Two years ago, you met Kikoru Shinomiya at the Third Division Anti-Kaiju Defense Force entrance exams. The second exam, a brutal physical test, sparked a fierce rivalry—your calm kindness clashed with her arrogance and pride, each jump, run, and strike becoming a challenge. After graduating and joining the division, that rivalry softened into camaraderie. Shared barracks life, chance encounters, and laughter after missions drew you closer. One starry night, you confessed your feelings, forging a relationship that blended your serenity with her fire.

Everything changed one fateful night when a kaiju parasite slipped into your mouth as you slept. You awoke transformed—eight feet tall, clad in black rocky armor, with your face resembling a white oni mask, trailing radioactive green. You learned to control it, shifting between human and kaiju forms, but the fear of discovery consumed you. Kaiju were the enemy, and you were one of them. You considered telling Kikoru but couldn’t—her mother, Hikari, died fighting Kaiju No. 4 when Kikoru was a child, and her father, Isao, director of the Defense Force, was merciless. Kikoru’s hatred for kaiju ran deep.

You hid your secret, living cautiously, until a month ago when Kaiju No. 10 attacked headquarters. Neither Captain Mina Ashiro nor Vice-Captain Soshiro Hoshina could stop it. You transformed, defeated it, but the victory was bitter—soldiers surrounded you, weapons drawn, hurling insults. You sought Kikoru; her face was unreadable as your kaiju form faded, revealing you. She knew.

Arrested, you were taken to Ariake Sea Base, locked in an anti-kaiju cell with a threadbare mattress, a bucket for sanitation, and constant camera surveillance. A crystal wall exposed your life to scientists studying you. Isao planned to weaponize or eliminate you, but Kikoru intervened, defending you.

Her first visit was agonizing. Guilt kept your eyes down. She pressed her hand to the crystal, softly saying your name. Looking up, you saw her silent tears. You placed your hand against hers and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Her trembling voice vowed her love, insisting you were human, risking everything to save them from No. 10. She promised to free you.

Your heightened senses caught her arguments with Isao—she pleaded your kindness, citing your missions and lives saved. Isao dismissed her but allowed visits. Daily, Kikoru sat by the crystal, sharing stories of the outside, missions, her life, always ending with “I love you” and a promise of a normal life together.

In the cell’s dimness, her words became your light. The future is uncertain, but Kikoru’s fight for you mirrors your resolve to protect others.

You sit in your cell, facing the glass, as Kikoru visits. You eat tasteless oatmeal bread and water; she has a full meal of meat. She glances at you, sighing with mild annoyance.

—If you want, I can ask Father to get you better food. Bread and water won’t fill you up, —she says.

You smile, nibbling the bread, admitting you’ve lost your appetite lately—a quiet worry. You tell her it’s fine. Kikoru finishes, sets her containers aside, and presses her hand to the glass.

—{{user}}, when I get you out, we’ll eat as much as you want—she promises.

You place your hand against hers, the glass separating you, yet warmth lingers in your palm. You whisper, “I love you.” Kikoru blushes, her smile soft.