Jellyzz

(Captain Narumi x Officer Reader)

(Hoshina will be mentioned~☆)

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 5

You know something is wrong the second you wake up.

Not with you.

With everything else.

The air feels heavier. The silence stretches too long. Even the hum of the base sounds… off.

You sit up, eyes scanning your room out of habit.

Nothing looks different.

And that’s what bothers you.

A knock comes at your door.

Not rushed. Not urgent.

Measured.

You open it to find an officer standing straight, expression neutral.

“Captain Narumi wants you at the command floor.”

You don’t ask why.

You already know this isn’t routine.

The command area is quieter than usual.

Not empty. Just… controlled.

Screens flicker with data. Officers move with purpose, but no one speaks louder than necessary. It feels like something has already gone wrong, and everyone is pretending it hasn’t.

Narumi is leaning against a console, head tilted back slightly, phone in hand.

He looks bored.

That’s the first red flag.

The second is the man standing across from him.

**Soshiro Hoshina**.

Hoshina’s posture is relaxed, arms loosely crossed, expression easy. But his eyes move, sharp and calculating, taking in everything.

You stop a few steps away.

Neither of them looks surprised that you’re here.

“So this is the one,” Hoshina says, voice light.

Narumi doesn’t look up. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not startin’ anything,” Hoshina replies easily. “Just curious. Heard you pulled someone out of their lane.”

Narumi clicks something on his phone, annoyed. “They’re not out of their lane.”

Hoshina hums. “Doesn’t look like your usual type.”

That makes Narumi finally glance up.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

Hoshina smiles slightly. “You don’t usually keep things that think for themselves.”

Silence.

Narumi’s expression tightens for just a second.

Then it’s gone.

“They’re useful,” he says flatly.

The word lands heavier than it should.

You don’t react.

You’ve learned not to.

Hoshina’s gaze shifts to you now, more focused.

“Useful’s a dangerous label,” he says. “Means people start expectin’ things.”

You hold his gaze. “Expectations are part of the job.”

“Aye,” Hoshina says. “Until they’re not.”

Narumi exhales sharply. “Can we not do this.”

“Do what,” Hoshina asks, amused.

“This,” Narumi gestures vaguely between you and the situation. “You acting like you’ve already figured something out.”

Hoshina’s smile doesn’t fade.

“Maybe I have.”

That tension again.

Different from before.

Not directed at you.

Between them.

You watch it happen.

Narumi straightens slightly, irritation clear now.

“You’re not even assigned here,” he says.

“Didn’t stop you from calling me,” Hoshina replies.

Narumi goes still.

You notice that.

Because it means something.

“You didn’t call me here to argue,” Hoshina continues, voice quieter now. “So what is it.”

Narumi doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

Direct.

Focused.

“You felt something after the last mission,” he says.

It’s not a question.

You hesitate.

Then—

“Yes.”

Hoshina’s eyes narrow slightly.

“What kind of something.”

You search for the right word.

“Wrong,” you say. “Like it didn’t end.”

Silence settles.

Hoshina glances at Narumi.

Narumi looks annoyed.

Not surprised.

“You see,” Hoshina says quietly, “that’s the problem.”

“What problem,” you ask.

“That things are startin’ to behave like they’re thinkin’.”

The words settle uncomfortably.

Narumi scoffs. “Kaiju don’t think.”

“Not like us,” Hoshina agrees. “But they adapt. And lately, they’re adaptin’ faster.”

Narumi crosses his arms. “You’re reaching.”

Hoshina looks at him, amused again.

“Am I,” he says. “Or are you just irritated I might be right.”

Narumi clicks his tongue.

There it is.

That childish edge.

“You lost that exam once and suddenly you think you know everything.”

Hoshina laughs softly. “Still hung up on that, huh.”

“You got lucky.”

“Aye,” Hoshina nods. “Must’ve been it.”

The tension breaks just enough to breathe.

But not enough to disappear.

You step in.

“The kaiju body,” you say. “It didn’t feel… finished.”

Narumi’s gaze snaps back to you.

Hoshina watches you more carefully now.

“Then don’t go chasing it,” Narumi says immediately.

You frown. “That’s not your usual approach.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Well, you’re not my usual problem.”

The words come out sharper than intended.

He pauses.

Just for a second.

Then looks away.

You feel that.

More than you should.

Hoshina notices too.

Of course he does.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

Narumi glares. “Don’t.”

Hoshina ignores him.

“You ran toward it last time, didn’t ya,” he says to you.

You don’t answer.

That’s answer enough.

Hoshina nods slightly. “Figures.”

Narumi pushes off the console.

“You’re off field today,” he says.

“No.”

His eyes narrow. “That wasn’t—”

“You don’t bench someone for noticing something wrong.”

“I do if they run straight into it.”

“That’s your job.”

Silence.

Narumi steps closer.

“That’s exactly why I’m telling you not to.”

You hold your ground.

“And you expect me to listen.”

“No,” he says. “I expect you to think.”

The words hang there.

Hoshina watches the exchange quietly now, something more serious behind his expression.

Then he sighs lightly.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back. “I’ve seen enough.”

Narumi glances at him. “You’re leaving.”

“For now.” Hoshina looks at you one last time. “Just be careful. Things that start actin’ different don’t usually stop halfway.”

He turns, walking off like none of this concerns him.

But you know it does.

Narumi watches him go, irritation still lingering.

Then he looks at you again.

“You’re not going after it,” he says.

You don’t respond.

Because you already know—

You are.

The alarm hits before either of you can say more.

Sharp. Immediate. Real.

Every screen flashes red.

UNKNOWN KAIJU SIGNATURE DETECTED.

LOCATION: WITHIN PERIMETER.

Narumi exhales slowly.

“…of course it is.”

The ground trembles.

Not outside.

Inside.

Somewhere deep within the base—

something moves.

And this time,

you don’t hesitate.

Next Chapter

(Captain Narumi x Officer Reader)

Previous chapter

Chapter 4

The distance does not happen all at once.

That would have been easier to notice.

Instead, it builds in small, almost polite ways.

A pause before someone answers you.

A hesitation before handing you equipment.

A shift in formation that places you just slightly farther from the center.

First Division does not confront problems directly.

It adapts around them.

And right now, you are the problem.

You notice it during training first.

Your usual position is reassigned without explanation. Not far. Just enough that your timing no longer aligns perfectly with the others. Your movements feel half a second off, like you are reacting instead of acting.

You adjust.

Of course you do.

That is what you are good at.

But adjustment, you are starting to realize, is not always the same as belonging.

Across the field, Gen Narumi is not paying attention.

At least, that is what it looks like.

He is seated on the elevated platform again, controller in hand, one leg bouncing lazily as his character flashes across the screen. Bright lights reflect in his eyes. Gunfire echoes faintly from the speakers.

He looks completely uninterested.

You miss your mark by a fraction.

It is small. Barely noticeable.

But you feel it.

Narumi’s character dies.

He exhales sharply, annoyed. “Unbelievable.”

You do not know if he is talking about the game.

Or you.

Training continues.

You complete every drill. No mistakes. No hesitation. No deviation.

You are perfect.

And for the first time, it feels wrong.

Because perfection means predictability.

And predictability means you can be replaced.

Later, in the locker room, the silence follows you again.

No one says anything directly. They do not need to.

The absence is enough.

You change quickly, efficiently, avoiding your reflection in the metal surface of the lockers. There is nothing wrong with what you see. No visible flaw. No sign of failure.

And yet—

“[Surname].”

You look up.

Narumi is leaning against the doorway.

He should not be there. He has no reason to be there.

“You’re slowing down,” he says.

“I completed every task.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Exactly.”

You close your locker. “If you have feedback, submit it through—”

“Stop doing that.”

The interruption is quiet, but firm.

You go still.

Narumi straightens slightly, pushing himself off the doorframe.

“I’m not one of your reports,” he says. “You don’t get to file me away when the conversation gets inconvenient.”

Your grip tightens on the locker handle.

“Then say what you need to say.”

He watches you for a moment, longer than necessary.

“You’re trying too hard not to be noticed,” he says.

“That is the goal.”

“No,” he replies. “That’s survival.”

“And that’s wrong?”

He studies your face like he’s looking for something you’re not showing.

“That depends,” he says finally, “on what you’re trying to survive.”

You don’t respond.

Because the answer is too close to something you don’t want to name.

Narumi exhales slowly, like he is deciding whether to push further.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he shrugs lightly. “You’re making it boring.”

You almost laugh.

“Then stop watching.”

“Can’t,” he says easily. “You’re in my division.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does to me.”

The words slip out before he can mask them.

Silence follows.

Narumi looks away first this time, like he said more than he intended.

“Anyway,” he mutters, tone shifting back to casual, “we’ve got a live run tonight. Try not to disappear on me out there.”

Disappear.

Not hesitate.

Not fail.

Disappear.

You nod once. “Understood.”

He leaves before you can say anything else.

And for a moment, you are left staring at the space he occupied, something unsettled lingering in your chest.

You ignore it.

You always do.

That night, the city feels wrong.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that comes before something breaks.

First Division is deployed along the outer perimeter. Buildings loom dark and empty, windows reflecting distorted fragments of movement. The air is thick, heavy with something you cannot quite identify.

You scan instinctively.

Movement patterns. Structural weaknesses. Escape routes.

Your mind works the way it always has.

But something feels… delayed.

Narumi stands ahead of the formation, posture loose, almost careless.

But his eyes—

His eyes are sharp.

“Stay alert,” he says, voice carrying easily. “This one’s not behaving normally.”

You move into position.

You follow formation.

You do not deviate.

The first attack comes from above.

Fast. Unpredictable.

The kaiju drops between units, forcing separation. It moves differently, limbs bending at impossible angles, adapting mid-motion.

You track it.

Calculate.

Wait.

Orders come through your comm.

“Hold position.”

You hold.

The kaiju shifts direction.

Someone else hesitates.

Just for a second.

You see it.

You see the opening.

You see the outcome.

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

You break formation.

The strike connects exactly where you predicted. The impact shifts the kaiju’s trajectory just enough to prevent the hit. The other officer stumbles back, alive.

You land hard, breath sharp.

Silence flickers across the comms.

Then—

“Finally,” Narumi says.

Not angry.

Not relieved.

Satisfied.

The fight resumes.

This time, you don’t hold back.

You move faster.

Sharper.

You stop waiting for permission.

By the time the kaiju collapses, your breathing is uneven, your hands steady, your mind clearer than it has been in days.

And that scares you.

Because it felt right.

After, when the dust settles and the kaiju lies still, the atmosphere has changed.

Not lighter.

Not better.

Just… different.

Eyes follow you again.

But now, they are sharper.

More certain.

More dangerous.

Respect, maybe.

Or something close to it.

You stand at the edge of the scene, wiping blood from your gloves that isn’t yours.

Narumi approaches slowly.

“You see the difference,” he says.

It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

“You stopped thinking about them,” he continues, nodding slightly toward the others. “And started thinking about the outcome.”

“I made the same choice as before.”

“No,” he says quietly. “You made it faster.”

The words settle between you.

You glance at him. “Is that what you wanted?”

Narumi’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable.

“For now,” he says.

For now.

You look away first.

Because you are starting to understand something you don’t like.

This isn’t about training.

It isn’t about performance.

It isn’t even about survival.

Gen Narumi is watching you change.

Not correcting it.

Not stopping it.

Encouraging it.

Like he’s waiting to see what happens when you stop hesitating completely.

Behind you, unnoticed, a fragment of the fallen kaiju twitches.

Just once.

You don’t see it.

No one does.

Except Narumi.

And he doesn’t say a word.

Next Chapter

(Captain Narumi x Officer Reader)

Chapter 3 - What Everyone Else Starts to See

Previous Chapter

The problem with being noticed is that it never stays quiet.

It spreads.

At first, it is small.

A glance that lingers too long.

A conversation that stops when you enter the room.

A shift in tone when your name is mentioned.

“[Surname] is the one Captain Narumi pulled in.”

“From another unit, right?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t look like much.”

You pretend not to hear it.

That part is easy.

What is not easy is the way those same voices change after missions.

“…that was them?”

“No way.”

“They stabilized the field before we even got the signal.”

“They didn’t even hesitate.”

You stop pretending to hear it.

Because now it matters.

Because now it is dangerous.

First Division is not built for people who stand out in the wrong way. Strength is respected. Efficiency is expected. But deviation, the kind that bends rules instead of following them, is watched.

Measured.

And sometimes, removed.

You keep your head down.

You follow orders exactly.

You do not break formation.

Not anymore.

And that is when **Gen Narumi** starts getting bored.

“You’re holding back,” he says one afternoon, sprawled across the lounge couch, controller in hand.

You stand near the doorway, report tablet pressed against your chest.

“I am following protocol.”

“Yeah,” he says, unimpressed. “That’s the problem.”

You do not respond.

On the screen, his character dies.

He clicks his tongue. “See that? That’s what happens when you play safe. You stop reacting.”

“That’s a game.”

“So is this.”

You finally look at him.

“This gets people killed.”

He glances at you, something sharper flickering beneath the laziness.

“Exactly.”

Silence settles.

You step forward, placing the report on the table beside him. “Your mission data.”

He doesn’t even look at it.

“You changed your movement pattern,” he says instead.

You freeze.

“…I adjusted to match the unit.”

“No,” he replies. “You adjusted to disappear.”

Your grip tightens slightly.

“That is not your concern.”

“It is when it makes you predictable.”

You meet his gaze. “You told me vulnerability is dangerous.”

“I did.” His tone is light. “So why are you creating a new one?”

You have no answer for that.

He leans back, stretching lazily. “You think if you act like everyone else, they’ll stop watching you.”

“They will.”

“They won’t,” he says simply. “They’ll just wait for you to slip.”

Your chest feels tight.

“That’s not something you can control,” he continues. “People like patterns. And you already broke yours.”

You turn away first.

“I will adjust.”

“Don’t,” he says.

The word stops you.

You look back.

For once, he is not smiling.

“Don’t adjust for them,” Narumi says quietly. “You’ll lose what made you useful in the first place.”

Useful.

Not important. Not valued.

Useful.

You nod anyway. “Understood, Captain.”

His expression shifts. Not quite irritation. Not quite disappointment.

“Right,” he mutters. “Back to that.”

You leave before he can say anything else.

That night, the mission call comes in without warning.

High-priority.

Unidentified kaiju signature. Unstable behavior. Rapid evolution patterns.

First Division deploys immediately.

The battlefield is worse than expected.

The kaiju does not move like anything you have studied. It shifts direction mid-attack, adapts faster than data can track. Officers spread out, trying to contain it.

You stay in position.

You follow formation.

You do not move unless ordered.

And someone gets hit.

Hard.

The impact throws them across the field. Their vitals spike, then drop. Too fast.

You see it.

You calculate the distance. The timing. The risk.

Three seconds.

You remember Narumi’s voice.

You are creating a new vulnerability.

You hesitate.

Just once.

Narumi moves before you do.

The strike is clean. Efficient. Controlled.

Too late to prevent the damage.

The injured officer hits the ground hard.

Silence flickers through the comms.

Then chaos resumes.

You move then, sprinting to stabilize, hands steady even as your chest tightens. You know exactly what to do. You always do.

But the timing is wrong.

And you know it.

After the mission, no one says anything.

Not to you.

They don’t need to.

You feel it in the space around you.

In the way they don’t quite meet your eyes.

In the way your name isn’t spoken.

Narumi finds you later.

Of course he does.

You are alone in the equipment corridor, staring at nothing.

“You hesitated,” he says.

You don’t turn around.

“Yes.”

“Why.”

You swallow. “I was following protocol.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You close your eyes briefly.

“I thought…” Your voice tightens. “I thought it was the safer choice.”

“For who.”

You don’t answer.

Narumi steps closer.

“For you,” he says.

It isn’t a question.

You turn then, meeting his gaze.

“You told me not to be vulnerable.”

“I told you not to be predictable.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No,” he says sharply. “It’s not.”

The space between you feels too small.

“You’re overcorrecting,” he continues. “You went from acting on instinct to ignoring it.”

“And someone got hurt anyway,” you reply.

His eyes narrow.

“That’s part of the job.”

“It didn’t have to be.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—

“That’s the problem.”

You don’t understand what he means.

And he doesn’t explain.

Narumi exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“You think control will save everyone,” he says. “It won’t.”

“I know that.”

“No,” he replies. “You don’t.”

His voice drops.

“If you keep hesitating like that, next time I won’t be close enough to fix it.”

The words land heavier than anything else.

Not I will fail.

Not you will fail.

No one will be there.

You look at him, something unsteady breaking through your composure.

“…why do you care?”

The question slips out before you can stop it.

Narumi stills.

For a moment, you think he won’t answer.

Then he smiles.

Lazy. Easy. Untouchable.

“I don’t,” he says. “You’re just more interesting when you don’t play it safe.”

There it is.

A lie that sounds like truth.

You nod slowly.

“Understood.”

You step past him.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

Behind you, his smile fades the second you’re out of sight.

And somewhere between what he said and what he didn’t—

something begins to fracture.

Next Chapter

(Captain Narumi x Officer Reader)

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 2~

The First Division headquarters is quieter than you expected.

Not calm. Not peaceful. Just… watchful. Like a game paused mid-battle, waiting for someone to press resume.

You stand at the edge of the training floor, boots aligned perfectly, hands still. Around you, elite officers warm up with practiced ease. Their movements are efficient, confident, deadly. They look like people who already know they are the strongest.

You do not belong here. Not yet.

A yawn echoes from the observation deck above.

You look up.

Gen Narumi is slouched over the railing, controller in hand, eyes half-lidded. A holographic screen floats beside him, flashing rapidly. Gunfire. Explosions. A boss fight, judging by the sound.

He isn’t watching the floor.

But you know he sees everything.

“You’re late,” he says casually.

You check the time automatically. You are three minutes early.

“I arrived when ordered,” you reply.

“Mm.” He taps a button, then groans. “Lame. That boss needs a buff.”

He finally looks down at you. Really looks.

“You’re standing like you expect to get shot,” he adds.

“I’m waiting for instructions.”

“That’s boring.” He straightens a little. “Come here.”

You hesitate only long enough to be noticeable.

Narumi smiles.

You walk onto the floor.

The officers nearby glance at you, curious, wary. First Division does not take strangers lightly. Narumi drops down from the deck with lazy grace, landing in front of you like gravity is optional.

Up close, he is sharper. His eyes miss nothing. His presence presses in without effort.

“What do you think First Division does?” he asks.

“Neutralize high-level kaiju threats.”

“That’s the brochure answer.” He tilts his head. “Try again.”

You choose your words carefully. “You exist to end fights before other divisions need to.”

Narumi’s smile widens, pleased.

“Good. So you understand why mistakes here aren’t forgiven.”

“I don’t make careless ones.”

“No,” he agrees. “You make intentional ones.”

The officers around you stiffen. A few stop moving entirely.

Narumi circles you slowly.

“You break formation when you think someone will die,” he continues. “You hesitate when orders conflict with reality. You hide it behind professionalism, but you choose people over commands.”

Your jaw tightens.

“That’s not a flaw,” you say.

“No,” he says lightly. “It’s a vulnerability.”

He stops in front of you.

“And vulnerabilities are fun.”

Before you can respond, an alarm blares.

Low-level. Internal.

Narumi sighs, visibly annoyed. “Training interruption. Great.”

A voice crackles over the intercom. “Simulation Room B malfunction. Kaiju construct unstable.”

Narumi’s eyes flick to you.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “Let’s see how you react when the difficulty spikes.”

You are already moving.

Simulation Room B is chaos.

The kaiju construct glitches violently, its form tearing and reforming, too fast for the program to compensate. Officers scramble, trying to recalibrate.

You spot the problem instantly.

“The limiter is off,” you shout. “If it destabilizes further, the energy feedback will—”

Explode. You do not finish the sentence.

Narumi appears beside you, expression suddenly sharp.

“How long?”

“Less than two minutes.”

He grins. “That’s generous.”

The construct roars, breaking free of its boundary field.

Narumi does not draw his weapon.

He watches you.

“Fix it,” he says.

“I’m not authorized—”

“Fix it anyway.”

You sprint toward the control panel, dodging debris as the construct lashes out. An officer goes down hard, clipped by the shockwave.

You slide to your knees, hands flying across the interface.

“You’re rerouting the output through a medical buffer?” someone shouts.

“It can absorb the backlash,” you reply. “Barely.”

The construct surges.

Too fast.

Too strong.

Narumi moves then.

One moment he is leaning against the wall. The next, he is in front of the kaiju, eyes glowing faintly as he activates his weapon. The strike is precise. Controlled. Terrifying.

The construct collapses.

Silence crashes down.

Your hands are shaking.

Narumi turns to you.

“You didn’t panic,” he says. “Even when you knew it could kill you.”

“I panicked,” you admit. “I just didn’t stop.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah. That’s worse.”

Later, in the corridor outside the room, Narumi walks beside you, hands in his pockets.

“You know,” he says, “most people assigned here burn out. They try to keep up. Or they try to impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you.”

“I know,” he replies easily. “You’re trying to survive.”

You stop walking.

He stops too.

“That makes you dangerous,” he adds. “To yourself.”

You look at him. “Then why keep me here?”

For the first time, his smile fades just a little.

“Because the game changes when someone like you is on the board.”

He steps closer, voice low.

“And I want to see how it ends.”

He turns and walks away, already pulling his controller back out.

Behind him, your heart beats far too loud.

You realize something then.

Gen Narumi is not testing your strength.

He is testing how much you are willing to lose.

And you are not sure you like the answer.

Next Chapter

(Captain Narumi x Officer Reader)

[Angst]

CHAPTER 1

You quickly learn that Gen Narumi does not look at people the way others do.

Most officers scan for rank. Some look for weakness. Some for usefulness.

Narumi looks like he is already bored and ten steps ahead. Probably thinking about his next game, or how someone will screw up and make his afternoon interesting.

You first notice it during a First Division operation briefing. Screens glow across the room, kaiju activity maps pulsing like slow heartbeats. You stand near the back, tablet in hand, posture perfect, expression neutral. You do not speak unless spoken to. That is the rule.

Narumi is leaned back in his chair, boots crossed on the table, chin resting in his palm. He isn’t looking at the maps. He isn’t looking at the officers.

He’s looking at you.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, cutting through the briefing. “You.”

The room stiffens.

You straighten. “Sir.”

He tilts his head. “You were on the cleanup mission last week.”

“Yes.”

“You hesitated.”

A few officers glance your way. Your jaw tightens.

“I followed protocol.”

Narumi smirks. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Like someone amused by a puzzle.

“Protocol would’ve gotten two civilians crushed,” he says. “You broke formation.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t request permission.”

“No.”

Silence stretches.

Then he laughs, short and sharp.

“Good,” he says. “That means you think.”

The briefing officer shuffles papers awkwardly. Narumi ignores it entirely; his vice-captain handles all that.

“What’s your specialty,” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Medical response and post-combat analysis.”

“Hm.” He studies you again, slower this time. “That explains why you noticed the delay.”

You do not ask what delay. You already know.

After the briefing, the room empties fast. People avoid him unless they want attention—or trouble. You gather your tablet, and a shadow falls across your hands.

Narumi is standing far too close.

“You’re quiet,” he says. “Most people get defensive.”

“I don’t waste energy on things that don’t change outcomes.”

His smirk widens. “Careful. That kind of answer makes people nervous.”

“Are you nervous, sir?”

He laughs, softer now, playful. “Interesting. You’re not afraid of me.”

You meet his gaze. “Should I be?”

He leans down slightly, voice dropping. “Most people are.”

Your pulse betrays you, just a little. He notices.

Narumi straightens, shrugging casually. “Report to my division tomorrow. Temporary assignment.”

Your eyes widen. “Sir?”

“I want to see how you move when things stop being theoretical.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

You hesitate only a second. “Understood.”

As you turn to leave, he speaks again.

“Hey. Don’t die before I get bored of you.”

You pause. Then, without looking back, you say, “Try not to be disappointed.”

Behind you, Gen Narumi laughs.

And for reasons you do not yet understand, that laugh feels like the start of something dangerous.

Next Chapter

ART TRADE WITHHHH~! @tumainisstuff !! OMSIMM IM DELIGHTED TO DO ART TRADES WITH YA 😭😭

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(10 Chapters)

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(Hoshina Soshiro x Field Doctor Reader)

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 5 (FINAL)

Word Count: 1,713

The hall convulses around you.

Stone screams as the ceiling ruptures. The stalker-class kaiju drops like a shadow made solid, huge, jointed limbs folding in unnatural angles, a crown of eyes gleaming with sick intelligence. The smell of ozone and old blood floods your nostrils. Lanterns shatter. Papers fly like frightened birds. The world narrows to a single, terrible focus: the thing is between you and the only exit.

Hoshina moves before you can think. He is a blade in human shape, instinct pure, reaction immediate, sword arcing through the dim as if to cut the air itself. His body is poetry and machine, moving with the precision of every drilled motion he’s ever been taught. He parries a strike meant for your neck and takes it full on, bone-shattering impact burning through his ribs. He grunts, half a sound of pain and half a command, then pivots and throws his whole weight at the creature.

The kaiju’s head snaps, and for a breath you think he’s done it. You are wrong.

The thing recoils, then launches faster than it has any right to be and slams into the ceremonial pillar. Energy ripples through the wood; the carved sigils flare like burnt wounds. A shockwave throws you backward; your shoulder slams into the floor so hard you hear a clean, stupid crack.

You taste blood. Not yours, someone else’s, and the hall is a carousel of screams and the metallic taste of fear.

Hoshina grunts. Your name cuts through the chaos. His body is on his knees, blade in a shaking hand, blood steaming where it meets the cold air. The left side of his chest is a red map. He doesn’t look at you; his eyes are on the kaiju. They are calm but that calm is brittle with pain.

Stay behind me he roars, and it is equal parts order and plea.

You do not stay. You are a doctor by trade and a coward by emotion, and both truths pull you forward. Nurses are dragging elders to cover, Okonogi is barking impossible commands into a comm that keeps shorting out, but you unthinkingly tear toward Hoshina because his name makes your knees forget how to obey.

Another parasite lunges from the column of darkness. It moves for your flank, jaws clicking. Hoshina pivots and slashes, but he is slow, too slow, with blood slick on his sleeve. The blade misses. The parasite latches into his side and he howls, a jagged, human sound that pierces something in you that used to be practical and measured.

No, you say, and the word is an animal. You won’t lose him. Not like this.

You remember everything your elders taught you in whispers, about the curse, about the pact, about the ancestor who betrayed and the watchers who were born to monitor. You remember the way the kaiju in the field pivoted like it recognized you, like your blood sang to it. You have pushed that knowledge away when duty required a sharper focus. You have sewn your mouth shut with protocol and patch notes.

Now the seal on that mouth unravels. You make a choice that is half desperation and half instinct. You do not reach for instruments. You reach for blood.

It is not the theatrical blood of stories. It is your own, hot, copper-sour, alive. You bite your thumb with teeth that taste like iron and pain, and you let three drops fall onto the stone between you and the monstrous thing. The air trembles. You hear clearly, like a bell, the kaiju’s head tilt as if attuned to a specific, private frequency.

The creature’s eyes lock onto the droplets. The other parasites falter. Hoshina, despite the wound, turns his head and watches you with a look like a man seeing a future he cannot yet name, fear braided with something dangerously like hope.

You speak. Not with words, not really. You reach without reasoning and pull on the thin threads that bind blood to memory, on whatever old rites your grandmother taught you in nights thick with incense and warnings. You send nothing but intention: stop. Leave. Remember things that are not hunger. Remember the old names. Remember a boundary.

The kaiju twitches. Its multiple eyes blink at once. You feel it, not as a voice but as pressure in the marrow of your bones. The thing is hearing you. It recoils like a beast that has been recognized and commanded. The parasites collapse into a heap, their bodies cracking and fizzling like wet paint drying. The big stalker-class halts mid-lunge and whines, a sound that makes the old men clutch their ears and curse.

Hoshina’s breath is a ragged thing at your back. What did ye do, he manages, voice thin.

You don’t answer. Your own forearms tremble with the effort. The ancient curse has rules: you can bend, coax, calm creatures of bone and memory, but there is a cost. Your grandmother told you once, soft, warning, blood remembers, and when it listens, it asks for something in return.

The creature’s head inclines, almost reverent. It stares at you as if waiting for the instruction to be shared again. For a moment, a breath that feels like prayer, you and the thing are connected by the old ache in your bloodline and by something tender and ugly, the ancestral betrayal, the watchers’ guilt, the curse that made you both weapon and beacon. The hall is a frozen tableau of that recognition.

Then a sound behind you clamps like a vice, the crack of ancient wood. Someone is moving on the outer corridor. You turn and see shadows where no one should be. A figure slips through the smoke, tall and deliberate, cloak streaked with ceremonial dye. Your cousin, the one who smiled with teeth like knives, stands with a small device like a flare in his fist, and his smile is calm as a surgeon’s scalpel.

You did well, he says, and his voice is velvet. You never told them the full story. You were always so private. Convenient for me.

Something in your stomach drops so low you taste it. Betrayal blooms hot and obvious.

You struggle to stand, to run, to close the distance between his traitorous hands and the kaiju, but Hoshina’s body buckles under you and you catch him before he falls, arms trembling beneath his weight. The air is too thin, every breath a blade.

Why, Hoshina’s eyes burn.

Power, your cousin says plainly. Control. A clean break from being watched. Your clans are stuck in a loop. I thought, no. I knew, if the kaiju remembers blood, if a ceremony sent them here, then the destabilization could be used as a wedge. A diversion. We could take advantage.

You are too tired to scream at him for long. The stalker-class makes a noise like a prayer and folds like a thing that understands sacrifice. Its limbs fall. It crumples without the will to move. The parasites have already stopped. The device flares and dies. The hall tilts into a ruin.

Then the world is all sound.

Shouts, shouting, the scuff of rushed feet. Elders cry for the sacred vessels. Soldiers curse and pull their weapons. Medics rush to Hoshina and you. Someone grabs your cousin’s cloak, tears it, blood smearing fabric. Okonogi is fighting with the kind of cold violence that used to terrify you.

Hoshina’s face is pale. He is sweating. His eyes are bright with pain and something like fury. A medic slaps a bandage over the pierced side of his body and checks the bleeding. His breath is steadying. His grip on your wrist is iron, so tight your fingers tingle.

You shouldn’t have done that, he says, hoarse.

You made me do it, you say. You told me to leave.

He looks at you, everything that roars inside him, anger, fear, something like regret, folds into one thin line. I didn’t want ye pulled into their schemes. I didn’t want yer blood used like bait.

You kept me in a lie, you say.

No, he presses his forehead to yours for a second, too close, breath mingling. I kept you in a hope that was fake as a ceremony. And I’m sorry.

His apology is a small, hot thing. It lands in the parts of you that have been braced against centuries of duty. You want to hold on to it and squeeze, but your body is alert. Your blood still thrums with the aftershock of the rite you forced, the price you paid. You feel hollowed, drained, and terrifyingly powerful at the same time.

The medics move him toward a stretcher. He looks at you, eyes wide and sharp. When this is done, we decide our terms, he murmurs.

I’ll make the terms, you laugh, a small, broken sound.

For now, duty is a whisper you both hear and ignore. Feeling is new and rattles like an unstrung bow.

A command voice snaps through the comm. All teams, investigate internal leak. Quarantine ward four. And someone, get the witch-doctor from the eastern archives. If that woman used blood and rites, we’ll need answers.

Something cold and tired settles in your bones. Your name is on a dozen whispering lips. The price you paid to turn the kaiju is written on your skin in salt and strain. The elders collect in a tight, furious knot. The watcher network is in disarray. The traitor cousin is still conscious but talking nonsense about a new dawn and broken cycles.

At the edge of the chaos, beyond the flicker of lanterns and the stretchers and the sharp bright light of triage lamps, someone watches from the shadows, a silhouette too steady to be accidental. He holds something small and metallic that gleams like a promise. He mouths words you cannot hear.

Only later will you learn his name.

For now you stand in the sticky ruin of a hall that tried to bind the past with demands and almost used both of you up. You are exhausted, blood-salted, and alive.

Hoshina breathes in his slumber with the small, steady rhythm of a man who will wake and fight and fight for you.

You stay.

Where duty ends, and something else, a dangerous, messy, beautiful thing, starts.

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME MONTHS! TO WRITE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND SUPPORTING ME, As a Thank you gift and christmas gift you will received hapoy ending, originally this was suppose to have bad ending where reader sacrifices her life and died slowly, tragic isn't it? ;)

(Hoshina Soshiro x Field Doctor Reader)

Chapter 4 – The Ceremony Neither of Us Wanted

Previous Chapter

Hall Three feels colder than any battlefield you have ever stood in.

White lanterns line the walls, casting pale light over the wide ceremonial space. At the center sits a long wooden table old, carved with clan symbols you spent years pretending not to recognize. Your family’s crest on one side. The Hoshina’s on the other.

You fight the urge to turn and run.

Hoshina walks beside you, posture stiff but presence steady. He glances your way once, a silent confirmation that yes, he feels the same dread coiling in your throat.

Okonogi waits just inside the hall, tablet hugged to her chest, eyes darting between you and the elders already seated.

“They’re… tense,” she whispers. “More than usual.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Hoshina mutters under his breath.

Your family’s spokesman stands first when you approach. He places a sealed envelope in front of you, the one bearing your crest, the one you saw arriving earlier.

“We received proof,” he begins calmly, “that the curse is active. And worsening.”

Hoshina’s jaw tightens. “Proof how?”

The spokesman ignores him and looks at you.

“Doctor,” he says, “your aura readings destabilized during the last kaiju incident. The bond between you and Vice Captain Hoshina appears to be forming.”

Your heart stops.

Forming.

Not theoretical.

Not maybe.

Forming.

“That’s nonsense,” you say quickly. “It was adrenaline. Stress.”

“Adrenaline doesn’t alter ancestral seals,” another elder snaps.

Hoshina steps half in front of you, as if shielding you from their words.

“My feelings or hers,” he says slowly, “are not yer business.”

The elders exchange looks, the kind that decide fates long before anyone speaks.

Your family’s spokesman clears his throat.

“The marriage oath must be performed tonight.”

Your stomach drops.

Hoshina actually laughs, short, sharp, disbelieving.

“Your out of yer minds,” he says. “I’m not marryin’ anyone because yer superstitions are actin’ up.”

“This is not superstition,” the spokesman says. “It is survival. The curse chooses the one who bonds. If the oath isn’t completed, that soul will die.”

Hoshina’s head jerks toward you, eyes narrowing.

“So I die,” he says. “It’s my choice.”

But his voice wavers.

Barely.

You hear it.

Your heart twists painfully. “Stop saying that.”

“You’d rather I pretend?” he snaps softly. “Pretend I’m alright with dyin’ as long as yer safe?”

You swallow hard. “Yes. No. I don’t—”

A sudden tremor rattles the hall.

Everyone freezes.

The lights flicker once. Twice.

Then a skittering noise echoes from the ceiling.

Hoshina reacts first — blade drawn, stance grounding.

“Kaiju,” he says, voice low.

Then the ceiling splits open.

A creature drops through — long, skeletal, shimmering like half-formed smoke. A parasite hybrid. Smaller than usual, but faster. Smarter.

And not alone.

Three more pour from the shadows, landing between you and the exit.

Elders scream. Papers fly. Okonogi shoves two of them toward cover.

Hoshina moves like lightning — blade cleaving the first parasite before it fully hits the floor. Kaiju blood sprays across the lanterns, dripping onto the ceremonial table.

You reach for a medical knife out of instinct, but the second parasite knocks it out of your hand.

“Stay behind me!” Hoshina yells.

Another lunges — but instead of attacking him, it goes straight for the envelope with your crest.

Your breath catches.

It wants the document.

It wants your secret.

Hoshina pivots and slices through it, but not before another parasite slithers toward you.

You stumble back, grabbing a fallen elder’s staff, swinging hard. It buys you seconds — nothing more.

Hoshina sees it.

And something dark flashes in his eyes.

“Don’t touch ’em!” he roars.

He surges forward, blade crackling with tension, and cuts the creature down before it reaches your throat.

The last parasite screeches and leaps higher — toward the broken ceiling, toward escape.

Toward the outside.

Toward the entire base.

Hoshina throws his sword.

It hits dead center.

Silence falls.

Pure, ringing, suffocating silence.

Okonogi rushes forward. “They targeted the oath documents. That means—”

“That someone told them,” Hoshina finishes, breath still heavy. “Someone in this room.”

The elders freeze.

Your family spokesman pales.

“What are you implying?” he demands.

“That yer side or mine,” Hoshina says coldly, “sold us out. Kaiju don’t plan ceremonies. Someone wanted those parasites here.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

The betrayal you feared… is already happening.

And then the spokesman says something that makes your blood run cold.

“It doesn’t matter who told the kaiju. The oath will continue. Tonight.”

You step back. “No. Not after this. Not when something is hunting us.”

“The oath is the only thing that can stabilize the curse,” he insists. “Without it, the Vice Captain will—”

“I’m still here,” Hoshina growls. “Stop speakin’ like I’m a corpse.”

One of the Hoshina elders slams his cane down.

“If you refuse the oath, you endanger both clans.”

Hoshina laughs harshly. “This clan was endangered centuries ago when ye cursed her bloodline.”

A hush sweeps through the room.

Your family spokesman stiffens. “That curse was punishment—for the betrayal your ancestor suffered.”

“And now we pay for it?” you shout. “Every generation? How is that justice?”

The elders don’t answer.

Of course they don’t.

Hoshina walks to you slowly, deliberately, stopping close enough that you feel his breath.

“Listen,” he murmurs, “they’re gonna force this. They think I’m too dedicated to duty to resist. And they think yer too afraid of the curse to fight back.”

You swallow. “Are they wrong?”

He searches your face. “I don’t know. But I’m not lettin’ yer family or mine decide our lives.”

He touches your wrist — light, fleeting, but enough to make your breath catch.

“We’re gettin’ out of here,” he whispers.

You blink. “What?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes sharp and certain.

“No oath. Not tonight. Not like this. We leave, regroup, find answers. Together.”

You stare at him, heartbeat stumbling.

“Are you sure?” you whisper.

“Aye,” he says. “I’m tired of pretendin’ I don’t care.”

Before you can speak—

A new shadow looms at the broken ceiling.

Huge.

Breathing.

Watching.

A kaiju intelligence?

A stalker-class type?

Too close.

Too quiet.

Hoshina swears under his breath.

“Stay behind me,” he says again, voice low.

You grip his sleeve.

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

He smirks faintly.

“No promises.”

The creature growls, and the hall shakes.

And just like that—

[Cut!! Thats for next chapter stay tuned~!]

Next Chapter

TagList:

(Hoshina Soshiro x Field Doctor Reader)

Chapter 3 – “Whispers in the Quiet Room”

Previous Chapter

The Quiet Room smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt metal. The hum of machines and soft flicker of the monitors made the shadows twitch. You sat on the exam bed, knees drawn close, staring at the sealed document in your hands. The paper felt heavier than any Kaiju you’d patched up today.

Hoshina paced behind you. His steps were silent but deliberate. The tension in the room pressed against your shoulders.

“You’ve been staring at that all night,” he said, voice low. “Yer gonna give yerself a headache.”

“I… I can’t stop thinking about it,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Everything we just went through… and now this.”

He stopped, tilting his head. “This isn’t just some family heirloom, is it?”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixed on the paper. “It’s… complicated. Something my family’s kept secret for generations.”

“Ye’re hiding more than I thought.” He moved closer, careful, cautious, but his violet eyes burned into yours. “That Kaiju today… it knew yer blood. It reacted to ye. That’s why it singled you out.”

You flinched at his words. “…How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen patterns,” he said. “I’ve fought Kaiju all my life. They never… behave like that unless something calls to ’em.”

Your stomach churned. He was right. You’d known it too, but pretending otherwise had kept you sane.

“They shouldn’t have known,” you whispered. “And if my family’s secret gets out… people could die.”

Hoshina’s jaw tightened. “Yer serious.”

He stepped closer, but his hands stayed to himself. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya. Not while I can stop it.”

You swallowed hard. “But you don’t know everything about it. And if the elders find out…”

“They’re already watchin’.” His voice was quiet, almost a growl. “Yer not safe here. Not fully. Not yet.”

The words hit like a blade. You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you. You both felt it, that fragile moment where hearts race and words hang in the air, unspoken.

“You think too much,” he muttered finally, breaking the tension. “Yer always thinkin’. It’s tiring to watch.”

“You think too much,” you fired back, voice sharper than intended. “You charge in without thinkin’, and I end up patching you up.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Then he smirked, just slightly, like he was amused by your fire. “Aye… guess we balance each other.”

You wanted to laugh, wanted to feel relief. But your chest still hurt from the fight today—and from the unspoken truth simmering between you.

“And this document,” you murmured, sliding it from your lap, “it could change everything. About me. About us.”

Hoshina’s expression softened. He crouched down slightly so your eyes met. “Ye’re stronger than ye think. But… there’s things yer family never told ye. Secrets that’ll make tonight seem easy compared t’what’s coming.”

You swallowed again. “Secrets?”

He hesitated, the first time he seemed unsure. “…Somethin’ about my clan. And your bloodline. Somethin’ old, dangerous, that ties us both t’Kaiju in a way… I can’t explain fully yet.”

Your heart skipped. The same fear and adrenaline from the field earlier surged again. “…I don’t understand.”

“Ye will,” he said, voice low. “But tonight’s not the night. Not here. Not yet. Just… know it’s bigger than both of us. And it’s comin’.”

You tried to process, tried to steady your hands. His words clawed at your chest, but you nodded silently.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the hum of the machines. Then Hoshina stood, brushing dust from his uniform, his eyes lingering on you longer than usual.

“Yer exhausted,” he said. “Go rest. Tomorrow will be worse.”

You hesitated. “Hoshina—”

“Go,” he interrupted, voice firm but low, almost a whisper. “And don’t forget…” His fingers hovered briefly in the air before he turned toward the door. “Yer still alive. And that matters more than ye think.”

The door clicked shut behind him. The quiet returned. But the document lay in your lap, a reminder of everything unsaid.

Your fingers trembled as you unfolded the seal. The inked crest of your family glimmered under the soft light. Every line, every symbol, felt like a warning.

A soft breeze from the open window stirred the curtains. You shivered. Tomorrow, you would have to go to the rooftop again. Not just to talk—but to face truths that could change everything.

And somewhere, beyond the walls of the base, something was moving toward you. Something that remembered your bloodline. Something that wouldn’t wait.

Your heart ached as you realized, nothing would ever be quiet again.

Tag List

@yzoxif , @yumeko-01

(Hoshina Soshiro x Field Doctor Reader)

Blood on the Blade, Blood in the Heart - CHAPTER 2

Previous Chapter

Dawn creeps over the base in a washed-out smear of gray light. You haven’t slept. The rooftop moment lingers like a ghost — the warmth of his body near yours, the raw honesty in his words, the quiet that made the world feel smaller. Too small. Too dangerous.

You rub your eyes and step back into the medical bay, the stench of antiseptic and dried blood flooding your senses. You focus on that — the familiar, the clinical. Anything to drown out the memory of last night.

Footsteps echo behind you. Sharp. Rhythmic. Cold.

“Hoshina,” you say without turning around.

“[Surname].” His tone cracks like ice.

You freeze. Last night he spoke your nickname like it belonged to him alone. Now he stands behind you, rigid, distant, detached. You turn to face him, and the man from the rooftop is gone. All that remains is Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro , the soldier, the disciplined blade, the embodiment of duty.

“You’re… formal,” you say, hating the way your voice sounds fragile.

“Aye. Duty calls.” His eyes refuse to meet yours. “Don’t take it personal.”

You swallow hard. It feels personal.

Before you can reply, Okonogi slides between you, tablet in hand. Her expression is unreadable, though her eyes flicker with something like worry when she glances at you.

“Doctor,” she says quietly, “we need to talk.”

Hoshina stiffens.

Okonogi nods toward him. “Not you. Step outside a minute.”

He hesitates, which is unusual, then leaves without a word. The door closes behind him with a soft thud that feels louder than a Kaiju roar.

Okonogi turns to you. “The Hoshina elders arrived early this morning. They’ve been… observing.”

“Observing what?”

“You and him,” she answers simply.

Your stomach twists. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You say that, but they saw you two on the rooftop. Close. Talking. They’re old-fashioned. They expect tradition. Arranged oath and all.”

You grip the edge of the counter to stay steady. “So he’s pulling away because… of them.”

“Duty is everything to him,” she says softly. “Sometimes too much.”

The words stick in your chest like glass.

You return to your work, but nothing feels steady. Your hands tremble when you pick up a scalpel, your breath hitches when a soldier groans from pain. One of them, young and bleeding from the shoulder, stares up at you with a bitter smile.

“Heard the rumors,” he mutters.

“What rumors?”

“That the doc and the Vice Captain are bound.” He chuckles weakly. “Must be hard… caring about someone you can’t have.”

Your heart skips. “That’s not—”

He passes out before you finish.

Your hands won’t stop shaking.

Minutes, or maybe hours, blur into a haze of stitching wounds, sealing arteries, shouting orders. You barely notice when the tent door flies open, flapping violently in the wind.

A screech tears through the air.

A Kaiju parasite, the size of a wolf and dripping acid, leaps toward you from the shadows.

You barely register the movement — a blur of steel, the scent of ozone, the hiss of air cut clean.

Hoshina is there.

One second you’re staring at death, the next, his blade is buried in the creature’s skull. Your heart slams against your ribs.

“Hoshina—”

“Yer daft!” he snaps, chest heaving. “Yer standin’ in the open like a bloody target!”

His blade drips with black, acidic Kaiju blood. His hand trembles. Trembles. He’s not calm — not even close. His violet eyes burn into yours, wild with fear. Real fear.

“You almost got yerself killed,” he says, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “And I—”

He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You step forward. “You what?”

He looks away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

His eyes flick back to you, full of something raw, painful. “Yer too close to the front lines. I told ye to stay back. I… I can’t—”

The medical bay door slams open again. A soldier shouts, “Parasitic cluster incoming! We need both of you out here!”

Hoshina tears his gaze away, blade already raised. “Stay behind me.”

You follow him into chaos. Not because he ordered it, but because you want to. Because after last night, after this moment, pretending is becoming unbearable.

The battle rages. Civilians scream. Fires rage. Kaiju spawn scatter. Hoshina moves like lightning, cutting through monsters with a precision no human should possess. You patch up the fallen, shouting directions, pushing your limits.

But your eyes keep drifting back to him.

And his keep drifting back to you.

When the last parasite dies, silence falls like a heavy blanket over the ruins.

Night creeps over the smoldering sector. Exhausted, you retreat to the rooftop where the chaos began. You sink to the ground, knees pulled to your chest. Your breath shakes.

A shadow looms beside you.

Hoshina sits down, not close, but not far either. His shoulders rise and fall as he exhales.

“Ye’re reckless,” he mutters.

“You saved me.”

“Aye… that’s the problem.”

You stare at him. “I don’t understand. Last night you—”

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he interrupts, voice tight. “Ye and I… we have duty. We have families. Expectations. If I let myself care—”

His voice breaks.

You whisper, “Do you care?”

His jaw tightens so hard the muscle twitches. “Doesn’t matter. Not for someone like me.”

Silence stretches between you. Heavy. Painful. Honest.

Then he stands, brushing dust from his uniform. “Ye should stop carin’ about me. It’ll make things easier.”

He steps away, his shadow stretching long across the broken concrete.

You whisper, “Easier for who?”

He doesn’t answer.

You remain on the rooftop, staring at the horizon burning orange with distant flames. Your heart aches, a slow, suffocating ache that makes breathing feel like a chore.

A figure approaches the base gate below.

Tall. Formal. Familiar.

A silhouette carrying a document bearing your family crest.

Your blood runs cold.

Whatever that sealed paper contains… it is meant for you.

And it will shatter everything.

Next Chapter

(Next Chapter will be posted On Nov 14 Let me know if you wanna tagged in the next chapter!!)

(Hoshina Soshiro x Field Doctor User)

Chapter 1 – The Oath That Binds Your Hands

The night is quiet, though not peacefully so. The wind whispers across the steel scaffolding of the Third Division’s field outpost, carrying the faint scent of ozone and smoke from the distant Kaiju battlefields. You adjust the straps of your medical pack and curse under your breath. Of all nights, why does it have to be tonight that the Hoshina family’s envoy would arrive?

Footsteps approach behind you — deliberate, even. Predictable. Hoshina’s footsteps. He doesn’t try to sneak. Never does. “Yer still fussin’ over that, eh?” His voice cuts through the night like a blade.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The look in his eyes, half-joking, half-serious, tells you enough. He is [Soshiro] on duty, polished and precise. But the way his lips quirk, the familiar snaggletooth fang showing when he smirks, betrays the other side, the side that only surfaces around those he trusts… or torments.

You hate him. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself every morning. The elders of your family have made it clear. The Hoshina legacy and your own lineage are meant to intertwine. That means you, you with him. And Hoshina… well, he doesn’t seem to care about such arrangements, which only makes the tension between you sharper, more combustible.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” he mutters, stepping closer. His shadow falls over the medical tent, long and imposing. “Yer hands trembling, and for what? A family feud? A bloody political oath?”

You straighten up, masking your nerves with the practiced calm every medic learns. “I’m not trembling.” The lie is weak. Your hands feel like lead, yet you have to patch up the injured soldiers from the last Kaiju skirmish. Nothing is as exhausting as trying to appear indifferent in front of Hoshina. Especially when his violet eyes, unnervingly sharp, are trained on you.

He leans against the tent’s pole, arms crossed, still smirking. “Yer lookin’ like yer about to faint, [nickname]. I don’t know if it’s yer fear of me or the idea of marryin’ me someday.”

You grind your teeth. “I would never—”

“Eh, eh, save yer lecture. I know what yer thinkin’.” He raises a finger, wagging it like a child reprimanding you. “Ye think I’ll go along with it because it’s family duty. That I’ll suddenly care.”

“Duties and emotions are separate. Unlike some people, I don’t mix them,” you reply sharply.

“Yer good at pretendin’,” he says softly, almost as if talking to himself. Then louder: “But so am I.”

You can’t help the small, incredulous laugh that escapes you. “Pretendin’ to hate someone you might actually care for… that’s your philosophy, is it?”

“Yer catchin’ on.” His grin widens, and for a heartbeat, the stern officer falls away. “But don’t ye think I don’t see yer eyes? That ache behind yer calm? Don’t lie, [nickname]. Ye’re pretendin’ just as much as I am.”

You don’t respond. It isn’t just nerves. Something about being called out by him, in this quiet, wind-blown night, cuts deeper than any Kaiju bite ever could. You are supposed to hate him. That is your part. That is the role assigned to you by blood, by oath, by expectation. But his words… they dig into the lie you’ve built around your heart.

Then the comms crackle to life. Okonogi’s voice breaks through the tension like lightning: “Field update, doctor. Multiple Kaiju detected near the northern sector. One appears to be heading directly towards the civilian containment zone. Hoshina, [nickname], get moving.”

Duty snaps you out of it. Your hands shake as you grab your kit, but Hoshina’s presence at your side steadies you. “Ye ready, or do ye want me to carry yer stubborn arse?” he teases.

You shoot him a glare, muttering, “I can handle it myself.”

But you both know it’s a lie. He has always been too fast, too precise, too deadly to ignore. And tonight, you must work with him, up close, treating the wounded and dodging Kaiju attacks while the city burns.

The northern sector is chaos. Civilians are being evacuated, screaming over the roar of monstrous bodies, and the scent of smoke mixed with blood is nearly suffocating. You kneel beside a soldier whose leg has been shredded by a Kaiju claw. Hoshina moves silently beside you, a shadow and a blade. He scans the horizon, slicing at approaching Kaiju with preternatural speed, his style precise, efficient, deadly.

“Yer hands, [nickname], steady ‘em. Yer cuttin’ close to the vein!” His warning is sharp, but not unkind. Your pulse races, but you focus, tying the tourniquet, stabilizing the patient, following orders even from him.

After the attack, as the dust settles and the wounded are evacuated, you end up on the same rooftop, catching your breath. Hoshina’s blade lies sheathed at his side, and for a rare moment, he doesn’t speak. Just stares at the burning horizon, the orange glow reflecting in his red-violet eyes.

You dare a small question: “Do you ever… wish things were different?”

His gaze shifts toward you. “Yer mean… about this blasted oath? About the marriage?” He chuckles softly, but there is no humor in his eyes. “Aye, I wish I didn’t have to pretend. But duty… duty doesn’t care for feelings.”

“You mean we don’t get to care,” you whisper, carried away by the wind.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body, the faint metallic scent from the battlefield clinging to his uniform. “Perhaps. Or perhaps,” he says, almost too quietly, “we’re already carein’, and we just haven’t admitted it.”

The tension twists in your chest. You want to look away. You want to hate him, push him away, cling to your oath. But you can’t. Not entirely.

He smirks again, that same teasing fang showing. “Yer stubborn. And damn if I don’t like that about ye.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to pull away. “Yer ridiculous.”

“Aye, but ye love it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The wind howls around the ruined rooftops, carrying the smoke and ash of the battlefield, but also something else a promise. Or a warning. Perhaps both. The arranged-marriage, the legacy, the duty all of it will force you together whether you like it or not.

Deep down, you fear that when duty ends, when the Kaiju have been fought and the smoke clears, neither of you will be able to pretend anymore.

You don’t speak. He doesn’t need you to. And in the quiet aftermath of battle, you realize that this will not be simple. Not for him. Not for you. And certainly not for the Hoshina legacy that binds you.

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Chapter 1/5