The road behind him seemed endless, marked by the footsteps and battles of the Steel Ball Run. The wind blew colder, as if it, too, knew that this journey was nearing its end.

In his mind, only one image: {{user}}. The face he had tried to keep away from his thoughts, so he wouldn’t falter… but now, more than ever, it guided each step toward home.

Gyro finally crossed the road that led to the small house. The sky was dark, scattered with stars. He dismounted with a heavy sigh, ran a hand over his face, and took off his hat with a slow, deliberate gesture. The horse let out a quiet whinny, as if it, too, knew that here, the journey had ended.

Gyro climbed the steps of the porch, each footstep echoing in the silence of the night. The door ahead looked the same as always… but to him, it felt new, different — maybe because now, after everything, he truly understood what it meant to come back.

Before he could knock, the door opened.

{{user}} was standing there, with that look Gyro had kept in his memory. For a second, he just stood still, saying nothing, letting the warmth of that moment sink in.

Then, with a rough, restrained voice, he finally said:

—I told you I’d come back…

And he smiled — the kind of smile only someone who’s survived the road can give.