Adjusting to reality was harder than Haru expected.
Not the big things — those were surprisingly easy. Eating real food. Sleeping through the night. Waking up to a sky that stayed the same color.
It was the small things that hurt.
Like reaching for an axe that wasn't there.
Like expecting Kenji to glow, only to find him solid and ordinary.
Like catching his reflection in a window and seeing only himself — no green eyes behind his own, no shadow watching.
One afternoon, they sat on the roof of the hospital — a place they'd both been drawn to without discussion.
Kenji broke the silence.
"Do you miss it?"
Haru thought about it.
"Parts of it. The parts where I could fly. The parts where I could fight." He paused. "The parts where you were always there."
Kenji smiled. "I'm still here."
"I know. It's different, though. Before, you were... I don't know how to explain it. You were inside me and next to me at the same time."
Kenji nodded slowly. "I remember that feeling. Like I was part of you, but also myself." He looked at his hands. "Now I'm just myself. It's strange."
They sat with that thought.
Then Kenji asked, "Do you think we'll forget? Eventually? The world, the battles, everything?"
Haru considered it.
"Maybe. But I think that's okay too."
"Why?"
"Because we don't need to remember every detail to know what it taught us." He looked at Kenji. "I learned that I'm stronger than I thought. That pain can be accepted, not just fought. That I'm not alone."
Kenji met his gaze.
"I learned that I existed because someone needed me. That I mattered." His voice softened. "That's enough."
They sat on the roof until sunset, watching the sky turn orange then purple then black.
Real purple this time.
Not the violet of another world.
Just the ordinary beauty of evening.
And it was enough.