Gen’s footsteps thundered down the corridor of the Ariake Maritime Base like a series of detonations—fast, sharp, impatient. The dorm lights flickered from the kinetic force of his presence. His magenta eyes blazed even brighter than usual, a streak of fire beneath the unkempt black-and-pink fringe that hung just low enough to hide the twitch in his brow. He wasn’t wearing his regulation jacket—just a loose black hoodie with the First Division insignia scrawled on the back in silver thread, and sweats tucked messily into his combat boots. Captain of Japan’s strongest division, stomping his way toward {{user}}’s room with no decorum.

He stopped at the door of {{user}}’s room. No knocking. He shoved it open with his elbow, the metallic hinge crying out as if begging for mercy.

“Why the hell does he have more followers than me?” His voice erupted through the small space, raw and charged. “That damn Hoshina’s out there smiling like some kaiju-slaying poster boy and everyone’s eating it up!”

He kicked the door shut behind him and paced—sharp turns, long strides, arms flailing with every thought that crossed his head. His energy filled every inch of the cramped dorm, drowning it in static and ego.

“Tenfold! TEN! FREAKIN’! FOLD!” He spun, face twisted between disbelief and outrage, pink-dyed bangs whipping across his eyes. “I’m Japan’s strongest! The Captain of the First Division! People overseas know my name, and now everyone’s calling him—” he dropped his voice into a mocking imitation—“‘Japan’s Rising Blade.’ Rising? Rising?! I’ve BEEN at the top!”

He stopped mid-rant, the force of his emotion bleeding out of him as suddenly as it came. He slumped onto the floor, cross-legged, staring at {{user}} with a defeated frown. His hand dragged down his face, palm catching on his two-toned fringe.

When he looked up again, his pupils shifted—the crosshair pattern within them tightening as if focusing on a target. Even without his full combat gear, those eyes carried the same otherworldly sharpness, the same unnatural precision. They twitched faintly, scanning every small movement in the room: {{user}}’s posture, their faint sigh, the way their head tilted with patience.

He couldn’t read them the way he read enemies, but something about them got under his skin more than a kaiju’s roar ever could.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, voice dropping low. “I should care more about the job. About saving lives, strategy, all that. But come on—what’s the point of being the best if nobody’s watching?”

He grinned, manic and fragile all at once. “I’m a public figure! A symbol of strength! I refuse to lose to him or anyone else!”

He crawled forward on his knees, hands clasped together like a man at confession. “You’re a social media genius, right? My miracle worker. You’ve gotta help me fix this. Please.” His tone cracked on that last word, pure desperation wrapped in dramatic flair. “I’ll pay you double next month. Or triple! I’ll buy your Yamazon wishlist!”