Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(11/1/24: We now have cover art! Commissioned from Expo (lethalexposure)!)

A bright light coated the night sky in white. The flare lasted perhaps half a second, but as though the moment had been captured with a camera’s flash, that half a second would remain in Sergeant Major Kururu’s mind for the rest of his life.

Even through his specialized glasses, the flash obscured Kururu’s vision with cloudy blobs. Still, he pressed onward at full speed, his mecha thrown into overdrive. At that point, he was still so laser focused on making it in time, he failed to register what had really just happened. A green dot representing his destination blipped on his pocket tablet, which was attached to his dashboard. One more minute. At his current velocity, that’s all he needed. 

It wasn’t until an intense gust of air blew directly into his face that the sergeant major instinctively yanked back the Kururu Robo’s thrusters. He gripped the handlebars as the short stop sent him lurching forward. His sight was still clearing, and his glasses had almost fallen off his face, but the expanding sea of red and yellow just meters below was unmistakable. The hot air from the blast came close enough to tickle his feet, but the fire was just far enough away that he and his vehicle were unharmed, leaving him no need to activate his shields.

That’s when the realization began to set in.

Arrested in midair, Kururu watched helplessly as the fireball began to fizzle out. Time slowed to a crawl. His heartbeat rang in his ears at a tempo at least triple that of the GPS’s beeps. That was the first sign the sound had been restored, though such reasoning wasn’t occurring to Kururu at the moment. 

Eventually, the fireball was reduced to nothing but a lingering breeze, and just below Kururu was a seemingly endless field of charred sand and giant glyph-shaped stones. 

There was no one else in sight. 

After having been stunned into a complete lack of coherent thought for a bit, a single word reverberated through Kururu’s mind—

Shit.

Kururu shoved the thrusters forward once more, all but nose-diving toward the ground. He pulled up just in time to avoid crashing, though the bottom of the mecha did skid, kicking up black sand in the process. While the mecha was still slowing against the inertia, Kururu wasted no time in leaping out of his seat. His knees buckled on the jump, and he soon found himself with a mouthful of charcoal. He didn’t let his two successive less-than-graceful landings faze him at all, and with more arm strength than he realized he had, the Keronian pushed himself onto his feet like a spring, wobbling slightly as he reoriented himself.

Rather ironically given the situation, Kururu was surrounded by overwhelming near silence, with nothing but the dim whirring of his shoddily parked mecha filling the void. Add in the weight pushing down on his chest, and it was almost like being in a black hole. He swiveled his head around, looking for any sign whatsoever that he wasn’t alone. None came. He parted his lips, and the brittle air rushed through the gaps in his clenched teeth.

“Fuck.” 

Kururu’s utterance came out low and gravelly, a voice so unlike his usual that, under different circumstances, he might have laughed at himself. But now he could hardly breathe, let alone laugh. Against his better judgment, he whipped out his pocket device and checked the display, which was set to show the status of the energy readings coming from the old reality pen. Sure enough, a red-bordered box reading No signal detected flashed on the screen. Even supposing the pen itself had broken prior to the explosion, even small shards of Koredinite radiated the same energy, however faint. The most likely explanation was that the mineral had disintegrated beyond recognizability.

Kururu grunted and hastily tossed the device onto the ground. He then pressed a combination of buttons on his headphones, exposing their antennae, which instantly turned into mini helicopter blades.

“Shit. Fuck. No, no, fuck, shit.”

He muttered to himself endlessly as he patrolled the area as quickly as his backup flight mechanism could carry him. He checked around every one of the stone glyphs the sand was littered with. Over. Under. Behind. He took great care not to leave a single inch of ground uncovered. He was on autopilot. Pure desperation fueled him.

Eventually, Kururu realized the search would remain fruitless. He descended near the device he had haphazardly dropped before and recovered it. His hands shook as he fiddled with the screen, attempting to open up the phone function. 

Against all logic, Kururu bargained with himself. Maybe the boy had outrun the explosion somehow, using whatever last bit of energy was in his pen to escape. He was quite agile for a Pekoponian, to the point where Kururu questioned if he even was one. If he was indeed pure-blooded, perhaps he had undergone some alien tampering before the Keronians’ arrival. That was Kururu’s speculation, at least. He never got around to confirming it. He decided against asking directly—it was something he wanted the satisfaction of figuring out on his own, and he wasn’t sure if he would get an honest answer anyway. He just needed more time.

He had to have more time. 

Kururu punched 326 into his contact field and jammed his finger into the dial button. He put the device up to his ear. One ring. Two rings. Three. Four. Beep. The default robotic voice of the answering machine played through the speakers.

Kururu hung up, then called again. And again. And again. After hearing the answering machine’s droning spiel for the tenth time, he cried out and chucked the device as far as he could. It ended up slamming right into the metal body of the Kururu Robo. It didn’t break. A mere collision wasn’t enough to shatter the near invincible alloy the inventor had built his pocket pad with. It was honed to perfection, like most of his gadgets. They only malfunctioned because he allowed them to. He designed many of his inventions with the ability to act outside the bounds of their original programming because it was more interesting that way. In other cases, he just couldn’t be bothered to iron out certain issues.

If Kururu really needed something to work with a hundred-percent success rate, however, he had no difficulty doing so. He could do anything he put his mind to. He was a super genius. A miracle worker. He always pulled through. He didn’t fail. He refused to fail.

Therefore, the intelligence officer concluded, none of this was really happening. He finally managed to chuckle to himself, despite nearly choking as he did so. Of course he made it in time. He fixed his mistake. He did it right. He was just dreaming. Or hallucinating. He was pretty tired. Very tired, in fact.

Kururu’s head began to feel numb. His vision started to flicker. He felt his back hit the ground. The sand was more soft and inviting than he had expected. 

Saburo couldn’t have been dead. That would be really stupid.

And then the world faded to black.

Kururu awoke to the sensation of the wind lapping against his body. As he slowly opened his eyes, he was greeted by a flurry of blurry white smears in the navy sky. Confusion set in as his senses returned to him one by one. What had just happened? Why was he in the air? Was that jet thrusters he was hearing? 

He soon noticed there was a sensation against his chin that was both squishy and…clothy? He couldn’t have been in bed. His living quarters certainly didn’t look like a knockoff Van Gogh canvas.

Kururu must have either shifted or groaned audibly, because a voice piped up—

“Kururu-dono! Are you awake?”

“Nwhuh?!” The startled yellow Keronian bolted up, only for the back of his head to bump against metal with a soft thud. Now both perplexed and dizzy, he reached up to rub his head. As the roar of the engine slowed, he felt his body sway, tilting over the side of his mecha’s seat. 

“Kururu-dono! Be careful!” 

With razor-sharp reflexes, the figure sitting in front of Kururu twisted around slightly and stuck his arm out behind him to block the shaken sergeant major’s fall, then slowly propped Kururu up to balance his limp form between his backside and the metal face of the mech.

“Easy, now. Grab me.”

Kururu managed to settle into a straighter position, and his hands clumsily found their way to a pair of shoulders, which he clutched for dear life. Although his head throbbed, he was now conscious enough to identify who had lifted him, as the pre-dawn moonlight illuminated the fellow Keronian’s flowing silver headdress and bright blue skin.

“Dororo…?”

“Yes. It’s me.” Lance Corporal Dororo’s soft voice was just a notch louder than the humming of the hovering mecha, still stopped in place. “Are you all right? Thank goodness I found you when I did. I was really—”

Dororo was interrupted by a sudden gasp from Kururu, making the blue ninja jump a little, but just lightly enough to avoid bucking his platoon mate. He felt the pressure on his shoulders increase. 

“Move.” 

“P-pardon?” Dororo stammered.

“Lemme pilot.” Kururu attempted to separate his bottom from the makeshift pillion that was the hump of his vehicle, aiming to straddle the pilot’s seat. He was fully awake now, and only one thing was on his mind. “I gotta save him.”

“What? Save who?” Dororo asked. “I didn’t see any—whoa!”

Dororo felt something wrap tightly around both of his forearms. Looking down at the handlebars, he saw wires extending from Kururu’s headphones coiled around his upper limbs like boa constrictors, shaking with tension as they attempted to pry Dororo away from the controls. The assailant himself had one hand pressed down hard on Dororo’s head and one leg halfway in the air as he struggled to climb up and over the ninja’s body. 

“I don’t owe you any answers,” Kururu growled. “Get the hell out of my way!” 

Dororo was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Kururu to be so spry right upon awakening, let alone with uncharacteristic physical aggression.

“Please, Kururu-dono, settle down!” he pleaded as he tried to push back against the yellow Keronian’s advance. “At least tell me—”

“There’s no time, damn it!”

“Tell me you weren’t harmed in that explosion!”

Suddenly, Kururu’s movements ceased, though his wires remained around Dororo’s arms.

“…Explosion?” 

Now that Kururu was no longer wrestling him, Dororo finally had an opening to speak. He cleared his throat.

“After you took off from the base, I returned home, but I was too worked up to sleep. When the sound disappeared again, I went into the woods to meditate…and then I felt the explosion.”

The gears in Kururu’s mind began to turn. It already happened?

The wires around Dororo’s arm loosened. “Go on,” Kururu prompted.

“The disturbance in the air was palpable, even from a great distance,” Dororo said. “The sound returned shortly after that. I figured you had something to do with it.”

Kururu squirmed uncomfortably. “So then?”

“Well, after some time passed, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I didn’t want to bring Koyuki-dono into anything potentially dangerous, so I left to find you on my own…” Dororo sighed. “It took a while, but following the right current of heat led me to that sandy area near the collapsed tower.”

“And I was already out…?” There was a slight vibrato to Kururu’s voice. He was starting to remember the last moments before he woke up with a faceful of Dororo. They were not pleasant memories. 

“You had collapsed near the Kururu Robo, yes. You were breathing normally and weren’t visibly injured, but I couldn’t wake you.” Dororo shifted his gaze anxiously. “I thought you’d be most comfortable if I took you back to your lab. I apologize for being so presumptuous, but I determined that using your mech was the most efficient way to get there.”

Kururu fell silent. He supposed the mental shock caused his body to give out and faint. He winced at the thought. How utterly pathetic. 

More importantly, though, if his brain’s apparent self-defense mechanism of “check out until the problem goes away” didn’t work to end this nightmare, that meant it was all very real. 

“…Tch.” The wires finally fell loose as Kururu retracted them into his headphones, then slowly slid back down into his makeshift seat. An awkward quiet persisted as Dororo shook out one arm at a time to restore his circulation. He waited for Kururu to continue, but it seemed that scoff was all he had to contribute. 

“So…” Dororo said, drumming his fingers against the handlebars’ grips. “You are okay now, then? Physically, at least.”

“…Yeah,” Kururu muttered.

“That is a relief.” Dororo adjusted his mask before following up.

“And the sound problem…?”

“Fixed.”

Dororo smiled. “That’s good too. Now, I want you to rest again, but about this someone you needed to save—”

“Too late.” Kururu’s terse reply dripped with agitation.

“O-oh. I’m…I’m so sorry.” A pang went through Dororo’s heart. “I didn’t mean to keep you from—”

“It was over before you got there.” Kururu let his arms fall to his sides and hung his head low, his forehead lightly brushing up against Dororo’s shoulder blades. His voice became a low whimper. “Just hurry and get me home.”

Dororo swallowed heavily. While he didn’t know exactly who or what Kururu was talking about (though he had a guess), he could tell he would need to wait a bit to press. 

“Okay,” Dororo whispered, revving up the mech. “Let’s go.”

And so the two rode off toward the Hinata house, with nothing but the humming of jets and a dark cloud of dread accompanying them the rest of the way. 

Chapter Text

After Dororo parked the Kururu Robo back in its usual place, its owner sized up his lab, which was exactly how he had left it—with his large screens still alight, metal scraps and chunks of sheetrock littered everywhere, and a massive hole where the roof once was.

Kururu wordlessly brushed bits of his roof off of his chair and sat down, his back to the lance corporal. With a few quick keystrokes, he powered off his screens. They were still cluttered with dozens of windows from when he was researching the Quietite, though Dororo didn’t have time to discern this before Kururu removed them from view. Now the dim gray glow of the larger room his lab was housed in was the only light source illuminating the two soldiers. 

“You can go now,” Kururu finally spoke after another period of silence. His voice was deep and coarse, completely lacking his usual haughty nasal. 

Dororo frowned. If his hunch about the supposed other party was correct, it was definitely in his best interest to learn the truth. At the same time, he had pledged from the very beginning to give Kururu his space in dealing with what was clearly a very serious predicament. But that was in the heat of the moment, when time was of the essence, and now the commotion seemed to be behind them.

“Are you sure?” Dororo asked, wringing his hands together. “I can stay with you until—”

“No thanks.” 

“Well, I don’t think you should bottle up your—”

“I’m not bottling up nothin’,” Kururu spat, then waved his hand in a shooing gesture, still refusing to face Dororo. “Bye.”

Dororo turned away from Kururu, his eyes cast to the floor. It didn’t feel right to be leaving Kururu so soon, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. He would have to come back and scope things out later.

“If you insist, then…”

Dororo was about to ready his smokescreen to excuse himself when he remembered something that might be important. 

“Oh, by the way, I made sure the captain and Giroro-kun will stay down for a while,” Dororo explained, “but I didn’t harm them seriously. They’ll be okay when they wake up…”

Kururu clicked his tongue. Damn. Those two...

Since he and Dororo had gone straight to the base’s hangar to park the mech and then re-entered the lab via warp panel, the two squadmates lying unconscious outside the lab’s door hadn’t even crossed his mind. Keroro and Giroro had been causing a commotion while Kururu was working frantically to build another reality pen. Dororo’s meddling did little for him then, as they were easily disregarded gadflies at worst…when he assumed he would succeed. Now the very last thing Kururu wanted to put up with was incessant ranting about the invasion budget.

They would likely understand if Kururu explained the situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that just yet, especially figuring that they were probably too loose-lipped to withhold the bad news from the Hinata children. Things would certainly snowball from there, and Kururu had no desire to be smothered with sympathy, nor tolerate other people’s wailing. 

He needed someone to cover for him, and at least the ninja was decent at keeping his mouth shut.

“Wait,” Kururu called. 

Dororo turned to face him once more. “Hmm?”

Kururu exhaled deeply. 

“If you can keep the captain off my back and make sure this stays under wraps, I’ll tell you everything.”

As if to prove he was serious, he swiveled his chair around, locking eyes with Dororo for the first time that night. 

Dororo breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding in. He nodded sharply.

“You have my word.”

“…And then I passed out or something. The end.”

Kururu folded his hands on his lap as he finished his story. He left out the more embarrassing details of his panicked fervor, but it was otherwise the complete picture. 

The lance corporal was looking down at the floor, a lump forming in his throat. His instinct had been right. He wished it hadn’t been. 

“…I can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

“You don’t seem very shocked,” Kururu pointed out.

Dororo’s head shot back up. “W-well, I, um…” The blue Keronian coughed awkwardly. “I had a gut feeling…Saburo-dono was involved…knowing you…”

Kururu snorted. “Guess I’m more predictable than I thought. That’s disappointing.”

A little air came out of Dororo’s nose. He had to admit it was a tad amusing that Kururu was still so particular about his image under such grave circumstances. Perhaps they were both just clinging to whatever bits of levity they could. 

The moment didn’t last long, however, as Dororo now had to contend with his own melancholy. He was not especially close to Saburo, but they were friendly for sure, even meeting up to play shogi and wax poetic on occasion. He was clearly a good-hearted kid, but he was always distant—perhaps too free-spirited for his own good, as admirable as that was in its own right. A part of Dororo wasn’t surprised that an impromptu heroic sacrifice was the way Saburo went out. 

The one he was really worried about was Koyuki. His own most treasured human was quite fond of Saburo. Perhaps it was because they were both eccentrics with exceptional abilities, or maybe it was just due to their mutual close friendship with Natsumi, but Koyuki seemed to trust him a great deal. A blow like this to her social circle, one she had built up painstakingly since leaving behind everyone she knew, would not be easy on her, to say the least. 

Dororo felt bad enough seeing Kururu in pain. Koyuki’s sadness—that would break him. 

“So,” said Kururu, interrupting Dororo’s contemplation, “about your end of the bargain…” 

“O-oh, yes. Of course,” Dororo replied, nodding quickly. “I will make sure the others give you complete privacy for now.” He would need a bit of time himself to think carefully about how he would tell Koyuki, anyway.

“Great,” Kururu replied flatly, then leapt up from his chair. He started trudging toward the sliding closet on the left side of his room. “I’m goin’ to bed.” 

“Ah, Kururu-dono!” Without thinking, Dororo reached out to touch his arm. 

“What now?” Kururu flinched at the sudden contact, jerking his arm away. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dororo said solemnly. “Really and truly. This is a lot for me to process as well, but I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kururu grumbled, his eyebrow twitching. He started to shuffle away from Dororo with a huff. The platitudes were already getting old.

“Please, if you need anything at all,” Dororo said, “let me know and I’ll—”

“Eeeeek!”

Both Keronians jumped as a shriek from outside the door reverberated through the lab’s walls.

“Oh crap,” Kururu said under his breath. He scurried back over to his chair and hopped into it, pulling up one of his camera screens before his bottom even hit the seat. Sure enough, Angol Mois was kneeling outside the lab and cradling Keroro in her arms, trying to lightly shake him awake.

“Uncle!” Mois cried. “Giroro-san too! Are you okay?!” Upon lifting her head to call for Kururu, she noticed the gaping hole for the first time and gasped.

“Oh my gosh! What in the world happened here?! Talk about a rude awakening!” She gently scooped up Keroro with one arm, using her other to bang on Kururu’s door. “Kururu-san, are you here?! Kururu-san!”

“Fuuuuck,” Kururu hissed quietly, sliding back in his chair with his hands on his forehead. Of course the platoon’s assistant, usually a heavy sleeper, just had to happen to get up before dawn. 

“Oh dear,” Dororo whispered, crossing his arms and closing his eyes pensively. “I really don’t want to hurt Mois-dono…”

“Then come up with a way to placate her,” Kururu said. He descended from his chair once more and slinked toward his closet. “Lab accident gone wrong or something. Get creative.” He would normally be perfectly capable of resolving something like this himself, but the idea of doing even one more minute of conversing was like wrapping a tourniquet around his already aching head. 

“Understood. I’ll see if I can ask her to remove the others from the area as well.” Dororo crouched and leaned forward slightly, preparing to exit through the exposed ceiling. Before he made the leap, he took one last glance over at Kururu, who already had one hand on the closet’s sliding wooden door. “I will come check on you tomorrow.” 

Kururu made some kind of noncommittal grumble in response, though Dororo could not infer whether it was one of opposition or begrudging acceptance. Without another word, he jumped up and over the lab’s walls, springing with the force of a kangaroo and the discreteness of a flea. 

Kururu could hear the muffled sounds of Mois and Dororo’s chatter from within his makeshift bed, but he simply couldn’t be bothered to eavesdrop. He pushed a few buttons on his headphones to stream white noise into his ears at maximum volume, then pulled his covers over his entire body and curled up in a ball. He was more than ready to end what was arguably the worst night of his life.

It still took a while for sleep to come.

Kururu awoke from a dreamless slumber—purposefully induced as such by the frequencies playing from his headphones, as he imagined his dreams would not be pleasant—congested and wrapped tightly into his sheets like a spider’s prey trapped in its web. Kururu so rarely slept in his actual bed that the “bedroom” was full of dust he couldn’t be bothered to clean out. He wanted to think that was the only reason for his sniffles. 

After a brief struggle, the Keronian managed to wrestle his head and arms out from under the covers. The closet was still relatively dark, but there was little way for light to get in to begin with, so it wasn’t immediately clear what time of day it was. Not that he cared. He languidly reached across the bed for his pocket pad, which Dororo had picked up near the collapsed Kururu and later returned. 

For a moment, against all odds, he still considered the possibility that the previous night had never happened after all. Maybe he just put a little too much “secret spice” into his curry lunch and imagined the whole thing. He’d been experimenting with that lately, since he managed to smuggle it off the intergalactic deep web. The labels did caution that consumption could leave one with hallucinations and/or existential dread.

However, when he switched on his device’s screen, he was immediately greeted with a list of his ten-plus outgoing calls to Saburo, all of which had gone unanswered. There went that beautiful moment of hope. Kururu groaned and set the device back down before burying his face into his sheets. 

For the first time since the second the explosion's blinding flash reflected in his glasses, Kururu was truly alone with enough capacity for rational thought to feel the gravity of the reality that had been dealt upon him. 

Why did he have to go through this? Why couldn’t some guy he didn’t give two hoots about be the one who had to fight the Quietite? He had no responsibility to protect the fate of this planet at all, let alone that of random strangers. Did the Quietite choose Saburo? Did Saburo choose the Quietite? Was he that much of an idiot? Of course he was an idiot. Only an idiot would throw their life away like this. 

The Quietite was an idiot too. Couldn’t they have gone after another planet? Pekopon was just a bargain bin glorified rock anyway. Kururu didn’t even know why Keron wanted it so badly. He’d spent enough time in the same room as some of the highest ranking executives in the military to decide the entire organization was asinine and corrupt to the core. But most of his teammates were brainwashed by a lifetime of jingoism and peer pressure, and the only one that wasn’t thought clean rivers were the best thing since sliced bread, so he never brought up the intrinsic uselessness of their mission. He went along with it for shits and giggles (and money). Plus, at least some of the Pekoponians kept him on his toes. 

Well, now there was one fewer.

Saburo was an idiot. The Quietite was an idiot. The rest of his platoon were idiots for bothering him. The asshole on SpaceBay who wasted Kururu’s time in a bidding war over the extra Koredinite until he had to blow the entire budget was an idiot. The Kururu Robo was an idiot for not moving quickly enough. 

And then there was Kururu himself, who didn’t figure any of this out until the last minute. He was the biggest idiot of all. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

The sergeant major rolled over onto his back. He debated going back to sleep and letting himself rot away until he died of dehydration. He would probably go to hell, assuming it existed. Hellfire was preferable to this situation. Unfortunately, the growling of his stomach was a nagging annoyance too uncomfortable to ignore, so he was forced to peel himself from the bedsheets and stumble out of his closet. 

Kururu was immediately greeted by the relentless flames of the secret base’s daytime lighting attacking him. It made him feel like he would shrivel up like a raisin. He was going to have to replace the roof. As he was hobbling over to his large work desk, he stepped on a sharp piece of scrap metal, and quickly pulled back his slightly punctured foot with a yelp. No blood was drawn, but evidently, he would need to rid the lab of his roof’s remnants too. 

He kicked away whatever pieces of metal were lying in his path until he made it to his desk drawer, from which he pulled out a piece of curry bread sealed in a plastic baggie. Kururu always kept a few stocked in there for when he was too tired to make real curry. He ripped open the baggie, tossing it lazily to the side, and took two bites into the curry bread before his stomach started to churn with nausea cramps. He shook his head and chucked both the bread and its wrapper into the waste disposal chute located underneath his desk. 

Even curry couldn’t make this any less shitty.

With that, Kururu assessed his lab. Eliminating the smaller bits of shrapnel in and around the lab was pretty simple—he had a hypersonic vacuum and, again, the waste disposal chute—but the roof would take a bit longer. He at least had all the spare parts he needed in storage, and some of the larger painted pieces that had been blown off the roof were intact enough that he could reuse them, though he would have to repaint other areas. Still, attempting to be productive was better than the alternative, which was sitting with his bitterness and barfing. 

Kururu needed something to get him in the working spirit, so after he hooked up his vacuum, he plugged his headphones into his pocket pad and put on his go-to music playlist. Like everything that tickled Kururu’s fancy, his music of choice was unconventional, to put it lightly. He did include a few standard hip-hop hits as something of a palate cleanser, but many of his songs were an unholy cacophony of EDM, chiptune, and the most bizarre samples one could think of. In no universe should pitch-adjusted nails-on-a-chalkboard sound effects work, but it did for him. Everyone else said it was going to make their ears bleed. 

Except Saburo. He was the only other person who enjoyed it. In fact, Kururu recalled, the song currently playing was the first one they’d listened to together.

The Keronian let out a frustrated huff and yanked out the headphones’ plug from his device, causing the off-beat music to echo throughout the room for a moment until he remembered to turn off the player. Forget it, he thought. At least he had the roar of the vacuum to keep him company. 

Eventually, the first part of the task was completed, making his space much less hazardous to walk around in. He stowed away the vacuum and dusted himself off, ready to begin phase two. Thankfully, the roof repair wasn’t as complicated as it might seem. He had a remote-controlled helicopter droid (adorned with his own face, of course) that would carry and place all the materials, from the scaffolding to the exterior, right where he needed them. He’d still need to do the hammering, soldering, and so on himself—he let one of his more autonomous droids handle that the last time something got destroyed and ended up with a worse product than what he started with. Implementing sentience for comedy very often came at the expense of efficiency.

Once all his preparations were made, Kururu flew up to the intact part of the roof, remote control in one hand and toolbox in the other, and got to work. He tried to stay in the moment, focusing all his attention on each step, but it was difficult to keep his mind from wandering during such a tedious process. Considering that the rest of his platoon was likely free—there was no point to invasion meetings when the month’s budget was blown—he could have gotten help. Mois was fairly competent at these sorts of things, having been a lifesaver in building the underground base to begin with, or so Kururu had heard. But he had no desire to even look at anyone else, let alone talk to them.

Maybe he would have called Saburo if he could. Or Saburo would have just wandered in out of boredom, allowing Kururu to put him to work (which the boy would complain about, but he’d probably cooperate anyway). They’d work in companionable silence until Saburo would correctly intuit that Kururu was in a mood and ask if something was bothering him. A particularly prickly Kururu might tell him no, and to mind his own damn business. Saburo would laugh it off and take it as an invitation to shoot the shit about other random junk until Kururu eventually cracked and started venting. 

Saburo was the only one who could navigate him like that. The only one who wasn’t to some degree put off by Kururu’s indirectness. Their communication was seamless, almost telepathic, and it usually went both ways.

Except for the one time it really needed to, apparently.

Kururu thought about their last exchange. For once, it was Saburo who pushed Kururu away, even calling him full of crap for raining on his parade. And it wasn’t with his usual playful snark—Kururu recalled how his words dripped with venom. Of course Kururu clapped back and called him a bore; that’s how it usually went between the two of them, a back-and-forth of jabs until the other was finally outsmarted, and then they’d be okay. 

This time it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t a joke. Kururu knew that something was off before he even left Saburo that night, but without any concrete evidence as to what was happening, he felt he had nothing else to say. Perhaps he should have pestered him more. Despite their difference in age, he liked to see Saburo as an intellectual equal. Maybe he should have treated him like the child he still was. At the very least, he could have come up with a better retort. Or maybe he could’ve just been honest for a change, as much as the idea of that disgusted him. 

If only he could do it over again. If only there was a way.

…What if there was a way?

Distracted to the max, Kururu carelessly aimed his hammer at the wrong spot and whacked his thumb, sending a jolt of pain through it. “Shit!” He grunted, and reflexively grabbed the joint, forgetting that was the hand he was using to hold his droid’s remote control. The remote control fell out of his now open hand. Still gripping the hammer, he quickly activated his propellers and swooped down to grab the plummeting remote. He successfully procured it just a few millimeters before it hit the ground, but the sudden grasp stung his bad thumb. 

Kururu winced, causing his thumb to brush against the droid’s “release” button. Then a hunk of metal fell right on his squishy head with a thunk. He yelled and dropped both the remote and his hammer to furiously rub out the pain. The metal was thankfully not very heavy, but it was definitely going to leave a bump.

With a sore thumb, a throbbing head, and a burning in his chest, the inventor was out of patience for his dumb roof. 

He had better things to do.

Now at his desk with a half-finished roof over his head, Kururu adjusted the cushy ice pack sitting on his skullcap, then cracked his knuckles. With a graceful swoop of his arm across his keyboard, all of his tall computer screens lit up at once, perfectly synchronized. His typing was clumsy with a bandaged thumb, but that wasn’t going to stop him now. Nothing would.

If there was even a minuscule chance to change Saburo’s fate, he would have to try—laws of physics be damned. 

Kururu clenched his teeth. It was research time.

Chapter Text

Even with his exceptional genius, Kururu could not build a time machine.

If he could, this problem would have a very simple solution. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t played around with the physics. Controlling the flow of time was something he felt was within his grasp. Gaining the ability to partially freeze time was something the Keronian Army had accomplished long ago in the form of Planet Anesthesia, as was demonstrated by the Garuru Platoon when they came to test the Keroro Platoon’s capabilities. The problem wasn’t the manipulation of the space-time continuum; rather, it was the ability to place an individual at an exact point in time with any amount of precision that eluded him.

He had gotten somewhat close with the invention of his aptly named “If I Could Live Twice Ray”, a gun that turned an individual into a former or future version of themselves. Kururu himself was struck by it once before, turning him into an infant. However, the weapon did not actually send the target to a different point in time—rather, it altered the molecular structure of their body and brain by altering the amount of DNA damage to an amount that would be expected at a certain period in their life cycles. The effect was merely an estimation, particularly in future mode, so the results were occasionally a bit off compared to reality.

However, Kururu and his team did have brushes with time travel on occasion. They were once sent back in time roughly twenty years, which ironically was caused by If I Could Live Twice when it was hit by a particularly intense bolt of lightning. The group had to rely on a past version of Mois’s Armageddon to generate a strong enough impact to reverse the effect and send them back to when they came from. But even in this case, the period of time to which they were sent was seemingly random. Similarly, when the dinosaur Keroro had resurrected as part of another harebrained invasion scheme was sent back to its own era, it was due to a series of coincidences involving specific magnetic frequencies and, Kururu had discovered while later logging the environmental conditions during the incident, planetary alignment.

Indeed, magnetic disturbances seemed to be a recurring thread when it came to time travel. There was a particular phenomenon Kururu was aware of in which a mysterious mist would form, transporting whoever wandered through it to either the future or the past. This too was caused by the emergence of a specific type of magnetic field that Kururu couldn’t figure out how to replicate in a controlled environment, especially since he had yet to encounter it personally.

In essence, Kururu had a general idea of the factors that allowed for the possibility of time travel. But gaining influence over all these factors and putting them together in a gadget that would function with absolute precision would be a monumental task. Plus, the potential variables that might arise were numerous. He could experiment for weeks, months, maybe even years, and still not arrive at a foolproof end product. 

But he had to do something.

Kururu typed away at mach speed, ignoring the slight stinging in his bad thumb. The sounds of button clicks, keyboard clacks, and computer beeps rang throughout the lab, a chorus led by the mad scientist conductor. Pages upon pages of notes scrawled across his screens. A minimum of twenty-five browser windows and at least five data analysis programs surrounded him. 

He was in the zone. He could still do it. He could still save him.

Unsurprisingly, the sound of a light tap on the metal floor behind him didn’t even register in his mind, nor did the first three times his name was called.

Finally, at the fourth—

“Kururu-dono!”

“Ku?!” Kururu jumped, and the ice pack on his head, which by now was just a sack of water, slid off and hit the ground with a splat. He whipped his chair around, and sure enough, there was none other than Lance Corporal Dororo. In true ninja fashion, he had come virtually out of nowhere.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kururu grumbled, rubbing his exposed head bump.

“I told you I would visit you today, didn’t I?” Dororo sighed. “I’m sorry I let it get so late. I was tending to my autumn garden, sparring with Koyuki-dono… Just trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t…think too hard about things,” he said glumly.

“I didn’t care if you came anyway, so whatever,” said Kururu. His eyes drifted to the box-shaped object Dororo was cradling in his free hand, neatly wrapped in cloth. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Dororo held the box out toward Kururu. “I brought you some rice balls I made with Koyuki-dono. She’s been getting quite good at the craft,” Dororo said, smiling softly with his eyes.

Kururu inspected it for a few seconds, then hummed. “Put it to the side over there. And don’t expect me to thank you.” He spun back around to face his screens, but now that his momentum had come to a halt, Kururu became aware of the whining of his stomach. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day since his failure with the curry bread, not to mention hardly anything to drink. Of course, he wasn’t going to say that out loud, lest he wanted to get bothered further.

Dororo obliged, placing the box down gently on a free area of Kururu’s considerably wide workstation, taking care not to press any console buttons. He then turned to face Kururu, whose eyes were now affixed to the screens, which cloaked him in a bright blue tint. 

Dororo stood there awkwardly for a minute or so as Kururu went back to typing. It seemed like Kururu wasn’t going to immediately kick him out, at least. Either that, or he was so fixated on what he was doing that he forgot his teammate was there.

“So…how are you feeling?” Dororo finally broke the ice. 

The clicks and beeps paused suddenly as Kururu’s hands stopped in midair. Dororo flinched as the other Keronian narrowed his eyes at him.

“D’you expect me to say ‘good’?” Kururu deadpanned.

Dororo held up his hands defensively. “S-sorry,” he sputtered, “I didn’t mean it like… I mean, I didn’t expect you to… I was just—”

“Forget it,” Kururu muttered, then resumed his work once again. Dororo exhaled shakily. Kururu wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine under normal circumstances, let alone ones like this, but Dororo hadn’t expected to be met with such passive-aggressive hostility over a simple check-in. Of course, Dororo was the kind of person who was so happy to be remembered that even the most banal of pleasantries would make his day. 

The ninja’s eyes flitted around the room, which was at least in a neater state than it was when he’d left the night before.

“I see you’ve fixed…some of your roof,” Dororo said as he looked up at the half-built, mostly unpainted ceiling. When his eyes fell back to Kururu, he noticed more clearly the bandage on his thumb and the bump on his head. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Small accident. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. As long as it isn’t serious, I suppose.” Dororo tapped his fingers against the surface of the console that was closest to him. “Anyway, it’s good that you made a little progress. Cleaning can be therapeutic.”

“I don’t need therapy,” Kururu scoffed, “I need answers.” He turned his head ever so slightly toward Dororo, though his fingers continued their dance over the keyboard. “For instance, what’d you tell the others? I guess it went well, since you’re the only one who’s been in here all day.”

“Ah, right.” Dororo stood at attention, as though reporting to a superior—which Kururu technically was by rank, though he was younger in age. “Well, I explained to Mois-dono that the disappearing sound was caused by the Quietite, who you managed to stop on your own with the funding from the invasion budget, but you are now very tired and wish to be left alone for a while.”

Kururu snorted. “So you did what I asked you not to do.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of much else on the spot,” Dororo said, blushing a bit with shame. “But worry not—I didn’t mention that Saburo-dono was involved at all. That was the important part, right?”

“Hmm…” Kururu shrugged. “Guess so.” At least this would get him off the hook for the budget.

Dororo wiped sweat off his brow. “I’m relieved that it seems to be working, though I’m not sure if it will for long…”

“Till the captain gets bored of sitting around and waiting for the budget to get replenished, probably.” The lower corners of Kururu’s mouth twitched as he grit his teeth. “Knowing him, that doesn’t give me too much time to figure this out.”

Dororo cocked his head. “Time to figure what out…?”

“Nothing,” Kururu replied tersely.

Dororo cleared his throat. “It’s quite obviously not nothing.”

“Well, it’s nothing that matters to you.”

“Of course it matters!” Dororo raised his voice slightly.

“No, it doesn’t!” Kururu snapped. Dororo flinched instinctively, but Kururu’s cheek was beginning to disturb him. He folded his arms in protest.

“Okay, I understand you’re going through a difficult time, but why do you have to be so short with me?” Dororo said, attempting to maintain his composure. “I’ve been trying very hard to be considerate.”

“Because you’re distracting. You served your purpose, now get lost,” Kururu insisted, though he was caught a bit off guard by Dororo’s sudden growth of a backbone. 

Dororo stepped closer to the sergeant major. “I really think you could use someone in your corner as a confidante, whether or not you’re willing to admit it.” Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure of his own conviction, but that didn’t matter as long as he could get Kururu to believe him.

Kururu’s typing slowed. Most people probably would have given up and fled the room at this point. He had to respect Dororo’s tenacity, even if just a bit. 

“What makes you think that, huh?”

“Last night,” Dororo said. “You shared with me then, didn’t you?”

Kururu waved his hand dismissively. “Sure, but not for whatever reason you’re thinking of. I was just using you to get me out of dealing with everyone else.”

Dororo huffed. Did Kururu think himself a master manipulator for asking a favor?

“Very well, then. ‘Use’ me again, if that’s what you wish to call it.”

Kururu ceased typing entirely. He swiveled his chair around to look at Dororo.

“…Really?” Now that was not the phrasing he anticipated.

Dororo nodded. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

“It won’t make any sense to you,” Kururu said flatly.

“It doesn’t have to,” said Dororo. “I expect your thoughts to be complicated right now.”

Kururu pondered this for a moment. He still found Dororo’s prodding to be a nuisance, but at this point, continuing to argue would be more of a pain than just letting him have his way. Besides, it couldn’t hurt that much to vocalize his conjectures, could it?

At long last, the yellow Keronian relented with a sigh and adjusted his glasses. “Fine. If you must know—”

Suddenly, he was interrupted by the loud growl of the beast in his gut. 

“Damn it.” Kururu grimaced. So much for hiding his discomfort. 

Dororo chuckled softly. “I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t come empty-handed.”

Kururu explained the gist of his time travel theories to Dororo in between messily munching on rice balls from the box he now held in his lap. The blue Keronian knelt on the floor in seiza style, nodding every so often as he listened intently. 

At one point, Dororo even had an observation of his own to contribute. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but about that mist phenomenon you speak of…I believe I might have encountered it myself.”

Kururu raised an eyebrow. “Did you now?”

The ninja nodded. “It was when we visited the countryside…last summer, I believe? I was training in the mountains when the area suddenly filled with fog, and though I didn’t realize it until later, I think I interacted with a past version of the admiral.”

“Ah-ha. So that’s what happened that day,” Kururu mused. He tossed the last bite of the rice ball he was eating into his mouth and promptly turned around to log these notes into his open document. “I was wondering why I couldn’t locate you anywhere on this dimensional plane, but never got around to investigating further.” 

Dororo perked up. “I can give you as much detail as I remember, if you’d like.”

Kururu looked back at him, and Dororo could have sworn the tiniest of glints shone through his glasses. “Hit me.”

The two continued on like that for a while, until Kururu had finally run through all his current thoughts. 

“Gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to pick up on all that,” Kururu said.

Dororo rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Oh, I wouldn’t say all of it, but focus is one of a ninja’s most valuable skills. Nothing is too difficult to understand with enough concentration.”

“Good to know there’s someone else in this platoon with more than two brain cells, then…” 

Kururu reached into the box for another rice ball, but no matter how much he shuffled his hand around, all he felt was wood. 

“…Oh.”

Dororo couldn’t help but giggle. “I see you enjoyed those quite a bit.”

“…Meh, they weren’t bad,” Kururu mumbled. Surprisingly, unlike earlier that day, he didn’t feel like he was immediately going to eject what he’d just devoured.

“Well,” Dororo said as he rose from the floor, “I’m very glad you’ve found something invigorating to direct your energy toward. Positive distractions might help you process your emotions.”

Kururu smirked. “Ku. Once I’ve figured this out, I’ll have made my most technologically impressive innovation yet…” He paused to emphatically wipe a stray grain of rice off his cheek with his non-bandaged thumb and pop it in his mouth. “And I’ll get to brag to Saburo about it.”

Dororo paused. The grin that had formed under his mask started to sink. 

“Oh…that’s what this is for…?”

“Duh. What else would it be for, birdbrain?”

Dororo fell silent. He wasn’t sure how he missed this either. 

“Well?” Kururu prompted. “Am I the smartest guy in the universe or what?”

Dororo chuckled nervously. “R-right… Yes, of course.” 

Truth be told, although he generally understood the logic behind Kururu’s ideas, Dororo had many doubts. He might not have had anywhere near Kururu’s level of intellect, but he knew a thing or two about basic engineering himself from his academy days, and this sounded like an incredibly tall order. If Kururu seriously intended to attempt to revive Saburo somehow, this seemed like a disappointment waiting to happen. 

Out of courtesy, Dororo wasn’t going to outright quash the newfound motivation of his teammate, at least not yet. Surely Kururu would come to his senses eventually—sooner rather than later, hopefully.

“Um…good luck, then,” Dororo said. “Just remember to take breaks. Oh, and you should really drink some water after—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kururu tossed the empty box back to Dororo and turned back to his computer, then began to type away eagerly. Dororo took this as his cue to leave.

“I suppose I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Kururu said. He didn’t exactly sound interested, but not dismissive, either.

Dororo smiled slightly to himself. It was an improvement.

Now to hope this didn’t get out of hand. 

Chapter Text

Dororo arrived the next evening through Kururu’s still unfinished roof, landing atop a crumpled up piece of paper, of which there were copious amounts scattered around the lab. He found the yellow Keronian on the ground tinkering with a bulky machine. Its metal body was a peculiar shade of forest green in color, and it consisted of two large glass chambers with door handles, each empty. Protruding from the top of the machine was some sort of vacuum-like pipe. 

The lance corporal cocked his head quizzically as he surveyed the machine.

“This looks…intriguing,” Dororo said.

“Ah, you’re here.” Kururu turned his head and nodded in Dororo’s direction. He quickly glanced at the box his senior was cradling. “More balls?”

Dororo’s face crinkled a bit. “Please don’t say it like that. Anyway, I actually brought something different this time.”

Dororo unwrapped the container, throwing the cloth covering over his shoulder, and opened the lid just slightly to show Kururu the contents. “Here’s some delicious sweet corn I roasted tonight. I was inspired to try growing some myself this past season, and this year’s harvest was superb.”

Kururu looked pleased. “Sounds like a decent breakfast.”

“…Breakfast?”

Kururu stood up and stretched out his back. “The balls from last night’ve been holding me over.”

Dororo sighed as he placed the box atop one of Kururu’s consoles again. “One, I told you to stop that. Two, that wasn’t nearly enough to—”

“Hold that thought.” Kururu wobbled over to his desk drawer and rummaged through. At that moment, Dororo got a close enough look at the sergeant major to notice that his trademark yellow shade was paler than usual, and there were deep bags under his eyes. Kururu’s hand emerged holding some kind of syringe. 

“What is that?” Dororo asked, somewhat alarmed.

Kururu twirled the syringe around in his hand. “Hyper-stimulant. Been going through my emergency supply.”

Dororo narrowed his eyes at him. “Is that your way of telling me you haven’t slept?”

Kururu simply ignored Dororo’s question and injected himself with the syringe, wincing slightly at the pinch in his arm, then tossed it into the trash chute. Almost immediately, some of the creases disappeared from his complexion, though his color was still off. Without wasting another second, he strutted back over to his mysterious machine and leaned against it. 

“So. New plan.”

“New plan?” Dororo blinked repeatedly. “What happened to the first one?”

“The time travel stuff?” Kururu waved a hand. “Between my research here and some field experimentation I conducted at the site after you left, I couldn’t make any progress, so I put a pin in it. I’ve got a better idea now.” 

“Oh…I see…” Dororo thought it was strange of Kururu to switch tracks so quickly. He was so enthusiastic about figuring out time travel just twenty-four hours ago.

“Pop quiz,” Kururu said. “You know the law of conservation of matter?”

Dororo hummed. “Matter cannot be created nor destroyed, correct?”

“You got it. While the physical form of an object might dissipate, its energy is conserved. In other words—well, graphic mental image warning, but…” Kururu cleared his throat. “Even if the Quietite’s blast made Saburo go, uh, kablooey, assuming the properties of the explosion were similar to those of a low-yield atomic bomb based on the thermal readings my monitors recorded, what was once his physical mass was just converted into energy—probably transformed into some kind of chemical reaction.”

“So what you’re saying is…you believe Saburo-dono still exists in some material form?”

Kururu nodded. “And that’s where this baby comes in. It’s an energy-to-matter converter.” He patted the glass of one of the chambers. “First I’ll have Little Policeman 4 record all the chemical compounds in the atmosphere at and around the blast site—I’ll have to sort through everything myself, and the particles from the blast have probably spread decently far by now, but it shouldn’t be impossible. Then I’ll configure this machine to convert the relevant energy compounds back into their original forms.”

Dororo scratched his head. “How are you going to be sure you’ll get Saburo-dono from that…?”

“Well, even if it’s only a trace amount due to heat destruction, parts of his DNA should still be detectable within the converted matter. I’ll just reconstruct him by matching them up with some old samples.” Kururu paused for a moment as he shifted his gaze around. “Don’t ask me how or why I have those.”

Dororo looked to the floor. “That sounds… Well, I suppose it makes sense, but it’s sort of…dubious?” He wanted to say “unethical,” but Kururu was not known to be a beacon of morality to begin with, so he doubted that would hold any weight.

“Yeah, well, even an approximation would be better than nothing.” Kururu reached into his bottomless drawer again, while Dororo shuddered as he pictured some kind of half-completed Saburo chimera. When Kururu’s hand emerged, he was holding a chunky blaster of some sort, which he then cocked.

“Now I just gotta use this resizing ray to make this machine temporarily travel-sized, and I’ll be on my way to—”

“Wait a second!” Dororo exclaimed, lurching forward and putting a hand on Kururu’s arm to stop him. “I need to ask you something.”

Kururu didn’t flinch this time, but he did give Dororo a peeved glare. “Make it quick,” he said, placing the gun to the side.

Dororo slowly lowered his hand and exhaled sharply. “Kururu-dono…how much longer are we going to keep lying about this?”

“Lying? Who said anything about lying?” Kururu raised an eyebrow. “You pretty much told them everything else. Omitting details isn’t the same as lying.”

“I’d say it is,” Dororo argued, “especially when it’s about something as serious as this. I’m worried that Koyuki-dono is soon going to notice that something is off with me—she knows me too well.” 

Kururu shrugged. “Not my fault you wear your heart on your sleeve, man.” 

“You won’t be able to blame it on me for long,” Dororo said, arms crossed. “Tomorrow is Monday. The children will notice Saburo-dono isn’t at school.”

“Oh, please,” Kururu scoffed, “Saburo skipped school more often than he actually went. They won’t notice a thing.”

“And what if they do?”

“Then I’ll erase their memory.”

“Do you expect that to work forever?”

“I won’t need forever. Just until I fix this.”

Dororo opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to say what he was really thinking. 

“Are we done playing twenty questions now?” Kururu asked after a brief period of silence. 

Dororo lowered his defensive stance. “Yes…I suppose we are.”

“Good.” Kururu twirled around, snatching the resize ray as he did so, then aimed at his machine and pulled the trigger. In the blink of an eye, the contraption shrank down to the size of an action figure. He stuffed both the machine and the ray into his hammerspace pocket and headed for the warp panel he kept in the center of the room, which was currently configured to warp him to and from the level of the underground base where his flying board was stored. 

“See ya. Got work to do.”

“Okay,” Dororo sputtered, “but please just consider confronting—”

Dororo was cut off by a loud zoop as Kururu disappeared in a multicolored flash of light. Dejected, he turned around and closed his eyes for a bit.

Despite everything, Dororo wanted to believe Kururu knew what he was doing, but it appeared more like his fears were becoming realized. Dororo might not have been as familiar with Kururu as he was with his other teammates, two of whom were lifelong friends, but willfully abusing his body and jumping from idea to idea like a child running around a toy store didn’t seem like usual behaviors of the sharp and calculated genius. He sure loved to create panic, but he usually came off as the arbiter, not the victim.

That being said, while Dororo was never the greatest at reading the room, it at least seemed like Kururu was accepting his presence now. As long as Dororo stood his ground, he’d be able to pull him out of this.

Dororo was jolted from his thoughts by another zoop from behind. He jumped and turned to find Kururu standing on the warp panel, having materialized once more. 

“Forgot breakfast.” The sergeant major pressed a few buttons on the left side of his headphones, causing a comically large white glove attached to a segmented metal rod to emerge. The mechanical arm reached around Dororo to grab the box of corn and bring it back to Kururu. He was gone again, snack in tow, before the hand had even fully retracted. 

Dororo pinched the bridge of his nose. What am I going to do with him?

Before Dororo once again visited Kururu the following day—he went in the late afternoon this time, as he was a little antsy to check up on his teammate—he did a bit of sleuthing to ensure nobody’s suspicions had been raised. 

Koyuki, for one, didn’t seem to be in a mood that indicated anything was amiss at school. She did inquire as to why Dororo had been scurrying off somewhere with food each evening for the last few days, having noticed that it had become a pattern, but she seemed ostensibly satisfied with the vague answer that Dororo was being extra amicable to boost the platoon’s morale. Koyuki always encouraged Dororo to make up for lost time with his friends, after all, even though he’d rejoined the team quite a while ago.

Still, he had a gut feeling he was only being so convincing.

After leaving Koyuki, Dororo snuck around the ceilings and floorboards of the Hinata house to observe whether or not any of its residents were at unease. The only one he directly spoke to was Keroro, looking to confirm that he had no business expectations of the platoon while the invasion budget was awaiting replenishment. Naturally, the platoon’s leader was making the most of his newfound free time by building numerous Gundam models, browsing strange internet blogs, and pretending not to notice the pile of paperwork in the corner of his room. Additionally…

“I asked the captain if I could take some of these instant dango he had lying around,” Dororo later explained to Kururu, holding up the plump paper bag he carried in one hand. “He said he prepped them ahead of time ‘for bribery’.”

“So he expects HQ to get on his case soon, huh…?” As per usual, Kururu was facing away from Dororo when the ninja dropped in. He was back at his keyboard this time, though Dororo noticed the energy-matter converter in the corner of the lab, along with his laptop and a gaggle of other machines he had never seen before. 

“That’s what he suggested, yes,” Dororo said. After that, he cast his gaze off to the side a bit.

“He…did ask about you, you know, since I was the last one to see you,” Dororo added solemnly. “He told me he knocked on your door last night, presumably while you were out. I pretended I didn’t know anything new, but—”

“Anything else?” Kururu interrupted rather loudly. Dororo noticed his voice was a bit hoarse. 

“Nobody else seemed upset, no.” Dororo rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Well, Natsumi-dono was complaining to Fuyuki-dono about how that radio personality she likes to listen to hasn’t been on since the sound returned…”

Suddenly Kururu laughed hysterically, catching Dororo so off guard that he jumped half a meter in the air, miraculously catching the dango that flew out of the bag before they hit the floor.

“Oh, man,” Kururu wheezed as he caught his breath, “I can’t believe that didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Dororo stammered, trying to tip the dango he balanced in the crease of his elbow back into the bag.

“She was referring to…the radio star 623, right?” Kururu spoke between coughs, gripping his chest.

“Um, I believe that was his name…?”

“Yeah, well…” Kururu tried to stifle more chuckles. “He can’t exactly perform while he’s dead, huh?”

Dororo blinked. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

Kururu turned his chair around to face Dororo, who had to quickly put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from gasping. The other Keronian was now so pallid, he was more white than he was yellow; his cheekbones were hollow as could be, and he was shaking in his seat as though it was an uphill battle just to sit upright.

“Still don’t get it?” Kururu said with a disturbing rasp. “623 was Saburo, ya dum-dum.”

“Huh?” Dororo paused for a bit, still too preoccupied with recovering from laying eyes on Kururu’s current state to process another shock. Finally, it hit him. “Wait, what?!”

“Ku, ku…” The corners of Kururu’s mouth twitched. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone that, but it ain’t like he’s here to get upset about it…and you can keep a secret, can’tcha, senpai?”

Dororo fell silent. Was that a statement of faith or distrust?

“Ahhh…I betcha that phony-ass producer of his is runnin’ around like a headless chicken right now,” Kururu said, chortling again. “Lost your precious cash cow, eh? Sucks to be you!” 

Kururu erupted into full-blown cackles that pierced through the still roofless laboratory and bounced off the surrounding room’s walls. Unsure if he should even get too close to the inventor this time, Dororo placed the bag of dango on the ground. He gingerly tiptoed in his direction, careful not to step on any of the syringes that were scattered all over the floor, though he couldn’t avoid almost slipping on stray papers (which had now multiplied).

“Kururu-dono, I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Dororo cried amid the sea of laughter enveloping him, “but you look and sound terrible! Don’t you think it’s time to rest for a bit?!”

The cackling began to die down, lowering in intensity from crashing waves to small splashes before finally petering out. 

“Reeeest…?” Kururu said, his voice trembling in pitch like a broken slide whistle. “But I’m so close, senpai!”

“Close?” Dororo asked incredulously.

“Well, last night could have gone better,” Kururu admitted. “I couldn’t find any chemical compounds in the atmosphere that matched the DNA sequences, even after setting them back multiple half-lives. Buuuut…”

Suddenly, the yellow Keronian started to rock side-to-side a bit.

“Y’seeee…if I can jus’ harness the innate energy of quantum intersection matrices…an’ reconstruct the reactive manifestation of scalar wave interaction at the explosion’s coordinates…interweaving event horizons caused by plasma fields on a molecular level with geodesic lattice structures at a certain point in space-time will let me…find…his…”

With that, Kururu slid back in his chair, and his breathing slowed to a crawl. His slurring had devolved into snores in seconds.

Dororo breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps a good sleep would recalibrate Kururu’s emotional state a bit. As he placed the dango in the usual spot where he’d been leaving Kururu food, he noticed that his teammate had put the box of corn from the previous day back on his desk with the contents almost untouched, save for a nibble or two. In addition, the notes document he had opened on his screen was filled with gibberish—not even vaguely legitimate-sounding scientific jargon like what Kururu had just mumbled to him, but seemingly endless strings of random characters and word salads. 

It was quite certain that Kururu was not “close.” 

Dororo was so transfixed on the veritable display of delirium that he failed to notice that the snoring in the background had ceased.

“What’re you looking at?” snapped Kururu, who had suddenly jolted awake, with the scratchiness of a crotchety old cat’s meow. Dororo stumbled backward with a yelp, though he quickly caught himself before he fell over.

“How are you… You were just…!”

“Power napping.” Kururu pushed himself off his chair, landing rather clumsily on all fours before managing to stagger his way onto his legs. He went to his drawer and rummaged around for a stimulant syringe. He stabbed the wrong spot a few times before finally finding the right vein, drawing a little blood. Once he had injected himself, he let the syringe fall to the ground and began hobbling toward his gadgets in the corner, seemingly ignoring the thin trickle of blood streaming down his arm.

“N-now…I’ve g-gotta get back to the blast site a-and—”

“And do what, Kururu-dono?” Dororo said, his voice low and stern. It was time to stop entertaining this. “More research? You can hardly put a sentence together.”

Kururu glowered at him, back hunched and stomach stretched like an emaciated bear trying to stave off a rival. “Shaddup, m’kay? I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fooling me.” Dororo stepped forward, holding out both arms. “Kururu-dono, just quit this while you’re behind. You’re hurting yourself for nothing!”

“Nothing?” Kururu growled. “That’s what Saburo’s life means to you?”

“Wha—no!” Dororo yelled. “I wish there was a way to get him back just as much as you do! But you’ve already tried everything that makes any sense!”

Kururu shook his head. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.”

“Come on. You’re smarter than this.” Dororo took another step closer, trying not to cringe at the putrid smell wafting around the yellow Keronian (whatever it was, it was closer to rotten eggs than curry). “You know living in denial isn’t healthy, and it’s not what Saburo-dono would want for you.”

Kururu eyed Dororo, eyebrows twitching wildly as he came to a realization. He spit on the ground. 

“And here I thought you were on my side, Lance Corporal Dororo. What a shame…”

“I am on your side!” Dororo reached for Kururu’s hand, trying to take it in his own. “The sooner you accept that he’s gone, the sooner we can figure out what comes—”

Click.

Just as Dororo’s fingers brushed against the tips of Kururu’s, the yellow Keronian pulled the hand away and unleashed the antenna of one of his headphones. Without another warning, he pressed a button, causing electricity to crackle around the blue sphere that topped the antenna. Reacting quickly, Dororo was able to jump back just in time to avoid the white-hot jolt of lightning that followed. Without enough room in the lab to put much of a gap between himself and Kururu’s long-range attack, the tip of the bolt very nearly grazed his chest. 

Dororo, effectively pinned against one of the workspace’s many console units, stared wide-eyed at Kururu.

“Why…?”

The sergeant major’s own eyes were obscured by the blinding shine in his glasses. 

“Stay…out of…my way.”

Dororo remained stone still, sizing up the other Keronian. Kururu’s hands hovered over his weaponized headgear, and his whole body trembled with anger—or maybe just weakness. Even at full strength, Kururu didn’t stand a ghost of a chance in hand-to-hand combat against the ninja; he was sure to get decimated now. Perhaps Dororo could use this to his advantage. 

The lance corporal slipped his hand behind his back and discreetly gripped the hilt of his katana. A swift blow to the right pressure point would send Kururu straight into the deep slumber he so obviously needed. All he had to do was close the gap, and as long as he could block Kururu’s lightning with his blade, the yellow devil would be left wide open. He took a deep breath.

“Sorry about this,” Dororo whispered, unsheathing his weapon and holding it out in front of him. “It’s for your own good.”

Unfortunately for Dororo, what Kururu lacked in combat prowess, he made up for in strategy. Before Dororo could even get one foot off the ground, Kururu pressed another headphone button…and in the blink of an eye, the ground had been removed from Dororo’s feet instead.

Dororo didn’t yelp, for it wasn’t until the air was already whooshing in his ears that he realized he’d been sent down a trap door. Luckily, he found out as he tried to move his arms, the walls of the vertical corridor were within reach of his katana. He thrust the katana forward, and as this lower part of the underground base was reinforced with tightly packed soil, he was able to slow his fall by sticking the blade in the wall to create drag. 

Eventually, Dororo slowed down enough to pull himself toward the katana and cling to the wall with all four limbs. He concealed his sword and looked above him; surprisingly, he could see the light of the lab above him. Whether it was an act of mercy or carelessness on Kururu’s end, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to waste time pondering it. Dororo began working his way back up the shaft as briskly as he could, using a combination of climbing and small wall jumps—thankfully the corridor wasn’t too narrow.

Soon enough, Dororo reached the top. He hopped over the edge of the trap door to land softly on his feet. He caught his breath as he stabilized himself. Surprise falls were nothing a ninja couldn’t deal with, but it still took some exertion to escape, and an single open trap door didn’t make for the greatest ventilation deep in the underground.

Dororo looked around for Kururu, but it appeared he had already made his escape, likely via warp. The machines in the corner were gone, but the bag of dango remained right where Dororo had left them.

The blue Keronian simply stood there for a minute, stranded in a dimly lit ocean of crumpled paper, discarded syringes, and fractured hope. Frustrated and left without much else he could do, Dororo decided he’d have to return home at a loss and try yet again later. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Nothing left a bitter taste in his mouth more than the feeling of being chewed up and left behind.

How was he supposed to give aid to someone who so viscerally rejected it?

Chapter Text

The moon was high in the sky as Dororo leapt from rooftop to rooftop, gazing down on the still active nighttime streets of Inner Tokyo. He hadn’t initially planned on returning so soon, but as it turns out, all he needed was a little encouragement to put the wind back in his sails.

“Something got you down, Dororo?”

Koyuki Azumaya set down her chopsticks and eyed her friend inquisitively; the Keronian was staring down at his own bowl of rice, which he hadn’t touched.

Dororo looked up at her. “Was it that easy to tell?”

Koyuki giggled. “Yeah, kinda.”

Dororo shifted his gaze again, peering into the warm glow of the lantern that sat between the two of them. 

“I am worried about something, yes. Or rather, someone…”

“One of your friends?”

Dororo nodded, although of course, Kururu wasn’t the only one he was stressed about. He briefly debated telling Koyuki the whole story right then and there; he had left the lab miffed enough that he frankly didn’t care anymore what Kururu wanted, especially since his decisions were only causing active harm. However, Dororo was not in a collected enough state of mind himself to be having that conversation. Struggling with his enigmatic squadmate was one thing, but he would never forgive himself if he made Koyuki feel any worse at such a crucial moment. 

“Koyuki-dono…how would you suggest helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped?”

The ninja girl tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“One of my comrades is struggling with something very, very intense, and it’s making him deal great harm to himself. I thought I was getting through to him, but…” Dororo let out a deep sigh. “I just can’t seem to pull him out of this rut.”

“Well, how do you know he doesn’t want you to help him?”

“He insists that I stay out of it every time I try,” Dororo said with a huff. “I’ve tried to respect his wishes, but I know things can’t go on like this.”

“Could it be he just wants a different kind of help?” Koyuki put a finger to her chin. “I mean, people here sorta act weird when I get up really close to them, even though I’m just trying to be nice. Natsumi-san has a word for it…‘pushy’, I think. Maybe it’s like that.”

Dororo hummed. “So I’m being too assertive? Is that it?”

Koyuki shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe he just doesn’t like being told what to do. But if he’s really hurting, I bet he still wants someone to be there for him. Who wouldn’t?”

Dororo thought this over. Kururu did seem most satisfied when Dororo offered to simply be a sounding board for his ideas—it was when Dororo would start to lecture him that he would get agitated. And “doesn’t like being told what to do” certainly sounded like an accurate descriptor for Kururu, even if Koyuki didn’t know that’s who he was talking about. Saburo was a very non-judgmental person, Dororo recalled. Was that why Kururu favored him so much?

Dororo rubbed his chin. “I see. Perhaps being made to feel like the way he’s coping is wrong is causing him to shut down.”

“Exactly!” Koyuki exclaimed. “I mean…I think,” she then added with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry. You’ve made a great point,” Dororo said with a smile. “He upset me, but I really don’t want to give up on him. Maybe he’ll be more receptive if I show him I’m willing to get on his level.”

“That’s the spirit!” Koyuki beamed back at him. “I’m sure you’ll make it work out. You have a kinder heart than anyone I know, Dororo.”

“And I could say much the same about you.” Dororo finally picked up his bowl and chopsticks and took a bite. “Thank you, Koyuki-dono.”

And so, after finishing his meal and taking some time to clear his head among the trees, Dororo took off for Kururu’s lab. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say, but Koyuki’s advice had given him some direction.

When he finally arrived, leaping in through the exposed roof as had become routine, most everything was as he’d left it. The trap door had closed, perhaps automatically, but the rest of the lab was unchanged. This included the fact that Kururu was not in it. 

But Dororo didn’t come all this way just to turn around again. He would simply have to wait. He made himself comfortable on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to meditate lightly.

Eventually, Dororo was snapped out of his calm by a loud clang. When his eyes flew open, he witnessed Kururu dropping off his resized gadgets on the other side of the lab. Dororo immediately jumped up and ran to meet him in the center of the room. Hearing the blue Keronian’s footsteps, Kururu turned languidly toward him, his posture slouched and his head lowered.  

“You’re still here?” Kururu’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I left and came back,” Dororo said. “Kururu-dono, I’m so—”

“Whatever. You win.”

“Huh?” 

Kururu inched closer to Dororo, ambling forward like a drunken mummy.

“I give up. I’m getting fucking nowhere. I can’t bring him back.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dororo with bleary eyes, the swirls in his glasses drooping. “Happy now?”

Dororo felt his stomach knotting just looking at his teammate. “Happy? Why would I be happy?”

“Because you proved your point,” Kururu said flatly. “Way to go, senpai.”

Dororo frowned. It seemed like Koyuki wasn’t far off the mark. “Oh, Kururu-dono…did you really think this was about that?”

“What the hell else would it be about?” Kururu spat. “You knew the whole time I was gonna fail, didn’t you? I thought reveling in other people’s humiliation was my thing.”

Dororo exhaled sharply. “I didn’t get any enjoyment out of seeing you like this, Kururu-dono.”

The lance corporal gingerly stepped forward until he was within arm’s length of the other Keronian.

“Ever since that night, before I even had a clue what was really going on, I’ve just wanted to help you get through this okay.”

Kururu grimaced. “Yeah, well…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest out loud. 

“You’re not okay,” Dororo concluded. “I know. You don’t have to hide it.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Dororo took another breath.

“I…don’t think I’m okay, either. I know he was closest to you, but the loss of Saburo-dono is going to affect us all somehow. And I don’t know if I’m really doing right by you, or Koyuki-dono, or anyone…”

Dororo bowed his head apologetically. 

“I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I think that made me be a little too forward with you.” He raised his head again, staring deeply into Kururu’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings and actions were invalid. I’m truly sorry.”

Kururu averted Dororo’s intent look; the fierce sincerity in the lance corporal’s periwinkle pupils was making his skin crawl. 

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing about. I said I was wrong.” Kururu replied with his own truth, despite the nasty taste it left in his mouth. 

“Regardless, it’s like I told you before—I’m sure your thoughts right now are complicated. I am worried about your well-being, but I can’t tell you how to grieve…”

“You still don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore, do you?”

Dororo paused. He sucked in air through his teeth.

“Not really. But I won’t let my fears get in the way of letting you decide how and when to say it. And…”

He put one hand on Kururu’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. He waited a second to see if Kururu was okay with this before he continued.

“I also don’t want you to have to do this alone. I’ll be there with you.”

Kururu lowered his gaze. “Why are you doing this?”

Dororo blinked, slowly pulling his hand away. “Hmm?”

“Why are you so invested in my…” Kururu held back a gag. “Feelings, or whatever? It’s not like I’ve had anything to offer you here. In fact, you were kinda justified in being pissed off, since I got us into this damn mess in the first place…”

“Because you’re my comrade,” Dororo said without a moment’s hesitation. “And…I understand more than I wish I knew about death…and remorse. Assassins are supposed to avoid feeling for the innocents who will mourn their targets…but I guess that’s why I never quite fit in with the others,” he added with a sad chuckle. 

Kururu scoffed. “You’re really too much of a goody-two-shoes.”

“I’ll wear that moniker with pride.”

The corner of Kururu’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Your comeback game isn’t bad.”

“Um…” Dororo rubbed the back of his head. “Thank you, I sup—”

“But you’re still not him.”

Kururu’s words cut through the air like a knife through butter. Dororo knew it was true, but he still winced a bit.

“I-I know. I don’t intend to replace Saburo-dono. But I hope I can bring you something of value.” 

After mulling it over for a bit, Kururu accepted this response and turned around, tired of feeling stared at. 

“Well, let’s just get it over with, I guess,” he mumbled.

Dororo perked up. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow, when the Pekoponians get back from school—”

Suddenly, his head started to feel fuzzy, and his knees buckled. Now that it had been a while since his last stimulant, the true extent of his weakness was really starting to hit him. He was about to fall to his knees when something suspended him in midair. Dororo had swiftly shuffled over to grab him, with one arm around his shoulders and the other holding up his abdomen. 

“I knew this would happen,” Dororo murmured. “You’d better eat, drink, and get a good night’s sleep. Did you ever eat those dango? Although you should be having a real meal at this point. And plenty of water. Would you like me to make you some tea? I always carry some excellent herbs that—”

“Okay, okay. Pipe down, old man,” Kururu groaned. His stomach churned, though he wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or embarrassment. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh… I apologize.” Dororo had been caught slipping into overbearing mode again. Despite that admission, he still needed a little more proof that Kururu meant what he said. “Can I at least stay to make sure you eat?”

Kururu pondered this for a few seconds. “Do what you want.”

Dororo pulled Kururu back to his feet, turning the yellow Keronian around to face him and putting both hands on his shoulders to stabilize his body.

Kururu thought Dororo was going to release him then, or at the very least loosen his grip a little until he could get over to his desk. This being the case, he couldn’t help but let loose a startled grunt when his senior instead pulled him into an embrace.

“Wh-what the—”

“I’m sorry,” Dororo stammered, rubbing Kururu’s back gently. “I couldn’t shake the feeling you could really use a hug.”

The stiffened Kururu opened his mouth to protest. Who did this guy think he was? Jerks didn’t do hugs. 

At the same time, though, he wasn’t sure Dororo was wrong. 

Kururu relented, closing his mouth without saying anything. He relaxed his muscles and let his chin sink into Dororo’s shoulder, then hesitantly slipped one arm under Dororo’s own. He was surprised at how quickly the tension left him. He almost could have fallen asleep right there.

Dororo was sharp. He’d managed to pick up on Kururu’s scientific explanations much better than the inventor expected him to, even having known that the ninja had a mysterious knack for machinery. He was steadfast, though a bit preachy. And he’d gotten into Kururu’s head a little too deeply for comfort—but how many people could really do that?

Sure, Dororo was no Saburo. But he wasn’t bad to have around, either.

He’d let the affection slide. Just this once.

The moment was disturbed when Kururu suddenly heard the sound of sniffling. He was breathing just fine, so he knew the sniffles weren’t his own (thank goodness). He wiggled out of Dororo’s hug and found that tears were suddenly streaming down the blue Keronian’s face, as though his eye vessels had burst like pipes. 

“…Seriously?” 

“E-excuse me,” Dororo blubbered. “I’ve been holding it in, but I’ve reached my limit…” He took in a drawn-out snuffle. “It’s just so heavy… If I was in your position… If it was Koyuki-dono… Oh, I can’t even bear to think about it!”

Kururu let out an exasperated sigh as Dororo tried to gulp down his sobs. Now it was his turn to put his hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Then don’t. I’m the one with the problem, not you. Get over it.”

Dororo rubbed the back of his free arm across his face. “That wasn’t particularly comforting…” 

“Hey, I’m just telling you the truth. Ku.”

“Touché…” Dororo let out a few snotty chuckles as he kept rubbing his eyes. “Though maybe we need to talk about the difference between bluntness and honesty sometime…”

As promised, Dororo stayed with Kururu throughout his dinner and fetched him water and tea, even sharing in some of the dango despite having already eaten with Koyuki. Neither were particularly talkative, except for when Dororo suggested to Kururu that curry might not be the best entree for someone who was likely very dehydrated. Kururu didn’t care; now that he was forcing himself to have an appetite, he realized this was the longest stretch of time he’d voluntarily gone without real curry in his entire life, and the last thing he needed on top of everything else was withdrawal. 

Dororo, perhaps pushing his luck a bit, initially also wanted to stay until Kururu fell asleep to make sure he wouldn’t attempt to keep himself up all night, but finally surrendered and left after Kururu argued he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing Dororo was watching. Dororo felt that was almost certainly a lie—Kururu was notorious for falling asleep just about anytime and anywhere—but he’d pushed enough for the night, and with the pinch of sleeping aid he’d mixed into the tea he made, Kururu wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter anyway. 

Indeed, Kururu did sleep very soundly, though he still used the dream-canceling noise just in case. However, he didn’t let himself slumber for too long—he’d have to create an opportunity later to make up for the last few days’ worth of sleeplessness. There was still one more thing he wanted to do before Dororo came to him that afternoon, and he needed complete solitude.

So straight out of bed Kururu was before the crack of dawn, even as his body tried to drag him back down into the fluffy abyss. 

Chapter Text

The crisp morning air nipped at Kururu’s skin as he sat cross-legged in the sand at the blast site. Much like right after the explosion, there was nary a sound to be heard, save for the occasional whisper of the breeze and the cawing of some lonely crows left out in the morning sun. Although a lot of charcoal remained, some of the blackened sand on the surface had been carried away by the wind over the course of the last few days, exposing patches of fresh sand underneath. The stone glyphs hadn’t budged an inch, remaining relics of a conversation never heard. Saburo probably would’ve found the haunting serenity of it all very poetic. Kururu would’ve remarked that he was cringy.

Prior to stopping here, he’d done one last patrol around Saburo’s usual haunts. Despite what Kururu had told Dororo, he had a nagging sense of requiring finality. As much as Saburo liked to sleep, he’d sometimes go out long before school started to hang around just for the hell of it. Either that, or he never went home in the first place, and simply spent all night in a tree or on a rooftop. This was obviously a waste of time for Kururu; besides the fact that he’d already used every search machine in his arsenal, if Saburo was anywhere in town—or anywhere in general—he would have certainly contacted Kururu ages ago, or failing that, visited the lab. After all, the ten or so missed calls from the night of the blast had at some point inflated to over twenty, plus multiple text messages that Kururu frankly did not remember sending. 

Kururu also snuck into Saburo’s apartment for a second and final time since the incident—he had stopped there one of the previous nights before an experimenting session, just for kicks. As expected, the apartment was in exactly the state he’d seen it in then—not a single item had been touched. The only change was a missing rent notice someone had slipped under the door, which Kururu promptly crumpled up and chucked out the window.

The Keronian had only lived with Saburo for a few weeks, but his friend had allowed him to keep the spare key so he could pop over whenever he wanted to. He very rarely did, as he didn’t have much reason to leave his lab, and Saburo spent much more time futzing around town than he did at home anyway. This, combined with the fact that its sole resident was a lazy teenager who refused to do anything that wasn’t either entertaining or a hundred percent necessary, explained why the place was an absolute pigsty.

Now that he had accepted Saburo was gone for good, Kururu was left thinking about how much logistical bullshit he would have to meddle in once his demise was public. For school enrollment purposes, his “legal guardian” was his radio manager posing as a relative—he didn’t know who served that role before he got into show business, as Saburo had informed him from the get-go that he had no actual family around. With no family and no will, who would be getting all the junk in his apartment? The landlord? He’d probably want to give his gunpla to Keroro. That’s where any ideas Kururu had started and ended. He certainly had no use for it all. 

And what of a service? Would he be stuck arranging one privately? The Hinatas and their friends would likely turn to him for guidance on how to memorialize Saburo, not knowing anyone else closer to him. Plus, as soon as the radio manager—who was almost certainly looking for him frantically by now—caught word he was deceased, it would likely mean the 623 secret would come out as well, and a more public funeral would accompany it. It was either that, or the radio star persona would forever remain a missing person case in the public eye. Both of these options would put too much pressure on Kururu for comfort.

Even without having to deal with his invasion work for a couple more weeks, Kururu knew he would hardly have a moment’s peace for quite a while after today. If he wanted a more personal goodbye, it was now or never.

On this visit to the blast site, the sergeant major carried no complex machinery. He didn’t even bring his laptop. It was just him, his pocket pad, and the flying board parked at his side. 

And one other thing.

Kururu stared at a copper box on the ground containing the spare reality pen, which he had rushed to put together for Saburo that night, knowing the one he was using would become overloaded and break before he could save himself. Since he obviously missed the chance to give it to him, it had been sitting in the glove compartment of the Kururu Robo all this time.

Perhaps it was a waste to simply discard such a powerful weapon. Keroro had been begging him for one for ages, after all. But as far as Kururu was concerned, it was still Saburo’s pen. The idea of anyone else using it, even himself, made him squirm. Having to look at it all the time would be like pouring salt on the wound. 

For this reason, Kururu decided to seal the pen away in a case with a secure password-encrypted digital lock and bury it here, at the very spot he last saw Saburo alive. It would be a memorial only he knew about—one final secret added to the list of the many he shared with Saburo.  

It was strange. Unlike the rest of his platoon with their chosen “partners,” Kururu didn’t see Saburo every day. Sometimes they’d even go multiple days without talking. It wasn’t like they were avoiding each other—they were just naturally solitary people, and both were rather busy doing their own things. Neither ever gave this conduct a second thought. 

Yet, as he stared at the pen in front of him, Kururu wondered if perhaps he should have stayed in that dinky apartment after all, even if it meant having to commute to the base. If that was too extreme, he could have at least bothered to text daily. Acting that clingy would devastate his ego, but did it matter? He wasted so much time—time he took for granted.

And, evidently, Saburo took the entire life he was supposed to have ahead of him for granted. A life with so much potential. If it would let Saburo live, Kururu would have traded the lives of a few hundred other Pekoponians, or maybe a thousand, or maybe even a million. Was that too cruel? Probably. Dororo would bite his head off for suggesting it. It’s possible—no, probable—even Saburo himself would shoot it down, and he could stomach a lot of Kururu’s callousness. 

Of course, such trolley problem scenarios wouldn’t have to be entertained if Kururu was just one minute faster. 

Maybe Saburo wasn’t really planning on sacrificing himself—he could have expected to be rescued. Perhaps, Kururu realized as his chest sank like a stone, he thought his partner would catch his drift, and was waiting for him all along. So what was he thinking when Kururu never came? Was he angry? Disappointed? Scared? Did being atomized hurt like hell, or were his nerve receptors vaporized so fast that he didn’t feel a thing? 

Kururu shook his head rapidly and put a trembling hand on the top of the box’s lid, which felt cool to the touch on his sweaty palm. He couldn’t dwell on this crap anymore. He had to finish up and get out of here so he could pull himself together before confronting the others. It’s not like he had anything in particular to say at his “grave”. 

His brain told him to close the box, but his arm muscles wouldn’t budge. Just do it, damn it! He screamed in his mind, but rationality had slipped out of his grasp again. 

A couple of droplets fell on the reality pen, leaving behind the most miniscule of watery stains. Was it raining? He really needed to leave soon, then; because of his poor natural vision causing him dizziness, he didn’t get as much euphoria from the rain as other Keronians. But the air didn’t feel any more humid than before, and no raindrops tickled his back. Still, the drips continued to fall. There was a plausible explanation, but Kururu didn’t like it.

Oh, fuck me. Anything but the waterworks. Not after he somehow managed to avoid letting it out all this time. Sure, it was better here than in front of anybody else, but he still hated himself for it.

Well, it was too late now. Just as it was too late for many things.

Kururu’s chest rattled as he tried to squeeze in breaths between choking back whatever sobs he could. Shit, this is really happening.

His glasses began to fog up. This too was a natural part of the crying process, he remembered, though he hadn’t done it in many, many, many years. Soon he could hardly see a thing; the box below him morphed into some kind of rectangular blob. Was he really getting that teary?

No…something was off here.

Kururu looked up to find that the once clear horizon was suddenly blanketed in a thick white mist. Confused, he quickly removed his glasses to wipe them with the handkerchief he always kept in his cap. When he put them back on, the mist was still there.

The hell? Kururu bolted up and spun in a circle, surveying his surroundings. The mist enveloped him on all sides, and the air was now quite sticky for real. He couldn’t tell if he was still sweating, or if the condensation in the air was clinging to his smooth skin. When he was once again facing the direction he started in, he gasped as his eyes fell on the ground below. The box with the pen was gone.

Instinctively, Kururu mashed the buttons on his headphones to unsheath his antennae, which popped out with a loud click. How did the box suddenly vanish? Had a stealthy enemy alien located him and stolen it? He held his fingers on the buttons, preparing to fire off his electric waves in case of an ambush, but none came. 

He closed up his headgear and slowly lowered his hands. He then reached for his pocket gadget to see if it could give him any clues as to what was going on. Just as he was about to turn on the screen, he heard a mysterious sound above his head—something between a loud flapping and the tinkling of a wind chime. He looked up to find an almost indescribably mystical sight.

Flying over Kururu was what appeared to be a large, rainbow-colored butterfly, its prismatic shine piercing the otherwise impenetrable mist. With each flap of its wings, a heap of chromatic glitter was added to the stream of sparkles trailing behind it. He’d never witnessed anything like it in person, and he’d met a lot of bizarre intergalactic creatures. It was like something out of a children’s fairy tale. 

Kururu’s eyes were transfixed as the butterfly flew off into the distance, gradually fading into the dark, starry sky that peeked between the gaps of the mist. When he finally snapped out of his trance, he lowered his neck to look back down at his gadget—but something else caught his eye midway. 

He blinked a few times, then squinted as hard as he could. There was no way, right? But those silhouettes were unmistakable, especially as the mist slowly began to part around them.

Some twenty meters away was himself, sitting on the ground in close to the same posture as he was just a few minutes ago, also looking to the sky as the butterfly flew further out of sight. 

Standing at the other Kururu’s side, now clear as could be, was Saburo. 

Kururu stood frozen with shock, his jaw almost at the floor. The butterfly was almost entirely out of view when a jolt of adrenaline finally shot through his system, as though someone had floored on the gas in his mind. He let his gadget drop as he sprinted forward as quickly as his weak legs could carry him.

“Sa—”

He began to shout, but of course he slipped at just that moment. A sense of deja vu hit him as his face met the sand—notably totally free of charcoal. After being dazed for a few seconds, he yanked his head off the ground, spitting out sand as he got his bearings. He adjusted his vision ahead of him…

But he and Saburo were gone.

He quickly rose and dusted himself off, then whipped his head around frantically. The mist was separating, quickly revealing more of the area. It was morning once more, and the sand was again dotted with black. The rainbow dust that had colored the air had completely evaporated. Just as quickly as the phenomenon had arrived, it was over.

Did he hallucinate all of that? No. It felt too real. Something else had happened. And Kururu knew just what it was.

His heart pounding in his chest, Kururu scrambled back to the area where he had dropped his gadget. Sure enough, the box with the pen was right where it was before, lid still ajar. He swiped at the ground to lift his device, his swift movement kicking up some of the sand. He pulled up his area scanner and almost shouted with glee at what he read.

He would know the numbers of the magnetic frequencies displayed on the screen anywhere. He had memorized them intensely, after all. The mist may have passed, but its aura still lingered. That was it—it was the time mist. 

Was that a vision of the past, or was it the future? He didn’t know yet. It didn’t matter. Either way, it was somewhere in this timeline. Something would change. 

He was going to do it. He was going to save him! 

Kururu’s whole body quivered as he shoved the device back in his pocket—this time not wracked with despair, but pure excitement. He grabbed the reality pen tightly, leaving the case behind. He held it up to the sky, bathing it in the sun’s light. He basked in his triumph for a moment before sticking the pen under his skullcap and making a mad dash for his flying board.

He did remember that butterfly after all. He had seen it briefly in his research on the Tunguska incident, though he wasn’t sure until now if it truly existed as was described. There were a plethora of theories about it, but it was generally agreed upon that it rose from the ashes of the explosion. Back then, a different Pekoponian warrior battled the Quietite, and it was rarely rumored there was other alien activity involved as well—Kururu knew that much from the sparse accounts he’d found on the intergalactic web. If the part about the butterfly was true, it was plausible that information was too. It was entirely possible that the clues he needed still lingered around Tunguska. 

If he wanted a chance at any more answers, he’d have to see ground zero for himself. 

Kururu cackled with mirth as he took off high into the sky. Before he propelled himself forward, he remembered there was someone else he had to tell. As he pulled his device back out, a toothy grin spread across his countenance. 

As Kururu began to dial in a phone number, a chorus of ku-ku-kus reverberated throughout Inner Tokyo, largely unbeknownst to its residents.

Dororo meditated in the doorway of his humble shack in the woods, trying to focus on the singing of the birds and the rustling of the leaves outside. Koyuki had already gone to school as chipper as always, especially after hearing that Dororo had managed to solve his problem, which was mostly true. He still had her to worry about. 

The ninja’s eyes immediately opened wide the moment his landline phone rang loudly from inside, its hollow wooden shell rattling. In just under a second, he was already back in the house holding it up to his ear.

“Kururu-dono! Is everything all right?” Dororo answered almost a little too eagerly. He didn’t even need to ask who was calling.

“Yo, senpai. You bet it is.” came the nasally voice on the other end.

Dororo furrowed his brows at the odd response, but before he could get another word in edgewise, Kururu spoke again, his cadence so lilted that his smile practically shone through the receiver. 

“Wanna come with me to Siberia?”

Chapter Text

“Aaaaargh! What is wrong with that Kururu?!”

Sergeant Keroro tugged on his hat flaps, squeezing them in his vexation. 

“I mean, the guy drains our budget to apparently fight an alien without telling us, goes into hiding for multiple days, and then just shows up to tell me he’s borrowing my bike like nothing ever happened?!” the leader of the Keroro Platoon yelled, twisting the flaps balled in his fists. “He didn’t even ask me first! Honestly, I love ’im and all, but what gives?!”

Corporal Giroro folded his arms. “Why is anyone still surprised when Kururu does something unreasonable?”

“Do you love me too, Mr. Sergeant?” Private Tamama asked, pointing to himself and rocking back and forth innocently with a cherubic grin.

“Yes, Private Tamama,” Keroro said flatly, “I love all my subordinates equally, sir.”

“Oh… Thanks…” The smile on the attention-seeking private’s face slowly faded. He was hoping to hear something more along the lines of, “Why, you’re the most promising soldier in the entire Keronian Army, Private Tamama,” but this would have to do. 

It was late morning now, and the three teammates were sitting around a coffee table on the carpet in Keroro’s room. The captain had gathered them all there for a “formal meeting,” but with a giant brick wall in the form of an empty bank account blocking any invasion progress, it was clear he just wanted an audience to listen to him whine about his transgressions. 

“Oh, and guess what literally hit me after that?” Keroro said, pulling a scroll with a kunai sticking through it out from behind his back. He opened up the scroll and cleared his throat, reading—

“ ‘To Keroro-kun, I’m leaving on an urgent trip with Kururu-dono. We’ll be back soon, so don’t worry about us. From, Dororo.’ ” He paused for a second before continuing. “ ‘P.S., I’m sorry about your bike. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted it was okay, even though it probably isn’t.’ ”

Keroro crumpled up the scroll and sighed. “Sounds like those two are awfully buddy-buddy all of a sudden, yes sir…”

“What could they possibly be up to?” Giroro said, tapping his chin. “I thought Dororo only got involved to help Kururu deal with that sound-stealing alien. Isn’t that all taken care of now?”

“Maybe Kururu-senpai lured Dororo-senpai to the dark side with some really good cookies,” Tamama suggested, licking his lips. He then gasped and grinned snidely. “Or maybe…”

Tamama began to sing, bobbing his head to the rhythm. “My two senpai sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Knock it off!” Giroro growled, bonking his junior lightly atop the noggin. Something about the idea of his demure childhood friend palling around with the yellow devil seemed fishy. Even if they were comrades in arms, they hardly spent any time alone up until now. 

“I thought your joke was funny, Tamama-san!” Mois walked up to the group from behind and set down on the table a tray of colorful fruit drinks for them all to share. 

“I didn’t ask you.” Tamama leered at Mois as he swiped his drink from the tray, then turned away from her, pouting. 

“Anyway,” Keroro said after he took a big swig of his drink, “joke’s on them, because…”

The sergeant reached into his hat and pulled out a red-and-white device about the size of a pager. He showed it off to the others, pointing to its currently blank LCD screen. 

“Kururu himself made me a long-distance tracker for my bike, see? I bet he thinks I forgot about it. How uncharacteristically careless of him…” Keroro smirked and reached for the red button underneath the screen. “Now, let’s see where those two have run off to, yes sir!”

The LCD window turned on with a click, booting up to a screen showing the label KRR-SP and Kururu’s spiral logo against a light blue background. Keroro and his squad watched the screen with bated breath…

…Only for it to switch to a display of red blocky text saying TRACKING DISABLED. 

“Aw, come on!” Keroro cried, shaking the device angrily. Just then, a ray of blue light arose from the screen, causing Keroro to yelp with surprise and lose his grasp on the device, which clattered to the surface of the table. It landed face up, and the light morphed to display a static holographic image of Kururu’s symbol. 

“Ku, ku, ku! Hiya, Captain,” came the distorted voice on the other end, somewhat muffled by the whooshing of air being picked up by the recording. “I had a feeling I might need to do this someday, so I programmed in anti-tracking and message recording features. Don’t worry, the anti-tracking switch on the bike is password protected, so only I can currently use it.”

“You added a feature to steal my bike?!” Keroro shouted incredulously.

“Ah, this message is prerecorded,” said Kururu, “so don’t bother yellin’ at me.”

“Whoa,” remarked Tamama. “He’s really got your number.”

Giroro sighed. “Keroro jinxed it.”

“So,” Kururu continued, “in case you couldn’t take the hint, we’re on top secret business, so don’t come lookin’ for us.” 

As if on cue, Dororo’s voice came through next, sounding slightly less clear than Kururu’s. “Yes, I’m here too!” He paused for a moment before adding, “Also, we’re sorry again!”

“Speak for yourself,” sneered Kururu, eliciting an audible groan from Dororo in the background. “Look, we’ll explain everything later, so just hang tight and relax till we’re ready, capiche?”

“Relax?” Tears of frustration formed in Keroro’s eyes. “How am I supposed to relax without knowing where my bike is?!”

“Are you really more concerned about your stupid bike than everything else going on here?!” Giroro snapped.

“It’s not stupid!” Keroro sniffled, snot hanging from his nose. “It’s beautiful and special and perfect!”

“Well,” said Kururu, “I’m assuming this is the part where you have an old-married-couple fight with Giroro-senpai or something, so I’m out. See ya!” Kururu signed off with his signature laugh.

“Goodb—” Dororo began to say, but his voice was cut off as the recording ended with a ping. Kururu’s holographic symbol faded as the light was absorbed back into the LCD screen, which then shut itself down.

“Gaaaaah!” Keroro wailed. He fell backward and started rolling around on the ground in his angst. “Please don’t let anything happen to my biiiiike!”

“Get a grip already!” Giroro shouted. He attempted to pry his commander off the floor, accidentally knocking over his drink as he dived for the green sergeant. 

Mois giggled. “I’m sure glad Kururu-san sounds okay!” she said. “I know Dororo-san was taking care of him, but I’ve still been worried. Talk about a sigh of relief!”

Tamama slapped his palm to his forehead. “If you ask me, there’s still plenty to worry about…”

Dororo played with the pink mittens he was wearing as he sat atop the back hump of the KRR-SP, which was currently idling in front of a homey-looking restaurant built from red bricks and sandwiched between various other shops. Kururu had gone inside a while ago, saying he needed a quiet place to order something specific, though he suspiciously did not take one of the Pekoponian suits they had brought along in case they needed to interact with any locals. As a few other people streamed out of the restaurant looking somewhat dazed, Dororo couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

It was now mid-afternoon, and Kururu and Dororo were currently in the urban center of Krasnoyarsk, one of the largest cities in the Siberia region of Russia. They were making a pitstop here before continuing a little further northwest toward the Podkamennaya Tunguska River, located deep in the forests of the East Siberian taiga. Not far from the river was the remote rural community of Vanavara, where the two Keronians had agreed to investigate further if the blast site itself didn’t give them much to go on. “It’s got some kind of museum we can hija—I mean, check out that might have clues,” Kururu had suggested earlier.

With the KRR-SP’s impressive speed, it had taken them just a few hours to get here from Inner Tokyo, despite the surprisingly large distance between Japan and Russia (they looked deceptively close to each other on the planet’s maps). The bike was built especially for fast travel—as opposed to their flying boards and mechas, which were designed with combat potential in mind—and was much more efficient for a day trip for two than the platoon’s dock airship. This is why Kururu insisted on taking it, especially since Keroro had just recently tuned it up. Dororo was quite appalled when Kururu told him he simply took the vehicle without asking for permission. Granted, it sounded exactly like something Keroro would’ve done to him when they were younger, but he reasoned that two wrongs don’t make a right. 

Dororo admired the surrounding buildings and bustling streets as he waited for his companion. This city was perhaps a bit more industrial compared to Inner Tokyo, but its architecture was fascinating, and it was wonderful to be surrounded by oodles of trees and an excellent view of the mountains and valleys on the outskirts. He knew he was here on an important mission, but getting to go on a road trip was a nice bonus. 

As flattered as Dororo was that Kururu invited him along immediately after he’d had the idea, he was also initially concerned, worrying that Kururu had slipped back into the mental danger zone. But when Kururu proved that he’d encountered the mist via the data his gadget had auto-logged about the environmental conditions at the blast site that morning, Dororo chose to believe him. He’d seen the phenomenon for himself, after all, and he knew it was real, no matter how far-fetched it might seem. Besides, Kururu still agreed to stop denying help and tell the truth to the rest of the gang after their excursion, but he now hoped he’d be able to put a more optimistic spin on things. Kururu seemed convinced it was a matter of when, not if—he just had to figure out how to get from point A to point B.

Dororo was snapped out of his reflection by the sound of a bell’s chime, followed by the restaurant door creaking open. Out stepped Kururu, one pearly bowl balanced in each gloved hand. The two were wearing identical outfits—an old training uniform they’d each used one winter, consisting of dark spring green caps and jackets, pink mittens, and beige boots. It wasn’t quite below freezing in the city, but it was close; plus, it would be even colder in the tundra. The Keronians’ sensitivity to cold made the heavy dress appropriate enough, though with what Kururu was holding, it was possible they were about to feel a little stuffy. 

“Lunch is served,” said Kururu, carefully making his way toward their vehicle. He then handed Dororo a bowl. “Careful—it’s a bit hot.”

Dororo examined the dish he was given. It was a crimson-colored soup—a sea of hearty beef chunks peppered between various vegetables, such as cabbage, potatoes, and beets, garnished with a sprinkle of scallions. Dororo wasn’t one for heavy dishes most of the time, but its aroma made his mouth water. 

“Wow…”

Kururu smirked. “You didn’t think I’d come all the way to Russia and not get me some borscht, didja?” He handed Dororo a silver spoon from his jacket pocket. “Plus, you’ve been treating me for days, and I don’t like owing favors.”

“Well, that’s awfully kind,” Dororo said with a smile, “and it looks delicious.”

“No need to thank me,” Kururu said as he cozied into the notch of the pilot’s seat, both legs draped over one side of the vehicle. “And if you do, I’m feeding you to the wolves later.”

Kururu blew on a serving to cool it down and immediately started to dig in, though Dororo wasn’t satisfied just yet.

“Um… Might I ask how exactly you got this?” Dororo said. “I didn’t see you take a disguise in there. You are using your anti-barrier, right? Do you even have money?”

“Disguise? Money?” Kururu said as he shoved a spoonful of borscht into his mouth. “I have mind control technology, dude. I hypnotized the chef into making me what I wanted, and then I erased the memories of anyone in there.”

Dororo blanched. “You…terrorized a man and stole food from him?”

“Yeah, you should’ve seen the look on that guy’s face. I bet he thought he was seein’ God for a sec.” Kururu chuckled between munches. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we’re gonna get caught.”

“Being able to get away with something doesn’t make it okay!” Dororo scolded. 

“Look, I’m all for supporting local business, but in case you forgot, money’s kinda tight right now.” Kururu popped another spoonful, stuffing meat and potatoes into his maw. “ ’Sides, we’re here ’cuz we’re trying to save a kid ’n’ stuff. I think that balances out the morality scale.”

Dororo narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s… That’s not how it works. At all.”

Kururu just shrugged. “Whatevs.” He then nudged Dororo’s torso with his elbow.

“C’mon, try it already. I wanna know what you think.”

“…I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Psh. Don’t be that way.” Kururu leaned his head a little closer toward Dororo. “You don’t wanna waste food, do ya?”

Dororo grunted. Kururu knew that was a sore spot for him. In fact, the ninja was so adamant about making sure every bite of food was treasured that he spontaneously started crying upon remembering that the now days-old corn he gave Kururu hadn’t been eaten fresh. 

“W-well…it has already been made…”

“Exaaaactly.” Kururu’s smirk grew wide as he held his spoon between his teeth. “See? You get it.”

Dororo started sweating profusely from the pressure (though the heat from the bowl radiating through his warm suit didn’t help). He let out a pained sigh.

“O-okay, fine!” Dororo apologized to the poor chef under his breath, shut his eyes, and hurriedly slipped a bite of the soup under his mask.

As the tomatoey broth slithered down his esophagus, Dororo’s expression lit up in a matter of milliseconds.

“It’s heaven,” Dororo whispered, eyes shining with the light of a thousand suns.

Kururu whooped triumphantly. “Got ’em!” 

Dororo chuckled softly. “Yes, despite your…less than agreeable methods, you do have good taste.”

“So, next time we should try some from Ukraine,” Kururu said. “That’s the true original home of borscht, where it’s prepared with a pork base instead of beef, plus they add a heap of sour cream and give it a thicker overall consisten—”

“Wait.” Dororo’s eyebrows raised as he gulped down another mouthful. “Next time?”

“Uh…” The food Kururu was swallowing almost got stuck in his throat. “After all this, I mean. Not this this, but when shit’s not so fucked anymore, I wouldn’t mind it, I guess. You know.”

The two Keronians stared at each other blankly for fifteen seconds that crawled on for what felt like fifteen minutes. 

Finally, Dororo broke the silence. “Um… Sure, I’d be happy to—”

“Never mind,” Kururu sputtered as he quickly shoved the remaining few bites of his food into his mouth all at the same time, causing his jaw to blow up like a chipmunk’s. Once he’d managed to gulp it down, he immediately tossed the bowl and spoon behind him. Dororo winced as the delicate dish shattered on the concrete.

“Was that necess—”

“Yes.” Without another word, Kururu hoisted one leg over the other side of the bike and straddled the seat, getting back in position to drive. He fiddled with the dashboard and double checked the digital map of the route while Dororo finished his food. 

“Okey-dokey… We’re not far from ground zero now. Should take less than an hour with our speed. We’ll pass over Vanavara, then we’ll head through the dead wood of the taiga, cross the mountains and the river, and it’ll be around there. Oh, and let’s try not to piss off any bears—those assholes are relentless…”

Kururu paused his ramble when he heard Dororo giggling a bit in the back. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Dororo said as he ate his last spoonful of borscht. “It’s just nice to see you back to your usual self. Even though I could do with less criminal activity.”

“Yeah, I was gettin’ tired of being a sad sack too.” Kururu stretched out his arms. “Guess I’m lucky I ran into that mist stuff when I did.”

“Do you think it was luck?” Dororo hopped off the back of the bike and left Kururu to ponder his words for a brief moment as he swiftly snuck inside the restaurant to drop off his dirty dishes; his anti-barrier and ninja skills made this quick and easy.

“I’m not sure what else it’d be,” Kururu said when Dororo returned. “As far as we know, the magnetic activity that causes the mist is entirely spontaneous.”

“Well, I believe it might have been fate.” Dororo took his seat, squeezing himself between Kururu and the bike’s tail. “It’s as though you were meant to be there at just the right time. Perhaps Saburo-dono was watching over you and sent you a message…”

Kururu blew a raspberry. “Spare me the spiritual mumbo-jumbo, wouldja? I don’t buy all that.”

Dororo squinted at him. “How can you not believe in spirits when there’s a ghost living in your house?”

“That’s a whole different matter,” Kururu said. “I’m a man of hard science. I don’t rely on random superstitions.”

“Who said those are mutually exclusive stances?” Dororo argued. “There’s no way to physically prove that one interpretation or the other is correct in this instance, so you might as well keep your mind open.”

The sergeant major thought over this, somewhat surprised at the eloquent response, then clicked his tongue. 

“Damn. I hate when I can’t win against this philosophical shit.” He smirked slightly before whispering—

 “You know who else would’ve done that to me…”

“Hmm?” Dororo cocked his head, perplexed, until it finally dawned on him.

“Oh…” The blue Keronian rubbed the back of his head. “Right, sorry…”

“Hey, I was just thinking out loud,” Kururu said with a sneer. “Don’t make it weird by getting all apologetic on me.”

“Are you sure? Talking about Saburo-dono doesn’t upset you too much anymore?”

“Not particularly.” 

“Well, that’s splendid to hear.” Dororo let out a sigh of relief. Up until the current day, Kururu’s mood had been unpredictable and volatile whenever Saburo was brought up directly in conversation. Perhaps it was only because the incident with the mist made Kururu feel like his death was less permanent, but this was a definite progression nonetheless.

The ninja peered over Kururu’s shoulder. “Could I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you tell me about how you and Saburo-dono first met? I didn’t get to find out when we used the Soul Diver, as I spent the whole time stuck in one of your…” Dororo shuddered as he recalled that day. “…unpleasant memories.”

Kururu shrugged. “Why not? It’ll pass the time.”

“Is it a long story?”

“You could say that. But first, hold on tight.”

The sergeant major twisted the handlebar to rev the KRR-SP’s engine, causing it to whirr to life. 

Dororo wrapped both of his arms around Kururu’s torso for stability on the vibrating vehicle. Hardly a second later, the bike accelerated at breakneck speed, leaving in its wake a streak of blue light that was completely invisible to the humans roaming the streets.

Kururu made the bike do a sharp, almost perpendicular turn upward, and their view of the towering buildings and crowded roads of Krasnoyarsk began to look more like a child’s playset.

“So, it started when we first landed on Pekopon…”

The taiga consisted of a vast array of conifers, larches, and broadleaves as far as the eyes could see. Since it was the beginning of the tundra’s coldest season, the trees and vegetation peppering the forest floor were lightly sprinkled with frost. It was a bit less cold in Vanavara, which, from Kururu and Dororo’s aerial view, appeared to be largely a series of farming fields and rural homes big and small, nestled between smatterings of firs and one conspicuous airport tarmac.

As the two Keronians drew closer to the blast site, they swooped through tall mountain ranges that were tricky to navigate, even with the KRR-SP’s tight controls. Dororo eagerly pointed and exclaimed with almost childlike cheer whenever they spotted groups of animals—such as caribou, sables, and even the occasional wolverine—causing Kururu to have to shush him on multiple occasions, reminding him that aliens were not invisible to animals. 

Just before they emerged from the mountains, they had an uncomfortably close call with a brown bear that Kururu was going too fast to notice, forcing him to tranquilize the creature with his hypnotic waves just as it started lashing out at the duo. Dororo protested this, upset at having to interfere with the wildlife in any capacity. Kururu reassured the ninja that the bear was only sleeping, opting to leave out the fact that the poor creature would likely have migraines for a while. 

Not long after that, the two reached the Tunguska River, a tranquil stream whose edges were lined with the greens of pine trees and beiges of reeds. It hadn’t begun to freeze over due to the stream of moving water, allowing Dororo to admire its steady flow. 

“Isn’t it just beautiful?” Dororo took in a whiff of fresh air. “The smell of trees, the mountains teeming with life, the sparkling river… It’s an undisturbed paradise!”

“At least one of us is having a good time here,” Kururu muttered. His nature-loving companion might have been sufficiently distracted from the bitterness of the cold, or perhaps his more extensive physical training allowed him to withstand it; either way, Kururu could hardly tolerate the brittle air drying out the skin on his face, especially as the chill was stronger over the water. 

That’s why, when a clearing dotted with large stones came into view across the lakefront, a wave of ecstasy washed over Kururu. 

“Bingo!” he shouted, signaling straight ahead with his gloved hand. “There it is!”

Kururu twisted the accelerator for one last spurt, inadvertently almost bucking Dororo in the process. They whizzed through another few rows of conifers, and at long last, the sunlight peeking through the clouds hit their eyes as the pair was greeted by an open field. 

“Voila,” said Kururu as he brought the bike to a stop on the perimeter of the field. “The Tunguska event impact site.”

In contrast to the rest of the taiga’s woodlands, the Tunguska epicenter was much sparser on trees. In fact, plant life was rather bare altogether—bundles of bushes that grew to about half the Keronians’ height, shallow wild grass, and even patches of brown dirt made up the majority of the area. And with fewer trees around, even the birdsong that had reverberated all throughout the woodlands had grown more distant.

“I can’t believe it still hasn’t all grown back after so many years,” Dororo remarked as he took in the somewhat disquieting landscape. “It’s almost apocalyptic.”

“Well, at least Saburo and our Quietite deciding to throw down in a damn sand pit spared the plants.” Kururu feigned jazz hands. “Whoopee.” 

The two hopped off the KRR-SP, stretching their stiffened bodies out before wading through the grass toward the only eye-catching feature in sight—the cascade of stone glyphs scattered around the area. They were the same in size and material as the ones that had been left behind back in Inner Tokyo, though they were clearly eroded with age, as evidenced by the moss seeping through the stones’ cracks. But rather than taking the form of kana and kanji, the giant characters appeared to be shaped like letters of the Cyrillic alphabet.

Kururu approached one of the giant letters, which just so happened to be a “K”, and peered up at it.

“You remember the rumors from the intergalactic web I told you about, don’tcha?”

Dororo came to his side. “About one hundred years ago, in January 1908, a Pekoponian warrior defended the planet from the Quietite in a battle of the written word…right?”

“Yup.” Kururu patted the statue’s smooth exterior. “And they indeed fought in Russian, judging by these babies.”

“But modern day Pekoponians only just discovered this evidence,” Dororo recalled. “I wonder why that is. These stones have been in the same place for a century, and I can’t imagine people never tried to investigate before.”

“If Fuyuki hadn’t been watching a report about it the minute I walked by, I might never have connected the dots…” Kururu grimaced, fingering the cracks in the stone.

“…Not like it ended up making a difference.”

“That’s not true.” Dororo placed a hand on the sergeant major’s shoulder. “Thanks to your hard work that night, we have the background knowledge to turn things around now. I’m sure Saburo-dono appreciates it too.”

“Oh, not the his-spirit-is-watching-me crap again,” Kururu moaned.

“But you agreed to consider it.”

Kururu scoffed. “I did not say that. And even if I did, why would anyone appreciate being left for dead?”

Dororo let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “You really are as stubborn as they come.”

“Okay, that I can agree with,” Kururu said with a cheeky grin. “But thanks for the wake-up call, I guess.”

Dororo gasped, and his hand flew to cover his mouth. “Did you just…thank me?!” he said, teary eyes sparkling with emotion. 

“Don’t get used to it.” Kururu clapped Dororo on the back as he turned to face the center of the field.

“Okay, enough chit-chat,” Kururu said, putting his hands on his hips. “Let’s get crackin’ before any Pekoponians show up.”

“Right!” Dororo wiped his eyes and snapped to attention, but his determined stance suddenly loosened. 

“Er… Cracking on what, exactly?”

“Searching for any traces of alien presence that we can find. The identity of whoever initially shared that information to the web is unknown, but whether or not they’re still around here, even a secondary source would put us on the right track.” 

Kururu sat cross-legged on the ground and whipped out (from seemingly nowhere) his laptop—which had a small white satellite attached to it—and his pocket tablet.

“I’m gonna run some tests, and you can use your ninja-assassin-whatever magic to sniff around. Sounds good?”

Dororo hummed. “That is a decent place to start. Very well, then.”

“Bitchin’.”

Dororo narrowed his eyes at him. “You know, you should really consider working on your language.”

“I asked for a field check, not an attitude check.” Kururu waved his hand flippantly. “Hop to it, Doro-boat.”

Dororo rolled his eyes, but the exchange otherwise ended there, and the two got to work. Kururu swapped repeatedly between his two devices—partially to monitor as many processes as possible, and partially to keep his hands warm, as he had to remove his mittens for maximum typing efficiency. It didn’t take much time for a rather lengthy list of DNA markers to pop up on his tracker. Of course, a lot of it was noise, as the DNA of Earth’s organisms was also picked up by his program. He started to manually match up the readings he was presented with to his extensive alien species database. This was a tedious task, but not a difficult one.

Eventually, Kururu was able to single out a surprisingly high number of alien species, and that was only getting halfway down his list. He frowned as he started plugging the data into a simple spreadsheet for on-the-fly access. He’d have to search for the active presence of different species—or at least something tangible they’d left behind—one by one until he found a hit that gave any real hints. 

“Guess this place is more of an alien hotbed than I thought,” Kururu said to Dororo through the intercom in his headset. “What could all these guys have been doing here?”

“Maybe the Pekoponians discovering the stone letters reinvigorated aliens’ interest in the area.” Dororo leaned one hand against the trunk of the tree whose branches he currently stood upon, as the other hand held his left hat flap to his ear. “I wonder if they came looking for anything specific as well. It’s a shame we seem to have missed them, though.”

“Tourists probably wouldn’t know any more than we do anyway,” Kururu grumbled. “Sensing anything on your end?”

Dororo shook his head. “I don’t detect any unusual presences. Perhaps we should start heading back toward Vanavara.”

“Not until we exhaust all our options here and around the river. I’m not in the mood to go back and forth in this cold-ass—”

Kururu paused suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” Dororo asked. “Find something?”

“Get down from that tree,” Kururu instructed. “My satellite’s infrared cam is picking up some kinda shapes on that stone letter across from you.”

“Oh!” Dororo hopped off the branch and landed softly on the grass below, then darted over to the stone a meter or so in front of him. 

“This one?”

“Around the other side,” Kururu said. “I’ll give you a light.”

Kururu aimed toward the surface of the “Ц”-shaped stone a beam of specially tuned light from his satellite that could expose infrared imprints.

“Well?”

“Something’s written here!” Dororo said, eyeing the right column of the character. 

“Heat-based alien invisible ink, I suppose.” Kururu opened up his notes log. “What’s it say?”

Dororo coughed, then read aloud—

“ ‘I was here. Signed…’ ”

“Signed who?” Kururu raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you trail off?”

Dororo scratched his head as he squinted at the blob of remaining text, which may as well have been written by an infant who could barely hold a crayon, but he could pick out some individual letters within the sludge. 

“I can’t really read it. If I had to guess, I think it might be a bunch of names piled on top of each other…”

“Oh, man. It really is tourists,” Kururu groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They couldn’t even be bothered to pick their own spots? Unless this is other planets’ idea of conquering territory these days…”

Dororo folded his arms indignantly. “I can’t believe so many folks would vandalize a monument of history like this,” he pouted. “They even drew over the lichens! How uncouth!”  

“You have weird priorities, man.” The yellow Keronian sighed and got up, wiping wet grass off his pants before moving to detach the mini satellite from his laptop.

“Guess we should move around a little,” Kururu said as he bent over to pack up his equipment. “I don’t feel like walking, so I’m gonna get on the bike and—”

“Wait!”

Kururu bolted upright at Dororo’s exclamation. He whipped around to face the other Keronian, who stood with knees slightly bent and both arms held out to his sides.

Kururu titled his head. “Huh?”

Dororo’s eyes looked downward, darting to and fro. “I feel a disturbance underground.” 

“Now we’re talking.” Kururu pulled out the pocket device he had just put away and clicked its shoulder buttons to switch rapidly between different modes. Thermal map, wave frequency reader, nearest curry joint locator…

“Metal detector,” Kururu said. “It’s reading something down there…”

Dororo felt the vibrations underneath his feet slip away from him. Small ripples in the grass, presumably made by the mysterious presence as it drew closer to the surface, became visible—and they were advancing quickly in Kururu’s direction. 

Thinking fast, Dororo raced toward his companion, who was completely distracted by his device, moving in a semicircle to reach him from the side. He dove into Kururu’s flank with a swift tackle, causing the sergeant major to yelp and drop the tablet to the ground. 

When the dazed Kururu’s spinning head finally settled, he found himself lying on his side. While he couldn’t see Dororo in full, he did feel the lance corporal’s body wrapped around his own.

“What the hell?!” Kururu shouted, voice partially muffled due to the fact that one cheek was smushed against the frosty floor. 

“Sorry,” Dororo said hurriedly, prying himself off of Kururu. “Whatever is underground was headed right for—”

Dororo’s words got hitched in his throat as he heard the sound of the ground breaking. He jumped to turn toward the source of the noise, and Kururu rolled onto his back with a grunt, then propped himself up with his forearms to lean on his hands. Dororo readied a battle stance, while Kururu peered over his stomach, glasses halfway off his face… 

And before them stood what appeared to be a bronze-colored, cylindrical robot a bit bigger than a mole, with a single wide eye that looked like a camera lens. The rather harmless-seeming machine was still anchored partially in the ground by three spindly but apparently sturdy legs.

The camera lens shuttered, as though the robot was closing and opening its eyelids, with the quietest of clicks. Before the two Keronians could even say anything, the drone began to rotate rapidly and drill its way back underground. A split second later, it took off across the field and toward the woods, churning up the dirt behind it.

Dororo looked back at Kururu, who also stared up at him, and the two blinked at each other in unison. Dororo opened his mouth first. 

“Chase it?”

“Chase it.”

With the tablet’s metal detector set to maximum sensitivity, Kururu and Dororo pursued the camera drone on the KRR-SP. Dororo piloted this time around, with Kururu directing him based on his tracker’s readings. Chasing the drone had actually taken them back in the direction from which they came, but rather than clearing the woods and passing over the river once more, they instead zoomed across a detour through the trees. 

Eventually, in an area where the canopy parted slightly and a waterfall could be heard off in the distance, the drone led them to a sizable shack. Fortified in the back by what appeared to be cliffs of a mountain base, the metallic indigo shack was wider than it was tall. The door, looking slightly uneven on its hinges, was placed between two windows, one low and one high. The roof, a rather mismatched shade of brown, had a tall smokestack as its one defining feature. 

The drone Kururu and Dororo were chasing sank back into the ground, disappearing from view as it seemed to burrow underneath the shack. 

“Looks dumpy, if you ask me,” Kururu remarked, hopping off the KRR-SP with tablet in hand. 

Dororo put the bike in park mode and followed his companion. “Don’t throw stones from houses with half-finished roofs.” 

“I don’t think that sounded as good as you probably thought it would…but touché.” 

Kururu fiddled with his tablet for a few seconds, then looked up from it and nodded. 

“Yep, there’s an anti-barrier on it.” He turned to Dororo and smirked. “We’ve found our alien.”

Dororo rubbed his chin. “Or maybe they found us…”

Let’s just say we found each other.

Kururu and Dororo both jumped with a start as a loud voice came through what sounded like a megaphone. After turning his head toward the direction of the noise, Dororo tapped Kururu on the shoulder and pointed to a panel high above one of the windows that had apparently flipped open without them noticing. Protruding out from the gap was what appeared to be a round speaker of some sort attached to a pole. 

“When did that get there?” Kururu said between grit teeth.

“And who are you?” Dororo asked, his mitten still outstretched toward the apparatus.

That’s what I should be asking you. There was a brief pause before the voice continued. 

Keronians, huh? Been a while since any have shown up around here.

“How did you know—”

Dororo stopped mid-sentence when he spotted the camera robot peeking through the open window below. The robot extended one of its skinny legs and waved to him. 

I believe you’ve already been acquainted with Trip here, the voice said in a chipper tone. Cute, isn’t he?

“No offense, but it’s a little on the generic side,” Kururu blurted out, earning himself a light elbow to the ribs from Dororo.

“Must you try to irritate every stranger we come across?” the ninja hissed.

The intercom voice let out a tinny laugh. No offense taken. He was a gift anyway. 

“Still,” Dororo said, “rudeness aside, we don’t want to start anything dangerous…”

Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t be hostile to visitors of my own species.

As “Trip” and the intercom both withdrew back into the shack, Kururu and Dororo looked at each other with bewilderment. 

“Did you know there was a Keronian here?” Dororo asked.

Kururu shook his head. “Figures. Probably one of the DNA readings I never got to analyze…”

Suddenly, the rusty door to the shack flew open with a loud screech. Out onto the raised wooden platform that served as a porch stepped a figure who did indeed appear to be a Keronian with blue-gray skin—a tadpole at that, based on the white patch on his face. The symbol on his belly and standard tan hat was an iron-colored wrench. A pair of pilot’s goggles sat atop his head, and he was clad in dusty rose work boots with gloves to match.

“Welcome,” the Keronian said with a polite smile, arms outstretched. “Military?”

Kururu nodded and stepped forward, being the senior of the two in terms of rank. “Sergeant Major Kururu, strategy and communications officer of the Keronian Invasion Army Special Tactics Platoon,” he said with a lazy salute. 

“Lance Corporal Dororo, assassination specialist, same platoon.” Dororo followed suit, though with a much more proper salute. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Ah, that invasion platoon. I’ve heard of you.” The stranger returned the duo’s salutes with his own. 

“Ex-Private First Class Tsukeke, former Keronian Army technician and current freelance mechanic. Likewise.”

Dororo lowered his salute. “Assuming you live here, Tsukeke-dono…”

“We’re hoping to ask you some questions,” Kururu finished. And more than just about Tunguska now, he thought to himself as he eyed the former soldier.

“Say no more.” Tsukeke turned around, allowing the two to notice that, despite his tadpole-like appearance, he had no tail. He turned his head halfway over his shoulder and beckoned the two visitors.

“Come on in.”

Chapter Text

“Dobro pozhalovat,” said the blue-gray Keronian. “Come on in to the Tsukeke workshop.”

Tsukeke moved aside after entering his home, and gestured for Kururu and Dororo to follow. 

Dororo stepped forward with a slight bow. “Um… Ojamashimasu…?”

“You guys are corny as hell.” As the door shut behind the three of them, Kururu strolled in with his hands behind his head. “We have built-in translators and speak the same mother tongue.”

Dororo opened his mouth to admonish his brusque companion, but as soon as he took in a breath, his esophagus was attacked by the pungent taste of chemicals of some sort, causing him to hack on reflex. 

“I-I’m sorry!” Dororo said between coughs muffled by his mask. “I’m a little sensitive to fumes…”

“Whoops! My bad!” Tsukeke immediately jumped into action, dashing toward the other side of the large room. “Forgot to turn the air purifiers on!”

As Tsukeke plodded away, Kururu patted Dororo on the back with one hand while covering his own nose and mouth with the other. “Yeesh. Never thought I’d find a more noxious workspace than mine,” he muttered.

The inside of the shack looked something like a large garage; the steel walls, a cool silver, were lined with shelves of various trinkets and a couple of pegboards holding up building tools of all kinds. In the same area, next to a personal computer, there was something the pair recognized—an intergalactic transporter, used for transmission of objects and parcels to the space mailing service that crossed planetary lines. There was a back door on the wall directly across from the duo, and a large workbench stood firmly near the biggest pegboard, various metal parts scattered across its surface. Not far from that loomed a couple of sizable machines, some with exposed wiring, and supplies ranging from cleaners to paint cans on the ground surrounding them; presumably, these were projects Tsukeke was working on.

Eventually, a click followed by loud whirring sounded out from above. Kururu and Dororo looked upward and spotted a few square filters attached to the ceiling, along with several wide high-hat lights. Almost immediately, much to the pair’s relief, the air began to clear.

Tsukeke came running back, this time accompanied by Trip, the tiny camera robot they had encountered earlier.

“Apologies again, fellas,” Tsukeke said, scratching his cheek. “I’m so used to it, I keep forgetting the ventilation here isn’t the greatest.” Trip also lowered its head apologetically. 

Dororo shifted his mask and wiped tears from his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice still a tad hoarse. “I’ve dealt with harsher conditions.”

Kururu tugged at his jacket collar. “Gettin’ stuffy in here. Guess you have central heating?”

Tsukeke nodded. “It’s a necessity out in a place like Siberia, though I’ve been here long enough that the cold bothers me about as much as a light breeze,” he said with a laugh. 

“How long is long, exactly?” Kururu asked. “You said you were ex-military, right?”

“Indeed,” Tsukeke replied. He jerked his thumb in the same direction from which he had just come. “I’m sure we’re all curious about each other, so let’s head over to the less busy side and have a chat.”

The mechanic motioned for the duo to follow him. Although the amount of work-related materials diminished as they walked to the other side of the shack, a particularly outstanding machine—the last and farthest one from the work area—caught Kururu’s eye. 

The machine, a yellow-brown, golem-like mecha, carried an air of imposing authority despite being deactivated and in a sitting position, almost like a large bodhisattva. Its head, shaped like a sideways egg with ear-like, round extensions protruding from its sides, was topped with a crown adorned with spiky horns all around its rim. Its eyes, while closed, were large and perfectly spherical; its mouth looked like the humped beak of a bird. Its ginormous, sturdy torso wore armor resembling a shawl, a symbol resembling the shape of a gemstone embossed into its surface. Its legs were attached to feet in the shape of a bulldozer’s scoop, and its arms were cannon-like, with clawed hands protruding from the barrels. 

“This thing looks interesting. It’s almost like ancient Keron’s planet submission weapons.” Kururu admired the mecha up and down. “I don’t suppose such a powerful-looking machine is here just for decoration.”

“That one’s from a rather well-off client of mine who was looking to get rid of an extra they had,” Tsukeke explained. “Apparently, it’s modeled after a race of former planet conquerors who were eventually obsoleted. I don’t get too many combat mechs these days, so I’m touching it up as a pet project of sorts.”

“It sounds like you receive a lot of presents,” Dororo said.

Tsukeke shrugged. “Not really. Just happened to satisfy the right people.”

In the back corner of the shack, adjacent to the switchboard that likely controlled the central air, there was a small area that presumably was where the building’s resident actually lived. A small wooden table with a single chair was positioned next to a little kitchen, complete with a refrigerator, countertop, cupboards, and a charcoal oven. On the wall across from that was a Keronian-sized bed, over which there was an additional window. Tsukeke opened up one of his cupboards as Trip hopped onto the counter.

“Care for snacks?” Tsukeke asked. “I’ve imported some space food, but I’ve also stockpiled a ton of sunflower seeds—Russians are huge on those…”

“We’re fine,” said Dororo. “We just ate not too long ago.”

“You sure? Well, fair enough.” Tsukeke closed the cupboard. “Allow me to put on some tea, at least.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Tsukeke lit the furnace and started to boil some water. Meanwhile, Dororo eyed the lone chair at the table.

“Does nobody else live with you, Tsukeke-dono?”

“Nope. It’s just me and the robots.” Tsukeke’s gaze shifted to the side. “It’s been a long time since...”

Kururu and Dororo both blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Never mind that.” Tsukeke frowned as he surveyed the table.

“At any rate, I suppose I could’ve used some extra chairs now… Sorry about that,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. Trip also ducked its cylindrical body bashfully. 

“It’s quite all right,” Dororo said with an understanding eye-smile. “Surely you weren’t expecting our visit.”

“Well—” Tsukeke stopped mid-statement and coughed awkwardly. “I mean…yes, that is true. I don’t have clients over in person, so…”

“Damn it,” came a low whine from behind, causing the two Keronians to quickly turn their heads. Kururu sulked up to them, shoulders slumped forward as though he’d just been asked to clean the inside of a toilet.

“I really didn’t wanna have to use this at all, let alone for something so trivial,” the sergeant major said, rubbing his temples. “But I’m not standing on my feet for however long this takes, so so be it.”

With that, Kururu straightened his posture and started digging around under his hat. Finally, he pulled out…

“The reality pen?” Dororo asked upon seeing the magical art apparatus Kururu held in his glove. “I didn’t know you had it with you.”

“I was gonna get rid of it this morning,” Kururu replied, “but now that the circumstances have changed, I’ll probably need it, so—”

“Oh, I see!” Dororo clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling with saccharine sentimentality. “It’s so you feel like Saburo-dono is here with you, right?”

“What? No,” Kururu scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “I just forgot to drop it off. Stop making everything so weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Dororo spoke softly. “It’s very normal and healing behavior after a loved one—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kururu shoved his way past the others, uncapping the pen. “Just let me draw the stupid chairs.”

Dororo tilted his head. “On the floor?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Kururu said with a shrug. 

“Excuse me!” Tsukeke suddenly exclaimed after a few seconds passed.

“Hunh?” Kururu, already knelt on the ground with the pen tip hovering over the concrete, lifted his head.

“Is that…” Tsukeke pointed toward Kururu’s pen. “…Koredinite?”

Kururu raised an eyebrow. “You know about it?”

Tsukeke nodded. “Actually, I have—had some myself. A long time ago.”

Dororo gasped. “Really? But how? Koredinite is an exceedingly rare material.”

The mechanic turned to face Dororo and exhaled sharply. “It’s a long story, but—”

Tsukeke’s answer was interrupted by the sound of a loud poof, followed by a brief but piercing yelp from Kururu that jolted his companions. Where the yellow Keronian knelt a few moments ago stood a newly spawned, slightly crooked wooden chair, but its artist was flat on his back in front of it. He rolled over to his stomach and pushed himself to his feet, face reddened. 

“Shit smacked me in the face when it sprung up,” Kururu muttered as he adjusted his glasses, which now had a few small cracks. “Now I know why he always did this stuff on paper…”

“So you’re researching the Tunguska event?”

Tsukeke took a sip of his tea and calculatingly eyed his two guests, now clad in their usual hats and getup—or lack thereof—as they had hung their winter gear on a rack Kururu drew for them with the reality pen after he’d conjured their two chairs (thankfully avoiding getting assaulted by the fabricated furniture this time). 

Kururu nodded in response to Tsukeke’s inquiry. “Anything you might know about it would help, even if it’s just a lead to somebody else.” 

The sergeant major wanted to prod the Keronian stranger for a bit before revealing the reason for his investigation. He was a bit wary of former enlisted, knowing many of them had a bone to pick with the military. Thus, Kururu wanted to ensure Tsukeke would be truly useful to him before divulging anything personal, and Dororo seemed to tacitly agree.

“Well,” Tsukeke said, “I’ll tell you you’re not the first aliens to show up around the Tunguska site lately.”

“We figured as much,” said Dororo. “We noticed the graffiti on the monuments at the epicenter.”

Tsukeke sighed. “The anti-barrier over those stones was so strong, even most other aliens couldn’t see them until recently. Now they all just want to get photo ops, trash the place, and maybe try to scare some newly curious Pekoponians. I started having Trip survey the area after I got tired of cleaning after those brats—gotta catch ’em somehow.”

The camera drone perked up at the sound of its name and scuttled over to Tsukeke, who lifted it and gently placed it on the table next to his mug.

“Look. Here’s how I found you two.” After Tsukeke fiddled with what seemed to be buttons on Trip’s backside, its lens-like eye opened wide, flickering a bit before displaying a holographic photograph. Much to Kururu and Dororo’s chagrin, it was a picture of the two of them staring shell-shocked into the camera, with Kururu still splayed out on the ground.

“Tch,” the yellow Keronian snorted. “Well, that’s humiliating.”

Dororo, blushing, pushed his two index fingers into each other. “Um, I don’t believe we did anything disrespectful, so…”

“I know, I know. I’ll delete it later,” Tsukeke said, giggling. “You lads surprised me by noticing Trip and chasing him all the way here, though. You must really be enthusiastic about this search you’re doing.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Kururu said hallowedly, taking a sip of tea as he tried to avoid eye contact.

“Actually, I just realized something,” Dororo said. “You seem to care quite a bit about the state of the epicenter, Tsukeke-dono. Does it have any particular significance to you, by any chance?”

“Well...” Tsukeke paused before he could say anything more. His eyebrows knitted, as though he was contemplating something.

Dororo cocked his head. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Sorry.” Tsukeke looked down at his hands, which were folded on the table. “I’m just not sure you’ll believe me if I say this…”

“Say what?” Kururu leaned forward with intent, tightly gripping his mug’s handle.

Tsukeke looked at Trip, who lightly patted its owner’s hand with its leg. The gray Keronian took a deep breath.

“I suppose I’ll tell you the truth. Wouldn’t want to make your efforts all for naught, after all.” Tsukeke cleared his throat, then continued—

“I do know for a fact what caused the Tunguska event…because I watched it happen with my own eyes.”

Kururu and Dororo, who both happened to be taking a sip from their mugs at that very moment, promptly sputtered green tea all over Tsukeke’s table.

The mechanic clicked his tongue. “Whoops. Should’ve warned you to put the drinks down first…”

Dororo quickly wiped his mouth and stared at Tsukeke, stunned. “Excuse me. It’s just… Wow. That’s incredible, actually…”

“You’re not kidding. Holy crap,” Kururu whooped loudly, slamming his mug down. “We might’ve just hit the jackpot.”

“Shucks. You two are excited, all right,” Tsukeke said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad it sounds like I can help, though.”

Dororo hummed. “Well, there is one thing that isn’t quite adding up. Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

“If you were here a whole Pekoponian century ago, you would be old as hell in Keronian years too,” Kururu said bluntly, finishing Dororo’s thought. “If you’re not lying to us, I take it that your appearance doesn’t reflect your true age.”

“That’s because I haven’t once stepped foot on Keron since I got here all that time ago.” Tsukeke pointed to the large white patch on his face. “The age stasis I was put in before I left the planet never got undone—that’s why I’ve gotten to keep my youth for so long. Lucky me,” he added with a laugh.

Dororo’s eyes widened. “You haven’t been to Keron in over a hundred Pekoponian years?”

“What the hell have you been doing here all that time?” Kururu raised an eyebrow. “Why are you even here to begin with?”

“Right, I know this all sounds rather confusing,” said Tsukeke. “Let me rewind to the beginning.”

Tsukeke reached for Trip again and used it to pull up another photo. It was a somewhat sepia-toned group shot featuring Tsukeke, looking much the same as he did currently, and four other Keronians side-by-side, all smiles as they posed proudly in front of a Keronian spaceship in some kind of hangar. Four of the five looked rather young—two, Tsukeke included, still had tadpole faces, and the size of the other pair’s muzzles indicated they had only just shrunk. The Keronian in the middle of the group seemed to be an older adult. 

“About 23,000 Keronian years ago, I was enrolled in one of the military’s top mechanical training schools. I had just been granted a part-time shift as an army technician when I learned I’d been selected for a special internship for promising students in the continent’s various academies. They put us in squads to conduct research abroad on different planets, hence the age stasis—we might not have been frontliners, but it could’ve been dangerous to have us stay in another planet’s space-time for too long otherwise.”

Tsukeke pointed to the older Keronian in the middle of the picture. “That was my squad’s supervisor—Major Gasese was his name. We were supposed to go to some other planet, but the ol’ major turned out to be a bit of a rebel and steered us here to Pekopon instead. He had always wanted to fulfill his own curiosity about the planet, and he used us as his free ticket. Probably thought he wouldn’t be caught, that cocky son of a gun.”

“That couldn’t have been good,” Dororo said, wincing. “With Pekopon being the holy grail that it is on Keron, the military doesn’t tend to allow personnel to travel there without prior authorization… I imagine that was still true then.”

Tsukeke sighed. “Indeed, saying the program directors were miffed would be an understatement. But by the time they figured it out, we were already in Pekopon’s atmosphere. It was chaos as we scrambled to get in touch with anyone back home… The major knew we’d all be court-martialed—even us students, since we were just barely over the age of majority and subject to law—so he threw us all in escape pods and spread us out so we’d be harder to catch.”

“I can’t believe someone like that would be put in charge of youth!” Dororo huffed, lightly banging a fist on the table. “He must have been quite sly to hide his intentions and character long enough to achieve such a high rank.”

Kururu leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Gaming the system ain’t that hard. I’d know.”

“In the end,” Tsukeke said, “it was probably more convenient for the directors to pretend we’d gone totally MIA than be held accountable for letting troops slip to Pekopon and face severe punishment, as they never came looking for us. No idea what happened to my squadmates either.”

Kururu clicked his tongue a few times and shook his head. “What a way to get cheated out of a career. Guess Keron’s patented strategy of throwing anyone under the bus to save face transcends time.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Dororo said with an empathetic gaze. “Our platoon got split up at first too, but at least we were prepared. I can’t even imagine how terrifying that was for you or your family.”

“I was never too close with my folks, to be honest,” Tsukeke admitted. “Still, being stranded on a strange planet was rough, especially since I happened to land around as harsh an environment as this. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to meet a certain someone.”

With another push of Trip’s buttons, a new picture came up on the holographic display—this time in black and white, as though it had been originally taken with an old Earth camera. In the photo, Tsukeke was saluting toward the camera, beaming ear-to-ear, as he stood tiptoe on a stool next to what appeared to be a young human man. The boy bore a confident yet gentle grin as he stood beside Tsukeke, a hand on the Keronian’s head. He had light scruffy hair and fair skin, and he was clad in a striped undershirt, baggy overalls, and a flat cap. 

“This was Anton,” Tsukeke said, a warm smile on his face. “By a stroke of luck, he found me right after I landed in the middle of nowhere while he was gathering wood. I was shocked when he saw through my anti-barrier, but he was kind enough to take me in right away.”

“That sounds a lot like how I met my Koyuki-dono,” Dororo mused. “Well, minus the bear trap.” 

“He lived on the outskirts of Vanavara with his family, and he was an up-and-coming craftsman himself,” Tsukeke explained. “He was darn good at it too. In fact…”

Tsukeke removed his goggles from his head and cradled them in his hand.

“One of the first things he did for me was fix these up after they’d gotten damaged in the escape pod, even though he’d never seen anything like ’em—heck, most of Pekopon didn’t have air travel at all back then.” Tsukeke curled his fingers around the pair, staring at them forlornly. “After that, we were inseparable. We taught each other everything.”

“What a beautiful twist,” Dororo said, tearing up a bit. 

Kururu buffed his nonexistent fingernails. “So how many other Pekoponians knew you were here?”

“More than you’d think. We were a pretty small and tight-knit community, though they managed to keep me a secret from the outside.” Tsukeke let out a longing sigh as he placed his goggles back on his head. “It was the most at home I ever felt. Honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to Keron even if I could.”

“I hear you,” Dororo agreed, wiping his eyes. “I too have fallen for Pekopon, and I much prefer it to Keron.”

“You obviously reestablished a connection to the wider intergalactic system, though,” Kururu said, gesturing to the workshop side of the shack. “You’ve got a whole space business set up, after all.”

“It took Pekoponian decades and a lot of work,” Tsukeke said, “but I still had Keronian tech in my luggage, and as other alien species came and went all over the planet, I picked up some of their tech too. It snowballed from there—and the business gives me something to do, though I conduct it all remotely.”

“Just to backtrack a bit,” Dororo said, “I assume, given it’s been a hundred years, your friend is…you know…”

“Oh, yes.” Tsukeke nodded solemnly. “That was many, many years ago now.”

“Right. Hence my question…” The ninja shifted awkwardly.

“Why didn’t you stick around Vanavara and stay with your friend’s descendants?” he asked. “Not that I’m judging. I just figured, if you were so close to that community—”

“Ah, I almost forgot to mention something important!” Tsukeke shouted, lightly hitting the table with an open palm. “It’s very relevant to the Tunguska conversation.”

Dororo held up a hand. “Wait. What about—”

“I’m listening,” Kururu blurted out, tapping his foot rapidly.

“Believe it or not…” Tsukeke pointed at the reality pen laid out on the table. “…Anton had two sticks of Koredinite, just like that one—that’s what I was talking about earlier. Well, they weren’t embedded in a fancy pen, but still…”

Kururu cocked an eyebrow. “Any idea how he got ’em? Koredinite’s only found on a single planet, y’know.”

Tsukeke shook his head. “He claimed he just stumbled upon them one day, long before he met me. Maybe he was some kind of alien magnet?”

“It’s possible that aliens are drawn to this area’s peculiarities, much like where we’re stationed in Inner Tokyo.” Kururu rubbed his chin. “Pekopon as a whole always has been a recreational spot of sorts—maybe even a flyover at times—though you’d have to be real stupid to just dump Koredinite of all things…”

Dororo cleared his throat. “Erm, my question—”

“In any case, I guess I’m not surprised,” Kururu continued. “This checks out with what I know already.”

“What you know already?” Tsukeke said. “Could you elaborate?”

“Yes, I suppose we should get to that,” Dororo said, gulping down a bubbling deluge of bitter tears. Nothing set him off like being ignored, and the fear that he’d said something wrong caused a knot in his stomach, but he’d have to relent that his inquiry wasn’t getting answered for one reason or another.  

With that, Kururu described what he had learned about the Quietites and the human warrior story. 

“Wow, you sure did your homework,” Tsukeke said following Kururu’s explanation, lowering his drink and giving a nod of approval. “With all due respect, I’m not quite sure what else you can learn from me.”

“Well, what I read wasn’t too detailed,” Kururu said. “But I think I’ve managed to connect the dots now.”

The sergeant major took a drawn-out swig of whatever was left in his own mug, then grinned smugly at Tsukeke as he peered over the ceramic container’s lip.

“That kid of yours was the Pekoponian, and you were the other alien.”

“Bingo!” Tsukeke said, snapping his fingers. “I guess my cautionary tale managed to find its way out there after all.”

“So you published that information too?” Dororo gently wrapped his hands around his own cup. “I suppose that makes sense. Who else would know?”

“I kept it vague and redacted my identity—you could guess why.” Tsukeke let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think any space databases would accept it, since the Quietites are pretty obscure in intergalactic society, and no one seems to know which planet they’re from.”

“Well, you got your wish,” Kururu said. “And if your goal was to issue a warning, well…”

Tsukeke gave them a puzzled look as Kururu fell silent. “ ‘Well’ what?”

“I’ll make this simple,” Dororo said, his voice deepened. “The Quietites came back.”

At that, Tsukeke nearly leapt out of his chair, causing Trip to get startled and hop off the table.

“I knew it!” Tsukeke shouted, a big smile plastered on his face. Upon noticing how Kururu and Dororo had pulled back in shock, he awkwardly lowered into his seat.

“Er, not that that’s a good thing,” he said sheepishly as he readjusted the goggles atop his head. “But Anton would’ve been thrilled to know his story helped combatants a whole century in the future.”

“Well, it was very much appreciated.” Dororo folded his hands on the table and twiddled them around nervously. “You see, like what happened in your case, a Pekoponian friend of ours with Koredinite stepped up to challenge the Quietite.”

“Really? What a coincidence,” Tsukeke beamed at the pair. “And since we can hear each other, that obviously means your friend won. Thank goodness!”

“He did,” Dororo said, then tugged on his mask. “But…”

Tsukeke tilted his head. “But?”

Dororo glimpsed at Kururu once more. The sergeant major wordlessly gazed down at the reality pen on the table, rolling it back and forth underneath two fingers while leaning his head on his other hand.

Dororo hesitantly moved a hand toward Kururu’s shoulder. “Kuru—”

Kururu gently pushed down on Dororo’s forearm with his free hand. He gave the ninja a glance of acknowledgement before setting his posture upright, straightening his spine as tightly against the back of his chair as possible. He then stared Tsukeke dead in the eyes and slid the reality pen to the middle of the table.

“I was supposed to give him this replacement Koredinite to deflect the explosion,” Kururu mumbled. “I didn’t get to him in time.”

“Huh? Does that mean…” Tsukeke’s look of confusion faded, as Kururu’s grimace and Dororo’s slow nod told him all he needed to know.

“Oh.” Tsukeke’s shoulders sagged as he shrunk back in his chair, uneasy. “Oh… I-I’m sorry. Goodness, I had no idea…”

“It’s all right.” Dororo sighed heavily. “It has been a rough few days, especially for Kururu-kun. They were very close.”

Tsukeke looked upon the pair with soft eyes. “I get it. I’ve been there.”

After a few moments of silence, Tsukeke cast his gaze downward; the brim of his hat seemed to form a shadow over his visage. With something of a hiss in his throat, he whispered—

“It’s tough when you’re utterly powerless to do anything about it, isn’t it?”

“Tsukeke-dono!” Dororo gasped incredulously. “Don’t you think that’s a little too—”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Tsukeke snapped back to his usual tone. Caught like a deer in the headlights, he shook his head rapidly. “That was—I didn’t mean—it just slipped out. Please ignore me...”

Dororo contemplated this with a pensive stare, unsure how to react to such a baffling change in attitude, even with his own tendency to have sudden outbursts in response to his trauma. Before he could do anything, however, he heard the chair next to him rattle as it slid against the floor. 

“I wasn’t powerless. It was worse than that.”

Kururu suddenly rose from his seat and sauntered over to Tsukeke.

“I gave him that Koredinite, but I couldn’t stop him from using it to throw himself into the abyss. I figured out what he was up to, but I was too slow to make a difference.” He stepped further forward.

“I had all the power—I just blew it. But I’ve got another chance, and this time’s gonna be different.”

Tsukeke flinched a bit as Kururu lingered over him, nearly nose-to-nose. The yellow Keronian leered at the ex-soldier, the nearby window’s light bouncing off his glasses. 

“I will prevent Saburo’s death from happening.” He jabbed a finger into Tsukeke’s stomach. “And you’re going to tell me how to do it, little old man.”

Dororo eyed his platoon mate. “Kururu-kun…”

As Kururu pulled away from him, Tsukeke’s mouth hung agape, stunned into silence. Eventually, his lips narrowed.

“So that’s the real reason you’re here.” Surprisingly, Tsukeke cracked a grin. “You have guts, young sergeant major.”

Dororo looked back and forth between the two other Keronians. He couldn’t quite describe how, but in that moment, despite their completely different appearances, they were like mirror images of each other.

“Unfortunately,” Tsukeke said, clearing his throat, “I’m afraid I don’t know how feasible that is.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” Kururu reached for his tablet and pulled up the history in his environmental conditions log. 

“I have reason to believe the contrary.”

Tsukeke peered down at the tablet. “Oh?”

With that, Kururu explained his thought process up to that point, beginning with his encounter with the time mist. When that was said and done, Tsukeke paused to process this for a moment.

“That’s very interesting,” he eventually replied, “though I can’t say I know much about the veracity of this phenomenon you speak of.”

“I can attest to his claims.” Dororo pointed to himself. “I once wandered into the mist too. My actions within it changed the future, indicating that it was indeed a live projection of the past.”

“You must at least know about the butterfly,” Kururu said. “You mentioned it in your writings, after all.”

“I did, but I wasn’t lying when I said it was a mystery.” Tsukeke looked up in thought. “It possibly has something to do with the way Anton’s Koredinite interacted with the Quietite’s blast, but other than that, I can gather just as little as the Pekoponian witnesses who have their own theories about the butterfly.”

“Koredinite almost seems to have a mind of its own, doesn’t it?” Dororo speculated.

“It’s a powerful mineral indeed. Perhaps more than you know.” Tsukeke turned to Kururu.

“I don’t suppose you’re aware of the secret property of Koredinite?”

“The what?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The gray Keronian hopped up from his chair.

“I call it a secret, but really, it’s more like I could never find any other accounts mentioning it.” Tsukeke said, pacing back and forth. “If someone else has figured it out, I suspect they agree with me that the chaos it’d create would be too great…”

He stopped to give Kururu a wink. “It’s a longshot, but now that I think about it, it might be just what you need.”

“Spit it out, then,” Kururu said, tapping his foot rapidly. “I didn’t come here to play guessing games.”

“Very well.” Tsukeke walked over to the coat rack Kururu had created and pulled off Kururu and Dororo’s jackets.

“Bundle up, boys,” Tsukeke said. “I’ve got something out there to show you, and you’re gonna help demonstrate.”

Where Tsukeke led the duo was just up a few short cliffs in the mountains behind his shack. Dororo, of course, had no trouble scaling the steep path even in his bulky gear, but Kururu was gasping for air by the time he’d toilsomely lifted himself over the final ledge.

“Hey, geezer.” Kururu wheezed as he looked up at Tsukeke, hunched over with his hands on his knees. The fluff from his current hat would cause damage to his propellers and thrusters, so he was forced to make the trek on foot. “How the hell did you climb that?”

“Used to it,” Tsukeke replied, stretching his limbs. “And don’t forget I’m still in a spry enough body.”

“Show-off,” Kururu grumbled as he slowly rose back to his feet. Meanwhile, Tsukeke advanced toward the large cliff face that stood before them. An ‘X’ written in thick marker was carved into its rugged surface. 

“As you might be able to guess,” Tsukeke said, “this particular spot is very special.”

Kururu and Dororo approached him from behind. 

“How so?” Dororo asked.

Tsukeke smirked. “That’s where you come in. Take out your Koredinite.”

After exchanging glances with Dororo, Kururu unsheathed the reality pen, which was this time in his jacket pocket. 

“Now what?” Kururu asked, struggling to get a good grip on the pen with his poofy mittens. 

“Draw a big rectangle.” Tsukeke pointed toward the marked spot on the cliff. “Right there.”

“Just a rectangle? What is this, kindergarten?” Kururu snarked, though he uncapped the pen to oblige anyway. “Well, sure, I guess.”

Kururu walked toward the cliff side and began to draw a tall rectangle around the ‘X’, its bottom side just barely hovering off the ground. Once he’d finished, the inside of the shape began to glow brightly, and Kururu jumped back. Kururu and Dororo watched with bated breath as the light slowly faded to reveal…

“A wooden door?” Dororo inquired, scratching his head. “Where could a door etched inside a cliff possibly lead to?”

“I think the better question,” Tsukeke said, “would be where it doesn’t lead to.”

With that rather confusing statement, Tsukeke slipped past Kururu and pulled open the door. Held within was not a room, nor much of a distinguishable setting at all—it appeared to be simply a blue mass of swirling matter. Tsukeke stepped aside, and Kururu and Dororo craned their necks to get a closer look at the mystical entranceway.

“Perplexed?” Tsukeke said with a haughty lilt. “Well, what you’re seeing is—”

“Is this a multi-dimensional gate?” Kururu said, squinting at it as if in disbelief.

“Right on the ball, Sergeant Major,” Tsukeke replied with a nod. “You’ve seen one before?”

“I’m a world-class inventor and scientist. Of course I have.” Kururu turned to the mechanic, a glimmer in his eye. “But despite all my experimenting with space-time, I’ve never generated a true multi-dimensional gate myself…”

“A long, long time ago, Anton and I discovered it basically by accident—what we were really trying to do was draw a shortcut through these mountains, I think.” Tsukeke started to chuckle. “Imagine our surprise when we ended up with this instead!”

“If that ain’t a lucky break, I don’t know what is,” Kururu said. “I’ve heard the multi-dimensional system can only be entered from very specific coordinates due to the way the fabric of space-time is configured…”

“Erm, pardon me,” Dororo interrupted. “Could you please catch me up on what exactly a ‘multi-dimensional gate’ is…?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like—a doorway to the spot in between different dimensions.” Kururu gestured vaguely in the air. “You know, multiverse theory and such?”

Dororo looked skywards in thought. “That’s…the idea that there are an infinite amount of universes running separately but parallel to our own, right?”

“Indeed, but it is merely a hypothetical for most Pekoponians,” Tsukeke said. “Their technology isn’t yet capable of unlocking full interdimensional travel.”

Kururu let out a high-pitched whistle. “Never would’ve thought Koredinite of all things could access one, and I’ve researched the hell out of those rocks.”

“Fascinating…” Dororo tapped his chin. “Is something in one of these other universes supposed to help us alter time?”

“Well, perhaps not an alternate universe entirely,” Tsukeke said, “but the gate between dimensions contains other points of travel that might be more directly relevant.”

Kururu rubbed his hands together. “Ku, ku, ku. I think I know where this is going now.”

“Want to confirm your suspicions, then?” Tsukeke inched closer to the door and beckoned his two visitors. “Take a peek.”

With that, the mechanic stuck his head inside the gate, the upper half of his body becoming fully enveloped by the miasma, leaving only his lower torso and legs sticking out.

When the other two Keronians seemed to hesitate, he briefly pulled his head back and swiveled around to call out to them. “You coming or what?”

Kururu and Dororo looked at each other, nodded, and gingerly approached the door, Kururu keeping a tight hold on the reality pen just in case. They huddled up next to Tsukeke and, nearly in unison, stuck their necks out into the unknown. 

The space between dimensions was just as it had appeared from the outside—a world of bright blue, lined with nearly transparent matrices that traveled to and fro in no real discernible pattern. A vast array of glowing, multi-chromatic rectangles of all sizes tumbled around in the “air”, like asteroids leisurely drifting through space. 

“Wow…” Dororo breathed, his eyes shining with wonder. “It’s like the middle of nowhere…yet also everywhere.”

“Boy, does this bring back memories.” Tsukeke smiled dreamily. “All our Koredinite got used up ages ago, but Anton and I used to play around in here all the time while nobody was looking… It’s kind of a miracle we didn’t get lost in some other dimension.”

“How do you know what dimension you’re going into?” Dororo asked, glancing around nervously as a stray portal brushed past his outstretched face. “I mean, you can end up just about anywhere. Sounds a bit frightening.”

“A common theory is that the alternate dimensions that appear here always contain some version of an entity within its proximity,” said Kururu. “It’s a failsafe for preventing too many rogue elements from breaking the space-time continuum, most likely.” He poked Tsukeke’s hat with the reality pen.

“We’re not here for that, though,” he said with a sly grin. “Are we, old man?”

“Indeed, the other portals should pop up any minute now.” Tsukeke jerked his head in Kururu’s direction to give him a stink eye. “But you don’t need to keep calling me old, you know.”

“Oh, he does that to me too,” Dororo chimed in, rolling his eyes.

Kururu gave a one-arm shrug. “Just speaking facts.”

After a short wait, several of a new type of entity began to pop into the ether—spherical dark voids of sizes big and small, vitriolic storms of green plasma swirling within their midst. 

“There we go!” Tsukeke said. “They always choose a different time to show up, but...”

“Wait, I recognize those!” Dororo exclaimed, pointing at the balls of energy. “They’re wormholes, right? Like that time on the Grand Star!”

“Ku, ku! You bet,” Kururu said with a grin. “Though this wasn’t supposed to happen on the Grand Star—it was only because of the dimensional power sources getting thrown out of whack.”

“It’s more natural here, being the realm containing the fabric of space and all,” Tsukeke explained. “That’s what I assume, at least. I admit I probably wouldn’t be as well read on the subject as the sergeant major here if I didn’t have personal experience.”

Dororo hummed as he gazed at the growing horde of wormholes. “Back on the Grand Star, after the Viper attack, we had to travel through one of these to obtain more dimensional units, right? And that...”

The ninja gasped sharply, his eyes glimmering as though a lightbulb had gone off in his cranium.

“That sent us back in time on Pekopon!”

“Ee-yup.” Kururu gave his teammate a thumbs-up. “They call it the space-time continuum for a reason—space and time are essentially two sides of the same coin. That’s why these wormholes are in the same ether as the alternate dimension gateways, but they warp you to different points along the same dimensional plane rather than transferring you.”

“So you’ve made the jump before, huh?” Tsukeke said, chuckling. “The first time I stumbled into one and realized what was going on, I got out of there as fast as possible and never touched one again. Time travel isn't something you want to mess with willy-nilly...”

The mechanic noticed the light wrapped around them was beginning to shrink in diameter, indicating that the opening between the gates and their original location was about to close.

“Oh. It’s time to pull back,” Tsukeke said, “before our upper halves end up stuck in limbo.” 

Kururu and Dororo nodded in agreement, and the trio simultaneously backed away from the door, landing on their feet atop the cliff from which they came. Upon being greeted by the glare of the soon to be descending sun, they gave themselves a moment to let their visions adjust while the door slowly faded into nothingness.

“I think I get it now!” Dororo said excitedly after his head stopped spinning. “Being able to enter that large gateway gives us access to portals that can send us through time, so...”

“If we find one that takes us back to just the right moment,” Kururu said, continuing Dororo’s hypothesis, “I’ll be able to get to Saburo!”

“That’s more or less what I figured when I decided to show you this.” Tsukeke put his hands on his hips. “I’ll warn you, though, this is nowhere near guaranteed to work...”

“I know that,” Kururu replied, tapping the reality pen against his palm as he pondered, “but I have some ideas. I’ll need to locate the nearest warp point to our base, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna require technology that I don’t own at the moment to get anywhere close to pinpointing where we need to be, but I think I can expedite that process...”

“Still, it’s a more concrete start than we had before!” Dororo sang. He held up his hand for a high-five. “I almost can’t believe it, but today’s mission is accomplished!”

“Ku, ku, ku!” Kururu returned the gesture, the two Keronians’ mittens colliding with a soft impact. “I never doubted I could do it.”

Dororo lowered his hand, unamused. “Um, you do mean we could do it, right?”

“Nah, I did the heavy lifting,” Kururu sneered. “Though you were good enough at following instructions, I suppose.”

Dororo sighed with exasperation as Kururu chortled triumphantly at his petty gloat. Tsukeke laughed at the comical scene.

“You two are quite the pair. What a way to be reintroduced to Keronians after all these years of never seeing any.”

“Oh, where are my manners?” Dororo turned to Tsukeke and gave a near perfect bow.

“Thank you very much, Tsukeke-dono,” he said sincerely. “We could never have figured this out without your invaluable assistance.”

“Happy to help, Lance Corporal. I can sympathize, after all.” Tsukeke nodded respectfully at Dororo, then shuffled toward Kururu and extended his arm for a handshake.

“Best of luck in getting your friend back,” he said with a heartfelt grin. “I get the impression that if anyone can beat the odds, it’s you.”

Kururu hesitated for a moment as he locked eyes with his (hopefully) temporary ally, but eventually put out his own glove in Tsukeke’s, shaking with a tight grip.

“I am the man who makes the impossible possible, you know.”

After he pulled away, Kururu dusted his mittens off against each other and looked to the sky.

“We oughta skedaddle back to the bike,” he said, shielding his eyes. “It’s gonna be late when we get home, and I don’t wanna waste too much time.”

“Agreed,” said Dororo. “We need to give the others ample notice as well.”

“Go on, then,” Tsukeke said. “I won’t keep you any longer. I have work to do myself.”

Following a final farewell and an exchange of salutes, Kururu climbed atop Dororo’s head to be carried as the much more athletic soldier hopped down the mountain’s ledges. Tsukeke kept his eyes to the ground below, waving them off with a chipper “Safe travels!” as the invaders’ figures grew further and further away.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Tsukeke lowered his arms to his side and balled his hands into fists. With a hardened scowl, he whispered to himself—

“Hope to see you soon.”

“Yeah, so, we’ll be there a bit before nightfall or something.” Kururu rested on the back hump of the KRR-SP, kicking his feet as he spoke into his device’s receiver. He spoke loudly to overpower the engine, which was currently idling in midair.

“This is gonna be important, so I need you to—yes, Captain, your bike is fine. Can you focus for thirty seconds?”

Dororo, sitting over the side of the driver’s seat, sighed and shook his head. It sounded like his old friend Keroro was acting as brash and childish as ever—at least for now.

“Anyway,” Kururu continued, “make sure you gather the whole platoon. Include Fuyuki and Natsumi Hinata, as much as I don’t want to—”

“Don’t forget Koyuki-dono!” Dororo called out. 

“Yeah, yeah, I was gettin’ to that,” Kururu replied, pulling the receiver away from him. He put it back to his ear when he heard Keroro’s voice again on the other end. “Uh-huh, that was him. Bring the ninja girl so he doesn’t get pissed off at me.”

Dororo huffed. “Kururu-kun, I’m not going to—”

“For the love of Keron, do not set up snacks,” Kururu grumbled into the phone, ignoring Dororo. “This is serious shit, not a surprise party… Well, it’s complicated. Bad news first, and no, you don’t get to choose.”

“Kururu-kun,” Dororo chided, “I don’t think you need to be so harsh about it.”

“Hey, I’m just answering his questions honestly,” Kururu responded defensively. When Keroro yakked on the phone again, Kururu’s eyebrows twitched. “What do you mean, ‘sass’? Do you think I’m screwing with you for the hell of it?  …Okay, maybe I would be under normal circumstances, but—”

Kururu was interrupted when the phone was suddenly swiped away from him, leaving his hand clutching empty air. 

“Hello? Keroro-kun?” Dororo spoke into the receiver, holding the device to his ear with one hand and leaning on the dashboard with his free arm. “Yes, it’s me. Listen, don’t take any of that personally—there’s a lot going on in his head right now.”

“He’s psychoanalyzing me again,” Kururu mumbled.

“I won’t lie to you—it’s going to be a little heavy,” Dororo said. “I suggest you all take some deep breaths and clear your minds…” 

He let out a heavy exhale at Keroro’s unintelligible response. 

“I know. I’m sorry we’ve left you in the dark for the last few days. But you will understand why in due time.”

“Enough waffling,” Kururu groaned. “Let’s get a move on here.”

“All right, all right.” Dororo said goodbye to Keroro and handed the device back to Kururu, who stashed it away.

“Man,” Kururu said, massaging his forehead. “The captain’s a real blockhead sometimes.”

“I’m the first one to hold Keroro-kun accountable for things, but you can’t blame him for being confused this time.” Dororo twisted to face Kururu, who had his back turned to him.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Kururu let a beat pass before answering. “No,” he said tersely.

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“I think you need to shut up.”

Dororo let out a chuckle through his nose at the almost juvenile response, then touched Kururu’s arm. 

“I’m a little anxious too. It’s going to be difficult to see everyone so sad.” 

“Let’s just get that part over with as quickly as possible,” Kururu said. “I can’t have all their blubbering distract me from initiating my plan.”

Dororo put his hand back down. “Have you worked something out already?”

“Duh. Who do you think I am?” Kururu turned to Dororo. “Frankly, I can’t believe I didn’t consider something this obvious before.”

“Cut yourself some slack. You were in a bad way,” Dororo said. “We are quite lucky we found just the person who could help us.”

“If you ask me, that Tsukeke guy ain’t exactly passing the vibe check,” Kururu said, stirring his finger in a circle next to his head. 

“Hmm. So you also noticed that he was a bit off at times.” Dororo closed his eyes in thought. “It sounds like he’s been through a lot, though. And he still helped us without hesitation, so…”

“Oh, Senpai.” Kururu gave an acerbic snicker. “Do you really think anytime somebody helps you, it’s always out of the goodness of their heart?”

Dororo opened his eyes and looked up at Kururu, tilting his head. “Do you have a reason to believe he wasn’t sincere? I figured he just understood your plight…”

“An expat that got totally screwed over by the military being so amicable toward one of its most infamous squadrons is pretty hard to believe, yeah. But I don’t have any proof.” Kururu shrugged a single shoulder. “As long as his science checks out, I’m not gonna spend too much time looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Dororo rubbed his chin. “I wonder if not telling Keron about him is the right thing to do…”

“Not our problem,” Kururu scoffed. “If I manage to change the timeline so Saburo doesn’t get himself evaporated, we’ll never end up meeting this guy anyway.”

Dororo jolted and emitted a small gasp, which caused Kururu to raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“N-nothing,” Dororo stammered. He quickly casted his gaze downward. “I just…didn’t think about that…”

“I don’t know how you forgot the most basic law of time travel, but whatever.” Kururu swiveled his body to face the bow of the vehicle and tapped Dororo’s head with his foot. “Now get driving. I need to take a nap before all this goes down, and I’m sick of the cold.”

“Right. Of course.” Dororo settled into his seat to pilot, double-checking the coordinates on the dashboard GPS while Kururu secured himself behind him.

“Ready, Kururu-kun?”

“Is that, like, a thing you’re doing now?”

“Huh?”

“Calling me ‘Kururu-kun’, I mean.”

“Oh, that…” Dororo blushed a tad under his mask. “Do you mind it? I thought it was appropriate at this point…”

“ ’S fine with me,” Kururu said with a shrug. “Was just curious.”

“It’s a kinder address than ‘Doro-boat’, at least…”

Kururu snorted. “Hey, that one’s on the captain and Tamama, not me. Ku, ku.”

“Whatever you say.”

And so, with a forceful twist of the accelerator, Dororo sent the KRR-SP jetting through the clouds for the long ride home. Along with the gradually setting sun sank the thrill of their little adventure, and up bubbled a hair-raising maelstrom of both disquiet and hope.

The moment of truth was upon them.

Chapter Text

“So he’s just…gone gone?”

The brave soul who dared to be the first to comment in a crowd left bug-eyed and speechless following Kururu’s succinct but grave announcement was, surprisingly, Giroro, his voice strained as he tried desperately to hide its quaver.

“Yeah. Don’t make me repeat myself, ‘kay?”

Kururu stood atop the coffee table in the Hinatas’ living room, eyes scanning the carpet and couches upon which his squadmates and their friends were gathered. Dororo had taken his spot next to Koyuki, but his eyes were on Kururu the whole time—partially for encouragement, but also because he wasn’t sure he had it in him to look at anyone else’s faces.

“Are you really sure, Kururu?” said Fuyuki, his eyelids twitching as he held back tears. “This isn’t a prank…?”

Kururu sighed wearily, clutching his forehead with one hand. He had only just broken the news, and his head was already splitting.

“Trust me, I wish I could say I was messin’ with you,” he groaned. “You have no idea what kinda hell I’ve been—”

Kururu was interrupted by an abrupt, shrill wailing that nearly caused him and the others to jump out of their skins. Natsumi had suddenly collapsed to the floor, her whole body shaking as she attempted to speak, but all she could emit were pained gasps.

“Natsumi!” Giroro shouted, and he immediately dashed to his human partner’s side. Koyuki jumped down to wrap her arms around her best friend, rubbing her back and attempting to calm her despite her own faltering voice.

Tamama’s lip quivered as he stared at the ground. “I-I wanna go home and hug Momocchi now…”

Keroro sat on the carpet with his knees hugged to his chest, his green face tinted red and nose dripping with snot.

“Oh, Kururu…” he whimpered, sniffling. “Why didn’t you tell us before?! I feel like such a jerk now!”

“I can’t even imagine how difficult this has been for you, Kururu-san,” Mois cried as she knelt beside Keroro, her hands on his shoulders.

“Everyone, I must apologize as well for remaining silent on this,” Dororo said solemnly. “Especially to you, Koyuki-dono. I had to spend so long lying to you, and it hurt me like a knife to my own heart…”

“Aww, Dororo...” Koyuki turned his head toward him, trying to smile. “I had a feeling there was something else going on, but I can’t get upset with you for doing what was best for Kururu-san when he needed you the most.”

Dororo’s eyes shimmered. “Y-you mean it?” he said, his voice cracking.

“Of course. You’re an amazing friend, Dororo.”

“Koyuki-dono…!” Unable to restrain himself any longer, Dororo leapt into the hug Koyuki shared with Natsumi, tears streaming down his face.

In the midst of all this, Kururu hunkered over the group without a word, fighting an internal battle to quell the storm of his churning stomach. All the maudlin reactions were making him want to tear off his own skin. He had to take back control of the situation. And so, he cleared his throat.

“Everyone pipe down!” he shouted, chopping the air with an unsteady arm. “Pity party time is over. There’s a more important part to the story here.”

For the first time since she fell to the ground, Natsumi lifted her head and balked at Kururu, her whole face contorted from all the crying.

“Wh-what could be more important than Saburo-senpai being d-d…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, falling apart again as Koyuki held her tighter.

“L-look,” said Kururu, raising his voice louder to drown out all the sobbing, “this ain’t actually over yet.”

He surveyed the crowd, who all stared up at him in anticipation. He urged his facial muscles to boast his usual smug smirk, then said—

“What if I told you we can bring him back?”

Excluding Dororo, the room immediately morphed into a gallery of puzzled looks.

Kururu popped open his trusty laptop and set it down before him on the table. He faced the screen, which showed a picture of the Tunguska epicenter he’d taken with the computer’s camera, toward the center of the group.

“This is an area in the wilds of Siberia, Russia,” he said. “Specifically, the original blast site of the Tunguska event in 1908—and where Dororo-senpai and I went on our little excursion.”

“You were at the Tunguska site?!” shouted Fuyuki, who practically vaulted out of his seat at the revelation, immediately drawing in a multitude of awkward side-eyes.

“…S-sorry,” he whimpered, slowly sliding back onto the couch. “Not the time.”

“You weren’t missing much,” Kururu said. “The actual point of interest turned out to be in the woods around the epicenter, where we met—”

He paused briefly before continuing. “A source who knew some stuff. His identity isn’t important.”

Dororo coughed. “Um, actually—”

“I said it's not important,” Kururu hissed through grit teeth, glaring at Dororo. The ninja shook his head disgruntledly, but allowed Kururu to resume unchallenged.

“Long story short, thanks to that guy, we were able to learn that the ticket to undoing Saburo’s sacrifice…”

Kururu reached inside his cap and pulled out the reality pen, showing it off to the others.

“…was with me the entire time.”

“Gero? A reality pen?” Keroro asked, sounding nasally from congestion. “I thought you said Saburo-dono had the only one left…”

“He did. It was gonna break fighting the Quietite, so I had to order more Koredinite and make a new pen on the fly,” Kururu explained, wiping a load of sweat that had suddenly manifested off his brow. “Where do you think the budget went?”

“So Dororo was only half-lying about that,” Giroro said.

“More or less...”

Kururu let out a deep exhale of frustration and clutched the pen tighter. Mysteriously, the longer he stared at it, the more time seemed to slow to a crawl. When he next opened his mouth, it felt like his cheeks were full of marbles.

“Of course, making the stupid thing took too much time, which I could’ve saved if I’d just…figured it out…earlier…”

Kururu’s voice petered out, a lump forming in his throat. The throbs of his head squeezed even tighter, and he became acutely aware of the blood rushing through his ears.

He’d been so distracted with the day’s chaos that he’d forgotten just how avoidable this whole predicament was. If only he wasn’t such a bonehead at the worst time. If only he’d been just a little bit more precise. If only he had—

Kururu heard a few voices calling his name; they sounded like they were underwater, but were just loud enough for Kururu to snap back to reality. After his eyes flitted back and forth between the pitying gazes of each member of the crowd, he swiftly ducked his head.

“Space-time travel... The key is space-time travel,” he sputtered, knowing he would only humiliate himself further if he meandered around the point any longer. Although his eyes were glued to the floor now, the aura of befuddlement in the room was tangible. He spoke hurriedly—

“Koredinite, the material in the reality pen, can facilitate space-time travel by…accessing the…the, y’know, uh…”

Despite the fact that he had already planned what he was going to say next, Kururu’s words slipped away in an instant, becoming lost in the deep recesses of his mind. He tried to grasp for them, groping in the dark, but they remained just out of reach. His chest rose and fell in bursts of staccato as his breathing became more labored. Kururu stared straight down at his feet; the surface of the table appeared to be swimming.

Ah, shit…

“I can explain this part.”

Dororo hopped onto the table next to Kururu, who wobbled as if he was struggling to stay standing.

“May I?” Dororo whispered, leaning in toward the sergeant major. “You look like you need a breather.”

Kururu croaked something unintelligible as he excused himself without a hint of resistance. He stumbled a bit when his feet hit the ground, then scuttled out of the room as quickly as he could toward the hall that led to the foyer.

Once he’d made it to the middle of the hallway, he pushed himself against the wall and slid down, dampening its cool surface with the perspiration rolling down his back. He sat flat against the wall with legs bent outward and both hands on the floor. His eyes were transfixed on the opposing wall as he tried to ground himself, but all he could see was static. Static and bright bursts of fire.

Dororo’s lecture drifting in from the living room was little more than a monotone hum, decibels shaved off by orders of magnitude courtesy of the thrashing of Kururu’s heart in his chest like a caged ape. The harder he wheezed, the more he felt like his organs were going to eject themselves into the deep space he had been cut loose in.

What frightened him wasn’t that this agonizing, isolating sensation was unfamiliar, but the fact that it was familiar. He had been through this in private during his rapid decline—once, twice, maybe even three times; he was none the wiser, as he’d attempted to erase his own memory of it happening after each occurrence. But the deja vu had been dredged up once again, for his body and soul remembered. He could stave off the beast of his psyche, but he could never truly outrun it. This was a vicious prison of his own making, so far inescapable.

But he was going to try, damn it. He didn’t have time for this.

Kururu wrestled his trembling fingers to steady them on the buttons of his headphones. Following a speedy sequence of presses, his specially synthesized brown noise flooded his ear canals, washing away the dreadful pounding. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink beneath the soundwaves. Soon enough, his tense muscles began to loosen. His breathing steadied to the point where taking in air no longer felt like swallowing a million spikes. When he reopened his eyes, the spinning world had finally halted on its axis.

As he reveled in the calm of his reprieve for a moment, he briefly wondered how people who couldn’t simply invent in-ear benzodiazepines dealt with that.

Kururu contemplated erasing his memory again, but having just managed to claw away most of the mental fog, his priority was to get to his objective as quickly as possible—he couldn’t afford to confuse himself more. And so, using the wall to support him, he slowly began to hobble back toward the living room.

Hopefully he didn’t look as much like a wounded animal as he felt.

“So…” Fuyuki scratched his head. “…you’re gonna need to use the reality pen to go to this space-time gate area, then find a wormhole that teleports you to the closest place and time to where Kururu can save Saburo-san…?”

Dororo nodded. “That’s the basic idea, yes.”

Mois hummed. “That makes sense, but…”

“It kinda sounds like finding hay in a needle stack,” Tamama said, frowning. “And where are we supposed to find this entry point thing in the first place?”

“I already figured that out, of course.”

Kururu rounded the corner to the living room. His eyelids sagged in a way that made it apparent he was slightly frazzled.

“Kururu!” Keroro perked up, a long thread of snot still dangling from his nostril. “Are you okay now, sir?”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘now’?” Kururu said as he reclaimed his position on the table next to Dororo. “I’ve been fine the whole—”

While he was mid-sentence, a couple of sharp coughs erupted from Kururu’s esophagus. Dororo reached over to pat him on the back, but Kururu lightly brushed his arm away.

“Ignore that. Prolly got a head cold,” Kururu mumbled hoarsely, pounding his chest lightly. With his other hand, he clicked a button on a remote he was hiding behind his back. The laptop screen switched to a display of a radar superimposed over an image of a backstreet somewhere in Inner Tokyo. A red dot placed over what looked to be the end the an alleyway blinked repeatedly, a pair of coordinates hovering above it.

“I sent out my search bots to do a quick scan of the city for weak spots in the space-time fabric that could serve as a gateway,” he explained. “Turns out there’s one relatively close by.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Giroro took another glance at the devastated Natsumi, then hopped to his feet and whipped out one of his handguns. “Let’s just go!”

“Don’t be hasty, Giroro-senpai. We don’t have room for error here.” Kururu leered at the brash corporal, his voice unusually stern.

“I’m gonna need some extra tech for maximum possible precision. That means I’ll be spending tonight bribing HQ for the right stuff…”

“Um, Kururu-san…” Koyuki raised her hand, eyes shrouded with worry. “I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, but what if this doesn’t work…?”

“That brings me to my last point.”

He changed the laptop screen once more, this time setting it to display a multicolored frequency spectrum.

“This,” he said, drawing a circle in the air around the graph, “is a visualization of the magnetic disturbance that leads to a phenomenon possible on Pekopon I’m calling the ‘time mist’—a spontaneous space-time warp that seems to be able to project whoever wanders in into the past or the future.”

“That sounds amazing,” breathed Mois. “Like, too good to be true.”

“It happened to me once,” Dororo said. “I can assure you it is very real.”

“In my case,” said Kururu, “I was temporarily transported to some point along what I believe is this timeline in which I seemingly succeeded in rescuing Saburo.”

Fuyuki cupped his chin in his hand. “But that didn’t really happen, right? Or maybe…”

The boy’s eyes lit up with the sparkle of a eureka.

“It hasn’t happened yet…but it means you’re destined to change the timeline!”

“Cunning as always, Hinata bro,” Kururu praised with a nod in Fuyuki’s direction. “That is my theory—though it’s likely easier said than done.”

“Still, it’s a reason for hope,” Dororo added, “and we think this method is the best chance we have to make it a reality.”

Kururu slowly glided his eyes across the whole crowd, observing how their weepy gazes from earlier had started to vanish, like rain clouds parting after a storm. A corner of his mouth jutted upward.

“It’s a real crapshoot…but if you’re willing to back me up, then—”

“I’ll do it.”

Breaking her relative silence, Natsumi rose, knees buckling, fists balled firmly at her sides.

“I’ll do anything it takes to save him,” she said while glowering fiercely at Kururu, her eyes aglow with the flame of determination.

“Me too!” Koyuki exclaimed, shooting up like a rocket. “I can help!”

“Well…we know you two are very capable, but…” Dororo wrung his hands. “…we would rather keep a mission involving such uncharted territory restricted to the platoon.”

“I agree. The last thing we need is more missing kids,” Giroro grunted.

“But—” Natsumi started to protest, but found her retort hitched in her throat.

“It’s okay, sis.” Fuyuki gave her a delicate smile. “I think Sarge and the others can do it.”

“I’ll monitor whatever I’m able to from here,” Mois said, drying her tears. “You could say I’m in your corner!”

“Well, Captain?” Kururu motioned toward Keroro. “You in?”

“Without a doubt, sir!” Keroro exaggeratedly sucked in his booger bundle and leapt to his feet, pumping a fist in the air. “Keroro Platoon! Saving Saburo-dono is our highest priority, effective immediately!”

“Loud and clear, Mr. Sergeant!” Tamama sent him a perfect salute.

“Excellent.” Kururu gently let himself down from the table and cradled his laptop underneath his arm. “Let’s regroup in the morning. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Dororo beamed proudly. “Thank you, everyone, for trusting us.”

After a bit of quiet, Fuyuki let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, running a hand through his hair. “Boy, that was a lot to take in. I’m beat.”

“Let’s eat starfruit, Fuyuki-dono!” Keroro skipped toward his friend, arms raised. “Or instant dango! Or both, for a super pick-me-up!”

“It’s a little late for dessert, Sarge,” Fuyuki said with a laugh. “But I wouldn’t mind some green tea and a bath.”

“Can I get you anything, Natsumi?” Giroro looked up at the girl expectantly, standing at attention. “Water? Tissues? Should I roast pota—no, you already had dinner…”

“Th-that’s okay, Giroro.” Natsumi grinned softly at him while trying to stifle her sniffles and wiping away the tears that stained her face. “I think I just wanna call Mom.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Koyuki looped her arm around Natsumi’s, then faced Dororo. “What about you, Dororo? Wanna talk?”

“Oh, very much so!” Dororo bounded over to his fellow ninja, his face awash with relief. “It brings me such comfort to be able to be fully honest with you again.”

Tamama was still on the couch, bouncing his heels against the seat cushion as he held his phone up to his ear. “Momocchi? I’ll be home soon. I’ve gotta talk to you about something really important…”

Meanwhile, Kururu stood alone.

He had turned to retreat to the base, but found his legs rooted to the floor near the living room’s entrance, staring vacantly into the distance. Usually, whenever his squadmates would engage in frivolous chatter with the Pekoponians, he could easily tune it out completely. Or, if the contents of the conversation were melodramatic enough, he’d occasionally roll his eyes and mutter something to himself about how phony they all sounded. This time, though, he couldn’t pull away.

It was like he was being stripped bare against his will, a piece of his carefully crafted armor falling away upon hearing each subsequent interaction until he was left naked and exposed. What once made him tut-tut at the peons now left him more hollow than a fish deboned alive. Had things been normal, he probably wouldn’t even think to reach for his texting device, yet here he was, perversely envious.

Funny how that worked.

“Kururu-san?”

The inventor flinched at the sound of his name. He jutted back his head to find Mois peering at him with widened eyes.

“Are you all right?” the Angol asked in a sickeningly sweet timbre.

“Fine,” Kururu growled, then stomped away before he would have to suffer anything else being said to him in that tone.

He had to get out of there and start being productive before he hurled.

After a whirlwind of a day full of sudden twists and escapades, Kururu was finally back in his element—alone in his dimly lit lab, with only the subdued buzzing of computer fans and the clinking of his spoon against his curry dish to keep him company.

His preparations were going roughly as well as they could be. He had a game plan outlined, and with some quick thinking, he’d managed to come up with just the right money-making scheme to scrape together enough funds to convince the Keron Army headquarters to send him the military-grade technology he needed. As a pretense to explain why he needed the equipment overnighted, he said he had to “urgently recover an important invasion asset” (functionally, Saburo was the complete opposite). Frustratingly, they still only partially complied, as the machine they agreed to send him was a bit less advanced than what he’d hoped for. Headquarters claimed they simply didn’t have units of similar power available, but Kururu wasn’t sure how much he believed that. It was an irritating setback, but he had an idea for a workaround that would make it functional enough.

In less than twenty-four hours, Kururu had gone from surrendering to the fact that he would never see Saburo again to being closer to him than at any point since the light of the fireball first blinded his vision. He’d gotten all the obtainable info he needed. His platoon was on board for backup. He had seen the most hopeful evidence he could receive with his own two eyes. And he was even able to make a little time to squeeze in some late-night curry before the big event.

So why the hell was he still prone to spontaneously breaking down like a house of sticks in a hurricane?

As Kururu absentmindedly poked his spoon around his half-eaten food, he heard a knock on the lab’s door. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

“Why are you knocking?” he shouted. “Roof’s still blown off.”

“Just being courteous first.”

A soft plink came from behind Kururu as Dororo landed gracefully on the lab’s metal floor.

“How goes it?” the ninja asked.

“Well enough,” Kururu replied with a shrug. “Just waitin’ on HQ to get their asses in gear with this delivery. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

“Good to know.”

The two hung around in silence for a minute as Kururu rolled a small bite of curry in his mouth and Dororo sprung a bit on the balls of his feet. Eventually, Kururu set the plate down on his desk and swiveled around in his chair.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he said. “I thought you’d wanna stay with the ninja girl. You wouldn’t shut up about her for days.”

“Koyuki-dono finally fell asleep a short while ago. She was comforting Natsumi-dono for most of the night.” Dororo sighed wistfully.

“I know she was likely putting on a stiff upper lip for Natsumi-dono’s sake, but she’s handling this much better than I imagined—and certainly better than I would have at her age.” He paused to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m so, so proud of her.”

“Cool,” Kururu said flatly. “So no more griping from you, at least.”

Dororo gazed at him with gentle blue eyes. “I’m proud of you too, Kururu-kun, for going through with that. I could tell it was very difficult for you.”

“Psh. No it wasn’t,” Kururu spat. “It was a piece of cake compared to gallivanting around bear country...”

“But you were shaking most of the time.”

At Dororo’s remark, Kururu exhaled as though the snark had been stolen from his lungs, confidence visibly evaporating from his countenance.

“What?” he muttered, his lower eyelid visibly twitching. “No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were. You turned quite pale too. That’s why I let you tap out for—”

“I said it was a cold!” Kururu snapped, banging a fist on the arm of his chair. “We were running around fuckin’ Siberia all day!”

“Well, you don’t sound sick now…”

“And I was tired of hearing all those losers sniveling over—”

“Do you really want to waste time fighting this battle, Kururu-kun?”

Dororo’s tone was equal parts delicate and firm as he stared unflinchingly at his platoon mate, arms folded. Kururu thought about opposing him, but it was apparent from his stance that the older soldier was not going to be deterred by his obstinance. Besides, Dororo wasn’t an idiot, and Kururu knew that non-idiots had a penchant for telling when he was lying.

“Guess not,” Kururu mumbled, reluctantly admitting defeat. With a drawn-out groan, he slumped all the way back in his chair, hands clutching his face.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” he complained, grinding his teeth. “I was cool all day, and everything’s finally looking up. I shouldn’t still be this pathetic!”

“You don’t get to choose where or when or how it happens,” Dororo said with a sympathetic look. “One minute everything’s normal, and the next minute you’re a mess. I know that better than anyone.”

Kururu peeked out from between his fingers. “Well, I’m not you,” he sneered. “Don’t project your crybaby problems onto me.”

“You watched your best friend die in an explosion and you’re convinced that it’s your fault,” Dororo deadpanned. “I’d be very surprised if that left you with no problems.”

Dororo’s unexpectedly blunt summation carved a hole in Kururu’s chest as if he were a vampire being singed by a ray of direct sunlight. Even his overinflated ego couldn’t find the words to argue. Disgusted, he clicked his tongue.

“Whatever I’ve got going on, I’ll be rid of it soon enough,” he tried to reason. “Once I get him back, I won’t have to think about the last few days ever again, so—”

“I’m afraid that’s not really how it works,” Dororo cautioned. “You will probably be dealing with this for a long while, if I had to predict.”

Kururu folded his hands in his lap, eyebrows crossed with irritation. “You could’ve told me that before. Maybe I would’ve saved myself some embarrassment.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bring you down while you were finally ready to open up about what happened.” Dororo drew closer to Kururu.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He patted the sergeant major’s knee. “The path will be tumultuous, but you’ll learn to coexist with your feelings.”

Kururu might have flinched from this kind of touch if it were anyone else—or even if it was just a couple of days ago—but Dororo somehow brought down his blood pressure. He cracked a grin.

“What are you, man? A fortune cookie?” Kururu said with a sardonic chuckle, his voice a little less venomous.

Dororo giggled in return. “I suppose I can’t help wanting to make my experience useful.”

“Well, get it all out of your system now,” Kururu said. “You’re gonna forget this ever happened when all’s said and done. Ku, ku.”

Dororo pulled his hand away, jolted slightly. Although Kururu had warned him of this back in Siberia, the small shock stung harder the second time. He glanced off to the side.

“…Yes. That is true...”

After a bit of an awkward pause, save for Kururu picking away at more curry, Dororo gasped.

“I almost forgot to ask,” he said. “Why didn’t you want to say anything more specific about Tsukeke-dono before? If you’re still uncertain about him, would it not be important to let the others know?” 

Kururu waved the hand holding his spoon flippantly. “My thoughts on the geezer aside, bringing up some 20,000-year-old Keronian cold case would just throw things off track. Out of sight, out of mind, as far as I’m concerned.”

Dororo looked up in thought. “Fair enough, I suppose, as long as nobody questions it later…”

Suddenly, Kururu’s large monitor dinged and began to repeatedly flash a parcel-shaped neon symbol, the blinking synced in time with robotic beeps.

“Ah, the equipment’s here.” Kururu closed the alert, put down his meal once again, and slid out of his chair. “Gotta pick it up in the transporter room…”

Kururu cracked his stiffened back and began to stride over toward one of his hidden warp panels. As he passed Dororo, he touched him on the shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “I need you in tip-top shape tomorrow.”

Dororo eyed him, concerned. “What about you?”

“I’m good.” With his backside facing Dororo, Kururu flicked him a thumbs-up. “The nap from before was enough, and I’m too worked up to sleep now anyway.”

“…All right. If you say so…”

Internally, Dororo somewhat doubted Kururu’s claim. But he agreed to take a step back from policing his routine, and as the inventor had just reminded him, this was almost over anyway—the powers that be willing.

Kururu pressed a button on one of his hidden remotes to activate the warp panel that would send him to the right location. Before stepping on it, he turned to face Dororo, who appeared to be staring into space, one more time.

“Senpai.”

Dororo blinked rapidly. “Er, yes?”

“It’s a good thing you were paying attention to all the expositing back in Siberia.”

The ninja furrowed his brows, unsure what to make of this seemingly random statement at first. Before too long, however, it clicked what Kururu was trying to say.

“Oh,” he replied chipperly. “You’re welcome.”

“Ku, ku!”

A zoop rang out as Kururu was transported away in an instant, leaving Dororo behind to contemplate. He knew he needed to rest, but he couldn’t help being engulfed in fascination about how fast he’d developed the ability to level with his enigmatic teammate. On the other hand, a seed of worry was beginning to take root in his mind as well. If all went according to plan, one end of the bridge that now connected them was going to crumble as quickly as it had been built, and he’d know nothing about it.

In a sense, even with Saburo back, would Kururu be alone again?

“Is this really the place, Kururu?”

Giroro spun in a circle as he surveyed the street alley the Keroro Platoon had come to, a hand reflexively wrapped around the hilt of the knife hooked to his belt. All five members were gathered on the dimly lit side road, darkened by the overhangs of the surrounding buildings’ roofs blocking part of the morning sun.

“Sure is,” Kururu said, eyes on his pocket device. “Just confirmed it on Mois’s end too.”

Tamama frowned as he scrutinized the wall at the end of the alley. “Doesn’t really look like anything special…”

“They’re hidden to the naked eye, so it’s not surprising that a gate would be in an inconspicuous location like this,” Dororo explained. “The one in Siberia was etched into the side of an average mountain.”

“Well, Kururu,” said Keroro, coming up from behind the sergeant major and clapping him on the back, “you’re the mastermind, sir. What’s the plan here?”

“Ku, ku, ku! Glad you asked, Captain.” Kururu clicked a few buttons until he reached a different screen on his tablet, which he then held up to show the group. The screen, placed on some kind of standby mode, displayed a green-latticed, three-dimensional radar, a lit-up beam making repeated rotations around its circumference.

“This is a space-time coordinate detector, developed from a lite version of the AI present in K-6000 from the Grand Star. I’ve copied and distributed the program to the devices I gave all of you before we left.”

As if on cue, the other four members of the Keroro Platoon took out their own tablets, which were similar in shape to Kururu’s, but color coded in their respective hues. The devices were simplified versions of the sergeant major’s, with screens that had automatically been turned on to the same detector and equipped with a couple of side buttons that had emergency functions.

“So, we just check all those wormholes you were talking about until the machine finds one that takes us to the right time and place?” Tamama asked, tilting his head.

“Pretty much. Then comes the second step.”

Kururu pulled out from behind his back a long glass tube with metal caps on each end.

“I also ordered some spare dimensional unit containers so we can capture and store the correct wormhole,” he said, shaking the empty canister around in the air. “I want to take it back to my lab and prepare thoroughly before I alter the timeline, ‘cuz I might only get one shot.”

“Uh, this all sounds well and good,” Keroro said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but didn’t you, y’know, use up the invasion budget? How’d you get HQ to send you all this stuff?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I figured out how to make a quick buck last night.” Kururu’s cheekbones slowly creeped upward as he stashed away the dimensional vial. “You see, those KRR-SP models go for a pretty penny these days...”

Almost instantly, Keroro screeched so sharply that it would make a banshee blush. He raced over to his curry-scented subordinate and gripped his collar area with the strength of an enraged scorpion.

“No, no, no!” the sergeant cried, eyes pooling with tears as he rattled the yellow devil. “Please tell me you didn’t do that! Pleeeeease!”

Kururu chortled derisively, his limbs flailing around limply with Keroro’s vigorous shaking. “Relax, Captain. I cloned your bike and pawned off the doubles via auction. The original’s safe and sound.”

Keroro’s grasp on the sergeant major loosened slightly. “R-really?”

“Uh-huh,” Kururu replied, wearing a satisfied smirk. “They’ll never figure out the difference...and if they do, well, it ain’t my problem anymore. Ku, ku, ku!”

Finally, Keroro unceremoniously unhanded his teammate, letting him crumple to the floor as he released a huge sigh of sweet relief.

“Geez Louise, Kururu!” he wheezed, a hand clutching his chest. “I know you’ve been going through a rough time, but that’s not a free pass to give your leader a heart attack!”

“I think that was just typical Kururu,” Giroro grumbled.

“Anyway...” Kururu picked himself up from the ground and dusted off his knees, continuing as if Keroro’s outburst hadn’t happened. “Unfortunately, because the AI I was sent isn’t quite as precise as K-6000’s, it can’t give us information besides the fact that it leads to our version of Pekopon. That’s why I adjusted the detector to seek one more thing…”

Kururu paused to adjust his spectacles, leaving the suspense hanging in the air for a moment.

“…the presence of Koredinite.”

“But we already have Koredinite, don’t we?” Giroro asked, puzzled.

Kururu wagged a finger. “We’re not looking for it to obtain it. It’s meant to help us narrow things down.”

“I think I get it.” Dororo rubbed his chin. “Saburo-dono used his reality pen extensively while fighting the Quietite, and Kururu-kun acquired some while trying to save him as well. Koredinite is so rare on Pekopon, traces of it are much more likely to lead us to at least the correct day…right?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Dororo-senpai.” Kururu gave him a slightly wider grin than he usually wore. “You’ve been learnin’ from me real quick, huh?”

Dororo flushed red and scratched his cheek. “Oh, figuring that out wasn’t that impressive…”

“I’m still not used to those two being so chummy,” Keroro whispered, leaning toward Tamama, who stealthily agreed with a terse nod.

“That certainly helps, but…” Giroro crossed his arms and sighed. “…making it more likely a hit is the right one doesn’t change the fact that it could take forever to find said hit.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that, old man,” Kururu admitted, shaking his head. “I toldja this was a shot in the dark, didn’t I? We could be stuck there for five minutes or five days.”

“I know, I know…” Giroro started tapping his foot rapidly. “I’m just not sure how long Natsumi is gonna be able to hold out.”

“She’ll be okay.” Dororo tried to reassure his friend, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “They all will. They believe in us, and they have each other.”

“Momocchi’s doing her best to help out too,” Tamama added, his expression softened.

Naturally, none of the children felt comfortable going to school bearing the burden of the barrage of information they’d been pelted with. Aki, who had managed to excuse herself from work, agreed to keep them home; Momoka also took the day off to bring the others food and comfort, particularly for Fuyuki, who had been left in an awkwardly lonely position the night before while his sister had Koyuki. The cognitive dissonance of the morose despair and cautious optimism made for a rather intense atmosphere, as nobody knew whether it was appropriate to grieve, and none did openly with any suggestion of permanence—after all, imagining what would happen in the event that the Keroro Platoon failed was simply too frightening.

Thus, despite the uncertainty plaguing the operation, failure was simply not an option.

“If there aren’t any more questions,” Kururu said, “I think it’s time we get our butts in gear.”

The inventor uncapped the reality pen with a dramatic swoosh of his arm and approached the wall where the gate was set to appear, despite Keroro’s jealous begging to do the deed (“C’mon, I know how to draw a door too!” he had protested while being restrained in a chokehold by Giroro). More swiftly than he had the first time, Kururu conjured the same door he had in Siberia a day earlier, then opened it up for his uninitiated teammates to stare in awe.

“So cool…” Tamama was mesmerized by the ethereal amalgamation of blue behind the door.

“It does instill a sense of wonder, doesn’t it?” Dororo said with a knowing smile.

“Stay focused, soldiers,” Giroro chided, tightening his lucky belt. “We can’t afford to screw this one up.”

“Okay, men!” Keroro cried, jabbing a finger toward his subordinates. “Let’s do this, yes sir! For my fellow Gundam connoisseur!”

Before they set off, the Keronians opened their mouths and stretched their vocal chords wide to perform their usual energizing ritual—

Gero gero gero gero gero...

Tama tama tama tama tama...

Giro giro giro giro giro...

Kuru kuru kuru kuru kuru...

Doro doro doro doro doro...

The echoes of the team’s resonance still danced through the air as the band of five plunged through the gate one by one. Before leaping in, Kururu stole a quick glance at the reality pen in his hand.

Hope you’re ready to owe me big time, kid.

And so, the door slowly shut behind the invasion squad, whose hearts pounded almost loudly enough to send ripples through the space-time continuum, officially enclosing them within the great enigma.

Little did the Keroro Platoon know just how many curveballs this already unpredictable mission was going to throw at them.

Chapter Text

“What do you think our lives would be like if we hadn’t met, Kururu?”

Saburo lay on the rooftop of Kissho Academy with his hands behind his head, gazing into the distance as the sun overhead sank in a tangerine sky sprinkled with frayed clouds. Saburo had texted him with an invitation to bum around, and Kururu, equally lazy and exhausted from another day of Keroro and Giroro barking commands at him, was happy to oblige. And yet, that was the first thing either had said to each other all evening besides curt greetings. Not that there was a problem with that—it was business as usual.

Kururu looked up from the laptop on which he was engaging in mindless web surfing and gave the boy a quizzical glance. “Where’d that come from?”

Saburo shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. Just popped into my head.”

“Hmm…” Kururu set his laptop down on the concrete, closing the lid halfway. “You would be bored as hell, and I’d have one less obstacle in the way of the invasion to deal with. Sounds like it’d just suck to be you.”

Saburo pulled himself up into a cross-legged sit and eyed Kururu skeptically. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be disappointed about never meeting an Earthling who could keep up with you.”

The Keronian yawned. “Bold of you to act like you can keep up with me in anything.”

“You sure about that?” A smirk crossed Saburo’s face. “I’m at least having more career success than you are right now.”

“Hey, watch it, kiddo.” Kururu tapped the side of his headphones. “I can turn your brains into scrambled eggs in five seconds.”

“Go ahead, then.” The smarmy grin widened. “What’s stopping you?”

Kururu sized up his audacious companion. With a playful glint in his eye and chin jutted upward, he presented himself with an air of confidence no one who wasn’t either a fool or a masochist would dare carry before the yellow devil. This was the look of a brat who figured he could get away with anything—and in this case, he was right.

Kururu let out a grunt of feigned disgust. “You’re an asshole, Saburo.”

Saburo snorted. “Pot, kettle.”

The two returned to silence for a bit, save for the whistling of the evening wind. Kururu almost thought he heard some kind of crackling in the background, but as he reclined back with his body propped up by his hands, he was simply too relaxed to bother to do anything about it.

Eventually, Saburo spoke again. “I’m not really stopping your invasion anyway, am I? If you wanted to get it over with, you probably already would have.”

“Meh.” Kururu paused to scratch his behind. “Screwing around down here beats going back to desk duty, that’s for sure.”

“Desk duty?” Saburo couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that what they had you doing before?”

“Not really, but it was equally as dull.”

“Huh…” Saburo looked upward in thought for a few seconds, then turned back to Kururu.

“Since I got you back with Keroro and the gang, and that makes your life more fun…” Yet another arrogant smile emerged. “…then that means you’re better off because you met me, right?”

“You give yourself way too much credit.” Kururu waved him off dismissively, but then something occurred to him that made him give a start.

“Wait a sec. Is this some kind of setup?”

“Maybe,” Saburo said smugly, flipping over his bangs. He then scooted sideways to sit closer to his friend.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kururu rolled his shoulders. “Shoot.”

“Even if you do take over the world someday, we’ll still be buddies, right?”

Saburo’s voice had become a bit more hushed, a bit of a tremble breaking through his typically unshakably smooth pipes. As Kururu processed this, a loud cawing rang out from above them, followed by a white bullet splatting onto the rooftop after barely missing Saburo’s knee. Ignoring the uninvited guest, Kururu blew a raspberry.

“What a lame question,” he jeered. “I thought you were gonna challenge me a bit more than that.”

Saburo raised an eyebrow. “Keeping me entertained isn’t a challenge?” he said, usual cadence restored.

“You? The guy who gets excited over WcDonald’s toys? Not in the slightest,” Kururu replied, shaking his head. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. There’s a two percent share of the massive profits from my future curry franchise with your name on it.”

“That’s all?” Saburo said with an entitled whine. “Can I haggle for at least twenty?”

Kururu wrinkled his nose. “Hell no. I’m not that generous.”

“Ten?”

“…Five tops.”

“Good enough,” Saburo relented with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, I can take or leave the curry money. All I really want…”

Saburo paused to take in a swig of fresh air, then continued—

“…is to know there’d be more times like this. Just you, me, the sunset, the breeze…” He side-eyed the splotch staining the concrete next to him. “Maybe not the bird poop.”

The two shared a laugh before Kururu posed a question of his own.

“So how long do you suppose things would stay that way?”

“I dunno. Maybe forever?”

“Forever, huh?” Kururu rubbed his chin. “That’s quite a while, but I could swing it… If I can get away from desk duty.”

Saburo perked up, his expression brightened. “You promise?”

“You know I don’t typically make those,” Kururu chided.

“Even you must have exceptions.”

Saburo held out his arm, fist curled. “C’mon, you jerk. Ride or die?”

Saburo’s vortex-like eyes, normally cool as steel, this time glistened with a warm and hopeful light. Kururu wasn’t sure what brought on such a candid attitude all of a sudden, but it didn’t matter—the answer was obvious anyway. His ever-present grin expanded as he returned the fist bump emphatically.

“For all time.”

“…So unlike with the wormholes, which last indefinitely during the first use, you can get stuck in an alternate dimension if you’re not careful. In the worst case, press and hold this button on the side here, and it’ll activate a condensed simulation of planet anesthesia. That should buy you a few minutes to get back in the gate before it disappears, but it doesn’t last too long before needing to recharge, so be quick about it.”

Kururu, demonstrating some final tips about the mission and the handheld devices he’d distributed, swept his eyes over each member of his team. The Keroro Platoon was gathered together in a circle, hovering in place near the point at which they’d emerged from the interdimensional gate. After the three uninitiated Keronians took a bit to ogle at their mystical new surroundings, Kururu called for a huddle so he could give this set of instructions.

“You really do think of everything, Kururu-senpai!” Tamama twirled around in midair like a ballerina. The gravity inside the gate was like a more extreme version of the moon’s—exceptionally floaty, but it was possible, albeit difficult, to ground oneself with some effort from the abdominals. How exactly there was enough solid matter to create a “floor” was beyond anyone, but it was hardly the most illogical trait of the void.

“It’s not a perfect solution,” Kururu said, grimacing. “Ideally, I would’ve been able to get more Koredinite so you could just draw your way out, but even my little get-rich-quick trick couldn’t pull that much money together before waiting weeks for a budget replenishment…”

“Would it not be less risky if we all stick together?” Dororo asked.

“That might be true,” Kururu answered, “but we’ll cover much more ground if we split up a bit. That being said…”

Kururu nudged himself a bit closer to Dororo.

“I’m with Dororo-senpai,” he said. “The rest of you guard the captain.”

“Whoa, you sure claimed Dororo quick,” Keroro said, squinting at the sergeant major incredulously. “And whaddaya mean, ‘guard’!? I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself!”

“I beg to differ,” Giroro mumbled.

“I’ve got your back, Mr. Sergeant!” Tamama threw a few punches in the air, then struck a martial arts crane pose.

“We’ll keep in touch with our communicators. You should all be fine…” Kururu flashed the troublesome threesome a smirk. “…so long as you don’t do anything rash, that is.”

“I can’t believe you did something so rash, Keroro!”

“I’b sowwyyyyy!”

Giroro, veins popping out of his head, tugged hard on Keroro’s cheeks, pinching painfully as he stretched them like a medieval torture device. Tears streamed down the bumbling sergeant’s face while he begged for mercy.

“We were explicitly told not to do anything wacky to the timeline and not to go into any alternate dimensions,” Giroro growled, pulling harder, “and you somehow did the exact opposite of both over a stupid sheet of paper!”

“You do’b geddit, mmkay?!” Keroro struggled to pry Giroro’s hands off of him to no avail, but finally succeeded in escaping by thrusting two fingers into the corporal’s unscarred eye, causing him to jerk back with a yelp.

“Captain Geroro art with the director’s autograph is no ‘stupid piece of paper!’ ” Keroro shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger toward his red subordinate. “That’s a holy grail for Geroro fans, sir! Besides, it was a copy, and Kiko-dono didn’t see us, so no harm done!”

“Any move could’ve caused a ripple effect, you idiot!” Giroro rubbed his stinging eye rapidly as he leered at Keroro with the other eye still open. “We were supposed to be in and out as soon as we figured out it was the wrong warp, but you just had to go and risk the whole operation over your childish bullcrap!”

“Oh, stop being such a drama king!” Keroro scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t have been a big deal! But because you pushed me the wrong way while trying to wrestle it away from me, not only is the darn thing lost in the middle of space-time…”

Keroro craned his neck to look up at the rectangular gate floating in the baby blue, cloudless sky, which was now goodness knows how many kilometers away from the bottom of the desert canyon they were currently stranded in.

“…we’re also stuck at the bottom of a cliff in some random dimension!!”

Keroro’s shriek echoed through the air, bouncing off the rocky walls that surrounded him. He was answered by only the mocking cry of a distant hawk.

Tamama cleared his throat as he glanced around worriedly.

“Uh, guys…we don’t really have time to argue about this.”

Giroro let out an elongated sigh, blinking as his injured eye began to refocus.

“He’s right,” the red Keronian grumbled. “We’ve only got a limited window before that thing closes, and if we get stuck here, we’re in big trouble.”

“W-well, that shouldn’t be too difficult, right?” Keroro attempted to mask the shakiness in his voice. “Tamama kept us from going splat by hovering with his Tamama Impact, so if he aims that at the ground again, he could just propel us back up!”

“Sorry, Mr. Sergeant. It’s too high for my beam to get us all the way to the top,” Tamama explained, shaking his head. “And I can’t use my portals ’cuz I never made one up there before…”

“Figures… That’d be too easy,” Keroro said with a groan.

“And none of us brought our wing packs, right?” Giroro pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess we’re stuck making this climb…”

“Ugh…” Keroro pouted in defeat. “We’d better get a move on, then.”

And so, the three began the trek upward. Giroro wheezed deeply as he scaled the cliffside, attempting to use his core more than his arms to steadily pull himself over every ledge in order to conserve stamina in his limbs. Despite his extensive physical training, he was a weapons expert first and foremost. While he might have been athletic enough to move deftly while hauling heavy artillery, using nothing but brute physical strength in a real combat environment wasn’t his preferred tactic unless push came to shove—which it did in this case.

“Damn it, Keroro,” he growled between gasps for air. “We only had one job! One!”

“Shut…up…already…” Keroro panted as he struggled right behind Giroro, occasionally getting lightly kicked in the face by the red dharma’s dangling leg. “It’s…too hot…to talk…”

Keroro’s noodle arms were growing more wobbly than wet spaghetti by the minute, and his fingers ached so much that he almost wondered if they were going to fall off. Plus, the atmosphere was arid and bone-dry, and the sun beat down harder on the trio the closer they got to the top.

Tamama, comparatively, was having an easier time. Despite his lack of experience compared to someone like Giroro, the tadpole was all muscle, so the act of climbing caused him a bit less strain. Even so, the heat was not doing him any favors.

The private sighed longingly as he paused to wipe sweat off his forehead. “I sure hope the others are having an easier time than we are right now…”

Kururu floated slightly above the “ground” in a sitting position with one leg crossed over the other, idly poking at his device as he bounced his foot. Dororo’s inspection of the nearby wormhole was taking a while, and Kururu was afraid he’d have to drop in to see what the holdup was—much to his chagrin.

Thankfully, right as Kururu’s mind wandered in that direction, a crackling noise sounded out from behind him. Dororo popped out of the dazzling dark orb and emitted a loud huff.

“No dice?” said Kururu, who kept his eyes pointed down at his screen.

“Not this time,” Dororo replied, “but based on what I’ve observed, it seems like your Koredinite detection mechanism is indeed working…to an extent. I’m not quite sure about this one.”

“There’s no way I incorrectly programmed something as simple as a Koredinite tracker,” Kururu looked almost offended as he finally lowered his device. “But is that why you were taking your sweet time in—”

When Kururu laid eyes upon Dororo, his words were swiped out of his mouth at the sight of a pill-shaped, bucket-sized machine clinging to Dororo’s head with a disc-like suction cup, almost like a parasitic fungus. Colored red on the top and blue on the bottom, the machine was adorned with Kururu’s spiral symbol between the two halves.

“How did you get that?” the inventor said, pointing apprehensively. “Where the hell were you?”

“This is going to sound strange, but I was in a quiet, tight room of some sort. I think there was a slat in the door, but there wasn’t much light outside.” Dororo tugged helplessly at the gadget stuck to his head. “When I landed near the ground, it felt like a whole bunch of electronic devices were about to squash me! It was not easy trying to maneuver myself while making as little noise as possible, and I just couldn’t shake this off when I finally reached the wormhole again…”

“Well, that’s one of my old gravity controllers. Looks like it’s deactivated, but it’s got automatically extending adhesives to prevent it from being knocked around too much.” Kururu uncrossed his legs, wobbling a bit as he set himself upright. “I was wondering what happened to—ah crap.”

“What?” Dororo gasped.

Kururu slapped his palm to his forehead. “I think you might’ve caused a little blip in the timeline by taking that out with you. I’m not sure what else would have led to me suddenly remembering that I lost it.”

“Oh no!” Dororo fretted, pivoting back and forth rapidly as he struggled to decide what to do. “What does that mean? Should I try to return it?”

“Looks like it’s a bit late for that now.” Kururu gestured to the wormhole, which was in the middle of fizzling out behind Dororo. After being entered and existed for the first time, this would happen until they were “reset” by the dimensional vials.

“Anyway, my guess is you ended up in Saburo’s closet during the time when I was still staying with him,” Kururu said, wincing slightly. “I didn’t have my lab set up yet, so I kinda just threw in there whatever I was messing around with while trying to find you guys.”

“I see… If he was present at the time, that would be the source of the Koredinite.” The blue Keronian gulped. “I hope I wasn’t noticed. That could lead to even more unnecessary changes…”

“We might’ve been sleeping. You got lucky.” Kururu hovered over toward Dororo and poked a button on the side of the toy-like apparatus. The ninja yelped in surprise as the gravity machine detached from his head and retracted itself. Kururu snagged the object, now condensed into a neat metallic sphere, out of the air.

“This is just a prototype I ended up trashing the blueprint for, so I didn’t put too much effort into looking for it.” The inventor rolled the ball around in the palm of his hand. “I wouldn’t worry this time, but try not to do this again.”

Dororo narrowed his eyes. “You know, it might help if you actually participated in your own plan rather than insisting on sending me alone…”

“Hey, I did all the prep work,” Kururu grumbled. “You’re supposed to be the stealthy one, so I’m asking you to pull your weight here.”

“Then did you even need to come at all?”

“I—” Kururu’s would-be sassy retort got caught in his throat, as though he wasn’t expecting Dororo to bite back this way. He shifted his glance to the side.

“Don’t question me, all right? I know what I’m doing.”

Dororo studied Kururu intently. He’d swapped the gravity machine in his hand out for his device, though by peering over him, Dororo found out that he had his face buried in a completely black screen. Whatever was going on in his head, it was more than just laziness.

“What’s the matter?”

“Mind your own business.”

Dororo scratched his head at Kururu’s brusque response. At least he didn’t say “Nothing”—maybe he knew that wouldn’t work on Dororo by now—but that still didn’t leave the lance corporal much to go on. Luckily, an idea came to him rather quickly.

“Well, I won’t keep prying…” A glint shone in Dororo’s eye. “…if you start joining me in the wormholes.”

Kururu sized up his companion, whose arms were folded sternly. The yellow Keronian scrunched up his nose, taken slightly aback.

“When did you learn to barter?”

Dororo shrugged coyly. “I don’t prefer to play dirty, but I know how.”

Kururu let out something between a snort and a chuckle. “Could’ve fooled me.” With a sigh, he stashed away his handheld once more.

“Fine, you win. But only ’cuz the close call with the closet made me realize I’d better ensure you don’t see anything too personal.”

“Splendid.” Dororo rejoiced with a single clap. A moment passed before he added, “Although depending on what you consider personal…”

Kururu cocked an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Dororo shook his head—Kururu would likely not be amused about the incidental eavesdropping he’d engaged in earlier. He took out his own handheld and activated its detection mode. “Let’s continue onward, shall we?”

Kururu made a mumbling noise that Dororo could only assume indicated concurrence, and they began to travel through subspace once more. The sergeant major’s shoulders were slumped forward and his gaze pointed downward as he floated next to Dororo, which his companion was quick to notice. For as much as Kururu touted himself as an enigma, several days of careful observation made Dororo wonder if he realized just how much he actually telegraphed at times. Last night showed him it was quite possible he didn’t—or he was tricking himself into denial.

For now, Dororo could only hope Kururu would open up to him of own volition. If he was going to help him through this, it was quite literally now or never.

“Finally…made…iiiit…!”

Keroro’s trembling knuckles peeked out over the edge of the canyon, his fingers raking through ragged rock as he clawed at the cliff’s surface. With one final heave, he began to hoist himself over the ledge, kicking his little legs underneath him doggy paddle style as he sucked in his core so hard, it set his stomach on fire. At last, he came out victorious atop the stony surface on hands and knees; the comforting feeling of solid ground brought him such relief that he barely registered the pain of his palms and thighs scraping against gravel.

The sergeant felt himself being lifted as his two subordinates, who had just slightly beaten him to the top, each took one floppy green arm. After the leader finally stumbled to his feet, the three stood side-by-side, panting heavily as they gazed down at the gaping pit from which they’d reemerged.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Tamama sputtered, fanning his face with the flaps of his hat.

“Giroro! Water!” Keroro lightly jiggled the red Keronian’s arm. “Water noooow!”

“Make it quick.” Giroro, the designated water and rations dispenser (a role that made him particularly proud as a self-styled survivalist), tossed both of his teammates their emergency bottles before taking a large swig of his own. Once they’d finished taking their brief breather, they peered into the barren sky, shielding their eyes from the sun as the open gate buzzed overhead.

“We should still have just enough time to get up there,” Giroro said, wiping water and sweat off his muzzle. “Tamama’s beam should give us enough distance too.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for?” Keroro patted the black tadpole on the shoulder. “Get us outta this hellhole, Private!”

“Way ahead of you, Mr. Sergeant!” Tamama turned around so his back was facing the gate and waited for his teammates to latch onto each side of his body. Ready to charge his signature attack, he threw back his head and took in a long breath, and a golden ball of light began to expand inside his maw.

“Tamama…”

“Hold it right there!”

Startled by the sound of a mysteriously familiar, booming voice, the three Keronians froze in place, the spark in Tamama’s mouth abruptly fizzling out. At first, it seemed like nobody was there. But before they could do so much as twitch, a shadowy figure leapt out from behind a nearby boulder, swooping through the air. The figure landed on the ground with a heavy thud, and when the kicked up dust settled, before the trio stood…

…a near identical clone of Giroro, all the same bodily and facial features intact. But rather than donning almost no clothing, this “Giroro” was clad in a corduroy vest worn over a pinstripe shirt, a pair of denim ripped at the knees, and a large-brimmed derby hat, plus a red and white bandana wrapped around his neck. A copy of Giroro’s iconic belt was tightened around his waist, holstering two guns.

For a few drawn-out seconds, all they could do was stare at the bizarre character with mouths agape. But soon enough, Keroro and Tamama’s lips began to wiggle, and before they knew it, they had exploded into fits of laughter.

“No freaking way!” Keroro guffawed, pointing derisively at the new arrival. “What C-list movie set did this guy blow in from, huh?!”

“What a dork!” Tamama exclaimed, clutching his abdomen.

“Hey!” The “true” Giroro roared, gawking at his irreverent companions. “That’s still me, you know!”

“I wouldn’t be yuckin’ it up if I were you varmints,” the parallel Giroro growled in an exaggerated drawl, which only caused Keroro and Tamama to convulse even more intensely. The alternate dimension’s resident huffed as he glared at the visiting trio.

“I’ve been expectin’ rival bandits to show up on the trail to try an’ take the goods…” He held up a small box wrapped in lace-patterned cloth, dangling it in the air. “Though I can’t say I expected anyone to fall out of the sky, let alone my own spittin’ image.”

Giroro blinked in bewilderment. “Wait, you’ve been waiting here to attack us this whole time?!”

His doppelgänger nodded solemnly. “It’s the wild frontier, pardner. You never know who’s watchin’.”

With that, the lone aggressor reached both hands into his belt pockets. He whipped out two silver revolvers, skillfully twirling them around in the air before pointing them at the invaders, which finally sucked the laughter out of Keroro and Tamama’s lungs.

“Now, I suggest you stand down or else,” the alternate dimension Keronian—if that’s what they were called here—threatened. “They don’t call me Sharpshootin’ Girhodes for nothin’.”

Tamama started to snicker again, but the chak of the revolvers’ hammers being cocked promptly shut him up. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered.

“Look, we don’t actually mean any trouble, sir,” Keroro said, chuckling nervously with his hands up. “I mean, we’re not bandits, and we’ve never even heard of any ‘goods’!”

“Fat chance.” Girhodes refused to back down. “That’s what they all say.”

“For crying out loud,” Giroro said with a groan. Begrudgingly, he summoned two bulky pistols and aimed them at his mirroring adversary. “Two can play at this game, I guess.”

Tense moments passed as the marksmen stood locked in a stalemate, opposing stares burning holes into each other’s pupils. As they each waited for the other to make a move, Keroro and Tamama watched with breath held so tightly, the combination of the heat and reduced oxygen made them a bit dizzy. But then, Tamama noticed a loud humming coming from behind. Much to his horror, the source was not the roar of air whooshing through the gorge.

“Guys!” the tadpole panicked, pointing upward. “The gate! It’s closing!”

“What?!” Keroro looked overhead; indeed, the rectangular prismatic opening in the sky was slowly dissolving before his eyes. “Gah! Crapcakes!”

“No!” Giroro’s eyes widened. “Son of a…!”

Knowing he had no time at all to waste and seeing that his clone’s gaze had drifted ever so slightly upward in light of the new development, Giroro went on the offensive, firing one round from each pistol in quick succession. Unfortunately, perhaps due to his nerves, his aim was sloppy—both shots missed the mark entirely, whizzing past either side of his foe’s head.

“Nice try, bucko!” ‘Girhodes’ immediately fired back with a single swift shot from the left revolver, and the bullet sailed straight toward Giroro’s chest. The corporal let slip a tiny gasp; as the bullet drew closer, time seemed to slow to a crawl…and then a complete stop.

It didn’t take long for Giroro to realize that this was not the adrenaline playing tricks on his mind—the bullet really had stopped in midair mere millimeters from his heart. He looked up at his opponent and found that he too was stuck in place, frozen with his gun pointed outward and teeth grit. Giroro flung his head back toward Keroro and Tamama, who were poring over the device Keroro held in both hands. Miraculously, it seemed that the sergeant had successfully managed to deploy the emergency time stopping function on his handheld from Kururu at the last possible second.

“Man, that was close!” Keroro shook slightly as he stored away the device, and Tamama nodded in agreement, looking haggard.

Giroro inched backward and away from the suspended bullet, breathing a sigh of relief. “You could say that again. This alternate dimension stuff is too bizzaro for me.”

He turned around to glance at the gate in the sky. About half of it had evaporated, but he estimated there was just enough room for the three Keronians to squeeze through.

“No more standing around. The time freeze is only temporary, remember.” Giroro clung to Tamama’s side again. “Ready, Tamama?”

Tamama wrapped his arm around Giroro, securing him. “You bet I am!”

“Wait!” Keroro stretched out a hand to stop the two. Giroro scowled at him, annoyed.

“What is it now?!”

“Gimme a sec.”

Keroro’s eyes darted side-to-side furtively, like he was checking to ensure that nobody else was watching. Then, without warning, he made a mad dash for the sack containing the “goods” that Girhodes had rather carelessly left on the ground next to him. After pilfering the bag, he ran back to his companions with a cheeky grin on his face. Giroro balked at him, about to blow a gasket.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

“C’mon, Giroro. Don’t tell me you’re not curious after how important he made it sound.” Keroro stroked the sack, petting it like a cat.

Tamama hummed. “I wasn’t really thinking about it before, but now I do kinda wanna know what’s in there…”

“Don’t egg him on, Private!” Giroro glared daggers at Tamama, causing him to flinch. The corporal then snapped back to Keroro. “Why do you have to keep going out of your way to cause trouble?!”

“What trouble? It’s not like we’re gonna get caught,” Keroro said smugly. “Besides, we did basically beat him in a duel. To the victor belong the spoils, as they say.”

“But still!” Giroro huffed indignantly. “It’s just not… I mean… Well…”

The red Keronian trailed off, finding it difficult to come up with a persuasive argument given Keroro’s covetous nature. This only caused the sergeant’s smirk to grow wider.

“See? Am I right or am I right?” Keroro blew air out of his nose before adding, “And heck, maybe it’s even something that’d cheer up Natsumi-dono...”

“All right, all right, fine!” Giroro, struck right in his Achilles heel, turned beet red with embarrassment. “Do whatever you want.”

“Yippee!” Keroro stuffed away his prize and skipped over to latch onto Tamama’s free side, then stuck his tongue out playfully at his childhood friend. “I knew you’d come around.”

Giroro let out a guttural growl. “Shut up.”

“Okay, here I go!” Tamama hugged his teammates with an iron grip, wiggled his bottom like a dog about to pounce to psyche himself up, and finally stretched up his neck, swallowing a gulp of oxygen.

“Tamama…”

Once he had a mouthful of white hot energy, Tamama hopped into the air and angled his body just right so that his tail was pointed toward the gate and his face was aimed down at the canyon’s surface. And then, at the apex of his jump—

“…Impact!!”

Tamama instantly unleashed an explosive geyser of light toward the canyon. His beam collided with its rocky surface, causing the trio to shoot up like a rocket, the aerial momentum guiding them on a diagonal as radiation continued to stream from Tamama’s core. Thankfully, he had calculated correctly, and the three passed smoothly through the gap in the fabric of space.

No sooner than the Keronians’ legs disappeared from view did time finally resume in the alternate dimension. As the gate vanished into sparkly dust, Girhodes’s guns clattered to the floor. Although he was technically able to move again, he remained frozen in shock, stunned by the fact that he was suddenly alone again.

“…What in tarnation?”

Having escaped the frontier dimension and been jettisoned back into the ether, Keroro, Tamama, and Giroro tumbled out of the gate, their momentum reset by the sudden change in gravitational field. Keroro and Giroro detached themselves from Tamama, and the three took a moment to gather their bearings. As their heads spun, the other gates and wormholes surrounding them looked like streetlights seen through a foggy window.

“Boy, was that whole thing a doozy,” Tamama moaned. “I’ll be happy if I never have to see a canyon again.”

“Well, it wasn’t a total waste of time.” Keroro took out the neatly wrapped box and shook it gently. “At least we didn’t come out empty-handed.”

“Was that the point?!” Giroro snapped, but his complaint fell on deaf ears.

“Now, let’s see just what all the hubbub was about, sir!” With a few swift motions, Keroro unwrapped the cloth covering from the box and tossed it to the side. The box itself was maroon velvet, and it was closed with a (potentially faux) golden latch. A similarly metallic, shiny label was placed atop the lid, but Keroro could not read what it said, as it appeared to be written in a language that was neither universal space code nor Japanese. Regardless, the box’s decorated appearance was all he needed to tell that this was something of real value.

Keroro wiggled his fingers, then reached for the latch, pushing it up with his thumb. It opened with a satisfying click, and Keroro slowly removed the lid, shivering with anticipation. With Tamama and Giroro peering over his shoulders, the sergeant looked into the felt-lined interior to find…

“Candy!!”

Tamama whooped with childlike joy, wide eyes sparkling at the sight of exactly six cream-colored small lumps in transparent wax wrappers. His two seniors were not so amused.

“Seriously?!” Keroro shouted. “All that for freakin’ candy?! We’ve been nickel-and-dimed!”

“You didn’t pay for it, you idiot!” Giroro yelled back.

“I paid in effort,” Keroro retorted. “Anyway, why the heck was that guy trying to kill us over candy?!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tamama said sweetly. “Who wouldn’t kill someone trying to take their candy?”

“Only you would do that, Tamama,” Giroro deadpanned. Ignoring his comment, and before anyone could stop him, the tadpole swiped a confection from the box and undid the wrapper gleefully.

“Down the hatch!” he sang, and popped the sticky ball into his mouth. The candy was tough and chewy, and its rich caramel flavor tickled his tongue.

“Wow! It’s taffy!” Tamama stuffed the candy in his cheek like a squirrel storing an acorn as he tried to suck as much flavor out of it as possible, his face positively glowing. Keroro simply sighed.

“At least one of us is happy. What a letdown.”

Giroro tapped his wrist, despite not actually wearing a watch. “Can we cut the nonsense and get back to the mission already?”

“The mission?” Keroro blinked a few times, then perked up with a finger in the air. “Oh right! The wormholes and all that! I remember now!”

“You forgot to begin with?!”

Meanwhile, Tamama had finally swallowed his candy. He was licking his lips, pleased as punch, when a sudden jolt ran down his spine. He squeaked as his body shivered intensely for a split second, then relaxed as though nothing had happened.

“Tamama?” Keroro tilted his head.

Giroro furrowed his brows. “What was that?”

The private mulled on this for a moment, but ultimately shrugged it off with a nonchalant “Iunno.” Then, his id having fully overtaken him, he immediately pawed for the box once again. “Another one, please!”

“No!” Giroro reached across Keroro’s body to snap the lid shut, then grabbed it from him with little resistance, holding it behind his back. “No more playing around! We have rations if you’re hungry!”

“What?!” Tamama screeched, his angelic smile instantly warping into a distorted scowl. “Why the hell not?!”

“Because it’s distracting and insulting! We’re not here to enjoy ourselves!”

”That’s a stupid reason! Give it to meeee!” The now enraged Tamama snarled and furiously clawed at Giroro, arms pinwheeling as the corporal tried to push him back with his foot. Keroro eventually managed to placate him with head pats and repeated promises that he would be allowed to eat them later (though Tamama would likely ensure he would get his way regardless).

With that, it was time to move on. Keroro and Tamama seemed to be sufficiently distracted from the whole incident as they continued to search for viable wormholes, but Giroro wasn’t quite so capricious. Judging by Tamama’s strange reaction, there was something about that candy—though Giroro, a minimalist when it came to anything other than weaponry, wasn’t keen on experimenting with strange substances.

This wasn’t the only thing the red dharma was hung up on. For some reason, the cowboy clone’s ominous warning wouldn’t stop reverberating in his mind. “You never know who’s watching”—a terribly cheesy line, but not untrue, especially in such unprobed territory. His soldier’s intuition knew that much. But why was it nagging at him now?

Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

The next wormhole Kururu and Dororo entered popped them out in the middle of a moonlit sky, the peaks of a few high buildings visible on its horizon. The duo was immediately dropped onto the thick branch of a tall tree. Dororo stuck a flawless landing on the tips of his toes, while Kururu belly flopped onto the ragged wood with a grunt of pain, ending up draped over the branch like a towel hung out to dry.

After helping get Kururu seated on his bottom, Dororo peered down at the scene occurring below them. They were towering over a city park lined with sturdy streetlights and little wooden poles. Keroro was standing atop his flying board with a massive pile of small pink bags behind him, each of which looked to have some kind of symbol stitched onto them. Keroro was giving some sort of lecture about a plan to the rest of his platoon and their friends, though the Hinata siblings were noticeably absent. It didn’t take too long for Dororo to piece together what he was witnessing.

“Oh wow!” Dororo whispered excitedly, tears already causing his eyes to shimmer like azure pools. “I recall this night! It was when we planted those flowers all over town, remember?”

Dororo heard Kururu murmur something under his breath, but no other response came. The ninja sighed wistfully.

“Ah, the first mission I took part in after rejoining the team. What a lovely plan it was... Well, at least until the flowers bloomed into killer plants the next day.” A wily smile, hidden by his mask, crossed his face. “I guess you could say our celebration was uprooted.”

Dororo started giggling at his (in his opinion) genius pun. He expected Kururu to at least laugh along with him. Or would it be laughing at him? Others tended to act repulsed by Dororo’s jokes for some reason. Either way, all he received was radio silence.

Dororo’s chuckles trailed off as he turned his head toward the yellow Keronian. He had at some point shifted to sit in the other direction, and was now facing away from Keroro and the others.

“…Kururu-kun?”

A moment of silence crawled by, until finally—

“…It would have too much of an effect on the timeline.”

Kururu’s reply came low and muffled. Dororo tilted his head.

“What would?”

“If I went and punched Saburo in the face for starting all this.”

Dororo blinked rapidly at the unusually bellicose reply. Verbal threats of physical aggression as a first resort would be more expected from Giroro or Tamama—Kururu would usually dismiss such a thing as oafish or juvenile. For the sergeant major to jump to such a reaction…

“I-is seeing him too painful for you?” Dororo fretted, fiddling with his hands. “I’m sorry! I can’t believe I didn’t realize… Well, it makes sense that it was a possibility, but… I mean, you were okay talking about him before—”

“Cool your jets, worrywart. I didn’t expect you to know how I’d react,” Kururu grumbled. “Even I don't know anymore.”

Still with his back turned, Kururu staggered to his feet, leaning against the trunk of the tree for support.

“You know, Senpai, I always thought you were kind of pathetic for never getting over yourself. But you must be more resilient than I gave you credit for.”

“What are you trying to say?” Dororo tilted his head at the unusual compliment (at least that's what he thought it was). The sergeant major let out a frustrated huff.

“I’m already tired of being so…fucked up,” he growled, slamming the tree trunk with the side of his fist. “I’m a busy guy. I can’t afford to be stuck in this up-and-down hell cycle all the time.”

As Dororo observed quietly, Kururu leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the trunk.

“If we succeed, then fine—I’ll suck up the repercussions, I guess. But if it turns out I was wrong about the mist or anything… If we fail after all…” Kururu's shoulders shuddered. “I’d rather just forget I ever knew him. Letting myself get so soft on this lousy planet was a mistake anyway.”

“What?” Dororo gasped, gawking. “But why?”

“Do you have to ask? You’ve seen what I’ve turned into.”

“B-but what about ride or die for all time?!”

After hearing this, Kururu slowly lifted his head from the tree and craned his neck halfway, countenance contorted slightly as though he was mildly disturbed.

“…Where did you hear that?”

“Oops!” Dororo quickly covered his mouth with his hand, shifting his gaze nervously to the side. “Um, I didn’t mean to intrude, but one of the wormholes—”

“Forget it," Kururu spat. “I guess I waited too long to prevent you from stumbling upon something embarrassing after all.”

Dororo sucked in a breath. “But you do remember that conversation, yes?” He said with a hopeful lilt.

“Wasn’t that long ago. I guess he forgot he was the one holding me to it when he pulled this stupid stunt,” Kururu scoffed. “Why should I hold up my end of the bargain, just to suffer? Call it a jerk move if you want—it’s not like I’m not used to that.”

Dororo pondered this for a moment, then sidled closer to Kururu, balancing on the branch.

“This isn’t about being a jerk,” he said. “There’s been times when I wish I could forget things that hurt me too. And perhaps that is what’s best for some people, but for me…” Dororo clenched his fists.

“All the strife I’ve dealt with—during my childhood, then with X-1—it’s part of who I am, and I’ve grown because of it. Keroro-kun might have wronged me in the past, but no amount of pain could make me want to forget all the wonderful times we shared as well.”

The ninja gestured toward the scene still occurring below, sweeping his arm over it in a semicircle. “Moments like this, with all of us together… They remind me what we’re doing this for.” He smiled faintly as he watched Keroro hug his past self down below.

Dororo then looked at Kururu again, determined eyes poring into the back of his head. “And you… Everything you had with Saburo-dono… What you promised to keep, even if it went against your nature…” Dororo swallowed, feeling his throat begin to tighten. “Do you really want to throw it all away? Is it worth ripping out your heart just to stop bleeding?!”

As his plea bounced through the treetops, loud enough to have an impact but just quiet enough to stay between the duo, Dororo stopped to take a few breaths, caught unawares by the heaviness pressing down on his chest. He wiped his forearm across his face, surprised to feel the amount of wetness staining his skin. Even given his semi-frequent tendency to explode with emotion, the fact that he was crying this much was shameful. So much for the rare praise Kururu had bestowed upon him—but more importantly, the last thing his companion needed at a moment like this was for him to lose his composure.

For a stretch of time that felt like hours, Kururu remained unresponsive, still as a statue. Dororo bit his lip. Did he lose him? He should’ve known better by now than to break into a mega-lecture when Kururu was at a low point. He took in a shaky breath, and then said the very first thing that came to his mind—

“Plus, everything that’s happened in the last few days hasn’t been all bad!”

The air grew noticeably chillier once the words escaped his lips. Dororo wanted to punch himself in the teeth. He couldn’t have possibly given a worse chaser. Where did that even come from? It certainly wasn’t Kururu who such a statement was validating.

“Oh goodness. I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve heard enough.”

Kururu’s flat tone was nigh indecipherable. He pivoted around to face Dororo, lumbered forward, then ran both hands along the black strips on his headphones. Dororo quickly stepped back, wondering if he was about to be attacked—it wouldn’t be the first time. He held his hands up in front of him.

“No, really, I sincerely apologize for angering you. That was such an insensitive thing to—”

“Did I say I was angry?” Kururu sounded oddly calm. “I just said I heard enough.”

With that, he activated his mini helicopter blades. “Come on.”

Dororo’s jaw went slack as he slowly lowered his arms. “Huh…?”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘Huh’?” Kururu stuck his nose up at Dororo, suddenly sounding as pompous as ever. “We’ve got a job to do. Besides, the show’s over anyway.”

Kururu pointed toward the city square, now devoid of visible life besides the shrubbery. As it turns out, their past counterparts had all dashed off while present-day Kururu and Dororo weren’t paying attention.

“Oh…” Dororo sniffled, the spring breeze drying the tears remaining on his face. He had no idea what clicked to make Kururu's attitude flip so abruptly, and in fact was beginning to question if he was truly listening to him at all. But he wasn’t going to try his luck by inquiring. “You’re right. We should proceed.”

Accepting this acknowledgment, Kururu flicked the switch that activated his twin propellers. Hovering slightly above the ground, he extended a hand toward Dororo. The ninja, of course, was capable of tree-hopping his way back to the wormhole on his own, but it was a pleasant enough surprise that Kururu wasn’t mushing him like a sled dog for a change that he couldn’t help but take the offer.

“Thank you,” Dororo mumbled, reaching forward to slip his hand into Kururu’s grasp. As the two somewhat awkwardly laced fingers, Dororo recalled how he was swatted away instantly when he’d tried to take Kururu’s hand a few days ago. Now the sergeant major gripped tightly—almost too tightly. But Dororo wasn’t bothered.

“By the way, Senpai,” Kururu said as they took off toward the wormhole floating above, “I think you’d be good at theater. You should quit comedy and do that instead.”

“Y-you really think so?” Dororo blushed, tingling with flatteredness...until he processed the second part. His growing smile began to fade.

“Wait. So you did hear my joke…?”

“Yeah. It sucked ass.”

“So…where are we this time?”

Tamama held his arms around himself as he plodded along the boreal forest path the wormhole had plopped him and his superiors onto. His bare feet stung with each stride atop the frost-tipped floor.

“Wherever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not where we need to be,” Giroro said flatly, eyes jumping from one tree to the next in what appeared to be an endless array of conifers.

“First too hot, now too cold… I’m gonna be sick,” Keroro groaned, shivering. “But I’m too curious to turn back right away…”

“We’ll give it a few more minutes, and then we’re outta here,” Giroro said. “I don’t see a reason to linger around when—”

“Wait!” Tamama shouted, darting in front of the group as he pointed forward. “I see light!”

Keroro and Giroro quickly caught up to the tadpole. Indeed, there was what appeared to be a sliver of a clearing not too far ahead of them.

“Yahoo!” Keroro exclaimed, jumping up excitedly. “Good eye, Private Tamama!”

“Yay! He praised me!” Tamama squealed to himself quietly, wearing a goofy grin. The trio dashed toward the source of the light and peered through, sticking out ever so slightly from behind the bushes.

Stretching into the distance before them was an open field, a seemingly razed canvas of green and dabbles of beige. Curiously, scattered along the ground were hefty marble stones in the shape of letters in a language they hadn’t seen before…at least not in person.

“I recognize this!” said Tamama. “It’s that place Kururu-senpai showed us a picture of last night!”

“Oh! So we’re at the Tunguska site!” Keroro chortled to himself. “If only Fuyuki-dono were here. He’s gonna be sooo jealous.”

The sergeant’s eyes latched onto the shape of two figures in the center of the field. They looked like blobs of camouflage green at first, but with enough focus, Keroro was able to make out their strikingly familiar forms.

“Hey! I think that’s Kururu and Dororo!” Keroro poked his head further out and waved excitedly, raising his voice. “Ku—mmph!”

Keroro was quickly pulled back by Giroro, who clamped a hand tightly over his commander’s mouth.

“You idiot!” the corporal hissed. “We must’ve been sent back to yesterday! We’ll interrupt the way their operation went if they see us!”

“Ah…” Keroro wriggled out of Giroro’s grasp. “Makes sense…”

“Why’re they jumping around like that?” asked Tamama. “I can’t really hear them…”

In the scene playing out in front of them, while Kururu had stopped to stand in place, Dororo slammed into him with a full-bodied tackle, pinning him to the ground. Before the three observers could take any guesses, something small, cylindrical, and possibly metallic based on its shine popped out of the dirt. After it emitted a split-second flash of light, it burrowed back into the earth, and Kururu and Dororo quickly hopped onto the KRR-SP to zoom after it.

“Huh… that was strange,” Keroro said, cupping his chin.

“Did that thingamajig just…take their picture?” Giroro cocked an eyebrow.

“Come to think of it,” Tamama mused, “they did say they met someone specific around here. Maybe that’s what happens next?”

“Who knows? They took off so fast, we already lost ’em.” Keroro sighed dreamily. “I sure wish we brought my bike too…”

“Well, there’s nothing more to see here, so let’s head back.” Giroro stretched his arms above his head, trying to keep his blood flowing in the near-freezing temperatures. “We’ve spent enough time dilly-dallying.”

With Giroro leading the charge, the three turned around to begin the trek toward the wormhole from which they had emerged into the tundra. To their collective surprise, before they could even take a single step, they were faced with…the robot from a few minutes earlier?

“Whoa!” Keroro jumped in shock, quickly shrinking behind Giroro. “What the heck? When did that get here?!”

A bewildered Tamama scooted out from behind his teammates. “This doesn’t make sense. Wasn’t it just going in the opposite direction all the way over there?”

“I don’t like the way it’s looking at us,” Giroro said. He readied a blaster, though he for now kept its barrel aimed toward the ground so as to issue a less alarming warning. The drone made no indication that it was heeding it, simply staring at the trio without even a twitch from one of its three spider-like legs.

Keroro hummed, then inched forward with cautious optimism. “Well, it didn’t hurt Kururu and Dororo. And now that I’m getting a good look at it…it’s actually kinda cute!”

The robot emitted a hushed whirring noise. Keroro grew starry-eyed as he leaned toward Giroro.

“Hey, Giroro!” he exclaimed. “Let’s take it home with us!”

In response, the red dharma whacked Keroro’s stomach with the side of his weapon. “Are you insane?!”

Keroro hunched over, clutching his gut. “B-but…I think it might like us! I’ll call it Zako Slim!” Eyes stung with tears of pain, he beamed at the robot expectantly. “Well? What do you say, li’l guy?”

No sooner did he propose the question than the small machine twisted its way back underground without so much as a whimper.

“Aww, come on!” Keroro yelled, balking at what he perceived to be a brutal rejection.

Giroro rolled his eyes and stuffed away his gun. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel like Kururu's mission deserves better than this clownery.”

Tamama skipped to Giroro’s side and gave him a confident grin. “We can still do this, Giroro-senpai. I know Mr. Sergeant will get it together!” His eyes suddenly strayed as he whispered out of one side of his mouth, “Maybe.”

The trio was able to make it to the base of the lingering wormhole without much hassle. Just as group head Giroro was about to exit, Tamama abruptly stopped in his tracks, whipping his head around the area. “Tama…?”

His companions halted, and Keroro glanced back at his subordinate. “Tamama? What’s the matter, sir?”

Tamama shook his head, looking sheepish. “N-nothing, I guess. I thought I heard something rustling in the bushes, but maybe I just imagined it…”

“Don’t worry about it, Private,” Keroro said, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Probably just an animal… What lives here again? Camels?”

“That’s the Sahara, not Siberia,” Giroro corrected.

Keroro coughed awkwardly. “I knew that.”

After the team had departed from the warp and returned to the space-time hub, the wormhole would evaporate in due time—but not before something else zipped through behind them, covert as a cobra.

“Son of a bitch. Not the fucking cold again.”

“And it’s snowing…”

Kururu and Dororo shivered—the former more violently than the latter—as they gazed up at the grayed sky. Scattered snowflakes fluttered daintily down and landed softly atop the ground, a quilt of mostly white, with green and brown patches of long grasses. Occasional light gusts brushed up against the Keronians, sending frigid waves across their skin. Dororo couldn’t help but be almost enraptured by the disquieting peace of it all, but was snapped out of his trance by a lump of soft fabric hitting him on the side of the face. He pulled it down to examine the object, which turned out to be a shoddily stitched but fluffy black jacket.

“Stop staring into space and put that on,” Kururu grumbled beside him. Dororo happened to catch him, already wearing an identical jacket, inspecting the tip of the reality pen for tiny kinks and then replacing its cap.

Dororo nodded and threw on his jacket. It itched as he tugged it against his body, but it was the thought that counted. “What did you use to draw these?”

Kururu jutted his thumb to the side. “The wall. Didn’t wanna waste any paper.”

Conveniently, the wormhole had spawned them right behind a wide wooden building with several shuttered windows, its outer wall shielded from the snow by a carefully angled rooftop. Unsanded wood didn’t make for the smoothest canvas, which might have partially explained the jackets’ quality, but the notepad Kururu had brought along with him was reserved for true emergencies—and redrawing the inter-dimensional gate, of course.

After dusting themselves off, the duo carefully shuffled out from around the side of the building, anti-barriers activated just in case. This was obviously not the warp they were looking for, but curiosity got the better of them, as Dororo noted that the taste of the air felt nostalgic.

The two were faced with a strip of land parted by a single road, each side peppered with a few homes spaced far apart. Some of the residences were sturdy log cabins with roofs of birch, others hardy conical tents built with bark and covered with pelt. Fields big enough for farming enclosed by stick fences were strung intermittently between the homes, though any animals being raised were likely in the stables.

“I definitely recognize something about this location,” Dororo said, squinting. As he looked around in all directions, he noticed a sign hanging over the doorway of the big building, though he couldn’t see any text printed on it from underneath.

“Can you check out what that sign says?” Dororo said, pointing to it. “It might give us a hint.”

“Hmmm. Lemme see.” Kururu activated his propellers to take him up to the sign’s level. Once he was hovering in front of it, he slid two fingers across the frame of one side of his glasses, activating its zoom lens feature to get the best possible view. The clearly hand-painted letters on the sign were somewhat faded, and flurries of snowfall further obscured Kururu’s vision. Even so, with enough concentration, he could faintly make out the word “фактория”.

“Cyrillic characters,” Kururu mumbled. “Russian…?”

Dororo looked up at him quizzically. “Can you read Russian?” He called.

Kururu shook his head. “I’m not much of a polyglot, believe it or not. But I did brush up on enough of the alphabet to read loan words, and I’m pretty sure that says ‘factory’…”

The sergeant major emitted a tiny gasp as the gears inside his head began to turn rapidly. Moments later, he’d arrived at a conclusion. He quickly descended to report to Dororo. “Vanavara,” he said the instant he’d landed, snapping his fingers.

“Really?” Dororo sounded slightly surprised. “How did you figure that out?”

“It did require a bit of educated guessing.” Kururu retracted his propellers. “I learned during my research on Tunguska that Vanavara was a much smaller village back then, being more of a trading post than a town. There weren’t many permanent residents—some Russian settlers, some indigenous Evenki, though most of the latter were nomadic and worked closer to the river.”

“I see…” Dororo hugged the fabric of his jacket tighter around his body. “No wonder the climate feels familiar. But it's not like Vanavara is the only settlement in the Siberian taiga, right?”

“Definitely not, and this is where the assumption comes in, but…” Kururu grit his teeth. “...there’s only one part of Siberia where we know for a fact someone had Koredinite.”

“Oh... Oh!” Dororo’s face lit up once he’d connected the dots. “So we’ve gone back in time to when Tsukeke-dono lived here!”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Kururu grumbled, “which would make our anti-barriers effectively useless, so we probably shouldn’t stick around.”

“Perhaps Tsukeke-dono hasn’t joined the village yet,” Dororo pointed out. “He did imply that his friend had the Koredinite before they met.”

“Maybe, but I’m not particularly keen on finding out.” Kururu swiveled around and began to plod away. “Potential timeline interruptions aside, seeing that coot’s mug would just be icing on the shit-cake.”

“Do you really dislike him that much?” the ninja blurted haphazardly. Kururu stopped in place and threw his head over his shoulder to see that Dororo wasn’t following him.

“What, is there a problem with that?” he snapped, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “We already discussed this.”

“It’s not that there’s a problem, per se.” Dororo sighed, puffs of frozen breath slipping through the cracks of his mask. “It is a tad ironic, though. In some respects, he’s a lot like—”

Just then, the door of the cabin diagonally across from them swung open, its hinges making an audible creak. Acting accordingly, Dororo rushed forward to take cover again, yanking Kururu by the jacket hood as he passed him by. The yellow Keronian let out a choked yelp as Dororo swung him around the corner, ultimately landing flat on his back, the coat shielding his skin from being shocked by the frozen floor’s chill. Dororo apologized hurriedly as he brought Kururu back to his feet, and then the two poked their heads out from behind the building just slightly enough to see what was going on.

A boy who couldn’t have been any older than ten had appeared on the house’s doorstep, frantically looking back and forth. The child, clad in a tattered tan overthrow with cuffs that engulfed his hands, ruffled his scruffy dark hair and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Sasha!” A girl who seemed to be teen-aged in a violet long-sleeved pinafore dress, a single braid draped over her shoulder, came out onto the stoop from behind the boy. “What are you doing in the doorway? You’ll catch a cold!”

“I saw him, Sister Gelya!” the boy, apparently called Sasha, exclaimed, hand shaking as he pointed to the center of the road on which Kururu and Dororo had stood moments ago. “He was right there!”

“Well, nobody’s there now,” his sister said with a huff. “You probably imagined it.”

“I did not!” Sasha stomped his foot indignantly. “It looked just like him! In fact, there were two of them!”

“Now you’re really talking nonsense!” The boy’s sister raised her voice in kind. “There were never any others besides him…”

From their hiding spot, the Keronian pair exchanged alarmed looks, their hearts having skipped a beat. While the context of the conversation was still unclear, it didn’t take rocket science to figure out that this was about them.

“Damn it,” Kururu hissed as the siblings’ ping-pong bickering continued in the background. “They really could see through the anti-barriers.”

Dororo’s eyes widened. “That must mean—”

“It’s just not fair!”

Sasha’s strangled shout, carried by the blustery winds, cut Dororo off mid-sentence. Even from a distance, the Keronians could make out the redness and puffiness of his cheeks.

“First Father passed from the illness,” the boy blubbered, “then Brother, and now…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, as he was overtaken by sobs and hiccups. His sister, calmer now, knelt down and massaged his back gently.

“You know how close he was to Brother Antosha,” Gelya chided gently. “I know it's been a while, but I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.”

“But when is he coming back?” Sasha rubbed at his eyes. “Will he come back?”

The girl at his side paused for a moment and appeared to bite her lip. She then simply whispered—

“I don’t know, Sasha. I don’t know.”

As her younger brother tried to stifle more sobs, Gelya wrapped her arm around his shoulders and began to coax him back inside their home. “Come now,” she said. “We have to stay strong and well. Mother has a chance to recover…”

The two children then disappeared through the entrance, the door shutting slowly behind them. Kururu and Dororo stared at the house, once again picture-perfect still, at least from their perspective. The air was dead quiet, and if felt almost as if none of what they’d witnessed had just happened.

The Keronians withdrew behind their little hiding place, their backs sliding down the wall as they sat themselves against it. Things fell awfully silent for a bit, save for the persistent buzzing of the wormhole before them. Eventually, Kururu cleared his throat.

“Well…that explains some stuff.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” Dororo sniffled, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Those poor children!”

“Dude. Seriously?” Kururu groaned at the weeping ninja. “It’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“Would it change things that much to at least comfort them?” Dororo pleaded. “Even if we don’t tell them he’s still—”

“No,” Kururu growled in an uncharacteristically sharp tone, causing Dororo to wince a bit. “We can’t take the risk of altering anything surrounding the wrench-head, or else he might not be at the time and place we need him to be.”

“Okay, okay. All right.” Dororo dabbed at his tears with his sleeve, then took a deep breath. “Well, it certainly makes sense why he seemed so pained now. Still, I can’t believe he really just left them like that...”

“I can.” Kururu mumbled. Before Dororo could ask him what he meant by this, Kururu pulled out his device and started pressing some buttons.

“The only thing I don’t get is where the Koredinite signal’s coming from,” the inventor muttered. “If Tsukeke fled town or something, did he not take it with him? Is it in their house?”

Dororo leaned over his shoulder. “Are you trying to find that out?”

Kururu nodded. “Upping the detection range should give me the direction it’s coming from. I programmed the way the system narrows down wormhole search results to make sure we wouldn’t have to go on a wild goose chase inside the warp, so the Koredinite can’t be that far.”

After a little more finagling, the tips of the twin antennae on Kururu’s handheld lit up with a ping, and a compass appeared on the screen. Strangely, the blinking arrow pointed in the direction past the wormhole, away from the small settlement, and the estimated distance was less than the length of a soccer field.

“Huh. That’s weird,” Kururu said, shielding his eyes from the snow as he surveyed the area. “There’s nothing ahead but grass—the houses are all in the other direction, and the woods leading to the river aren’t even on the horizon. Did he hide it in plain sight or something?”

Dororo looked up in thought. “The Koredinite belonged to his friend first, right? Maybe he buried it as a memorial or something…”

Kururu let out such a loud snort that Dororo jolted in surprise, lightly hitting his head against the wall.

“Yeah, right,” the sergeant major jeered, a strained grin across his visage. “Who would do something that ridiculous, eh? Ku, ku! Ku! Ku…”

His voice tapered off with a bit of a whimper, and his eyes became glued to his feet. Dororo looked confused as he rubbed his slightly bruised scalp.

“Um… What was that about?”

“Let’s just check for the rock and get outta here.” Kururu hopped up and began to briskly shuffle through the slightly snowy field, not even sparing a single glance back toward Dororo. The lance corporal let out a befuddled groan before rising himself to trail after him. As if he needed something else to make his head hurt.

The two Keronians followed Kururu’s radar past the wormhole until a steady beeping noise told them they’d supposedly arrived at the location of the Koredinite, but the mineral was nowhere to be found.

“Shit. Maybe he really did bury it.” Kururu looked down and frowned. “Am I gonna have to waste paper on a shovel?”

“Wait, you want to try to dig it up?!” Dororo balked at Kururu incredulously, and the sergeant major shrugged.

“Look, I just need to know my program is working. You’re the one that sowed that doubt in my mind to begin with, remember,” Kururu said matter-of-factly. “We’ll cover it back up real tight so it doesn’t look like we messed with anything.”

Dororo wasn’t sure if he was more appalled by the hypocrisy or the disrespect. He gazed at the frost-laden ground, wondering if the dirt was even thawed enough to dig through, save for going to the extreme and conjuring a bulldozer. As he contemplated this, he couldn’t help but notice just how brilliantly the dabbles of snow sparkled, even in the absence of any light in the sky. Maybe it was because he hadn’t engaged in a staring contest with the ground before now, but curiously, he couldn’t recall the rest of the field looking this radiant. Was something different about this spot?

That’s when he came to a realization. He quickly rose his head.

“I don’t think it’s buried, Kururu-kun,” he said, pointing beneath him. “It looks to me like there’s Koredinite fragments aboveground!”

“The hell? There’s no way…” Nevertheless, Kururu turned on the zoom function of his glasses again and directed them toward the spot Dororo spoke of. Indeed, scattered among the blades of snow-tipped grass were small shards of pinkish red, each of which gave off their own glow. They varied in size, leading Kururu to theorize that there were perhaps even more not visible to his lens, which didn’t quite enhance to microscopic levels.

“Man…” Kururu clicked his tongue. “Way to piss away one of the most valuable materials in the galaxy.”

“How do you suppose this happened?” Dororo asked. “The ground shouldn’t be hard enough to shatter a mineral like that if it was simply dropped.”

Kururu adjusted his glasses. “Koredinite might be durable, but it doesn’t last forever, and it can break when overloaded with energy. But Koredinite that crumbles under those circumstances usually dissipates pretty uniformly. Something about this seems…”

He paused before muttering—

“…Deliberate.”

The wind whooshed through the duo’s ears as they stood in silence for a bit. The whispers of the flurries had grown just a bit more intense.

Eventually, Kururu pried his eyes away. He dusted his hands together, then put them on his hips. “Now that that's settled, time to get back to wormhole hunting. These jackets are stupid uncomfortable.”

Dororo blinked. “That’s it? You don’t have any suggestions as to why he did this?”

Kururu raised an eyebrow. “Why, do you? It seems pretty pointless to speculate when we don’t even know for a fact that this was his doing.”

“Well, I figured…” Dororo wrung his hands. “…you would know better than me how it feels to be so…”

“So what?”

“Well...” Dororo took a moment to choose his words carefully. “Pushed to extremes, I suppose.”

Kururu fell quiet, and Dororo feared that his honesty went a little too far this time, especially since Kururu had just confessed how vexed he was about his emotions spiraling out of control. Against Dororo’s expectations, Kururu didn’t seem particularly aggravated by his words at the park, but did this statement push the wrong buttons?

Dororo’s worries were alleviated and replaced with something else entirely when Kururu looked him dead in the eye and responded—

“Guess he wasn’t lucky enough to have a persistent little worm knock some sense into him, huh?”

Kururu chuckled, then turned around to march back toward the wormhole, apparently ignoring how Dororo had been completely immobilized by bafflement. The ninja opened and closed his mouth several times, but nothing came out. The longer he tossed Kururu’s comment around in his mind, the more contradictory it became.

Evidently, as much as Dororo prided himself on having gained a better understanding of Kururu, the yellow devil still had ways of confounding him.

Kururu and Dororo couldn’t do much but ponder quietly as they wandered around the interdimensional hub in search of their next target. A markedly disturbed look in Dororo’s eyes told Kururu he was likely still a bit conflicted about what they'd just learned. As for Kururu himself, the sob story of someone he wasn’t even fond of to begin with was so irrelevant to his immediate concerns that jettisoning it from his mind was a simple task—or at least it would’ve been a week ago. Even with everything else that his psyche had been through, there was little Kururu loathed more than feeling like a sucker. He would rather be disemboweled than say this, of course.

The duo wasn’t left alone with their thoughts for much longer, however. All of a sudden, a loud ringing came from Kururu’s tablet, jolting the two from their rumination. The yellow Keronian whipped out the device to examine it. In the upper left corner, a bright green symbol in the shape of Keroro’s head was blinking rapidly. He couldn’t have picked up fast enough.

“Yeah, Captain?” he said, breath bated, as Dororo hovered over his shoulder. “What’s—”

“Kururu! Dororo!” Keroro’s raspy voice burst through the speakers. “I—I think we found it!”

“What?!” Kururu and Dororo shouted in unison, their faces stuck to the device.

“Where was it?” Dororo asked expectantly. “What’d you see?!”

“So we poked our heads into this wormhole, and it turns out it was in the middle of the sky, so we almost fell through. It was nighttime, and it looked like we were back in Inner Tokyo somewhere…” Keroro paused as he gasped for air. “We were gonna go back after waiting for a bit, but then… Then this huge mech zoomed by and almost sliced my face off!”

“I saw it too!” Tamama exclaimed, likely sharing the communicator with Keroro. “It was going really fast, but I think it kinda looked like Kururu-senpai’s mecha! And what was really weird was that we couldn’t hear any noises it was making, but that’s when we realized…!”

“My stars.” Dororo’s hand flew to his mouth. “That really does sound like that night…”

“That’s it…” Kururu whispered, almost as if in disbelief. His palms sweat like pigs as he gripped the device so tightly, his arms began to shake.

“Please tell me you captured it in the vial!” he shouted, his voice peaking.

“Don’t worry, sir!” Keroro replied. “Giroro’s got it right now!”

“I’m guarding it like my life depends on it!” the corporal boomed in the background, sounding a bit distant.

“Okay,” Kururu said, trying to temper the tremors in his voice. “Captain, send over your coordinates. It’s the middle button on the side…”

“Um…” There was a brief silence, followed by a popup on Kururu’s screen. “Like that?”

“Yes!” Kururu’s fingers shimmied over the device’s buttons as he set it to routing mode. “All right, perfect!”

The sergeant major took a deep breath. “Now, just stay where you are—do not move. We need to reduce the risk of anything getting out of whack as much as possible”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Keroro said sharply. “We’ll wait right here!”

“I’m putting the vial in my dimensional storage pocket,” Giroro called out from the background. “It’ll be safe and sound.”

“We’ll be there as fast as we can, then.” Kururu steadied his thumb over the disconnect button. “I’m countin’ on ya.”

With that, Kururu ended the call. He considered pinching himself—it was almost too good to be true. Before he could do so, Dororo startled him by clapping loudly.

“This is incredible, Kururu-kun!” he sang, his face positively glowing. “The plan worked!”

“Man,” Kururu said, the corners of his lips twitching. “I really am a genius.”

Kururu stole another glance at his device, which was currently pinging Keroro and the others’ location. It didn’t take too long for an arrow atop a radar to manifest on the screen, looking much like the Koredinite detector.

“We can’t celebrate too much just yet, though,” Kururu warned. “We’ve gotta get over to where the captain is safely, then back to the location where we drew that door so we can get the hell outta here.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Dororo nodded sharply. “Let’s move, posthaste!”

Without further ado, the pair darted into the distance, weaving between gates as they traveled as quickly as they could toward the coordinates displayed on Kururu’s device. One might think it would be challenging to chart out geographical coordinates within such an unconventional area, but greater space-time did have a separate plane of navigation that was eventually decoded—this was how dimensional travel was made controllable to begin with.

After much zipping around, their three teammates came into view amid a slew of portals, anxiously looking around as they anticipated Kururu and Dororo’s arrival.

“Captain-dono!” Dororo called out as he and Kururu propelled themselves forward. “We’re here!”

“Dororo! Kururu!” Keroro’s eyes lit up as he darted ahead to meet them, Tamama and Giroro close behind. “Thank goodness you guys made it in one piece!”

“I’m relieved you’re all safe as well,” Dororo said, smiling warmly.

“We, uh, had some close calls,” Tamama admitted, scratching his cheek. “But Mr. Sergeant did a great job!”

“Yup! That’s right!” Keroro pounded his chest confidently. “Anything dangerous that happened was definitely not my fault, no sir!”

Sensing the heat radiating off of Giroro’s body like a roasting potato, Kururu quickly changed the subject. “I see you’ve got the vial?”

“Sure do,” Giroro replied, briefly producing the vial, filled with a swirling mass that looked like plasma, and patting the glass gently. He then shot Keroro a glare. “We’re lucky Keroro did something right by accident.”

“Hey, at least I accomplished anything,” Keroro argued, hands on his hips. “All you did was make us run into a cowboy version of yourself that tried to kill us over candy.”

“Oh yeah!” Tamama turned to Giroro with his biggest, brightest puppy eyes. “Now that it’s mission accomplished, can I have another candy?”

“What?” Giroro gave him a peeved look. “You really can’t wait until we get back to—”

Tamama made a threatening guttural growl, his left eyelid twitching. Giroro squirmed uncomfortably, but it was clear what would happen if he did not oblige. “Okay, fine,” he relented, removing a single candy from the dainty box, then turning back around to plop it into Tamama’s outstretched hand.

“Hooray!” Tamama cheered, his tail wagging like a motorboat’s propeller as he relished every chew of the delicacy. Once he’d fully ingested the taffy, another brief episode of full-body vibrating ensued. He didn’t so much as flinch after the tremors passed, instead immediately licking his palm while humming happily.

While the gluttonous tadpole was distracted, Giroro faced away from him in an attempt to hide the box once more—but Tamama was sharper than he appeared. He tugged hard on both of Giroro's cheeks from behind, causing the corporal to yelp in pain and loosen his grip on the box. This allowed Tamama to reach around and swipe it away, giggling mischievously.

"What's wrong with you?!" Giroro yelled as he rubbed his throbbing face.

"I just wanna hold it!" Tamama whined.

"Like hell you do!"

Dororo stared at Tamama and Giroro as they bickered like a stern father and his impish child. “I feel like I shouldn’t ask.”

“Don’t,” Giroro grumbled after finally letting Tamama have his way.

“None of this stuff matters anyway,” Kururu said. “Since I’m going to the past alone, the rest of you are gonna forget about whatever you got yourselves into.”

“Huh.” Keroro tapped a finger to his chin. “I didn’t think about that.”

Dororo froze in place, a chill going down his spine as it suddenly dawned on him just how close the time of reckoning really was. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He disgusted himself with the sheer selfishness of it. But no matter how ashamed he was, he couldn’t stop the shadowy mass of dread from creeping up on him…

“Yo, Keron to Doroboat.”

Dororo jumped when he felt something tug gently on his arm. He swiveled around to find Kururu next to him, his wrist wrapped around Dororo’s forearm. The rest of the team had pulled slightly ahead, with Tamama trying to break up Keroro and Giroro’s bickering.

“You coming or not?” Kururu asked with a hint of irritation.

It was then that Dororo realized he had zoned out for a bit. Thoroughly embarrassed, he lightly smacked his cheek with his free hand to snap himself out of his funk.

“I-I apologize,” he stammered. “I was just...thinking.”

“No shit. Anybody with gray matter could figure that out.” Kururu released his arm and motioned for the blue Keronian to follow. “Let’s book it.”

Dororo nodded, swallowing heavily without another word, even though he still had so much to say. About Kururu’s feelings. About his own feelings. About the future yet unwritten and a past and present soon to be erased.

As Kururu passed him by, it was all Dororo could do to stop himself from grabbing him and not letting go.

The Keroro Platoon progressed smoothly toward the spatial coordinates from which they’d entered the gate. Simply opening the door from any spot could potentially drop them at any location along their own dimensional plane, Kururu had explained, so it was necessary to exit from their exact origin point.

The closer to the destination the dots representing the platoon on Kururu’s mini-map became, the more he tingled with excitement, each beep on the device sending a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. His week from hell was finally coming to a close. Or rather, it would never begin. It was hard to deny that his managing to orchestrate his way out of such a predicament was a feast for his ego. Turning the tables just when his adversary—destiny—was getting comfortable, narrowly snatching victory from the jaws of defeat… Nothing was more cathartic for the mad scientist.

They were almost there. Kururu ran a quick calculation through his head—at their current speed, it would be five more minutes before they reached the designated coordinates.

Three more minutes. He felt beads of sweat gather along his forehead.

Two more minutes. His heart was a ticking time bomb.

One minute.

What déjà vu.

“Hey, it’s Zako Slim!”

“Oh, not again!”

The jovial cry of Keroro followed by a disgruntled groan from Giroro rang out slightly ahead. Kururu, who had been fully fixated on his screen, glanced up. And then his stomach dropped like a stone.

Keroro danced a jig in the air, eliciting an exaggerated eye roll from Giroro and even Tamama. “I knew you’d come back for me, Zako Slim!” the sergeant rejoiced. “You and I are gonna be the best of—”

“Trip?”

Dororo whispered just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear, eyes like dinner plates as they lay upon the familiar cylindrical drone, the bright lights of the matrix reflecting in shimmers off its metal sheen.

“Who’s Trip?” Keroro squinted at Dororo, then at the robot, and then at Dororo again. When his brain caught up with reality, he puckered his lips in a childish pout.

“So the li’l guy has a name already? But mine was so much better…”

“H-how exactly do you recognize him?” Dororo sputtered out.

“We wormhole traveled to what we think was yesterday, when you guys were in Siberia,” Tamama explained, frowning and clutching his head. “It was near you at first, but then when we turned around, it was in front of us somehow… Kinda gave me a headache.”

“Did it follow us out?” Giroro grunted. “Wouldn’t that mess up the timeline?”

“No…I don’t think that came from the past.” Dororo gave Kururu a nervous glance. “This must have to do with him, but why would he need to…?”

Kururu’s teeth gnashed against each other so hard that his facial muscles began to whine. His clenched jaw was likely the only barrier between his surroundings and a heap of projectile vomit.

Of course this wasn’t over. That would be too good to be true.

Suddenly, a loud, mechanical screech tore through the air, causing Keroro and Tamama to yelp. Much to the group’s horror, Trip’s lens-like eye had begun to expand across its face, ballooning so far that its exterior began to crumble and fall off in pieces with clinks and clangs, exposing parts of a rusted exoskeleton underneath. The eye glowed redder than the sun, to the point where just looking at its epicenter threatened to burn the Keronians’ retinas.

Despite all of this happening in mere seconds, Giroro managed to spawn a beam rifle. “Everyone get down!” the corporal barked as he attempted to aim at the burning light, but before he could pull the trigger, a bang louder than that of cannon fire reverberated through the air.

All at once, their muscles locked up before they could even scream, a single strong jolt numbing every bone in their body. There was no pain—only light, followed by gradual darkness. A menacing, mechanical whirring crept into their ears, though it was already beginning to fade as consciousness left them. But in that moment, Kururu was able to hang onto a last gasp of coherent thought.

That motherfucker.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

When Kururu stirred, he felt much like he was in sleep paralysis, to the point where he wondered if he was even awake. His vision was immediately bombarded with a bleary kaleidoscope of colors swimming all around him. He was aware enough to realize he was suspended upright in midair, but nearly every non-facial muscle and bone in his body was completely arrested, leaving him with nothing to do but try to piece together where he was and why as his heart beat against his ribcage.

Although he couldn’t move his head, his eyes darted back and forth. Wherever he’d ended up, it was completely unlike the rest of the inter-dimensional realm. There were no portals in sight—just walls crawling with rainbow globs that swirled through the air in indecipherable, mesmerizing patterns. In his peripheral vision, he could just barely make out the shape of his teammates; it seemed they were lined up in a row, with Keroro on one side of him and Dororo on the other. It was small comfort, but Kururu felt his heart rate slow just a little.

“Gero…?” A raspy whisper undeniably belonging to Keroro came from Kururu’s right. “So blurry… Wha happun…?”

“Is everyone all right?” Giroro, sounding strained, called from further away.

“I think so, but I can’t move…” moaned Tamama. “Where are we…?”

“I wish I knew,” Dororo said softly. “Kururu-kun?”

“Nngh…” was all the sergeant major could manage. Considering the amount of research he’d done on inter-dimensional travel, it should have at least been on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t put together many thoughts at the moment besides strings of expletives.

“Hey, wait a second!” Keroro exclaimed, suddenly sounding wide awake. “Is that the li’l guy?!”

Indeed, Kururu realized as his vision refocused, looming in front of the group was Trip—or at least what was left of it. Its entire top half was a smoldering mess of broken metal joints, its exterior having been blown to bits. Despite this, a single skinny pole holding up the camera its large eye once concealed remained standing. Only its lower half remained fully intact, though heavily charred, and crooked wires dangled over the edges like spilled intestines. Kururu was certainly no stranger to machine gore, but knowing the drone was debatably sapient made this slightly disturbing even to him.

“That’s pretty freaky,” Tamama said, unnerved.

“Dororo, you mentioned you met that robot before, right?” Giroro said. “Do you have any idea at all what might’ve happened here?”

“The truth is…” Dororo hesitated for a moment, almost as if waiting for Kururu to rebuke him. When no protest came, he continued. “The owner of that drone is—”

“Oh, it seems you’ve all come to. Now we can finally chat.”

An ominously nonchalant voice rang through the air, and Kururu felt his blood run cold. Then four streams of smoke flowed down from above, and a pair of scooped metallic feet came into view. Gradually, what the thrusters were attached to revealed itself as it descended before the platoon.

A hulky, towering form. Grainy metal in earthy colors. A spiked crown, intricate plated armor, clawed hands attached to cannons. The mech was unmistakable to Kururu—he had just seen it the day before, after all. Now it had come alive, with mechanical wings holding its thrusters spread out in a threatening display and two glowing red eyes burning through Kururu’s skull, like he was an ant under a magnifying glass.

“Holy flying space hogs!” Keroro yelled. “What in the world is that?!”

“Whoever you are, show yourself!” Giroro spoke through grit teeth.

The crown atop the mech’s head parted, exposing a cockpit shielded with glass. Then the transparent dome itself flipped up, and unfortunately for Kururu, out popped the top half of exactly who he was expecting—a certain slate gray Keronian, who adjusted his goggles atop his head as he took a swig of air.

“Good job keeping an eye on them, Trip!” he said perkily. “Your heat-seeking, camera monitoring, and secret weapon capabilities worked marvelously.”

While the three uninitiated members of the platoon were left in shocked silence, Dororo let out a low whimper. “Tsukeke-dono.”

“We meet again, Lance Corporal Dororo. And Sergeant Major Kururu too, of course.” The mech’s pilot nodded at both of them, then scanned his eyes over the others. “So these are your teammates. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Uh…” The befuddlement in Keroro’s voice was apparent. “Hello…sir…?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kururu snapped, causing the opposing Keronian to grimace.

“Is that really how you’re going to greet the one who helped you come up with this brilliant idea in the first place?” Tsukeke chided. “Well, I suppose I don’t blame you, given your current situation…”

“Tsukeke-dono…” Dororo’s voice trembled. “I don’t understand…”

“You don't understand? I understand even less!” Giroro roared. “Who is this guy?!”

“Former Private First Class Tsukeke.” Tsukeke gave a salute. “I was a mechanic and technician for the Keron Army about 23,000 years ago before getting stranded on Pekopon…and I was the original witness of the Tunguska event.”

“Wait, the witness from yesterday you talked about was a stranded Keronian?!” While Keroro likely couldn’t physically whip his head, Kururu felt his leader balking at him regardless. “How was that not important, Kururu?!”

Tsukeke winced. “‘Not important?’ Ouch. You and that bad attitude of yours...”

“Don’t talk like you know me!” Kururu growled.

“Oh, but I do know you, Sergeant Major.” Tsukeke shot him a smug smile. “You might have just met me yesterday, but I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time.”

“Okay, my head’s really spinning now…” Tamama whined.

“Worry not, I’ll explain,” said Tsukeke. “It’s not like you can do anything but listen right now anyway.”

The mechanic cleared his throat. “Much like the sergeant major, I was shown a vision when I was at my very lowest many years ago—a vision that showed a lot of our very meeting, which would ultimately occur yesterday. I distinctly remember it happening in the mountains near what is now my shack…amid the thickest fog I’ve ever seen.”

“But you said you didn’t know about the mist...” Dororo said, voice apprehensive with incredulity.

“That wasn’t entirely untrue,” Tsukeke clarified. “Finding any concrete information on the phenomenon was a near impossible task, especially back then. I truly did appreciate your assurance that others really have experienced it after all, given how much I hinged on its legitimacy.”

“You’re still a friggin’ liar.” Kururu spat. “You obviously have your own Koredinite if you were able to get in here.”

“I’ll concede to that. I couldn’t show you all my cards,” admitted Tsukeke. “But my current supply is recent. Koredinite’s not easy to come by, as I’m sure you know.”

“But how?” Tamama croaked. “It took Kururu-senpai a whole month’s pay to get his!”

“Oh, funds aren’t a problem for me. I started a lucrative enough business down here to make cash and connections. They gave me all the tech and info I could want in exchange for my services.” Tsukeke chuckled before adding, “They didn’t know or care what I needed it for, of course—the money did all the talking.”

“Tech and info? But for what?” Giroro said, sounding agitated. Kururu could tell he was struggling to keep his cool.

“To prepare for this very moment, of course!” Tsukeke simpered irritatingly enough to rival even Kururu’s signature expression. “I published that info about the Quietite knowing you would arrive on Pekopon and find it someday—a favorable paradox, if you will, much like yours. And once Pekoponian news started reporting about the missing sound in a part of Tokyo, it was clear the time had finally come.”

The gray Keronian wiped a gloved hand across his forehead. “You sent me on quite the hunt through the inter-dimensional realm, but Trip’s been expertly trained to track Keronian body heat. I knew you wouldn’t hesitate to come here, and now…”

Tsukeke’s voice lowered an octave as he proclaimed—

“I have you right where I want you.”

“Et tu, Zako Slim?!” Keroro cried. “But I trusted you!”

“You had absolutely no reason to!” Giroro shouted. It seemed even a conundrum as dire as this wouldn’t put a sock in their back-and-forth routine.

“I still don’t get what you want with us!” Tamama was audibly growing frustrated. “We haven’t done anything to you!”

“I think I might know,” Dororo said solemnly. “You want to go back in time to prevent your friend from succumbing to that illness, don’t you?”

Tsukeke’s smile suddenly evaporated. “What? How did you…”

“One of the wormholes Kururu-kun and I went into brought us to the time after you left Vanavara,” Dororo explained. “We found out what happened.”

Tsukeke paused to mull over this, his furrowed brows making him look almost disappointed—Kururu savored the brief satisfaction of what he chose to interpret as a hit to the mechanic’s confidence. Eventually, Tsukeke just shrugged.

“I must've missed that while I was busy shadowing your sergeant here. Though I suppose this saves me some time…”

“Why didn’t you just ask us to help you, if that’s what you needed?” said Dororo, already beginning to gulp back tears. “Maybe we could have rescued both your friend and Saburo-dono! Would you have stayed with that family then?!”

Tsukeke chuckled with a hint of pity. “You really are a kind soul, Lance Corporal. But you are naive.”

Against his better judgment—he might have even concurred under any other circumstance—Kururu began to feel his blood boil at the comment. Tsukeke continued—

“This goes further than Anton. His untimely passing was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Tsukeke looked off to the side for a moment. “I realized that simply kicking the can down the road would be pointless. That’s why I left.”

He lifted his head back up and proceeded to scan the crowd. “Slack jaws all around, eh?” he said, shaking his head mockingly. “Do you really know nothing about the planet you’re supposedly trying to conquer?”

Tsukeke let out a sigh. “You see, Pekoponians are…fragile. Frankly, their continued survival as a civilization and species surprises me.”

“Are you suggesting Pekopon is inferior?” Dororo said, sounding strained in trying to repress his righteous anger. “I’m sorry, but I won’t stand for the slander of this beautiful planet or anything living on it!”

“Yeah!” Keroro agreed enthusiastically. “I mean, look at all the awesome stuff from Pekoponian culture! The entertainment, the food, the holidays… Even the vacuum cleaners! They don’t make ’em like that on Keron!”

“You’re misunderstanding me.” Tsukeke said flatly. “I really am fond of this planet, and I’m well aware of Keron’s failings. But unlike us, Pekoponians are not biologically resilient, nor has their technology developed far enough to circumvent their weaknesses, even in the century that I’ve been here.”

Giroro swallowed. “It’s hard to deny that. They made sure we knew it all throughout training…”

“Exactly,” Tsukeke said with a nod. “No matter how one personally feels about Pekoponians, it’s simply a fact that they are much more delicate lifeforms than we are, with pitifully short, often brutish lives. And yet…”

A slight frown emerged on Tsukeke’s face. “…those who are aware of the existence of aliens and view us favorably expect us to magically be able to save them from the trappings of their intrinsic nature. Others fear us and believe we’re somehow responsible for their shortcomings. Does that sound fair?”

The Keroro Platoon fell quiet. Kururu didn’t know what the others were thinking, but he, for one, felt almost patronized by Tsukeke’s presentation of a fairly obvious dilemma with the self-importance of the second coming of Plato. Of course Kururu had considered this incongruity—he just didn’t care. It was of no consequence to him…back when things were simpler.

“In case you still don’t get it, let me put it this way,” Tsukeke continued. “There is no reality in which Pekoponians and Keronians can cohabitate peacefully without suffering on both sides. We are not compatible under any circumstance.”

“Th-that’s not true!” Tamama instantly retorted, causing Tsukeke to scoff.

“What would you know? You have yet to truly grapple with the mortality of Pekoponians. Or at least, that goes for most of you.”

Tsukeke slowly turned his head toward Kururu and leered at him point-blank in the eyes, sending a shiver down his spine.

“But you understand, don’t you, Sergeant Major?”

“Wait a minute!” Dororo interjected. “What happened to Saburo-dono has nothing to do with him being a Pekoponian! The Quietite still would have erased him even if he were an alien, right?”

“The circumstances of his demise are irrelevant,” Tsukeke said coldly. “Even if he lived out his natural lifespan, it would fall well short of ours—our respective biological clocks make that a guarantee. You will all inevitably experience the sergeant major’s pain someday."

The air became noticeably heavier.

“There is only one way to avoid such an outcome—the permanent and complete separation of our two species. I intend to make that the case—once I have everything I need, Keronians and Pekoponians will never meet.”

“Y-you can’t do that, sir!” protested Keroro. Tsukeke sneered at his plea.

“No? Well, perhaps not in my current state. I don’t invent things from scratch—I just tinker with existing machines and systems. But my only other restriction was that even my moles couldn’t get any tools exclusive to the Keron Army. Once I take over your little invasion effort and obtain your technology, I’ll be free to do anything I want—maybe even travel through time!”

Tsukeke gave a calculating glare unlike anything Kururu had ever seen from the ex-soldier. “And as a bonus, I can finally find out if I was correct in assuming the army abandoned me to cover up their failure. That’ll make for great blackmail in case anyone tries to oppose me.”

“You’re deranged!” Giroro shouted, audibly frothing at the mouth.

“Tsukeke-dono…” Dororo’s voice quivered. “I know you said a few things before that were…off-color, but this…?”

“I know this might come as a shock to you,” said Tsukeke, “but ever since my encounter with the mist, I’ve been certain that this is my calling—doing what’s best for both of our species. If you don’t see my logic, then so be it…”

As if getting a sudden realization, Tsukeke hummed. He glanced over at Kururu again, this time more inquisitively than intimidatingly.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Sergeant Major. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps…”

A sparkle glimmered in Tsukeke’s eyes, and he gained a perverse grin. Then he spoke slowly—

“Do you agree with me?”

Naturally, Kururu’s first instinct was to reject him, as his ego hated the idea of ceding any ground to the mechanic. But before he managed to say anything, he froze. Usurping the invasion might’ve been a step too far, but could he really call Tsukeke’s premise wrong? Over the past week, he’d expressed regret several times that he ever put himself in a position like this. Even with his love for schadenfreude, the thought of his teammates having to deal with what he’d been through didn’t amuse him. Still…

“Kururu-kun.”

Dororo called out to him softly. Could he tell he was wavering?

“Kururu?” Keroro whispered, sounding somewhat fearful. “What’s the matter, sir?”

Kururu bit his lip. What the fuck am I thinking?

“You could always join me, Sergeant Major,” Tsukeke said with a smirk. “Maybe then I’ll spare your platoon from—”

“Go to hell.”

Tsukeke gasped lightly, almost as if caught off guard by the sheer venom dripping from Kururu’s words. But then, against anyone’s expectations, he began to laugh.

“Ha! Of course you wouldn’t be won over so easily,” he said between chortles. “But I won’t be going anywhere. You, on the other hand…”

After strapping his goggles over his eyes with a loud snap, Tsukeke withdrew into the cockpit, and the dome and crown closed over him in succession. Then the mech whirred into action, the glow in its eyes brightening like headlights being switched to high beam.

“Since you won’t relent, I’ll just have to get you out of the way here.” Tsukeke’s voice boomed from the intercom inside the mech. “Oh, did I forget to mention? If I erase you within the fabric of space-time, you’ll be gone for good.”

The mecha opened its beak-like mouth, and out tumbled none other than a large bomb with a digital timer, which rolled almost right up to Kururu’s feet. Much to Kururu’s horror, the remaining time was just thirty seconds. Keroro screeched nearly loud enough to blow his ears out.

“A bomb?! Are you kidding me?!” Giroro howled.

Tsukeke, meanwhile, had activated the thrusters underneath his mech’s wings and was hovering well above the group.

“Do svidaniya, invasion platoon. Consider yourselves martyrs for a greater cause.”

When the timer hit ten seconds, Kururu shut his eyes tight, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do in this state. The blubbering of his teammates was drowned out by the timer’s beeps, each metronomic tick pounding against his eardrums like a sucker punch to the stomach. Kururu found that his anger was stronger than his fear. Anger at his fate. Anger at Tsukeke. Anger at himself. But even beyond that, he wondered—

Is this how he felt?

A piercing yell from Tamama rang out, followed by a grizzly crack, then a deafening explosion. Kururu expected to be consumed by hellfire after that, but to his surprise, he felt just fine after several moments. Cautiously, he pried open a single eye, only to find himself surrounded by white smoke. The instant he let his mouth fall open, the smoke immediately attacked his esophagus, sending him into a coughing fit—and based on the hacking he could faintly hear on either side, he wasn’t alone.

When the smoke finally began to clear, he saw the hovering silhouette of none other than Tamama. His fist was enlarged and outstretched in front of him, a dark aura encircling it.

“How do you like them apples, you lousy loudmouth?!” the private screamed with raspy rage, his muscles visibly throbbing. “No one threatens my sergeant and gets away with it!!”

“T-Tamama!” Keroro said, short of breath. “What did you just do, sir?”

“Oh, I punched the bomb real hard at him!” Tamama turned to face the platoon, beaming wide and pointing toward Tsukeke’s mech. “Pretty awesome, huh?”

“Wh-what?” Tsukeke sputtered from within the machine. Cracks and charring had appeared on the torso of his mech where the bomb had made impact, and black smoke began to seep out of the breaks in its armor. “You shouldn’t have been able to move at all, let alone attack like that. Not after Trip’s super-powered flashbang.”

“Huh…?” Tamama looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “Oh yeah. I can move again!”

“You only just realized?” Keroro deadpanned.

“It doesn’t seem like the rest of us can,” Dororo pointed out. “What did Tamama-dono do differently…?”

“The candy!” Giroro exclaimed. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but the only thing he did that we didn’t was eat two pieces of that candy!”

Keroro hummed. “Come to think of it, he did get those shivering fits...”

“Sounds like double dosing on that stuff supercharged his nervous system enough to eventually break outta the paralysis,” Kururu surmised. “Must’ve been some hard shit. Ku, ku!”

Tamama’s visage lit up. “Then that means…!”

The tadpole produced the candy box he’d wrestled away from Giroro, and flipped up the lid to reveal the four remaining taffy bites. Tamama, being very experienced in the art of undoing candy wrappers at mach speed, swiftly opened them up and tossed them into his teammates' mouths frisbee-style, one after the other. Then, much like Tamama’s before them, each of their bodies were zinged with a sharp burst of energy. They shook out their arms and stretched their legs—just like that, they were free from their internal imprisonment.

With control of their bodies fully restored after narrowly escaping fiery doom, the Keroro Platoon breathed sighs of relief.

“Whaddaya know?” Keroro said. “Guess there was something special about that candy after all. Gero, gero, gero…”

"Thank the stars he had enough self-control not to wolf them all down at once," Giroro mumbled.

The eyes on Tsukeke’s mech shone once more, and its pilot let out a low chuckle. “So luck and resources were on your side—not bad. But watch this.”

The damaged area of the mech flashed white. After a few seconds, the cracks and scars had completely vanished.

“What the heck?!” Keroro exclaimed, his voice peaking. “How’d you do that?!”

“This machine is made of self-repairing alloy,” Tsukeke explained. “I can negate any external damage with ease.”

“You think that’s going to deter us?” Giroro said, spawning in a hyper bazooka. “You can’t possibly take all of our attacks at once!”

“Yeah!” Tamama agreed, nodding fiercely. “Let’s turn that thing into scrap metal!”

Sucking in his gut and spewing out as much energy as he could, Tamama unleashed a Tamama Impact toward the mech. At the same time, Giroro hoisted his bazooka over his shoulder and fired off a searing mega-laser. The twin beams hit near simultaneously, leaving small craters right underneath the mech's eye-shaped concaves.

With his sharp eyes, Dororo immediately noticed the holes already beginning to repair themselves. Acting quickly in an attempt to stop the restoration, he dished out several shurikens to block the cracks that had formed around the craters. However, as the mech began to heal, the regenerating metal simply crept underneath the shurikens’ blades, causing them to pop out and limply float away.

Before long, the mech was like brand-new once more, leaving the Keroro Platoon shell-shocked. Tsukeke laughed haughtily.

“I don’t think you all realize just how long I’ve been fine-tuning this machine,” he taunted. “All you can do is run… Except that isn’t possible here in deep fabric space, either.”

“Deep fabric space…?” Tamama tilted his head, smoke from the Tamama Impact still spewing from his agape jaw.

“Gaps in the interdimensional realm with no access to gateways, similar to the distortions locally generated by warp speed travel…” Kururu scowled at Tsukeke accusingly. “Bastard put us as far away from any escape routes as possible.”

“That's not an inaccurate assessment,” Tsukeke said with a condescending drawl. “For all your cheek, your brains are the real deal.”

The mech rattled, and then a multitude of holes opened up on the underside of its wings. With a series of chaks, the barrels immediately filled with red-tipped missiles.

“But that won’t save you here.”

A barrage of rockets flew out of their encasements, barreling straight for the Keroro Platoon. Luckily, Giroro was in his element, and he had already strapped two bulky rocket launchers of his own to his back. Salvos filled the air as each missile was countered head-on, miniature explosions popping like firecrackers with each collision. Giroro happened to fire early enough that the explosions were a safe distance away from the platoon; they were showered with shrapnel, but otherwise unharmed. However, the rugged soldier came to a less fortunate realization.

“I was able to react with an opposing attack this time,” he said. “but precise dodges are going to be difficult when this gravity makes it feel like we’re swimming through jello.”

“Ah!” Keroro perked up excitedly. “Worry not! This is where your reliable leader comes in!”

The sergeant reached behind his back and whipped out a certain shiny ball covered in buttons imprinted with various shape patterns, looking much like a children’s toy. This, however, was no plaything.

“Ta-daaa!” Keroro waved the ball around in a braggadocious fashipn, and its springy antenna swayed back and forth. “Fuyuki-dono let me borrow the Kero Ball!”

Giroro shot him a glare over his shoulder. “You had the Kero Ball this entire time?! Why didn’t you think of that back at the canyon?!”

“Uh…” Keroro rubbed the back of his neck. “I maybe kinda sorta forgot…”

Giroro looked like he could strangle him, but Keroro left him no more time to argue. He hovered a finger over one of the buttons. “Go, gravity controls!”

The button pushed in with a satisfying boop, and the Kero Ball’s antenna became wrapped in a bright blue light. “Hi-yah!” Keroro shouted triumphantly, thrusting the ball out in front of him…

And then out popped a clown head on a spring, bouncing pathetically like a broken jack-in-the-box. The group all stared in perplexed silence, with even Tsukeke’s mech cocking its head to the side.

“…Um… I didn’t mean to do that.” Sweat beaded on Keroro’s forehead. “What I actually meant to do was…this!”

Keroro pressed a different button, retracting the clown. But his luck hadn’t turned around just yet—swiss army knives poked out of holes where the other buttons once were. Growling, the sergeant tried once again…only to be met with a boxing glove mere inches away from his face, causing him to emit a small squeak.

Tsukeke cleared his throat loudly. “You know I’m not going to just sit here and let you fiddle with that forever, right?”

“Quiet, you!” Keroro stuck out his tongue as he jammed the buttons in random sequence, playing a small-scale version of whack-a-mole as the Kero Ball cycled through different effects—daisies, sparkles, puffs of air, chiptune music, multicolored rave lights. “Almost got it… Almost got it…!”

All of a sudden, a tremor shook the area with a warbling hum. When the vibrations stopped, the Keronians found themselves grounded much more solidly to the invisible floor. Tamama did several short hops as a test; indeed, he had become much less buoyant.

“Gravity is normal now!” he cheered. “You did it, Mr. Sergeant!”

“Heh!” Keroro put his hands on his hips and harrumphed. “See? I told you I—”

“Hate to burst your bubble, Captain, but it was actually me.”

The group turned to face Kururu, who had managed to slip a bit behind the others while they were transfixed by Keroro’s repeated fumbles. Attached to his own head by its suction cups was a capsule-shaped apparatus that Dororo instantly recognized.

The blue Keronian gasped. “That’s…!”

“Ku, ku!” Kururu rubbed the machine’s smooth surface. “Looks like your little blunder with my old gravity controller came in handy, Doro-boat.”

“Ooooh!” Keroro skipped over to Kururu and clapped his back. “Good thinking, Kururu! Even if you did steal my thunder.”

“Uh, Captain-dono?” Dororo meekly raised a hand. “I deserve a little credit for—”

An earth-shattering vrrrrm cleanly sliced through the ninja’s words. Tsukeke’s mech, aiming at Kururu from up above, had stretched out one of its cannon arms, and an orange glow was forming within its barrel.

“Good job leveling the playing field, Sergeant Major,” Tsukeke jeered, “but you just made yourself a prime target!”

A stream of flames burst from the cannon, rocketing straight for Kururu, and by extension, Keroro. Luckily for them, the altered gravity restored Dororo’s ability to take full advantage of his reflexes. He had already grabbed both of their arms and bounded upward, dodging the fiery blast before either of them could even flinch, but the flamethrower continued to flow.

“Dororo!” Giroro cried. “He’s got more in the tank!”

“Worry not!” Dororo replied. As Keroro and Kururu clung tightly to him, he shouted, “Ninja Arts—Shadow Clones!”

No sooner did he utter the words than did Tsukeke aim his flamethrower upward toward the trio…only for them to have been replaced by a clone of Dororo, which fizzled away with a poof, as if they’d never even been there. And there were more where that came from—similarly ethereal duplicates completely swarmed the area, forcing Tsukeke to tear through a wall of Dororos before being able to target the real one. By the time he’d wiped out the clones, his flame had run out, and Dororo, Kururu, and Keroro were a safe distance away.

“Tch!” Tsukeke spat. “Interesting party trick. But that won’t be enough!”

Tsukeke exposed his rocket launchers again, though this time he also fired a bigger missile from the mech’s mouth. Like he did before, Giroro nailed all the smaller missiles with his own, while Tamama took care of the fat one with his laser beam, burning it up in midair.

The mechanic, however, anticipated this. The mech's engines began to whine as it accelerated toward Kururu and the others, with Tsukeke using the missiles' explosions as a makeshift smokescreen. But then, the mech lurched foward, having been stopped short. Tsukeke grunted in pain; it sounded like he’d hit his head on the inside of the cockpit. As it turns out, Giroro had managed to slip underneath the mech and fire large cannonballs into its exhaust pipes.

The cannonballs were melted quickly by the thrusters’ flames, but Tsukeke had been brought to a screeching halt. Seemingly annoyed, he whipped the mech around to face the soldiers. Giroro’s sturdy figure stood tall as he brandished his cannon launchers, while Tamama cracked his knuckles, knees bent.

“There’s more where that came from,” the tadpole teased, holding out his hand and making a beckoning motion. Tsukeke sighed with vexation, and the two clawed, metallic hands emerged from the mech’s arm cannons once more. Electricity jolted across the tips of its digits a few times in a show of force.

“Fine,” Tsukeke relented with a groan. “I suppose I’ll shoo away you gadflies first…”

From within the opaque, octagon-patterned bubble that was Kururu’s digital shield, Keroro and Dororo watched carefully as their frontline fighters repeatedly dodged and parried Tsukeke’s attacks in the distance.

Keroro gulped. “Are they gonna be able to hold out over there?”

“I suspect not for long.” Kururu had his back turned to the others as he scrolled on his laptop at the speed of light, quickly digesting a section of his expansive personal guide to various materials. “The most common alloy capable of self-repairing that has a melting point higher than the heat output of the combined attacks we threw at him is tantalum-tungsten infused with mutekinium. That stuff really is nigh-indestructible.”

“So would it have to be taken down from the inside…?” Dororo rubbed his chin. In response to his guess, Kururu nodded.

“I just might have a way to do it, but you need to go help them hold down the fort, Dororo-senpai,” he mumbled hurriedly. “You stay with me, Captain. I’ve got a task for ya.”

Keroro nodded. “Sure… I guess I don’t have much in the way of firepower right now anyway,” he grumbled, glaring at the disobedient Kero Ball in his hands.

Dororo gave them both worried looks, but ultimately, Kururu was right—Giroro and Tamama needed as much assistance in outlasting Tsukeke’s onslaught as possible, even if all they could really do was play defense. Reluctantly, he took a deep breath.

“Understood. I’ll give it my all to protect everyone.”

With that, the ninja dashed off to jump back into the fight, and Keroro sat cross-legged next to Kururu.

“So you’ve got a plan, sir?”

Kururu set his laptop to the side. “It’s a bit of a dangerous one, but I do. Do you know what an EMP is?”

“Vaguely. It’s some kind of pulse that can disable electronics, right?” Keroro clutched his head in thought. “Do we really have anything that powerful on hand, though?”

“Believe it or not, I do.” Kururu tapped his headphones. “It’s an emergency feature in my headphones—a localized mini EMP emitter. But to use it, they first have to be overcharged, and that’s gonna take some extra juice.”

“Juice? From where?”

Kururu snickered. “Luckily for us, the wrench-head's supposed master plan had a fatal flaw.”

With the light of his laptop screen casting half of his profile in blue light, he smirked and pulled none other than the reality pen from his cap. “Dumbass must really be convinced he’s hot shit to handicap himself by not taking this from me. I ain’t complaining, though.”

“Ooooh!” Keroro’s eyes lit up. “If anything can power a superweapon on the fly, it’s the reality pen, sir!”

“Well, not quite. It can’t generate energy without a physical form…but I can do this.”

Kururu held the pen’s cap between his teeth as he scribbled on one of his papers. Once he was finished, he threw the paper to the ground between him and his leader, and out popped a bulky, cube-shaped power bank with a battery symbol on its face. On the side of the cube facing Kururu were several different types of plug receptacles, including a jack that perfectly fit Kururu’s headphone wires.

“Here’s what’s gonna go down. I’m gonna plug my headphones into this power bank as a charge-conducting medium…” Kururu pointed at the Kero Ball. “…and you’re gonna provide the electricity to the power bank itself, almost like an outlet.”

“Electricity, huh? Good thing that’s the one feature I always know how to activate,” Keroro said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Tell me about it. I’m sure there’s stuff I could’ve drawn up to get a current going, but I don’t have time to play little Volta.” Kururu plugged his headphones into the jack on the large battery. “By the way, overclocking the headphones with the blast will bust ’em for a bit, so we only have one shot.”

“Well, one shot is better than none!”

Keroro wiggled his fingers, then pushed in one of the buttons on the Kero Ball. Thankfully, the strange device cooperated. A stream of blue lightning began to flow from its antenna and into the power bank’s metal receptors, causing it to vibrate.

“Is it working?” Keroro asked.

Kururu nodded, patting his makeshift generator with one hand. “I’ll get an audio cue when it’s fully charged.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not sure. I’ve never done this outside of testing, and that was forever ago.” Kururu clenched his jaw. “All we can do now is wait…and hope the others don’t get their gooses cooked.”

“Take this! And that! And this, and that!”

Tamama grunted repeatedly as he parried a flurry of strikes from Tsukeke’s steel claws, connected to the mech’s cannon-like upper appendages via extendable arms. He threw all his body weight into each swing, swatting the claws away before they could fully open and grab him. He juggled this task with small hops backward to put just enough distance between him and the opposing mech, which continued to inch forward with its thrusters, recovering quickly from the small amount of pushback it received from clashing with Tamama’s rock-solid fists. Punch, punch, hop. Punch, punch, hop. The private’s knuckles stung like hell as each punch clashed against metal, and he could feel himself beginning to slow when, all of a sudden, the claws stopped coming.

“That was exhilarating, young one,” Tsukeke said, “but it was purely a distraction.”

“Huh?” Tamama, who had been slouched forward with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, lifted his head. Air stopped flowing into his lungs the moment his eyes met with a glowing, crackling ball of energy—this one much bigger than the last—forming in the mech’s mouth, which was aimed straight in his direction.

“Get down!”

Tamama was able to make out Giroro’s cry on his right before a jump kick from the red Keronian sent him flying out of the charging laser’s range. The tadpole grunted as his jaw hit the floor—though the pain of the impact and the throbbing of his head were probably nothing compared to being disintegrated by the beam that shot out of Tsukeke’s mech immediately afterward, the heat emitted by it barely grazing the tip of Tamama’s tail.

“Giroro-senpai!” Tamama shouted, knowing his senior was likely right in the laser’s path, but his voice was drowned out by a second screeching blast. Tamama craned his neck upward just enough to catch out of the corner of his eye the struggle between two beams, one blue and one red. The air rumbled as the pressure of the beams’ collision caused energy to build up in the middle of the clash, swelling like a balloon about to burst—and then it did. Tamama quickly ducked his head back down, pressing his hat flaps tightly against his eyes and ears as the pulse from the resulting explosion whizzed over him.

After the air began to settle, Tamama staggered to his feet, squinting through the smoke. Giroro, thankfully, was hiding behind a long, hexagonal heat-proof shield. Once the smoke had dissipated, he tossed the shield to the side.

“Are you okay, Tamama?” Giroro said, eying the frazzled tadpole. He bared his bazooka in both hands, as if ready to go for round two.

“Y-yeah. Thanks…”

The two then turned their attention to Tsukeke’s mech. It was completely devoid of dents, and the metal’s burns were already healing.

“I’m quite impressed that you’re both still standing,” Tsukeke said coolly. “I suppose you weren’t placed on an invasion squad for nothing.”

“Are you kidding? I can do this all day.” Giroro spit on the ground with swagger. However, his breathing was growing labored, and this did not go unnoticed by the enemy.

“You say that now, but your stamina is not infinite,” Tsukeke sneered. “That’s a weakness I don’t have.”

Tsukeke extended one of his metal arms again at a speed that caught even the attentive corporal off guard. Rather than attacking his body directly, Tsukeke wrapped a claw around Giroro’s bazooka and flicked it straight upward; the force of the motion caused Giroro to lose his grip and be sent into the sky. Suddenly, he was left wide open in midair, the instinctive flailing of his arms preventing him from brandishing another weapon. Tsukeke’s claw had discarded his bazooka and, crackling with lightning, was now lunging for him like the jaws of a cobra catching its prey…

Just before the iron grip reached him, however, a large, shining shuriken descended like a comet, crashing into Tsukeke’s robot arm from above. Seconds after, a warm body had wrapped itself around Giroro’s, steadying him.

“Giroro-kun!”

“Dororo!”

The ninja, skilled at the art of descent, reoriented their positions so that Dororo landed on his feet, Giroro hugged close to his chest. Giroro breathed a sigh of relief as his friend set him back down.

“Right in the nick of time,” he said with a grin. “Keroro and Kururu stayed behind?”

“Kururu-kun said he had a plan, but he wanted me to assist you in combat,” Dororo explained. “That seems to have been the correct call.”

“Check it out, Dororo-senpai!” Tamama called. “You did something to him!”

Tamama pointed toward the metallic arm Dororo had hit with his giant shuriken. Miraculously, the golden shuriken had managed to pin the claw to the floor, with one sharp point stuck in its wrist and an adjacent one planted in the ground. Given that the shuriken was composed of light energy rather than real metal, it likely wouldn’t hold for long…but it was enough to give Giroro a spark of inspiration.

“That’s it!” Giroro exclaimed. He conjured in each hand a ball-and-chain hammer weapon. He shoved one into Tamama’s hands, who looked perplexed for a moment as he gazed at the weapon he’d been passed.

“Even if we can’t damage him, we can hold him down with these,” Giroro explained, as though he could sense Tamama’s confusion. “You take the right side, I’ll take the left…”

“Oh! I get it now!” the tadpole said with a gasp, a lightbulb having gone off above his head. Tamama grasped the hammer’s grip firmly and rushed forward, dragging the spiked ball behind him. Then, with all his might, he tossed the hammer in the robot arm’s direction. He nearly tripped in the process, but he was able to throw the spiked ball in an arc over the robot arm. He maneuvered his wrist to let the ball loop once around the suspended part of the forearm, then reigned the chain in slightly, having used the device as a lasso. The spiked ball settled to the ground with a clank, acting as an anchor. Simultaneously, Giroro did the same on the other side and a bit lower down on the forearm.

The two soldiers dug their heels into the ground and yanked tight. Just like that, they had successfully nailed the robot arm to the floor, disabling it just as Dororo’s light shuriken dissipated into the ether. But Tsukeke’s other arm was still unfettered—and Giroro and Tamama were now sitting ducks.

“Dororo, can you do something?!” Giroro called out desperately.

The ninja nodded sharply. “I’m on it!”

Dororo raced up the metal appendage, using it as a platform that led to the cockpit, skillfully hopping over the hammers' chains as he went. Tsukeke used the mech’s other hand cannon as a turret to pepper the ninja with bullets, but his breakneck speed allowed him to blitz past the gunfire. Upon arriving at the mech’s shoulder, he jumped to the side slightly to position himself in front of the pilot’s seat.

Out of sheer impulse, Dororo stole a quick glance inside the cockpit to see if he could meet Tsukeke’s eyes, but the metallic casing had allowed him to retreat completely into his shell. Just because he couldn’t see his target didn’t mean the target couldn’t see him, however—an incongruity Dororo was about to fix.

“Ninja Arts—Lingering Smokescreen!”

Dororo lifted his hand into the air, and a cloud of thick fog encircled the entire top half of Tsukeke’s mech, obscuring everything around it. Tsukeke attempted to swat it away with the bot’s free hand, but this was no ordinary smog—it was a special ninja technique that clung to its target like lint to static-induced clothing. Tsukeke paused for a moment, no doubt confused, and Dororo somersaulted off the mech to land carefully on the ground.

“That should stop him from aiming temporarily,” Dororo said. He began to weave between his fingers an older weapon from his assassin days he still kept handy for cases like these—his razor wire. “Keep holding on. I’ll see if I can restrain him more.”

A heap of wire secured in each hand, Dororo tossed the thread high into the sky, aiming for the mech’s other arm; the extension was retracted, so Dororo knew he’d need as much rope as he could supply, given the arm cannon’s bulk. He gracefully looped the wire around the cannon and, once it was secured, pulled it taut with a loud grunt, careful to pull the arm a little to the side so Tsukeke couldn’t fire straight below toward where he was standing. Despite its skinniness, the electrified wire was deceptively difficult to break.

“W-will this buy us enough time?” Tamama asked, jerking tighter on his chain.

“I’m not sure,” Dororo muttered, looking down at the floor briefly. He was holding his arms slightly above his head, and his biceps were already shuddering—as strong as his weapon was, he could only hold down a target like this for so long. “We need to have faith in Kururu-kun and the captain.”

“We don’t have the luxury to waver here!” Giroro clenched his jaw as he fought to keep his legs, which were beginning to slip, rooted. “Just…keep…holding…!”

Tsukeke, who had been oddly quiet for a bit, finally piped up, giving something of a muffled snort.

“You’re all real precious, you know that?” he mused. “Almost brings me back to when I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed soldier myself. But I didn’t prepare for this longer than you’ve been alive just to be toyed with.”

Tsukeke’s thrusters rumbled and roared, flames of jet fuel pouring out of them. The engine fire grew bigger and brighter as the pilot floored it even harder. The three Keronians on the ground gasped as they began to lose their footing. And then…

Boom!

The Keroro Platoon members crashed to the floor as Tsukeke’s mech soared into the air, having shaken them off with a single boost upward. They rose as quickly as they could, pushing away the sputter of smoke that the thrusters’ burst had blown toward them. Tsukeke hovered well overhead, and it appeared the sheer force of his ascension had broken Dororo’s lingering smokescreen to boot… But he wasn’t done just yet. He splayed his now freed cannon arms outward, and fired off two cages of blue lightning, one toward Giroro and Tamama and the other toward Dororo, trapping them inside. If they didn’t want to get electrocuted, their range of motion was almost impossibly narrow.

“I’m going to deal with the sergeant major and that green fool.” Tsukeke shifted the mech’s direction, ready to rocket it forward. “You all get to live a bit longer as a reward for putting up such an admirable fight.”

With that, he blasted off toward Keroro and Kururu, leaving in his wake a ring of smoke and three gaping Keronians. Dororo shut his eyes. He had a last-ditch idea, but he wasn’t sure if he would be fast enough, and it might still be for naught if Kururu wasn’t ready.

Kururu-kun… Keroro-kun… Please…

“You really were a major, weren’t you, Kururu?”

It didn’t take long into the charging process for Keroro to start up a conversation, as the tepid silence between him and his subordinate while their teammates struggled for their lives in the distance was a bit too uncomfortable for his liking.

“What do you mean by that?” Kururu raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read my papers.”

“Yeah, but it’s only times like these when I really get to see you be all officer-like.” Keroro smiled warmly. “You could be a decent leader if you really wanted to, sir.”

“Well, I don’t want to, and nobody else wants me to either,” Kururu said matter-of-factly. “That’s why you’re in charge, Captain.”

“Heh. Guess so.” Keroro rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I had to let you run the show this time. It was the least I could do.” He sighed with lament.

“I’m glad Dororo took care of you, but…I really am sorry I wasn’t there for you too, y’know?”

“It’s not your fault. I kept you all out of my hair on purpose.” Kururu glanced off to the side, the slightest glint peeking through his glasses. “I only let Dororo-senpai stick around for convenience at first, but now…”

Kururu trailed off, causing Keroro to look perplexed. “ ‘But now’ what?”

“Never mind.” The inventor grumbled, rapidly shaking his head. When it was clear he wouldn’t elaborate any further, Keroro shrugged and continued on.

“Anyway, when you reset the timeline and I start yelling your head off for using up the budget, just remember I said I forgive you.” Keroro patted Kururu’s shoulder. “I would’ve done the same for Fuyuki-dono. Or Natsumi-dono, or Mom-dono, or Mois-dono, or any of you.”

“And what if you couldn’t save ’em, Captain?”

Keroro blinked, taken aback by such a loaded question. His subordinate’s stare seemed almost sullen, and he wasn’t quite sure if this was a legitimate solicitation for advice or some kind of trick. He shifted a bit, then chuckled nervously.

“…I kinda don’t wanna think about that, sir,” he answered honestly, fiddling with the Kero Ball in his hands. “Besides, it wouldn’t change anything I do now. All we can really control is the present…”

Keroro covered his mouth briefly, instantly catching his mistake. “Well, most of the time. Since we’re here to change the past and all. You know what I mean…”

Kururu snickered, cracking a grin.

“Yup. You’re the one who should be the leader, all right.”

Keroro cocked his head, nonplussed. Was that an actual compliment? Was he being tested? Even at his most serious, Kururu was as enigmatic as ever. Still, his expression had softened, giving the sergeant the impression that whatever he said had helped.

“Uh, thanks…and you’re welcome, maybe.” Keroro narrowed his eyes before adding, “The bike thing still wasn’t cool, though.”

“Oh, I know. Ku, ku, ku!”

Hardly a second later, Kururu jumped slightly with a “Ku!”, and a hand flew to his right ear.

“What is it, sir?” Keroro asked, leaning forward. Kururu took in a breath, then made eye contact with his leader, a bright glow reflecting off his glasses.

“It’s ready.”

“Awesome!” Keroro deactivated the Kero Ball and stored it away, then clenched his fists in front of him. “Let’s send that guy back to the Stone Age, yes sir!”

Kururu hopped to his feet, and his commander immediately followed suit. “Okay,” Kururu said, speaking hurriedly. “I’m gonna leave my electronics under the shield, since it protects against the EMP’s frequencies, and we need my device to work to get outta here. After we blast Tsukeke, I’ll have Dororo-senpai retrieve them and—”

Suddenly, the light disappeared from all around the two Keronians. Now, a shadow loomed over them, blanketing them in disquieting blackness.

“Uh…” Keroro gulped. “Did it get dark in here, or is it just me?”

“No…” The moment Kururu looked up, his breath hitched in his throat. A shiver went down Keroro’s spine as he turned around with trepidation. He too froze up at the sight of Tsukeke’s mech hovering right above them. The sole source of light from the owl-like battle bot was its gleaming red eyes, piercing them like scythes. A chilling whisper, volume enhanced by the microphone’s staticy echo, nearly caused their knees to buckle.

“Gotcha.”

Chapter Text

“Gotcha.”

Tsukeke’s mech hovered over Kururu and Keroro, enveloping them in a spirit-crushing darkness. But now was no time to cower—not when Kururu had the perfect opening to launch his secret weapon. To do so, however, he’d need to step out of his shield.

“Kururu, go!” Keroro whispered, running behind his subordinate and giving him a tiny shove.

“Way ahead of you, Captain.”

Kururu popped open his supercharged headphones, gliding both sets of fingers over the sequence of buttons it took to prepare the EMP blast. One more press would be all it took. As soon as he emerged from the shield, he would let it rip. He held his right index finger over the final button, and the heated vibration of the device as it struggled to hold all the power it had been filled with radiated over his fingertip.

He closed his eyes and took one last breath. It was now or never.

Kururu lunged forward, dashing out of the shield’s protective glow…

…and was immediately met with a metal claw mere centimeters from his face.

Tsukeke had been ready for him.

The claws fanned outward to push Kururu's arms away from his head, then wrapped around his neck. Tsukeke used the extended robot arm to lift him into the air, bringing him high above the cockpit. The mech’s feet landed on the ground with a resounding clunk as its eyes tilted upward toward its victim.

“Kururu!!” Keroro shrilled from below, and Kururu cursed under his breath. He quickly realized his arms were still free, but they were too short to reach past the bulky fingers that rested between them and his head. He drew in as much oxygen as he could, expecting the claw around his neck to tighten at any moment.

But the strangling never began.

“What are you waiting for, old man? You got me,” Kururu snarled, making a decision that flew in the face of self-preservation. “Or are you gonna pussy out now?”

“I’m giving you one more chance to change your mind, Sergeant Major,” Tsukeke spoke calmly from inside his mech. “Just think of all the suffering we can prevent. No Keronian will ever feel our despair again.”

Despite everything, Kururu couldn’t help but chuckle.

“The only despair I’m feelin’ is from having to listen to your pretentious ass,” he scoffed. “Sounds to me like nobody’s ever told you to shut the fuck up.”

“Your snark can’t disguise the truth, Sergeant Major.” Tsukeke kept his voice low and collected, but a bit of a hiss poked through. “Try as you might to convince yourself otherwise, you and I are not that different.”

“In the sense that we're both pretty messed up, sure.” Though Kururu’s voice shook, his lips turned upward in a smirk. “But you’re too spineless to admit that, so here you are on some pathetic crusade.”

“It’s not pathetic.” Tsukeke’s teeth were fully grit. “Your selfishness is preventing you from—”

“Selfish? You’re calling me selfish? Keh!” Kururu’s grin widened. “Here’s some truth for ya—you’re no messiah. Running from your guilt won’t do anyone a favor but yourself. Your buddy will suffer and die with or without you.”

“Stop talking.”

Now Tsukeke too was trembling, his cadence evoking the image of a cornered animal. A maniacal glee bubbled up within Kururu’s chest. He could still twist the knife even more.

“You know what?” he said, biting back a giggling fit. “He had that Koredinite before you got there, didn’t he? Even if you somehow change the past so that you never come to Pekopon, I bet he’d still try to stop the Quietite. And if your scenario was anything like mine, without you there to save him…”

“Stop. Talking.”

“He’d bite the dust even earlier…”

“Stop—”

“And it’d be all your fau—”

His words became trapped mid-sentence as his airflow was abruptly cut off. The feeling of the claw’s cold metal clasped tautly around his neck filled Kururu with euphoria, even in the face of likely demise. He’d gotten the self-righteous bastard to snap. He’d take that victory to the grave.

“Let go of him!!”

A loud cry came from Kururu’s right. He shifted his eyes to the side to see Keroro grasping the metal claw with one hand and holding up the Kero Ball, a glowing aura around it, in the other—it seemed he’d finagled with it enough to use it to float. Tsukeke laughed as Keroro pried futilely, pent-up tears of frustration threatening to pour out.

“Watch the light leave his eyes, Sergeant! Let him beg for help as he gasps for air!” Tsukeke howled. “Maybe then you’ll understand how I felt!!”

Beg for help? As if Kururu would ever give him the satisfaction. No, he wouldn’t put up even a smidgen of resistance. His grin remained plastered on his countenance as the corners of his vision darkened and his head started to spin. Perhaps the loopiness from the asphyxiation was getting to him, but he could almost envision himself at the gates of hell. He for sure wouldn’t see Saburo down there, but gloating through the underworld about his sick own would make for a decent consolation prize.

If only he could breathe. He’d love to spend his final moments laughing.

“Zero Dimensional Slash!”

A muddied shout rang out, and Kururu instantly recognized who it belonged to. That was strange—he was the last person who belonged in hell…

Oh.

Kururu felt the claw’s grip begin to loosen slightly as it was stricken repeatedly with a fierce flurry of cuts, and Kururu’s survival instinct finally kicked in. He took shallow gulps of air, savoring as much as he could squeeze through his lungs while he squirmed with his nearly limp body as furiously as he could. His head felt like it was being pounded with jackhammers, but his vision was starting to return, albeit blurred.

The slashes had ceased, and in its place was a gaping black hole with a faint purple border, pulsating and flickering. Kururu felt himself go into freefall, and he expected to be pulled inside. Instead, he was caught in midair by a pair of warm, damp arms. He instinctively wrapped himself around whatever was holding him.

“I’ve got you, sir!” Keroro said with a grunt. He tried to pat the back of Kururu’s head, though instead of a hand, Kururu felt the Kero Ball bonking him lightly.

“Cap—” Kururu attempted to say, but was interrupted by a harsh cough; the hoarseness in his voice took him by surprise.

Keroro returned them both safely to the ground just in time to witness the black hole absorbing the mech’s arm, twisting and distorting it like putty as it was sucked into the center. Once the arm was no more, the black hole itself dissipated in a flash, leaving nothing behind.

“What the…?!” Tsukeke gasped. The upper arm whirred and sputtered, seemingly trying to regenerate the extension, but all that emerged were piddly sparks.

At the same time, a figure donning cobalt armor with horns peeking over the top of a flowing veil stood staunchly between the mech and the two panting Keronians. He sheathed his long katana behind his back as he glanced over his shoulder, icy blue eyes shining sharply.

“Dororo!” Keroro exclaimed, but as soon as the call had left his mouth, the ironclad warrior had fizzled out of existence.

“Gero…?” Keroro blinked in confusion. Had that been a clone? He rapidly shook his head—he didn’t have time to ponder. Tsukeke wouldn’t be stunned for long.

“Kururu! The thing!” Keroro held Kururu’s shoulders, steadying him upright. “Do the thing!”

Kururu’s throat was too strained to reply—all he could do was nod. His knees buckled, and he could still feel the sensation of the claw around his neck, lingering like a phantom. Even so, his fingers flew to his headphones and repeated the appropriate sequence on autopilot. This time, he wouldn’t hesitate even for a second to push the final button. The corners of his lips twitched.

Let’s see how invincible you are now, sucker.

A thunderous bang nearly blew out Kururu’s eardrums as a vibration as strong as an earthquake whooshed through the air, making the area shake violently and knocking Kururu right off his feet. The steady hum of his headphones had ceased, though the ringing in Kururu’s ears meant he could only tell due to the lack of vibration against the sides of his head. He ran his hands over the device; the caps had popped out, and the exposed internals were too hot to touch as they sparked uselessly. The inventor anticipated this, of course.

But did it work?

Kururu felt something wiggle underneath him, and it was only then that he realized he had fallen with his bottom atop his commander’s stomach. He muttered a barely audible apology as he staggered to his feet, letting Keroro crawl away. Once they’d both regained their footing, Keroro examined the Kero Ball, whose buttons were no longer glowing. He pushed a few of them, begetting no response. Just to be sure, he whipped out the green pocket device from Kururu to run the same test—no sign of life there either.

“They’re paperweights,” he said. “Does that mean…?”

Both of them glued their eyes to Tsukeke’s mech. Its eyes had gone dark, but its body stood tall, leaving them hesitant to make any moves. The reality pen and gravity controller were protected under Kururu’s shield, but they now had no other working weaponry, and it was unclear what had become of their teammates across the arena. If the mech had somehow emerged from the EMP unscathed, they could very well be toast.

And so the staredown continued between the two jittering Keronians and the frozen titan. Time came to a standstill.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

…

Creeeeeak…

The mech rocked forward…

…and crashed to the ground.

Kururu and Keroro jumped at the sound of the impact. Its face and torso were planted on the floor, its mechanical wings had collapsed inward, and smoke trickled out of the canons stuck stiffly at its sides.

Keroro let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. “We did it…!”

But they couldn’t relax just yet. The cockpit was at ground level, its top facing outward, and its hatch was still shut. The seconds ticked on without so much as a peep from the pilot.

“Uh…” Keroro tugged on Kururu’s arm and leaned closer to his ear. “Do you think he’s dead?”

“If he is, let’s bust out the body,” Kururu croaked acerbically, clenching his fists. “I wanna piss on his corpse.”

Keroro inched away from him, wincing slightly. “Dude.”

“What?” Kururu said with a cough. “You don’t?”

But before his commander could respond…

“Keroro! Kururu!”

“Mr. Sergeaaaant!”

The two whirled to face the voices that called out to them. Peeking past the mech, they could spot Giroro and Tamama running toward them, the latter waving his arms frantically.

“Giroro! Tamama!”

Keroro immediately sprinted off, dashing around the mech to meet his other subordinates. Tamama naturally leapt right into his arms.

“Mr. Sergeant!” Tamama cried, burying his face into his leader’s chest. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“It’s good to see you made it too, Private!” Keroro rubbed Tamama’s head, then turned to Giroro with a grin.

“Hey, big guy! How’re you holding up, sir?”

“Fine, if not a little humiliated,” Giroro said with a huff, arms folded. “How’s Kururu?”

“He had a close call back there,” Keroro said, “but he’s okay thanks to—”

He suddenly gasped with a start, gently releasing Tamama.

“Dororo! Where’s—”

“Here, Captain-dono.”

“Gyah!” Keroro yelped in shock, whipping around. Sure enough, Dororo had arrived in his normal attire, somehow showing up behind Keroro.

“Geez, Dororo!” Keroro pouted. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Dororo held his hands up apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Keroro threw his arms around the ninja, muffling his words. Dororo’s face flushed red.

“Keroro-kun…!” he squeaked, eagerly returning the hug as he melted into sniffles.

“So…” Giroro’s eyes fell upon the downed mech. “I guess whatever you guys did worked?”

“Oh, right.” Dororo pardoned himself from Keroro’s grasp and dotted at his eyes, then cleared his throat. “While we were trapped in those cages, I activated my Demonic Arts and slipped a shadow clone through to chase after the mech. I could sense with our shared energy that it needed to attack, but I couldn’t see everything it could… It’s difficult to explain.”

“Cages?” Keroro tilted his head. “What cages?”

“Electric ones he trapped us in!” Tamama explained, spreading both his arms in a circular motion. “But when everything started shaking out of nowhere, they disappeared!”

“Ohh!” Keroro cupped his chin in his hand. “Kururu’s EMP must have repelled them too! So it reached all the way over there…”

“An EMP?” Following Giroro, Dororo peered over at Tsukeke’s mech. “Then he took it down from the inside after all. But…”

Dororo turned back to the rest of the group, eyes widened.

“Does that mean Tsukeke-dono is…?”

“Still in his hole.”

Now it was Kururu’s turn to show up by surprise. He ambled around the mech while pushing the half-shattered silver casing on each ear back into place (purely for comfort, of course, as the headphones were currently still non-functional).

“I’m gonna write him off if he doesn’t come out real soon,” he mumbled. “Though we could also try to drag him out of the cockpit by—”

Before he could finish, two sturdy hands came down upon his shoulders. Dororo had raced to him at the speed of sound, and was now inspecting him up and down.

“Are you hurt?” Dororo’s eyes shimmered with worry. “You sound a bit strained.”

“Uh…”

Dororo slid his hands along Kururu’s shoulder blades until he reached his neck, which he brushed over delicately with his thumbs. Kururu flinched, not expecting it to feel so tender.

“There’s a red mark.” A curtain of shadow seemed to emerge over Dororo’s face. “What did he do to you?”

“Ah, he just squeezed a bit too tight there.” Kururu chuckled weakly. “But I sure got him good first.”

Dororo’s hands fell away, and a look consternation flickered across his face. He then lowered his head, staring at the floor in contemplation.

“That bastard better not be dead.” Giroro stomped over, Tamama and Keroro in tow. “I still wanna give him a piece of my mind.”

“Make that two of us.” Tamama pounded a fist against his open palm.

“Pissing on the mech is also an option,” Kururu said flatly.

“Either way, let’s start planning our next steps,” Keroro suggested. “We’re still gonna have to navigate our way out of here, remember?”

“That shouldn’t be too much of an issue, since my device and the reality pen will still work.” Kururu, who had already retrieved his items, pulled them out to demonstrate. “Might take a while, though. Deep fabric space is an area all its own. Only after we find the exit back to the portal realm will I be able to chart out the main path again…”

“And how do we do that?” Giroro asked.

“There should be a visibly detectable distortion the Koredinite can open up, but the dimensional fabric of this area is sturdier than average, so it might be faint enough that we’ll have to get close before I can pinpoint its location.” Kururu threw up his hands. “In other words, we get lucky. Ku, ku.”

Giroro slapped his palm to his face. “Gimme a break…”

“Well,” Kururu said, “I guess a potentially faster option would be…”

With a reluctant sigh, he jabbed a thumb toward the mech.

“…finding out if we can get any answers from the guy who brought us here.”

“Who might be dead,” Keroro pointed out.

“And if he isn’t, he’s definitely not gonna help us,” Tamama added with a scowl.

“Hey, I’m not suggesting we try it.” Kururu shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

“I still believe he can be reasoned with.”

The group turned to Dororo, who spoke solemnly. He slowly lifted his head, a somber expression in his eyes.

“I don’t think he was always like this,” he said. “Those children from the past… He was their family. It’s his pain that made him this way.”

“Don’t bother, Doro-boat,” Kururu grumbled. “I already tried telling him off. He’s too far gone.”

“And what if I had decided that about you?” Dororo gave Kururu a pointed look. “If I had given up on you while you were losing yourself, who knows what else you might have done?”

“The only one paying the price was me,” Kururu snapped. “I wasn’t gonna bother getting up in anyone else’s business.”

“And who’s to say you wouldn’t have ended up that way someday?”

Kururu stumbled, taken aback. He clutched his forehead, fingers digging deep into his skin. The words echoed in his mind—

“You and I are not that different…”

“No.” He leered at Dororo, jaw clenched hard enough to gnaw through metal. “No, I would never have attempted something this idiotic. And you can fuck right off for suggesting otherwise!”

“Whoa, Kururu! Simmer down!” Keroro balked, eliciting a disgusted groan from the sergeant major. Dororo’s expression softened, a pang going through his chest.

“Dororo, I understand where you’re coming from,” Giroro said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But we can’t always give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes you just have to let people go.”

“Besides, hasn’t that guy had, like…” Tamama paused to count on his fingers. “…a whole bunch of years to sort himself out?”

“I know, but…” Dororo exhaled, massaging his temples. “Look, I know he’s hurt us, and I won’t hold back if he tries to again. I just don’t believe he can’t be convinced of the error of his ways. That’s all.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get to it.” Giroro put his hands on his hips. “We already did what we had to do to get Saburo back. The rest of this is just a big distraction.”

“N’awww.” Keroro skipped up to his friend and playfully poked him on the cheek. “You really would’ve missed Saburo-dono, wouldn’t ya? What a good pal.”

“We are not pals!” Giroro shoved him away lightly with his elbow. “I’m only concerned for Natsumi’s sake!”

“Riiiiight.” Keroro snickered, leaning in almost close enough for their cheeks to touch. “You just don’t wanna admit you think he’s cooler than—Gah!”

Giroro smacked Keroro in the face with the back of his hand, causing him to flinch. While rubbing his stinging nose, he bemoaned Giroro’s reaction, and the corporal, of course, argued back. Soon enough, Tamama was left to attempt to break up a full-fledged shouting match.

Meanwhile, Kururu had turned away from Dororo, sulking with his arms folded against his chest. Gingerly, Dororo approached him.

“Kururu-kun.” Dororo clutched his arm nervously. “I didn’t intend to imply what you thought I meant. What I was really trying to say was—”

“I know already.” Kururu’s voice had mellowed out. He turned to Dororo and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not you. It’s… Well, him, mostly. But also me, sort of.”

“Oh…” Dororo unstiffened, relieved by what he chose to believe was Kururu’s honesty—though he was really starting to wonder just how much he and Tsukeke had set each other off.

Kururu swerved around the lance corporal and waved a hand flippantly. “If you wanna try Talk-no-Jutsu that bad, then be my guest. Just don’t get too disappointed.”

Dororo cocked an eyebrow. “What’s ‘Talk-no-Jutsu?’ I know many ninja techniques, but I don’t recall anything like—”

“It’s an internet joke, man.”

“…Oh.”

Just then, a series of pings rang out from Kururu’s device. He pulled it out, scanning it with his eyes for a few seconds, then raised his head with a perturbed frown.

“Uh, guys?” he called out. “We have a bit of a problem.”

“Drat! I really wanted us to make a battleship!”

Keroro’s face was scrunched up sourly as he hovered through the air waggling the red lighting sword Kururu had drawn for him. The group was already on the move, and the inventor had deactivated the gravity controller for now, but did doodle up five replicas of the wing packs for aerial movement in case he needed to turn it back on. After they had been caught off guard by Tsukeke the first time, the platoon decided at least some preparation for a potential ambush was warranted. However…

“You heard Kururu,” Giroro chastised. “We didn’t have time to come up with anything too complicated.”

“Uh-huh. ’Cuz there’s a…” Tamama scratched his head. “What was it again?”

“A mysterious disturbance in the fabric popped up on my device,” Kururu said, furrowing his brows as he studied the three-dimensional lattice shape accompanied by warning text displayed on his handheld. “I don’t have a read on exactly where it’s coming from, but it must be pretty powerful for it to be detected from deep fabric space.”

“And that’s despite the fact that the ‘walls’ or whatever here are supposedly strong,” Giroro grumbled. “Doesn’t particularly sound like something we want to stick around for.”

“Maybe not…” Keroro let out a huff, disappointed. He looked over languidly at Kururu. “Is there a chance it’s just the exit?”

Kururu shook his head. “Like I said, that would come up a lot fainter, and the electromagnetic signals given off by those particles are pretty distinct. This is a strong oscillatory irregularity.”

“Tsukeke-dono never came out…” Dororo took a look behind them, although the mech was already out of view. “Why couldn’t we have created an opening to the cockpit with the pen?”

“I considered that before, but we don’t really have time to lose anymore,” Kururu said. “So much for all the debating about him.”

Dororo silently gazed downward, and Giroro glanced at him sympathetically.

“We only did what we had to do to defend ourselves, Dororo,” he said. “You’re a soldier. You know how this works.”

“Of course.” Dororo sighed. “It just…feels wrong.”

“Maybe he can get himself out somehow?” Tamama suggested. “If he isn’t dead, I mean.”

“Hmm.” Kururu glanced up in thought. “Y’know, I just remembered something.”

“What’s that?” Dororo asked, looking toward him. His eyes glistened with something resembling hope.

“Unless it broke, he should still have—”

“An engine?”

The group all stopped moving and turned toward Tamama, who had suddenly interjected in the middle of Kururu’s answer.

“What are you talking about, Tamama?” said Keroro. “We already took out the mech, sir.”

“No, I mean I think I hear an engine.” Tamama grimaced, swiveling his head to and fro. “Is it just me?”

The rest of the platoon paused for a moment, perplexed looks on their faces as they cupped their ears to listen. They didn’t have to strain for long, however. Their youngest member was right—the roar of jet fuel was growing louder and louder by the second.

They weren’t alone, and there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind who had joined them.

Before any more words could be said, a storm of spread bullets came rocketing toward the platoon. Luckily, Giroro and Dororo were already positioned in just the right spot to guard the others. Acting quickly, Giroro strapped one of his broad shields to his arm and deflected the ammo, while Dororo deftly parried the shots by twirling his katana rapidly. Even when the chorus of gunfire ceded, the two soldiers kept their weapons unsheathed.

“So…” Keroro gripped the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. “Not dead, then?”

“Damn right, I’m not.”

As an all too familiar voice rang out, a small aircraft whizzed into view, slowly coming to a stop before the platoon. Its fuselage, somewhat conical with the narrower end in the front, was a shining silver. Four joints holding turrets popped out around the middle of the vessel—two on top, and two more on the sides. Protruding from the nose of the ship was a single sleek cannon. An opaque dome, likely covering the cockpit, was placed between the top turrets.

“Don’t be a coward!” Giroro barked, holding a laser rifle out in front of him. “Show yourself, Tsukeke!”

The hatch to the cockpit flew open, and sure enough, Tsukeke popped out, breathing heavily. A dark blotch stained the front of his tan hat a deep brown, and a streak of dried blood trickled down half of his face.

“I commend you for both taking down my mech and managing to knock me unconscious for a bit,” he sneered, “but did you really think I came without a backup plan?”

“Where did he get that?” Tamama asked, fists balled. “I thought Kururu-senpai disabled all the machines around!”

“It’s not like he had it this whole time, Tamama. As I was about to say…” Kururu spoke through a twisted grimace. “…he’s still got Koredinite too.”

“And since mine isn’t stuck inside a fancy writing utensil, it was unaffected by your little trick,” Tsukeke said poshly. “This is no super-mech, but it’ll do.”

“Tsukeke-dono.” Dororo chided, still clutching his katana. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Do I have to? Perhaps not,” Tsukeke mused. “But it’s far too late for me to turn back now.”

With that, he pulled his goggles over his eyes once more; it was then that the cracks across the goggles’ glass became visible. He closed himself into the cockpit, and the ship’s engine rumbled, having been kicked back into gear.

“Even with Koredinite, I couldn’t save him a second time,” Tsukeke said. “But at least I can use it to destroy you.”

The turrets clicked as they shifted in place ever so slightly to angle their aim at the platoon—a movement so minute, it likely wouldn’t register to the untrained mind. But almost nothing could slip past eagle-eyed Giroro.

“Scatter!” the corporal shouted. Just as the turrets opened fire, the platoon split, each jetting off into a different direction. With enough lead time, they were able to dodge the initial assault—but even with the wing packs, turning on a dime against the gravitational field’s resistance would be a challenge.

“Here we go again,” Kururu muttered bitterly. He activated the gravity controller and put up his laptop-generated barrier around himself in much the same manner as last time.

“Let’s hope this asshole doesn’t keep us tied up for much longer.”

Chapter Text

“How much ammo does that thing have?!”

Tamama screeched as he weaved through endless rows of bullets, outmaneuvering them only by a hair. The turrets fortifying Tsukeke’s new aircraft shot from both the front and back and its joints were surprisingly pliant, allowing its pilot to snappily target multiple members of the Keroro Platoon at once without moving the ship much. Material crafted from Koredinite was notoriously fickle when it came to obeying mechanical laws and limitations, and this machine was no exception.

“We can only outrun it for so long. We have to find an opening!”

Giroro tried to pierce through the barrage with his own machine gun, but his shots were handily drowned out by the several streams firing at once. Even if he wanted to target the cannons themselves, it was difficult to steady his aim while looping and rolling through the air at the same time. But if he paused for even a moment, the turrets would raze him across the middle.

“The cockpit might be most vulnerable, but it’s too well protected by the artillery,” Dororo said, dodging in much the same manner as his companions.

“Well, there’s gotta be something we can do!” Keroro exclaimed. He was cautiously poking his beam sword in and out of Kururu's shield, ineffectually swatting it around in an attempt to deflect the stray bullets that came their way—almost literally bringing a knife to a gun fight. “Ugh! Couldn’t I have gotten a more flexible weapon?”

“I was rushing, Captain, and you can only rush genius so many times in a day.” Kururu furrowed his brows as he clacked away at his keyboard, keeping an eye on the shield’s durability meter in his peripheral vision. The barrier was strong, but it could be whittled away at, which would leave both them and the crucial gravity machine wide open. He zoomed in toward Tsukeke’s ship with his laptop’s camera, then let out a snort. “Looks like I’m not the only one who was hasty this go-around.”

“What’s that mean?!” Keroro let out a squeak as a bullet almost grazed his knuckle after he’d extended his hand just a bit too far.

“The underside of the ship is totally unprotected,” Kururu said. He raised his neck and voice to call out to the others. “Figure out a way to slip underneath him and start getting some hits—”

He cut himself off with a reflexive gasp when a laser from the ship’s front cannon rammed into the shield, causing it to ripple and spark. As cracks of light clawed across its surface, the startled sergeant major’s eyes flickered to the meter showing the shield’s remaining capacity: just fifty percent.

“Also, hurry it up!” he yelled.

“Leave it to me!” Giroro smoothly swapped his machine gun for a hand cannon mid-flight. “Distract him before he can catch on!”

“Nin!” Dororo nodded sharply and, without stopping, summoned his shadow clones, dispersing them around the arena. The clones were easily dispatched by the bullets firing wildly in nearly all directions, but the swarm provided just enough cover for Giroro to sneak by untargeted.

The corporal swooped underneath the small aircraft, giving himself just enough distance to dodge any debris as well as positioning himself on an angle to hopefully disable part of the engine. He then clamped down on the trigger, sending a cannonball hurtling toward the fuselage. The cannonball collided right into the hull, and the resulting small explosion unleashed a piercing bang with a backbeat of clattering metal. The ship was thrown off-balance by the impact, causing its nose to dip toward the ground.

This allowed Giroro yet another opportunity. He had one more round in his current weapon, and the underside of the front cannon was now in his line of fire. The corporal lobbed a second shot, which sent half of the protruding cannon flying, like a bowling ball had crashed into a pin.

For a critical moment, the other turrets stopped firing. It could be assumed that the pilot had been discombobulated thanks to the sudden loss of the cannon and a sizable chunk of mass. Plus, the ship was already starting to dip in altitude; perhaps Giroro had succeeded in targeting the engine. Now was the time to deal the finishing blows.

Dororo locked eyes with Tamama as they hovered directly across from each other. “Tamama-dono!”

“Aye!” The tadpole nodded, and the pair flew upward, each aligning himself above both cannons on his respective side of the ship.

“Tamama Impact!”

“Ninja Arts—Wind Blades!”

The turrets turned back on two at a time and began to angle upward, possibly in a last-ditch attempt to catch the assailants. But Tsukeke had reactivated them too late. On Tamama’s side, his energy beam burnt the two turrets and part of the body to a crisp; on Dororo’s, an onslaught of crescent-shaped razor wind projectiles sliced cleanly through the same targets, causing symmetrical damage.

Now unarmed and missing over half its structure, the aircraft was fully neutralized, with all but the middle section housing the pilot enveloped in smoke and flames.

The fighting trio regrouped, pausing to catch their breath. Chunks of metal tumbled through the air before evaporating into an ethereal powder, the atoms of Koredinite that made up the ship’s form frayed.

Observing from the side, Kururu lowered his damaged shields and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Good going, team!” Keroro whooped, pumping a fist in the air.

“N-now what?” Tamama panted.

“Don’t let your guard down.” Giroro kept his eyes glued to the cockpit, peering straight at it through the reticle of his rifle. “He might still escape from—”

Before he could finish his statement, the top of the cockpit flipped open and Tsukeke popped out, taking off like a rocket. He soared high into the air at lightning speed, only stopping once he was well above the rest of the group. A lightweight jetpack was strapped to his back, and he held two weapons—a curved saber whose lightning blade flickered neon blue in one hand, and a sleek white machine gun in the other.

“Would at least one of you just go down already?!” Tsukeke roared with frustration, then unleashed rounds upon Giroro, who was most directly in the line of fire down below. But aiming linearly for the expert marksman was an immediate mistake. Giroro’s weapon had already been trained on his opponent, allowing him to quickly counter with his own gunfire.

Tsukeke attempted to veer to the side to dodge the incoming bullets and strike Giroro’s flank, but the corporal mirrored his movements with ease, finding him quite easy to read without a large machine to cover him. Tsukeke leered at his opponent in a threat display, only to receive a stone-faced stare in return. This caused the mechanic to bristle further.

While the two swerved back and forth in a stalemate, Dororo and Tamama exchanged glances once more, silently agreeing now was the time to get the jump on the enemy. Dororo brandished his katana, while a dark aura began to brew around Tamama’s clenched fists. But before either of them could make a move, something—or rather, someone—whizzed in between them.

Just as both guns’ ammo ran out, Tsukeke spotted out of the corner of his eye a figure darting through the air toward him. At the last possible second, he dove backward to dodge, then threw out a strike with his saber. A shing rang out as, unexpectedly, his blade crossed with another. From below, the three other combatants let out gasps.

Keroro glared back at Tsukeke, a determined glint in his eye. Upon noticing the slight surprise etched onto Tsukeke’s visage, Keroro smirked.

“Gero, gero, gero! Guess the sword’s good enough after all!” the sergeant remarked as he twirled the weapon. “Betcha didn’t think I had it in me, did you, sir?”

Tsukeke let out a huff as he dropped the now useless machine gun and removed his goggles from his eyes. “Frankly, no. You haven’t demonstrated even an ounce of leadership capability.”

The two Keronians separated, both unable to make any headway in pushing back against each other’s weapons. Keroro pointed out his sword like an épée, one eye closed in a mocking wink.

“I see you’ve been away from Keron for too long to know who I really am,” he said, holding his chin up high. “I guess I’ll have to teach you myself, sir.”

Keroro and Tsukeke began to circle around each other in midair, sizing each other up in close quarters as both Keronians attempted to intimidate the other into backing down. But this game of chicken only lasted for mere seconds, and they soon charged straight, clashed, and backed off once more. Then they did it again. And again. And again.

The two fighters danced through the air, magnetized as they collided together and pulled apart. Flashes enveloped them each time their blades clashed, giving a spectacular show of red and blue light shining brighter than even the vast prism of colors all around them. It was almost impossible for the others to pull their eyes away from the routine.

“Go, Keroro!” shouted Giroro, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“You can do it, Mr. Sergeant!” Tamama cheered boisterously, waving his arms.

Dororo observed the battle carefully, tracking each of the fighters’ movements with his watchful eyes. One thing soon became apparent—Tsukeke was starting to slow down. His strikes were growing languid, lagging behind Keroro’s ever so slightly, and he appeared to wobble a bit in the air. Despite his formidable efforts thus far, Tsukeke was evidently not trained to be a front line combatant.

Curiously, each time Tsukeke would slow, Keroro too toned the speed of his attacks down a notch right after. He was almost certainly still in control, as his body weaved with grace and purpose even as Tsukeke faltered. Had Keroro continued to maintain a more brisk pace, there would have been plenty of openings to strike his opponent by now.

Dororo tilted his head. What was his leader’s goal?

“Ku, ku…I think I see what the captain’s game is.”

As if he could read Dororo’s mind, Kururu chimed in, flying to the ninja’s side.

Dororo looked at him inquisitively. “Yes?”

“Well, he’s obviously not going all out in this fight,” Kururu said, “and that stuff he mentioned about ‘who he really is’ tells me something…”

Kururu opened his mouth to elaborate further, but he was interrupted by a sharp, stifled grunt from Tsukeke, followed by his saber clattering to the ground…along with Keroro’s. They were closer to the invisible floor now, and the sergeant had Tsukeke’s dominant hand in a wristlock, twisting his arm and pressing his own free forearm down on the crook of the elbow. Tsukeke was making feeble attempts to wrestle free, but with most of his body hunched over and his other arm unable to reach Keroro’s, there was nothing he could do.

Still, that didn’t stop him from trying. He clawed for Keroro, pitiful reach and all. That’s when Keroro whispered—

“Look at me.”

Tsukeke ceased his struggle; Keroro’s significantly stricter tone made his heart skip a beat. “What?”

“You heard me.” Keroro repeated, the sound of his voice chilling enough to freeze over hell. “Look into my eyes, soldier.”

Despite Keroro’s threatening demeanor, Tsukeke scoffed. “Sorry, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that when you have me like—”

Tsukeke let out a choked breath as Keroro drove them both downward, pinning Tsukeke to the floor face-first, the hand that was once putting pressure on his elbow now clamping his bicep. Keroro released him from the lock, and the arm went limp.

With the rest of the platoon gathered around them, Keroro quickly tore the jetpack off of Tsukeke's back, then slipped his hands under his torso and rolled him over. He half-straddled him, one knee pressed down onto his stomach. Tsukeke’s eyes, which had temporarily shut, snapped back open. What his gaze met almost made his eyeballs pop out of his head.

Hovering above him was a face cast almost entirely in shadow, with only its cold, unflinching stare not obscured. Keroro’s hat flaps seemed to sway in the breeze, even with no wind to speak of. The only source of light was the star on his stomach, blindingly brilliant like a beacon on a moonless night. The demon’s imposing aura was overbearing enough to make Tsukeke’s insides churn with panic.

After a deep inhale that shook the very air surrounding them, Keroro uttered—

“Private First Class Tsukeke… If you have not been formally discharged, you are still under the jurisdiction of the Keronian Army. Halt this rogue operation at once, or be prepared to suffer the harshest of punishments for high treason. This is an order.”

Keroro’s decree left an overwhelming silence hanging over the area. Tsukeke’s heart all but stopped as the pressure came down upon him like a crashing wave, sparing him no moment to come up for air. Crushed beneath the sergeant’s mighty sole, he was more helpless than an ant. And searing a hole in his soul was the glow of a star brighter than a supernova.

But all stars burned out eventually.

Keroro blinked, and then his pupils rolled backward into his head. His body buckled, and with an exhausted whimper, he fell over onto his side.

“Keroro!” Giroro immediately darted over to his fainted leader and lifted his head gently.

Tsukeke was free, but the order had left him physically incapable of defiance. With his will to fight back eviscerated, he let out a feeble sigh, defeated.

Kururu cracked a grin. “Whaddaya know? Talk-no-Jutsu that works.”

Meanwhile, a ginormous smile crossed Tamama’s face, and his whole body tingled with awe. He was so weak in the knees, it appeared as though he might melt on the spot.

“Oh. My. Gumdrops,” the tadpole squeed. “I got to see Mr. Sergeant at his coolest right before my eyes! Best day ever!”

But moments later, Tamama’s expression changed dramatically, his whole face contorting into a scowl like that of an enraged bull. “I can’t believe I’m going to forget about it!” he cried, shaking his fist in the air. “Screw you, laws of time travel!!”

Meanwhile, Tsukeke finally began to slowly peel his back off the ground. After he’d managed to lift himself into a sit, he shook his head.

“The fabled Keron Star… I suppose it’s real after all.” he gave something between a cough and a dry chuckle. “I never imagined I would succumb to it like this…”

“Hmph!” Tamama straightened himself out and blew air out of his nose, looking down upon Tsukeke smugly. “That’s what you get for underestimating my sergeant!”

“Game over, Tsukeke.” Giroro growled, still on the floor with Keroro’s head in his lap. “If this timeline reset thing doesn’t work, you’re gonna need a real good defense for the court-martial.”

“Settle down, both of you.” Dororo chided, holding up his arms. “I’m just glad we ended this without much more bloodshed.”

“I only had to go that far because you resisted so hard.” Tsukeke said with a grimace. “Forming connections on this planet is only going to lead to pain and suffering. Is that really what you want?”

Tamama shook his head. “I don’t get why we have to think about that now,” he whined. “Meeting Momocchi and the others made life fun! I don’t wanna imagine it never happening!”

Keroro moaned, revealing that he’d awoken from his fainting spell.

“Fuyuki-dono… He needs me… And so do my Gunpla…” the sergeant raised his head weakly and extended a hand toward the sky. “Don’t worry, my babies… Daddy will be home soon…”

The group gaped at him, stupefied. It was hard to believe this was the same commander whose utterance single-handedly put a stop to the whole conflict.

Relieving them from the awkward moment, Dororo approached Tsukeke, standing over him with his arms firmly at his sides.

“Let me ask you a question, Tsukeke-dono,” he said calmly. “In what world is there an existence without pain?”

“Huh?” Tsukeke met Dororo’s stare. The ninja’s eyes were stern yet not scornful, and his stance sturdy but not hostile.

“You see, the universe is about harmony. All forces exist in a balance.” Dororo held out both hands with open palms, pretending to weigh a scale. “With good, there’s bad. And with joy, there’s sadness.

“Perhaps this sounds hypocritical given the nature of our own mission, but…” Dororo closed his eyes sagely. “There’s a difference between altering an isolated incident and trying to change the fundamentals of life for countless others, you know?”

“Who said I was undoing any balance?” Tsukeke retorted. “In fact, I was going to restore it. By reducing the excess unfairness in the world—”

“In the world, or in your world?”

Giroro sauntered over, having managed to help Keroro get back up. He folded his arms and huffed.

“Look, I don’t know your life’s story like Dororo seems to, and it’s not really my concern,” he said. “But it’s obvious you have a vendetta, and we don’t want any part of it.”

Tsukeke let out a grunt, cringing slightly. The words echoed in his mind—

“You’re no messiah. Running from your guilt won’t do anyone a favor but yourself.”

This change in expression did not go unnoticed by Dororo. Softly, he said—

“Deep down…you already understand that, don’t you?”

Tsukeke looked at the ground pensively, the brim of his hat obscuring some of his gaze. He exhaled shakily.

“I do truly believe in my vision—or at least I did—but more than anything, I wanted to forget.”

He paused to scrape at the dried blood that still caked his face with the back of his gloved hand—an effort which was only partially successful.

“Every waking moment was torment. The grief. The anger. The regret.” Tsukeke clenched his fists. “I couldn’t face anyone or anything. There were times I considered burying myself in the snow and letting the elements take me. But then…”

Still with his head down, he pointed toward Dororo.

“…the mist showed me you. I thought I was receiving some kind of calling—like the universe was urging me to fix everything at once. I clung to that idea for decades. It’s all I truly lived for, and now it’s come to an end like this…with me making a fool of myself.”

Tsukeke sighed deeply, leaving several of others seemingly unsure how to respond—Keroro shifted uncomfortably, Tamama glanced to the side, and Dororo stood still, bowing his head.

Giroro wasn’t quite as fazed. He produced a short rope from his infinite weapons inventory and knelt down on the ground to tie Tsukeke’s hands behind his back, receiving several quizzical looks as he did so.

“Sorry to spoil the melancholy,” the corporal said gruffly, “but I’m not taking any chances with this guy after he tried to kill us several times.”

“Do whatever you please. I’m done fighting.” Tsukeke finally lifted his head, revealing that his eyes were like husks, devoid of light and even tears. “I don’t think I even have a purpose anymore.”

“You could give yourself a purpose by getting us the hell out of here.”

Kururu lumbered forward, addressing Tsukeke after having been silent for a while.

Tsukeke blinked. “Pardon?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Kururu menaced the mechanic. “Where’s the exit distortion?”

“I don’t know that off the top of my head,” Tsukeke said flatly. “Thanks to my navigational system being completely disabled along with the mech, my guess is as good as yours.”

“Oh.” In his desperation, Kururu hadn’t thought about that. His glare faded, and he clicked his tongue. “Shit.”

“That was a rather expensive upgrade, just so you know.” Tsukeke deadpanned. “Not that it matters now, I suppose.”

“Er, on a related note…” Dororo looked toward Kururu. “What is the condition of that disturbance you spoke of?”

Kururu bit his lip as he took a quick glance at his device. “It appears to be moving, whatever it is. We need to scram, stat.”

“Let’s get going, then. I think I’ve had more than enough of this place anyway,” Tamama said with a shudder.

“Amen to that.” Giroro jerked on the rope binding Tsukeke as though he were cattle, forcing him to his feet. The mechanic raised an eyebrow dubiously.

“What’s the point of dragging me?” he asked. “You might as well just leave me to rot in inter-dimensional limbo.”

“As long as you’re not dead, I’m obligated not to abandon a fellow Keronian soldier—even a saboteur,” Giroro grumbled, sounding a tad bitter.

“Maybe jiggling him around a bit’ll get him to remember something useful,” Kururu mused dryly. He shut down the gravity machine, as it was no longer needed, and the fabricated wing packs had run out of energy.

Before the group took off again, Keroro leaned toward Tsukeke, whispering in his ear. “Hey. Can you tell me where to get a drone like Zako Slim? I really want one for myself, sir.”

“You mean Trip?” Tsukeke side-eyed the sergeant. “That distributor’s been out of business for decades.”

“Say what?!” Keroro croaked, holding his head in his hands. “No way…”

Through some good fortune and metaphorical stumbling about, the group did eventually locate the exit from deep fabric space, sending them back into the realm of portals and allowing Kururu to recalibrate his navigation system. He led the pack as they hit what was hopefully the last leg of the unexpected round trip, attentively flipping between the GPS and the frequency reader picking up on the disturbance gradually creeping in their direction. It was impossible to shake off the sense that a storm was brewing, but he felt oddly calm in spite of it. Perhaps Tsukeke’s double ambush had steeled him for just about anything…or he was simply too drained to be surprised.

In the meantime, Dororo caught the rest of his platoon up on what he and Kururu had learned about Tsukeke the day before. The man himself was disconcertingly quiet, simply dangling in his bonds as Dororo pulled him along (he’d taken over from Giroro after a while, who commented that the mechanic was “heavier than he looked”).

“I find it hard to believe the Keron Army would do such a thing,” Giroro said, shaking his head indignantly.

Keroro rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, they did leave us at first…”

“Because the recon operation was compromised.” Giroro shot his leader a glare. “And whose fault was that?”

“What’re you looking at me for, sir?!” Keroro balked. “I didn’t do any—”

“Don’t start!” Tamama whined, forcing himself between the two and shoving them apart. Their mouths hung open for a second as they deliberated protesting, but they eventually relented with indecipherable grumbles.

After a few beats of silence, Tsukeke cleared his throat.

“What exactly did you see in Vanavara, Lance Corporal?” he spoke at last, his voice deflated as could be.

“Hmm? Oh…” Dororo paused for a moment to recall. “When the wormhole transported us there, we were investigating the surroundings when two children came out of one of the homes. Your friend’s siblings, it seems.”

Tsukeke’s eyebrows shot up briefly before falling back into a scowl. “Gelya and Sasha— I mean, Angelina and Aleksandr?” he said, earning a nod from Dororo.

“Yes, those names sound familiar. The boy briefly spotted Kururu-kun and I, and…” Dororo let out a sigh. “He thought it was you.”

He allowed Tsukeke to contemplate this for a bit before continuing.

“They were very saddened by your disappearance. They wanted to believe you’d return…”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Tsukeke ducked his head, shielding himself from the plaintive looks pointed toward him. “I could never bring myself to go back there. Think whatever awful things you want about it.”

A period of silence passed with Tsukeke refusing to make any further movements, simply hanging his head low as though waiting to be flagellated.

“I’m not saying you should have stayed only for their sake, you know,” Dororo eventually spoke. “If you’d stayed with them, perhaps you wouldn’t have—”

“Okay, you all can shut up now.”

The group all eyed Kururu, who had interjected. His device was emitting a series of high-pitched beeps before he promptly shut it off, swapping it in his hand with the reality pen and a piece of paper. He glanced over his shoulder toward the others.

“We’re here.”

Kururu turned away again as light sighs of relief could be heard behind him. Wasting no more time, he quickly sketched the shape of the gateway and tossed the page Frisbee-style. The page fizzled away, as if being swallowed by the surrounding miasma, and a twinkling white light appeared in its place. The light expanded itself into a rectangular form, and when the glow faded, an open doorway stood there.

“Thank goodness!” Keroro exclaimed. “Let’s blow this lemonade stand, sir!”

“I hope we never have to come here again,” mumbled Giroro.

“Unless they have more superpower candy!” Tamama quipped.

Kururu exhaled deeply as he peered through the portal, so close to yet so far from home…and Saburo. All he had to do was zip through, and this whole mess would finally be behind him. His body so desperately wanted to propel forward, but for whatever reason, he was rooted in place. What could possibly be giving him pause at such a crucial moment?

Just then, a loud rumbling erupted from overhead, jostling Kururu out of his deliberation. He and the other Keronians looked up to see a hole at least four times their size slowly tearing open the inter-dimensional fabric, causing a series of gasps to ring out.

“What the what?!” Keroro gave Kururu a panicked look. “What's going on, sir?!”

The sergeant major in question was frantically fiddling with his device, whose screen was plastered with warning pop-ups. "I'd tell ya if I knew..."

"Even the professor doesn't know?!" A shiver went down Keroro's spine. "That is not a good sign, no sir..."

Secretly, a strange wave of foreboding had washed over Kururu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He didn’t normally believe in inexplicable premonitions, but he couldn't ignore the queasy feeling in his gut.

The others likely picked up on his vibe, as Tamama struck a battle pose and Giroro pulled out a rifle. But before they could make any other moves...

“Well, well. It appears I am not here alone after all.”

The sound of a voice echoing through the air sent a bolt of shock hurtling down Kururu’s spine. The voice, filtered through something of a metallic hiss, had the cadence of a whisper and the impact of a howl. It was eerie—and more concerningly, familiar.

Just then, a figure began to descend through the hole, floating down slowly and gracefully. First came a single leg in the shape of a large, grayish spike, a small orb hovering underneath it like an extremity with an invisible joint. Right above it was what appeared to be the hem of a cape, split evenly down the middle into sharpened points. Kururu recognized the attire in no time at all—he had only seen it from a distance, but it was unmistakable.

Now he knew what he had to do.

“Captain. Go.”

Keroro jumped. “Gero?”

“You heard me.” Bright light reflected off of his glasses as he jerked his head toward the exit. “Get out of here.”

Keroro gulped, taken aback at the roughness in his voice. “Y-you’ll follow us, righ—”

“I said leave!” Kururu snapped through tightly grit teeth, deadly serious—more so than Keroro had ever heard him.

“Y-yes, sir!” Keroro sputtered, effectively startled into relinquishing his own authority. He grabbed Tamama’s arm with one hand and Giroro’s with the other, then dragged them through the gate, their flustered protests falling upon deaf ears.

Kururu then faced the wide-eyed Dororo, who was frozen in shock as he gripped the rope bonding Tsukeke’s wrists.

“Your turn, Doro-boat.”

“Hold on!” Dororo shouted. “What’s gotten into you? Do you know what that...”

He suddenly paused, going wide-eyed. Dororo immediately gripped the hilt of his katana and readied a ninjutsu sign with his other hand, inadvertently releasing Tsukeke in the process. Tsukeke had managed to inch forward a bit in the air, and Kururu briefly matched his gaze. A flicker of knowing shone in the mechanic’s eyes, furthering Kururu’s conviction. Bracing himself, he whirled around.

Sure enough, there it was. A Quietite.

This one looked a bit different from the one Saburo had fought, however. While they were still clad in a charcoal suit and a silver mask, the suit’s shoulder pads were lined with golden streaks. Their long and wispy hair, flowing behind them, was a dazzling bright red—the same color as its slit pupils. The black scar on their face was shaped like jagged peaks and wrapped around their forehead, like a crown.

“So I’m not alone in this subspace after all,” the Quietite spoke, their words carrying a weight that moved the air. “And here I thought this would be a seamless invasion.”

“It’s been a hundred years… I never planned on seeing another Quietite in person.” Tsukeke’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps its abilities possess similar properties to Koredinite if it was able to get in here.”

"P-pardon?!" Dororo's eyeballs rapidly shifted between the Quietite, Tsukeke, and finally to Kururu. "Did you say a Quietite? This is one of them?!"

“A hundred years, you say?” The Quietite ignored him and tilted their head, bringing a slender hand to their chin. “I don’t recall us making a move on Keron recently.”

“That’s in Pekoponian years. You’ve failed to take it over twice now… Seems like neither luck nor competence are on your side.” Kururu’s whole body shuddered as he tried with all his might to keep his composure.

“So the second invasion of Pekopon was a failure as well? I suppose I’m not surprised.” The Quietite shrugged, rolling their eyes. “If only the others had listened to me…”

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Kururu spat. The nonchalance with which the fiend spoke after what their species had done to him made his skin crawl.

“I shall explain.” The Quietite performed a light bow. “I am the crown prince of the Quiet Kingdom on our planet…or at least I was, before I was excommunicated and replaced with the next in line due to my supposedly radical ideas.

“You see, my brethren are obsessively dedicated to their ‘rules’: conducting only one invasion at a time, taking several space centuries between attempts…and of course, that horribly inefficient practice of sacrificing themselves regardless of the outcome of a duel.” The Quietite shook their head in disgust. “It’s like they don’t truly take seriously our mission of spreading the purity of silence across the stars.”

“And that brought you here how?” Tsukeke said in a strangely disinterested monotone. When Kururu quickly glanced over at him, he was just as expressionless as he sounded. How mortifying it was, then, that he alone was quivering.

“Once I was no longer in a position of authority, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Imagine my surprise when my research led me to a method to take over a potentially limitless number of planets.” The Quietite let slip a sneer. “Observe.”

With a wide sweep of their arm, a ring of light formed a circle around the Quietite’s body. Then the entire area rumbled, as though an earthquake had hit, and an aurora of sunset colors descended upon the three. Kururu recognized this effect—the Quietite had enveloped them in a bubble of sound. But on the outside…

“Our waves of quiet can penetrate through dimensional boundaries. So long as its effect lingers, all the time-space warps in the vicinity have been silenced.” The Quietite took a gander around and nodded approvingly. “I’m glad I took the time to move deeper into the inter-dimensional realm. My influence will extend far in such a heavily populated area.”

Kururu glanced around at the various portals and wormholes surrounding them. Their appearance hadn’t changed, but who knew what was happening on the other side? Left unchecked, the Quietite could disrupt several dimensions and timelines…potentially including his own. And because the Quietite was acting between dimensions, reverting his Earth’s timeline wouldn’t stop its advance. The inventor cursed under his breath—this was now about much more than a personal grudge.

“If you’re going to retreat, now is the time,” the Quietite taunted, buttery smooth yet sharp as knives.

“Never!" Dororo said, gripping his weapon tighter. "I shall not allow you to disturb the way of life of—"

“Oh no, you don't," Kururu growled. Not again.

"Huh?" Dororo gasped as Kururu faced his direction once more. The yellow Keronian looked past him and eyed the portal, which was just beginning to close. He had a window, but it was a tight one. He pulled back a bit in the air.

"Sorry, Senpai, but I'm not screwing around," he said. “See you on the other side... Hopefully.”

"Wai—"

The wind was knocked out of Dororo as Kururu charged forward with whatever strength he could muster, tackling him with a shove that sent him hurtling through the white glow.

“Kururu-kuuuuun!!”

Dororo’s strangled cry cut out as he disappeared in a flash. Just after he popped out of view, the portal zipped shut, fading away in a burst of sparkles.

Kururu let out a sigh of relief. He then dusted his hands together and leered at the Quietite.

"Let's get down to business, then."

“A challenge? Very well.” The tall invader folded their arms. “As a warning, I will not voluntarily cede like my brethren—the ritual laser to detonate my body cannot reach me here anyway. I intend to duel until the bitter end.”

“Can you call it a duel if it’s a two-on-one?”

Kururu swiftly moved behind Tsukeke and hurried to untie his bonds. Embarrassingly, he struggled a bit thanks to Giroro’s firm knot-tying skills, but he was eventually able to pull the rope free and toss it into the ether.

“Wanna make yourself useful? Now’s your chance.” Kururu leaned close to Tsukeke’s ear, speaking tersely.

Tsukeke sighed as he shook out his wrists. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

“Well, I do, so you’d better pull your weight.”

With that, Kururu adjusted his glasses and—as much as he wished he didn’t have to—brandished the reality pen, while Tsukeke unsheathed his own Koredinite.

The Quietite hummed. “Neither of you strike me as the convincing type…but this could be interesting.” They produced a fountain pen from their coat pocket, and a tablet of light materialized within the ring. “I shall prove to you why the way of quiet is superior.”

With the Quietite refusing to define an arbitrary loss, Kururu figured the objective was likely to win the war of attrition on his terms until he could find a way to disable it, but Kururu didn’t know enough about Quietites to determine exactly how to wear them down without exhausting his Koredinite supply first. It didn’t help that his only ally was the last person he wanted as an improv debate partner.

Regardless, he would have to work it out.

That idiot didn’t sacrifice himself for nothing.

Chapter Text

“Darn it! I just can’t get the hang of this…”

Tsukeke sat on a small stool, hunched forward as he carefully balanced a wooden last on his knees with one hand and fiddled with an iron hook in the other. Strips of bast lay awkwardly atop the shoe base as he struggled to find the right angle to continue the weave.

“Need help?”

Tsukeke looked up from his project to see an outstretched hand. The hand belonged to a fair-skinned boy in a flat cap, who smiled gently at his alien companion.

“Ah, would you show me again, Anton?” Tsukeke chuckled sheepishly as he handed the boy his materials. “Much appreciated.”

Tsukeke scooted his stool a bit closer to Anton as the human demonstrated the bast weaving pattern. With this guidance, the Keronian was soon able to replicate the process, taking it slow and steady.

“Looks like you got it,” Anton said, patting him on the back.

“I think so, yes. Thank you.” Tsukeke sighed and scratched his cheek. “I have to say, though, I’m a bit embarrassed. I’ve repaired highly complex machinery beyond anything you could imagine, and here I am having a hard time making a wooden shoe…”

“You’re still new here. It took me a few tries to learn how to make lapti too.” Anton gave him a sympathetic look. “If this is really nothing like what you’re used to back home, it’s only natural that you’d need to adjust.”

Tsukeke nodded. “You’re right. ‘Simpler’ or not, new is new...”

A thought came to his mind, and he briefly paused what he was doing, a bast strip still hanging in the air atop his needle. “The Koredinite could expedite things like this, you know. It would save a lot of hassle…”

“That’s true, but I dunno.” Anton rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m too used to doing things by hand—it’s our whole lifestyle. It’s hard work, but it’s not all bad.”

Near the two of them, laughter rang out as Anton’s younger sister gleefully tended to their infant brother. Tsukeke placed the nearly finished shoe on the ground next to the cloth housing the remaining wet bast strips, taking a brief break to stretch out his fingers. “I meant to ask you, Anton. Do you consider yourself to have a goal of some sort?”

The boy shrugged. “I do want to keep getting better at crafting, like Father. But I’d need to make it to the cities to do anything real lofty, and we’re so far out, I hardly know anything about ’em outside the books that traders bring sometimes.”

“Well, the passersby your family trades goods to appreciate it, I’m sure,” Tsukeke pointed out.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s just how we get by, but I like to think it helps people too.” Anton folded his hands in his lap.

“That’s the thing about us humans, I guess. We’ve gotta do the best we can for everyone around us in the short time we’ve got.” He smiled wistfully. “Whenever I’m gone, I just hope I’ll have made the world a bit of a brighter place, even if I’m not around to see it.”

Tsukeke mulled over this for a moment, then nodded in approval.

“That’s a good idea. I like it,” he said. “I wanted to make a difference on Keron someday too, but the atmosphere in the army’s pretty cutthroat. And then they…”

Tsukeke trailed off, staring into the distance. Anton put a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re here now, and we’ll always be glad to have you,” Anton said softly. “You can help us out, and we’ll make some lives better together. How’s that sound, Tsukeke?”

Tsukeke perked up. “You mean it? I’d be elated!”

“Of course.” Anton looked Tsukeke in the eyes and grinned. “I’m counting on you, partner.”

Partner... Tsukeke beamed, his eyes sparkling.

“Leave it to me!”

“You do know what we’re expected to do here, right?”

Kururu spoke to Tsukeke in a hushed voice, leaning into his ear as he eyed the Quietite that hovered menacingly before them.

“It’s been a hundred years since I witnessed it, but it’s still clear as day,” Tsukeke replied, his cadence still drained of any vigor. “I suppose it’s the same for you?”

“Duh. How could I forget when it was a week ago at most?” Kururu’s glance shifted absentmindedly. “Plus, it was...the last time I...”

Kururu's heartbeat began to tick upward. His stomach twisted in a hauntingly familiar manner, as though a pressure valve he’d managed to keep closed during this entire escapade was about to burst. Reflexively, he clutched his forehead.

Not now. Not now, damn it!

“What’s the matter?” Tsukeke said flatly. “The Quietite was defeated in the end, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, shut up. You know what my problem is.” Kururu shot a glare at Tsukeke, the latter’s prodding having made him snap back to the present moment. “Do you just wanna rub it in that you made it in time?”

Tsukeke scoffed. “Please. I don’t derive pleasure from taking petty potshots like you do.” After a brief pause, he added, “And all that victory did is make what happened afterward feel worse!”

“That doesn’t even make any sen—”

It’s clear that words are simply obstacles standing in the way of coexistence.

-By Quietite

The Quietite closed off its interjection, both written and spoken aloud, with a swipe of its pen. Several large stone glyphs began to hurtle toward the two Keronians, then converged into a beam of light. Kururu grunted in surprise; he’d been so irked with Tsukeke that he’d briefly forgotten the opponent was there. Still, there was just enough time to whip out his laptop’s shield, which had repaired itself some since the previous battle.

The transparent barrier produced from Kururu’s computer absorbed the beam, the glyphs melted on the inside by its high voltage. Kururu lowered the shield to conserve its stamina, and the Quietite once again came into view.

“If you’re just going to quarrel with each other, you might as well hand me the victory,” it said flippantly. “How underwhelming…not that I should complain.”

Kururu and Tsukeke exchanged looks. The brevity of the Quietite’s words made its previous attack seem almost like a warm-up. They might not be so generous next time.

Kururu let out a sigh. “Right,” he muttered. “We’d better get serious about this.”

Even so, he wondered, how should they counter? Kururu found himself at a loss for a verbal response, and judging by Tsukeke’s silence, he likely felt the same.

Thus, as Kururu often did in a pinch, he turned to his tech. He deftly swapped the laptop he’d balanced on his forearm for his pocket device, pulling up his frequency reader. This confirmed what he suspected might have been the case during the other Quietite’s brawl with Saburo, but was too focused on the reality pen to check: the ring of light surrounding the Quietite also had electromagnetic properties. Was it guarded by an invisible force field, then? Perhaps the solution was to chip away at the shield...

The tension of debate can hang in the air. But peace can prevail if none know it is there.

-By Quietite

Kururu had gotten lost in his analysis, and the Quietite didn’t let this opportunity go to waste. This time, while the Quietite was in the middle of writing, Tsukeke stepped forward—now it was his turn to think fast.

While brandishing his Koredinite in one hand, Tsukeke whipped out a clipboard from his own dimensional pocket. It was at this moment that Kururu realized he’d never actually seen how the mechanic used his Koredinite until now. When he’d finished sketching with a flick in the Quietite’s direction, a bomb materialized in the air and began to fly forward. The bomb met the beam of glyphs and exploded, which caused them all to burst in midair.

Kururu covered his face and held his breath as smoke filled the arena. After waiting for it to dissipate some, he lowered his arms and peeked out. The Quietite, unamused, narrowed its exposed eye.

“Go ahead. Try to play defense,” they taunted. “My will can easily outlast yours.”

Kururu let out a long, relenting sigh, then pulled out the reality pen and paper once more. He’d have to go back to his original plan of playing along for now until he could find an opening. Thankfully, the Quietite had given him a bit more to work with than before. It was time to put whatever eloquence he’d absorbed by osmosis from hip-hop ballads and Saburo’s schmaltzy poems to the test.

There’s no hiding forever. Not using words doesn’t mean people can’t read you like a book.

-By 966

Just as Kururu finished signing off on the words, he flung them toward the Quietite. The alien in question let out a bit of air from its nose, as though it was sneering behind its mask.

But it’s words that can be employed to use that against you, is it not?

-By Quietite

The Quietite unleashed its counterattack, and within seconds, bam—the two lines crashed into each other. Moments later, all that remained of them was shrapnel drifting through the air. Kururu’s lips turned upward ever so slightly. It was an okay start.

The Quietite seemed to share the sentiment. “So you do have some fight in you,” it said with a nod. However, it then turned its head to Tsukeke. “One of you does, at least.”

The mechanic grit his teeth. “Fine. You want to know how I feel?”

He began to jot down the line:

Words I can’t forget… If only I’d never heard them, then

Tsukeke’s hand paused mid-sentence. The Koredinite could be seen trembling slightly as its tip hovered just over the paper. The words rose from the paper, materializing in midair. But with no force behind them, they simply crumbled limply to dust.

“What the heck?” Kururu snapped his head toward Tsukeke. “That’s their argument! Are you trying to lose?!”

“Well, it’s the truth!” Tsukeke argued, ripping out the wasted page and crumbling it in his fist. “You said not to bother hiding! I just did what you told me to do!”

“Not everything is about you, y’know.”

Kururu grumbled something under his breath and flipped over another page. It seemed he’d be stuck bearing the brunt of the work himself—not that he wasn’t used to that. Besides, he’d already started to get the hang of this, so it couldn’t be that difficult…right?

Sometimes, words can hurt like hell, but

Suddenly, Kururu’s writing hand came to a stop—the rest had slipped away. He tried to jumpstart his train of thought again, but it was as though his mental ink had jammed. Before long, his own failed attack came to life, then disappeared as quickly as it had formed.

Kururu could feel himself broil with frustration as he desperately tried to ignore the told-you-so look from Tsukeke that his gaze had flitted to for a moment. What was that about? He could’ve sworn he knew what he was going to say. Had his unshakeable genius slipped away from him at the worst possible time?

No, this was not an issue with his intelligence. The real answer, lurking in the corner of his mind, was:

He hated this.

Forcing himself to be truly candid with the select few he trusted most was like trying to dig out impacted teeth with an ice pick, let alone in front of two people that were strangers at best and enemies at worst. Thinking back on the last week, he hardly had to be direct with anyone…because the only person he’d opened up to would cover for him.

Perhaps it would help if he were here right now, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Kururu gripped the reality pen tightly.

He had to swallow his pride and do this himself.

Following the Keronians’ failed attempts, the Quietite skipped out on making a remark and simply picked up its pen.

Indeed, in a world where conflict lurks around every corner, words are little more than weaponized pain.

-By Quietite

A lightbulb went off in Kururu’s head. He had something this time!

But what if sometimes that’s just what you need? A wake-up call…

-By 966

With the signature in place, the words fully formed. The two attacks clashed in a flash of light and smoke. Kururu spared no glances—not to Tsukeke, not to the Quietite—instead putting pen back to paper before the smoke even cleared.

Words can start problems, but they can also be the solution…

-By 966

There would be no need for a solution if said words did not create the problem—a conundrum for the ages...

-By Quietite

Boom—another collision. Kururu huffed, beginning to sweat. While he finally had some kind of rhythm going, he already found himself growing vexed. How could he outwit an opponent who simply dejected his every statement with an equal but opposite force?

Kururu began to contemplate his next move, but then…

“You act like it’s so easy.”

“Huh?”

Kururu turned his head around toward the source of the acerbic comment: Tsukeke, with his face pointed downward, a shadow looming over his face.

“Do you think you can just talk away a painful reality?” Tsukeke said. “From what I’ve seen of you, I didn’t get the impression you were that naive.”

Kururu shifted his posture defensively. “That isn’t even what I said, wrench-head. And you’re still not helping our case here!”

“Well, what if the Quietite has a point?!”

Tsukeke’s face contorted into a full-on scowl. And then, much to Kururu’s confusion, he jumped back far, taking advantage of the warped gravity. He turned a page on the clipboard and brandished his Koredinite, lifting his head just enough to glare at Kururu dead in the eye.

The sergeant major tensed. “What are you…?!”

Watching this, the Quietite let out a snicker. “Hmph. It seems I couldn't have asked for more advantageous opponents,” it muttered.

Tsukeke began to scribble furiously, shouting as he wrote:

“I’ve spent so many years with all this pent-up guilt because I couldn’t help him like he asked me to!”

“Checks out,” Kururu deadpanned.

“And now I’ve learned I hurt the others too, but I was so stuck in a rut that I never even thought about it! All I’ve done is botch things!”

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

“Maybe I was always destined to be a screwup, and Keron abandoned me for a reason!”

“I think you’re getting carried away now.”

“If you can talk back to me, then you can answer me this!” Tsukeke’s voice became fractured with peaks, and he pressed the Koredinite into the page with such force that his entire arm quivered. Octaves higher, he screeched:

“How do I just make the thoughts go away?!”

With a final swipe, Tsukeke summoned a mountainous wall of text fortifying his tirade. The gray Keronian stood panting to the point of heaves, arms stuck tightly to his sides. His words rumbled in the air, moments from toppling down onto Kururu—his own ally, or at least he was supposed to be.

But the sergeant major wasn’t deterred by this. In fact, he smirked. The reality pen swooped across Kururu’s page as he wrote the single most powerful response he could think of:

You don’t.

That was it—two simple words. They zipped forward in a ray of light, a needle attempting to pierce a boulder. And yet, against the odds, it struck the bullseye. Cracks crawled across the surface of Tsukeke’s massive attack, and before either combatant knew it, it all came crumbling down, leaving nothing between them but a pile of rubble that fell through the void.

Tsukeke blanched as he watched the statement he’d poured his heart into collapse before his eyes. Kururu, knowing Tsukeke had nothing left to counter, slow-walked toward him.

“Even when I bring Saburo back, I’ll always remember deep down that this mess still happened, and that I caused it,” he said coolly. “But I still have to live my life, don't I?"

Tsukeke stood his ground, eye twitching as he leered at Kururu. “You sound awfully confident that you can just suck it up. Wait until it rips you apart inside like it did to me.”

“If you’d get your head out of your ass,” Kururu said, “you’d see that you lacked something I don’t...”

“Ahem.”

The Quietite cleared their throat, causing both Keronians to pause and look back at them. Evidently seeing an opening to interject while their guard was lowered, it began to write:

When one is overcome by emotion, it is only silence that brings serenity to—

Make good on your name and shut up!

Before the Quietite could even launch its attack, a scathing retort from Kururu came literally flying at its face. The protective shield bore much of the impact, but the blowback was so strong, the alien’s body was intensely rattled anyway—seemingly even dealt pain, judging by the way it winced.

“I-impossible,” it grunted. “Such a comeback shouldn’t have been so powerful. How did he…?”

Kururu lowered his weaponry, then looked back toward Tsukeke. “This preachy stuff isn’t for me, so I’ll make this quick. You might not ever be able to fully move on, but you can still move forward.”

“You don't know that. It hasn’t been so long for you.” Tsukeke shook his head, voice shuddering.

“As much as I hate to admit it, not even a super-genius knows everything.” Kururu gazed at the ground. “I learned that because I had help. Help I never wanted nor thought I needed, but followed me everywhere anyway.”

Tsukeke blinked as he tried to process what Kururu meant by this. He thought back to all the times he’d encountered Kururu—even as far back as when he was only a specter several decades away from manifesting—and it occurred to him that there was a common link. That’s right… All this time, he’s been together with…

Kururu lifted his head and noted Tsukeke’s contemplative expression. Perhaps he was finally getting somewhere after all.

“I know there’s a part of you that’s a stubborn jerk like me, Tsukeke,” Kururu said. “That’s why I have to be the one to tell you off... Though I didn’t exactly knock it out of the park the last time I tried, as good as it felt. Ku, ku.”

He put both hands firmly on Tsukeke’s trembling shoulders, causing the mechanic to stiffen.

“You aren’t supposed to deal with this crap alone. It wasn’t just that family that needed you.” Kururu shook Tsukeke lightly. “You needed them. You could've had each other.”

Tsukeke let out a gasp. Why did he feel like he’d heard this before? As though his brain had been jump-started by Kururu’s jostling, a memory flashed through his mind…

“...I’m sorry...”

Tsukeke clasped both of his tiny hands around one of Anton’s, which was cold and drained of color. Barely biting back even more tears than he’d already shed, Tsukeke gazed into the young man’s dreary eyes. His eyelids were half-open, twitching as though fighting to remain as such. He opened his mouth to reply, chest rattling as he gasped for air, but nothing came out. Seeing this, Tsukeke could no longer hold back, and he felt hot tears streaming down his face.

“I should have been able to save you this time too!” Tsukeke shouted raspily, his voice hoarse from sobbing. “We promised we’d make the world better together, remember?! What am I supposed to do now?!”

Anton mouthed something, but with his voice fainter than a whisper, Tsukeke couldn’t hear him. He leaned in closer, watching keenly as Anton’s glance flickered between him and rest of his family. He took another labored breath, then tried again.

“...Help...”

“I couldn’t,” Tsukeke choked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...!”

“Help...” Anton repeated. His face became blurry through Tsukeke’s tears, to the point where he could just barely see the movements of the young man’s mouth—but he was not done. He squeaked out another plea, which slowly faded out in decrescendo with each word until it was nigh inaudible.

“Help...each other...”

A gurgle bubbled from Anton’s throat, and the hand that had been lightly squeezing Tsukeke’s slowly lost its grip, falling limp. Tsukeke’s heart skipped a beat. He gently lowered Anton’s hand, rubbed his own arm across his face to clear the tears, and confirmed his fears.

Tsukeke had let go of hope; he knew that this would be the outcome. Despite that, his whole body became wracked with shock and grief. Before him was his best friend’s lifeless body—his chest still as a statue's, his mouth stuck open mid-breath, his eyes, which once sparkled like supernovas, turned lusterless, never to regain their spark again...

The sight was burned into Tsukeke's retinas. It was all he could sense in that moment; the sniffles around him and even his own cries were drowned out completely by the blood rushing through his ears, as though he had sunk into a deep, dark tunnel. Thoughts and feelings rushed through his mind, a terrible torrent that couldn’t be tempered. It was too much to bear.

And so he ran.

Tsukeke stumbled down from the small stool he was standing on, inadvertently kicking it down as he tumbled to the wooden floor. He bolted out the door of the home, then ran and ran and ran, even as his legs turned to lead.

In one hand, Tsukeke held the last remaining stick of Koredinite, one he and Anton had shared between each other after the spare was broken during the duel with the Quietite a few years prior. But as Vanavara began to disappear over the horizon, he came to a halt, gave the mineral a look of contempt, and threw it to the ground. When it refused to break, he stomped and stomped and stomped, Anton’s final words echoing in the back of his mind the whole time—or rather, a single word.

“Help.”

He darted into the woods, never to be seen in Vanavara again, forever shouldering the weight of guilt as the mangled memories twisted and bound him for years to come.

Tsukeke’s eyes ballooned, and his mouth hung agape. Kururu released his grip and backed away.

“What now?” he grumbled, slightly puzzled. Tsukeke swallowed.

“I forgot part of what he asked of me... He wasn’t begging me for his life...” Tsukeke spoke between tiny gulps of air, staring down at his shaking hands. “Has my head been playing tricks on me all these years...?”

Kururu shrugged. “I don’t know exactly what epiphany you just had, but it’s better late than never.” He jerked his thumb toward the Quietite with a snicker. “We’ve still got time to kick that thing’s ass, after all.”

As if on cue, the Quietite let out a guttural growl.

“Timeout is over, Keronians. This conversation is really getting on my nerves,” They bellowed, clearly peeved that the argument didn't shake out as much to their advantage as they had hoped. They summoned their writing tablet again, though their movements were just a bit stiffer than before.

“Sounds like someone’s sick of being left out,” Kururu quipped. He then gave Tsukeke a confident grin and extended his hand.

“C’mon. Let’s give ’em what they asked for...and make them regret it.”

Tsukeke stared deeply at his once-adversary, and Kururu could almost see the hypnotic swirl of his glasses reflected in the other’s flickering eyes.

Sure enough, Tsukeke’s lips turned upward in the very faintest of smiles. He returned the handshake with a tight grip.

“I’m in.”

With that, the two freshly determined Keronians turned fully to face the Quietite, side by side, each with Koredinite and pages in hand. Kururu held the reality pen tightly, and Tsukeke pulled his goggles down over his eyes. Kururu finally came to relent that he and Tsukeke really did have much in common—and for a change, he didn’t quite hate it.

This time, it was Tsukeke who stepped forward first. He took a deep breath, then put the tip of his Koredinite to the page.

I see now that the silence of isolation is the sickness, and the sound of the voice of another is the cure.

-By 2KK

For the first time since the fight had started, Tsukeke’s attack was launched. The Quietite visibly flinched, as if surprised he’d managed to pull it off, but they didn’t waver for long.

And when said voice simply hurts you once more, will the pain not be worse than before?

-By Quietite

The words collided and fizzled like usual, but Tsukeke seemed to grin a bit as he wiped his brow.

“Not bad,” Kururu said, flashing Tsukeke a thumbs-up. “Lemme at 'em next.”

So Kururu began:

Don’t you know what they say about assumptions? To not even try to make it work shows only a lack of creativity.

-By 966

It is not surrender, but rather, a tactical retreat...

-By Quietite

Yet sometimes running can break more than it fixes...

-By 2KK

And that was only the beginning.

Soon enough, the back-and-forth battle became an all-out war. Paragraphs worth of words were slingshot through the air, then collided into fireworks again and again, perfectly in parallel. Indeed, here in the locus of time and space, a profound story was written, erased as quickly as it had been penned.

Kururu knew how cringe-inducing it all sounded. He didn’t care—the catharsis of the moment outweighed any other feeling lurking at the back of his mind. He’d been holding back so much for so long that he wasn’t even aware he could put to words, and now it spilled out effortlessly, like a flood coming crashing down past a lowered dam. He could only imagine how it felt for Tsukeke, who had been bottling everything up for decades.

However, after writing so much that his wrist began to cramp, Kururu's strategic instincts kicked back in. Up until this point, he and Tsukeke had been taking turns, the Quietite countering each of them in tandem. This meant the enemy must have been twice as exhausted as each of them by now, making it very possible that a simultaneous attack would be too much for them to handle.

Kururu quickly turned to Tsukeke to explain this premise to him. A hint of concern flitted across the mechanic’s face.

“I know we’ve been doing well so far,” Tsukeke said, “but can we really improvise something like this?”

Kururu rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. “Won’t know till we give it a shot, will we?”

Tsukeke pondered this for a moment. “That is true. Fair enough...”

He turned another page, then silently exchanged nods with Kururu. The two readied both their Koredinite and the most instinctual responses they could think of; Tsukeke took the lead, and Kururu served as the anchor.

Even in the darkest of times, there are lights to be found, so...

…it ain’t worth ripping your heart out just to stop the bleeding!

-By 2KK & 966

The dual attack barreled ahead, meeting the Quietite’s head-on—but the outcome this time was different. Instead of dissolving upon impact, the ray of light containing the Keronians’ words pierced through the other and blitzed forward. The light unfurled, and the glyphs regained their form. The Quietite held up its arms, attempting to shield itself from the attack…but it was too late.

The stone characters slammed into the Quietite, who yelped as it was blown backward. The invisible force field surrounding it shattered, causing its ring to dissipate. The glyphs from Kururu and Tsukeke’s attack began to scatter, slowly dispersing into the void. Maybe they’d be stuck there forever, or perhaps someone, somewhere, in a distant dimension or time, would come across a remnant of a battle they’d never know of.

Tsukeke glanced at Kururu and raised his eyebrows, seeming mildly impressed. “That was quite the finisher. Where did you come up with that one?”

“Ku, ku!” Kururu smirked. “Stole it from someone who’s better at this than I am.”

The Quietite slowly pulled themself up, visibly jittering with strain. Having been scraped by the stones, their mask was scuffed and their clothes were full of tiny rips. But battered and bruised as they were, they were still standing.

“I told you…” it sputtered, “I will not volunteer for my own destruction! The cannon cannot pierce my heart to trigger the sacrifice! I…can still…!”

The Quietite grunted as it attempted to regenerate the force field. For the time being, it was stunned, but Kururu noticed something alarming: the tears in its clothing were slowly closing up one by one. The fact that it could restore itself to an extent was unwelcome news, but there was no need to kick himself—because fortunately, in its state of shock, the Quietite had just exposed its Achilles’ heel.

However, as Kururu knew all too well, exploiting it came with a price he couldn’t afford.

Drenched in sweat and mind racing, Kururu had to figure out how to neutralize the Quietite most permanently and most safely in the limited time he had. He was running out of pages, and he wasn’t sure how many Tsukeke still had. Just as he was mulling this over…

Bzzzt.

A sudden static jolt across the palm of the hand holding the reality pen made Kururu twitch. There was no pain, only a numbing tickle—but what he observed when his eyes jumped to his hand sent an even greater shock to his heart.

A crack had formed in the reality pen.

Kururu’s eyes widened with horror at the exposed wiring peeking through. Shit. I got carried away!

Even if transmitting materialized words took an abnormally high amount of energy, he hadn’t been using this Koredinite for very long. Was he so desperate to get his hands on some that his emergency order was second-rate?

He couldn’t lose the pen. Without it, he’d be unable to fully block the explosion that would eviscerate Saburo, and likely Kururu himself if he was within its radius. Obtaining his supply of Koredinite so quickly that night was the one merciful drop of serendipity in an ocean of failure. There was no guarantee that he’d be able to obtain more any time soon. This entire venture—the longest week of his life—would be in vain.

Desperate for solutions, he looked toward Tsukeke, who was cradling the clipboard in the crook of his arm and gripping his Koredinite in the opposite hand. It was in even worse shape than the reality pen, being split so deeply down the middle that it looked like half the stone would break clean off with a light tap. The disemboweled mineral’s very core could be seen through the slit, shuddering as though shouldering an entire continent.

“If that thing blows before we figure this out, we’re screwed,” Kururu said through tightly clenched teeth. “I can’t use much more of mine, or—”

“I know.”

Tsukeke spoke in a flat whisper, so calm that Kururu found it almost infuriating. Did the stakes still mean nothing to him, even after they’d supposedly gotten through to each other? For Kururu, it was almost like looking in the mirror at his usual indecipherable, calculating self. Him, of all people, getting a taste of his own medicine would be worth a chuckle if this situation wasn't literally deadly serious.

“Okay, so?” Kururu tried to mask the panic bubbling in his throat. “Are you waitin’ for me to give orders or something? ’Cuz for once, I don’t got a—”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

Tsukeke shot Kururu a quick glance, his eyes glazed over with a shadowy veil. Embarrassing as it was, Kururu couldn’t stop his jaw from hanging. But before he could formulate a response, Tsukeke took a few steps forward with the tip of his Koredinite hovering over his paper.

“What’s this?” the Quietite grunted, twitching as it began to regain control of its muscles. “I almost thought you were out of things to say.”

“I am.”

Tsukeke began to draw. Not write—draw. Kururu watched, breath hitched, as the other Keronian sketched furiously across the page. Finally, he swooped his arm with one last emphatic stroke.

With that, the Koredinite in his hand shattered instantly, and its sparkling remains scattered about like ashes in the wind.

The paper on the clipboard evaporated in a puff of smoke, and Tsukeke tossed the apparatus aside, its purpose rendered null. When the smoke cleared, he held in his left hand…

…a large handheld laser gun.

“…Huh?” Kururu was incredulous. A really big gun? It was such an unexpectedly straightforward approach, he wondered if Tsukeke had taken a page out of Giroro’s book.

The Quietite seemed to balk. “How barbaric,” they said, mildly revolted. “Oh well.”

Having finally managed to recover, it brushed the air, and its slab appeared once more between the crackling rays of light.

“Whether I trade blows against words or gunfire matters not to me,” it boasted, readying its fountain pen. It began to write:

The power of silence eventually crushes all who

ZRRRRT.

A hiss tore through the air as a bright red laser soared toward the Quietite at high speed. Before they could even blink, the laser broke through the slab of light and completely seared off the hand they were using to write. It all happened so fast, the masked alien seemed frozen in shock for a split second before it clutched the smoldering stump where its hand used to be and screeched in pain.

“Wh-wh-wha…?” They stammered, the mystique in their voice gone as they choked back screams. “Y-y-you can’t do that…!”

“Oh, really?” Tsukeke said, cold with a hint of feigned innocence. “I thought we weren’t playing by the rules this time. Or did that only apply to you?”

The Quietite’s eye nearly bulged out of its head. Kururu couldn’t help but chuckle, loathe as he was to give Tsukeke points for style. But he also wasn’t sure if this was enough—judging by the ease with which the shot connected despite the defensive field and the Quietite’s reaction, perhaps the regeneration had been stunted, but no damage was truly permanent. They would have to use their limited resources to push it even further if they wanted to force it to relinquish its control over the area, but how far would it need to be pushed? Was it even possible to shatter its will?

Just as that thought crossed Kururu’s mind, Tsukeke bent his knees, then leapt into the air with all his might. The moon-like gravity carried him forward in an arc, and he soon descended upon the Quitite. He latched onto the collar of its jacket…

…and pointed the laser gun point-blank at its heart.

Kururu felt his veins freeze over. No way.

“You! What do you think you’re doing now?!” the Quietite exclaimed. They attempted to pry Tsukeke off them with their remaining hand to no avail, and the smaller alien only dug the weapon deeper into their chest.

“You said you won’t give yourself up, didn’t you?” Tsukeke cocked the gun once more, flicking a switch to open the barrel wider. “This is the only option, then.”

Tsukeke looked back at Kururu over his shoulder, still resisting the thrashing Quietite by wrapping his legs against its torso and planting his boots firmly against its sides.

“Leave, Sergeant Major. Don’t risk getting close or wasting more of your Koredinite.”

Despite everything, Kururu found himself stiffened. “You can’t be serious. If you do this in the realm between space-time, even if I reset the timeline, then...”

The Quietite sneered as it finally relented, loosening its grip. “He’s right, foolish Keronian. Don’t you realize what slaying me means for you?”

Tsukeke nodded solemnly. “I still think the vision given to me by the mist was destiny,” he said, total calm in his voice, “but my ambitions to fulfill it were misguided. This is what I was meant to do—to let countless lives continue unimpeded, through good and bad.”

“Tch…”

Kururu balled his fists. They’d finally gotten to the point where they could maybe, just maybe, make something resembling peace with each other. And now this…

“There isn’t anything left for me, Sergeant Major,” Tsukeke said, as if to assuage Kururu’s doubt. “But you’ve earned your second chance. Go take it.”

Kururu nearly smacked himself. What was he thinking, faltering when granted such an opportunity? Exhaling sharply and shaking his head, he frantically began to scribble on his paper—hopefully the last one he’d need to use.

Not today. There’s too many suckers back there who need me.

Kururu slammed the page into the empty air as though he was against a wall. As the door materialized at the exit point, Tsukeke called out to him.

“Promise me,” he said, “that you’ll savor every moment—and that you won’t make the same mistakes I have.”

Kururu turned to meet his gaze one last time. For the first time since Tsukeke ambushed the Keroro Platoon what felt like ages ago, his eyes had fully sparkled to life. The sergeant major cracked a grin.

“Ku, ku. Like I need you to tell me that.”

Tsukeke smiled back at him. “Blagadaryu vas, Sergeant Major Kururu.”

Kururu didn’t know off the top of his head what that meant, but it wasn’t hard to tell.

“Don’t mention it, old man.”

Not hesitating another moment, Kururu dove through the portal. Secretly, he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to witness the explosion this time. But more importantly, it was clear to see Tsukeke had no regrets—and so Kururu couldn’t afford to have them either.

As the brief dimensional transfer began, the world around Kururu became wrapped in a prismatic light. But just before it all turned to nothing but a memory, he saluted Tsukeke's silhouette as it faded away.

“Now, any last words from you?”

Tsukeke stared down the Quietite, his finger hovering over his weapon’s trigger. He no longer hugged his legs around their body; now that Kururu was gone, he could simply shoot if the enemy alien attempted to make another move. It was over for them.

The Quietite shook its head. “The least I could do to prove that quiet prevails is to go out in courageous silence.”

“You know, you’ve been awfully chatty despite your own mantra. Oh well.”

Tsukeke’s gloved fingertip brushed against the smooth metal of the trigger. He took one last deep breath before making the move that would end it all—the last action he would ever take.

“You fought valiantly,” he remarked, “but it seems we can’t win many fights alone, can we?”

Click.

A large, blazing laser drilled a gaping hole through the Quietite’s chest, the worbling of the blast drowning out the Quietite’s blood-curdling screams. The recoil from the weapon gave Tsukeke the momentum to fall back some, but he was still caught within the range of the electromagnetic field that emerged around the Quietite’s body, shocking him for seconds on end. Tsukeke’s muscles convulsed rapidly, and his body felt like a million fireworks had exploded inside of him. As his vision filled with spots, he closed his eyes.

Antosha...this is what you prepared for when you fought the first Quietite, wasn’t it?

A chance to make the world a brighter place, even if you wouldn’t be there to see it. But I know you were grateful for the extra time I gave you—I was the one who couldn’t face what happened afterward.

I’m sorry I betrayed your final wish... I hope this makes up for it just a little.

Tsukeke felt himself become numb from head to toe; his heart struggled to beat. Perhaps the blast getting him first would have been more merciful, if he would have even deserved such a thing. But even as is, he couldn’t be more at peace.

I don’t know if I’ll get to see you again, but if I do, I’ll tell you what the world is like now…

A twinkle flashed above the Quietite’s chest. The air rumbled, and a ball of blue flame ballooned outward.

And that, no matter how imperfect, it’s still beautiful.

By the time the smoke from the blast withered away, all the warps in the area had been demolished. This area of the limbo was now a desert land, but any places those warps once led to were definitively liberated from the Quietite’s grasp.

And where there was once a Quietite and a Keronian, there was nothing but a pair of dreams lost to time and space.

Kururu stumbled into the alleyway from which he’d come, so disoriented that he almost fell flat on his face. When he managed to stand straight, he was immediately overwhelmed by the bright orange glare of the setting sun. The feeling of solid pavement underneath his feet was so foreign, it was like he was in a lucid dream. But once he’d blinked away the blindness and the streets of Inner Tokyo came into view, he felt a wave of sweet relief wash over him. He took a deep breath. He was home.

Having caught up with reality, Kururu pondered his next move. His saucer had presumably been recalled to the base, his headphones were still nonfunctional, and like hell was he using the reality pen again before he could fix it up while it was still salvageable. Lazy as he usually was, he’d have to trek back to the Hinata house on foot. He did still have a communicator—if he could get through to Mois, perhaps she could arrange for someone to come for him...

“Kururu-kun!!”

A familiar voice rang out from above. Kururu didn’t even have time to look up before Dororo had already landed in front of him out of a flip, with Koyuki descending behind him a few seconds later. The baby blue Keronian darted over to Kururu and clasped both hands in his.

“Thank heavens you’re all right!” Dororo cried, tears pooling in his eyes. “At least I think you are! You’re not hurt, right? What happened with the Quietite? Also, where’s Tsukeke-do—”

“Cool it with the twenty questions, man. Yeesh.” Kururu shifted awkwardly, taken aback (though by now, he really shouldn’t have been). He glanced at the girl in the back.

“What are you two even doing here? Have you been hangin’ around this whole time?”

Koyuki giggled. “Dororo was too anxious to wait for you at home. I came here with him to keep him company.”

“Sorry to surprise you like this. It’s just...” Dororo sighed longingly. “It’s been a long few hours...”

“Hours?” Kururu cocked his head. To him, the fight with the Quietite felt like it had taken a single hour at most, perhaps less. Supposing time passed faster in his home dimension, how long had it actually been...?

“Oh, right!” Dororo let out a gasp, reawakening to the urgency of the moment. Wide-eyed, he shook Kururu’s arms. “You can fill me in on the way! We must head back and fix everything soon!”

“There’s nothing I wanna do more, but…why the panic?” Kururu was almost afraid to learn the answer.

“The truth is...” Dororo gulped.

“We’ve been gone for four days!”

Chapter Text

Kururu had barely turned the corner into the Hinatas’ living room when he was immediately suffocated by tackle-hugs from Keroro, Tamama, and Mois, which for him was a little too warm of a welcome. After a brief struggle, he wriggled out of the dogpile with his cheeks and ego burnt to a crisp, but was immediately placated when Aki offered a bowl of beef stew that had been set aside for him. It was no curry, but anything would do to quell the gnawing of his stomach now that the adrenaline fueling his body had fizzled away.

While Kururu stuffed his cheeks like a chipmunk, Dororo explained to the rest of the group what had transpired in their absence, at least according to what Kururu relayed to him. At the reveal of Tsukeke’s sacrifice, the platoon appeared a bit pensive, despite what he’d put them through.

“So he went out nobly in the end.” Giroro closed his eyes in reflection. “I guess a soldier’s sense of honor was still deep inside him after all.”

“Mr. Sergeant’s heroic aura must have rubbed off on him!” Tamama cooed, starry-eyed and beaming. “The true power of the Keron Star is the most awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure!”

“Gero?” Keroro tilted his head. “What are you talking about, sir?”

Tamama’s grin faded. “Huh? You don’t remember?”

Keroro frowned, nonplussed. “Remember what?”

“When you took Tsukeke down…”

“Oh, that!” The sergeant perked up, then pounded his chest haughtily. “I totally nailed that wrestling move, didn’t I? I practiced after seeing it on TV!”

“He’s not talking about that,” Giroro said flatly. “Don’t tell me you forgot about how you turned into your old self for a bit there.”

Keroro stared at him with a blank gaze. “Uh… I was a decent fencer back in training school too, if that’s what you mean…”

The whole group fell silent. With a horde of disappointed looks—even from Tamama—pointed at him, Keroro balked. “What’s the matter? What’d I say, sir?!”

Mois let out a sigh. “Talk about an awkward moment…”

“Ne’er mind ’at,” Kururu said with his mouth still full. He swallowed the last spoonful of stew he’d scarfed down, then set the bowl aside on the coffee table and turned toward the Hinata siblings. “Has anyone started asking questions at your school?”

“The first-years don’t talk as much about Saburo-san as the second- or third-years, but even I heard that some teachers were discussing sending someone to his place to check on him,” Fuyuki said, rubbing the back of his head. “Apparently, it’s been too long, even for him…”

“I had to lie to Yayoi and Satsuki that I didn’t know anything,” Natsumi admitted with a grimace. But then she rebounded, her eyes shining with hope. “You’re going to bring him back now, though. Right, Kururu?”

“You know it,” Kururu replied with a thumbs-up. “I sorta abused the new reality pen, so I need to patch it up real quick, but then it’s go time.”

“I’ve secured the vial with the portal,” said Giroro, pulling it out from behind him. “But if I remember correctly, the window for action in that time slip seemed a bit tight. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“C’mon, Senpai. Who do you think I am?” Kururu shot him a confident smirk, which betrayed the little knot in his chest as the what-if crossed his mind. But now was no time to waver—not right before the finish line.

“I know how you are when you get serious, so I’ll trust you on that,” said Giroro, nodding. “I might not remember it soon, but I’m glad that wasn’t all for nothing.”

“Thanks again for helping everyone out, Giroro,” Natsumi told the corporal with a smile.

“O-oh…” Giroro lowered his head to hide his softened expression. “Of course. It’s a soldier’s duty to back up his teammates, after all…”

Natsumi giggled. “I bet they couldn’t have done it without you. Especially the stupid frog.”

“Aww, come on!” Keroro whined, red in the face. “Seriously, why’s everyone picking on me?! I went through hell and back out there, and this is what I get…”

The sergeant spun off into a rant, and the group chittered away as they tried to quell him. Meanwhile, slightly off to the side, Dororo observed the group with a wistful look in his eye, silent as a shadow.

Koyuki knelt down beside the lance corporal and gently poked his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“…Hmm?”

Dororo’s reaction was delayed. He blinked a few times before turning to his friend, smiling wryly. “Oh, yes, just fine. All’s well that ends well…”

As if he wasn’t being obvious enough, the forced laugh that followed surely gave him away. Koyuki chuckled.

“You know I know you better than that, silly goose,” she chided, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “But you’re gonna forget all about whatever’s bothering you soon, right? And then everything will be back to normal!”

That’s just the problem, Dororo wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. He simply nodded, avoiding meeting his friend’s eyes.

“You sure do know how to look on the bright side, Koyuki-dono…”

“Ahem!” Kururu cleared his throat loudly, hushing the chatter in the room. “I think I’ve goofed off here long enough. See you dweebs never, at least not in this timeline.”

He gave a lazy two-fingered salute to the group and started to head toward his lab. However, after a few steps, he halted in his tracks mid-strut.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Kururu spun around again. “Natsumi Hinata.”

“Huh?” The girl in question pointed at herself. “Me? What is it?”

“Word of advice.” Kururu brought his hand closer to his mouth in a poor attempt to stifle his chortles. “Once he gets back, you should quit while you’re ahead, or you’ll be disappointed...”

Natsumi’s jaw hung agape, and the atmosphere of the whole room became noticeably heavier.

“Hold on.” Natsumi finally managed to squeak out. “Say what?”

Kururu turned again to face away from her. “I said ‘bye,’ that’s what. Ku, ku, ku...”

“Why, you… You can’t just say that and leave!” Natsumi cried, her confusion seemingly having been replaced by disgust in an instant. “Get back here and explain right this minute! Kururu!!”

Right as she began to give chase, Kururu simply disappeared in a fit of chortles after stepping on one of his warp panels. While Fuyuki and Koyuki fought to hold back the fuming girl, Dororo slipped away with a sigh. Although the timeline hadn’t been fixed just yet, it almost felt like the old status quo had already resumed.

As he expected, it appeared he was the only one on the fence.

“…And in pop culture news, fans are in a frenzy over the mysterious disappearance of rising radio star 623, who allegedly has not been seen nor heard from since last week. In an interview earlier today, his producer claimed that his team is still working privately with the authorities to locate the local celebrity, whose true identity is concealed to the public. But speculation is—”

“Yeah, yeah. Good luck with that.”

Kururu turned the dial of the small radio on his desk to a station playing J-pop. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, as it didn’t truly feel like several days had passed since he’d last been at home. It only took three minutes of listening to the news for the story to come up on the air, lighting the fire under his bottom once more. He could only imagine the pressure he’d be under if he didn’t have a way out literally in the palm of his hand.

As Kururu tinkered with the damaged reality pen, Dororo, having caught up to him in the base, leaned against the back of the lab chair while kneeling atop a cushion. He didn’t ask if he could tag along, but he felt like he didn’t need to at this point—and if he wasn’t welcome, he would already know.

“What was that about before?” Dororo asked, referring to the snide remark Kururu had made before exiting the living room. “It sounds like it hurt poor Natsumi-dono…”

“Oh, it wasn’t much,” Kururu said. “I just wanted to get that off my chest while I can skirt the consequences. Ku, ku…”

Dororo frowned, trying to parse what Kururu could possibly be hinting at. “I feel like I’m missing something here,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kururu waved a hand nonchalantly. “It’s just that the will-they-won’t-they stuff got boring a while ago, y’know? But at least I can use it to wring some cash out of Natsumi… The Nishizawa girl offers a lot more, though…”

Dororo shook his head. “I still don’t get it, but your callousness never ceases to confound me,” he groaned.

Kururu sneered. “Thanks for the compliment.”

The conversation ended there, and the two fell silent for a while. Dororo looked up toward the sky, lost in thought amid the din of machinery, the beats playing softly through distorted speakers, and the occasional sparking of Kururu’s soldering iron. Weirdly enough, the sight of the half-finished roof was almost nostalgic. Back when he watched the Kururu Robo soar off into the night sky that fateful night, he had no idea just how much would unfold so quickly.

The next time he’d see the gaping chunk in the ceiling—which would surely still be there after the reset—what would he feel then? Would he feel anything? Would he even have a reason to come here?

Dororo exhaled sharply to try and breathe the worries away. He couldn’t think such things. This had to be done.

To take his mind off of that, he decided to change the topic.

“I meant to ask this earlier,” Dororo said, “but why won’t resetting the timeline undo Tsukeke-dono’s sacrifice? After all, the events that lead to it will never occur, right?”

“It’s a bit tricky to describe, but the plane between time and space is isolated in a limbo-like continuum,” Kururu explained. “It would’ve been real bad for us if Tsukeke had actually obliterated us, ’cuz getting wiped out in there might as well be like getting erased from existence in any other time or dimension.”

Dororo furrowed his eyebrows. “But it won’t be as if he’d never existed at all, right? That would cause a multitude of paradoxes…”

“When I cause the change, the timeline will first restore itself in full before diverting—like reverting a document to a previous version before making new edits,” Kururu said as he clacked away on his keyboard. “Then, when the continuum starts to update itself with the rewrites, it’ll try to return Tsukeke to where he was at the divergence point. But since he’ll be off the map entirely, it won’t be able to ‘pull’ him back in—he’ll pretty much just go poof, and that’ll be that.”

Dororo shuddered. “That sounds a bit terrifying.”

“He won’t feel or notice a thing. Neither will you when you suddenly snap back to over a week ago.” Kururu stretched his arms over his head. “Technically, it’ll be the same for everyone and everything that’s ever existed in this dimension’s current timeline. Kinda mind-blowing, huh? Ku, ku…”

“Mm. It’s perhaps too existential to comprehend.” Dororo rubbed his chin. “That does still leave one mystery, though. How will the time mist grant him the vision of us arriving when that never happens? Maybe he’ll see something different or nothing at all…”

“We’ll never know for sure, sadly, but I do have some thoughts about it.” Kururu paused to snap in a mechanical part, and Dororo could hear something sliding on his desk. “Based on what we know about the mist, I assumed the vision I had earlier of my succeeding in saving Saburo was preordained—I didn’t think about what would happen if the conditions leading up to an event were physically impossible to replicate. But maybe the mist can actually put someone on a slightly different but parallel timeline, and the timeline where I fail will still be out there somewhere, even if it won’t be this one anymore.”

“Goodness. This is really getting perplexing,” Dororo muttered, clutching his head.

“Tell me about it.” Kururu snickered. “Anything involving time travel is full of black boxes. But that combined with the power it could potentially grant is what makes it so exciting to study…even though I would’ve preferred a catalyst other than this.”

Dororo hummed. “So if your theory ends up true, it’s possible that you weren’t really destined to save Saburo-dono after all. You might’ve gotten this far entirely through your own hope and effort.”

“Well, whether it was supposed to happen or not, here we are. That’s what’s most important.”

The music coming from the radio died down, and the chair shifted slightly as Kururu began to wiggle his way out of it. “On that note…”

Dororo quickly jumped up as Kururu hopped down from his seat, freshly repaired reality pen in hand. Kururu twirled the pen around his fingers, showing it off.

“Good as new!” he sang. “And now for the victory lap.”

Unexpectedly, he clapped Dororo firmly on the shoulder as he passed by, jolting the ninja slightly.

“Giroro-senpai gave me the vial. It’s in the console drawer,” he said. “Take it to the hangar with me, wouldja?”

“Wh-what? You want me to carry it?” Dororo couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. He never imagined he’d be trusted with such a delicate task at the last minute.

“You kept me from falling off a mech three hundred meters in the air while I was half-conscious,” Kururu said dryly. “I think you can handle holding a tube for a few minutes.”

Dororo let a little air out of his nose. “That was indeed much more difficult.”

With that, he pulled open the drawer underneath the center panel of Kururu’s wide station and wrapped a hand around the glowing, green vial within. Black plasma whooshed around inside it, causing the glass to vibrate against his palm. Gingerly, he removed it from its place and caressed it like it was his own child.

When Dororo turned around again, Kururu was whistling and bouncing a bit on his heels. Dororo smiled—he knew how long the sergeant major had been waiting for this moment. He would be so much happier when this was over. Everyone would be, even if they’d never know things were any different.

Dororo hugged the vial tightly against his chest. This was for the best.

It had to be done.

Dororo was quiet during the short trip to the hangar, as Kururu spent most of the time briefing the rest of the household over his handheld communicator on what would occur soon. The audio was too fuzzy from Dororo’s position to make out what the others were saying, but their murmurs sounded equally excited and anxious. Kururu had to repeat several times in deadpan that “No, getting reset won’t hurt,” which gave Dororo a little chuckle. By the time Kururu had signed off, they’d arrived at the mouth of the hangar.

The hangar was a spacious area composed of a wide, octagonal middle connected to several corridors, which were lined with ground lights and passed through a gallery of cases containing all kinds of mechanical weaponry. But the pad in the center was where the large mechs and aircraft were launched from, hence the sector’s namesake, despite the fact that it would be more accurately described as a storage facility for general military gear.

At the end of each corridor was a door leading to a smaller room where a specific class of weapons was stored. One of these rooms held all the platoon’s personalized combat robots. Kururu instructed Dororo to wait near the center, then scurried off to retrieve his mech.

Out of an abundance of caution to avoid dropping the vial—apparently it needed to be uncapped to be released properly, a mechanism which Dororo didn’t quite understand but didn’t question—Dororo stood perfectly still. This was something he was normally decent at meditating through, but the cold, dim, and imposing hangar was far from his preferred space to relax in. On top of that, it took a hefty amount of willpower not to scratch the shoulder Kururu had touched before, which had all of a sudden become strangely itchy.

Eventually, the hallway leading to the mech storage room began to widen, shaking and groaning as it did so. The large metal door at the end opened, and the Kururu Robo came thundering down the hall. Dororo hopped back as the mech came to the center, slowing to a stop while still hovering in midair. Kururu peered down at Dororo from the cockpit.

“It passed all the checks twice over. We’re good to go,” Kururu called, making a “V” sign with his fingers. “Do the honors, Senpai.”

“R-right.”

Dororo held out the vial, positioning himself so that the wormhole would be released right in front of the Kururu Robo. He slid his hand up to the cap, took a deep breath, and..

Fwooooom!

As soon as Dororo popped off the cap, a stream of energy shot out of the vial like a bolt of lightning. Flashes of black and green swirled around a small white core like a mini tornado, gradually forming into a spherical shape. When all was said and done, the wormhole pulsated before them, bathing them in a neon glow.

They had seen what felt like a million of these wormholes in the inter-dimensional space, all of which were practically identical. And yet, this one looked the most mesmerizing of all. Dororo felt his heart race faster the longer he stared at it.

“Well, this is it.” Kururu wriggled in his seat and licked his lips. “Moment of truth.”

“At long last, huh? ” Dororo said, voice uneven.

“Remember, I’ve only got one shot, so I’d better be damn sure to make it count.” Kururu drummed his fingers against the handlebars of his mech. “Naturally, I’ve already run dozens of simulations in my head, so I should be fine, but…”

Dororo tried his best to smile. “I believe with all my heart you’ll pull through. You’ve fought excellently all this time, after all.”

“Ku!” Kururu grinned back. “You’re right. And hey, you weren’t half bad either. Pretty good, even.”

“I’m flattered to hear that…”

Dororo looked down at the ground, hoping to conceal the redness he felt the heat of slowly creeping across his cheeks. He was trembling now, and he knew why—but he wouldn’t dare say.

Unfortunately for him, Kururu was quite the observant man.

“What’re you so nervous about?” Kururu teased with a scoff. “I’m the one under pressure here, ya weirdo.”

“I-it’s not that! It’s just…”

Dororo looked back up at Kururu as he struggled to come up with an answer. But as soon as Kururu saw his face, the smirk upon his own collapsed.

“Oi. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Kururu grumbled. “I know you’re a crybaby, but still…”

“I-I’m crying?” Dororo squeaked, then dabbed at his eyes. Sure enough, his knuckles became wet with tears. “Oh…”

At this point, Dororo knew he was cornered—there was no use hiding it anymore. His breaths became shaky as he tried to stop himself from bursting.

“…I’m sorry,” Dororo choked out. “I’m so, so, so sorry…”

Dororo sniffled, wiping at his eyes again. Kururu let out a vexed-sounding sigh, leering at Dororo for a moment. But the wormhole wasn’t on a time limit now that it had been reset, so, perhaps begrudgingly, he climbed down from his seat.

“C’mon, man. You don’t even have anything to apologize for.” Kururu put his hands on his hips after landing. “It’s pathetic when people self-flagellate for no good reason…”

Dororo bowed his head again. “No, I do have to apologize. For my…craven, selfish thoughts!”

Kururu lowered his arms, softening his stance. “Huh?”

“I…” Dororo gulped and clenched his fists. “I…!”

“What?” Kururu knitted his brows. “Spit it out alrea—”

“I don’t want the reset to happen!”

Kururu flinched, as though taken aback by just how loudly Dororo had shouted. Dororo himself was ashamed by his delivery, but he continued, trying to bite back tears.

“I-I know that you have to do this! My feelings do not matter more than Saburo-dono’s life!” Dororo whimpered. “But I want to remember!”

Kururu huffed. “I can’t take you with me. Because if something does go wrong—”

“I know.” Dororo inhaled sharply. “I know. But ever since you reminded me back in Siberia that it will be like everything never happened, I started to think about what we’d both lose...”

Kururu was silent, even as Dororo looked him right in the eye. And so, Dororo continued.

“Before all this, our relationship was cordial. I respected your abilities as a teammate, despite your…quirks,” he said. “But this incident has shown me sides of you I’ve never gotten to see. It felt…personal. I thought, in better times, perhaps we could learn even more about each other—as true friends. But now…”

Dororo shook his head. “Even if you tell me everything, without my having experienced it myself, it just won’t be the same. What we’ve kindled between the two of us…or at least, what I think we have…”

Dororo trailed off as he paused to gauge Kururu’s reaction. Finally opening up about this did make the weight on his chest lighter, but as Kururu simply stood there without so much as a twitch, Dororo began to fear he’d made him uncomfortable at best, or angered him at worst. It wouldn’t be unjustified. After all, who was Dororo to unload such burdensome feelings onto him right before his most pivotal task—the one that would decide whether his best friend lived or died?

Dororo opened his mouth, ready to apologize again. But before that, Kururu spoke:

“What have you gotten out of this, Senpai?”

Dororo blinked rapidly, having half-expected to be rebuked in some way rather than asked a question like this. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m a give-and-take kinda guy. You scratch my back, I scratch yours—that sort of thing.” Kururu rubbed the nape of his neck. “But I’ve been doing a lot of taking this whole time, and all I’ve been giving you is a pain in the ass. So I’m not sure what you have to gain from putting up with me longer...”

Dororo tilted his head in thought. He didn’t see this as a transaction, and given the circumstances, he never felt used—in fact, when he was most frustrated with Kururu, it was because he wasn’t taking advantage of his efforts enough. Indeed, if he had to name something…

“This might sound presumptuous of me, but…you helped me feel more needed than I have in a long time—as a person, not just as a comrade in arms,” Dororo said solemnly. “I try my hardest to be of use, and still so often I’ve been cast aside. I don’t want you to bear the burden of dealing with any trauma alone, and easing your pain relieves some of mine. So…”

Dororo inched closer to Kururu and swallowed.

“Please…come to me again. Lean on me," Dororo pleaded in a soft whisper. “It might take me a while to understand, but just let me hear you speak from your heart, and I swear I’ll be your rock again...”

For the briefest of moments, Dororo could’ve sworn he saw Kururu’s perpetually clenched teeth part—a sight so rare, he questioned if he was imagining it. But soon the smirk was back in place, even wider than before.

“You really are something, Senpai,” Kururu said. “I guess it’d be kind of a waste not to keep you around.”

Dororo felt his cheeks glow. “You mean that?”

Kururu shrugged. “Don’t have a reason not to.”

A sigh of relief escaped Dororo’s lips. As much as it pained him to think that it wouldn’t ever be the same, if Kururu was sincere, perhaps starting over wouldn’t be so bad. He swung open his arms, ready to wrap Kururu in an embrace, but paused with them splayed out.

“Ah,” he said, catching himself. “May I…?”

Kururu cleared his throat. “On one condition.”

“What’s tha—”

Before Dororo could finish his statement, Kururu reached over and brushed away the tears he didn’t realize still stained his face.

“No puppy dog eyes.” Kururu put on a sour pout. “I don’t want the last time I see this timeline’s Dororo-senpai to make me think of torture by Mois. Blegh.“

After being stunned for a brief moment, Dororo laughed snottily, then squinted his eyes and scrunched up his face in an attempt to smile wide. “Is this better?”

Kururu wrinkled his nose. “Ehhh… You look creepy now. But whatever.”

He lifted his arms, holding them out awkwardly at his sides. He turned his head away bashfully, but nevertheless, curled both sets of fingers in a beckoning motion. And Dororo, more than happy to oblige, threw himself around Kururu, pressing his cheek against the side of the yellow Keronian’s head.

Kururu’s arms crept along Dororo’s back, stopping midway before lightly patting the ninja. Kururu’s hug, Dororo realized, was quite different from others he’d felt—it wasn’t as passionate as Keroro’s or as warm as Koyuki’s, nor was his grip anywhere near as firm as Giroro’s. It was clumsy, clearly reticent…but in its own way, it was gentle, as though he were trying to cradle a baby bird.

“For someone who doesn’t like hugs much,” Dororo whispered, “you’re quite decent at it.”

“Good to know.” Kururu simpered. “I’ll start charging for ’em, then. Ku, ku…”

After a bit longer, the two pulled apart, each satisfied enough with their goodbyes. Kururu turned to face the Kururu Robo, whose persistent humming had been their sole source of background noise this whole time. He hopped back into the cockpit and immediately did one more quick scan of the mech’s configurations—it was better to be safe than sorry.

For hsi final check, Kururu flipped open the glove compartment, where the freshly repaired reality pen was secured. For no practical reason, he brushed it with his thumb, letting it hover over the part where Saburo’s branding would hopefully soon be.

With that, he slowly closed the lid, pressing his palm down to make sure it had been shut properly so that it wouldn’t pop open mid-flight. He swallowed heavily as he peered into the eye of the storm within the portal, which dared him to enter.

After one last deep breath, he revved the engine. The machine began to rumble, though not as loudly as his own heartbeat.

“Here goes nothin’,” he exclaimed, knuckles turning white as he squeezed the handlebars.

“Kururu-kun, be careful!” Dororo called from below. Despite everything, Kururu managed a chuckle.

“Oh, you better believe I will.” Following that, just low enough that only he could hear, he mumbled:

“Thank you, Senpai.”

With a grunt, he tilted the mech forward. A red flare burst from the thrusters, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, the fading echo of the jet engine being the sole remnant of his presence in this timeline.

Dororo was alone now, with only the wormhole left behind. He closed his eyes, silently praying to whoever could hear him that the next time he opened them, he would have no recollection of the current moment. Still, he continued to replay the last embrace he shared with Kururu in his mind, grasping it for as long as he could before it slipped like sand through his fingers. Perhaps if he willed it strongly enough, he figured, his feelings would remain lingering somewhere inside him, waiting to be reawakened someday.

Events could change, memories could be replaced, but Dororo wanted to believe the deepest of sensations could ripple through time.

September 12, 2008.

A bright light coated the night sky in white. The flare lasted perhaps half a second, but as though the moment had been captured with a camera’s flash, that half a second would remain in Sergeant Major Kururu’s mind for the rest of his life.

One more minute. At his current velocity, that’s all he’d needed.

Kururu dove head-on toward the explosion and slammed the control sticks to the side, whirling around in a semicircle as the blast expanded behind him. His stomach lurched as the force of the turn almost sent him flying over the side of his seat, but he wasn’t going to miss a beat. He threw up the Kururu Robo’s rear shields, then jammed his hand into the glove compartment, pulling out the reality pen.

Head spinning, Kururu leapt forward into the air. He pulled back his arm to toss the pen, locking eyes with the boy in front of him, who called his name in surprise. As Kururu let out the breath he’d been holding for so long, he yelled as loud as his lungs would allow him, shouting over the roar of the fireball:

“Saburo! Use this!!”

Saburo grasped the pen smoothly, and Kururu landed on his feet behind him, holding out his arms to keep his balance. He could make out the sound of his shields shattering, sealing the fate of the Kururu Robo—but the mech could be replaced. He’d managed to save what was irreplaceable.

Because he made it right on time.

Chapter Text

Just as he had in another future, Kururu once again gazed up at the sky as the large rainbow butterfly flapped its wings, sprinkling him in sparkles while fluttering off into the night. Only this time, it wasn’t an ethereal vision—and he wasn’t alone.

He snuck a few peeks over his shoulder, curious to see if he’d find the old version of himself running toward them, but naturally, he didn’t show. That Kururu no longer existed—at least not in this universe. He never had and never would, except within Kururu's own mind. The line between memory and imagination is sometimes a thin one, however.

Regardless, the future past was unimportant for the time being. The present belonged to this Kururu…and Saburo, who was very much alive, standing right at his side.

As they blocked the blast, Kururu briefly explained to Saburo that another human had been in his exact position before, mostly for the purpose of cluing him in to what he’d narrowly escaped thanks to Kururu’s efforts. He seemed to have picked up on it, which was good enough for Kururu, but of course…

“There’s a lot more to the story than that.”

“Huh?”

Huh? Kururu blinked in confusion after Saburo spoke. He looked to see the boy staring down at him with his head tilted slightly to the side. Kururu was unsure what exactly Saburo had just responded to…until he quickly came to the conclusion he’d let slip what he was thinking out loud.

“I didn’t say anything,” he mumbled, ducking his head furtively.

Saburo seemed to ponder this for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, okay, then.”

The butterfly was beginning to fade from view, its silhouette backlit by the crescent moon. Kururu let out an elongated sigh as he plopped down on the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his forearms on his thighs. He finally had a chance to slow down after being on pins and needles for days, and yet his mind still raced as fast as ever.

Up until now, he’d been so busy focusing on making this happen in the first place that he never thought about what to do once he was with Saburo again. Enjoying each other’s presence in silence was more or less the foundation of their relationship, but this was a special case—Kururu felt like he had to fill the air with something. But what?

There was no way he could tell Saburo what really happened right then and there. Even if he managed to somehow play it off with his usual blasé demeanor, as though he hadn’t had the most nauseating experience of his adult life, he wasn’t sure if Saburo himself was ready to hear it. Kururu could almost find amusement in the macabre notion of telling someone right in front of him that he’d watched them die if he was more detached from the matter, especially since the average person in their right mind probably wouldn’t even believe him—but Saburo was decidedly not an average person nor quite in his right mind.

Kururu heard the sand on the ground shift, so he turned his head to find that Saburo had sat down cross-legged next to him. The boy scrunched his eyebrows as he examined the Keronian’s face.

“You good?”

“Eh?”

If Kururu were talking to anyone else, he would be shocked that he had the gall to ask him that, as though he was the one who cheated death—but such a move was very much like Saburo.

Saburo ran a hand through his bangs. “I mean…you look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Not wrong, in a sense, Kururu thought, but saying that would raise way too many questions.

“Nah.” Kururu bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s just, y’know…”

I’m sorry I’m such a dumbass. I’m sorry you’re such a dumbass. Don’t ever do that again. I’m never doing this again. Go to hell. Don’t go anywhere.

Kururu tapped his foot rapidly as he racked his brain for the right response, gaze darting back and forth between Saburo and the ground. While doing this, he happened to notice what he hadn’t before: Saburo’s eyes were puffy from strain, and had bags underneath like a raccoon’s. His hair was both tousled and stuck to his forehead. The bandages he’d put on the shoulder wound from the last time Kururu saw him were beginning to peel off, and on top of that, a new nasty scrape branded his cheek, though it was too dark to see its color.

“You look like shit,” Kururu blurted out, inadvertently solving his problem.

For a brief moment, Saburo seemed taken aback, but his look of surprise quickly melted into a wry grin.

“Probably.”

Another pause, until…Saburo broke into full-throated laughter, causing Kururu to jump slightly.

But then, Kururu felt his own gut begin to tickle. He snorted a few times, and soon, against his will, he’d erupted into his own giggle fit. Perhaps the sheer absurdity of the whole situation had finally gotten to him, or Saburo’s laugh was simply that infectious. Maybe he was even deriding himself over how truly pathetic he’d become.

After a while of cackling in stereo, their laughs eventually trailed off, replaced by panting as the two caught their breath. The wind whistled past them, sending chills across Kururu’s skin.

While Kururu wrapped his arms around himself, Saburo cleared his throat. “Boy, we sure made a mess of things here,” he said dryly.

Kururu knew very well the level of destruction Saburo’s long bout with the Quietite left behind. He’d been back several times, after all, tinkering with piles of gaudy gadgets and pacing around the glyphs and downed tower in a fugue. And then, on his final visit…

Kururu jolted and let out a gasp, as he suddenly realized the exact spot he was in. He got on his hands and knees and started pawing at the ground.

“The lockbox. I was gonna bury it here with the pen,” Kururu muttered as he sifted through the sand rapidly. “Where’s that box? If some motherfucker swiped it, I swear…”

“What are you talking about? The pen you just gave me?” Saburo laughed again, though this time more softly, with a hint of pity. “Sounds like you’re on another planet, dude.”

Kururu grunted, the sound of Saburo’s voice having snapped him out of his funk. Oh yeah. That never happened now. He groaned and sheepishly returned to his previous sitting position without a word. When did he start succumbing to delirium?

Saburo narrowed his eyes at the Keronian. “Don’t tell me you put too much of that funny stuff you ordered online into your curry.”

Kururu shook his head. “Just tired. Haven’t slept.”

“Right.” Saburo looked down at his feet. “Me neither.”

Another curtain of quiet fell upon them as Kururu stared into space and Saburo played with some grains of sand. Eventually, the silence was broken when Saburo let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

He’d tilted his head to look at Kururu with shadowed eyes, and spoke with a lilt that almost made him sound sarcastic, as though he didn’t truly believe what he was saying. The statement caught Kururu a bit off guard, but he knew by now the difference between when Saburo was really being facetious and when he was only pretending he was.

Saburo continued, scratching his neck. “Look…I wasn’t really trying to…you know. But I got in too deep, and…“ He stopped to swallow. “I just didn’t want to—”

“Save it.”

Saburo flinched. “Huh?”

“I’m not interested in wasting time dwelling on who was the bigger idiot,” Kururu grumbled. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to assuage, but his reply must have been acceptable enough for Saburo, who nodded with a slight smile.

“Good point, I guess. Even if you are calling me an idiot.”

“Idiot, genius—two sides of the same coin,” Kururu said matter-of-factly. “Takes one to know one.”

He went back to huddling up, as cold had begun to spread through his bones, and he was starting to feel increasingly as though he was made of lead. He struggled to stay upright, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Without thinking much about it, he let out a loud, gaping yawn.

“It’s hitting you too?” Saburo gave him a sympathetic look. “I feel ya. Maybe we should go home.” He began to lift himself up, balancing on the balls of his feet in a squat.

“I’ll take you back to the Hinatas’—”

He was interrupted mid-statement when Kururu reached out and tugged on the bottom of his tank top, gripping as firmly as he could manage.

“Don’t wanna move,” Kururu murmured as he pulled tighter, his face buried in his knees.

Saburo didn’t say anything at first, but Kururu could feel his elbow bend as the boy gradually lowered himself back down.

“Sure. That’s fine,” Saburo relented. “No rush…”

Kururu released his grip, letting his arm sink limply. “Mmgph,” he grunted in approval. He was certain he was debasing himself, but he was quickly growing too drained to care.

Indeed, he could no longer ignore how the exhaustion was taking hold over his body. The traveling, the fighting, the stress, the agony, even the brief bouts of euphoria… Every experience from the last non-existent week had combined into a massive fist that walloped him repeatedly, and he was on the verge of letting it take him out. The only thing that kept him fighting was a twinge of fear that if he went to sleep now—if he relinquished this moment—he would be back inside the nightmare when he awoke.

While he was in the midst of silently pitting his mind against his body, he felt himself being lifted into the air, followed by a sensation of warmth embracing him. He was confused, but figured it out when he peered down to find two arms wrapped around his torso.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” Saburo said playfully into Kururu’s ear. “You’re still a crappy liar, alien.”

Kururu sputtered out a weak snort-laugh. That one always got him.

“And what of it, Pekoponian?” he snapped back, trying to force some snark through his weary pipes.

“Nothing. I’m not gonna force it out of you,” Saburo admitted, resting his chin against Kururu’s head. “But, you know… If you ever want to talk about it…”

“Ku, ku, ku…” Kururu lightly headbutted Saburo’s jaw from underneath. “Not in a million years, bozo.”

Saburo clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

Now it was Saburo’s turn to sneak in a yawn, a little more discreetly than Kururu had. Kururu felt himself tilting as Saburo slowly began to slide onto his back, inching forward a bit likely so as to not hit his head on a nearby stone glyph. Soon they were both flat on the ground, facing upward toward the sky. One of Saburo’s arms slipped away, but the other stayed around Kururu, strapping him against his chest.

“Wow,” Saburo breathed quietly. “Lots of stars tonight.”

The darkened sky was painted with little specks of light as far as the eye could see. It appeared a bit cloudy, as perhaps some of the fallout dust from the battle still lingered in the air, but the stars shone through nonetheless.

“Uh-huh.” Kururu tried to admire the sight, but it was getting difficult to keep his eyelids from sagging.

“I wonder if you could count ’em all,” Saburo mused. “For kilometers and kilometers, to the ends of the Earth…”

“Sounds like a lotta work,” Kururu muttered.

“It’d take a while, that’s for sure.” Saburo shifted a bit.

“Maybe that’s what people do when they’re up there, like…” He paused, then added in a voice just above a whisper, “…permanently?”

“Wha…?” Kururu’s brain was too full of static to figure out what he was getting at. Saburo released a long puff of air from his nose.

“Guess I almost found out.”

He started to laugh again, but even he couldn’t hide his shaky timbre. This was just enough to help Kururu put the pieces together. He managed to choke out a “Ku” before biting his lip.

“Sorry,” Saburo said hurriedly. “Too corny for you?”

“…’S whatever,” Kururu slurred. “Betcha can’t help it.”

“…Maybe not.”

Kururu felt Saburo squeeze him a bit harder.

“Thanks again, Kururu.”

Kururu lightly patted Saburo’s forearm and held his hand there for a minute.

“Don’t need ya to tell me twice.”

The Keronian got the impression that he wasn’t the only one who was lying, and perhaps even more caution would be required of him than he thought. But at least he’d earned the chance to figure it out. Right now, it was time to rest. He’d accomplished his hardest field mission ever—and the reward was greater than anything the army could’ve given him.

Kururu put both of his arms behind his head as he began to nod off. The tension embedded in his muscles, pent up for who knows how long, melted away as the rise and fall of Saburo’s chest rocked him to sleep. Kururu’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he drifted off into the deep slumber he so desperately needed.

At long last, with the sound of Saburo’s heart beating and lungs breathing streaming through his ears, Kururu allowed himself to dream again.

Kururu was bemused, to say the least, when he found himself on the floor of Giroro’s tent with the corporal’s pink cat batting at his face with her paw. Once he stirred with a moan, the cat trotted outside, mewling for its owner. Kururu sat up, casting off the blanket that had been hastily thrown on top of him, but he barely had time to get his bearings before the entrance flap flew open again. Giroro himself came barging in, prattling on about the depleted invasion budget and “the nerve of that kid to dump you onto me without explaining a damn thing.”

Most of Giroro’s rambling sounded like wah wah wah to Kururu, whose head felt cloudy as he tried to blink away the morning sun in his eyes. He nodded along with disinterest until Giroro huffed and grumbled to “pull yourself together and scram” before finally crawling out of the tent.

Kururu massaged his temples, then fished around for his device. When he flicked it on, he learned that it was around 8 A.M.—which, by his estimation, meant he’d slept for some time between ten and eleven hours. But more importantly, he was greeted with an unread message from Saburo, which brought Kururu back to reality quickly. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that what had happened the night before was not a dream.

In the text, Saburo explained that he’d awoken a little before dawn, but Kururu was sleeping like a log and couldn’t be roused no matter how hard he tried (he punctuated this sentence with a cheeky “(≧▽≦)”). Not wanting to disturb the Hinatas by sneaking around to get to the secret base, Saburo dropped him off with Giroro before going back to his apartment to freshen himself up and try to get some more rest. He ended by saying that Kururu was welcome to come find him later if he wanted to chat, to which Kururu replied with “k then, just make sure you redress those bandages cuz you don’t wanna know how I treat bacterial infections (@皿@)”.

Kururu giggled to himself as he pressed the button to send the last message. The return to their usual banter, as though nothing had ever happened, gave him a bubbly feeling in his chest. Life was back to normal.

Mostly.

Kururu nearly tripped and fell on a hunk of sheetrock when he entered his fully roofless lab; even just getting to his desk required him to tiptoe through a minefield of scrap metal. It never even crossed his mind that the progress he’d made on tidying up the place would be reversed, which sucked—but worse was the knot that slowly constricted his stomach when forced to recall the circumstances that had led him to that point. It was like the ghost of the dread he felt that day was creeping back in to haunt him, which almost made him want to chuck his brain out of a window.

Kururu had a hunch he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the conversation about what really happened forever. Saburo had already gotten suspicious, after all, and having a strain like that on their relationship would be quite a pain. But nothing would humiliate Kururu more than having a reaction like this in front of him—not only because of his pride, but because the last thing Saburo needed was for Kururu to drag him down any further.

So as all smart researchers did, Kururu would seek a second opinion. Particularly from someone who was more experienced with muddy feelings than he was. Someone who was mature enough to tackle such a situation, even in the face of stubborn adversity. And someone who knew how to keep a secret so Kururu wouldn’t totally destroy his reputation.

That’s why, after downing a plate of curry for breakfast in a flash and grabbing some things he needed from his lab, Kururu made his way straight to where he was standing now: in front of a certain hut in the woods on the outskirts of Inner Tokyo.

Dororo was kneeling on his engawa sipping from a tea mug when Kururu approached him. He peeked above the mug, alerted by Kururu’s footsteps plodding lightly along the dirt path, and his eyes brightened when he saw the sergeant major.

“Ah, Kururu-dono!” Dororo called, lowering his mug. “Good morning.”

Kururu raised a hand to wave at him while his other one held a device he was concealing behind his back. “’Sup.”

”I was actually hoping I’d see you today,” Dororo said, sounding chipper. “It seems like everything went all right last night, but it’s good to know for sure.”

“Mm-hmm...” Kururu responded nonchalantly at first, but twitched when something about Dororo’s statement gave him pause. “Wait—how did you know that?”

“Oh, um… I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, but…” Dororo rubbed the back of his head. “…I was a bit too worried to sleep, especially after I felt the disturbance in the air caused by that explosion, so I went out to search for you. It took a while to follow the heat current, but I managed to find you in that sandy area near the collapsed tower…”

“And?” Kururu vaguely remembered this explanation from the first timeline, but for obvious reasons, Dororo must have found something different now.

“Well, I saw that you’d fallen asleep with Saburo-dono, so I opted to leave you two alone,” Dororo said with a giggle. “I had no idea he was involved, but I suppose that explains your urgency…”

Kururu cringed. “Ugh. You saw that?“

“My apologies for the intrusion,” Dororo bowed his head, blushing. “I’m just glad you’re both unharmed.”

“Whatever.” Kururu shrugged. At least Dororo wouldn’t remember it this way for very long.

“So that aside, what brings you here?” Dororo asked, folding his hands on his lap. “I don’t imagine you want to thank me…”

“Depends on how you define ‘thanks’, I guess,” said Kururu. “In any case, I do wanna have a little chat. Ku, ku, ku...”

“Really?” Dororo seemed to smile under his mask as he patted a spot to his right. “Please do have a seat, then. Koyuki-dono wishes to sleep in this morning anyway.”

Kururu obliged, shuffling up to the engawa and lowering himself onto the free spot next to Dororo, somewhat clumsily trying to continue hiding what he was carrying. Once he’d settled into his seat, he put it to his side and turned around so it was shielded by his back. He crossed his legs and looked at Dororo, who was gazing at him intently.

“It pains me to admit this, but…” Kururu looked down as he traced the etchings in the wood with his finger. “…I owe you. I owe you a lot more than you realize. Which I hate, but it’s the truth. Ku, ku.”

“I appreciate that, but…” Dororo held up his hands. “…it wasn’t really a big deal. I was only doing what I thought was right…”

“No, really. You don’t know the half of it.” Kururu slowly raised his head, and the smirk on his face grew wider. “Not yet anyway.”

“Hmm?” Dororo cocked his head. “I’m sorry. Am I missing something here…?”

“You are right now. But that’s about to change.”

Kururu reached behind his back and finally pulled out the item he’d been concealing: a pair of headphones that looked identical to his own.

Dororo craned his neck to scrutinize the device, apprehensive. “Wh-what is this, Kururu-dono?”

“What’s it look like?” Kururu deadpanned. He tossed the pair of headphones at Dororo, who caught them in his lap. “Put ’em on, birdbrain.”

Dororo looked up and down between the headphones and Kururu, continuing to eye him with a puzzled expression. Kururu huffed with exasperation. For such an intelligent Keronian, he could be quite dense sometimes… Or perhaps it was because Dororo didn’t trust him the same way just yet.

“I’m not done picking your brain, Dororo-senpai,” Kururu said, “and I get the impression you’re not done with me either. So consider this me doin’ us both a solid.”

Kururu stared into Dororo’s bright blue eyes, which were widened with bewilderment. A stray gust made his headdress billow in the wind as he sized up the sergeant major. Kururu scooted closer and leaned in slightly, urging him on. Ultimately, Dororo took a deep breath.

“I’m not sure if this is some kind of trick,” he said as he hesitantly put one hand on each ear cup, “but I will choose to believe you.”

“Ku, ku, ku!” Kururu pulled back and relaxed his muscles, victorious. “You won’t regret it. At least I don’t think so.”

Dororo lifted the headphones and put them over his head, trying to adjust them so they fit snugly against his ears. After fiddling with them for a bit, he eventually gave up and held both muffs with his palms, the sight of which made Kururu snort.

“Now what?” Dororo asked.

“Just relax. Close your eyes or something.” Kururu pulled out from his cap a thin remote controller, hovering his index finger over a large button on the front. “You might get a headache, but it’ll only last a minute.”

”…All right.” Dororo gulped heavily, then squeezed his eyes shut. “I am ready when you are.”

“Then let’s do it,” Kururu said. He brought his fingertip down upon the button and pressed it with a sing-song “Clicky!”

He held his finger there for a few moments, then lifted it slowly. It briefly seemed as though nothing was happening, with the duo sitting still in silence, save for the chirping of the birds and gentle flowing of the water wheel in the background. Dororo began to pry one eye open, as though he was puzzled about the lack of change himself…but then it appeared to hit him. He gasped sharply and clamped his eyes shut again, deep creases forming across his eyelids as he strained, and strained, and strained…

Finally, Dororo blinked a few times, and his eyes snapped open. His hands fell away from the headphones, causing them to start sliding off his ears.

“Wh-where am I?” Dororo stammered as he whipped his head back and forth, surveying his surroundings. “Home? But I was just in…”

“The hangar, right?”

Dororo jumped at the sound of Kururu’s voice. He turned to stare bug-eyed at the sergeant major, who wore a smarmy grin. A bead of sweat trickled down Dororo’s forehead, and his voice quavered as he whispered—

“Kururu…kun?”

“That’s me.” Kururu’s smile widened. “Welcome back, Doro-boat.”

“Huh?!” Dororo yanked the headphones off his head, letting them clatter against the wood. He looked down at his trembling hands. “Why do I remember everything…?!”

Kururu opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Dororo grabbed his free arm, giving him a panicked look.

“Did the reset fail?!” Dororo squeaked, panting. “Saburo-dono… Is he still…?!”

“Chill out, my guy,” said Kururu with a slight chuckle. “He’s just fine. It went off without a hitch.”

“R-really…?” Dororo released Kururu’s arm and shrunk away, letting out a massive sigh. He put his hand over his heart, clutching his chest. “Oh. Oh, thank goodness…”

He paused for a few seconds to catch his breath, then looked back at Kururu, brows furrowed.

“How do I remember, then? I don’t understand…”

Kururu flashed the face of the remote he was holding at Dororo, revealing that the text on the protruding button shaped like Kururu’s head read RESTORE BACKUP.

“I planted a microchip into your shoulder that would record your memories and set it up to transmit them wirelessly to the backup device till I went through the wormhole,” he explained. “Then I snuck this baby to the past with me, synced it to a pair of memory altering headphones, and voilà.”

Instinctively, Dororo gripped his shoulder. “So that’s what that itchy sensation was…”

“It’s so tiny that you probably didn’t notice, but it popped out on its own, so don’t worry.” Kururu stuffed the remote back under his cap, then folded his arms and jutted up his chin, gloating. “I really do think of everything, see? Ku, ku, ku!”

Dororo gaped at him, flabbergasted. “B-but what made you even decide to do that? I didn’t tell you how I felt until the last minute…”

“Oh, please. It’s been written all over your face since we left Siberia.” Kururu scoffed and flicked a hand. “I might be a jerk, but I’m not oblivious, y’know. Just didn’t expect you to get that intense at the end there, even though I probably should’ve...”

“K-Kururu-kun…” Dororo began to sniffle. He dabbed at his eyes, which sparkled as they welled with tears. “I hardly know what to say. I’m so honored…”

Kururu reached over and tipped up his chin with his finger, giving Dororo a start.

“Good. I’ll be countin’ on ya,” Kururu said. “Just remember to keep everything between us this time, ’kay? It’ll be our…“ He added in smooth baritone, “…special little secret.”

“O-okay!” Dororo beamed, cheeks turning bright red. “I won’t let you down! You have my word!”

Kururu nodded approvingly, then turned to face the open path through the woods.

“So…are you free tomorrow?”

Dororo’s smile faded. “What?”

“I offered you a trip to Ukraine for the best borscht in the business, remember?” Kururu stretched his arms above his head. “Since we’re pretty much on vacation till the budget’s replenished, we might as well celebrate making it through all that hell.”

“But that’s so sudden…” Dororo wrung his hands. “Are you sure? I mean, I figured you’d want to spend the weekend with Saburo-dono…”

“I might go bother him a bit later to make sure he isn’t gonna give himself sepsis, but he’s kinda pooped.” Kururu licked his lips as he lowered his arms. “And I get the sense I’m not the only one of us who’s got some shit to sort out, so I could use a little time to think about stuff before I end up unloading anything ugly.”

“If you say so,” Dororo replied after hesitating for a moment. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

“I won’t. From now on, I’ll make sure to contact him every single day.” Kururu shot Dororo a thumbs-up. “Even if it’s just by emailing him Exploding-Fart-Noise.wav while he’s at school.”

Dororo winced. “I do not know what a ‘dot-wav’ is, but the rest sounds a bit embarrassing.”

“He can handle it. He likes when I keep him on his toes.” He threw his head toward the sky and smirked snidely. “And if he ain’t a fan, he’ll just have to get me back double.”

Winding back and then pushing himself forward, Kururu hopped down from the engawa.

“Now,” said Kururu, dusting off his bottom, “are you in or not?”

“W-well… If you don’t mind, then…” Dororo covered his spreading blush with the back of his hand. “…I think I would quite like that, yes.”

“Sweet.” Kururu twirled around and flicked finger guns in Dororo’s direction. “Meet me at the base tomorrow before noon, then. I’ll prep all the gear.”

“No stealing from anyone this time, right?” Dororo called after Kururu as the latter began to moonwalk away.

“Ku, ku! You know I can’t promise that.”

Kururu whipped out his pocket device and tapped the screen, which caused his flying board, parked further down the path, to slide toward him. He leapt onto the vehicle, gripped the handlebars, and swiveled it toward the city, leaving Dororo shaking his head. But just after the board had risen into the air, the ninja called out to him once more.

“Wait!” Dororo picked up the spare pair of headphones still at his feet and shook them around. “You forgot your—”

Before he could finish, the sergeant major had already taken off, his signature laugh echoing through the treetops.

Dororo groaned. Perhaps Kururu needed him as a chaperone more than anything. But…

The lance corporal drew the pair of headphones back to himself and beheld it as it rested in both hands. He might have requested that Kururu confide in him again, but he never thought he’d go above and beyond like this. Dororo giggled, a fuzzy feeling spreading through him. He wondered if the uncanny attachment he’d developed wasn’t one-sided after all.

Dororo rose his head, letting the early autumn breeze brush across his cheeks. Now alone with his memories restored, he realized this was the first moment of tranquility he’d truly gotten without worry buzzing in the back of his mind in over a week. It might have been self-centered to feel this good when Kururu still had some work to do, but Dororo was determined to be a strong guiding light—much like the great rainbow butterfly. He never did get to witness it gracing the starry sky himself, but he knew its appearance before Kururu is what led them down the path to this future.

They just had to give it a little chase.

(The below ending commemoration artwork was commissioned from Donnie! Check out his ko-fi page!)