not going to help her by worrying a hole in the floor."
Ren sat beside her, slowly, her hands still shaking.
"I told her to be quick. Just to the corner store. That's all. And now Dan—he came home and then went back out to look for her—"
"He promised me he'd only check the park across the bridge and come right back…"
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying to laugh but failing.
"I should've stopped him. I should've locked the door."
Her mother reached over and gently squeezed her hand.
"You did what any mother would do."
Ren's lips trembled.
"What if—what if something happened to them?"
"Not knowing… that's the part that kills you. The waiting."
She paused, her voice barely above a whisper now.
"Do you remember what it's like to bury a child, Mama?"
The grandmother closed her eyes.
Pain flickered across her face — ancient and raw.
"Too well."
Ren folded in on herself.
"I can't lose them both."
"Not like this. Not like this…"
From the window, the distant boom of something collapsing rumbled through the air — faint, but close enough to shake the glass just slightly.
Ren looked up sharply.
Her mother did too.
They didn't speak.
Because something terrible was getting closer.
Kawasaki Ward – Near the Abandoned Shopping District
Time: 1:08 PM
Dan Gotanda had been running nonstop for fifteen minutes.
His shirt was soaked in sweat. His knees burned with every step. His breathing was ragged, lips dry, chest heaving. Dust and ash clung to his face, mixing with sweat and turning to mud.
"Ran… Ran, where are you?!"
He turned corner after corner, ignoring the crumbling buildings, the warning sirens, the broken cries in the distance. His shoes were barely holding together — he didn't care.
"Come on… just one more street…"
He dashed past an overturned bus, slipped down an alley—
And then—
"DAN!"
The voice nearly dropped him to his knees.
He spun and saw her.
Ran.
Her face smeared with tears and dirt, her clothes tattered, scraped from hiding under debris. But she was alive.
Dan didn't think — he just ran.
He pulled her into a crushing hug as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I-I was so scared," she cried. "I didn't know where to go, I didn't—"
"It's okay," Dan whispered, breathless. "I got you. I got you, okay? You're safe now—"
But safety was a fleeting thing.
A low, mechanical clicking sound rang out.
The hairs on the back of Dan's neck stood on end.
He slowly turned his head.
Standing at the end of the ruined road — barely 78 meters away — was B.E.M. Shako Kaijin.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Its glowing green eyes locked on the Gotanda siblings like a predator eyeing its next meal.
And then…
It began to walk.
Nearby Evacuation Route – 1:09 PM
Ichika and Jaune had just finished guiding the last family — a mother and two toddlers — onto a military flatbed truck.
The engines roared to life as the vehicle took off down the escape corridor, kicking up dirt and broken glass in its wake.
Jaune leaned heavily on a crutch, sweat pouring down his forehead. His other hand gripped the hilt of his deactivated photon saber strapped to his back.
"That's the last of them…" he muttered.
Ichika exhaled in relief—
And then—
A scream.
High. Young. Raw.
"DAN!"
It ripped through the air.
Ichika's head snapped toward the sound.
He didn't think.
He just ran.
"Ichika! WAIT!" Jaune shouted, stumbling after him. "DAMN IT—!"
Jaune gritted his teeth and moved as fast as his injured leg would let him, using the crutch to push forward down the alley.
Backstreet Near the Warehouse District – 1:10 PM
Dan Gotanda held his sister close, his back against a broken wall.
His breathing was shallow. His heart was pounding so loudly it hurt.
Ahead of them, Shako Kaijin raised one of its massive tendrils, the appendage curling midair like a guillotine made of flesh and bone. Its glowing green eyes stared through them, emotionless and methodical.
78 meters.
50.
32.
The tendril snapped back—ready to strike.
"Ran," Dan whispered shakily, "I love you."
And then—
A shadow moved.
Adjacent Alleyway – Seconds Earlier
Ichika Orimura skidded into the narrow alley beside the street. He pressed his back against the wall, gasping for breath. Just ahead — through the cracks — he could see Dan and Ran, and beyond them, the monster.
His fingers trembled.
But his heart didn't waver.
He looked down at the glowing watch on his wrist — pulsing with energy. His reflection shined faintly in the glass.
Jaune's words echoed in his head:
"Say the command. Say it loud. Let it hear your soul."
Ichika raised his wrist.
Took one deep breath.
And shouted—
"ELECTROPLATE!"
In a blinding flash of blue and silver, energy surged outward from the watch. Electricity crawled across his body as light enveloped him in rings, scanning and assembling armor in real-time.
Helmet — LOCKED.
Chestplate — LOCKED.
Combat Systems — ONLINE.
GAVAN ARMOR: ACTIVATED.
The light exploded outward with a high-pitched shriek of metallic energy.
And standing in the alley…
Was no longer a boy.
It was Space Sheriff Gavan.
Sleek chrome armor gleamed beneath the smoke-filled light. His silver-blue visor flared. His boots hummed with anti-gravity stabilizers. His hands clenched into fists charged with energy.
Ichika braced himself.
And then jumped.
Main Street – Seconds Later
The tendril snapped forward toward Dan and Ran.
But out of nowhere—
BANG!
A blur of silver and blue crashed into the tendril mid-air, sending it spiraling off-course into the concrete. The impact shattered the pavement, but Dan and Ran were untouched.
Dan opened his eyes in shock.
"W-What the—?!"
A glowing figure landed between them and the Kaijin — crouched in perfect form, smoke hissing off his armor.
Space Sheriff Gavan.
Dan blinked, stunned.
"That's—what is that?"
Gavan slowly stood upright, fists at his side, energy radiating from his core. His voice came through the helmet — deeper, synthesized, but unwavering.
"Get them to safety," he said.
"I'll handle this."
Ran looked up in awe.
"Dan… is that a hero?"
Dan shook his head slowly.
"I… I don't know. But I think…"
"Yeah. I think he is."
Gavan's visor gleamed as he faced the Kaijin, who had paused — confused for the first time. Its eyes scanned the armored figure in front of it.
Something new had entered the battlefield.
And for the first time…
The Kaijin hesitated.
Alley Behind – Seconds Later
Jaune stumbled into view just in time to see Ichika standing tall in full armor.
A breath caught in his throat.
His own helmet snapped into place, hiding his identity beneath the silver-blue faceplate of a seasoned Space Sheriff.
He watched from the shadows as Ichika stood firm, his transformed body crackling with new energy.
"So…" Jaune murmured.
"He really did it."
Kawasaki Ward – Cracked Main Road
1:12 PM
Gavan (Ichika) stood between the Gotanda siblings and the monster that had leveled Shibuya and massacred elite IS pilots.
Shako Kaijin tilted its monstrous head to one side, tendrils swaying behind it, analyzing this new combatant.
Then—
It lunged.
The Kaijin's tendril whipped forward, aiming to pierce straight through Gavan's chest.
"MOVE!" Jaune barked in Ichika's earpiece.
Ichika instinctively sidestepped, the suit responding with accelerated reflexes. The tendril missed him by inches, crashing through a mailbox and embedding into the wall behind him.
"Reflex sync at 88%," came the crisp voice of P33NY, the ship's AI.
"Armor integrity optimal. Offensive systems online."
Ichika spun, his fist catching the tendril mid-recoil, sending crackling blue energy down its length. The Kaijin shrieked and recoiled — shocked that it actually felt pain.
"You've got boosters in your boots — short-range jump jets," Jaune instructed.
"Use them to close the gap. Don't give it space to charge that claw!"
"Recommendation: Engage with Gavan Knuckle." P33NY chimed in.
"What's that?!"
"Say: Gavan Knuckle."
Ichika gritted his teeth and sprinted forward.
"GAVAN KNUCKLE!"
His right gauntlet ignited with blue plasma, vents along the wrist hissing as energy compressed into the punch. He leapt forward, aided by the suit's thrusters—
—and smashed his fist straight into the Kaijin's midsection.
The impact sent the Kaijin stumbling ten meters backward, dragging its claw through the pavement to stabilize.
Dan and Ran watched from behind the wreckage, stunned.
"He's… actually hurting it…"
But Shako Kaijin wasn't finished.
It roared, the sonic tremor shaking the road. Tendrils flared outward, striking in a frenzied barrage, aiming for Ichika's arms, legs, head—
"Initiating Auto-Evasion Protocol – Gavan Step." P33NY said calmly.
Ichika's body moved with blurring speed, dodging three strikes, blocking the fourth with his forearm, and using his leg jets to backflip over a sweeping claw.
Jaune's voice returned.
"You're adapting faster than I expected. Good. Now hit it hard before it charges that claw again!"
Ichika landed behind the Kaijin and immediately activated the beam saber emitter embedded in the right wrist.
"P33NY—sword."
"Gavan Blade: MATERIALIZING."
The air shimmered, and a sleek chrome beam saber emerged from his forearm, the blade crackling with blue plasma along the edge.
"Let's go—!"
He lunged forward, slicing through one of the Kaijin's tendrils, severing it in a burst of green ichor.
The Kaijin shrieked in rage, stumbling, then activated its crimson claw, the pressure spike building rapidly in its core.
"WARNING: Cavitation Blast Charging. Impact radius—56 meters."
Jaune yelled through comms.
"Ichika! You CAN'T take that blast directly. P33NY—run suppression algorithms!"
"Acknowledged. Calculating interception vectors."
The blade in Ichika's hand pulsed brightly.
"Use Gavan Slash. Redirect the blast."
"How do I—?!"
"TRUST THE SUIT!" Jaune and P33NY shouted in unison.
Ichika surged forward, drawing the blade in a precise arc as the Kaijin fired its cavitation claw.
The shockwave exploded forward—
—and Ichika slashed with everything he had.
The energy beam met the blast mid-air, and the two forces clashed in a brilliant blue-and-red explosion. The redirect wasn't perfect — the shockwave tore open the street and threw Ichika back, slamming him into a broken truck.
"Armor at 62% integrity."
"You are still combat capable."
Ichika coughed but got to his feet.
"I'm not done yet…"
Jaune's voice crackled back.
"Then finish it. Take its legs. Take its vision. Make it fear you."
NHN Live Broadcast Feed – 1:14 PM
"Unknown Combatant Engaging Hostile Entity in Kawasaki"
[LIVE – NHN Aerial Unit 03 Kawasaki District Visual Feed – ACTIVE]
The drone camera zoomed in shakily from above the rooftops, capturing flashes of blue and silver moving against the monstrous figure. Every time the silver warrior — now confirmed to be non-IS — slashed or dodged, the camera struggled to follow.
The anchor's voice was tight with disbelief.
"Viewers, what you are witnessing is unprecedented. An unknown armored figure has engaged the kaijin… and appears to be holding its own. We repeat: this individual is not a recognized IS pilot nor affiliated with any known military division."
Tokyo – NHN Headquarters, Live Broadcast Room
Producers and staff gathered around monitors, stunned.
A tech operator squinted at her screen.
"There's… no heat signature like an IS unit. This isn't one of ours."
The lead anchor stood frozen at the desk.
"Who is he…?"
Grocery Store – Huddled Civilians Watching on TV
A group of evacuees took shelter inside a shuttered convenience store. The generator-powered TV sat on the counter, everyone gathered around it like it was sacred.
A kid — no older than ten — pointed at the screen.
"Mom, is that a superhero…?"
His mother stared, unsure.
"I don't know…"
"But he's saving people."
IS Academy – Command Room
Alarms continued to blink on and off as live feeds streamed into the IS Academy's crisis hub.
Maya Yamada stood at her terminal, hands shaking slightly.
"Still no Federation tag… no IS trace either. He's… completely outside the registry."
Chifuyu Orimura stared hard at the screen, eyes narrowing as the silver-armored figure leapt back into the fray.
"That fighting style… those counters…"
She folded her arms slowly.
"He's had no training with IS, but he's reading the Kaijin's movements like a veteran."
"That armor isn't tech we've ever catalogued."
Maya whispered, stunned:
"Is he one of ours…?"
Chifuyu's voice was flat.
"He's no soldier."
Pause.
"But he's something."
Civilian Apartment – Elderly Man Watching Alone
An old man sat alone in a dark room, the television flickering.
He leaned forward, eyes wide, hands trembling as he whispered to himself.
"Silver armor… like the legends…"
"He's come back."
Kawasaki Ward – Side Street Just Off the Battlefield
Time: 1:13 PM
Flashes of blue and red lit the sky.
Shockwaves rolled down the cracked street like thunder made solid.
The earth shook under the force of the blows exchanged.
Gavan — Ichika — stood tall, armored and determined, facing down Shako Kaijin. His plasma-charged blade clashed with monstrous tendrils that lashed like snakes of bone and meat.
The impact of each hit echoed like artillery.
But while the world watched the battle, something else was happening quietly in the shadows.
Behind Rubble – 20 Meters Away
Dan Gotanda held his sister Ran close, shielding her with his body behind a broken concrete barrier. Dust clung to his clothes. His arms shook from fatigue and fear.
Ran sobbed quietly, overwhelmed.
"Is that… really a person in there?" she whispered.
"I don't know," Dan said, breathless. "But whoever they are… they're holding it off."
"Just stay low—"
"You shouldn't be here."
A calm, deep voice cut through the moment.
They turned — and standing just behind them, partly in shadow, was a tall man in a dark silver helmet and damaged black coat. One arm clutched a crutch, his other gripping a compact blaster at his hip — just in case.
Jaune Arc.
His identity completely hidden, his presence oddly composed despite the chaos.
Dan blinked.
"Who—?"
"No time."
Jaune looked to the road where Gavan was holding back Shako's next wave of attacks.
"That guy is giving you an opening. Don't waste it."
He reached out.
"Come with me. Now."
Dan hesitated for only a second — but the look in the man's eyes (even through the visor) was enough.
He stood and helped Ran to her feet. She stumbled, but Jaune caught her, steady and sure.
As Gavan launched into a high-speed charge, drawing all of Shako's attention, Jaune moved.
He guided them through the alleyways, keeping to the debris shadows. Every thunderous strike behind them reminded Dan how close death still was.
"Where are we going?" Dan asked as they ducked into a damaged storefront.
"Evacuation route. Two blocks northeast. Keep low."
Jaune's voice was calm, practiced.
Even though inside, his ribs burned, and his leg throbbed.
Ran looked up at him, still crying softly.
"Is… is he going to die?"
Jaune paused.
Then simply said:
"No Way"
Kawasaki Ward – Main Road, 1:15 PM
The street was cracked and torn, lit by the flickering orange glow of fires on both sides.
In the center of it all—Gavan stood firm, gripping his glowing Gavan Blade, the light reflecting off his chrome armor.
Shako Kaijin roared, its tendrils thrashing and snapping like whips, two of them dragging sparks across the pavement as it prepared to lunge.
"Ichika," Jaune's voice came through the comm, "remember your stance. You've trained in kendo. Don't brute force it — cut like you mean it."
P33NY: "Recalibrating blade tracking to match traditional kenjutsu arc patterns… done. Predictive assist at 71%."
Ichika took a deep breath.
His feet shifted.
His grip tightened.
He lowered the sword, body turning sideways, sliding into a textbook kendo stance — his center low, blade pointed forward, knees bent.
The monster charged.
Tendril strike!
Ichika twisted his body, sidestepping the blow with grace — and in a single motion, struck downward, severing part of the tendril's tip. A burst of green ichor sprayed into the air.
Shako recoiled, screaming in frustration.
Another tendril came — this time a sweeping strike aiming for Ichika's legs.
He jumped, landing light on his feet, sword raised high, and brought it down in a perfect vertical cut across the Kaijin's outer shoulder, slicing through the grotesque shell.
"He's adapting fast…" Jaune muttered through gritted teeth, still watching from the rooftops with Ran and Dan now safe.
Ichika spun, parried a third tendril, and struck again — this time aiming for the joints behind Shako's claw arm. He wasn't just flailing.
He was fighting.
With rhythm.
With control.
With purpose.
"YAAAAAAAH!"
He unleashed a three-hit combo: diagonal slash, side-stepping sweep, and a sudden upward strike that cleaved through one of the Kaijin's primary limbs, sending the severed chunk flying into a burning wall.
Shako stumbled back — bleeding, injured, angry.
Its eyes flared, and with a shriek, it reared back all of its tendrils for one massive flurry.
P33NY: "Danger—six tentacle strikes incoming. Recommend evasive maneuver GAVAN STEP booster vault."
"Got it!"
Ichika vanished in a blur, dodging mid-air and flipping backwards as the pavement behind him exploded from the impact.
He landed, skid low, and raised his blade.
Then paused.
Centered.
His voice echoed through the comms.
"Jaune…"
"Yeah, kid?"
"I'm going in. One last strike."
Jaune smiled beneath his helmet.
"Then go."
Ichika rushed forward — cutting through smoke, sword glowing bright with overcharged energy. His footwork was precise, clean. Tendrils lunged but missed as he weaved and stepped like he was back in a kendo hall.
"GAVAN… SLAAAAASH!"
He leapt upward, spinning in the air, and brought the sword down in a diagonal finishing arc.
The blade hit.
Sparks and ichor exploded in all directions.
The Kaijin screeched, stumbling backward violently. Its shell cracked; its movements slowed. The tendrils lashed wildly as it tried to escape — for the first time, no longer advancing.
It retreated into the smoke, disappearing down the alleyways in fury.
Ichika stood panting, sword humming softly in his hand.
The road around him was scorched and wrecked. But no civilians were harmed.
He exhaled, slowly lowering the blade.
P33NY: "Target has retreated. Threat level: Lowered. You did it."
Jaune's voice came back over the comm, quiet, but proud.
"Welcome to the fight, Ichika Orimura."
Kawasaki Ward – 1:20 PM
Back Alley Near Evacuation Route
Smoke still lingered over the broken city block. Fires crackled in the distance. But the kaijin was gone, and the streets were… silent.
Gavan stood still for a few seconds, watching where Shako Kaijin had vanished.
Then he slowly turned.
Standing a few meters behind him, leaning on a crutch, helmet on, was Jaune Arc.
No words were exchanged.
Ichika gave a small nod.
Jaune nodded back.
Together — with no fanfare, no announcement — the two figures turned and slipped into the alley, disappearing from the public eye before the JSDF drones and media teams arrived.
The only thing left behind was the scorched mark where Gavan had stood.
And the mystery.
IS Academy – Command Operations Center
The atmosphere was tense.
No one was speaking.
Dozens of screens replayed the final moments of the battle on loop. Security footage, news drone feeds, and satellite captures all showed the same thing:
A silver armored figure.
Glowing blade.
Formidable swordsmanship.
And an ability that no one on Earth had ever seen before.
Maya Yamada stood frozen at her console, headset hanging loosely around her neck. Her eyes wide, breath caught.
"He… he fought like he was trained," she whispered. "But that wasn't an IS. It couldn't be."
Chifuyu Orimura stood at the front of the room, arms folded, eyes narrowed as she watched the footage on the largest screen.
Every movement.
Every stance.
Every strike.
"That sword work…" she muttered. "That wasn't just instinct. That was kendo. Clean form. Disciplined."
She paused. Her eyes sharpened.
"No lag. No hesitation."
Maya turned to her.
"Should we open a channel to the Defense Ministry? Maybe they deployed something top secret—"
"They didn't."
Chifuyu cut her off.
"There's no tech in this country — or any other — that resembles that armor. I've read every black file the UN gave us on extraterrestrial threats and classified military tech. This wasn't human-made."
A young analyst nearby raised his hand nervously.
"Ma'am… if that wasn't one of ours…"
He gulped.
"Then… who was it?"
The entire room went silent.
Chifuyu didn't answer immediately.
She continued watching the last few seconds of the footage — the silver warrior disappearing into the smoke, leaving nothing behind.
Then she spoke, quietly.
"Whoever he is…"
She turned, her voice calm but firm.
"He's not a soldier. He's not an IS pilot. He's not part of any known force."
"But right now…"
She faced the team with a rare seriousness in her voice.
"He's the only one who's managed to survive a direct fight with that thing and make it run."
Maya swallowed.
"Do we… track him?"
"We try." Chifuyu said. "But don't expect results."
She turned back toward the monitor.
"If he wanted to be found…"
"He wouldn't have disappeared."
Dark Dimension – Makuu Research Deck 7
Hidden deep beneath the main throne hall, Deck 7 was a forbidden place. A tangled nest of cables, alien machinery, and pulsing bio-walls. It reeked of sterilizing chemicals and warm metal. Lenses blinked from every corner. Strange, cybernetic tubes ran fluid from nowhere to nowhere.
Here worked one of Makuu's oldest — and strangest — minds:
Dr. Zera Gorn, the Makuu technomancer.
He was wiry, hunched, half-mechanical. Tubes sprouted from his spine like insect legs. His fingers were long and skeletal, each one fused with hacking tools and surgical data probes.
"You're lucky Don Horror is focused on his victory speech," Zera rasped, eyes flickering as he tapped at a neuro-organic console. "If he knew you were playing curiosity games…"
"He won't," Mercury replied, folding his arms behind his back. "He sees Earth as a corpse. I see potential."
Zera chuckled, sharp and wet.
"Of course you do. You're young. Curious. That'll kill you faster than the kaijin."
A low hum pulsed from the console. Earth's digital defenses were formidable — for humans. But to Makuu's systems, they were soft, outdated paper walls.
"Infiltrating global defense networks now…" Zera muttered. "Ah, Japan's Ministry of Technology… here's something interesting… Keywords: Infinite Stratos Project.
"Shall we peek?"
Mercury leaned forward.
"Open everything."
A flood of data burst into holographic display.
Blueprints.
Satellite images.
Pilot rosters.
Combat footage.
Mission logs.
FILE HEADER: INFINITE STRATOS SYSTEM
Category: Exo-Frame Technology
Piloting Compatibility: Female Exclusive
Tactical Class: Defensive Combat Armor
Military Integration: Limited (Japan, Europe, Private Academies)
Origin: Suspected alien-adapted tech
Active Zones: IS Academy (Japan), Global Branches
Mercury's eyes scanned everything.
"Exclusively female… yet the designs are advanced. Energy shielding, plasma edge weapons, short-range teleportation…"
He paused at anomaly reports.
Specifically:
Male pilot candidates: 0.00001% genetic alignment
Anomaly detected: Orimura, Ichika – flagged inactive
Redacted military interest – CLASSIFIED
Mercury's gaze sharpened.
"Orimura… hmmm."
Zera looked up, curious.
"That file's locked beyond what I've cracked. Human black sites."
Mercury's fingers hovered over the floating screen.
"Can you go deeper?"
Zera snorted.
"With time and no alarms? Maybe. But if Don Horror finds out—"
"He won't," Mercury interrupted calmly. "He's watching the flames, not the foundation."
Zera raised a crooked brow.
"So what exactly are you looking for, Mercury?"
"Leverage," he replied softly. "Or maybe… understanding."
He stared at a still image of an IS pilot training against a simulated kaijin — laughing with her team, unaware of her fate.
Mercury didn't smile this time.
He just stared.
And for the first time since he arrived in the Dark Dimension…
He felt human.
NHN News Broadcast – 3:45 PM
Live from Tokyo Broadcasting Tower
The screen faded in from black.
The NHN emergency banner remained in place at the bottom of the screen, scrolling updates in real time. Aerial footage of Kawasaki Ward played in the background — smoke rising from ruined streets, buildings torn in half, ambulances parked in uneven rows.
The camera cut to the studio.
The anchor — Reina Miyasaki, the same one from earlier — now appeared on-screen again, this time with eyes red-rimmed from hours of coverage, but her voice steady and clear.
"Good afternoon. This is Reina Miyasaki, and you're watching NHN's continuing coverage of the Kawasaki Crisis — the worst non-nuclear urban assault on Japanese soil since the Dark Zone attacks nearly two centuries ago."
"As of now, authorities are reporting a preliminary casualty count of 4,200 dead, with tens of thousands injured or missing."
Behind her, a screen displayed a satellite image of the battle zone — buildings reduced to skeletons, streets cratered, heat signatures lingering in orange and red.
"The being, now officially designated as B.E.M. Shako Kaijin, has been confirmed neutralized — its remains unresponsive and under quarantine by the Japanese Self-Defense Force and a newly arrived international scientific team."
She paused, a rare flicker of humanity softening her expression.
"But we were not saved by military intervention."
"We were not saved by a government."
"We were saved… by a stranger."
The footage cut to blurry drone shots of the final moments: a figure silhouetted in smoke, standing between civilians and the kaijin's final attack. Energy flickered around his body — alien armor, strange and radiant. A flash of silver. A shield raised against oblivion.
"We do not know his name."
"We do not know where he came from."
"But he fought. And because of him… more didn't die today."
Reina straightened her papers, but didn't look down.
"To the one who stood against the darkness… to the one who held the line when all else fell…"
A soft pause.
"Thank you."
The screen faded again, transitioning to still images: rescuers pulling survivors from rubble. Children crying in relief. Volunteers handing out water. Firefighters covered in ash.
To be continued
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