The train cabin was humming with the rhythmic, hypnotic *clack-clack* of the tracks—a sound so quintessentially mundane that it made Agung's head spin. Compared to the flash of golden portals and the booming voice of the Supervisor, this felt like an entirely different dimension.
Agung slumped into the worn fabric seat, his chest heaving as he let the "Infinite Stamina" gradually stabilize his heart rate. He didn't feel like a hero; he felt like a guy who had just narrowly avoided being fried by a utility pole.
"Hold still," Maki commanded. Her voice was clipped, the tone of a surgeon who refused to be argued with.
She reached out, her hands surprisingly steady as she began to inspect the shoulder of his jacket. The fabric was singed black, the smell of burnt synthetic fiber clinging to the air. With a gentle but firm pull, she shifted the fabric aside to reveal the skin underneath.
The heat of the arc had left a nasty, angry-looking welt, the skin bubbled and raw where the spark had kissed him.
Agung hissed through his teeth, his hand instinctively reaching toward his pocket where his "Creation Magic" usually hummed. He could manifest an ointment. He could snap his fingers and make the pain—and the wound—vanish entirely.
"Don't," Maki said, catching his hand before he could even form the intent. Her eyes met his, dark and unwavering. "If you heal this with a thought, you're telling yourself that your skin doesn't matter. You're telling yourself that you're untouchable. You need to feel the sting, Agung. You need to remember that you can bleed."
He let his hand drop, his shoulders sagging.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
She sighed, her expression softening as she pulled a small, basic antiseptic wipe and a bandage from the first-aid kit in her bag. She began to clean the wound, her movements precise and efficient. It stung—a sharp, grounding pain that made his eyes water—but it was honest.
"You're a complete idiot for throwing yourself into a live wire," she muttered, though her touch remained tender. "But... at least you didn't manifest a shield. That counts for something."
Umi, sitting across the aisle, leaned in, her gaze flickering from the bandage to Agung's face. "The exertion... how do you feel? The Supervisor said your stamina is infinite, but your body still has limits. That roll across the asphalt took a toll on your ribs, didn't it?"
Agung exhaled, feeling the dull, rhythmic throb in his side. "It hurts. Everything hurts, actually." He offered a weak, lopsided smile. "But I'm not tired. That's the strangest part. My lungs feel like they could run to Odaiba and back, even if my ribs are protesting."
"That is a dangerous combination," Eli added from the window seat, her arms crossed. "A spirit that refuses to quit housed in a body that still breaks. You have to be careful. You're going to be carrying the weight of twenty-one lives on those shoulders, Agung. If you push too hard, you'll collapse before you even reach the station."
Agung watched the cityscape blur past the window—the gray concrete, the flashes of neon, the ordinary people living ordinary lives. He realized he had spent his "deadbeat" years looking *down* on this world, and now, he was finally *in* it.
"I'm using this time," Agung said, looking at his wives. "To think. When we reach Odaiba, I don't want a grand entrance. I don't want to show up as the guy who 'saved' them. I want to show up as the guy who showed up too late, but is staying for the long haul."
He looked at Maki, who was smoothing the edge of the adhesive bandage. "How do I do that, Maki? How do I look Kanata in the eye and say 'I failed you' without making it sound like I'm asking for pity?"
Maki finished the bandage and sat back, folding her arms. "You don't say anything at first. You walk in, you apologize, and then you shut up. You let her say everything she's been holding back for three years. If she wants to throw things, you let her. If she wants to tell you to get out, you stand there until she runs out of breath."
Agung nodded, the train rattling beneath them. Odaiba was getting closer. The "Deadbeat" was fading, but the man replacing him was currently a bruised, bandaged, and nervous human being sitting on a commuter train.
"Empty chairs," Agung murmured to himself. "I'll just... bring an empty chair and a lot of patience."