The smell of ozone was thick and metallic, sharp enough to make Agung's eyes water. The hissing live wire danced like a cornered snake on the pavement, throwing off sparks that tasted like burnt rubber.
Agung didn't calculate the physics or wait for a "system prompt." He moved on raw, unrefined instinct. He lunged, his "marshmallow" weight actually proving to be a surprising asset—it gave him a low center of gravity. He scooped the small, screaming child into his arms, tucking the boy's head firmly against his chest.
As he pulled the child into his own frame, his shoulder caught a stray spark, searing through his jacket. He didn't flinch—not because he was magically shielded, but because the surge of **Infinite Stamina** coursed through his muscles, numbing the sharpest edges of the pain and allowing him to explode into motion.
He tucked, shoulder-rolled, and threw his entire body weight into a heavy, ungraceful roll across the asphalt.
*Thump. Thump. Slide.*
He hit the concrete a few feet away from the danger zone, the momentum carrying him into the side of a parked delivery van. His breath left him in a sharp *whoosh*, his ribs aching from the impact, but he clamped his arms tighter around the child.
Silence descended on the immediate area. The crowd had gone mute, a circle of horrified commuters watching the man in the rumpled jacket who had just tackled a disaster.
The boy in his arms sobbed, his small hands clutching Agung's shirt.
"I've got you," Agung gasped, his voice raspy and real. He wasn't radiating a golden aura. He wasn't hovering. He was just a guy with a bruised shoulder, smelling of asphalt and singed fabric, breathing hard as the adrenaline began to spike his heart rate.
"I've got you. You're okay."
He sat up, his clothes dusty and torn, and gently patted the boy's back.
A woman—the boy's mother—broke through the crowd with a scream of relief, snatching her son from Agung's arms. She was sobbing, thanking him, asking if he was hurt, but Agung just waved a hand dismissively. He felt the sting of the burn on his shoulder, the throb in his side, and the sheer, exhausting reality of having to *move* to save someone.
He wasn't a god. He was just a man who had been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.
He stood up, his legs shaking slightly from the exertion—not from exhaustion, but from the raw, human relief of the moment. He looked toward the sidewalk where his wives stood. They were watching him, their faces pale, seeing that he hadn't used a single spark of magic. He hadn't "Created" a forcefield or teleported. He had just *done* it.
"He's fine," Agung told the mother, his voice steadying. "Just... hold him tight."
He walked back to his wives, ignoring the burning sensation on his shoulder. He picked up his duffel bag, his grip firm.
"Did you see?" Maki whispered as he reached them, her eyes searching his face for any sign of "God-tier" manipulation. "You didn't use the mana."
"I didn't need to," Agung said, a genuine, tired smile breaking across his face. He felt the "Infinite Stamina" humming, not as a weapon, but as a silent, invisible backup that kept his heart rate from spiking too high and his legs from wobbling. It didn't take away the pain, and it didn't solve the problem, but it gave him the *time* to act. "That was just... me."
Umi nodded, a look of profound respect softening her features. "That was the first step, Agung. You didn't save him because you were a god. You saved him because you were there."
He looked at the Kanda train station entrance, now cluttered with police and emergency responders. They were no longer the main characters of the scene; they were just bystanders in a real world.
"Let's go," Agung said, wiping a smudge of dirt from his cheek. "We're going to be late for the train to Odaiba."