Kanata didn't even look back as she delivered the warning, her voice light and sleepy, yet carrying the unmistakable weight of a premonition. She just held up a hand, fingers splayed, as if swatting away a fly.
"Just so you know," she added, her eyes half-closed as she navigated the sidewalk toward the school gates. "The others? They aren't as 'patient' as me. Setsuna has a temper that burns through entire rooms, and Shioriko... well, let's just say she's spent the last few years auditing the 'Deadbeat's' financials. She doesn't just throw things.
She throws *data*—and it hurts a lot more."
Agung felt a cold shiver run down his spine, entirely unrelated to the evening chill. He looked at the familiar, imposing silhouette of the Nijigasaki Academy campus—the gates, the manicured gardens, the high-tech facade—and for the first time, it didn't look like a "location" in a game or a "set" for an anime. It looked like an institution. An institution that had, for three years, been the backdrop for the women he had neglected to be treated with scorn.
"Flying heels," Agung repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at Maki, who was already smirking at his sudden, palpable anxiety.
"You wanted reality, didn't you?" Maki asked, her tone dry. "Real people have real grievances. They don't just 'reset' their emotions because you apologize. You're going to be a human target for a while, Agung. And honestly? You should be grateful they're throwing sneakers instead of lawsuits."
Agung reached up to touch the back of his head, as if bracing for the inevitable impact. He realized that the "Infinite Stamina" he'd been granted by the Supervisor wasn't just for running or rescuing—it was for *endurance*. He was going to have to endure the anger, the shock, and the physical manifestations of their three-year-old resentment.
"It's fair," Agung muttered, his resolve hardening. "If a shoe to the head is the price of admission for a chance to actually *be* there for them... I'll take it. I've taken worse from the 'Deadbeat' version of myself."
As they reached the heavy wrought-iron gates of the school, he didn't reach for a "hack" to bypass the lock or a "cheat" to slip inside unseen. He waited for Kanata to pull out a set of keys—an ordinary, metal ring of keys that jingled with a mundane, earthly sound.
*Clink.*
The gate swung open, and the scent of freshly cut grass and laboratory chemicals drifted toward him. It was the smell of a place where real life happened.
Agung stepped through the threshold, his bruised ribs throbbing in protest, his singed jacket feeling heavier by the second. He wasn't entering a "stage." He was walking into a place where he was the villain, and he had no script to protect him.
"Twenty minutes until the meeting," Kanata murmured, not looking at him. "Try not to get a concussion before you get to the roof. It would be a waste of my time to have to carry you up the stairs."
Agung stood on the campus walkway, looking up at the dark windows of the upper floors. He took a deep breath, planting his feet on the solid, un-magical ground.
As they start the long climb up the stairwell toward the roof, the quiet of the empty school building begins to feel oppressive. What is the one thing Agung hears—or sees—that makes him realize he isn't just walking toward an idol group, but toward the lives he completely misunderstood?