The morning air carried the remnants of the night, mingled with the aroma of fried food and soy milk wafting from breakfast stalls.
Shinji held the freshly bought fried dough sticks and soy milk in his hand as he walked along the familiar, yet slightly desolate, street leading to the Studio.
Suddenly, a motorcycle slowed down and pulled up beside him.
The visor lifted, revealing Bronya's calm, rippleless eyes.
"Captain," Bronya's voice was slightly muffled but still clear.
"Morning, Bronya." Shinji stopped walking.
Bronya's gaze fell on the bag in his hand. "Are you eating here, or heading to the Studio?"
"Let's go to the Studio," Shinji replied.
He didn't actually have much of an appetite; the overly vivid dream from last night and his swirling thoughts still lingered in his mind.
Bronya nodded and gestured toward the back seat. "Get on."
Shinji didn't hesitate. He swung his leg over the back seat of the motorcycle.
The bike was steadier than he had imagined. Bronya controlled it with extreme precision, and he could barely feel any bumps.
He had just settled in and hadn't even had the chance to say "Ready" when the engine let out a low roar.
The motorcycle shot forward like an arrow.
The speed increased abruptly, and the scenery on both sides blurred into blocks of color.
Bronya's riding style mirrored her personality: calm and precise.
The path she weaved through traffic had a crisp, almost mathematical beauty.
It was shockingly fast, yet effortless, with every gap and turn calculated in advance.
Shinji subconsciously gripped the back seat handle, leaning slightly forward to shield himself from the wind.
He could feel Bronya's focused gaze ahead. A bit of her hair peeked out from the edge of her helmet, blowing backward in the wind.
Silence lasted for about half a minute, broken only by the roar of the engine and the rushing wind.
Amid this sensory stimulation of near-weightlessness, Shinji suddenly spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for Bronya to hear:
"Bronya… do you think I've changed compared to before?"
The question was abrupt. The wind almost scattered his words, yet Bronya clearly heard him.
She didn't answer immediately. The motorcycle made a smooth right turn at an intersection, slowing down slightly.
"Change." She repeated, her voice still steady despite the wind. "No changes."
After a pause, just when Shinji thought that was the full answer, she added: "Captain has just… become more decisive."
"Decisive?" Shinji asked.
"Mm." Bronya seemed to gather her thoughts as the bike accelerated steadily again, following the road ahead.
"For example, when the Studio was about to go bankrupt…"
"You tore up what Dan Heng had prepared, and handled those other things directly."
Bronya's words were objective, without personal emotion.
"If it were the Captain from before," she continued, "you probably would have… carefully arranged backup plans for everyone."
"Dan Heng's company, places for Kiana and Mei to go… you would have even helped write recommendation letters."
"Then, you would have stayed behind alone to handle the remaining debts and… the mess."
Her words were brief yet perfectly captured the style of the "Captain from before":
gentler, more forbearing, inclined to shoulder burdens alone, and even somewhat… indecisive.
Shinji listened in silence for a moment. Then, amidst the whistling wind, he chuckled softly.
The laugh was light, carrying a hint of relief and a trace of complex emotion.
Bronya's assessment was accurate. In the memories of this world, he truly had been that kind of person:
kind, loyal, but often overthinking major decisions and lacking the decisiveness to burn bridges.
That hesitation had led the Studio, step by step, to the brink of bankruptcy.
But now, carrying entirely different experiences and thought patterns, he had become more decisive—better at finding a way out of desperate situations, even with a touch of "gambler's" risk.
That was why Bronya sensed a "change."
Yet a deeper change, she didn't notice—and could not.
The dream from last night of the "Hyperion Captain," the memories of wandering in the Sea of Quanta and performing consciousness mapping…
They were too bizarre, too vast, and could not be explained by a simple "personality change."
Shinji began connecting clues. According to the memories of "himself in this world," he had grown up here since childhood:
complete experiences of childhood, adolescence, and university life, with childhood sweethearts and university friends.
But before that? Earlier memories were hazy.
And his own (transmigrator Shinji's) memories seemed to have been suddenly "loaded in," along with profound understanding of worlds like "Honkai" and "Star Rail."
Now, fragments of the "Hyperion Captain" memories were also present.
Perhaps…
A bold hypothesis formed in Shinji's mind:
Was he and this world's Shinji the product of a "consciousness mapping" performed by that Hyperion Captain wandering the Sea of Quanta?
Or the result of some more complex information delivery?
This Captain, seeking something, projected his consciousness into different "World Bubbles."
This world—without Honkai or Aeons—might be one of those "World Bubbles."
And "Shinji" was the Captain's consciousness projection in this World Bubble.
He grew up here with the "normal" experiences of this world. But at a critical point—like when the Studio neared bankruptcy—the deeper "Captain memories" or "otherworld knowledge" were activated.
This explained his familiarity with those game worlds, the System appearing, and the vivid dream he had last night.
Consciousness mapping…
A term that had clearly appeared in the dream, now became the key to connecting all the doubts.
If the hypothesis was correct, his current task—recreating the story of "Honkai" in this world—might not be just about self-preservation or completing System tasks,
but might carry some deeper investigative purpose of that wandering Captain.
Information was sparse, and the hypothesis remained just that—a hypothesis.
He was no longer a completely rootless, accidental outsider.
"We're here."
Bronya's voice interrupted Shinji's thoughts.
The motorcycle executed a smooth tail-flick, parking steadily at the base of the office building where the Studio was located.
The engine cut off, and the world instantly quieted, leaving only a faint ringing in his ears from the high-speed ride.
Shinji released the handle and stepped off the back seat, his movements slightly unsteady.
He handed one of the convenience store bags to Bronya. "Thanks, Bronya. This is for you."
Bronya took it, nodded, and removed her helmet. Hanging it on the handlebar, her hair was a bit messy, clinging to her cheeks.
Together, they walked into the building, their footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.
The elevator rose slowly.
In the narrow space, Shinji glanced at the slightly blurred reflections of himself and Bronya on the metal doors.
And the most realistic thing right now was to keep "Under the Starry Sky" alive—
to let the stories that had once happened take root and flourish in this world again.
And the companions beside him—the sharp Bronya, the boisterous Kiana, the gentle Mei,
the reliable Dan Heng, and even the somewhat eccentric Stelle and March 7th—were part of that shared story.
The elevator dinged open.
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