Agung didn't try to weave a grand narrative. He didn't try to sound like a protagonist or a god. He simply stood in the middle of the Odaiba terminal, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his own confession, and spoke the plain, ugly truth.
He told her about the life in Pekalongan—the streets, the heat, the simplicity of his work, and the 24 years spent hiding in the pages of manga and the glow of a computer screen. He told her about the "Isekai" contract, the arrogant, bratty Operator who viewed their lives as nothing more than a sandbox for "maximum emotional output," and the sickening realization that he had been cast as the "Deadbeat" husband to twenty-one women across three different eras.
"I didn't choose to be him," Agung said, his voice quiet against the hum of the station. "I wanted to be the guy who cheered for you from the sidelines, the one who made sure Otonokizaka stayed open and your family never had to worry about rent. I thought I was buying my way into a fairy tale where I could protect everyone. But the system... it just took my desire and twisted it into a script. It made me a monster who had all the power in the world and absolutely no idea how to love anyone."
He gestured vaguely toward the μ's members standing a respectful distance away.
"They're the ones who helped me see it. They were the first ones to show me that you can't build a family with golden mana and infinite credit lines. I've spent the last few hours tearing that system apart, piece by piece. I'm not a god, Kanata. I'm just a guy who woke up in a house full of people he loved but didn't know, realizing he'd spent three years being the villain in their stories."
Kanata leaned against the pillar, the empty coffee can dangling from her fingers. Her eyes—those sharp, observant eyes—never left his. She was searching for the lie, the "Deadbeat's" cold calculation, but she found nothing but the exhaustion of a man who had finally hit his limit.
"So, you're the 'fix-it' guy?" she asked, her voice devoid of its earlier edge. "You come here to clean up the mess that the 'other' you left behind? What makes you think I want to be 'fixed' by someone who looks exactly like the man who walked out on me?"
Agung looked down at his hands, then at the bandage Maki had just applied. "I'm not here to fix you, Kanata-chan. You're not broken; you're just exhausted from carrying everything alone. I'm here because I'm the one who should have been carrying it with you. I don't want to change who you are. I just want to be the guy who stands next to you so you can finally, *actually* get some sleep."
He took a slow, deliberate step back. "I'm going to stay in Odaiba. I'm not going to force my way into your life. But if you ever need someone to sit in the room while you rest—someone who doesn't want anything from you—I'll be there. That's all I can offer."
Kanata stared at him for a long, suffocating moment. The bustling terminal seemed to blur into the background. Finally, she let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders dropping in a way that looked like years of tension finally letting go.
"You're an idiot," she whispered, a faint, tired smile finally breaking through her stoic mask. "But you're a really, really persistent one."
She turned away, walking toward the exit of the station, but she paused, looking back over her shoulder.
"The Nijigasaki club is meeting at the rooftop park in twenty minutes. If you're really going to be the guy who sits in the room while I sleep... I guess I need someone to carry my bags so I can have an extra ten minutes of shut-eye."
She kept walking, leaving Agung standing there, the realization that he had just passed his first real test washing over him. He wasn't the master of the world anymore. He was just a guy carrying bags.
As Agung looks at the group—Maki, Umi, and the others—who have been watching this delicate first step, how does he feel about the reality that this process of "earning" trust is going to be his life from now on?