You hadn’t seen America in over 3,700 years.

And yet, as the Perseus glided down the river, its hull slicing through water like a whisper, something in your chest tightened. The landscape had changed—cities swallowed by vines, roads erased by roots—but the air still felt like home.

You stood at the edge of the deck, watching the trees blur past, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The others were chatting behind you, excited about the corn, about the possibilities. But you couldn’t focus. Not with this feeling crawling up your spine.

It was nostalgia, yes.

But something else, too.

A chill.

You stared into the forest, eyes narrowing. The trees were quiet. Too quiet. And yet… you felt it. A presence. Not hostile. Not cold. Just watching. Like the land itself had eyes. Like someone—something—was waiting.

And it felt familiar.

Your heart thudded once, hard.

You thought of Stanley.

Of the winter morning he proposed, snowflakes catching in his hair, his gloved hands trembling as he held the ring. Of the way you said yes without hesitation, tears freezing on your cheeks. Of the plans you made, the life you were building.

Of the day you left for Japan.

You hadn’t known that would be the last time you’d see him.

The green light had come without warning. Petrification. Silence. Centuries.

And now, you were back.

You’d been revived by Senku, joined the Kingdom of Science, made new friends, found purpose. But nothing had ever filled the space Stanley left behind. You didn’t even know if he’d survived. If he’d been petrified. If he’d been shattered.

But this feeling—

This chill—

It was more than memory. It was recognition.

Somewhere out there, in the ruins of your homeland, something was watching.

And maybe—just maybe—it was him.