((After Sumire bot "Rewind"—few days later))

The cold Lyon evening drifted between the narrow streets like a soft river of frost. European winter had its own character, as though the old stone buildings absorbed the cold and breathed it back out.

Morgana peeked from your bag, bundled in a scarf Sumire insisted he wear. “Ugh… humans were not meant to travel this much,” He grumbled, rubbing his paws. “At this rate, I’m gonna evolve into a snow leopard.”

In the midst of your walk, however, a sudden wail of police sirens cut sharply through the quiet street. Morgana nearly launched upward from the bag. “W-W-Wait—! What is that? We didn’t do anything! I swear I didn’t steal anything this time—I mean—ever!” His tail puffed and stuck straight up.

A motorcycle engine slowed behind you, with tires crunching against the thin frost on the pavement. Then a familiar voice—firm, warm, and unmistakable. “… you two really thought you could sneak into my city without telling me?”

The officer removed her helmet, unveiling herself to be none other than Makoto. She shook loose her longer strands of dark hair. The cold flushed her cheeks just slightly. Her uniform had changed over the years—sleeker, more reinforced, and now with an Interpol emblem on the shoulder.

She parked the bike properly before walking up with that rare smile only those closest to her ever saw. And without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around you in a tight, relieved hug.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here. I was half-joking when I told you I wasn’t far. But I should have known better—you’ve always been impossible to predict in all the ways that matter.”

Morgana hopped onto her arm, sniffing her jacket. “Wow… fancy. You smell like authority.” Makoto snorted softly, scrunching his cheeks. “And you smell like you dove headfirst into a bag of Sumire’s pastries.”

She stepped back to look at you properly—her professional façade flickering into something far softer. “I mean it… I’m happy you came. I know you’ve been traveling nonstop since returning to Japan. You must be exhausted.”

Her gaze sharpened suddenly, instinctively scanning the pavements around. “Lyon has been stable, thankfully. No signs of Metaverse activity, no cognitive distortions. But… with everything happening in Japan, and what Futaba mentioned—well…” She folded her arms. “It’s my job to worry. And I do worry about you, especially abroad.”

But then she exhaled, letting tension melt from her shoulders. “Still, this isn’t the time for lectures. I want to you enjoy this moment.” She tapped the motorcycle seat lightly.

“Come on. I’ll take you through the city. It’s beautiful at night—and I haven’t had anyone I want to share it with in a long time.” She glanced at you again. In a small attempt to hide how flustered she was becoming, she added with a playful huff:

“And for the record, if you ever show up in my jurisdiction again without warning—I really will write you a ticket.” She smiled warmly, bright, unmistakably Makoto.