"Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles,
I'm feeling very still.
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go!
Tell my wife I love her very much.
She knows!"
- Space Oddity, David Bowie
~
Inko felt shook by the whole experience of the Quirk Registry Appointment. The city, the Kaiju, the buildings and supports, everything had been so unfamiliar to her. She had never been to Hosu City in her life, her family in the upper calibur of society, commonly using the Tokyo Hospital for Registry due to its larger and more expansive evaluation of Quirks. However, she had a… falling out with them due to a multitude of reasons, starting with her husband.
She shook her head, sitting on the couch next to Izuku, who was watching the news on some new hero and furiously taking notes. Inko had seen that Izuku was a little more tense than usual, Izuku commonly shaking his hand off due to how hard he gripped his pencil, making Inko realize, with guilt, that she wasn't the only one shaken by the Skydon Quakes.
"Hey, Izuku," Inko began, looking sadly at her son. "Are you… feeling alright? That Kaiju didn't scare you too badly, right?"
Izuku didn't answer, still focused on the news, making Inko sigh. However, she was surprised when Izuku said, "Yes. I am a little fearful of Skydon. It's my first experience with a Kaiju ever. I had previously read about a few others that were vaguely interesting, like the Vashta Nerada, Jamila, and Neronga for Quirk research purposes, but…"
Inko cringed. "Ah, the first real Kaiju encounter," she murmured, remembering her own. "The Kaiju… are always scary at first. Nearly indestructible and a complete unknown in world structure." She took a deep breath, remembering her own. Shin and Inko had been dating at the time when-
Inko shook her head. 'No, comfort Izuku, reminisce later,' She thought Firmly.
"Hey Izuku, you wanna watch a show? It's… one of my favorites," Inko asked, hoping to get her son's mind off the Kaiju. She didn't really want to watch the movie, but it was the only diversion she could think of off the top of her head.
"Uh, sure?" Izuku questioned, which made Inko stand in turn and grab an old, weathered and leather sachet, made to hold CDs.
"Not you, not you, not- aha! Here it is!" Inko exclaimed lightly, holding up an old disk, labeled, "Ultraman, disk 1."
"What's the show about?" Izuku asked.
"Oh, it follows the Science Patrol, a group investigating and combating alien and kaiju threats. Unbeknownst to them, patrol member Shin Hayata can transform into the giant hero Ultraman when faced with danger!"
"Uh," Izuku droned for a second, eyes narrowed with a question on the tip of his tongue. "Isn't the Science Patrol like a real thing, though?"
"Yeah, it is kind of propaganda for the Science Special Search Party, but I like it," Inko said with a small pout, more memories surfacing before she shook them off again.
"Just watch it for now, it is pretty inaccurate, but it's for entertainment with a side of actual data and propaganda," Inko finished, plugging in her computer to the TV and putting the on the computer's CD reader, switching the channel to show her computer screen.
The screen went black for a couple of seconds, a throbber gently rotating in the middle of the screen to show that it was loading. Before long, the screen came back to life, soft yet blaring horns entering Izuku's ears, an entire band, instantly recognizing the song.
"Hey mom, is your phone going off?" Izuku asked, looking to the coffee table in front of him for his mom's phone, who only laughed softly and lifted her phone in her hand.
"No, sweetie, I just got my ringtone from this show," Inko answered simply, smiling widely at the nostalgia she felt by hearing the music and seeing the silver giant's small clips of fighting with a tall, weird dinosaur, a green horned lizard that shot lightning, and more, before she grabbed the remote, going back to Izuku and pressing play.
Instantly, the screen went dark again before it faded to a weird psychedelic paint mix that slowly unmixed to spell, "Ultra Q," odd drums and sounds similar to swords scraping steel, a vibraslap, and a door squeak followed by a disjointed piano key. All to end with red filling the screen in tandem with the trumpets, trombones, tubas, a single violin, and drums as the exclamation and climax of the small piece, releasing the small build of tension it made.
Instantly, the drums of his mother's ringtone came through, the trombones, tubas, and trumpets following and coming together for a powerful start to the song, before falling into a big band rhythm, a children's choir beginning to sing.
Looking slightly to the left, Izuku saw his mother swing her head from side to side, mouthing the words with a smile on her face. It made him smile as well, turning back to the screen to watch.
In the beginning seconds alone, Izuku began to see the reason as to why his mother loved the show. The story and effects were incredible, as well as the easily digestible and followable dialogue. This Shin Hayata did make him a little curious though. He looked so similar to his dad, he could just-
"Oh, your father acted in this, by the way," Inko added as an afterthought. "We were in High School together when this show started to come on air, and I recognized your father as well. What a time to live, huh?" she finished, laying her chin in her hand with a soft smile, looking at her husband from an older time.
Izuku blinked at his mom and opened his mouth to speak, but was thrown for a loop as the sub VTOL, and vertical takeoff and landing plane his dad was driving, smashed into a red, floating orb of light, both crashing down into the forest.
"Huh, so dad's the main character," Izuku muttered, now watching Shin Hayata more closely.
Watching the VTOL crash with an eye roll, Inko felt herself relaxing. She had always found solace with this show. It comforted her in hard times, it talked to her with difficult issues, it taught her to remain calm. Sure, just about everything about it was fake in one way or another, whether that be by fake Kaiju or inaccurate Kaiju information, but it just felt good.
Though, the thing that annoyed her about the show was the inaccuracies with the technology. Well, you had to develop a plot somehow, but come on — a "supergun" that could combine like puzzle pieces and blow up a Kaiju in one shot?
Complete malarkey.
Inko scoffed softly under her breath, watching one of the SSSP members casually shoulder the massive, gleaming weapon.
"The real superguns use cryogenics and nanotech bullets to disrupt Kaiju cell cohesion at a molecular level," she murmured. "And even then, they've got a two-minute cooldown between shots. That thing on screen? That's just three carbon-fiber prop pistols glued together."
She leaned forward a little, narrowing her eyes at the scene as the weapon fired a bright blue beam with a dramatic sound effect. "Also, who the hell signed off on giving every field agent a miniaturized comms set with instant transmission and a molecule-destabilizer pistol? That's, what, a million yen per trigger pull for those pistols? They'd go bankrupt in an afternoon. I know for a fact most agents carry a C4L sidearm and a kinetic baton. Half of them don't even qualify for heavy arms."
Her voice trailed into a mutter, almost to herself. "And recoil dampeners like that don't even exist in that form — not unless Ide cracked inertia-neutral plating without telling anyone. And why does no one ever reload—?"
She paused, blinking as she realized she'd been talking aloud. She glanced sideways.
Izuku hadn't heard a word.
He was leaning forward, transfixed, scribbling observations into his hero journal with his tongue pressed to his upper lip in concentration.
Inko exhaled, a long, slow breath of relief she didn't realize she was holding.
Absorbed completely on consuming the show, Izuku wrote down the tactics used against the ruthless, alien, reptilian criminal Kaiju known as Bemular, attacking with the submarine and the VTOL. It didn't really have Izuku convinced this was how Bemular would be defeated, and his thoughts were proven right as Bemular got ahold of the sub Izuku's dad was using to attack him, and threw it.
All of the SSSP members in the VTOL screamed for Hayata as his sub flew, but at the last moment, an explosion of light consumed the area, Ultraman suddenly flying in, catching and laying the sub down on the ground.
Izuku could only call the suit used as… odd. It was a Silver skin base, padded to represent muscle, red lines running across the suit, circling their ribcage, painting their entire neck red, traveling down the arms, over his elbows, and encircling the wrists like arm guards. The eyes were eternally wide and glowing, all topped off with a weird, short dorsal fin-like extremity that went from the tailbone to the crown of Ultraman's head.
Still watching the screen, Izuku commented, "That suit Ultraman's wearing kinda looks like my red and silver T-shirt. The one with the line down the middle."
Inko chuckled. "I bought that one for you when you were little. You said it made you feel brave. I always liked that."
"It still does," Izuku replied, eyes still locked on the glowing figure on screen.
Inko smiled to herself and leaned back into the couch cushions. For a moment, the world outside — the Registry, the Kaiju, the quakes — could wait.
~
The rain never reached Cascadia Outpost.
Shielded by electromagnetic diffusion panels and artificial canopy towers, the mountaintop command facility shimmered beneath a dome of permanent overcast. Inside, Shin Midoriya—known these days only as "Commander Shin"—stood behind reinforced observation glass, arms folded, as the next generation trained in the simulated storm below.
In the atrium yard, a boy no older than sixteen surged forward, his fists trailing spirals of gold-orange flame that licked the air like a living thing. The fire danced, not just from technique, but instinct—wild, radiant, beautiful in its defiance. He tore through Kaiju alloy dummies with uneven rhythm, his footwork reckless, but devastating. Each strike came with the kind of smile that didn't ask for permission.
Shin squinted. "Your pivot's late. If you miss a beat, you'll fall into your own flare."
The boy didn't stop. He just shifted his weight mid-strike, let the next burst carry him sideways, and laughed. Loud and unbothered.
Shin watched him longer than he meant to.
"You see it, don't you?" said a voice from behind—smooth, digital, always a little too amused.
Shin didn't turn. "I see a cadet who thinks dying gloriously is a career plan."
A soft whirr preceded the arrival of Ide, materializing in the shimmer of synchronized microdrones. The AI took on the form of a man in an oversized coat, hands in pockets, face unbothered by time.
"You always were a terrible liar," Ide said.
Shin didn't reply, eyes fixed on the flame-slinger below. The boy stumbled, then laughed again as if he'd meant to, and reignited with greater force—his flames blooming in a sudden sunburst that warped the air and left glowing streaks in its wake.
"Quirk's volatile," Ide said, tone shifting to analysis. "Thermal output correlates directly to emotion, especially frustration. The hotter he burns, the more instinctive his movement becomes. It's not a power—it's a refusal to fail."
"Armor wouldn't last five seconds," Shin muttered.
"Not the armor we're building," Ide countered. "Not the one meant for him."
Silence again.
Ide turned toward the world map behind them — a glowing schematic of Earth's outposts, from Canada to Russia to Africa to Australia. One location blinked in warning hues: the Mediterranean.
"Ten years since you almost portaled Neronga to Canada. You remember why you didn't?"
"Because your algorithm failed to calculate containment overlap," Shin replied curtly.
"No," Ide said, tone tightening. "Because Neronga knew. It redirected itself mid-teleport, hijacked the energy pattern — and ended up in the Mediterranean instead. Right above the ruins."
Shin turned now, slowly. "And you're still convinced it was luck."
"I'm not convinced of anything anymore," Ide replied. "Especially not after the Storm Dreamer."
The name alone changed the air between them. The soundproofed glass almost seemed to ripple with thunder.
The Storm Dreamer was… a sensitive topic. Not just for them, but for the entire SSSP. Officially, the storms were written off as natural phenomena with unknown causes. Unofficially, the truth was far stranger—a two-tailed, winged, three-headed dragon with golden scales and psychic power, sleeping in the deepest trench on Earth. It dreamed, and the storms obeyed. Larger than any known Kaiju, its full form had never been observed—only fragments, shadows, and gravitational anomalies. No myths, no records, no origin. Only the carbon dating offered a clue: seventeen billion years. Older than Earth. Older than the stars.
"Psychic saturation levels at the Vigil have doubled," Ide said. "Neronga's learned to nest within its influence. It's more lucid now — territorial, even calculating. And the Dreamer? Still asleep. Still dreaming of storms that stretch across continents."
Shin muttered, "We should've shot that whole island into space when we had the chance."
"You know better," Ide said. "If it wakes—"
"It won't," Shin snapped.
Ide blinked — literally, a stuttering flicker of his light construct. Then said, "That's what you said about your memory, too."
The silence this time was heavy.
Then, without transition, Ide stepped forward. "Regardless. We're behind schedule. And you've been fighting the inevitable."
He raised a hand. With a series of metallic clicks, a compartment in the wall slid open — revealing a case. It hissed as it unlocked, revealing sleek red and silver plating, segmented into deployable nodules. Shin's Ultra Armor.
The glow of it stung his eyes. Not from the light — but from the pain. Something behind his temples. A sound. A frequency. No, a heartbeat. An Insistent beating that required attention, like a bomb, or an open wound.
Or a timer.
He staggered slightly. Caught himself.
"I didn't authorize this," he said hoarsely.
"No," Ide said. "But he would have."
The two stared at the armor. The metal shimmered — as if remembering something itself.
Outside, the cadet was still fighting the dummies. Fire leapt in great waves behind him. His silhouette briefly resembled something... else.
Shin didn't speak again. Neither did Ide.
They just stood there — both haunted, both responsible — as the storm boiled somewhere far away.
Then Shin's voice broke the quiet.
"…Why me?"
Ide blinked once. "Elaborate."
Shin turned from the armor, eyes dulled by a fatigue no sleep could mend. "Why do I have to be here? Why not Hokuto, or Beta Squad? Hell, even the old cadets. Why can't I be with Inko and Izuku?"
The name lingered like ash in his mouth.
He looked out again — not at the trainee this time, but past the glass, toward the sea beyond the Cascadia cliffs. Somewhere out there, past the crackling sky, was home. His son. His wife. A life that had survived the Skydon Quake — small as it may be — but still bore its scars.
Ide's projection flickered — then re-stabilized with a faint sigh encoded into his vocal algorithm. Somehow, it sounded real.
"Because," Ide said, "the migration's begun."
Shin tensed.
"We picked up thermocline displacements this morning near the Kuril Trench. Matching patterns from twenty years ago," Ide continued. "Birdon and Eleking — or something close enough to register — are in motion. They won't fight each other, not unless provoked. But if one veers off course…"
"Then Nevada becomes ground zero," Shin muttered. "Again."
Ide nodded. "Shattered Silicon. Still the most precarious zone in the hemisphere. And still Godzilla's domain."
Shin's jaw tightened.
Godzilla. The Leviathan. One of five known Omega Black Kaiju — a term reserved for the most catastrophic anomalies.
"You remember the last time Eleking wandered south," Ide said. "Didn't even make landfall. Just breached the thermals off Monterey Bay. Three minutes later, we got satellite footage of Godzilla vaporizing the ocean."
"Like a hydrogen bomb to a coughing baby," Shin muttered.
Ide paused. "…Disturbing. But not inaccurate." He shook his non-existent head and sighed. His voice lowered. "Either way, the radiation event mutated a third of the bay's plankton. Took two years to reestablish the ecosystem. We lost six scout vessels. No survivors. No wreckage."
Shin ran a hand down his face, suddenly older than his reflection.
"So we prepare to intercept," Ide continued. "If either Kaiju approaches the southern driftline, Nevada activates the Red Network. Sonic lures, electromagnetic blinds, full containment teams —all of it, just to steer them clear of Godzilla's zone. If that fails…"
"We warn the Edge of the End," Shin said quietly. It was the old SSSP nickname for the Nevada Coast Outpost during its first iteration, but it still left him tasting copper.
"And we pray," Ide added, without faith. It was protocol now.
"Or evacuate," he added after a pause. "The moment the seabed starts to boil."
Silence returned.
Then Shin muttered, "Still doesn't explain why I'm needed here."
"You're the only one who's fought both of them," Ide said flatly. "You know their pulses. Their rhythm. You survived them — hell, been greater than them. And for their sake…" Ide's voice glitched, then hardened. "I hope they remember you."
"That's not comfort," Shin replied.
"No," Ide said. "It's logistics. Comfort is for civilians."
That stung.
Shin looked away. The armor still glowed softly in its cradle. It looked like a memory of something brighter.
"They're expecting you in Storm Dreamer's territory by tomorrow morning — assuming Eleking, Birdon, or others don't arrive first," Ide said at last. "Whether you wear the armor or not. The Dreamer will know. And… I don't know what will happen."
Shin exhaled through his nose. "Then let it wait… just a bit longer."
For once, Ide didn't reply. He simply faded — his projection thinning like fog under wind.
Then Shin spoke, quietly: "Do you think he'll remember me? After… the Dreamer?"
Ide paused mid-disintegration. "Izuku?"
A nod.
There was a long beat of silence.
"He wears your colors," Ide said finally. "Red and silver. He doesn't know why — at least, I don't think he does."
Shin looked back at the armor. The old red gleamed like the edge of a dream, half-remembered.
"But," Ide added softly, "if I'm thinking straight… he may remember something."
A beat.
"Even if you don't."
~
Inko tugged the red-and-silver shirt down over Izuku's head. The fabric shimmered faintly in the low light — bright colors against a dim room.
He wriggled his arms through the sleeves and sat up with a grin that didn't quite fit his eyes.
"…Did you see how Baltan split in two?"
Inko smiled gently, folding the edge of the blanket in her lap.
"Yes. Hard to forget."
Izuku leaned back onto his pillow, small fingers twisting at the hem of the Ultraman shirt.
"I think Ultraman could still see which one was real. Maybe because of the light. Or the shadows. Or maybe… maybe Baltan's fake copy didn't make noise. I bet Ultraman listens to everything."
Inko tilted her head. "Maybe he does."
A pause.
"Do you think I could learn that?" Izuku asked. "To listen like that? So I could know if something's not real?"
Inko reached out, brushed his bangs from his forehead.
"I think… you already listen better than most."
Izuku blinked at the ceiling for a moment. Then:
"And Neronga — he was invisible, but Ultraman still found him. I think he left ozone behind when he moved. That's what electric fields do, right? They leave a scent."
Inko's fingers stopped.
Just for a second.
She didn't speak. Not right away.
Izuku didn't notice. He rolled onto his side, eyes darkening a little.
"And Ragon… Ragon didn't even want to fight. He just looked so scared. He only attacked when the boats got close. Like maybe he thought he was back home but everything was different. Like he didn't know where he was anymore."
Inko's hand found his shoulder.
Lightly. Quietly. Like anchoring herself.
Izuku's voice had softened, grabbing Inko's hand in return.
"Do you think Kaiju get scared too?"
Inko nodded. "More than we know."
A beat passed.
Then another.
"… Ka-san?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
Izuku hesitated, chewing the edge of his words.
"Is Otou-san still at the outpost? Do you know what history he's looking into now?"
The question cracked like dropped porcelain.
Inko looked away — just slightly. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to steady herself.
"Yes," she said finally. "He… he got promoted. A higher position. I don't know what he's studying now."
"Oh." Izuku blinks, feeling his Ka-san's lies, but accepts it readily. "That's good, right?"
"It is." She smiled, but the weight in her voice didn't lift. "He's helping a lot of people."
Izuku's fingers curled into the blanket.
"But… does that mean he can't come back soon?"
Inko swallowed.
"Not right away."
'Or… no, no, no, don't you think about that,' Inko thought.
"Oh… Thank you for answering, Ka-san."
The clock ticked from the kitchen. Outside, a faint wind stirred between the buildings. Somewhere, a neon sign buzzed and then stilled.
Inko leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Izuku's forehead.
"He misses you every day," she whispered.
Izuku nodded, but his eyes were already drifting closed — lulled not by the answer, but by the warmth of her voice.
He curled toward the light.
And Inko stayed there a moment longer, staring not at him, but at the window. At the empty sky beyond it.
At nothing in particular.
She felt something wet on her face, and so looking into the reflection in the glass, she saw it was her tears. Inko wiped it away, blinking away any more that may try to escape.
Then she stood.
And turned out the light.
~
To be Continued…