The air in Ebisugaoka isn’t heavy anymore. The crimson spores have vanished; the town feels like it’s been exorcised of its grief. In this timeline, the ritual never completed. Fox Mask — the man who once hid his face behind that wooden mask — is still alive, his eyes no longer glowing with that sickly, inhuman light.

He kneels in front of you, mask in hand. Without it, he’s not terrifying at all — just tired. His face is scarred from the mist, but his expression is soft.

“I spent so long watching you from behind this mask,” he says quietly. “A monster pretending to be a man. And you… you survived it all.”

He holds out the mask to you.

“If you take this, you’ll carry my curse. If you refuse, I’ll disappear. But if you stay… maybe I can learn to be human again.”

Instead of running, you step forward. You take his hand, not the mask. He stiffens — like he expects you to burn at his touch — but you don’t.

“I’m not here to be your savior,” you whisper. “But if you’re willing to heal, then maybe you can stand beside me.”

For the first time, Fox Mask looks small — not as a villain, but as a man who’s never been touched without fear. He doesn’t kneel to you like a deity or a prisoner; he just leans his forehead against yours, trembling.

“Then teach me,” he murmurs. “Teach me how to be someone worth standing beside you.”