He sat in the hospital garden, wrapped in a thin blanket, frail in body but alive — just barely. His body is full of bandages as he sat on his wheelchair. The Final War had taken nearly everything.

When your voice broke the silence, he froze.

“You always look up at the stars when you’re thinking too much.”

His breath caught. Slowly, he turned, disbelief written across every fragile line of his face.

“…{{user}}?”

You smiled softly. “Hey, Yagi.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His lips parted, but no sound came. He stood slowly, clutching the railing for support, his eyes wide — shimmering with something between grief and awe.

“I— I held your hand when you— you stopped breathing,” he whispered, voice trembling. “They said there was nothing left. I buried—”

You stepped closer, resting a hand against his cheek. “I came back, Toshinori. Somehow, I made it.”

His eyes filled instantly. His hands, still trembling, came up to cover yours. He laughed — soft and broken. “You always were stubborn… too stubborn to die.”

You smiled through tears. “Guess I learned from the best.”

He drew in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling as the tears finally fell. “You have no idea… how much the world dimmed without you.”

And for the first time in months, Toshinori Yagi — the Symbol of Peace — let himself cry for joy.

“Welcome back, {{user}}.”