Agung's heart did a violent somersault against his ribs. The sight of the little girl—with Maki's unmistakable crimson hair and a pair of wide, curious eyes—hit him harder than any reflex hammer. He opened his mouth, a "Hello" or an "I'm sorry" trembling on his lips, but his voice died in his throat the moment Maki held up a sharp, silencing hand.
"Not a word," Maki commanded, her voice dropping into a low, protective hum. She didn't look back at him. Her focus was entirely on the doorway.
The "Executioner" persona vanished instantly. Maki knelt on the plush carpet, her medical coat fluttering, and opened her arms. "Hime-chan, come here," she said, her tone softening into a warmth Agung hadn't thought possible after the last hour of interrogation.
The little girl, Hime, scurried across the room, ignoring the "stranger" on the bed for a moment to bury her face in her mother's neck. "Mama... why is Papa sitting like that? Is he sick again? Did he bring the stars back from the long trip?"
Agung felt a physical ache in his chest. He clutched the edge of the mattress, his knuckles turning white. He had a quadrillion dollars, but he couldn't buy the memories this child was asking for. He had Creation Magic, but he couldn't "create" the three years of bedtime stories he had apparently skipped.
Umi stepped toward the bed, standing between Agung and the child like a living shield. She looked down at him, her eyes tracking the way he was staring at Hime with a mixture of longing and sheer terror.
"See this, Agung-san?" Umi whispered, so low only he could hear. "This is what a 'deadbeat' leaves behind. Whether you are a street sweeper from Java or a mogul from Tokyo, the hole you leave in a child's heart is the same shape. You say you don't want to be like your father? Then look at her. Look at what your 'other self' did."
"I... I am looking," Agung choked out, his eyes stinging.
Maki stood up, lifting Hime into her arms. She turned slightly, giving the child a clear view of Agung. Hime tilted her head, clutching her alpaca tighter.
"Papa looks... different," the girl whispered, poking a finger toward Agung's slightly chubby face. "His cheeks are squishy now."
Nico, leaning by the door, let out a sharp, dry laugh. "That's because he's been eating 'Interdimensional Instant Noodles,' kiddo. He's a 'New Papa' today."
Maki shot Nico a warning glare before looking back at Agung. The interrogation wasn't over, but the rules had changed.
"She's been waiting three years to show you the drawing she made for your birthday, Agung. The first birthday you missed."
Maki walked closer, stopping just out of arm's reach. "I told her you were away on a very important mission to find 'Creation Magic' for the family. It was a lie I told to stop her from crying every night. But now... you actually have it."
She looked him dead in the eye, her expression a mix of challenge and desperation. "So, 'Mr. Street Sweeper.' You have a quadrillion dollars and the power of a God. Prove to me—and to her—that you aren't just a shadow. Create something that makes those three years of lies worth it. Right now."
Agung looked at the little girl's expectant face. His hands started to glow with a soft, golden warmth. He wasn't thinking about weapons or skyscrapers anymore. He was thinking about his 16 years of being a fan—about the joy μ's gave him when he had nothing.