The Punchline
Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro had been making people laugh with his wordplay since he could talk. Kansai dialect lent itself to puns—the rhythm, the double meanings, the way a well-timed joke could cut through tension like one of his tantos. He'd made Kafka snort coffee through his nose. He'd made Reno's eye twitch. He'd even made Mina's lips twitch once, though she'd denied it immediately.
Also hoshina is so cute in that drawing AAAAHHHHH also this is requested by anon!!
So when the new operator arrived at the Third Division, quiet as a mouse, calm as still water, he saw it as a challenge.
Name was efficient. That was the first thing everyone noticed. Fingers flying across the comms panel, voice steady during kaiju alerts, never flustered, never rushed. She spoke when necessary and not a word more. Her eyes were large and dark and seemed to take in everything without judgment.
She was, Kafka observed, "the least chaotic person in this entire base."
"Give it time," Reno said.
"No, I mean it. She doesn't laugh at Iharu's jokes. She doesn't react to Kafka's stories. She just... nods."
Hoshina, listening from across the room, felt something stir in his chest. Not curiosity. Definitely not interest. Just... mild intrigue. Professional fascination.
He decided to test a theory.
The first pun was accidental.
Name was at her station, reviewing patrol routes, when Hoshina walked past. He noticed she'd organized her desk with military precision—pens aligned, sticky notes stacked, a single small succulent in a terracotta pot.
"Nice plant," he said. "Succulents are pretty low-maintenance. Guess you could say they're... un-succ-ulent?"
He waited for the laugh. The groan. The eye roll. Anything.
Name looked up. Tilted her head. Her expression was perfectly blank.
"...?" she said.
Hoshina's smile froze.
"The pun," he said. "Un-succ-ulent? Because succulents are low maintenance, so they're not succulent? Like, not juicy?"
Name blinked. "The plant is not juicy, no."
"That's not—" He stopped. Took a breath. "Never mind."
She went back to her work. He walked away, ears burning.
Kafka appeared at his shoulder. "Did you just try to pun at the new operator?"
"No."
"You definitely did."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You made a succulent pun. To her face. And she didn't get it."
Hoshina's jaw tightened. "She got it."
"She tilted her head like a confused puppy."
"That's her thinking face."
"Her thinking face looked like she was trying to figure out if you'd had a stroke."
Hoshina walked faster. Kafka's laughter followed him down the hallway.
The second pun was deliberate.
Name was in the break room, making tea. She moved with the same quiet precision—kettle, cup, bag, water, wait exactly three minutes before removing. Hoshina watched from the doorway, arms crossed, planning his approach.
"Making tea?" he asked.
She nodded.
"You know, I've heard that tea is the key to a good morning. Some might even call it... brew-tiful."
He grinned. Name looked up. Tilted her head.
"...?" she said.
"Brew-tiful. Like beautiful, but brew, because tea—"
"I understood the wordplay," she said. Her voice was soft, neutral. "I just didn't find it funny."
Hoshina's grin disappeared. "Oh."
"Is it supposed to be funny?"
"Well, yes. That's generally the purpose of a pun."
Name considered this. "I see."
She finished her tea and walked past him without another word. Hoshina stood in the empty break room, questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.
Reno found him there ten minutes later.
"Vice Captain? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
"You're staring at the kettle."
"The kettle is fine."
"The kettle has been boiled three times. There's no water left."
Hoshina looked down. Reno was right. He'd been boiling and re-boiling the same empty kettle for ten minutes.
"I'm going to bed," Hoshina said.
"It's 2 PM."
"I'm tired."
He left. Reno turned off the kettle.
The third pun was an accident. He'd stopped trying.
Sort of.
He was reviewing mission reports with Name at her station. She was pointing out a discrepancy in the patrol logs—something small, easily fixed—and Hoshina found himself watching her hands instead of listening. The way her fingers moved across the keyboard. The way her brow furrowed slightly when she concentrated.
"Vice Captain?" she said.
"Sorry. What?"
"The discrepancy. It's in sector seven."
"Right. Sector seven. I'll... handle it."
She nodded. Returned to her work. Hoshina didn't leave.
"You're very calm," he said.
She glanced at him. "Is that a problem?"
"No. It's just... unusual. Everyone here is loud. Except you."
"I prefer quiet."
"Nothing wrong with that."
She didn't respond. But her fingers paused on the keyboard. Just for a second.
"I like the way you organize your reports," he added. "Very... file-ling good."
He didn't even realize he'd done it until the words were out. Name looked at him. Tilted her head.
"...?" she said.
Hoshina wanted to die.
"Filing," he said weakly. "Like file. But also feeling. Because it's... good."
"I see."
"You don't see."
"I see that you made another pun."
"Yes."
"And you're embarrassed."
"No."
"Your ears are red."
Hoshina touched his ear. It was warm. "The lighting in here is bad."
"The lighting is fine."
"The lighting is terrible."
Name looked at him for a long moment. Then, very softly, she said: "I don't understand puns. But I don't mind them."
"You don't?"
"They seem to make you happy."
She turned back to her work. Hoshina stood there, heart doing something strange, and watched her finish the report.
He didn't make a pun for three weeks.
The change was subtle.
Hoshina stopped trying to be clever. Instead, he paid attention. He noticed that Name brought the same lunch every day—rice, vegetables, a small container of pickled plums. He noticed that she sat in the corner of the mess hall, facing the door, always aware of her surroundings. He noticed that she flinched at loud noises but never complained.
He started small.
A book, left on her desk. Not a pun book. A collection of short stories about the ocean. Quiet. Contemplative. The kind of thing she might like.
She found it the next morning. Looked at the cover. Looked at him.
"This is for me?"
"I thought you might enjoy it."
"I don't read fiction."
"Oh." He felt stupid. "I'll return it, then."
"No." She held it closer. "I'll try."
She finished it in two days. Left a note on his desk: The sea is louder than I expected. Thank you.
He bought her another book.
Then a plant for her desk—a second succulent, because she seemed to like the first one. Then a small box of pickled plums, the expensive kind from the specialty shop near the base.
"You're being nice to her," Kafka observed.
"I'm being friendly."
"You're being nice. You remembered her favorite food."
"I have a good memory."
"You remembered her favorite food after seeing her eat it once."
Hoshina didn't answer. Kafka's grin was insufferable.
"You like her."
"I respect her."
"You like her."
"She's a valuable member of the division."
"She's quiet. You're loud. You make puns. She doesn't understand them. You're obsessed."
Hoshina threw a training marker at Kafka's head. Kafka caught it.
"You like her," Kafka repeated.
"Shut up."
"You should ask her out."
"I should demote you."
"You can't demote me. I'm the only one who knows how to fix the coffee machine."
Hoshina walked away. Kafka's laughter followed him down the hallway.
Name started changing.
It was slow. Almost imperceptible. But Hoshina noticed everything.
She said good morning first one day. Not loud, just... present. A small nod, a quiet word. He almost missed it.
She started sitting closer in meetings. Not touching—she never touched—but near enough that he could feel her presence.
She laughed once. At something Kafka said. A small sound, barely more than an exhale, but her eyes crinkled and her shoulders relaxed and Hoshina forgot how to breathe.
"Are you okay?" Reno asked.
"Fine."
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"You're staring at Name."
"I'm observing Name."
Reno looked at him. Hoshina looked back.
"You like her," Reno said.
"I'm going to kill Kafka for starting this."
"Kafka didn't start anything. Your heart did."
Hoshina had no response to that.
The discovery happened by accident.
Hoshina was looking for a spare headset. Name's desk was the most organized in the division—if anyone had an extra, it would be there. He asked permission. She nodded. He started searching through her drawers.
The top drawer: office supplies. Second drawer: personal items. Third drawer: books.
Not just books. Her books.
The Ultimate Book of English Puns: 500+ Jokes to Make You Groan.
How to Win Friends and Influence People (Illustrated Edition).
Social Skills for Introverts: A Practical Guide.
A Beginner's Guide to Understanding Sarcasm and Wordplay.
Hoshina stared at the stack. His heart was pounding.
He heard footsteps. Name appeared beside him, her face pale.
"Those are—" she started.
"You've been studying puns."
"Not—not studying. Browsing."
"The spine is cracked. You've read this more than once."
She didn't answer. Her hands were clenched at her sides.
"Why?" he asked.
She looked at the floor. "You like them."
"The puns?"
"Yes. And I don't understand them. So I thought... if I learned..." She trailed off.
"You thought you'd learn to understand my jokes."
"I thought I'd try."
The silence stretched. Hoshina could hear his own heartbeat.
"Name," he said.
"I know it's strange."
"It's not strange."
"I'm not good at talking. Or socializing. Or—"
"Name."
She looked up. Her eyes were bright. Vulnerable. Nothing like the calm, collected operator he'd first met.
"You're trying," he said. "For me."
"I don't like not understanding things. And I don't like not understanding you."
He set down the books. Stepped closer. She didn't move away.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I didn't know how."
"You could have asked me."
"I didn't want to bother you."
"You're not a bother."
She was quiet. Her hands were still clenched. He reached out, slowly, and touched her fingers. She let him.
"The puns," he said. "They're not important. You're important."
"The puns make you happy."
"You make me happy."
Her breath caught. "I do?"
"Yeah." He smiled. Soft. Nothing like his usual smirk. "You really do."
She looked at their hands. His fingers were intertwined with hers. She didn't pull away.
"I have another book," she said quietly. "It's about how to ask someone on a date."
Hoshina's heart stopped. "You do?"
"I've been practicing."
"Practicing?"
"In my head. Different scenarios. What to say. How to say it."
"And?"
"And I still don't know."
He squeezed her hand. "Can I help?"
"No. This is something I have to do myself."
She took a breath. Stepped back. Her hand slipped from his.
"Vice Captain Hoshina."
"Just Soshiro."
"Soshiro." She tested the name. It sounded good in her soft voice. "I would like to... spend time with you. Outside of work. Doing things that are not work. Together."
"That sounds like asking me on a date."
"It is."
"You're very formal about it."
"I don't know how else to be."
He grinned. "You could try a pun."
Her face went red. "I'm not—I can't—"
"Sure you can. Just try."
She stared at him. He stared back. The silence stretched.
"I... have a... feeling..." She paused. Swallowed. "That you might be the... pun for me?"
Her voice cracked on the last word. Her face was crimson. She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Hoshina burst out laughing.
Not mocking. Genuine. Joyful. The kind of laugh that made his whole body shake.
"That was terrible," he said.
"I know."
"It was the worst pun I've ever heard."
"I know."
"And I love it."
She blinked. "You do?"
"Yeah." He stepped closer. Took her hands again. "Yeah, I really do."
"Does that mean—"
"Yes. It means yes. I'll go on a date with you. Anywhere. Anytime. Just say the word."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, very softly, she smiled.
"The word," she said.
He laughed again. Pulled her close. She fit against his chest like she'd always been there.
"The books," he said. "The pun books. You don't need them."
"I don't?"
"You just made me laugh harder than anyone ever has. And it wasn't even a good pun."
"It was very bad."
"The worst."
She smiled against his chest. "Good."
They stood there, in the quiet of her office, holding each other. The door was open. Anyone could walk by. Neither of them cared.
Later, Kafka found them.
"Vice Captain? Name? What are you—" He stopped. Stared. His mouth fell open.
Hoshina didn't let go of Name. Name didn't pull away.
"We're busy," Hoshina said.
"It looks like you're hugging."
"We're busy hugging."
Kafka opened his mouth. Closed it. Walked backward out of the room.
He found Reno in the hallway. "The Vice Captain is hugging Name."
"Romantically?"
"I don't know how else to interpret it."
Reno nodded. "I'll update the betting pool."
"I didn't know there was a betting pool."
"Everyone knew there was a betting pool."
Kafka stared at him. Reno stared back.
"How much did you win?" Kafka asked.
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"How much?"
Reno smiled. "Enough."
The date was simple.
A quiet cafe. A walk through the park. Name talked more than he'd ever heard her talk—about her childhood, her family, the reason she preferred quiet to noise. Hoshina listened. He didn't make puns. He just listened.
"Thank you," she said at the end of the night.
"For what?"
"For being patient. For not giving up when I didn't understand."
"You're worth the effort."
She looked at him. The streetlights made her eyes glow.
"I still don't understand puns," she said.
"That's okay."
"But I bought another book. Just in case."
He laughed. Kissed her forehead. She leaned into him.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.
"Same time tomorrow."
She smiled. That smile. The one that was just for him.
"Good," she said. "I'll practice."
"Practice what?"
"My puns."
He groaned. She laughed. It was the best sound he'd ever heard.
