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The cold night enveloped the battlefield, and the pale light of the full moon gave everything a grim, ghostly hue. The silence was shattered by deafening explosions and gunfire, mingling with the cries of the wounded and the muffled groans of despair. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, as if it carried the oppressive weight of war itself. Fires raged everywhere, sending black plumes of smoke into the sky and painting eerie scenes of chaos.
"When will the petrification beam reach us?" Gen shouted to the scientist. "If, of course… the North American team succeeds..."
"Stop doubting!" Senku snapped back with confidence. "They’ll pull it off, we have to believe! It’s our only chance!"
As their comrades’ voices blended into a cacophony, a blinding green light suddenly flared on the horizon. Its brilliance was so intense, it seemed alive, cutting through the dense fabric of the night sky. The light moved slowly, deliberately, toward their camp, leaving behind a long, almost hypnotic trail. Everyone froze, their hearts skipping a beat as the moment stretched into eternity. It felt as if reality itself had paused before the tense silence was violently broken by the sharp, deafening sound of a gunshot.
Gen blinked, and that fleeting moment proved disastrous. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement, but before he could grasp what had happened, the sound of the gunshot echoed around him. His gaze instinctively fixed on Ishigami, and the horrific scene unfolded before him: Senku’s body was flung backward, his spine striking the cold ground, leaving behind a trail of blood.
The mentalist’s hands trembled as he froze, paralyzed, unable to look away. The bottle of revival fluid that Senku had been holding just moments earlier shattered from the bullet that had pierced his chest. Shards of glass scattered, and the precious liquid soaked into the earth, vanishing without a trace, as if taking their last hope with it.
Chaos consumed everything around them. Voices, explosions, and motion merged into a single, overwhelming roar that Gen perceived as a distant, muffled noise. The pain inside him was so intense it drowned out everything else, leaving only a hollow void. He felt detached from the scene, as though observing the events through a dense fog, devoid of time and clarity. Figures darted past, sounds reached him as though from afar, and flashes of light dimmed in his perception.
***
When everything suddenly came to an end, Gen found himself in a cramped cabin. The dim light barely illuminated the space, casting shadows in the corners. His heart raced wildly, his breath heavy and uneven. Echoes of the nightmare still rang in his mind: the gunshot, shards, the green flash. The mentalist ran a hand over his face, struggling to grasp that it had only been a dream, yet the fear continued to haunt him even after waking.
Lowering his feet to the floor, he slowly walked to the porthole and leaned tiredly against its cold metal edge. Outside, the bright full moon shone, its pale face reflected on the smooth, glassy surface of the ocean. The water seemed serene, its calmness starkly contrasting the memories of that chaotic night, which still held him captive. The sudden contrast was almost tangible, as though nature itself was trying to soften the lingering echoes of the past.
Taking a deep breath, he returned to his bunk, as if attempting to leave his unease behind. Now, aboard the Perseus, the crew was far across the Atlantic, away from the horrors that plagued his mind. Surrounded by the starry sky and the quiet ocean, it felt as though there was a chance to start anew. This tranquil and peaceful world offered hope. Gen lingered, gazing at the moonlit glow, before finally settling back in an effort to find rest.
Asagiri lay on his bunk, yet peace continued to elude him. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling of the small cabin, while his thoughts ceaselessly returned to the events of recent days. His eyes refused to close, as if afraid to once again encounter the images that haunted him. He didn’t know exactly where Senku was at the moment, but it was easy to assume that he was with Ryusui, discussing new plans and preparing for what awaited them on the other side of the ocean.
This thought brought a brief smirk to the mentalist's lips. He had always marveled at Senku’s determination and Ryusui’s boundless confidence — together, they were the driving force that propelled their team forward, no matter the obstacles in their path.
It still puzzled Gen how they had managed to overcome Dr. Xeno and his allies. At one point, it had seemed as though the conflict would drag on forever, yet in the end, the man had agreed to cooperate — a decision that had once seemed impossible. Even so, the battle itself had left an indelible mark on Gen's memory.
Gen took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those memories pressing down on him. It had been more than just a confrontation; each moment of the clash, filled with chaos, risk, and a tremendous cost, had carved itself deeply into his consciousness. Running a hand over his face, as if trying to release the burden, he quietly murmured:
"Truly... unforgettable."
The ocean outside remained calm, its tranquil surface seemingly opposing the storm raging within the young man. Time passed slowly, yet sleep continued to evade him.
Eventually, Gen came to realize that the deep-seated unease inside him wasn’t going to leave easily. Each time he tried to close his eyes, vivid images of the past flickered before him again and again. With a heavy sigh, feeling restless, he rose from his bunk, hoping to find some relief in the stillness of the night.
Without much thought, the mentalist draped his haori over the light yukata he was wearing. The fabric warmed his shoulders, though the chill buried in his soul felt far stronger than the coolness of the night. Silently stepping across the wooden floorboards, he made his way toward the exit, seeking to bring some order to the chaos of his thoughts.
Out on the deck, he was greeted by the fresh sea air, gently enveloping him and offering a faint sense of relief. Gen took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. The dark expanse of the ocean glimmered occasionally with the reflection of the bright full moon. He leaned against the railing, allowing himself to soak in the quiet, broken only by the soft lapping of waves. Here, under the open sky, his anxiety began to subside—if only temporarily.
The night was so clear that the horizon was easily discernible, as the moonlight seemed to push back the boundaries of darkness. Asagiri, resting against the cold railing, cast his gaze toward the endless distance where the sky merged with the ocean. In this moment, his thoughts froze, giving way to a sense of peace and serenity.
Perhaps he would have stayed there until dawn if not for the familiar voice that broke the stillness behind him:
"I didn’t expect you to be up this early, Gen."
The mentalist turned slowly, pushing away from the railing, and saw the scientist approaching at an unhurried pace, as if an early morning stroll was a regular routine for him. Gen worked to conceal the flicker of unease within him and responded with his usual soft, slightly mischievous smile:
"Of course, Senku-chan, where have you been hiding?" he said with playful ease. "Couldn’t sleep without knowing."
Ishigami stepped closer, quietly leaning against the railing beside Asagiri, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the ocean met the boundless night sky. The silence that followed was neither heavy nor awkward. Instead, it carried an unspoken harmony, as though both understood that words were unnecessary in this moment.
Gen, watching the dance of moonlight on the waves, finally broke the quiet:
"Just now finished planning?"
His voice, though touched with weariness, held a faint trace of relief. The mentalist turned his head slightly to observe the scientist. Senku gave a silent nod, his eyes drifting downward to the water, where the moon’s reflection shimmered and wavered with the gentle rhythm of the waves. The sight seemed to serve as a reminder that the future, like the rippling light, was enigmatic and unpredictable.
After a thoughtful pause, Senku spoke:
"Gives me chills just thinking about it… what lies ahead of us."
He ran his hand over the cold metal of the railing, as if trying to grasp the tangible reality surrounding him. His words hung in the air, adding a subtle undertone of anticipation and subdued excitement to the quiet of the night. Gen captured this rare moment — one where Ishigami allowed emotions to surface, acknowledging the vast uncertainty that lay ahead.
Lost in thought, Asagiri found himself revisiting memories. He recalled the night when the two of them had gazed at the starry sky in honor of Senku’s birthday. Time had seemed to stand still, and the silence of that moment was infused with something extraordinary. The stars had shone so brightly, as if they were ready to share their secrets. It was then that Gen had finally worked up the courage to admit something he had long resisted. He confessed to the scientist that his admiration had begun even before their first meeting. Senku’s intellect, his relentless pursuit of the impossible, his unquenchable thirst for knowledge — all of it had been deeply compelling. Day by day, as they worked together, that admiration grew, filling Gen with genuine respect and warmth.
Those words had been hard for Gen to say, but Senku had responded with his usual confident smile and a slight nod. In that moment, the mentalist felt his revelation was not just heard but understood. It filled him with a warmth he had not felt in a long time, a sense of relief that washed over him.
If you thought about it, Gen mused, their lives could have unfolded in entirely different ways. In a world untouched by petrification, Ishigami would likely have become a renowned scientist, captivating the scientific community with his brilliant ideas. As for Gen, he would probably have continued to mesmerize audiences on various shows, playing the role of an elegant mentalist. Their paths would hardly have crossed like this — stripped of titles, masks, and statuses.
In the old world, there would have been a barrier between them, a barrier likely insurmountable. It would have been forged from social differences, circumstances, and their pasts. But here, in this new world, where the shared struggle for survival had erased boundaries, those divisions vanished. Conversations became simple, natural, unbound by conditions. This was what Gen valued most — the chance to be beside Senku as he truly was, without pretense or façades. Here, they could talk as equals, as allies, and as friends in the deepest sense of the word.
Still gazing at the shimmering reflections on the water, Senku’s expression softened into a slight smile. His voice carried a calm tone with a hint of his trademark cleverness: "If you think about it, Gen, this ship and the stars above — a perfect combination. What do you think? Which direction should I begin building our first space rocket in?"
Gen chuckled briefly, shaking his head: "Oh, Senku-chan, knowing your obsession, I’m sure you’d turn the Perseus into a shuttle if you had the right materials."
Ishigami slightly raised an eyebrow, a spark of determination flickering in his eyes, as though he had accepted a challenge.
"That’s not a bad idea, actually. The ocean, in many ways, is like space: boundless, unpredictable, and mesmerizing."
Their gazes once again fell upon the dark expanse of water, illuminated by the silver light of the moon. The ocean gently rocked the ship, and their conversation, though seemingly casual, carried a deeper undertone.
Asagiri leaned against the railing, letting the moonlight highlight his face, and looked at the silvery waves playing with the moon’s reflection.
"You’re always looking forward, straight into the future. Meanwhile, I often find myself returning to the past. It’s strange to think that your brilliance and my charm became crucial in the fight to save the world. Who could have imagined?"
The scientist smirked faintly, his eyes drifting back toward the horizon.
"It’s simple, Gen. The key is to always move forward. Even if the world crumbles, you pick up the tools and start rebuilding it. By the way, you did an impressive job — better than you expected yourself, didn’t you?"
The mentalist offered a sly smile, though his gaze softened with a warmth that rarely surfaced.
"Ah, Senku, you dodge expressions of gratitude so skillfully. But don’t worry, I can read them perfectly between the lines."
For a brief moment, silence enveloped them — light and serene, filled with unspoken understanding.
Senku stood beside Gen, leaning on the railing, his focus resting on the calm ocean. It seemed as though he was waiting for just the right moment to voice what had long been lingering in his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak, his gaze still fixed on the tranquil water. This moment carried something beyond mere words — a connection that bound them before the vastness of the world.
"You know, Gen, I’ve noticed for a while now," said the scientist, his voice gentle yet serious. "Ever since you were awakened from the stone again, you’ve changed."
The mentalist felt a subtle shiver run through him but quickly collected himself. A smile, more like a mask, flickered across his face. Avoiding Senku’s gaze, he responded:
"Ah, Senku-chan, as always, you’re too observant. But I’m still the same Gen Asagiri, master of charm and intrigue. It’s just… this world wears you out more than anyone can imagine. I guess I’m simply tired."
His voice carried a carefully controlled tone, hiding the depths of his emotions beneath an outer calm.
The tone of his voice betrayed more than he intended, too even and restrained, as if a much stronger storm raged within. The scientist frowned, his piercing gaze carefully studying the mentalist's face. After a pause, heavy with silent tension, he spoke with a quiet but firm intensity:
"Gen, stop it. You know it’s pointless. I can tell this isn’t about being tired. For the past week, you’ve been absent, like you’re not even here. You’ve avoided everyone, averted your gaze, as if this has become too much for you to handle. I know you’re stronger than this. But this time… it feels like you’re not even trying to fight it."
Asagiri turned away, his shoulders slightly slumping. The smile faded from his lips, replaced by a shadow that mirrored the struggle within him. He took a deep breath, his eyes drifting downward to the gentle waves beyond the railing, before he finally found the courage to speak, his head bowed:
"You’re right, Senku. It’s been hard… sometimes unbearably so. I… I can’t shake these memories. The moment I saw you get hit — shot right before my eyes. And then… there was this void, this terrifying emptiness, as if everything had ended. And after that, I was trapped in the stone again… in the darkness."
His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on, pouring out what he had carried inside for so long. Ishigami remained silent, listening without interruption, his gaze unwavering, filled with understanding.
Gen’s voice had grown so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the gentle lapping of the waves, yet it carried such profound pain that even he struggled to articulate the words.
Silently stepping back from the railing, he moved a few tentative steps away. Under the moonlight, his figure appeared especially fragile. He turned away from Senku, lowering his head and hiding his trembling hands within the wide sleeves of his haori. The lunar glow highlighted his face, casting shadows on his cheeks and betraying a faint tremor in his movements.
"When I found out you were hurt… that a sniper got you… even that was hard to bear. But to see it happen with my own eyes, Senku-chan…" his voice faltered, and he paused, gazing into the boundless horizon. "In that moment, it felt like the end."
The silence that followed blanketed the space like a thick shroud, muffling all sounds. Only the soft murmur of the waves accompanied the moment, as though affirming its significance. The scientist stood motionless, his gaze deepened, fixed on the ocean.
Gathering the remaining scraps of his strength, Gen continued. His voice had steadied slightly, though it still trembled with suppressed emotion:
"Taiju, Ryusui… and all the others… they’ve suffered too, and deeply. It threw me off balance, left me feeling powerless. But you… you were our light, our last hope. And when you were on the brink of death…" he stopped, his words trailing off, heavy with emotion.
His voice broke off mid-sentence, and his fingers instinctively curled into fists under the sleeves, as if trying to keep his emotions from overflowing.
After speaking, the mentalist froze, as though the heavy burden he had carried for so long had finally lifted from his shoulders. For a brief moment, a quiet sense of relief washed over him, spreading warmth through his chest. But with it came another wave — long-suppressed emotions began to surface. Slowly, tears traced down his cheeks, and it was only then that he realized he was crying. His vision blurred, ripples of moisture clouding his eyes.
He struggled to steady his trembling hands, fighting to maintain even a shred of his usual composure. A soft laugh, almost a whisper, slipped from his lips, an attempt to mask the vulnerability in his expression:
"Well, there goes my signature charm, Senku-chan..."
No reply came immediately. Instead, Gen felt a gentle, firm touch moments later. Warmth spread as Senku's hand lightly tousled his hair — a quiet gesture of support that spoke volumes more than any words ever could. It was simple, yet in that fleeting moment lay the profound depth of their bond.
Senku, his gaze still fixed on the horizon, spoke calmly:
"I understand your worry, Gen. And, you know, there’s no need to hide what you’re feeling. In the end, we’ll get through this. Together."
Those words, straightforward yet deeply sincere, resonated in Gen's soul. He held his breath for a moment, feeling a soothing warmth wrap around him. It was as if an unseen shield had suddenly protected him from the chaotic storm of his past. He didn’t turn around, unwilling to let Senku see the emotions lingering in his tear-filled eyes. But inside, something shifted. A steady realization emerged — even amidst the harshest trials, he wasn’t alone. His smile became more genuine, though still veiled under a mask of his usual restraint.
"You’ve always been too straightforward, Senku-chan," Gen finally said, his voice trembling slightly but carrying a gentle warmth.
The scientist kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, as though reluctant to disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Slowly, he shrugged, turning further away, and spoke with effortless ease:
"Sorry, but that’s just how I am."
There was a lightness and confidence in his voice that had always been an intrinsic part of his character. Senku never sought roundabout ways; he was steadfast in his straightforwardness, even if it might sometimes unsettle others. Yet, that unyielding honesty was precisely what defined him — direct, without a shred of unnecessary pretense.
Gen, hearing this response, paused for a moment. Strangely, those simple words, delivered so casually, seemed to lift the heavy weight that had burdened him throughout the week. Taking a deep breath, he turned his gaze back to the ocean, watching the waves reflect the first glimmers of light.
The sky, once blanketed in thick darkness, began to transform. Breaking free from the horizon, the first golden and rosy rays of sunlight gradually painted the world in soft, warm hues. The moon, giving way to the sun, faintly dissolved into the brightness of the new day. The water shimmered with fresh colors, its gentle ripples moving in harmony with the rhythm of this awakening beauty.
Words weren’t necessary in this moment. They stood silently, each lost in their own thoughts, yet simultaneously sharing an unspoken connection that transcended language or glances. As dawn ascended, it promised them a brighter day, awakening something equally new and hopeful in their hearts.
Gen shifted his gaze to the rising sun, his eyes still damp but his spirit lighter, as though the burden of recent days was finally starting to ease.
"You know, Senku-chan," he said softly, a faint smile touching his lips, "sometimes you’re so irritatingly straightforward that I just feel like… hugging you, to say thank you."
Ishigami gave him a quick glance, raising an eyebrow slightly, though his expression remained calm and composed. Only the faintest twitch of a smirk appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Well, we’ve still got some time until sunrise is complete," he replied, his gaze returning to the horizon, a subtle irony coloring his voice.
Gen and Senku stood side by side, watching the sun slowly rise, painting the sky in soft golden-pink hues. The silence between them was filled with something profound—a connection that needed no words. The light of the first rays touched their faces, gradually filling the world around them with warmth and strength. Asagiri felt tranquility and peace seep into his soul, finally banishing the fears of the night.
Gen glanced at the scientist briefly. He seemed absorbed in the horizon, his posture radiating confidence and calm. The mentalist thought of speaking but realized that this moment required no words. Instead, he took a deep breath, letting the sunrise envelop him entirely.
Suddenly, as if sensing that Asagiri was drifting into his thoughts, Ishigami turned slightly toward him. Their eyes met, and that fleeting moment was enough to convey all the things too complex for words. Without saying anything, Senku stepped forward and gently embraced Gen.
The embrace was warm and unobtrusive, like an invisible gesture of support that didn’t demand a response. Gen froze momentarily, his breath catching. Tears streamed down his cheeks again, but this time he didn’t try to hide them. He allowed himself to relax, feeling the rare closeness that brought long-awaited solace.
When the embrace ended, both turned their gazes back to the rising sun. The morning rays bathed the deck in light, as if affirming that the night had passed, giving way to hope. This moment felt so personal, as though it should remain their secret—a cherished part of the new dawn, which would forever remind them that despite all hardships, they could find strength in one another.