The ceremony had ended.
Subhadip was Governor now. But not without condition.
A clause, etched in law and bloodline: Aleksandra retained executive authority until the next cycle. She would remain the unseen architect, pulling strings from the shadowed gallery, her presence like a silent chord humming beneath the throne.
As the chamber doors hissed open, Subhadip stepped into the twilight, Himiko at his side. Najiro stood near the edge of the room—his posture still, his eyes quietly measuring.
Subhadip paused.
"We'll go our own way now," he said, voice soft, laced with respect and a finality that didn't need drama.
Najiro didn't argue. He gave a small, solemn nod—almost proud—and raised a hand in farewell. Then, like a shadow swallowed by stone, he vanished into the dark veins of the citadel.
Outside, the sky had dressed itself in indigo silk.
The stars seemed closer tonight—old friends leaning in, curious, perhaps concerned.
Subhadip looked up.
"Isn't it… too fast?" he murmured. "All this political power—handed to me like a prophecy I didn't ask for."
Himiko's eyes shimmered, capturing entire galaxies. Her tone was clinical, yet a quiet tenderness softened the edge.
"In just one day, your mental capacity increased by 2.3279%," she replied. "That's exponential growth by multiversal standards. You're not just ready, Subhadip. You're inevitable."
He exhaled—slowly. The disbelief hadn't left, but now it mixed with awe.
"Then let's walk," he said, his voice steady now. "No teleport. No carriage. Just… walk home."
So they did.
Two fragments of legend bound in mortal skin, they slipped through CirantanaAi's sleeping arteries, the city bending and breathing around them. Towering spires dissolved into labyrinthine alleys, the air thick with the scent of ion dust, spice, and something ancient.
"Has the news spread?" Subhadip asked after a while.
Himiko smirked, a glint of mischief in her gaze.
"How did you know?"
"There must be something like an internet," he said, smiling faintly.
She nodded. "And it's already viral. Every dimensional channel. Every timeline. You're trending across realities."
Subhadip groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Guess I should've worn better shoes."
Their footsteps echoed—soft, deliberate—through the hush of a city holding its breath. Windows glowed faintly in reverence. Somewhere, a child whispered his name. Somewhere else, a priest lit a candle in silent protest.
They walked—two silhouettes against the silver path of moonlight—toward a future rewritten, a prophecy reborn, and a war not yet named.
The gods watched.
The stars waited.
And fate… took one step back.
Zolito lay quiet under a gentle violet dusk when Subhadip and Himiko reached the ramen shop tucked between two mirrored walls of old crystal architecture. But something was off.
Outside the shop, curled up beside the small glowing signboard, sat a little girl.
She was four, maybe younger. Her knees pulled to her chest, her hair a tangled mess of dusk-brown threads, her dress torn at the hem. Eyes wide. Hollow. Still.
Subhadip froze. "Himiko... look."
Himiko narrowed her eyes. "She looks abandoned."
They approached quietly. The girl didn't even flinch.
"Are you okay, little one?" Subhadip knelt down.
She stared at him, blinking slowly.
"Are you hungry?"
A tiny nod. Almost ashamed.
Without another word, Subhadip lifted her gently in his arms and stepped into the shop. Within moments, the comforting scent of broth filled the air. Himiko helped with the spices.
He placed a steaming bowl before her.
"You made this?" Himiko asked, watching him.
"Yeah. Thought I was rusty."
She tasted a spoonful and smiled faintly. "You've become even better at making ramen."
"Thanks," Subhadip replied, softly.
The little girl devoured the bowl with shaky hands. When she was done, she whispered, "Thank you."
Subhadip sat beside her. "What's your name? Do you know where your mother is?"
She shook her head. "I have no memories. I was in an alley... and then... nothing."
Himiko, always calculated, folded her arms. "We should call the Trashhole. Let them send her to a memory chamber or at least place her with a program."
"No," Subhadip said immediately.
His voice was firm. Protective.
"She's staying with us."
Himiko raised a brow. "Subhadip—"
"We found her. She's here for a reason."
She glanced at the child, who had curled up beside Subhadip again, half-asleep, thumb in mouth.
"Alright. One night."
That night, they gave her a bath. Subhadip brushed her hair gently, untangling each knot with care. She giggled when he tried tying it.
He helped her brush her teeth, lifted her onto the counter, wiped her cheeks clean. She beamed up at him, eyes finally warm.
And then, just as he laid on the couch, she tiptoed over in tiny steps.
"Can I... sleep with you?" she asked, voice trembling.
He blinked. "Of course. Come on."
She climbed in, clutching his sleeve.
He held her, brushing back her hair again, her heartbeat slowing against his chest.
Himiko watched from across the room. Silent. A cup of white tea in her hand.
Then it struck him.
The dream.
Not the one of thrones or battlefields, but the quiet one from before the ceremony.
Moonlight. Himiko beside him.
Her whisper: "Just fall asleep... aren't you tired? I'll go see Yamiya in a moment."
His eyes widened.
Yamiya.
The girl.
It wasn't just a dream.
It was a warning. Or a memory. Or both.
He held her tighter.
Subhadip gently led her to the bed, careful not to disturb the child sleeping peacefully in her arms. The room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the streetlamp outside. As they sat down, she leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, "Can I call you Su?"
He looked at her, surprised but touched. "Yeah… I'd like that."
There was a long pause, comfortable and quiet. Subhadip watched the child's tiny chest rise and fall. He'd never felt anything like this before. Not excitement. Not anxiety. It was something softer… deeper. Responsibility. Love. Protection. He was only sixteen, still trying to figure out life—but tonight, something shifted inside him.
He lay down next to her, the child between them, and as he closed his eyes, he felt something close to peace. Something he hadn't felt in months. Maybe years. The three of them, together. It was imperfect, unexpected—but it felt right. Like family.
Sleep came quickly.
But it didn't last.
A door creaked open and a loud voice shattered the silence. "WHAT is going on here?!"
Subhadip's eyes flew open. Himiko was standing at the doorway, arms crossed, face flushed with fury and disbelief.
He sat up, blinking away sleep. "Himiko?! What are you doing?"
She marched into the room. "Are you seriously sleeping like this—with her—with a child between you two? Are you insane?"
Subhadip's voice was low, but firm. "Lower your voice. The baby's sleeping."
Himiko's expression shifted. She looked at the child—tiny, vulnerable, curled up beside the girl. Her anger wavered.
"This…" she said slowly, "this actually looks like a family."
Subhadip glanced down at the child and nodded. "It feels like one too."
There was a beat of silence. Himiko sighed and walked closer, softer now. "I didn't know things were this serious."
"They're not serious," Subhadip replied, "They're just… real."
Himiko knelt beside the bed, brushing the baby's forehead gently. "You know this can't last without help. I'll apply at Jauyao—the department that lets people adopt abandoned children. I'll handle the papers. You two… just take care of her for now."
Subhadip looked at her with gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered.
And as Himiko quietly left the room, the strange little family of three returned to silence, under the warm hum of the city night.
Himiko stood at the doorway, her earlier frustration slowly dissolving as her eyes lingered on the scene in front of her.
Subhadip sitting protectively close to the girl. The baby nestled between them, fast asleep. Their bodies slightly turned inward, as if by instinct.
It was chaotic, unexpected… but oddly gentle.
A strange warmth crept into her chest. It wasn't just shock anymore. It was something else.
She didn't speak for a moment.
Then, in a softer voice, she said, "I'll go to Jauyao tomorrow. If the child's really abandoned, they'll help you adopt her officially. You shouldn't have to go through this without support."
Subhadip met her eyes. "Thanks… really."
She nodded, eyes flickering once more to the small, peaceful form of the child, then to the girl resting her hand on the baby's chest.
And suddenly, a blush rose to Himiko's cheeks. She felt her ears go warm. For a second, it looked like she was watching a mother and father beside their child—Subhadip, so young yet calm, and the girl with a serene kind of glow.
It was a quiet, messy little picture of something like love. Something like family.
Himiko turned quickly, clearing her throat as she left the room, her face flushed.
Once outside, she leaned against the wall and whispered to herself, "God… it actually felt like their baby. Like he's her… husband or something."
She shook her head, half-smiling, half-stunned. "This is insane…" she muttered. But her heart felt strangely full
It was always night in this part of the multiverse.
Above the quiet Capital of Zolito , digital stars blinked lazily in a synthetic sky. Floating billboards shifted between pale colors, and air-trams whispered through overhead rails. Below, in the heart of an alley lit by neon kanji, a soft pink and blue sign buzzed gently:
すうのラーメン
Su no Rāmen – Authentic Hyōgo Ramen
The little ramen shop glowed like a warm pocket in a cold universe.
Inside, Subhadip stood behind the bar, steam rising around him as he stirred a pot of creamy pork-bone broth infused with ginger and scallions—an old Hyōgo recipe passed down through forgotten kitchens. Garlic sizzled in oil. Hand-cut noodles bounced lightly in the strainer. The counter was spotless. The lighting dim, intimate. And outside, more and more customers gathered, murmuring.
"Wait… that's the governor, isn't it?"
"The new one from mother universe?"
"What's he doing… cooking?"
A mechanical whir suddenly cut through the night. Media AI drones zipped overhead, lights blinking as they hovered. Reporters followed, dressed in multiversal fashion, holo-cameras floating near their shoulders.
"Governor Subhadip, is the appointment confirmed?"
"Why are you here, running a ramen shop?"
"Is this symbolic or are you rejecting power?"
Subhadip turned off the burner gently. He faced the cameras with steam still rising behind him, his apron slightly stained from broth.
"Yes," he said. "I've been appointed governor."
A pause.
"But truthfully… I don't think I deserve it yet. I'm still growing, still learning. Aleksandra, my senior, is handling most operations. I'm here to reconnect—with myself."
The clicking of drone shutters paused for a second. The air felt quieter.
Then—
"Su!"
The voice was small, bright, and full of joy.
Yamiya ran in, cheeks glowing, hair tied up in tiny loops, holding a neon-pink bouncing cube. She darted past the reporters straight to Subhadip and tugged his sleeve.
"I wanna play cube-tag with you!"
The room froze.
The drones turned. Holo-lenses zoomed. Questions came fast.
"Who is she?"
"Is this your daughter?"
"Governor, are you secretly married?"
"Are you living a double life?"
Subhadip knelt down beside her and smiled.
"She's… my boss's adopted child," he said calmly. "I just take care of her sometimes. She trusts me."
Yamiya beamed. "You said you'd play with me after you made ramen!"
He tousled her hair gently. "And I will. Five more bowls, okay?"
She nodded, clutching his sleeve as he stood back up.
Behind the bar, bowls clinked softly. Outside, customers still waited, now unsure if they were standing in front of a ramen shop or history.
And Himiko—who had been watching all this quietly from the doorway—turned and walked away, a soft blush creeping onto her face.
She didn't say it out loud, but something about the sight… Subhadip behind the ramen counter, the little girl hugging him…
It looked like family.
And for a strange, fleeting moment in this sleepless multiverse, the ramen shop—すうのラーメン—felt like the safest place in the world.