The air in the room didn't just grow cold this time; it hummed with the oppressive, high-frequency weight of something ancient and bureaucratic. The shattered glass of the previous portal coalesced, not into the glitchy, annoyed face of the intern, but into a stark, golden seal of authority: **The Supervisor.**
The screen was massive, silent, and imposing. When it spoke, the voice didn't come from speakers—it resonated directly in their skulls.
"Agung of Pekalongan," the voice boomed, devoid of the intern's arrogance but heavy with a terrifying, detached professionalism. "The incident involving the Junior Operator has been logged, processed, and corrected. The previous entity has been... decommissioned for gross negligence and unauthorized timeline tampering."
Agung stood up slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the weight of his new reality, but this—this felt like the shadow of a mountain looming over them.
"The Junior Operator," the Supervisor continued, "operated on the 'Deadbeat' script to maximize emotional output—a common, albeit strictly prohibited, practice in your sector. It targeted not just the Otonokizaka timeline, but the synchronized waves of the neighboring sectors: Aquors (2016) and Nijigasaki (2020)."
A long, holographic list began to scroll down, showing names that made the room drop to absolute zero.
Aquors: Mari, Dia, Kanan, Riko, Ruby, Yoshiko.
Nijigasaki: Kanata, Emma, Karin, Setsuna, Lanzhu, Shioriko, Shizuku, Rina, Mia.
"All of them," the Supervisor intoned, "were subjected to the same cycle of neglect, abandonment, and 'Deadbeat' status. The trauma is now woven into the fabric of your shared universe. As Supervisor, I cannot revert their memories. The damage to their perceptions of you is permanent."
Agung felt the blood drain from his face. He looked at Maki and the others—they were just beginning to heal from his absence, and now he was being told he had broken lives he hadn't even met yet.
"However," the Supervisor's tone shifted, almost clinically. "Compensation is mandated for a breach of this magnitude. You desire to fix them? To undo the ruin? You will need more than wealth. You will need to exist in three timelines, across three years of history, simultaneously. You will need to be everywhere."
A pulse of raw, blinding white light shot from the screen, striking Agung directly in the chest. He didn't fall; he gasped, feeling his lungs expand with an impossible, endless capacity.
"You have been granted *Infinite Stamina*. You will not tire, you will not falter, and your spirit will not break—until your own physical condition dictates the limit. Your 'Creation Magic' remains. The 'Quadrillion' credits have been glitched into your account as a permanent, bottomless asset. Use it to rebuild the wreckage. You cannot escape the system, Agung. But you can be the one who occupies it."
With a sound like a vacuum closing, the screen vanished. The room returned to normal, but the air felt heavy, charged with the knowledge that this wasn't a family dinner anymore. It was the beginning of a war against a broken history.
Agung looked at his hands. They were trembling, but for the first time, he felt he could hold the weight of the entire universe. He looked at the faces of his wives—the ones he had already started to win back—and then out the window, toward the horizon where the futures of Aquors and Nijigasaki were waiting in the shadows of his past mistakes.
"I can't go back and fix the last three years," Agung whispered, his voice steadying. "But I have all the time in the world now."
He turned to the room, his eyes burning with a new, dangerous resolve.
"Maki, Eli, Umi... get the others. If we're going to fix the 'Deadbeat' legacy, we aren't just doing it for us anymore. We're doing it for everyone he broke."
He stepped toward the center of the room, and as he moved, the golden mana pulsed—not like a toy, but like a heartbeat. The journey of the 'Marshmallow-Papa' had just evolved into something much, much larger.
"Who's coming with me?"