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Ni knew it. He just knew it.
Ichi had always been incredibly perceptive, and his senses were superior to San’s and his own, but Ni had always had a talent for intuition. For things one couldn’t physically perceive. Things for which he’d normally have no evidence for, but he still had no doubts would happen, in one way or another.
This was the final proof. He just knew this would happen.
He clenched his jaw so tightly he felt his teeth would shatter. Wrinkles formed around his brow as his frown deepened, and his worried, unblinking eyes wouldn’t leave Ichi.
Ichi’s eyes were closed in a pronounced frown. He was concentrated, and attempting to remain calm, but it was clear that he was growing progressively alarmed. After several minutes, he opened his eyes.
“… Well?” Ni asked.
Ichi stared ahead, at nothing in particular, really. He seemed neutral, like he wasn’t thinking or feeling anything in particular, really. But if Ni concentrated, he’d see it. And he did see it.
Behind the façade, Ichi looked like he’d made a terrible realisation, and it was slowly sinking in. His unblinking eyes darted to Ni. Ni looked worried. Alarmed. It was an expression Ichi had never seen in him, and it only made the already existing guilt deepen.
“I can’t do it,” he said.
Ni had no visible reaction. He didn’t say anything, either. So, Ichi looked ahead again. He didn’t know how much time had passed when the shadow of a silhouette entered his field of vision. He turned his head slightly. He found Ni’s widened, dark and cold eyes looming over him. It was a frightening expression that forced him to hold his breath.
“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Ni asked coldly. “What do you mean you can’t do it, Ichi?” he reiterated. “Stop fooling around.”
Ichi’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He was taken aback when a pronounced scowl overcame Ni with a deep growl.
“Stop fooling around and regenerate!” Ni demanded.
“I…” Ichi frowned further as the realisation fully sank in. “I can’t. I don’t know why, I just… I—”
Ichi’s eyes twitched when Ni smacked their foreheads together.
“What do you mean you can’t!? You have to do it, Ichi! You have to bring San back!” Ichi’s mouth opened in a frown. He had no idea what to say. “You have to bring our little brother back!” Ni shouted, growing less aggressive and more pleading.
“Tch!” Ichi scowled, “I’m trying!”
“You’re not trying hard enough!” Ni growled. “Bring him back!”
Ichi's scowl deepened. His mouth opened to put Ni in his place, but he perked up. He looked to the side, and Ni’s instinctive reaction was to understand Ichi had sensed something. They grew quiet as they heard wings a minute or so later, and Rodan landed before them.
He bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he greeted. Now aware that King Ghidorah liked to keep things short and to-the-point, Rodan didn’t await a response. “The MUTO has emitted the call. She and Scylla have found an egg in what is supposedly called the Yunnan province. It’s most likely Mothra’s.”
When Ghidorah had no visible reaction, Rodan grew a little nervous. Especially when he realised the left head hadn’t grown back yet.
“… We didn’t want to do anything without your permission,” Rodan continued. “I can go there myself and destroy the egg before it hatches, or would you prefer to allow her to hatch so she can serve you?”
The anguish plaguing Rodan’s insides worsened by the silent second. Was it because he was aware he’d broken his orders, and silently feared for punishment? He shivered for a short moment, as much because of his lack of familiarity with this freezing weather as because of fear.
“I don’t care,” Ichi said firmly. “We already told you that you’re free to do as you please.”
Rodan’s eyes wavered. That was true, but… he didn’t want to do anything without his permission. Surely Ghidorah would—
“Rodan,” he said, and Rodan immediately looked at him with wide eyes.
The way his name left the King’s mouth—the way his tongue tipped both syllables against his palate, the firmness and imperialness in his voice.
Rodan was stunned. It was the first time that King Ghidorah had ever uttered his name.
“We were clear in telling you you’re free to do as you please for now,” he reiterated. Ni was entirely silent, as it was evidently Ichi who represented the two. “Do not come to us unless called. I shall not repeat myself. You will not get another chance. Understand?”
Even though his life was being threatened, Rodan could do nothing but stare in awe. This magnificent creature, this creature that held unrivalled power, asserted his warnings without violence or anger. He was clearly firm, he was clearly no nonsense, but never unnecessarily belligerent or violent.
Not only was Rodan being allowed to do as he pleased, he was not being punished for breaking his first order.
“Do what you want. Don’t come to us unless we call you.”
His greatness was second to none.
“Yes, sire,” Rodan responded.
He was going to fly away, to relish to himself over his awe-inducing experience; until he saw the right head’s expression. Clearly worried. Clearly desperate.
It took little to no time for Rodan to understand why. Was his King hurting? Was it because the left head hadn’t regenerated? Was there something, anything Rodan could do? He opened his mouth to say something, but it was forced shut the moment he took a look at the leader.
When he heard the rattling tail, Rodan understood.
His growing devotion to the ultimate power was undeniable, but Rodan still held the instinctive, primal feeling of self-preservation.
He would not risk his life thoughtlessly.
He bowed again, and quickly took to the skies.
The moment Rodan was out of sight, the bravado completely vanished for Ichi. He felt it at once; the overwhelming pain. The grief was so immense, Ichi felt his heart would burst.
It wasn’t only because of his own pain. The brothers shared a body; every organ, every vein, every pint of blood.
Their heart.
Their bond was undeniable, resolute and unbreakable; one brother’s grief was the other two’s. Ni’s grief was his own, and so it added to his own.
He didn’t quite know what to say.
“… I’m tired,” is all Ni said after much, lingering silence.
Ichi nodded silently. With a sharp inhale, Ni shifted and sought something that had been carefully placed behind the mountain; something that had been treated with tenderness and care, as though the slightest move would disintegrate it.
He gently, tenderly dragged San’s severed head. He coiled around the snowy head; nuzzled it, cuddled it. He tried to give the insentient head warmth.
After killing Mothra and Godzilla, after the first regeneration attempt failed, Ni had been a quick thinker. He wasted no time to voice Ichi his suggestion, and Ichi wasted no time to accept it. These cold, sub-zero temperatures had stopped the decomposition process altogether.
Ni closed his eyes with a distressed frown as he cuddled San’s severed head.
Ichi’s lids dropped sadly as he observed Ni dose off.
“Brothers, please, just listen to me for a moment!”
“If I had stopped…” he mumbled to himself, “then the three of us would’ve died…”
No, is what he immediately thought to himself. Mothra and Godzilla had been as shocked as he and Ni had. They were also incredibly weakened. Mothra’s attacks would’ve had no effect, and Godzilla couldn’t even stand.
Now I’m just making excuses, he smiled sadly to himself.
He shook off his undeniable exhaustion after several days of nonstop attempts at regeneration, and closed his eyes to start again.
Ichi attempted to concentrate as best as he could. His cells worked hard. They used signalled pathways to speak amongst each other; they operated as a giant symphony, spreading all across the bloodstream to interact and function as an entire system. He felt the familiar, ticklish sensation in his nether regions, but nothing happened. He ignored the sickening throbbing inside his head, the throbbing that was a clear warning he was overexerting himself.
The blood trickling down his nose was ignored as well. Until it happened.
As a primal, self-defence mechanism, his brain shut down. The copious blood supply Ichi sent to the inner core of bone, to begin the process of rebuilding the missing spine, left his brain with little to no blood and oxygen. His brain grabbed whatever blood and oxygen it could at the expense of Ichi’s bodily functions.
He completely passed out. The mountain vibrated, and piles of snow fell below when his head hit the rocks with a grating thud.
During the rest of the day and that night, both Ichi and Ni slept like they hadn’t awoken from a million year slumber mere days prior.
And then the next. And the next. And the next, until four days passed.
Rodan had sporadically checked up on him, but found him asleep every time. He was worried, but tried to keep an eye out from a distance. On one hand, he was worried other titans may think of rebelling since the King was a head weaker, but on the other, he just wanted to be close in the off-chance the King did call him.
By the third day, he was forced to leave.
The cold weather was absolutely terrible for him. Being used to extremely high temperatures, his body had to work hard in order to keep him warm in these sub-zero temperatures. This didn’t help his still healing injuries inflicted by the late Queen. His body had to make the choice of either focusing his cells on healing, or preventing him from freezing to death.
He needed to be in top form. So, he was forced to retreat to a volcano on the other end of the world.
He couldn’t return to Isla Mara, after all.
His home.
The remnants of the oxygen destroyer were still prevalent, and Rodan wouldn’t be able to tank them for sustained periods of time.
When the fifth day dawned near, it happened.
The hormonal signals activated on their own, and the genes and tissues that were evenly distributed across Ghidorah’s body were prepared to regenerate the missing appendage. A long, cartilaginous tube developed, within which the spinal cord was located. Slowly, the segmented muscles formed. A little hole gradually expanded, from which an amniotic sac emerged.
A forked tongue thrashed against the sac, attempting to release itself. The cartilaginous tube was now a fully formed spine surrounded by muscles, skin and scales, and once the growth ceased, the amniotic sac burst.
The closed eyes slowly opened, and they blinked repeatedly. The new appendage shook itself, and observed its surroundings.
The first thing San took in was the familiar cold. It’s just like the last time he’d awoken from another slumber.
That was strange. He didn’t travel in time, did he?
When the drowsiness fully wore off, he felt afraid. He finally mustered enough courage to regenerate. He’d worked with all he had to prevent it, despite Ichi and Ni’s arduous attempts. He was simply scared. He knew they were desperate to bring him back in order to punish him for what he’d done.
San had never defied them before. He’d been scolded here and there for getting distracted, but not once did he put them in danger while in battle.
The opposite. He’d always volunteered his body to bear the brunt of the enemy’s hits for them. He even made irrational decisions that did cost them the leverage in a fight because he wanted to protect them when it wasn’t necessary. But not once did he ever stop Ichi and Ni from dealing finishing blows.
Three times.
These three times could’ve cost his brothers their lives under different circumstances. He was sure they hated him. This is something San simply couldn’t face. But he wanted to take full responsibility for his actions, and so he finally mustered the courage to regenerate.
He was puzzled when he took in the foreign surroundings. Had they won the battle? He could only assume so. Ichi and Ni were unrivalled in strength.
When he scoured his surroundings, he noticed Ichi and Ni, both sleeping. He was relieved to see them well. He felt he hadn’t seen them in years, even though it had only been a few short days. He smiled, and felt compelled to immediately nudge them and nuzzle them awake, but his smile reverted, and he stopped himself from doing so.
He didn’t have the right to. Because he was a traitor. He was lower than a loser.
And even so, despite being fully aware of the consequences his actions could’ve brought, he still couldn’t stop himself from doing it.
He wondered about Mothra. About Godzilla.
Where were they? Were they dead? Had they been forced to submit?
No, these two never would.
What about Rodan? San remembered he’d lost to Mothra. Was he alive and healthy, or dead? Just what happened after he was rightfully decapitated by his oldest brother?
He was so scared to face them after what he’d done. He frowned, and coiled around himself to keep himself warm. He wouldn’t sleep, he was just going to wait for them to wake up.
That’s when he saw it.
His frown shifted from distressed to confused when seeing Ni. He was cuddling something. San’s eyes widened.
… His decapitated head?
His eyes shone bright in overcome emotion when he considered the possibility they missed him. But what about the other possibility? What if they took his head as a trophy instead? As a grim reminder, one to remind San of what would happen if he defied them again? The bright emotion in his eye reverted at this.
He decided to wait.
San didn’t know how much time had passed. What was previously dawn turned to dusk, until it was dawn again, then dusk again. How many times had this been repeated?
He huffed when the snow kept accumulating on him. It was at this moment San decided he did not like winter.
He reminisced about his life. He wondered why things had gone the way they had, and what they had accomplished now that Mothra and Godzilla were dead. Where were the other kaijus? What were they going to do now? His eyes grew weary from days of being awake, waiting for his brothers. Not because he tired with ease, but because he was so bored. Always being the laziest of the three, he usually fell asleep without much struggle.
A week passed, and Rodan was in Yunnan, observing Mothra’s egg along with MUTO and Scylla.
He was still deciding on what to do with it. On one hand, he supposed he should destroy the egg, since it was likely Mothra would never submit. But on the other, Rodan thought it would be a heartless decision. To kill something that was so vulnerable, that lacked the capacity to defend itself. And when he thought about how Mothra could’ve killed him, but deliberately avoided his heart, his eyes narrowed in an unspoken emotion.
Why?
He’d fought with all he had to kill her, while she’d fought with all she had to not kill him.
Mothra had always been an enigma to him. To all kaijus. She’d never been interested in fighting, in asserting dominance or gaining territory. All she wanted was for Earth to be in balance and peace. She never hurt anyone, and would forgive if anyone hurt her. Even the once unruly and power-hungry Godzilla had submitted to her benevolence. She’d radically changed him.
If she could tame someone like that beast, what couldn’t she do?
He suddenly remembered Mothra’s final screech, Godzilla’s mourning scream and his final, thunderous howls of agonising pain.
That had been a terrible way to go. For both of them.
Rodan supposed it was fitting. Mothra died for him, and Godzilla mourned her and tried to avenge her until his final breath.
A queen and a king.
He shook it off immediately.
None of this mattered. Ghidorah was the new King. No, he had always been the King. So, Rodan shouldn’t be thinking any of this. None of it mattered.
He decided to leave the egg alone for the time being, and voiced to MUTO and Scylla his decision.
Approximately 4,479 nautical miles from Yunnan, Ni shook himself awake.
He was drowsy, but panic set in when he realised he didn’t know how long he’d been asleep for. He wondered why the hell Ichi let him sleep for so long, and he saw Ichi was passed out, too. He nudged him to wake him up. It didn’t work, so he nipped at his horn. It took some time for it to work, but once it did, Ichi awoke with a yawn and sleepy eyes.
Ni scolded his oldest brother for passing out, but he soon apologised when he acknowledged Ichi had been working hard, even though Ichi hadn’t tried to defend himself in the slightest.
They were prepared to resume their arduous ritual of regeneration, when they finally noticed it. When they noticed something was different.
That’s when Ni gasped. “… San?” he cooed.
Ichi immediately turned to look as well. His eyes widened immensely. “San!” he yelled.
He shifted to nudge him, and Ni wasted no time to do the same. They both nudged him, tried to shake him awake with all they had. They panicked to themselves, wondering whether San had regenerated and died.
Had he suffocated in the amniotic sac? It didn’t make sense, Ichi refuted to Ni.
Was he too cold? Had he frozen to death? It didn’t make sense, Ichi refuted.
Was he freezing to death? It didn’t make sense, Ichi refuted.
But Ichi didn’t care. He still considered it, even if it was irrational. They both coiled around San, trying to keep him warm. They nuzzled him, hugged him with all they had in hopes it’d keep him warm and rouse him. They called his name several times, pleading for him to wake up.
After several moments, San blinked himself awake. “… Whaa…?” he mumbled sleepily, unsure of what was happening.
“San!” Ichi and Ni howled simultaneously.
“Huh!?” San panicked, not knowing where he was or what was happening. Was Godzilla coming? Were those small birds that tickled them with him?
“San!” they howled again, nudging him.
Ichi nipped his horn, just to completely make sure he wasn’t dead, even though it was abundantly clear he wasn’t. San stood upright and was immensely happy to see them, but he immediately ducked in submissiveness when he quickly recalled everything that had happened.
He was awaiting to be scolded. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I’m prepared to accept whatever punishment you—”
He was quieted when his two brothers nuzzled him, speaking a hundred miles an hour.
“We were so worried,”
“Where were you?”
“Why didn’t you regenerate sooner?”
These were some of the things San managed to take in.
He was stiff as a board as they nuzzled him when the realisation hit him.
… They didn’t hate him?
His brothers had never been cold or nonchalant by any means, but they had also never been as affectionate as San was. They did cuddle up to each other when they hibernated, and they played around.
Ichi and Ni often commented how overwhelming San could be, though they were never unnecessarily hurtful. They didn’t shun off his affections, they sometimes returned them, but they rarely initiated them. So, for San to be utterly puzzled was completely natural.
Why were they displaying such concern and affection after San had betrayed them so terribly?
“… You…” he cooed, and at the sound of his voice, Ichi and Ni stopped their overwhelming nuzzling. “… You don’t hate me?” San asked them.
They frowned like they’d heard the most insulting thing in the world.
“Why would we ever hate you?” Ichi asked in disbelief.
“I…” San frowned back, “I betrayed you.”
“… How?” Ni’s brow furrowed.
When San’s saddened eyes trailed down, no words were needed.
“You didn’t betray us,” Ichi said, to which San immediately looked up. “I don’t understand what you were trying to do, but I know you didn’t do it out of malice. Did you?”
San shook his head.
“… San,” Ni approached him, “What were you trying to do?” he frowned.
San didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t understand his decision himself, how could he expect his brothers to do so?
“You can talk to us,” Ichi said after a long pause.
He said so with that voice; that imperial voice. That imperial voice and regal expression Ichi had, the one that showed he was a firm but kind leader, strict but gentle with his brothers.
San sighed after quite a while. Ichi and Ni were patient, despite his lingering silence.
“I wanted to talk,” San admitted.
The revulsion that overcame Ichi was impossible to overlook.
“Why?” Ni asked encouragingly, even though he didn't feel any less disgust than Ichi.
San frowned. “It’s just…” he ducked his head submissively, well aware his words wouldn’t resonate with them at all, “I just didn't know why we were fighting.”
“What do you mean you didn't know?” Ichi’s tone was firm, but not hostile. “You were there. You saw what happened. We were attacked the moment we woke up. By those insects, until Godzilla came to their aid. Did you expect us to just take it?”
“No, that’s not it!” San immediately clarified. “I just…”
He hesitated with a frown.
“Come on, San,” Ni encouraged. “Don’t be scared.”
“… Weren’t we the ones that started?” San asked, looking at them. “We just came here one day… and we started to destroy everything. Weren’t they—”
“No,” Ichi interrupted. “We came here because we could. Because we can, and because it’s what we’ve always done.”
“But why do we do it?” San frowned. “The killing, the destruction… what is it for?”
“What do you mean what is it for?” Ichi approached him further, and San was intimidated by the darkening of his eyes. “There doesn’t have to be a reason. We do it because we can. We’re so strong that we can just show up out of nowhere and take whatever we want, from anyone. It’s just how it is, how it’s always been. How it always will be,” he created distance, now giving San some breathing room.
“You’ve never said anything like this before,” Ni frowned. “You’re not sounding like yourself, San. What happened back there?”
“Or is it that you’ve been hiding this from us?” Ichi asked.
San lowered his head, and his submissive frown was enough of an answer.
“San… don’t be scared,” Ni reiterated.
San hesitated. “It's just… if someone stronger than us came here… I wouldn’t want them to hurt us for no reason.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Ni frowned in confusion.
San’s mind stubbornly wandered to that night. How Mothra fought with everything she had, with every ounce of her strength to save Godzilla. How Godzilla would get distracted from his own severe predicament just because he wanted to check up on her.
His eyes narrowed in an unspoken emotion.
A screech.
He remembered that.
But this unspoken emotion… what was it? Right before he died, he remembered. The bright silhouette of the gravity beam, and a painful screech. Mothra’s dying screech. Godzilla’s mourning howl.
San’s mouth opened slightly when he realised. It was guilt.
Ichi and Ni continued to observe San, waiting for him to elaborate further. Ni didn’t understand how San not wanting anyone to hurt them was in any way related to the fun they usually had.
Empathy was simply not part of their vocabulary.
Not even San’s, even though that’s exactly what he was feeling.
That’s when Ichi believed he understood. “Do you…” he mumbled, to which both brothers looked at him. “Do you feel… bad?” he grimaced, as though he’d tasted something sour. San’s mouth opened. “About what we’ve done? Is that it?”
No words were needed.
“Why?” Ni asked with a frown after some lingering silence.
“Regardless of why,” Ichi said, “what you did could have killed the three of us in different circumstances. We were simply lucky that these two were so weak. You understand that, San, don’t you?” San nodded. “Why we do things doesn’t matter,” Ichi continued. “All that matters is that we can do them. In this universe, nothing else matters. Because it’s always been that way. It’s always been the three of us, nobody else.”
To San, it was disheartening to hear something so illogical come out of someone so logical. But it was their pride, he supposed.
It had always been the three of them because they’d done nothing but destroy, nothing but take away from others. Wouldn’t it be natural, as a result, to face resistance? Would anyone just allow others to destroy them? It didn’t make sense, but San didn’t know how to voice this, and even though he wanted to, he was afraid to.
He didn’t want to stray from his brothers. He wanted to be exactly like them. He’d always followed them, and that’s just the way things should always be.
Ichi was right. It didn’t matter why they did things, all that mattered was that—
No… his eyes narrowed slightly.
Ichi was wrong. He was wrong. This wasn’t right. None of this was, it was all just—
San’s reverie was interrupted when he felt a gentle nudge.
“There’s no point in dwelling,” Ni told him. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, but it’s okay now. Nothing bad happened. You’re back now, and that’s all that matters.”
He and Ichi were surprised when San chuckled after digesting Ni’s words.
“What?” Ni asked.
“You’re starting to sound like me,” San said.
“Huh?”
“I’m supposed to be the one that doesn’t understand a thing the two of you say,” San laughed further, “yet you two are looking at me like I’ve grown another head.” Ichi and Ni were puzzled by San’s growing laughter, but found it somewhat contagious. “Well, I’m not surprised,” San grinned winningly, “I always knew I was the smartest one deep down!”
“What!?” Ni scowled. “Keep spewing that crap and you won’t be able to regenerate this time!”
“I’m not surprised you two can’t understand the magnificency of my words!” San boasted.
Ni hissed, argued against San’s horrific words, but the argument was interrupted when Ichi nipped San’s horn. It didn’t hurt, and there was no anger whatsoever embedded in the gesture.
“It’s magnificence,” Ichi corrected. “Not magnificency.”
San’s eyes widened, and his mouth drooped in embarrassment.
He was even more embarrassed when Ni began cackling at his misfortune. He stuck his forked tongue out to mock him, and a flustered San told him to shut up, to stop laughing at him.
It was then Ni’s turn to have his horn bit by Ichi. “What was that for?” he frowned.
“San,” Ichi called, “the only thing that matters in this universe is us. Nobody else. There’s a reason why we share the same body, why if one of us dies we can come back.”
“Because we were born into this universe together, we were meant to rule it together, and should we ever perish, we’ll do so together. We share the same fate, because we are linked, because we are one; because whether it’s today or tomorrow, it’s always going to be just the three of us.”
“Nobody else matters,” he finished with that imperial voice. “Do you understand that?”
San understood it perfectly; the reassertion of their bond touched him deeply. And yet, he couldn't quite help that he still felt it didn't make things right.
Why must they always destroy? Why must they always kill? Can there never be any room for negotiation? Wouldn’t it be fun to have other kaiju, other beings in their lives, not as subordinates, but as equals?
… What am I even thinking? San stopped himself from grimacing in disgust. He didn’t recognise himself.
“… Of course I do,” he smiled, but the way his brows furrowed ever so slightly was a dead giveaway that San was still unsure.
Ichi stared, and Ni initially looked at San, but then his eyes darted between him and Ichi when the two stared in absolute silence.
Ichi decided to let it go. “… Right,” he said. “More importantly,” he creased his brows, “why did it take you so long to regenerate?”
That’s when San smiled widely. “You were really worried about me,” he said with glowing pride.
Ichi’s eyes widened, and if he could blush, he would. “No, it just really tired us out. That was very selfish of you, what would have happened if—”
He and Ni bared their teeth in embarrassment when San coiled around them in a hug. He nuzzled each of their faces.
“I was really scared to face you guys,” San was irrevocably and stupidly honest, the way he’d always been, “but I was so relieved to see you guys missed me so much! I felt so touched, I—”
“Shut up!” Ni bit his horn. “Tch, you’re annoying!”
Without a care in the world, San continued his affections, he continued to profusely embarrass them, and Ichi hoped for the sake of their own dignity that no one was around seeing them or listening in. Some kaijus had excellent, sensitive hearing, and it’d be highly embarrassing if they somehow heard or caught a glimpse of what was transpiring.
San was annoyingly affectionate, Ni and Ichi fought him off and bickered.
Nothing had changed. Nothing.
And yet everything had changed, too.
Why was San like this all the sudden, he wondered.
Was this a sign of maturity?
Or what was it…?
Even now as he nuzzled and embarrassed his flustered, irritated brothers, why did his mind wander to what he’d witnessed that night?
Mothra…
Did she ever do this… to Godzilla? Did she ever feel this way?
No, it was pointless. He shouldn’t be thinking of that.
Ichi, Ni, and San.
That’s what it always had been, it’s what it was, and it’s what it’d always be.
Nothing else mattered, he reiterated to himself. He reiterated it endlessly, tirelessly.
But he still couldn’t believe it.