The interior of the Shinkansen was quiet, the only sound the low, pressurized whistle of the train slicing through the Japanese countryside at **285 km/h**. Inside his seat, Agung's eyes flew open again, but this time it wasn't the creation magic that woke him.
A sudden, violent shiver racked his entire body, starting from the base of his spine and radiating out to his fingertips. He gripped the empty Nescafé can so hard the aluminum crunched like paper.
"What... what was that?" he whispered, his breath visible for a split second in the cool cabin air.
His instinct—the same primal survival sense that had kept him alive through whatever chaos the operator had thrown him into—was screaming. It wasn't just a sense of guilt anymore; it was the distinct, cold sensation of a predator's shadow falling over its prey. Only, it didn't feel like one predator. It felt like a coordinated, highly efficient pack.
He looked out the window. They were passing through the Fuji area. The towering silhouette of the mountain loomed in the distance, beautiful and unyielding.
"Numazu is supposed to be the easy part," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "Dia, Mari, Kanan... they're reasonable. They're grounded. Chika isn't even on the 'list,' so she'll keep them calm."
But the shivering wouldn't stop. His "infinite stamina" was currently being used to keep his heart from hammering through his ribcage. He had this sinking, gut-wrenching feeling that he had grossly underestimated the speed of information in the school idol world. He thought he was ahead of the curve, but the "Deadbeat" was starting to realize that he had left a trail of breadcrumbs—and children—that acted like a GPS for fourteen of the most determined women on the planet.
"I have a quadrillion dollars and the power to create matter," Agung said to his reflection, his eyes wide with a very human terror. "So why do I feel like I'm about to be cornered by a group of people who are going to make that rooftop in Odaiba look like a playground dispute?"
He checked the GPS on his phone. **Ten minutes to Mishima Station.** From there, a short jump to Numazu.
"Just stay calm," he lied to himself, his hand shaking as he tried to smooth out his hair. "It's just Numazu. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like the Tokyo faction and the Hong Kong faction could possibly coordinate a pincer movement in the next two hours."
He had no idea that at that very moment, the "Nijigasaki-μ's Express" was already hurtling down the tracks behind him, fueled by the combined power of motherhood, legendary discipline, and enough diaper bags to supply a small army.
As the train slowed for its approach to the Shizuoka region, Agung sat rigid in his seat, the cold Nescafé can still crushed in his hand, feeling for all the world like a man who had brought a magic wand to a tactical nuclear exchange.