If you asked Shinji what a bad idea was, he could give a hundred examples from the last month alone. But right now, trying to punch the kaiju in front of him sat comfortably at the top of that list. He sprinted down the ruined street, each step sending cracks through the asphalt beneath Redeemer's weight. The ground shuddered under him, windows burst, car alarms screamed. But that weight, the sheer momentum, was what he was banking on. He had one shot, and he hoped that pairing it with the serrated wrecking ball that made up Redeemer's left arm would be enough to cave the creature's skull in and end this fast, for his sake, and for the few civilians still alive out there.
Why was that a bad idea?
Because the damn thing didn't even flinch, it lowered its head like a charging bull and met the hit head-on. The impact cracked through the air like a thunderclap, the ground erupting beneath their feet. The vibrations that ran through Redeemer were so violent they almost threw Shinji out of sync, his breath catching as pain shot through the neural link. It felt like getting punched in the soul. The kaiju didn't exactly walk away clean either, its legs buckled, head jerking to the side as it staggered back with a shriek that made glass explode for blocks.
For a second, both giants wavered, each trying to recover faster than the other. Redeemer's servos groaned as Shinji forced him upright, and through the haze of pain, he saw the creature's strange plating shimmer, light bending oddly along its skull. It wasn't normal armor, something about it redirected force, absorbed it maybe. Shinji cursed under his breath, trying to steady the jaeger as debris rained around them.0
"Great," he muttered, his voice tight through gritted teeth. "You've got a damn built-in shock absorber."
Redeemer's systems flickered from the strain, warnings flashing across his HUD, but Shinji ignored them. The kaiju was recovering faster, claws digging deep into the ground as it let out a guttural bellow that shook the air. Shinji could feel the sound in his bones, through the metal, into his chest.
He didn't have the luxury of backing off. Not now.
He barely saw the claw before it came down, one blurred streak of motion cutting through the haze and smoke. Instinct kicked in before thought did. Redeemer bent backward at the spine, hydraulics screaming in protest as tons of metal twisted in a motion no engineer ever intended. It looked more like a limbo stunt than evasive combat, but it worked, the kaiju's talons sliced through the air just inches from Redeemer's faceplate, the shockwave alone rattling every bolt in his frame.
Unfortunately, Redeemer wasn't built for grace. The instant Shinji ducked low enough to dodge, gravity took over. The top-heavy machine tipped back, the entire world tilting in his vision as the horizon flipped.
"Ah, hell, "
He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he reacted, slamming both hands into the cracked asphalt with a sound like cannon fire. The impact shook the ground, sending chunks of pavement flying as he used the downward momentum to propel Redeemer back up. The motion was ugly, desperate, but effective, momentum reversed in one brutal motion as the Jaeger's right leg arced upward like a pendulum.
The kick landed squarely against the kaiju's upper chest, collarbone, maybe, if it even had one. The hit wasn't clean, but the force behind it was monstrous. Metal and muscle collided with a sound like thunder. The kaiju staggered back several steps, a rumble tearing from its throat as it tried to regain footing.
The impact reverberated up through the neural link, leaving Shinji's ribs aching like he'd taken the kick himself. Still, it gave him what he needed, space. Enough to pull Redeemer upright again.
He forced the Jaeger's arms down, stabilizers whining as Redeemer straightened. Dust rolled across the street in waves, shrouding both combatants for a moment. Shinji took a shaky breath, sweat slicking the back of his neck despite the freezing neural coolant.
"Not exactly textbook," he muttered, eyes flicking across his cracked HUD as he reoriented. "But I'll take it."
Across from him, the kaiju let out a roar that shook the skyline, glaring at him with eyes that burned like molten glass. Its massive claws dug into the street, and Shinji could tell it wasn't backing down. Neither was he.
Shinji watched the thing drop to all fours, its muscles bunching under that armored hide, its head angled down like a rhinoceros ready to turn him into a smear. He backed up, step by step, drawing it out, giving it more road to chew through. Redeemer's heavy chassis thudded with every retreating footfall, but it was all part of the plan. He unclamped the chain and let the wrecking ball crash to the street, the thud echoing off empty windows.
The kaiju lunged.
Shinji slid to the side at the last second, the whole world narrowing down to timing and instinct. The chain snapped taut as the monster's left leg caught on it. Shinji hauled back hard, his whole body twisting with the motion, and the creature's balance broke just like he prayed it would. It pitched sideways, momentum sending it crashing through the facade of a building he really hoped was empty. Concrete exploded around it.
Kamui Woods didn't waste a heartbeat. Wooden tendrils shot out in a blur, wrapping the kaiju's torso and limbs, binding it down despite the way it thrashed against the restraints.
Shinji didn't stop to watch. He hauled the chain back, pulling Redeemer's wrecking ball into the air just enough to swing. He was already charging before it was fully lifted, the Jaeger sprinting at the prone monster. With a grunt, he brought the wrecking ball down on its ribcage. Then the serrated ring around the weapon whirred to life, spinning fast enough to scream.
The kaiju's roar rattled the street. It writhed and kicked, splintering Kamui Woods' bindings like twigs, but Shinji had already buried the weapon deep. He yanked the wrecking ball back, though he didn't pull it all the way in, just dragged it enough to keep the serrated rim grinding through flesh. Once it finally clicked back into its cradle, he locked it in place, planted his stance, and drove the whole arm back into the wound.
He didn't stop. The impact shuddered up through Redeemer's frame, up through the neural link, straight into him, but he kept punching, each hit meant to make damn sure the thing wasn't getting back up again.
SCHLICK
The sound cut through the street like someone tearing a sheet of metal in half. The battlefield froze for a heartbeat, everything quiet except the distant bellow of another kaiju.
"So it did have a tail," Shinji muttered.
Redeemer's sensors flared red across his vision. The thing had unfurled it from the creature's spine, a flat T-shaped blade made of hardened scale and bone, some nasty hybrid between a guillotine and a sawfish snout. And right now, that tail was buried through Redeemer's stomach plating, punched clean out the back by several feet.
Redeemer lurched from the force of the impalement, alarms screaming in Shinji's ears. He felt the shock echo through the neural link, a ghost sensation of being gutted without any actual wound on his own body. His stomach churned hard enough that he had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from retching.
He found himself almost nostalgic for the time he actually lost an arm. That pain had been sharp and real and honest. This was worse. This was his nerves lying to him, telling him he was dying when he wasn't. Telling him his guts were spilling out even though he was still strapped into the cockpit, intact and breathing.
Redeemer staggered but didn't fall. Shinji forced the Jaeger's legs to lock in place, grinding metal, fighting for balance as the tail thrashed, trying to rip wider through Redeemer's core. He could already feel the heat bleed from ruptured coolant lines, the hum of the reactor dipping low.
The kaiju wrenched its tail again, trying to drag Redeemer in like it owned him, like the fight was already over. Shinji didn't fight the pull this time. He let the monster reel Redeemer closer, inch by inch, the gap shrinking until he could see every cracked plate of its hide, every pulsing vein of neon blue beneath.
And he never stopped hitting it. Redeemer's left fist hammered into the kaiju's ribs over and over, each impact crunching through outer armor and forcing the creature's massive frame to buckle sideways. Every punch dragged Redeemer forward another step, the two giants locked together in a brutal tug of war, and Shinji leaned into it like a man trying to beat a storm back with his bare hands.
He opened the cannon ports in Redeemer's right arm, metal sliding apart with a harsh clack. The wrecking ball chain snapped tight behind him as he pulled the weight back, locking it into position. The kaiju twisted, sensing something it didn't like, but Shinji didn't give it room.
He slammed the cannon arm up against the creature's side, pressing the barrel straight into its armored hide.
And with a single mental command, the cannon fired.
The blast kicked through Redeemer's frame like a mortar going off inside his bones. He felt the shock tear up his arm, a raw electrical tremor that rattled his teeth. But the kaiju felt worse. Much worse.
Chunks of flesh and plates of that strange armored hide blew out in a spray of neon blue, the acidic blood hissing against Redeemer's chestplate. The creature howled, a sound that shook entire blocks, its body jerking hard enough that the tail embedded in Redeemer's gut wrenched sideways with a sick twist.
Shinji gritted his teeth and fired again.
And again.
And again.
He didn't stop. Not until the cannon coughed smoke instead of flame.
Shot after shot tore through the kaiju's side, each blast ripping deeper, spraying more of that glowing blood across the street, the buildings, Redeemer's chest. The world shook with every detonation, the blasts echoing between shattered towers like thunder trapped in a cage. Shinji barely noticed the way Redeemer's joints screamed, or how the targeting wires in his vision flickered with warnings. He just kept firing until the drum locked empty with a dull, metallic clunk.
And even then, he didn't hesitate.
He pulled the wrecking ball forward again, chain rattling like something restless and vengeful. The weight swung with a heavy arc, serrated edges already slick with kaiju gore. Shinji planted his stance and brought the weapon down hard. The blades bit in deep, and before the kaiju could twist away, he flicked the internal latch that activated the spin.
The wrecking ball roared to life.
The teeth tore through the creature's hide in a violent spiral, chewing into muscle and bone, spraying blue in long burning arcs. The kaiju thrashed, every muscle spasming, its tail jerking wildly as instinct kicked in. And the tail wasn't small. It wasn't gentle. It lashed and wrenched like an animal caught in a trap, still lodged deep inside Redeemer's stomach plate.
Each jerk dragged Redeemer forward, metal groaning as that flat armored spike ground wider and deeper. It wasn't clean. It wasn't steady. Every violent pull carved a new gouge across Redeemer's side, splitting armor panels, tearing weld points, shredding hydraulic lines. Shinji felt each rupture through the neural link as a sickening jolt up his spine.
The thing didn't stop until the kaiju's strength finally bled out of it.
By the time its tail went slack, Redeemer wasn't just pierced. The entire left side of his torso armor had been torn outward from the inside, a ragged, half-circular gap where steel and plating should have been. Internal lights flickered through shredded metal like a dying heartbeat. And Shinji could hear the whine of critical systems losing pressure one by one, like the machine was gasping.
He didn't stop, though.
Even with the tail limp. Even with Redeemer's guts hanging open to daylight.
He kept the wrecking ball spinning until the kaiju's entire flank looked like someone had carved a canyon into it. Only when the creature finally sagged, legs buckling, breath rattling out in a wet, broken exhale, did Shinji let the weapon slow.
He didn't trust himself to stop completely.
Because the moment he stopped moving, he'd have to acknowledge the damage.
And the way Redeemer was leaning.
And how close they'd both come to being torn in half.
"God, I'm rusty," Shinji muttered, breath uneven as he flicked Redeemer's external speakers on. His voice crackled through them, rough and tired. "Kamui Woods, you still there? If so, I'm gonna open the hatch on the top of my head. You mind helping me out of here?"
He barely got the last word out before Redeemer lurched forward without warning.
Shinji's knees buckled in perfect sync, his palms slamming into the console as the world blurred for a second. Redeemer mirrored every wobble, every stumble. Even if the mech wasn't technically wounded, the neural link made the feedback hit him like a sledgehammer. His brain fired off signals as if a thirty-foot metal spike had actually torn through his gut, and the mismatch between real pain and phantom pain made his stomach roll.
He swallowed it back. Barely.
"Okay… okay, that's enough of that," he whispered to himself, reaching behind his neck with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. The connection cable was still plugged into the port along his spine, warm and pulsing faintly with leftover neural static. He fumbled with the latch, fingers slipping twice before he finally got it free.
As soon as the lock clicked open, the world snapped back into his own body. Redeemer didn't mimic him this time. The mech stayed frozen where it was, kneeling in the ruined street, blue gore dripping off the wrecking ball like a busted faucet.
Shinji didn't stay upright.
He pitched forward with all the grace of a falling brick, arms too weak to catch himself. The weight of exhaustion, raw nerves, and the backlash from the link all hit at once. His shoulder smacked the console, then the floor, and he lay there for a second, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon with a car strapped to his spine.
At least Redeemer didn't follow him this time.
Small victories.
It didn't take long for Kamui Woods to find his way inside, and before Shinji even processed half of what the man said, his stomach had flipped, the neural whiplash catching up to him hard. He barely got a warning breath out before he leaned over and threw up, the world tilting in a slow, nauseating spin. Kamui caught his shoulders and kept him from faceplanting, muttering something that sounded halfway between "kid, seriously?" and "you're fine, just breathe."
Then everything went dark around the edges.
And the next time he opened his eyes, he was staring at a too-white ceiling that screamed UA infirmary instead of hospital. Mild upgrade. Barely.
"Boy, you better not move any more than opening your eyes."
The familiar croak hit him from the right like a verbal slap with a cane. Recovery Girl didn't even have to be in his line of sight for her presence to fill the room.
Shinji blinked, keeping perfectly still on instinct. "I'm… not actually hurt," he mumbled, voice rough. "Redeemer took most of it."
"That's the only reason you're not getting slapped with a syringe the size of your arm," she shot back, and he could practically hear her glaring. "Not injured isn't the same as not stupid. Your vitals were a mess. You had neural backlash, adrenal flooding, dehydration, exhaustion, and, oh yes, enough stress indicators to convince half of my machines you were actively dying."
He winced. "Sorry."
"Don't 'sorry' me. You altered types are all the same. 'I'm fine,' he says, then proceeds to throw up enough to fill a bucket before passing."
Shinji groaned softly and covered his face with one trembling hand. "That bad?"
"Oh, it was delightful," she said, sarcasm dripping like syrup. "Meanwhile, your sister nearly tore the door off the hinges trying to get in here."
That made him freeze. "…Yu's here?"
"Of course she is. And she's not happy. So if you plan on sitting up, prepare for the yelling."
Shinji let his hand fall away and exhaled through his nose, long and low. "Great."
Recovery Girl finally came into view, tapping her cane against the floor with that trademark grumpy precision. "You should be grateful you're not actually hurt. But don't push your luck."
"I won't," he said automatically.
She narrowed her eyes. "That is a lie, but I'm too old to chase you about it."
He stared up at the ceiling again, heartbeat finally settling, the faint hum of UA machines familiar enough to ground him.
Shinji relaxed back into the pillows, sinking like someone trying to make himself smaller without looking like he was. "Ughhhh… Yu's gonna never let me leave campus again."
His voice cracked on the last word. Barely. Just a hairline fracture. Anyone else might've missed it.
Recovery Girl didn't.
Her cane tapped once against the floor, softer this time. Not reprimand. More… acknowledgment.
"You're safe," she said, and there wasn't a trace of teasing in it now. "So breathe."
He did, kind of. A shaky inhale that rattled in his chest like something rusted. He stared at the ceiling again, watching the fluorescent light hum itself into a blur.
Because his mind was starting to catch up.
And he didn't want it to.
He didn't want to think about how close he'd come to breaking. He didn't want to think about how he did break, right at the start, when he tried to convince himself he could fight without falling apart. He didn't want to think about those seconds where the edges of his vision slipped away, and he was back in the breach, back knee deep in cold water and dead metal, back inside a Jaeger that creaked like a coffin.
His pulse jumped. Too fast. Too sharp. That creeping sensation behind his ribs trying to pull him sideways into memories he had no control over.
Recovery Girl didn't say anything, but she stepped close enough that her shadow cut across his blankets. Not touching him. Just close. Close enough to anchor.
"You can talk," she said. Calm. Firm. Not pushing. "Or you can sit quietly. Either is fine. But you're not going to spiral while I'm in the room. Pick whichever helps you breathe."
He swallowed, throat tight.
"I wasn't… I didn't even think straight," he managed. "I just reacted. And then I didn't react. And then I did. And my head kept jumping back and forth, and I thought I had control, but I didn't. It was like… like everything tried to hit at once."
She nodded once, the kind of nod that said yes, I know exactly what that means.
"It's not the fight that's scaring you," she murmured. "It's remembering what being in that place feels like."
His jaw clenched. Yeah. Exactly that.
He forced in another breath, long and uneven. "I don't want to go back there. I don't want to fall into that again. I thought I was past it."
"You're not past things like that," she said. "You manage them. And today, you did. You didn't freeze. You didn't shut down. You didn't lose yourself."
Shinji didn't trust himself to answer. But his breathing eased bit by bit, heartbeat settling into something closer to human.
Recovery Girl rested both hands on top of her cane, watching him with that mix of sternness and absolute stubborn compassion that only she could pull off.
"You're not spiraling," she said. "You're processing. That's different. And you're allowed to."
He let out a breath that trembled on its way out. The kind where your lungs feel too small and too tight at the same time. "It's… I just… if I hadn't froze," he whispered, the words scraping out of him, "if I wasn't so scared…"
The monitor beside him started ticking up, each beep a little faster, a little sharper. He didn't need to look to know it. He could feel his pulse climbing, feel the tremor crawling up his arms even though they weren't moving.
"So… so many people died," he said, voice cracking wide open. "If I was faster. If I wasn't a coward."
The second that word slipped out, coward, his whole body felt like it recoiled from it. Like the accusation didn't come from him so much as from something deeper, somewhere older. Something that remembered the breach like it was still happening.
Recovery Girl moved closer, not rushing, not startled, just closing the space with slow, steady steps. The kind you use around wounded animals and boys who've carried too much of the world on their backs.
"Child," she said softly, but it wasn't gentle. It was firm, firm enough to cut through the rising panic. "Look at me."
He didn't want to. His eyes were burning, and he didn't trust them not to spill.
But he did.
Barely.
"You think fear makes you a coward?" she asked. "You fought anyway. You moved anyway. You stood in front of something that could kill you in a heartbeat."
His breath shuddered again. "Not fast enough."
"No one is fast enough for a category five. Not you. Not any hero in this country. Not even All Might at his prime. You did not kill those people. The creature did."
He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tasted blood. "I should've gone sooner. I should've, "
"What?" she cut in. "Leaped from the roof while half dissociated? Tried to fight blind? You would've died and saved no one."
The words hit hard because they were true. Because he knew they were true. But knowing didn't erase the tightness choking him.
"I… I froze," he said again, smaller this time. "I saw the blood and the city, and it all felt like before, and I couldn't… my head kept slipping."
"That's not cowardice," she said. "That's trauma."
His chest stung. He hated that word. Hated how heavy it felt. Hated how much of it he carried.
"And even with that," she went on, "you still walked onto a rooftop and jumped. You still fought. You still saved people."
He blinked fast, vision blurring for a moment. "It wasn't enough."
"You're still alive," she said quietly. "So you'll have more chances to try again."
The heartbeat monitor steadied, still fast, but no longer spiraling upward.
"And listen closely," Recovery Girl added, lowering her head so her gaze leveled with his. "The only coward in this room is the one you keep imagining yourself to be. Not the one who acted today."
"Allmights different without help, he's still human size, but kaiju? They're all I know, it's all I'm good for….If I can't fight them, then what…..what else can I do?
Recovery Girl held his stare like she was pinning him to the present, not letting him sink anywhere darker. "You keep talking like your worth begins and ends with what you can kill. That's not how this works. Not here. Not for you."
Shinji rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. They were still damp, still burning. He hated it. "All Might's different without help," he said. "He's still human-sized. But kaiju… kaiju are all I know. It's all I'm good for. If I can't fight them, then what… what else can I do?" His voice cracked again, and he turned his head, ashamed of the sound.
She didn't let him get away with it.
"You lived in a world that taught you the only thing you were worth was how long you could stand between a monster and the rest of them," she said. "But that world isn't the one you're in now. That world used you. This one doesn't have to."
He blinked up at the ceiling, fighting the tremble that kept creeping into his jaw. The words felt like they were scratching something raw inside him.
"And let me tell you something else," she continued. "You weren't built to be a weapon. You were taught to be one. There's a difference. And it means you can learn something new."
Shinji swallowed hard. His throat hurt. "Like what?" he asked, almost whispering. "What could I possibly be besides that?" He didn't mean it as dramatic. It just came out of him, heavy and cracked open.
"Alive," she answered. "First and foremost, you get to be alive. You get to heal. After that, you get to decide. Maybe you'll fight kaiju again. Maybe you'll teach others how to. Maybe you'll never go near one for the rest of your life. But it'll be because you chose it. Not because you were pushed into it."
Shinji pressed his lips together, trying to keep his breathing steady as his chest tightened.
"I don't… know how to do any of that," he admitted.
Recovery Girl gave a small hum. "Then, good thing you're in a school, isn't it? That's the point. You learn. You figure it out."
Silence sat between them for a moment, warm rather than suffocating.
Then she reached over and clicked the heart monitor down a notch. "And for the record, boy, freezing in front of something that wants you dead doesn't make you a coward. It makes you human."
His hands curled slightly in the blankets. "Then why do I feel like I'm back there every time it happens?" he asked quietly. "Why does my brain still think I'm failing people I'll never even meet again?"
"Because trauma doesn't care where your body is," she said gently. "Only where it remembers dying." She let the words settle before adding, "But memories aren't prophecy. You survived, Shinji. And every day you wake up after that, your brain is learning new rules."
He closed his eyes, tears slipping out without permission this time. Not frantic. Just… exhausted.
"Good," she murmured, patting his shoulder. "That's it. Let yourself be tired. You don't have to be anything else right now."
He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. His breathing finally began to settle, even if the ache inside him didn't vanish.