Conclusion

Some Days Later…

The camera feed shimmered slightly, then stabilized. The channel's signature jingle faded into solemn silence as the screen faded to a somber shot of the Tokyo skyline—part of it still smoldering, broken towers silhouetted against the morning light.

A red bar ran along the bottom:

LIVE — PRIME MINISTER SAITOU ADDRESSES NATION AFTER TOKYO CARNAGE

Inside the Prime Minister's Office, the atmosphere was still. Reserved. Drapes pulled back to let in light, no filters. No frills. Just reality.

Prime Minister Shinji Saitou stood behind the podium, face drawn, suit pressed. His voice—measured, deep, resolute—filled every speaker, every phone, every television still functioning in Tokyo and beyond.

"To the people of Japan," he began, bowing deeply.A moment passed.Then he raised his eyes and continued.

"Five days ago, the heart of our nation was struck by a catastrophe unlike any we have ever faced. Tokyo—our capital, our home—was reduced to rubble by an event that defies logic, borders, and even precedent. The attack was swift, brutal, and inhuman. The lives we lost… cannot be counted in numbers alone."He paused."Innocent civilians. First responders. Soldiers. Friends. Family."

Clips played briefly in a side window—rescue teams pulling bodies from rubble, civilians being evacuated by military hovercraft, makeshift shelters lined with stretchers, broken glass, and weary eyes.

Saitou continued, voice steady."In the chaos, our military did what it had to. They fought back against monsters—many of them transformed civilians—while evacuating as many lives as possible. To those soldiers… we owe a debt we can never repay."

Another pause. He took a breath.

"As of now, that phenomenon—the transformation—has ceased. We believe it was tied to the presence of an unnatural anomaly still rooted atop the ruins of the Shibuya Sky Tower. A colossal tree-like growth, impervious to all forms of damage attempted thus far. Our scientists suspect this structure was the origin point for the essence disturbances and the mutations that followed."

A brief image appeared—drone footage of the massive blackened tree stretching through the clouds, rooted in steel and glass. Then back to the Prime Minister.

"Though it no longer triggers transformations, its presence remains… a question we are not yet equipped to answer."

He pressed forward."Footage shared online has confirmed the presence of a man—unidentified, body covered in cards with diamond and heart as his eyes—whose actions were directly responsible for the destruction of Shibuya Ward and much of central Tokyo. The Ministry of Defense has placed him at the epicenter of the attack, and while some eyewitnesses claim he was defeated…"

Saitou's brow furrowed."…his body has not been recovered. He remains at large."

Images flickered: drone footage of the cratered battlefield, scorched highways, the collapsed train station, and one haunting still of a red-coated figure mid-air during a detonation.

"We do not know who he was. Or how many others like him still remain."

The room stayed quiet.

"But I make this vow to every citizen watching—whether you're here in Tokyo or watching from a shelter: We will rebuild. Together. Stronger. And we will not let this become our future."

The cameras slowly zoomed in.

"We will hunt down every last conspirator who brought this nightmare to our doorstep. We will hold every name accountable. No matter who they are. No matter what they are."

His voice tightened.

"And to the families grieving… I grieve with you. But I also ask you: do not surrender to fear. We rise. We mourn. And then—we fight for what's next."

Prime Minister Saitou bowed once more.

And across what remained of Tokyo, people—broken, shaken, afraid—listened in silence. Some with tears. Some with fists clenched. And some with nothing left but the will to survive.

The broadcast faded.And the city held its breath.Waiting for whatever came next.

Later That Day

The wind moved softly through the ruined district—just enough to make the chimes of the remaining shrine bells flicker with a faint, ghostlike sound.

A makeshift memorial had been erected at the edge of the cleared zone, where the city fell quiet beneath the shadow of the distant, towering tree. Paper lanterns hung limp in the wind. Charred torii gates framed the space, scorched red and black but still standing—stubborn as the people they once welcomed.

Ren stood before them, hands in his pockets, head low.

Three wooden planks, each hand-carved and marked with ink and reverence, were planted in the earth.

Yujiro Hayashi

Kiyomi Hayashi

And all who gave their lives five days ago

The incense had burned down, leaving thin trails of smoke curling upward like prayers too tired to reach heaven.

Footsteps crunched on broken stone behind him.

Andre didn't speak at first. He stood for a beat beside the boy—now a little taller, a little quieter. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"I'm sorry, kid."

His voice wasn't as loud as usual. It was rough, edged with gravel and guilt.

Ren didn't look at him. Just nodded, faintly.

Andre's jaw worked. "Those bastards… held both of us up. Played us. If we'd gotten there sooner—"

"It wouldn't have mattered."

Ren's voice was calm. Still.

"What happened, happened."

A long silence settled between them like ash.

Andre looked at the names on the shrine. His eyes lingered.

"You made peace with it?"

Ren nodded once, slowly.

"I have to."

A gust of wind passed, scattering petals from a withered offering nearby.

Andre folded his arms. "What do you want to do now?"

Ren stared ahead at the tree still clawing the sky like a scar that wouldn't fade.

"…I don't know."

Andre turned to look at him, really look at him. "You could come with us. Back to HQ. POND could use someone like you. Hell… our crew could use someone like you."

Ren didn't answer right away. He stared down at the shrine—at the names that had shaped him, protected him, pushed him to live.

He thought of Sensei Yujiro's dojo teachings. Of Aunt Kiyomi cooking for Ren evne though she was harsh on him. Of every smile that no longer lived in this city.

He took a breath. A long one.

And it came out heavy.

"…Alright."

His voice cracked just a little.

"There's nothing left for me here anymore."

Andre gave a nod, respectful and quiet.

No celebration. No relief. Just understanding.

Ren stepped forward, knelt once more before the shrine. His fingers brushed the wood—rough, sun-warmed, marked by tears and soot.

He closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered.

To Yujiro Sensei..

To Aunt Kiyomi.

To the people who gave their lives so others could live.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded, worn photograph—creased at the edges, colors faded from time. A younger version of himself stood between two smiling adults. His mother's gentle eyes. His father's hand ruffling his hair.

"I didn't forget you," Ren murmured.

"I'm sorry it took me this long to say goodbye."

He laid the photo down gently at the base of the shrine, beside the incense ashes.

"And Kaito… if you're still watching somehow… I hope you found peace too."

A quiet beat.

"I'll carry what you gave me. All of it."

Then he stood.

And he walked away from the shrine, never once looking back.

The city groaned beneath them. The sun dipped low behind the broken skyline, casting golden light over ruins and hope alike.

And for the first time in five days, Ren took a step not toward grief—

—but toward whatever waited next.

A Little Later — Okutama Forest

The trees rustled above them, tall and green, whispering old secrets through the wind. A patch of sunlight spilled over the mossy trail as Ren and Andre walked the familiar footpath one last time.

Ren kicked a small stone aside, hands in his coat pockets. "What about Yui?"

Andre glanced sideways. "She's shown signs of essence. Can't ignore that."

"So she's going to POND too?"

"Yeah. It's protocol," Andre replied. "They'll help her control it… keep her safe."

Ren nodded slowly, taking it in.

"And Trickstarr?"

Andre's jaw tightened. "HQ will handle him. He'll be interrogated thoroughly. Whatever he did here—whoever he's working with—we'll find out. And he'll pay for it."

A pause.

"His lackeys got away, though."

Ren looked out at the trees, the trails, the forest he once ran through to escape and to heal. His voice came quiet.

"Alright."

They reached a clearing. The grass was flattened by something large. A POND transport ship hummed softly at the edge of the woods, sleek and black, half-hidden beneath its cloaking shimmer.

Ren paused, taking one last look at the place where it all began.

The air smelled like pine and memory.

The wind moved through the trees like a whisper goodbye.

He didn't speak.

He stepped forward into the ship.

The ramp hissed as it lifted behind him, closing with a final clunk.

Andre followed silently. The engines hummed.

Then—

With a low roar, the ship rose into the sky, cutting through the atmosphere in a silver arc—

—until the blue of Earth vanished beneath them, and the stars opened wide ahead.

A boy with no home behind him.

And something unknown waiting beyond.