EVA: Daybreak

The purpose of the pressure system was to measure a candidate's physical aptitude. The stronger the pressure, the more intensely the body reacted—triggering a natural stress response.

The higher a subject's ability to withstand pressure, the stronger their physical potential.

Now, as the testing machine's gravity field activated, the pressure index began steadily climbing.

> Level 1…

Level 2…

Level 3…

Beside the machine, a NERV technician closely monitored the readout, and his expression became more stunned by the second.

The machine's pressure scale went up to Level 10.

The higher the level it reached, the closer the test subject came to superhuman endurance.

Level 10 represented the absolute theoretical maximum—the machine's upper limit.

In short, a Level 10 result would equate to a perfect score of 100 on the physical index.

But everyone at NERV knew that 100 was a myth.

As long as someone was still human… it shouldn't be possible.

After all, without extensive genetic modification or biomechanical enhancement, no human body was supposed to reach that level.

Such strength meant shattering limit after limit… pushing beyond the very edges of biology.

But now—Ryota Kitazawa's pressure level was rising fast.

In moments, it reached Level 7.

A few of the staff near the machine instinctively swallowed hard.

Earlier, Toji Suzuhara had barely broken into Level 8—and his face had already gone pale with strain at Level 7.

But Ryota?

He didn't even flinch.

> Level 8.

And still—no reaction.

No change in expression. No signs of discomfort. As if the pressure field wasn't even there.

The watching crowd could feel their hearts pounding.

They knew what Level 8 meant.

Many of them would've passed out instantly at that level.

Even trained athletes struggled with it.

In the observation room, even Misato and Ritsuko were visibly shocked.

Especially Dr. Ritsuko Akagi, who, as NERV's chief of technology, knew exactly how dangerous this level of pressure truly was.

But before either of them could even process what was happening, the number jumped again.

> Level 9.

> Hhhhhkk—

Gasps swept through the room. Several candidates standing nearby gulped nervously.

They didn't need to know the science.

They could feel it.

This level of strength—was monstrous.

The NERV technicians stared at the console, wide-eyed, nearly losing their grip on the controls.

According to NERV's records, no one had ever reached Level 9.

Only elite military operatives had previously scored an 8.

For someone to go this far—

> Could this kid really be… that strong?

But Ryota stood still—completely calm. No labored breathing. No tension. Not even a tremble.

The staff looked at one another.

Some were already reaching toward the emergency stop.

They had never seen anyone approach Level 10.

Not once in the machine's entire history.

And now…

The console lights turned red.

That meant the pressure field was nearing critical capacity.

Silence fell.

No one dared move.

Even breathing seemed too loud.

> Level 10 pressure.

That's the equivalent of 100 times Earth's gravity.

Something no unmodified human body was ever meant to endure.

Even if bones could theoretically hold, blood vessels and organs would rupture long before.

> "Prepare to shut it down!" Ritsuko's voice snapped over the comms.

"Do not let that boy die—do you hear me?! Shut it down immediately!"

She knew what 10G of gravitational pressure meant.

She was a doctor of biomechanical engineering, after all.

In theory, the human skeleton could survive.

But the heart, lungs, vascular system?

> They'd collapse.

> "Wait," Misato's voice called out.

Everyone turned.

> "Misato, you know how dangerous this is!" Ritsuko snapped.

"Even if you want to push him… this is not the time to play games!"

> "I know…"

Misato's expression remained calm—but resolute.

> "But look at him.

He doesn't seem affected at all.

No—this doesn't even look like his limit."

> "He's still human," Ritsuko insisted.

"Everything you're saying is theoretical—there is no proof the human body can survive this level of force!"

> "Exactly—it's theoretical," Misato replied softly.

"And theory means… there's a chance.

I believe in him.

I believe Ryota Kitazawa is going to show us something no one's ever seen before."

She closed her eyes.

> "Let's give him this moment, Ritsuko.

Let's watch—just this once. And hope for a miracle."

---

The two women fell silent. All eyes returned to the chamber.

The pressure reading on the console continued its climb.

> Level 10.

The meter maxed out.

Silence blanketed the testing floor.

Everyone—technicians, candidates, supervisors—watched with open mouths.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

> Level 10 pressure… and he's still standing.

For the NERV team, it was unthinkable.

Just a theory. A mathematical dream.

No one had ever endured it—until now.

And yet…

There he stood.

Ryota Kitazawa.

Breathing steady.

Expression calm.

Not even a flicker of strain on his face.

> What they didn't know…

…was that he was enjoying it.

To Ryota, this felt almost familiar.

He remembered the Cosmic Forest—those days when he'd lived under constant threat of death.

The shifting gravity fields.

The punishing environments.

The endless hours of pain and survival.

That training had hardened his body—and his mind.

This testing chamber?

This gravity field?

It wasn't torture.

It was home.

> This… is the world of the strong.