—
The sunrise over Tokyo was gentle—like the world itself had exhaled.
Birds returned. Skies cleared. And the chaos that once ripped through time and space now felt like a distant nightmare.
Hoshiro stood on a rooftop, mask dangling at his side. The weight of a hundred timelines pressed on his shoulders, but for the first time… it didn't crush him.
Ayame appeared beside him, bruised but smiling. "You did it."
"No," Hoshiro said, "*we* did."
Kazuki's voice echoed from the stairwell behind. "Guys, you won't believe this—but the news is calling you a *guardian spirit*. Some people think you're an alien."
"I've been called worse," Hoshiro muttered with a grin.
—
Down below, the city slowly began to heal. The Crimson Syndicate had vanished. The gods retreated. And balance—though fragile—had returned.
Ayame turned to him. "What happens now?"
Hoshiro looked out at the skyline. "Now? I live. Train. Laugh. Love. Protect."
"Even without a mask?"
He nodded. "Especially without it."
—
But in the deepest part of the old vault, behind every locked memory and shattered echo… a spark remained.
A whisper.
*A new Idea had been born.*
—