Ezra did what he always did when his mind refused to shut up—he threw himself into physical bor. The weeks after his trip to the core had left him with an unbearable weight in his chest, one he couldn't quite shake.

  So, he worked. Hard. He needed something tangible to hold onto, something to control, something that didn’t involve dreams, stars begging for help, or people with hooves spping the taste out of his mouth.

  Thus, the hover bike project was born. A fully functioning anti-gravity speedster that, if it worked, could outmaneuver anything on the market. If it worked.

  Ezra gritted his teeth as he adjusted a circuit panel, sweat dripping down his forehead. For once—just this once—he wanted to build something without—

  "Ezraaaaaa."

  Ezra closed his eyes. Took a slow, calcuted breath. Haru had entered the chat.

  The little gremlin stood next to the workbench, grinning like an imp that had crawled out of hell to torment him personally. Ezra groaned. "Haru, I swear—"

  "Can I borrow your phone?"

  Ezra blinked. Slowly, he looked up from his work. "…What?"

  "My phone’s dead. Can I use yours?" Haru asked, rocking on his heels.

  Ezra squinted at him, immediately suspicious. The st time Haru had his phone, he disappeared into a ceiling tile and nearly got them both murdered by Mr. Key. But right now? Right now, Ezra didn’t care. His brain was too fried to care. His thoughts were too heavy to care.

  He sighed, pulled his phone from his pocket, and handed it over without a second thought. "Here. Knock yourself out."

  Haru beamed. "Thanks, Ezra!" Then he skipped off to go do whatever fresh hell he was about to unleash upon the world.

  Ezra went back to work. And for a while, there was peace. Ezra worked in retive silence, the only sound being the quiet hum of graviton emitters calibrating around the bike’s frame. He let himself get lost in the process, tweaking the engine, adjusting the hover panels, anything to shut out the intrusive thoughts still gnawing at him.

  He tried not to think about the core. Tried not to think about what he saw beneath Mt. Fuji. Tried not to think about how Clover looked at him like she already knew the secrets he hadn’t even figured out yet.

  Tried not to think.

  But the frustration piled up, the stress sinking deeper, and before he knew it—He was about to make a very, very dangerous mistake. The hover bike’s power core was exposed, and in his absentminded frustration, he nearly miswired a graviflux matrix in reverse. If he had actually finished the connection, it would have destabilized the entire energy field, possibly blowing the entire b sky-high.

  Before he could seal his own fate, something tapped against his thigh. He jumped. Looked down. Haru stood there, still holding his phone, still talking to whoever the hell he was on a call with. But his eyes were on Ezra’s wiring. "Hey, Ezra?"

  Ezra scowled. "What, Haru?"

  Haru held up a finger, as if listening to something on the other end of the line. Then he spoke. "Ki Ki says to invert the graviflux matrix before you blow yourself up."

  Ezra froze. His brain stalled. His hands hovered over the wiring, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He looked at Haru. Then at his wiring. Then back at Haru. His first instinct was to tell the kid to shut up and let him work—but then he double-checked his own configuration.

  And sure enough—One wrong move, and he would have been atomized.

  Ezra slowly, hesitantly, backed away from the console. He turned to Haru, eye twitching. "…Who the hell is Ki Ki?"

  Haru waved him off. "I’ll introduce you ter." Then, as if nothing had happened, the little gremlin bounced away and went back to his phone call.

  Ezra rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply. "Thanks," he muttered.

  "Yep!" Haru called over his shoulder, already completely tuned out again.

  Later. Ezra sat on his bunk, phone in hand, scrolling through his call log. He had questions. Too many questions.

  And yet, as he looked at the recent calls list—His stomach dropped. There was only one outgoing call. A call he had made earlier that morning to Julie. That was it.

  No record of Haru making a call.No record of Ki Ki existing.No timestamps, no deleted history—nothing.

  Ezra’s grip on the phone tightened. There were only two expnations for this.

  Either Haru deleted the call log before he could see it—Or the call had never existed in the first pce.

  A slow chill crept down Ezra’s spine. He set the phone down. Laid back. Stared at the ceiling. And realized—He was never going to get a normal life again.

  Ezra sat at his desk, fingers drumming against the ptop keyboard as the call rang on-screen. He needed an escape. Something—anything—to take his mind off the fact that reality itself was actively conspiring against him. The call connected with a click, and Bruiser’s dumbass grin appeared on screen.

  "Ezra! Holy shit, man! I thought you got kidnapped by government agents!"

  Ezra exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You have no fucking idea."

  Bruiser leaned in, grinning. "Oh, this is gonna be good. Spill."

  Ezra did. Not about the star calling out to him, not about Edgar watching his every move, not about the existential horror waiting for him beneath Mt. Fuji—But about Haru, the little gremlin genius who haunted his every waking moment. About Clover, the hoofed security demon who had spped him so hard he saw the inside of his own skull. About the White-Coats, who were quite possibly, clinically, literally bat-shit insane.

  And finally—About how his Dad had, in fact, married a furry.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then—A thump. Followed by uncontrolble wheezing.

  Ezra watched as Bruiser colpsed backward in his chair, his entire face red from ughing too hard. "OH—OH MY GOD," Bruiser gasped between breaths. "YOUR DAD—YOUR DAD MARRIED A—" He dissolved into ughter again.

  Ezra groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. "Can we please move past this part?"

  Bruiser wheezed, finally sitting back up, still grinning like an absolute asshole. "Alright, alright. What’s the pn, then? You need me to knock you unconscious for a few weeks?"

  Ezra snorted. "Tempting. But nah, I was thinking… a game?"

  Bruiser perked up. "Oho. You tryna run Total War again? Beat the hell out of each other for three hours?"

  Ezra thought about it—thought about the mind-numbing strategy, the pure, calcuted destruction, the satisfying conquest of crushing his enemies beneath the weight of his superior tactics.

  And yet, somehow—It didn’t feel like enough. "Nah," he said slowly. "I need something… different."

  Bruiser squinted. "Different how?"

  Ezra hesitated. Then sighed. "I hate that I’m saying this, but… how about rolepy?" Bruiser blinked. Then grinned. Wickedly.

  "Oh, now we’re talking."

  "Alright, so here’s the deal," Ezra started, leaning back in his chair. "I’m the brilliant genius who just bought out the entire White-Coat organization."

  Bruiser chuckled darkly. "Oh-ho-ho, I see where this is going."

  Ezra smirked. "And you? You’re Clover."

  Bruiser froze mid-sip of his drink. "Wait, what?"

  "You heard me," Ezra said smugly. "You’re gonna rolepy as that authoritarian, four-legged, demon-woman who made my life a living hell."

  Bruiser cackled. "Oh, buddy, you have no idea what you just unleashed."

  Ezra cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Let’s begin."

  Scene: The Grand Office of Supreme Director Ezra Key

  Bruiser—pying the part of Clover—stood stiffly in front of Ezra’s vish, oversized mahogany desk, her hands csped behind her back, her golden eyes burning with restrained rage.

  Ezra leaned back in his throne-like chair, swirling a gss of the finest vintage liquor in his hand.

  "You look tense, Clover," he said zily, kicking his feet up on the desk. "Is there a reason for that?"

  Bruiser—now fully committed to the bit—narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms with military precision. "I don’t trust you, Director Key," Bruiser growled. "You have seized power through means I do not approve of."

  Ezra smirked. "Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it?"

  Bruiser huffed, shifting dramatically. "I am bound by duty, not by choice."

  Ezra leaned forward, grinning maliciously. "That’s right. Because you work for me now."

  Bruiser let out a low, theatrical growl. "You will regret this, Director Key."

  Ezra raised a brow. "Oh? Will I? Remind me again—who signs your paycheck?"

  Bruiser—fully embracing the frustration—smmed his fists onto the desk. "You insufferable man! I will not be treated like some—"

  Ezra casually cut him off with a flick of his wrist. "Shh. That’s enough out of you."

  Bruiser’s jaw clenched. "Excuse me?!"

  "You heard me." Ezra leaned back again, stretching. "Now, if you’d be so kind, I have some demands. First, I expect my coffee precisely five minutes before I even think about waking up."

  Bruiser’s eye twitched.

  "Second," Ezra continued smoothly, "I require you to praise me at least twice a day. I feel like our work retionship would benefit from some positive reinforcement."

  Bruiser gred. "You absolute, arrogant—"

  Ezra held up a hand. "Third," he smirked, "you will refer to me only as ‘My Lord Ezra’ from this day forward."

  Bruiser—fully immersed in the role—erupted into frustrated yelling. "YOU—YOU—UNBELIEVABLE—"

  Ezra cackled. Bruiser, ughing too hard to finish his insult, smmed a hand onto his desk. "Dude. I can’t take this seriously!"

  Ezra grinned, leaning into the camera. "Neither could she when she was bitch-spping me across the goddamn room."

  Bruiser wheeze-ughed.

  "Alright, alright," he gasped between breaths. "One more, one more—this time, make me beg for my job."

  Ezra cracked his knuckles. "Oh, you have no idea what you just unleashed."

  They went at it for hours.

  By the end, Ezra felt lighter than he had in weeks.

  The stress wasn’t gone, but for a while, he could pretend that his problems were nothing more than a ridiculous, over-the-top game. Maybe he had been onto something when he suggested rolepy. But Ezra would never admit it out loud.

  Ezra sat there, half-drunk on ughter, half-exhausted from the sheer ridiculousness of the st few hours. The screen flickered with Bruiser’s grinning face, but behind that grin, Ezra could see it—That quiet, knowing look.

  Bruiser had always been the kind of guy to joke through everything, but he wasn’t oblivious. And right now, he was seeing right through Ezra. "You needed that," Bruiser said, voice softer than before.

  Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was no real exasperation behind it. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, I think I did." A pause. Then, Ezra smirked. "You know, I hate to say this, but I’ve been taking your advice."

  Bruiser tilted his head slightly, amused. "Oh?"

  Ezra leaned back in his chair, watching the screen, his voice quieter now. "You said it back then," he murmured. "That this was bigger than me. And I wouldn’t have pursued it if it weren’t for your wise, sage-like wisdom."

  He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

  "Thanks, asshole."

  There was a beat of silence. Then Bruiser let out a loud, gut-wrenching ugh, shaking his head. "You ungrateful son of a bitch."

  Ezra grinned, chuckling under his breath. The screen flickered, but the warmth in the conversation didn’t fade. The two sat there for a few moments longer, letting the comfort of familiarity settle between them.

  Ezra wasn’t alone in this. And for now, that was enough. Finally, Bruiser stretched, yawning. "Alright, I gotta crash. Don’t get yourself killed in that insane pce you work in."

  Ezra snorted. "No promises."

  Bruiser grinned. "Wouldn’t expect any."

  With that, they said their farewells, and the call clicked off. Ezra sat in the quiet for a long time after. The weight on his chest felt a little lighter now. Not gone. But bearable.