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

はちじゅう | eighty

もののけ | kaiju | monster

80

[A lengthy chapter ahead]

Kiyomi

I KNOW OUR FATHER NEVER gave a damn about having a real relationship with his daughters. From the day I was born, and from the day Mom died, he treated us more like subordinates than family. To me, he was always just the General Director, not some kind of father figure. My younger self wanted that, though. Craved it, even. I can't count the number of times I imagined him giving a damn, actually acting like a father instead of some distant, untouchable goddamn military icon.

He'd warned me this day would come. I remember him telling me—no, taunting me—that I'd be overjoyed if he died out on the battlefield, so I'd finally be rid of him, like his absence would somehow set me free. Maybe he thought he was being clever, cutting me down before I had the chance to do it myself. And honestly, I'd convinced myself that he was right. I thought when the day came, I'd feel nothing. Not a damn thing.

But now he's gone, and it feels like my heart is shattering in ways I didn't know it could. I thought I'd built up a shield, that I was numb, but this—this is something else. And I didn't cry. I couldn't. Hell, maybe that's why people think I'm some heartless monster, standing here, stone-faced, while everyone else grieves.

I'm just fucking empty. I'm drained, tired, holding myself together for the baby inside me, and for Kikoru.

We're all that's left. Just the two of us, standing in the wreckage of this fucked-up family. She's going to need me now, like never before. I'm the one she'll look to when things fall apart, when she needs strength, when she's got nowhere else to turn. It's all on me. I have to be strong, even when I feel like I'm breaking, because she deserves that. And so does the baby growing inside me.

I look up at the sky, thick with dark clouds, as the rifles go off in a relentless rhythm. The shots echo around us, drowning out the silence. It's a brutal sound, each blast a sharp reminder of what we've lost. It's a military funeral, after all—nothing here is meant to be gentle or forgiving. It's raw, loud, like a slap to the face. The honor guard keeps firing in perfect sequence, their rifles raised and lowered with mechanical precision, each shot a salute to the fallen. The sound of metal clashing as they move, the sharp clicks as they load and fire, everything about this ceremony is harsh. Cold.

They laid out his uniform on the casket even though his body wasn't there, complete with his insignia and decorations, shining in the gray light. The flag, folded with brutal precision, sits on top, draped in respect he probably never showed us. And then there's the silence after each volley, heavy and oppressive, like the whole damn sky is pressing down. I stand there, my face a mask, refusing to let anything crack through. I'm in full uniform, too, a perfect reflection of duty. Not a hint of emotion showing—I won't give them that.

Beside me, Kikoru is on the ground, practically on her knees, her body shaking with sobs she can't control. I let her. She's got every right to feel whatever the hell she needs to feel right now. It's her pain, too. And she's barely holding it together, clinging to whatever pieces of him she had, whatever fragments he left behind for her. I can almost feel it—the way she'll lock herself up in his office after this. She'll go through his things, sit at his desk, maybe even stare at his goddamn chair like he'll come back and sit in it one last time. It's fucked up, but I get it. She's looking for some piece of him to hold onto. She's looking for answers, for closure. And maybe that's all any of us are doing out here today, under this bleak sky.