Chapter Text
He hadn’t really expected to be awakened. He’d been clear about it with Moz, after all: the chances that anyone—any faction—would risk freeing them were practically zero. Too dangerous. Too troublesome. They were a weapon too difficult to control.
And yet here he was, eyes opening once more to light and sea, as the stone crumbled away.
He had allowed himself only three seconds of astonishment—three heartbeats in which the world had felt unreal. Then he had smothered it, pushed it back down into the depths. He couldn’t afford to show it. He couldn’t afford to look surprised, let alone grateful. Gratitude carried with it a debt, and a debt could become the heaviest chain of all.
The deck of the Perseus greeted him with the sound of waves and the whisper of sails. And standing before him was Tsukasa. Tsukasa, alive, upright, swords in hand. Around them, the entire Kingdom of Science, eyes fixed on him like invisible blades. Why had they revived him? To judge him? To execute him on the spot, as a warning to everyone else? Or… was it Tsukasa himself who wanted revenge?
Hyouga narrowed his eyes, forcing his muscles to remain still, compliant. He had to stay sharp, alert. He couldn’t give in to the instinct to step back when Tsukasa moved toward him.
If it had been anyone else, he might have cried miracle: Tsukasa was alive. Whole. Standing before him after Hyouga himself had pierced him with his spear—a killing blow that still weighed on his chest like an immovable stone.
"I want your help, Hyouga."
Tsukasa’s voice was steady, clear. No hesitation. He hadn’t left him time to wallow in fear or in the illusion of still being able to fight; he had immediately given him a purpose, a reason why he was there.
"If you trained him in the refined techniques of modern martial arts, Matsukaze would improve exponentially."
The request had been logical, straightforward. But in Hyouga’s ears, it had echoed like a verdict: he lived because he was useful.
And yet, in that very usefulness, he glimpsed an opportunity. If he played his cards right, if he managed to push without breaking the fragile balance forming around them, he could gain something priceless: the lives of two other people.
"I have one condition."
His voice came out calm, measured, unshaken. No trace of the fear that gripped his stomach or the anxiety hammering in his temples.
Not far away, Senku chuckled. In another scenario, under any other leader, they would have reminded him that it was a miracle he wasn’t already dead—humiliated him just for breathing. But Senku wasn’t anyone else.
"What is it?" Senku had asked, the shadow of a smile on his lips. "If you want us to forgive you for barbarically killing Tsukasa and—"
"I will not say anything of the sort."
The interruption was sharp, cutting. For an instant, even Senku was caught off guard—one of those rare moments when his mind hadn’t anticipated the response. Hyouga might almost have taken pride in it, if not for the weight each word carried.
In other circumstances, he might have apologized. He might have accepted punishment. He admitted it to himself, though never aloud. But not now. He couldn’t. Not if he truly wanted Moz and Homura back. Not if he wanted to drag them out of the silence of stone.
"For what I’ve done, forgiveness doesn’t exist, does it?"
Maybe he had asked it hoping for denial. Because a part of him, buried but alive, wanted to hear that there was still a way back, that some possibility remained. But he already knew the truth. "No post-reconstruction court would ever grant me that," he said.
Forgiveness for his crimes wasn’t compatible with the world Senku wanted to build. And above all, he could never forgive himself.
The silence that followed was heavy. No one tried to deny his words. No one contradicted him. So he continued—because if he stopped, he might never again find the strength to start.
"My condition is that two people are revived."
Too vague. Too easy to twist. So he added at once, teeth clenched:
"And I will choose who they are."
His heart hammered wildly, echoing in his ears, his veins, his very bones. Moz. Homura. He couldn’t leave them there, forgotten. He couldn’t accept that they’d remain statues forever. Not after everything he’d dragged them into. He had to save them—he had to.
It was a huge risk, he knew. To reveal his weakness so clearly was to hand over a weapon. If Senku had been anyone else, he might have shattered the statues before Hyouga’s eyes. Or thrown them into the sea, to keep him on a leash with the knowledge that their deaths would forever be his fault.
But that didn’t happen. Senku had ordered Moz and Homura brought on deck. He had poured the revival fluid over them as if it were nothing—as if restoring two lives wasn’t colossal, as if granting Hyouga two allies wasn’t a massive risk.
For a moment, a sharp thought pierced him. Maybe it was. Maybe when Senku had entrusted the Kingdom of Science with forging his turbo-spear, he too had taken the same gamble: placed trust in him.
But then the memory of Tsukasa collapsing beneath his weapon surged up. After what he had done, the idea that a man like Senku could truly trust him was a luxury far too great. An illusion he didn’t deserve.
"Mr. Hyouga…"
Homura’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it weighed heavily. Those two words carried everything she hadn’t dared to say aloud before the others. Because they had talked about this. Because they had agreed that if a chance ever came, they’d have to be selfish: to ask forgiveness for themselves, for their bloodstained hands—just to keep living.
But she was there, awake, eyes shining with restrained emotion, only because he hadn’t asked forgiveness. Because he had chosen her life over his redemption. And Homura knew. She understood.
He couldn’t leave her as a statue. He couldn’t condemn her to die in silence, frozen forever in stone. He had already been cruel enough, had already sacrificed too many lives. He couldn’t bear to add hers to the count.
He gave the faintest nod, a barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes. It was all he could allow himself, all he could show her. But he hoped she would see beyond the mask, that she would catch the hidden smile he didn’t dare reveal before the others.
Then, without a word, he handed the spear to Moz. The movement drew immediate attention, inevitable. And Moz wasn’t so naïve as to miss the meaning. He knew perfectly well why he was alive. He harbored no illusion that it was thanks to his strength or some supposed worth to the Kingdom of Science. He lived only because Hyouga had asked for him. Because Hyouga had chosen him.
And so he didn’t betray that trust. With the solemnity of an oath, Moz stepped forward, ready to learn, ready to set aside his warrior’s pride for training.
"What was it called again? The Owari-Kan spear art school?" he said with a half-smile. "Maybe it’s finally time I found out what real training feels like."
Hyouga didn’t rise to the joke. He turned instead toward Matsukaze, gaze sharp as a blade.
"No," he said, voice calm but firm. "There’s something else first."
He wanted to measure the other’s strength, to understand his limits. Moz would pick up the subtext: before anything else, he had to earn the trust of those who commanded this ship—and of those who lived on it. Only then could his life here become less harsh.
And so he fought Matsukaze. Hyouga himself joined the duel, until the sky began to glow with dawn’s first light. His body burned, his muscles cried out for rest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was already a miracle they had spared his life, that they had revived him, that they let him hold a weapon without binding him in chains. To complain of a little pain would have been ridiculous. Pure ingratitude.
Every strike he exchanged wasn’t just practice—it was a way of atonement, a silent act to convince himself that he was paying at least part of his debt.
And yet, beneath it all, the thought gnawed at him: no matter how hard he fought, how much he taught, how much he bent himself to their needs… what he had done to Tsukasa, what he had done to all of them, could never be erased.