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At 20, a human is in the prime of their youth. At 150, the same is true of a Ganma. Makoto and Alain have known each other for a decade by this point, but so much happens in their youth that their relationship feels like it’s started anew. After a year marked by death, everyone makes it out relatively unscathed, all things considered, and life resumes as normally as it can. Alain is obligated to return to the Ganma world to usher it into a new future as its leader, but he finds every official and unofficial reason to visit as often as he can. He learns about long-distance relationships for the first time, and is overjoyed.
At 30, Alain starts to notice fine lines in a few places on Makoto’s face. They’re so fine that Makoto himself doesn’t notice them, and Alain doesn’t say anything about it. Kanon is still living with them. She has an entry-level job, and it’s a little unsatisfying, but it helps to pay the bills. Even after 10 years, they’re both still just grateful to be in the human world again and everyone is happy, so a life of mediocrity is fine. Akari has long moved away to be a researcher. She calls a lot and visits rarely, and it’s nice when their visits match up and they can see each other again.
At 40, Makoto starts noticing the lines too. He laughs off Alain’s concern about them, saying it’s natural and nothing to worry about. He and Kanon are now leading a more stable life, and Alain doesn’t offer to house them in the Ganma world anymore. Takeru has fully come into his potential as the head of the temple, and without children of his own, has begun training a new generation to lead the temple after him. His experiences 20 years ago have made him much more practical, Alain supposes.
At 50, the massive difference in how they age is apparent. Makoto does his best to assure him that he had accepted this would happen from the beginning, but it won’t ease the weight on Alain’s heart. He tries to confide in Onari, who has calmed significantly with age, and while he is met with sympathy, his situation isn’t one any human could understand. Doubt begins to creep into his heart.
At 60, their tear-filled reunions start to become tinged with sorrow on Alain’s end. He doesn’t say anything, but Makoto knows. Death is a while off, hopefully, but Alain starts to feel guilty. He isn’t sure why, but the guilt is there. The more time marches on, the more desperate he becomes. Half a lifetime for his partner is equivalent for a few years for him. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. But even with the guilt and doubt in his mind, he won’t leave. Not yet.
At 70, his visits become less frequent. There’s unrest in the Ganma world, he says, and as their leader it’s his duty to quell it. Everyone gives him the benefit of the doubt. Why would they have any reason to do otherwise? The Ganma world is cold and bitterly lonely, but at least he won’t have to face death creeping up on those he cares for. During a particularly long absence, he misses Shibuya’s passing. Avoiding the issue of death won’t stop it coming, and with a heart filled with regret, he tries to stay longer in the human world again.
At 80, he is much quieter than he used to be. Everyone is still cheerful in their own ways, but it isn’t the same, and it isn’t fair. It’s all he can think about anymore. It’s hard to even look anyone in the eyes.
There isn’t a 90.
At what would be 100, he’s the only one left. Nobody has been forgotten by any means - they are all survived and remembered by the newer generations at the temple, by neighbours, by old colleagues, by external friends Alain never met. But his youth - their youth - is forgotten by all but Alain. His love, the only thing that protected him and helped him see the wonders of humanity so long ago, is remembered only by him too. Something once so life-changing now cold and irrelevant.
The world they inhabited is not empty either. Their old homes are filled with new families, and the temple is filled with new generations. Spaces that were once theirs now belong to others, the spirit and energy of the places ever-changing. All of this was inevitable, but Alain still didn’t like it. Many had jokingly expressed envy for his prolonged lifespan in the past, including Makoto himself. But what good was it now, when all he cared for lived only within him? Memories of joy mean nothing when they are just memories. Alain had offered to make everyone into Eyecons countless times, so they could be together for much longer, but they had all refused. Was it because they knew how lonely their existence would become? How miserable that humans had long understood the necessity of death better than he did.
Visiting the temple gardens makes him feel like a ghost. He can hear the new residents loudly discussing something in a manner not unlike how everyone used to, and it brings a bitter sting to his eyes. This is their world now, and Alain has no part in it. He had overstayed his welcome to begin with. Lingering by the small graveyard, he fishes his final memento of his time among humanity out of his pocket - Makoto’s old ring, from when he was younger and more rash and much more leather-clad. It had been a gift so long ago, when Alain had initially needed to return to the Ganma world. Something filled with Makoto’s spirit, so even in loneliness he would always be reminded of what was waiting for him.
Now, it served as a reminder of everything he had lost. Of how reckless he was for choosing the love of humans, knowing full well this would come and never accepting it. How humans, as weak and pitiful and irrational and selfish as he had once seen them, had never been as pathetic as he is now, crying over a cheap hunk of metal in a place where he didn’t belong. Their time in this world, their energy, will end here, he decides, wiping enough of his tears away to see around him almost clearly.
Alain buries Makoto’s ring in the temple garden, opens a gate, and never returns to the human world again.