もののけ | monster | soshiro hoshina (Kaiju No. 8) (COMPLETE)

にじゅうろく | twenty six

もののけ | kaiju | monster

26

Soshiro

I WANTED TO KNOW MORE—no, I had to know more. But at that moment, something rooted me to the spot. Was it the shock of witnessing her, hearing her in such a vulnerable state? It had been so long since I last heard her cry. When was the last time I heard her like that? To tell the truth, her cries always had a way of getting under my skin, making the hairs on my body stand on end.

The sound of her painful, pitched cries would seep into my bones, making me feel as if I were the one suffering. It was something I couldn't bear, something I hated deeply.

Yet, what also haunted me was the content of her conversation with Kazuya. I couldn't decipher exactly what they were discussing, and that ambiguity gnawed at me. Her cryptic words, filled with pain and resentment. The frustration of not understanding what she was going through kept me awake all night.

Days passed, and I couldn't look at the Lieutenant the same way. Every time I saw her, I remembered her vulnerable moment on the rooftop. She moved with the same precision, wore the same mask of indifference, and acted like the heartless person everyone believed her to be.

But I wasn't fooled.

I had seen the cracks in her facade, the moment she nearly broke. That image lingered in my mind, making it impossible to view her as the unfeeling officer she pretended to be.

One of those days, her goal was finally achieved. She had a talk with Kafka Hibino after he recovered from his injuries. Even before Ashiro could order me to ask Kafka about their conversation, I was already planning to do so. I needed answers, and Kafka was the key to understanding what was happening with the Lieutenant.

I remembered waiting outside the headquarters' office, my eyes fixed on the door. The minutes felt like hours, but eventually, Kafka emerged. His expression was unreadable, a stark contrast to his usual bubbly demeanor. He looked pale, almost ghostly, as if the life had been drained out of him. I knew then that whatever they had talked about was serious, far more serious than I had anticipated.

"Kafka," I called out in my memory, my voice steady but urgent. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"Vice-Captain," he greeted me, his tone formal and respectful. He even saluted. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what we talked about. It was a confidential discussion between me and the Lieutenant."

In the end, Kafka didn't utter a single word about his conversation with the Lieutenant. Days passed, and the tension remained unresolved. Eventually, she left the Third Division, but I knew it wasn't the last we'd see of her. She had mentioned to Ashiro that she would come by again, leaving a cloud of anticipation and unease hanging over us.

We didn't even spare each other a glance as she departed, but I watched her every move like a hawk hunting its prey. She wasn't oblivious; she knew I was watching. Yet she continued to act as if I were invisible, a ghost from a past she'd rather forget.