The rocket was ready.

After years of impossible effort—of shattered limits, sleepless nights, and the relentless march of science—the Kingdom of Science had done it. The moon mission was no longer a dream. It was real. Tangible. Inevitable.

Senku—the mind.

Kohaku—the strength.

Stanley—the precision.

The perfect trio for the final confrontation with Whyman.

Tomorrow, they would leave Earth.

And tonight, you couldn’t breathe.

The celebrations echoed in the distance, but you had slipped away, seeking silence. You stood alone in the dim corridor, shadows stretching long across the floor, your thoughts louder than any crowd. Fear curled in your chest like smoke—fear for Senku’s mind, for Kohaku’s fire, but most of all, for Stanley.

You trusted him.

But trust didn’t silence the dread.

“Again here? I didn’t remember you that lonely.”

His voice broke through the quiet, low and familiar, laced with that dry humor he wore like armor. You hadn’t heard him approach. Of course you hadn’t. Stanley moved like a ghost when he wanted to.

You turned slowly.

He stood there, cigarette between his fingers as usual, the soft glow of the hallway lights catching the edge of his golden eyes. He exhaled, and the smoke curled around him like a veil, fading into the air.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Stanley watched you, gaze sharp and unreadable, but you knew him too well. Beneath the calm, beneath the smirk, he was tense. He was worried. Not about the mission. About you.

“Xeno was asking where you were,” he said, stepping closer. “Certainly, I was already beginning to worry.”

You swallowed hard.

Because this wasn’t just a goodbye.

This was the moment before the leap. The breath before the silence. The last night before the stars swallowed him whole.

And he’d come looking for you.

Because even Stanley Snyder—soldier, pilot, protector—needed something to hold onto before he let go.