The sudden, sharp question cut through the somber tension in the foyer like a whistle in a cathedral.
Agung froze, his hand hovering over the heavy brass handle of the front door. He blinked, the intensity of his "God-mode" plans momentarily derailed. He looked down, then back up at the group. Behind Rin, he saw Hanayo standing perfectly still, clutching a small bag of rice crackers, her eyes wide and observant. Honoka was there too, unusually subdued, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her trademark manic energy replaced by a contemplative frown.
He had been so focused on the *concept* of the wives and the *physics* of the travel that he had completely glossed over the visual—and physical—reality of the man he had become.
"Wait," Agung said, turning to catch his reflection in the antique hallway mirror.
He saw the "Marshmallow-Papa." He wasn't the lean, sharp-featured, cold-eyed mogul that the "Deadbeat" version had been. He was soft-edged, slightly chubby, radiating the warmth of a man who had actually been eating real food and holding children. He looked... accessible. Soft. Huggable.
"Rin's right," Maki murmured, her analytical gaze scanning him. "You're going to walk into a professional idol training facility in Odaiba—or worse, confront a girl who thinks you're a monster—looking like a comfy, oversized teddy bear."
Agung felt a flush of genuine embarrassment creep up his neck. "I... I didn't think about the optics. I was too busy calculating the logistics of the trip."
"It's not about optics, it's about *presence*," Umi corrected, crossing her arms. "You're planning to walk into a house of cards. If you walk in looking like a 'marshmallow,' you might just get poked, prodded, or laughed out of the room before you even get to say 'I'm sorry.' Or, worse, they'll think you're here to play another joke on them."
"He's right though," Honoka finally spoke up, her voice surprisingly steady. She pushed off the wall and walked toward him, circling him once with a critical eye. "He doesn't look like a threat. He looks like a guy who's finally started living. That's probably the most disarming thing about him."
"But will Kanata see it that way?" Hanayo asked softly, peeking out from behind Rin. "She's so tired all the time. She's used to people needing things *from* her. If she sees him, she might just see another thing she has to take care of."
Agung looked at his reflection again. He flexed a hand, feeling the "Infinite Stamina" hum beneath the layer of softness. He realized that the "Deadbeat" had likely been a sleek, sharp, terrifying figure—a man who radiated authority and fear. He, by contrast, looked like the kind of man who would fall asleep on a train.
"Maybe that's the point," Agung whispered.
He looked at the girls. "If I go in there as the God-Mogul, I'm just repeating the cycle. If I go in like this... maybe I'm not a 'victim' of the system anymore. Maybe I'm just a guy who's sorry."
He straightened his posture, trying to find a balance between his new, solid frame and the gravity of his mission.
"I won't change who I am," Agung said, his voice firm. "If they want to laugh at the 'Marshmallow-Papa,' let them. I'd rather be laughed at for being human than be feared for being a fake god."
He turned back to the door, his heart pounding, his body heavy but tireless.
"Let's go. We have a train to catch. And Rin?" He glanced back at her with a lopsided, genuine smile. "Thanks for the heads-up. Remind me to buy you a ridiculous amount of ramen once we're settled in Odaiba."
As the heavy door swung open, the humidity and noise of the real world—the distant honking of cars, the hum of the city, the scent of rain—rushed in to meet them. It was chaotic, loud, and completely unscripted.