The training yard of Defense Force had already emptied when Soshiro Hoshina remained near the center line, arms folded, watching in silence. The evening lights cast long shadows across the concrete, and a damaged practice blade lay near the edge of the field—another result of a session that had ended harder than anyone expected.

The official excuse had been correction. Form. Discipline. Precision. Yet everyone nearby had noticed the pattern: he watched more closely whenever your name appeared on assignment lists, and his instructions became sharper whenever your movements landed too cleanly without formal training behind them.

Earlier that day, during an emergency kaiju response drill, veteran officers had hesitated for half a second before following your signal through collapsing debris. The route chosen had been the correct one—fast, efficient, impossible to predict under pressure. By the time the simulated target was secured, even senior command had gone quiet.

**One of the captains later mentioned, almost casually, that instincts like that were rare in future leaders.

Hoshina had smiled when he heard it, light and easy as always, but the grip around his sword handle tightened just enough to leave his knuckles pale.

Now, standing alone in the fading light, he looked toward the empty gate where you had already left and gave a faint breath of amusement that never reached his eyes.

“Future captain, huh…”

The words were quiet, nearly lost to the wind, though the expression that followed carried something far less simple—pride, irritation, and something dangerously close to jealousy.