Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun spilled gold across Tegavillage’s cobblestone street as Hoeru pushed open the creaky wooden door of Ryugi’s little coffee shop. The scent of coffee and tea mingled in the air, familiar and grounding after a long day of part time work.

“Welcome back, Hoeru-kun.” Ryuji called from behind the counter, his voice warm.

“Any luck in your part time work?” Rikuo asked softly from a corner of the cafe, where he was preparing his own merch for his fans.

“Not really, I got fired again.” Hoeru sat down on the high chair across from Ryugi and picked up a flower bud, slowly drinking its juices, a habit he developed when he was in the No One world.

“Don’t worry Hoerutchi, you’ll get another one. Maybe even a full time job!” Kinjiro encourages him as he pats Hoeru on the shoulder before going back into the kitchen to prepare some dinner.

“Full time job? He’d be lucky to even get another part time one.” Sumino’s snark comment which Hoeru didn’t paid much mind. But, something… or someone else caught his attention.

She wasn’t alone today.

A woman in a crisp black jacket and neat slacks leaned casually against the table where she sat with Sumino, her long brown hair swept to one side. She had a half-smile, easy but sharp, and her eyes….

Hoeru didn’t know why, but her eyes were alluring. Very alluring.

“This is a friend of mine, Umara Hayane.” Sumino introduced proudly, “Back in my cop days, she was my partner, and frankly, the better shot.”

Umara’s smile widened before replying, “Sumino’s exaggerating, I just had faster reflexes.”

She stood up, walking around the guys in the room as she continued: “I heard about you guys, the new friends she’s made. After what happened with Oto, Sumino was practically obsessed with her disappearance. It’s nice to see her indulge in something else for a change.”

Umara gazed back to Sumino, continuing: “When you said Oto-chan came back without her memories and then was taken again, I was really shocked, but more so confused. But when I went to investigate, I realised I might’ve some leads that are recent enough and figured I could be of help.”

Rikuo’s ears perked up, he then blinked, surprised by the information he had just heard, “You… found something?”

“Bits and pieces,” Umara said, tone smooth, almost conspiratorial. “Street chatter. The Gray eyed man seen in places they shouldn’t be. Nothing solid yet.” She let the pause linger just long enough for everyone’s ears to perk up. “But sometimes, the smallest hint leads to the biggest find.”

While Sumino turned to get some more coffee from Ryugi, Hoeru felt a subtle shift in the air. It was like he was being sized up without knowing what for. It was the same thing he felt when he was in the No One world. He felt like prey, the predator’s blood thirst being the only thing he could sense. He just couldn’t quite place where it was coming from. The blood thirst dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Hoeru gazed towards Umara, who gave him an unsuspecting smile. Hoeru turned back, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

Umara’s gaze flicked down briefly, where Hoeru’s jacket hung slightly open. The faint metallic glint of a ring peeked from an inner pocket.

Target, found.

Coffee was served, conversations carried on. Umara asked causal questions about Tegavillage, about these new friends of Sumino’s and also about Sumino’s current goals. She laughed easily, grabbed Sumino’s arm when recalling old patrol stories, her presence slipping perfectly into the rhythm of the shop.

“I’ll go and bring dinner out for us, Ryugi and Kinji might need some help. Byakuya, help us out back here.” Sumino shouted as she and Rikuo walked into the kitchen; Umara almost smirked when that happened.

Such a dear like always, Sumino-chan.

“So Hoeru-kun, why can’t you hold a part time job? You’re not mentally challenged or anything, right?”

“Ummm…I’m not mentally challenged or anything, I just try to do my best and the next thing I know…”

As Hoeru was distracted by Umara’s question, her fingers moved with precision, one smooth step closer to Hoeru, one practiced reach, and the Go-Busters, Boukenger, and Lupinranger rings were gone, nestled into the lining of her jacket without so much as a whisper. By the time the others came out with dinner, Umara had went back to her seat as if nothing had happened.

—————

“Let’s meet again Sumino-chan, I’ve got to get back to work.” Umara said as she waived goodbye to everyone in the room.

“Oi Second Gen, ask your friends to make me dinner, I think I’m in the mood for honey chicken and—” Mashiro didn’t finish as he bumped into the customer who was walking out.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Umara said with that same disarming half-smile. Her eyes met his: whole, unblinking.

Mashiro froze.

That face.

The sharp angles, the sly warmth. For an instant, he saw another face overlaying hers: a yellow visor, her warm smile.

Impossible. The Calamity destroyed all the others but the reds. None of them could’ve come back… right?

Umara tilted her head slightly, like she could read the recognition in his stare. “You’re cute, staring at me like this.” The women commented, voice filled with amusement.

Mashiro opened his mouth, wanting to fight back, but she stepped past him before the words even formed, heels tapping rhythmically against the stone road. By the time Mashiro realised the woman had just walked out the door, she was already halfway down the street, slipping into the thinning crowd.

“Hey—!” he called out, but she didn’t look back.

Mashiro just stood there, frowning at the empty street. As a thief would, she had slipped away.

“It can’t be…,” he muttered, but his gut told him otherwise.

That face was definitely hers. So how in the hell?

And somewhere down that twisting street Umara Hayane’s hand brushed against her jacket pocket, fingers curling possessively around three stolen rings. The smile that played at her lips was nothing like the one she’d worn in Tegavillage.

“Didn’t expect to see him there. I guess we’ll be having the whole team together soon.”

Chapter Text

The old complex looked like a half-submerged skeleton, concrete walls pitted from years of salt-spray and neglect. Rusted girders jutted out like broken ribs, while the gutted ceiling left jagged teeth of steel silhouetted against the moonlight. The wind whistled through the gaps, carrying the sea’s briny breath into the building’s hollow corridors.

Here and there, cracked tiles bore burn marks, blackened scars from past firefights no one had cared to clean up. In some corners, the scorched floor fused with warped steel plates, evidence of explosives that had burned too hot and too close.

Inside, the air was a cocktail of damp metal, stagnant water, and the faint chemical tang of solvents that had long evaporated. The smell clung to the walls, seeping into the skin with every breath.

A bank of shattered monitors flickered faintly, running on residual power from a groaning generator somewhere deep in the structure. Their screens cycled through half-corrupted schematics—skeletal frames of mechanical devices, warped silhouettes of human subjects, and long lists of serial numbers—each one scratched out in thick, red strokes, as if erasing a name from history.

Masato Inari knelt near a toppled server tower, his gloved fingers moving with precision as he re-routed power through the cracked circuit boards. The way his tools clicked and spun suggested that he was more of a scientist, not a warrior. He was methodical, his breath steady, the faint sound of his own heartbeat drowned beneath the constant hum of failing machinery. You could watch him work for hours and never guess he’d once fought on a battlefield.

“Instead of dealing with the power, maybe you should just give the whole place an upgrade.” The voice echoed faintly from the far corridor.

Masato didn’t even look up, merely adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses before muttering under his breath, “I thought we’re here for answers, not comfort.”

“Maybe we should consider both.” Rei emerged from the subject wing on the left, the dim light sliding over the blue accents of his sweater. He had just transferred the last of their experimental subjects into containment. His movements carried the casual confidence of someone accustomed to violence but patient enough to wait for the right moment to strike. He gave Masato a sidelong glance, lowering his voice, “If we’re going to conduct the experiments here, we might as well make it comfortable for all of us.”

“Masato, come here. Right wing.” Rei’s serious voice echoed out, now from the other side of the building. Masato sighs before getting out of his chair, slowly walking towards the sound of Rei’s voice.

Inside the right wing, the floor was cluttered with relics of experiments long since abandoned: shattered containment tanks with wiring spilling out like entrails, lab benches piled with cloudy beakers, and rust-flecked surgical lights hanging from the ceiling like the heads of sleeping beasts. A thin, constant drip of water from a cracked pipe echoed through the hollow space.

Rei stood ahead, gloved fingers brushing along a table covered in half-torn schematics. He didn’t speak, but his eyes followed the faded ink diagrams, many of them featuring human silhouettes surrounded by strange mechanical, alien frames.

Masato bent over a workstation, picking up a charred hard drive between two fingers. “Seems like Kuon ran his last tests here before the fire. I’d say… five, maybe six years ago. No one came back to clean up.”

Rei turned slightly, a faint smirk touching his lips, “Seems like they were trying to built something they could control. When it didn’t work, they threw it and the whole place away. Though it seems like his development in A.I probably had something to do with this as well.”

For a moment, there was silence except for the echo of dripping water. Then Masato spoke, his voice quieter. “I wonder, what is Kuon planning?” He looked up at the half-collapsed ceiling, where daylight filtered in dusty beams.

Rei gave a humourless laugh, “he is Tegajune’s lapdog. So either this is an experiment guided by the queen…”

“Or, it’s his little side project.”

A hollow laugh rolled in from the entrance of the lab.

Umara stepped out from the shadows, the yellow trim on her jacket catching the dull light. Every motion dripped with the effortless grace of a thief. Her boots clicked softly on the concrete as she crossed the room, the sound almost drowned by the creak of the heavy metal door swinging closed behind her.

She found a chair—its seat torn, one leg bent—and sat with the air of someone taking the throne. She reached up immediately, tugging at the colored contacts in her eyes. One by one, they came free, revealing the cold, unblinking grey beneath.

Sometimes, it was hard to pretend to be normal.

Just as she finished, Rei and Masato emerged from the right wing, ready to get back to whatever they were working on prior to their discovery.

“You two get distracted way too easily. This place used to be one of Kuon’s old buildings, so there has to be clues about the Bridan’s goals here. After all, that’s the reason we moved here in the first place.” She took in a breath before continuing, seemingly wanting to emphasise what she said next. “But, we can always do it after we deal with the gozyugers.” She twirled an old brass key between her fingers before tucking it into her belt.

Masato’s eyes lifted briefly from his tablet. For a moment, his grey irises caught the glow of the monitors, a faint glint of amusement passing over them.

“I guess we can explore more once we’ve made our point with the gozyugers. More importantly…,” he closed the tablet with a soft click, “…did you get the rings?”

Her smirk deepened as she reached into her jacket and drew them out, letting the three artifacts dangle on her fingers like bait before a shark. The Go-Busters, Boukenger, and Lupinranger rings gleamed in the cold fluorescent light.

“Sleight of hand, that’s all. They were so easy.”

Rei leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed. “All of them?”

“Of course,” Her voice carried a note of mockery. “They never even noticed. They’ll figure it out soon enough… once they see the little present I left them.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slim calling card, the Lupinranger crest embossed in black and crimson. Her thumb ran over the raised lines as though drawing power from the memory it carried.

“I did also meet someone interesting there. Remember Mashiro-kun?” Umara’s mention of the name peaked the interest of both men in the room.

“Mashiro-kun? You mean Kumade Mashiro? That naive, young gozyu red?” Rei asked, seemingly trying to confirm whether the person he was thinking of, was the same person Umara mentioned.

“That’s right, but it seems like he wasn’t red this time, the gozyu red ring was held by some other guy this time. And yet, Mashiro himself still had a ring, a white one I believe.”

“Seems like a lot has changed since the world was reset.” Masato exclaimed, his lips curved in a precise smile. He reached out, plucking the Boukenger ring from her fingers. Turning it over slowly, he traced the emblem engraved on the surface. It was both intimately familiar and unnervingly alien—like a name he had once known but could no longer speak aloud.

Rei pushed himself off the pillar, stepping forward to grab the Go-busters ring, “Seems like tomorrow will be a big day.”

Umara picked up the Lupinranger ring and twirled it between her fingers, eyes glinting. “They’ll want these back, but they’ll have to pry them from our hands.”

Somewhere deep in the building, the generator sputtered and coughed before choking out its final spark. The monitors dimmed, their light fading into the moonlit silver pouring through the fractured ceiling.

The three stood there in the half-light—soldier, scientist, thief—united not by loyalty but by a shared, unspoken truth: We’ve come back. And this time, our flames of life will burn as bright as the sun.

For a long while, none of them moved. Dust drifted lazily in the air, catching in the moonbeams like ash from a distant fire.

……

“I told you, let’s just upgrade the whole place.” Rei exclaimed before turning to Masato.

Masato sighed before agreeing, “I’ll make the effort.”

Umara smirked and rose to her feet, tucking the rings away, “Don’t worry, Masato-kun. I’ll help too if you need it.”

And with that, the three shadows slipped deeper into the belly of the abandoned base, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the machinery’s dying hum.

Chapter Text

The wind howled through the rusted skeletons of cranes, their massive arms frozen mid-swing like forgotten sentinels. The air reeked faintly of brine and oil, and every step over cracked concrete sent echoes bouncing through empty cargo hangars. Saltwater lapped against warped docks where hulking container ships once moored; now, barnacles clung to their corroded hulls like stubborn scars.

Inside one of the largest hangars, Rei had manage to salvage whatever surviving machinery that wasn’t damaged by the seawater. Flickering monitors sat atop shipping crates, their glow casting shadows across sheets of paper covered in formulae. The hum of a portable generator was the only steady sound, underscoring the erratic drip-drip-drip from a leaky roof. Rei took out the ring and put it on his pointer finger. The ring shined, its golden light flashing before changing into a darker hue.

“Transport!” A mechanical voice shouted as the monitors dissipated into thin air.

“Your Go-buster powers are so convenient.” Masato couldn’t help but exclaim.

Umara leaned against a steel support beam, arms crossed, her combat gear still dusted with grit from earlier scouting, “This place smells like it’s been dead longer than we have.”

Rei didn’t look up from the machinery he was transporting, “Dead things have their uses. They stay quiet. They don’t annoy the heck out of me.” Umara steps back, amused by their leader’s annoyance.

Masato, hunched over a workbench littered with disassembled tech, snorted. “And they’re annoying to dispose of. Don’t forget that part.”

His surgical precision hadn’t dulled, he inserted something into a small, cylindrical device without so much as a tremor.

There, a completed smoke bomb.

The walls around them bore remnants of the shipyard’s former life: faded safety instructions in kanji, chipped paint revealing layers of steel beneath, and a crane hook swaying faintly overhead. Medical equipment was arranged in an operating bay near the rear, its centrepiece a heavy, curved glass chamber lined with restraints and needle ports.

Umara’s gaze lingered on the medical equipment, “Still think we’ll need that?”

Rei finally turned, his grey eyes catching the dim light, revealing a flicker of something softer: guilt, maybe, or the memory of something he’d once been through.“If we’re getting more test subjects…, then yes. If their bodies fail—”

“—we’ll make sure it doesn’t. But I don’t mind the insurance.” Masato cut in without looking up.

The three fell into a moment of silence, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the dock. Outside, seagulls screamed in the fading light. Inside, the smell of antiseptic mingled with saltwater.

“This will be a good battlefield, won’t it? For the gozyugers to understand exactly what they’re dealing with.”

—————

The sun had only just begun to rise over Tegavillage, its first rays hitting the faded rooftops and lantern posts. The early morning calm was broken by the sudden howling of a certain wolf.

Sumino was the first to respond, as she strolled into the cafe. “What’s going on—?”

Her words were cut off as Hoeru came rushing down from his room upstairs, panting hard. “They’re gone! Three of my rings are gone!”

Rikuo’s footsteps thundered across the wooden floorboards, his face unreadable but his voice low and sharp, “When?”

Hoeru shook his head, “Could’ve been during the night. No signs of forced entry, I just so happened to leave them in my jacket pocket yesterday and now they’re gone. Whoever did this knew exactly where to look.”

Ryugi, who followed behind Rikuo, slammed his hand against the wall, his super strength sending a crack through the plaster, “Then, they’re already one step ahead of us.”

Mashiro who followed behind Sumino, stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching the others argue. His eyes drifted to the horizon where the mist over the hills seemed thicker than usual. “Was there anything left?”

“There was this card.” Hoeru pulled out a slim card, embossed with a stylised mask.

The Lupinranger calling card.

Mashiro’s face darkened, “A thief’s challenge.”

They didn’t waste any time. Within minutes, the Gozyugers were racing toward the address scrawled on the back.

—————

The coast was only a thin, jagged line in the distance, but the sound of waves crashing against rock carried easily through the open air. The quarry spread out like a wound in the land, its deep basin lined with pale limestone and rust-coloured stains. Abandoned cranes stood frozen mid-rotation, their shadows long in the late afternoon light.

It was here that the three stood, the rings glinting faintly in their hand as the Gozyugers approached from the ridge.

The wind was sharp, carrying the tang of sea salt and iron. It whipped through the frayed edges of their coats, rattled loose chains on the crane arms, and set the stage for the inevitable collision.

Grey eyes. Calm, unwavering, cold.

“Gray… eyes? Umara, you……” Sumino’s voice was almost a whisper. Her breath clouded faintly in front of her, though there was no chill on the pier. She stared down at the trio standing in front, feeling an instinctive unease she didn’t know she had since the last time she had come face to face with the grey eyed man.

Only this time, there were three of them instead of one.

Umara was the first to move. Her steps were unhurried, each heel striking the concrete with a muted echo. She tossed the Lupinranger ring into the air, caught it without looking, then spun it on her finger with casual precision.

“Surprise!” she said brightly, though her smile never reached her eyes. “I was never there to catch up, Sumino. I came for these.”

The air seemed to thicken. Hoeru shifted his weight instinctively, his eyes darting between the ring and the woman’s unreadable expression. “So it was you who stole my rings?”

Umara didn’t reply, just winked at Hoeru. Hoeru quickly avoided his gaze, he would not fall for her charms a second time.

“Rei-san.” The name left Rikuo’s lips before he realised he’d spoken. It wasn’t a greeting, more like a reflex, the way one might react to a wound reopening.

Rei’s gaze locked on him with surgical precision. “Rikuo,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllables, “Still as useless as I remember. What happened to repaying the favour you owe me?” His tone was light, but the words struck like sharpened glass. He turned toward Umara, “My ally here was far more effective. Guess we know where the real talent lies.”

The remark cut deep. Rikuo’s back straightened, shoulders tense. His fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms, spilling blood, but he didn’t speak. Hoeru glanced at him, catching the flicker of something rare, not just anger, but a shadow of humiliation and something older, heavier.

Pain.

And beneath that, a sense of recognition Hoeru couldn’t name.

The guy called Rei, reminded Hoeru of Kuon, the big brother who no longer was his niisan.

Hoeru didn’t like Rikuo, but hell, he hates that grey eyed man even more now.

From the side, Masato adjusted his glasses with one deliberate push, the faint glint on the lens slicing through the morning sunlight. His gaze shifted to Mashiro, holding it without a blink, “Long time no see, Mashiro. Did you expect us here?”

Mashiro inhaled sharply, the sound of it was loud in the tense stillness, his mind racing back to old images he thought he’d buried. “How are you even supposed to be here? You guys—”

“Stopped existing, right?” Masato’s voice was silk over steel. He didn’t raise it, didn’t need to. “We’re not entirely sure ourselves, but we’re here now. That’s all that matters, right?”

The calm precision of his tone was colder than anything Mashiro had ever known. His words hung in the air like frost, drawing every ear toward him.

Ultimately it was Ryugi who stepped forward, his voice cutting through the mounting pressure. “Universe warriors who have lost cannot be warriors again. Even if you take those rings, there’s no way for you to engage with them.”

Rei’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Oh really?” He took a single step forward, and the sound of his boots on the floor echoed far longer than it should have. “Then let us teach you something today.”

He lifted his hand, turning the ring. The Go-Busters ring caught the light, the gleam tainted by a faint ripple of black energy that danced across its surface. “Lesson one: past Sentai warriors can call upon their powers imbedded in the rings, as long as they possess the right ones.”

The others moved in sync, each producing their stolen treasures. Umara’s Lupinranger ring glinted under the fractured warehouse light as she turned the ring open. Masato’s Boukenger ring shimmered similarly as he did the same. Without breaking eye contact with their opponents, the three took the rings out of their fingers.

The air pulsed.

A ripple of black energy surged outward, and with a sharp flash, a single black Tegasword materialized in their hands. Its blade writhed faintly, as if it was alive, its edges humming with corrupted light that made the air buzz.

“Engage,” Rei said, almost reverently.

“Engage,” Umara breathed, her voice lilting like a mockingbird’s tune.

“Engage,” Masato intoned, his words even and measured, each syllable heavy as a gavel strike.

They moved without hesitation.

Rei slid his ring into the slot on the Tegasword. A sharp chime rang out, warped by static. The chime was similar to the one that plays as a universe warrior henshin, yet it sounded different… wrong.

Umara followed, clicking the ring in place. The hum in the air deepened, like distant thunder.

Masato’s movements were efficient, no flourish, just precision. His ring locked into place with a low mechanical hiss.

“Sentai ring!”

They stepped into formation, their stances practiced, muscle memory drilled in from a time long lost. Poses once filled with heroic vigour now carried the weight of something darker, more dangerous.

For a heartbeat, shadows shaped like their old Sentai forms flared into existence behind them— vivid, unmistakable, and wrong. The colours bled into each other, twisted, and deepened into dark shades, as though their very essence had been run through ink-black water.

The ground beneath them vibrated faintly as the power surged. Colours flared, but these were not the bright, hopeful hues of a Sentai team. These were deep, shadowed metallics, edged with crimson that hissed like sparks.

In unison, their voices rang out: steady, unyielding.

“Blue Buster.”

“Lupin Yellow.”

“Speeding Adventurer, Bouken Black.”

Their roll calls echoed through the warehouse, bouncing off steel beams and concrete walls, a ritual too ingrained to be forgotten, no matter how corrupted.

“Engage.”

A shockwave burst outward from the trio, black energy flaring like a living shadow, rushing up the walls, swallowing the light before receding.

And then, from the other side, six points of pure radiance ignited at once.

Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Black. White.

The colours of the gozyugers burned like stars against the corrupted glow, casting long, sharp shadows on the floor. Their own transformation sequence began in a burst of synchronised motion, rings flashing into their swords, actions and voices uniting in a call they had done times before.

Music rang, lights flared, and the very air between the two teams seemed to crackle with the raw tension of what was about to come.

They stood, facing each other now in full armour, two lines drawn in a warehouse that suddenly felt like a battlefield.

And for the briefest moment, there was silence. Just the sound of six steady breaths, three excited heartbeats, and the hum of power waiting to be unleashed.

“Here’s your advance notice, we are going to take your rings!”

“Rangers, ready……”

“Attack!” “Go!”

Chapter Text

Rei moved first, tapping the transponder on his chest, the Sougan Balde flickering into his hands, his boots grinding against the grit as he dashed toward Rikuo and Ryugi. Rikuo’s gun barked with rapid shots, forcing Rei into a weaving sidestep.

“Iasaka, Tegasword-sama!” Ryugi shouts as he swings his hammer like it could crush the ground itself, the shockwave rattling through Rei’s armor. Rei blocked with a grunt, the impact jolting up his arms, but his eyes never left Rikuo.

“Still hiding behind someone else huh, Rikuo?” Rei taunted, twisting his blade and using Ryugi’s own momentum to shove him back.

The words sliced deeper than any blade. Rei’s counterstrike came in a blur, first blocking Ryugi’s hammer, and then fluidly slashing at Rikuo’s gun hand.

“Please, Rei-san! Just give Oto-chan back to Sumino!” Rikuo pleads with Rei, the elder figure who he had once admired. Rei upon hearing this, just laughs before apathetically replying, a tinge of annoyance lingering in his voice, “I’ve told you this before, Rikuo. Oto has great potential as a research subject. For experimental purposes, she needs to stay with me.”

“You’re a kind person, Rikuo. You’re still asking about Ichikawa Oto even though I’ve made myself clear once before. Then, why won’t you save me?” Rei questions, almost as if he’s taunting Rikuo.

Rei pivots as Rikuo’s gun barks a volley of bright blue energy bolts. He twists his body sideways, letting the shots skim past, the air sizzling where they miss. His sword is already in hand, ready to attack.

“I’ve decided, Rei-san. I am fighting for the sake of my dream, to be the number one idol! I’ll find some other way to save you, without having to fight my friends for it!” Rikuo declares, a sense of determination in his voice.

Ryugi leaps forward, hammer raised high, the head gleaming like polished gold. Rei ducks, the hammer smashing into the pier with a deafening thud, sending chips of concrete flying into the air. Rei stares at Rikuo with a sense of shock and wonder, he didn’t expect Rikuo to say anything like that.

It’s been a quite a while since Rikuo stood up to him like this.

“Rikuo-kun? What does he mean by that?” Ryugi asks, a sense of suspicion lurking in his voice.

“Ryugi, I explain everything later, let’s just focus on the fight for now.” Rei sidesteps, bringing his balde across in a wide arc at Ryugi’s ribs, only for Rikuo to fire again, forcing him to break the swing and twist his blade up to deflect the shot.

Sparks explode on impact.

Ryugi uses the moment to spin the hammer low, catching Rei’s shin. Rei grunts, stumbling, but rolls with the momentum, flipping over a bollard and landing neatly with the Ichigan Buster in hand.

Rei fires twice, once at Ryugi’s hammer to throw off its swing, and once at Rikuo’s shoulder, but Rikuo manages to dodge in time before the bullet hit him right in the shoulder. Rei transports the gun away mid-run before leaping onto a shipping crate. From above, he dives down, sword flashing, into a downward slash toward Rikuo, forcing him to back step into Ryugi’s hammer zone.

Ryugi tries to catch Rei mid-air with an uppercut swing, but Rei twists in mid-fall, planting a boot on the hammer’s haft, using it as a springboard to kick Ryugi in the jaw and land behind him.

A quick backhand slash sends Ryugi stumbling forward, and Rikuo’s line of fire disrupted. Rei presses the advantage, both weapons flashing, keeping the two scrambling.

—————

Umara vaulted forward next, boots kicking up shards of gravel. Her VS changer flared, bullets grazing Kinji’s bow and forcing him to retreat two steps. Sumino roared and charged in, drill spinning at a deafening pitch, the vibration alone rattling Umara’s bones. She ducked under the first thrust, sweeping a leg at her stance before spinning to fire at Kinjiro again.

“How could you do this, Umara? You knew I was looking for the grey eyed man, and yet you’re working with him!”

“I have my own reasons, Sumino. I didn’t tell you because I’d knew exactly how you’d react the moment you found out, like now!” she hissed between shots, twisting away from Sumino’s next lunge. Kinjiro’s arrow streaked past her ear, close enough to burn, but her smirk never faltered. She leaps sideways, boots kicking up a spray of water as she slides over a crate.

“Release Oto-chan! Sumipoyo is her family and she ought to be with family!” A shot aimed at Kinjiro’s bowstring is just barely dodged as Kinjiro’s flips back, drawing another arrow in one smooth motion.

“That’s not my call, Rei-san is the one calling the shots here.” Sumino lunges, drill spinning in a blur, aiming for her midsection. Umara drops into a split, firing upward at Sumino’s chest, sparks bursting across her armour.

Kinjiro’s fires three arrows in quick succession— one for her shoulder, one for her knee, and one to pin her foot to the pier. Umara ducks the first, flips over the second, and shoots the third arrow out of the air before it hits the wood. She lands in a low crouch, spins on her heel, and lets off a rapid barrage at Sumino, driving her back toward the water’s edge.

Sumino digs her drill into the pier to anchor herself, the wood splintering under the strain. Kinjiro takes the chance to send an arrow tipped with a concussive charge. It detonates near Umara, flinging her toward the water. She catches a mooring rope at the last second, swinging back onto the pier and flipping her VS changer into an underhand grip.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you’d want to defeat me,” she declares, firing again and again, forcing them into a retreating stance.

—————

Hoeru’s claw tears open a shimmering portal, stepping through and reappearing behind Masato with a slash. Masato blocks just in time, his hammer’s head ringing like a gong.

Sparks cascade over them.

Mashiro charges in bare-fisted, Bearkuma perched on his shoulder firing a stream of rapid rounds. Masato turns his hammer sideways, deflecting shots and swinging upward in a brutal arc.

“For a guy who plays with space,” Masato said, “you’ve got no idea how to read the room. Is this who you’d like to succeed your mantle of success, Mashiro?” Mashiro doesn’t respond, Hoeru snarled, portals flickering in rapid succession around them.

Hoeru vanishes into another portal mid-strike, reappearing above Masato with a downward claw slash. Masato grits his teeth, taking the blow on the hammer’s shaft, then slamming its butt into Hoeru’s ribs, sending him flying into a pile of coiled nets.

Mashiro uses the opening to rush him, fists pounding like piston strikes. Masato blocks one, two, but the third connects, forcing him back a step.

“What are you guys planning?” Mashiro questions a panting Masato, who just shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it, Mashiro. You didn’t experience what we had, you were the victorious one , while the losers had to endure the despair and pain of losing.”

Masato plants his feet and swings wide, his hammer smashing into a steel beam beside Mashiro, the shockwave rattles the pier and throws both opponents off-balance.

Hoeru re-enters the fray, after using the Shinkenger ring to change into Shinken Red. Hoeru tries to use the flaming sword to strike Masato, but he times it, spinning and slamming the hammer into Hoeru, the lighting that radiated from the spin sends him sprawling. He then delivers a crushing two-handed blow to Mashiro’s midsection, forcing him to stumble toward the edge of the pier.

The impact causes Hoeru to turn back into his gozyu wolf form, the shinkenger ring now lying on the ground. Masato picks up the ring, muttering under his breath, “Retrieval complete.”

The salt-stained wind lashed across the dockside, whipping the tarpaulins of nearby shipping containers. Masato skidded back several meters, boots scraping against the damp concrete, just barely deflecting Mashiro’s barrage of polar energy bursts with the haft of his hammer. The shockwaves splintered wood pallets behind him, sending splinters dancing into the night air.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Masato gritted his teeth, swinging the Survi-Blade he switched his Radial Hammer out for in a wide arc to force Mashiro to hop back. But before he could press the advantage, the sound of mechanical whirring cut through the crashing waves.

Hoeru stood on a stack of cargo crates, the air around him rippled like heated glass before locking into an ominous shimmer.

“I guess it’s time to use this,” Hoeru growled. “Orca Booster — engage!”

A surge of red-gold light engulfed him, water-like streams wrapping around his frame before condensing into new armour plating. The force of his transformation sent an outward wave that rocked the pier as Hoeru howled, knocking a few rusted barrels into the water with hollow clangs.

“That’s…… the Orca Booster? No way, you’re able to control the power surges?” Masato steadied himself, but the difference in presence was undeniable. Hoeru’s aura now rolled off him in waves that carried both raw power and the suffocating sensation of deep-sea pressure.

Hoeru lunged. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Masato, claw slashing down in a diagonal sweep. Masato blocked — or tried to — but the sheer force sent him sliding several feet back, his boots leaving scorched streaks against the pier surface, the impact rattling his bones.

Mashiro didn’t miss the opening. His bare-knuckle strike, reinforced by a burst from Bearkuma hovering at range, caught Masato in the ribs. The follow-up shockwave nearly pitched him into the water. Masato rolled just in time, blade striking the ground to steady himself.

“Tch… this is getting bad,” Masato muttered under his breath. He swung again, trying to catch Mashiro off-guard, but a shot from the Orca Booster forced Masato to duck under to avoid being destroyed by it.

Hoeru smirked, “You’re outmatched now.”

The next clash was brutal. Mashiro moved in with relentless, punishing close-range combos, while Hoeru darted around, shooting multiple shots that Masato couldn’t completely block. The Orca Booster armor magnified every hit, sending shudders up Masato’s arms each time he blocked.

Finally, a particularly vicious beam strike from Bearkuma sent Masato to one knee, causing him to dehenshin. His breathing came heavy and uneven, salt air burning his lungs. Blood was flowing from his mouth, signs of his body slowly collapsing to the internal damage. Above him, Hoeru raised the Orca booster for the decisive blow.

—————

Rei ducked under Rikuo’s sword sweep, the metal whistling past his head. He pivoted on one heel, driving his elbow into Ryugi’s gut before the yellow brute could bring his hammer down. Sparks flew from the clash of metal as Rei’s blade caught the hammer mid-swing, pushing it wide before snapping a kick into Ryugi’s knee.

“You’re getting sloppy, Rikuo. You need to put in more effort if you’d like to beat me.” Rei taunted, a sweeping strike across Rikuo’s chest-plate.

Rikuo grunted, unleashing a finishing slash from his sword.

“Finish Finger, Leon!” Rei crossed his blade in front of him, deflecting the slash into the dockside, where it carved deep grooves into the wood.

Rei darted in low, slamming the blade into Rikuo’s ribs, then using the rebound to leap and axe-kick Ryugi across the jaw. Both Gozyugers staggered, just enough for Rei to finish it. He combined the two weapons together, creating the Ichigan Buster Special Buster Mode.

“It’s time for buster.” The same mechanical voice whirled, the blast sending both men flying into the air and smashing to the ground, the impact causing them to dehenshin.

“You guys still have a lot to learn, fighting wise.”

—————

“Scissors, 9,6,3, Kaito Boost!”

At the far end of the pier, Umara danced between Sumino’s drill thrusts and Kinjiro’s shots. Sparks lit the sky as her shield blocks the attacks. Umara had use the Scissors dial to produce the Scissors Shield and Blade Boomerang to aid in her attack.

Sumino lunged; Umara sidestepped, turning the shield right in Sumino’s direction, blocking her attack. Kinjiro’s bow slashed towards Umara, she caught it midair, twisted, and yanked him forward, right into the path of the boomerang as Kinjiro stumbled.

“You two are going to have to do better,” she said coldly.

The sharp boomerang hit both Sumino and Kinjiro dead on, causing them to dehenshin and fall to the ground.

—————

“Orca Boosted Nova!”

Before Masato could move, a figure stepped in front of him, shield in hand and fiercely blocked the attack from reaching Masato.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Umara said, smirking.

On the other side, Rei appeared in a blur, his shots warning Hoeru to stay back. “Can you stand up?” He asked, pulling Masato to his feet.

“That red one has the Orca Booster, but I managed to retrieve the shinkenger ring anyway.” Masato points at the orca booster, before revealing the shinkenger ring in his hands.

Mashiro stepped forward, eyes narrowing. But with most of their teammates down and dehenshined, the Gozyugers’ advantage was diminished.

Umara quickly dehenshins to put Masato’s arm over her back, steading him as even more blood started to pour out of his mouth.

“Masato’s body won’t last, we have to go.” Umara says, panicked by the amount of blood she’s seeing.

Rei sighs and dehenshins, while Hoeru and Mashiro do the same as they help out their fallen, unconscious teammates.

“I believe we’ve met our presence known for today. Just know that the only reason you guys won today, is because of the Orca Booster. We are going to chase infinity, and no one is going to stop us.”

“Kumade Mashiro, this is all because of you. Don’t forget that.” Rei announces before throwing the smoke bomb device on the floor, allowing the trio to retreat into the shadows beyond the shipping containers.

Mashiro didn’t say anything. He just clenched his fists.

Chapter Text

The pier lay in ruin.

The sight of broken timber, the smell of seawater mixing with smoke from shattered dock lamps. Hoeru knelt beside the crumpled forms of Rikuo, Ryugi, Sumino, and Kinjiro, his breathing ragged. Mashiro crouched on the other side, fingers pressing to Rikuo’s neck for a pulse.

“They’ll live,” Mashiro said at last, though his eyes stayed fixed on the trio’s retreating silhouette in the distance. “This changes everything.”

Hoeru looked up, “What about them?”

“I’ll explain everything later, let’s get them back to the cafe first.”

—————

After much effort, the two men managed to bring the four unconscious rangers back to Tegavillage. Rikuo and Ryugi were settled in their room upstairs in the cafe, while Sumino and Kinjiro were settled in the guest room (technically Kinjiro’s room, but he has an extra bed) as Sumino doesn’t actually live here.

Mashiro sat down at one of the tables downstairs, sipping on a cup of honey water which he stired up to regain his energy. Hoeru sat on one of the high chairs, first aid kit beside him as he bandaged up his wounds from the battle.

“So, ready to explain everything now?”

Mashiro’s gaze drifted, to the drink he had in front of him, and just like that—

He was back there again.

—————

It had been a cramped war room back then, walls plastered with maps and enemy schematics. The air smelled faintly of grease and ozone from the constant maintenance of their weapons. The surviving sentai members had all gathered here as it became the base of operations.

This was after The Calamity had descended upon the world with its mechanical forces, avatars of destruction. It destroyed and devoured, destined to swallow everything in its path like a black hole, only leaving chaos behind.

The previous Super Sentais were not prepared for such disaster to hit earth, despite having saved the world multiple times before; this was different.

The Calamity was leagues above the normal enemy organisation. It was the God of Darkness, yearning only for the stillness that existed beyond death.

To beat a god, you’d need a god.

’As the people of the world cried for a light to shine, the Super Sentai's "Last Giant" appeared: TegaSword’.

That part of the legend was real.

The one chosen to pilot the god was none other than Kumade Mashiro, a young man who knew nothing.

A guy who was born into a world of chaos.

Ryuji Iwasaki—Blue Buster—stood in the center, explaining tactical formations with that mix of calm authority and underlying sharpness that made younger warriors hang onto his every word. Kumade Mashiro—just after he became Gozyu Red—sat right beside him, eyes bright, nodding at every instruction.

Umika Hayami—Lupin Yellow—leaned against a steel cabinet, occasionally tossing in teasing remarks about “rookies needing to practise more to actually hit their targets.”

Masumi Inoue—Bouken Black—was at the weapons table, quietly waiting for the check on his weapons and gear to be completed, but his ears were clearly tuned to the conversation.

Back then, they weren’t enemies, but they weren’t allies either.

They were a team who worked together when required, along with all the other surviving members of the sentai.

Just because the Calamity existed, didn’t mean that the battle between universe warriors had ceased. At times, they would work together to defeat the robots set out on their road of destruction. Other times, they would fight each other as desired by Tegasword, so as to garner enough power to reset the world, in case the Calamity had won.

It was basically a safety measure, the Universe Taisen.

Masato, or Masumi, had been the one who first told Kumade to “trust his instincts”, that “what matters most is your ability to adapt”.

Rei, or Ryuji who had shared his rations with him after a long mission, who had stayed behind in training to run drills with him until midnight.

Umara, or Umika who would stay positive and cheer Mashiro up when they had lost one of their own.

It was why when they succumbed to the hollow darkness of The Calamity, Mashiro had cried his heart out until his throat was hoarse.

It was why when Mashiro saw Umika again at the cafe, he didn’t know how to react.

It was why when Mashiro fought Masumi, he help but hold back at times, afraid of truly hurting him.

It was why when Ryuji had faulted him for their death, he didn’t even say anything or fight back.

—————

Mashiro blinked, the sliding of a chair pulling him back to reality, grounding him. Hoeru had finished bandaging himself up, handing over the first aid kit to Mashiro.

“If you’re not ready, I’ll just leave and you can tell everyone when they wake up.” Mashiro exhaled slowly, his breath fogging faintly against the cup rim.

“What do you know about Super Sentai?” Mashiro finally speaks, while Hoeru sits down behind Mashiro, back facing him.

“The sentai rings that the universe warriors made contracts for, it’s their powers right?” Mashiro nods, allowing Hoeru to continue, “But from what Osai told us, we Gozyugers who wield the gold tegaswords are the only full sentai that exists in this world, as the others are all red warriors who wield silver tegaswords.”

“That’s because during the Universe Taisen, The Calamity had swallowed all the other sentai warriors who weren’t red, including those three we saw today.” Mashiro set his mug down, an unreadable expression settling over his features.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that they were swallowed by the darkness. They technically didn’t exist anymore, the only thing that hinted at their existence was the memories of the red sentai rangers.” Mashiro rested his face into his hands, a feeble attempt at hiding his expressions.

“Not even Tegasword could get them back when he ‘saved’ the world.” Hoeru didn’t seem like he understood what that meant, so Mashiro decided to put it into simpler terms.

“Remember how you felt, when you saw that women you befriended, alive again in the human world, when you knew that should be impossible since she had died in the No One world?”

Hoeru understood what Mashiro meant now.

“But they’re alive now, aren’t they?” Hoeru said as Mashiro lowers his head again.

“They weren’t supposed to… to be able to come back after what happened. Unless…” Mashiro manages to get the words out, his voice faltering as he continued.

“Unless?” Hoeru prompted Mashiro to continue, but Mashiro didn’t seem to want to reply anymore. He grabbed his jacket, and rushed out the door, leaving Hoeru with more questions than he started.

—————

The first thing Rikuo noticed when he woke was the faint smell of Indigos and the creak of the ceiling fan above him. His head still throbbed from the fight, but at least the pounding in his ears had stopped.

‘He had Indigos in his room, and an extremely old creaky ceiling fan, so that’s where he must be,’ Rikuo thought to himself.

Across the room, Ryugi was already awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a half-empty water bottle in hand. He looked tired, but there was a watchful sharpness in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for Rikuo to wake up.

“You’re up,” Ryugi said simply, setting the bottle on the nightstand.

Rikuo eased himself upright, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders. “Yeah, feels like I slept through a hurricane.”

“Pretty close.” Ryugi leaned back against the wall, his expression unreadable for a moment. “How’s your head?”

“Still aching, but bearable.” Rikuo replied, then squinted at him. “You’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”

Ryugi didn’t answer right away. He glanced toward the window, where the pale moonlight was just starting to filter through the blinds. “I’m still aching all over, so I couldn’t really sleep.”

Rikuo studied him for a beat, then concluded, “This is about Rei-san, isn’t it?”

Ryugi’s shoulders stiffened, his gaze flicking briefly to Rikuo before settling back on the wall. “You do owe me an explanation for what happened.”

There was a silence between them, not awkward, just heavy.

Ryugi didn’t try to force Rikuo, he just waited.

Rikuo finally spoke, voice close to a whisper. “Back then, when I was just a kid… Rei wasn’t just some stranger to me. He was… it. The guy I wanted to be. Cool, strong, the one who never seemed to falter.”

Ryugi tilted his head, “You looked up to him.”

“I idolised him, I even copied his eye colour at one point because I thought it was cool.” Rikuo admitted, a faint edge creeping into his tone, not anger at Ryugi, but at himself.

“What did he mean when he said that you owed him?” Ryugi asked, trying to change the topic a little bit.

Rikuo shifted uncomfortably, hands fidgeting. It took Rikuo a moment before he was able to speak again. “Rei-san always looked out for me, acted like an elder brother in my life. He even once blocked a fatal blow that was for meant for me.”

“It was that blow that cost him his future.” Ryugi didn’t know what to make of that statement.

“That’s what I owe, the future that he gave to me…”

Rikuo slowly trailed off, taking a deep breath before continuing. “That’s why when he asked me to help him obtain the rings, I didn’t even question it.”

Ryugi looks at him with sympathy, he could understand where Rikuo was coming from. A kid who’s looked up to this elder guy all his life, given and provided for the kid. The guy would be this kid’s world, so if the guy asked, the kid would definitely say yes, to anything and everything.

“I thought that… if he’s asking me for help, it must be for a good reason. And i couldn’t just say no, after everything he’s done for me. That’s why I…” He broke off, jaw tightening. “…That’s why I came after you guys that time.”

Ryugi didn’t flinch at the confession. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward slightly. “I see, how about now?”

Rikuo’s eyes met his, steady but conflicted. “Now I realised that everything he did, it was all about him. And I can’t decide if I’m more angry at him for playing me… or at myself for being that naive.”

“You were loyal,” Ryugi said simply. “That’s not a flaw. It’s just… in the wrong hands, it gets twisted. Used to someone else’s benefit.”

Rikuo gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, I guess I learned that the hard way.”

“And the thing with Oto Ichikawa? Is it true that your brother took her?” Ryugi asks curiously, changing the topic once more.

“I had my suspicions the moment I heard about the gray eyes. When I went to confront Rei-san, he confirmed that it was his doing, that he was the one to kidnap Oto-chan. In his words, he wants to learn the effects of what the rings are capable of.” Rikuo answers, but Ryugi is only let with more questions.

“But still, why would he need Tegasword-sama’s ring?” Rikuo gazes into the distance, as if he’s seeing an old memory playing in his head.

“I’m not sure really, Rei-san and I haven’t exactly stayed in contact with each other. I couldn’t contact him after the accident that almost took his life.”

“You want to talk about that accident?” Ryugi asks softly, but Rikuo just shakes his head. “I’m sorry…, it’s a bit of a sensitive topic that I don’t really want to get into right now.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the only sound the slow creak of the fan overhead. Eventually, Rikuo reached for the water bottle Ryugi had left and took a long drink.

“Thanks, Ryugi. It was nice to get this off my chest,” Rikuo said, setting it down, “albeit not everything.”

Ryugi’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Sometimes, it is relaxing to talk to someone. Burying everything within you is never the answer.”

Rikuo smiled at Ryugi, his hair flowing in the breeze. “Thank you, for being that ‘someone’.”

—————

The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the old wall clock. Sumino stirred under the heavy blanket, eyes adjusting to the warm lamplight. Her body felt like lead, every muscle aching from the fight.

Kinjiro was already awake, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed with his blanket draped loosely over his shoulders. He looked like he’d been there for a while, just staring at the floor.

“Kinji?” Sumino’s voice came out hoarse.

Kinjiro turned, his usual easy smile replaced by something gentler, more hesitant. “Sumipoyo, you’re awake.”

Sumino tried to sit up, but the blanket felt like it was holding her down. She gave “What happened after—?”

“We made it back,” Kinjiro said quickly, as if he didn’t want her to strain herself. “Kumatan and Hoeruchi managed to make them retreat and get us back to Tegavillage. You’re safe.”

There was a pause. Kinjiro’s gaze drifted away for a moment, then came back to her. “Ano…I wanted to ask, about Umara-chan.”

Sumino’s expression tightened, a flicker of pain in her eyes. “I figured you would.”

“She was close to you, right?” Kinjiro voice was careful, almost cautious.

“Close?” Sumino let out a short, bitter laugh. “She was my friend, my best friend, my partner. The one person I thought that I could trust no matter what.” She stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking hard. “And now she’s standing with the gray eyed man who took my sister.”

Kinji leaned back slightly, his brows furrowing. “But…do you think it was all a lie?”

Sumino shook her head slowly. “No, that’s the problem. I think she meant it, at least once. I’d like to think that we were real friends at one point, which means she willingly chose to throw that away.”

Kinji didn’t try to argue. Instead, he reached over to the nightstand between them and slid a cup of water towards her. “You think maybe something happened, causing her to change into a completely different person?”

Sumino thought about Kinjiro’s question, maybe she was too tired or simply wasn’t in the right state of mind to go full on detective mode. She couldn’t figure out why or when Umara had changed.

Kinjiro continued, “You know, she’s very dangerous now. She knows you, how you think, how you fight. But she’s not the person you used to know.”

Sumino accepted the cup but didn’t drink yet. Her fingers tightened around it. “Today, I was more so filled with rage than anything else, but the next time I see her, I don’t even know how I’ll feel.”

Kinjiro studied Sumino for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Well, when that day comes, I’ll be there. We’ll all be there. You won’t have to go through it alone.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile—small, but genuine. “…Thanks, Kinji.”

—————

The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and seawater. Rei didn’t have much time, quickly using whatever he had transported back from the container at the pier, creating a makeshift medibay.

He didn’t expect them to be using it so soon.

Masato lay on the bed, a thick bandage wrapping his side where Hoeru’s powered-up strike had landed. The skin around it was bruised deep violet, and the efforts to breathe made him wince.

Rei was bent over the monitor, scanning Masato’s vitals with the same precision he used to read battlefield data. Beside him, Umara was adjusting the drip line, her eyes sharp but quiet.

Masato shifted slightly, grimacing. “…You two look like you’re attending my funeral.”

Umara gave him a stare. “Mo, Don’t say things like that! We were really worried, you know?”

Masato’s brows knitted, even as he caught his breath. “The Orca Booster’s power levels are off the charts, not even our normal suits can handle a direct blow.”

Rei’s voice was low, almost clinical. “Your body was also the weakest to begin with. Being able to last this long on pure willpower? Sasugadayo, Masumi senpai.”

Masato laughed, “Don’t use that name, Ryuji. I am not him, as much as I wish I was.”

“Likewise.” Rei replied as he started life-saving measures.

You see, Masato was the team scientist and doctor in this world. He was usually the one doing any medical procedures, but now the doctor is too wounded to take care of himself. So his frequent flier patient— Gushima Rei —is going to take care of him.

Umara set the IV clamp with a soft click. “But still, for Hoeru-kun to be able to use the Orca Booster without experiencing any side effects…… Not even Mashiro-kun could do that right?”

Masato’s lips curved into a faint smile despite the pain, “Yeah, that really gave me a shock. After all, that thing caused so many casualties in the past war that it had to be sealed.”

Rei looked at the two, expression showing a sense of respect towards the new red. “His situation is a unique one, maybe he’s the key that will allow us to unlock infinity.”

Umara folded her arms, a thought suddenly popped into her mind. “Wait, isn’t Kuon also trying to go after Hoeru? I heard his obsession with Hoeru stems from their relationship as brothers.”

Masato closed his eyes for a moment, letting the thought settle. “He’ll definitely get in our way if we try to do anything to Hoeru, I heard he wants Hoeru all to himself.”

Rei’s gaze lingered on the blank sentai ring, his voice but a whisper. “I guess we’ll have to pay the Bridan a visit before we can do anything about Tono Hoeru.”

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled gently through the stained-glass window, scattering muted colours across the wooden walls of the café. The red carpet up the central staircase looked almost regal against the warm, worn oak steps, but the quiet air carried no grandeur, only the hush of people licking their wounds.

Rikuo was seated at a corner table, an untouched mug of tea cooling beside him. One arm rested over his chest where the majority of his wounds were, the other resting on the table with an ice pack on his wrist.

Sumino, her hair tied messily back, leaned forward at the opposite side, lazily stirring sugar into her coffee more out of habit than taste.

Near the counter, Hoeru was perched on a bar stool, chin propped in his palm, looking at the menu without reading it. Ryugi stood behind the bar counter, continuing his daily chores as he normally would despite the pain in his arms.

The room was wrapped in that peculiar stillness of a team coming down from the high of a brutal fight: half exhaustion, half the unspoken relief of still being here. Cups clinked softly, the coffee machine hissed. Outside, birds sang their morning songs, as if mocking their sore muscles and quiet moods.

Kinjiro was the last to come down, unconsciously scanning the room before registering that one of them wasn’t there. “Huh? Where is Kumatan?” He blurted out before settling down on a bar stool beside Hoeru.

Hoeru straightened his back, turning to Kinjiro before replying, “Who knows? He just bolted yesterday night after saying some eccentric things.”

“I see. Has everyone had breakfast already? If not, I can go stir up something for everyone to have.”

“I’ll help you out, Kinjiro-san.” Ryugi says without hesitation, immediately signalling for Kinjiro to come into the kitchen with him, which Kinjiro did without much resistance.

Before leaving, Ryugi shot Hoeru a pointed glance, wordless, but clear: leave those two alone. Hoeru blinked in confusion, then understood. Staying here would only waste time. Mashiro’s answers would come, one way or another.

“I’ll track down Kumade. There are still questions he owes me.” He paused at the doorway, eyes flicking briefly to Rikuo and Sumino. “Fill the others in for me?”

With their silent nods as confirmation, Hoeru slipped out, determination sharp in his stride.

“Sumino-chan—” His voice was low, almost careful, as if afraid to disturb the thin peace in the room, yet he was cut off by Sumino before he could even start.

“If you have something to say to me, just hurry and spill it, there’s only the two of us here now.” Sumino could tell, Rikuo’s been looking at her with this look in his eyes that Sumino couldn’t quite say what it was.

Rikuo leaned forward, elbows on the table, the ice pack resting loosely in his hands now. “There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago, about Rei-san and Oto-chan.”

Sumino’s eyes narrowed, not with suspicion, but with the kind of wariness that came from knowing the name would eventually come up. “…Go on…”

He exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on the wood grain of the table instead of her face. “Firstly, I wanted to apologise on behalf of Rei-san, after all…”

“He was the one who took Oto right? I already knew that since Umara told me during the fight. But what I didn’t expect was for you to be acquainted to him.”Rikuo stayed silent, the faint ticking of the wall clock above the staircase filling the gap.

Sumino couldn’t hold it back any longer, she grabbed Rikuo by the collar, her eyes full of rage and sadness. “You knew how desperate I was, how much I wanted to find the culprit and to make him pay for what he did! Why did you keep this from me!?”

Rikuo didn’t resist when her fist twisted in his collar, the sudden jolt dragging him closer until he could feel the tremor in her grip.

“I…” His voice caught. There were excuses—too many of them—but none that wouldn’t sound hollow in this moment. “I wanted to settle this without any needless fighting. I wanted to believe that Rei-san had a reason for doing what he did, and I wanted to learn that before revealing everything to you.”

Her jaw clenched, and her eyes—red-rimmed from anger more than tears—searched his face like she was trying to peel away layers until only truth was left.

“You knew how desperate I was,” she repeated, her voice breaking on the last word. “How much I wanted to find the one who hurt her. And you just—” She let go abruptly, shoving him back into his chair as if the contact burned.

Rikuo’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he didn’t look like a fighter at all—just someone tired of running from his own history. “Rei isn’t innocent. I know that, I know that….” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “Rei-san is a man who I used to admire, to idolise; I owe that man my everything.”

That made Sumino pause, confusion cutting through her rage. Then, a sense of realisation hit her. “That time you attacked us…… it was his doing, wasn’t it?”

His gaze flicked toward the window, where the morning light spilled into the garden. “Yeah… I’m sorry for not coming clean that time. I just…… I didn’t want to lose you guys.”

The air between them hung heavy, charged with the mix of betrayal and the faintest thread of alliance. Sumino sank back into her seat, fingers gripping the armrest until her knuckles whitened.

Rikuo stood up from his chair, bowing a total 90 degrees, expressing his utmost remorse. “Gomenasai, I won’t listen to Rei-san again. I’ve decided now, that I’ll be fighting for my own sake. Of course I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything—”

“—This isn’t over, Rikuo,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “If you want me to forgive you, then promise me, that you won’t hold back on me again, on us.”

“I won’t,” he said determinedly, the words firm despite the ache in his chest.

—————

The hiss of miso soup simmering on the stove filled the small kitchen, blending with the rhythmic sound of Kinjiro’s knife against the cutting board. The air smelled of grilled salmon, tamagoyaki cooling on a plate nearby.

Ryugi leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, rolling onigiri between his palms with methodical precision. “You know, Kinjiro” he said, “for a guy who is ‘retired,’ you’ve been feeding this team like we’re on a military campaign.”

Kinjiro smirked without looking up. “Warriors fight better on a full stomach. Even the ones pretending they aren’t fighting.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the sizzle of fish skin crisping in the pan. Ryugi’s gaze drifted toward the doorway leading to the café where the others were. “They’re… not doing so well. Rikuo and Rei—whatever went down between them—it’s not just personal. It’s leaking into everything, especially affecting Sumino.”

“I realised,” Kinjiro replied, arranging thin slices of pickled daikon with deliberate care. “Is that why you dragged me in here? To give those two some space to sort things out? You’re so kind, Ryuteya.”

Ryugi gave a short laugh, humorless. “Yeah, Rikuo and I talked last night, and I told him to tell Sumino while the topic’s fresh. After today, it’ll be even harder for him to talk about it.”

Kinjiro gave a slight hum, seemingly agreeing with Ryugi’s advice. “I also talked with Sumipoyo yesterday, about her and Umara.”

Ryugi finally looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Kinjiro, I am worried about Kumade.” He pointed the knife at Ryugi, not unkindly. “You are? Really? Ehh, I didn’t think something like you would. I mean, don’t you absolutely hate people who insult Tegasword? Kumatan has been doing just that?!”

“I do dislike him, but even I’m not heartless.” Ryugi raised a brow. “You’re talking as if you aren’t worried either, but you asked for him this morning.”

“Well, I guess we both feel the same then,” Kinjiro said, turning back to the stove.

The aroma of the food filled the air as they worked in silence for a moment. Then Ryugi said, quieter, “We can’t afford to lose anyone. Not even that rude bear.”

Kinjiro’s only answer was a nod, but his grip on the chopsticks tightened just slightly.

From the other room came the muffled sound of a chair scraping against the floor—Rikuo and Sumino’s voices low but sharp. Ryugi and Kinjiro exchanged a glance.

“Looks like they’re settling things quite well,” Kinjiro said firmly, plating the fish. “Breakfast first. Then we deal with the rest.”

—————

The late-morning streets were quiet, sunlight spilling over the shop signs and still-damp pavement. Hoeru’s boots clicked against the sidewalk as he scanned the alleys for any sign of Mashiro.

He didn’t expect to hear music.

A clean, bright guitar riff floated from a side street, carried on the wind like an invitation. Hoeru turned the corner and found him—Natsume Tsutsumi—sitting on a bench by the street, case open beside him. He looked exactly like he did the day he left: black hair catching the light, eyes half-closed in concentration, fingers dancing effortlessly over the strings.

When Natsume spotted him, his grin was instant and warm. “Hoeru-kun! Been a while, huh?” He hopped down, slinging the guitar over his back. “You look like you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

Hoeru shrugged. “Been… busy. And you? Still chasing that Number 1 spot?”

“Always,” Natsume said, chuckling. “I’ve been on a long journey, trying to be stronger, to earn that number 1 spot.”

Hoeru gave a small nod. “I guess it’s been going well.”

For a moment, the air between them was easy: two warriors who’d once fought against the same enemy, standing under the same sun. But then Natsume’s tone shifted, quieter but sharper:

“Speaking of doing well…have you thought of your wish yet?”

Hoeru tensed, hand brushing unconsciously against the ring on his finger. He didn’t respond, didn’t have to since the answer was obvious.

“That’s the thing,” Natsume said, taking a step closer. His smile was still there, but it no longer reached his eyes. “You don’t have a wish, Hoeru. TegaSword is supposed to answer a warrior’s deepest desire. Without one, you’re just… holding it. And I can’t let that stand, not if I’m going to be Number 1.”

He reached into his jacket, drawing a shimmering disc-shaped artifact, light dancing off its edge. “Step aside and hand over your ring. It’s better off with me, anyway.”

“Not happening.” Hoeru’s voice was steady, but the wolf-shaped aura was already beginning to flicker at the edges of his frame. “You want this ring? I’m not going down without a fight.”

The smile on Natsume’s face froze for a second, then split into something fierce. “Gladly.”

In a single motion, Natsume took down his glasses, set down his guitar, took the King Ohger ring out of the guitar case, and set it into his silver Tegasword. Hoeru did the same, but with his gold Tegasword instead.

“Engage!” “Engage!”

The transformation snapped into place, claws gleaming. Natsume stood opposite him, in the Kuwagata Ohger suit, the air between them thrumming with tension.

“Let’s see,” Natsume said, voice electric, “if a wolf without a wish can keep up with a man chasing the top.”

And then the street exploded into motion.

—————

The golden cape billowed before hardening with a metallic snap, Solid activated. Natsume swung it forward, the shield slamming into the asphalt with a force that cracked it.

Hoeru ducked the first charge, countering with a quick jab to Natsume’s midsection, but his sword was met solid armour instead. The blow rattled his arm.

“Solid cape, good for blocking,” Natsume taunted, pivoting to bring his weapon down in a sweeping arc.

Hoeru rolled back, landing on his feet. “You talk too much.”

“Let me show you something interesting.” Natsume said before taking out another ring from his belt, activating it.

“Kakuranger!”

Then the world blurred, three Natsumes stood before him, all moving in sync. The Kakuranger Ring’s ability, illusions. One slashed from the left, another from behind. Hoeru blocked one, ducked another, but the third caught him across the ribs. Sparks burst from his suit.

“You can’t hit what’s not there,” Natsume said, his voice echoing from all directions.

Hoeru exhaled sharply. Enough playing around. His hand went to his own ring, twisting it with purpose. Scarlet light spiraled around him as the sirens started to sound.

“Patranger!”

The transformation locked in, red and white suit, the visor sharp like a police’s hat. The only thing different from the real patranger was the chest armour from the gozyu wolf suit. In an instant, Hoeru fired many shots from his VS changer, the fake Natsume’s blurring away.

He found the real one in the split-second of surprise.

“Got you.”

The two clashed at close range, sword against sword, cape scraping against the street. Natsume shoved forward, but Hoeru twisted, slipping under the shield and landing a precise strike to Natsume’s shoulder joint.

“Solid doesn’t mean unbreakable,” Hoeru said, activating the finisher before twisting the blade again before kicking Natsume back. “Finish Finger—Wolf!”

The cape’s hardness broke like glass, returning to cloth. Natsume staggered, his transformation cancelled, dropping to one knee, head tilted down. The silver Tegasword with the King Ohger ring inside, faded away, only leaving the ring on the ground.

Hoeru lowered his weapon as he dehenshined, breathing hard but steady. “I might not have a wish, but you’re not taking this ring from me.”

Natsume’s shoulders rose and fell with laughter, tired but not bitter. “Guess… I underestimated you, Hoeru-kun.” He pushed himself to his feet, wincing. “I lost, I guess my dream of being the Musician Number One has to stop here.”

“That might not be the case.”

Hoeru immediately turned to the direction of the voice, recognising it almost instantly. It was that annoying polar bear with a god-complex. Kumade Mashiro. BearKuma had already stolen the two rings that were in Natsume’s possession: the King Ohger and Kakuranger rings.

Mashiro slowly walked towards Natsume, a solemn look in his eyes. He stared the man in front of him, as if he was going to disappear the moment he blinked.

“Oi, where did you go? you just ran off last night without fully explaining yourself.” Hoeru walked up towards Mashiro, trying to get an explanation for last night’s conversation that was cut mid sentence.

“This doesn’t concern you, Second Gen.” Mashiro said without even looking away from Natsume. Natsume Tsutsumi could feel this guy’s intense stare and energy, and it was making him uncomfortable, just to say the least. But for some reason, he felt a sense of recognition.

That’s weird. He’s sure he’s never seen the guy before, and yet it felt like they knew each other.

“Who are you? Do I know you? Do you mean what you said?” Natsume asked, blurting out questions as they came, his voice sharp with confusion and lingering suspicion.

Mashiro just nodded, taking out the Boonboomger ring from his pocket. The ring had already been dyed in his color, but all Mashiro did was clench his fist, and the ring shimmered, reverting to its original golden form.

“Take this. You’ll understand everything once you do… I think.” Mashiro said, placing the ring gently into Natsume’s hands.

Natsume turned the ring over, examining its intricate engravings. A flash of recognition surged through him like lightning striking cold steel. His eyes widened as fragments of the past pressed against the walls of his mind. And yet, beneath it all, there was a tug of nostalgia, a warmth he couldn’t name but felt deep in his chest.

Suddenly, pain struck. A searing, hammering agony exploded inside his skull. Natsume crumpled to the ground with a groan, curling instinctively to shield himself from the mental onslaught.

“Tsutsumi!” Hoeru shouted, leaping forward. Panic was etched across his face as he steadied his friend.

Information poured into Natsume’s mind faster than he could process: memories of a world long gone, teammates lost, battles fought and failed, victories celebrated and regrets buried deep. Names, faces, places—all familiar yet alien—swirled together, threatening to overwhelm him entirely.

“What did you—” Hoeru started, but his words were cut before he could continue.

“—Calm down, Second Gen,” Mashiro’s voice came, calm but firm, cutting through the storm.

“This is a test,” Mashiro added, kneeling slightly to meet Natsume’s eyes. “Look.”

Around him, images flickered, people he had fought alongside, the personalities now crystal-clear: a serious man in a suit at a bank of computers, a hot-blooded guy in casual clothes laughing with a cheerful girl, another with curly orange hair and a lollipop, smiling beside a robotic companion. Two more figures entered a garage: a man with slicked-back hair in purple leather, alongside a purple-armored robot.

Natsume knew these people were important. He should have known them. But he didn’t, until, in a flash, he saw a face. Sharp, cunning, yet unexpectedly warm. A face that was his own. Hando Taiya. That was him, he just knew it.

Natsume gasped, clutching his head. “Hando… Taiya?” The name escaped in a whisper, foreign yet intimately his own.

Mashiro’s eyes softened for a moment. “How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

Natsume’s body shook violently. Memories of Hando’s victories, failures, moments of doubt, despair, and isolation flooded his mind. Hoeru gripped his shoulder tightly, anchoring him.

“Hey, hey, stay with me, Tsutsumi! What’s happening?” Hoeru’s voice was steady, grounding.

“I… I remember,” Natsume whispered. His gaze sharpened, and he finally focused on the figure before him.

“Kumade Mashiro!” His voice trembled with desperation and anger as he grabbed Mashiro by the collar. “What happened? Did the world reset successfully? Did Tegasword manage to revive everyone?”

Mashiro’s gaze remained solemn. “Just say something……”

“I’m afraid… only the reds of the sentai team survived,” Mashiro said, each word striking like a hammer against Natsume—Taiya’s— fragile hope.

“You…” Natsume’s voice cracked, disbelief and fury blending into a raw, bitter roar. “We trusted you! We trusted you to make things right. I even gave up my powers, my memories… for this. And now you’re telling me they’re not here?”

Mashiro’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with the slightest recognition of the pain he had stirred. “Taiya-san, I know… when you entrusted me and Tegasword with your powers, you were betting on everyone surviving. Even I hoped. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t call me that name. I am not Hando Taiya, as much as I feel like I am,” Natsume said, his fists tightening around the ring. The weight of it was more than metal: it was the burden of memories, responsibilities, despair, and unhealed grief. Confusion battled with anger; nostalgia wrestled with sorrow.

“Tsutsumi, are you okay?” Hoeru’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Natsume forced a smile, shakily, nodding. “I… I just need time. Time to… dissolve the memories.”

“You can come back to the café with me. I don’t like the idea of you being alone right now,” Hoeru suggested.

Natsume considered it, and nodded. Company would anchor him, for now at least.

“Kumade, you’re coming too. You’re explaining yourself to us,” Hoeru added, his tone firm.

Mashiro gave a small, wry smile. “Well… I suppose I shall reward you with I, Godness-Kumade’s grace,” he said, lifting his hand slightly. “In return for the two rings you’ve allowed me to obtain.”

Natsume’s grip on the Boonboomger ring didn’t loosen. Beneath the anger and grief, a spark of resolve flickered. He wasn’t ready to forgive, but he was ready to act.

Chapter Text

The café door creaked open as Hoeru stepped inside, one arm wrapped around the still-shaken Natsume. Kumade Mashiro followed, hands shoved in his pockets, his calm expression failing to hide the storm in his eyes.

The familiar scent of grilled fish and miso soup clung to the air. Behind the counter, Ryugi and Kinjiro were plating breakfast. At the table, Sumino sat with arms crossed, her gaze drifting anywhere but toward Rikuo, who leaned against the wall nursing a half-empty cup of coffee.

All eyes turned at once to the newcomers.

Kinjiro was the first to break the silence, his voice low but steady. “Hoeruchi, are you alright? You look like you’ve gotten into another fight.”

Hoeru exhaled and guided Natsume into a seat. “It’s complicated. But I’ll live.”

Ryugi’s eyes flicked toward the stranger. “And this is?”

“This is Natsume Tsutsumi, a friend from one of my part-time jobs,” Hoeru began. But Mashiro cut him off, voice smooth and deliberate. “He was also once known as Hando Taiya—Bakuage Sentai Boonboomger, Boon Red.”

The words struck the room like a hammer.

Natsume’s fingers shook as he clutched the Boonboomger ring, knuckles white. “I told you…” his voice wavered. “…just because I used to be him, doesn’t mean I am him now. I carry his memories, wield his power, feel his grief, but it all feels like someone else’s life. Like I’m watching from the outside.”

Ryugi’s eyes narrowed, cutting toward Mashiro. “So this is your doing.” His voice was sharp, accusing.

Mashiro tilted his head, unfazed. “I wanted to test a theory.”

“That’s rich,” Sumino muttered, slamming her cup down. “You walked out on us without explaining what happened to Umara and the others. You’re the only one who’s lived through the previous universe taisen. If anyone has answers, it’s you.”

Rikuo stepped forward, his gaze pinned on Mashiro. “No more half-truths. If the past is seeping into this world, then we all deserve to know what we’re up against.”

Natsume lifted his head, eyes clouded but burning faintly with resolve. “He told me… only the Reds survived. That means everyone else—my team—they’re gone.” His voice cracked on the last word.

The café went still. Sumino’s fingers curled around her cup, her instincts flaring.“…Only the Reds? But Umara’s suit was yellow. She called herself Lupin Yellow.”

Rikuo’s eyes widened as realization struck. “Rei-san’s suit was blue. He called himself Blue Buster.”

Hoeru’s jaw tightened. “The guy I fought called himself Bouken Black.”

For the first time, Mashiro’s composure faltered. His silence said more than words could.

Natsume’s brow furrowed, confusion breaking through his grief. “Lupin Yellow, Blue Buster, Bouken Black… those three are my super sentai senpai, none of them were Reds. Kumade Mashiro, if only Reds survived, then how are they here?”

Mashiro’s lips pressed into a thin line. When he finally spoke, his voice carried weight. “What I said was true, only the Reds made it through fully. Their powers and memories were sealed in Tegasword’s rings. The others were… swallowed by the Calamity. They should never have returned.”

“Should never?” Kinjiro snapped. “They’re standing right in front of us trying to kill us, I’d say they’re real.”

Natsume’s grip on the ring tightened. “No. If they exist here, they’re not fragments. Maybe they’ve lived different lives, like I did. But they’re here, that means they can be saved.”

Hoeru placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tsutsumi, breathe. You just came off a fight, don’t burn yourself out.”

But Natsume shook him off, voice trembling. “You don’t understand! If they’re here, maybe the rest of my team could be too. I can’t give up on them!”

Sumino’s sharp gaze locked on Mashiro. “Then why would they attack us? Sentai fight for justice. If they’ve been twisted, what twisted them? Possession? Or something worse?”

Ryugi’s voice rumbled with quiet authority. “We’re not idiots, Kumade-san. If Reds were the only ones meant to cross over, and non-Reds exist, someone’s pulling the strings.”

Mashiro glanced toward the window, the sunlight almost too harsh against his expression. “…I have a theory about who could’ve brought them here. But…” His voice trailed, heavy with doubt.

The realization hit Natsume, and his voice dropped into a low growl. “…The Calamity.”

Silence strangled the room.

Mashiro shook his head. “I can’t prove it. But they’re not the same people I remember. They carry echoes of those heroes, but their will isn’t their own anymore.”

Natsume slammed the ring against the table, the sharp crack echoing. “Then I’ll find them myself. Echo, fragment, puppet—I don’t care. They’re our comrades. If there’s a chance to save them, I’ll take it.”

Mashiro’s eyes softened just for a moment, his voice sank lower. “Hando-san, don’t mistake this path for salvation, it may break you.”

Hoeru drew a sharp breath. “If he’s going, then I’m going too.”

Sumino rose, palms flat on the table. “If Umara’s been twisted, I want to be there to bring her back. I’ll help.”

Rikuo’s eyes found hers, determination sparking in his own. “If Rei-san’s under the same curse, I’ll help too.”

Natsume stared at them all, stunned by their solidarity. Slowly, the disbelief gave way to a fragile smile. “…Bakuage dana.” He turned back to Mashiro, voice firm. “And don’t call me Hando Taiya. That isn’t me. Not anymore.”

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the clink of plates in the kitchen.

Mashiro leaned back, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. His voice was low, almost reverent. “Then do it, Natsume-san. But remember, sometimes the truth is the sharpest blade. And when it cuts, it doesn’t heal.”

—————

The air in the café was heavy, the kind that pressed down on shoulders and made every breath feel shallow. The scent of grilled fish and miso from the half-finished breakfast lingered, but no one had touched their food in hours.

Natsume had bid goodbye to the group after he had completely processed the information overload the Boonboomger ring gave him, now determined to find a way to see whether the other fellow sentai teammates had made it into this new world.

Hoeru sat slumped in his chair, knuckles white against the table. He hadn’t said a word since Natsume had left, the blood on his cheek now dried up. His eyes flickered once toward Mashiro, then away.

Rikuo leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight across his chest, avoiding Sumino’s stare. She sat opposite him, fists trembling on her lap, her lips pressed so firmly together that her jaw ached, the feelings she felt when she confronted Rikuo hours ago still lingered. The silence between them was sharp, yet the awkwardness this morning had dissipated.

Kinjiro busied himself wiping down the already clean counter, his movements stiff. Finally, he set the cloth down with a loud slap.

“Enough of this, we can’t keep dancing around it.” He looked straight at Mashiro. “Kumatan, you said we’re the only full sentai. That the others are… gone. Fine, but don’t expect us to just nod and smile. If you know something, then start explaining things so that it is easier to understand.”

Mashiro, seated quietly with his hands folded, didn’t flinch under the weight of their glares. His usual aloofness had dulled into something softer, almost regretful. “I told you the truth. I will not speak more beyond what I’ve said… but I can confirm this much: the reset wasn’t completely successful. Me getting stuck in that time-space rift for 10,000 years was not supposed to happen. I believe that Tegasword couldn’t fully eliminate The Calmity.”

That admission landed like a stone in water. Ryugi, usually the optimist, let out a bitter laugh.

“So you’re saying we’re not just fighting the Bridan, we’re caught up in something bigger, something you already knew about.” His eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t trust us enough to tell us?”

Mashiro’s eyes flickered downward. “Trust has nothing to do with it, I wasn’t certain, after all I didn’t have enough time to completely check this new world.”

“Wasn’t certain?” Sumino’s voice cracked as she finally snapped. She slammed her palm on the table and stood, shaking. “You’re playing with words while we’ve been risking our lives out there! You think we’re just supposed to accept half-truths and move on?!”

Rikuo shifted at that, guilt etched across his face. He murmured, almost to himself, “She’s right. We’ve all been fighting blind… and some of us have been keeping things hidden.” His gaze drifted to the floor, but everyone knew who he meant.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the café’s fridge. Then Hoeru finally spoke, voice low but steady.

“If we’re going to keep fighting, we can’t afford this. Secrets. Lies. Half-truths.” He lifted his eyes, meeting each of theirs in turn. “We’ll break apart before the enemy even touches us.”

Mashiro’s expression tightened, something unreadable flickered there, like a shadow of regret. “You’re right. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. Only this: stay alive long enough, and you’ll understand why I’ve done what I’ve done.”

The words rang hollow, but no one challenged them. They couldn’t, not when the weight of everything already threatened to crush them.

Mashiro rose quietly, his chair scraping the floor as he made his way to the door. He rested his hand on the frame for a moment before speaking, his voice low but firm.

“We may call ourselves a sentai, but the Universe Taisen hasn’t ended. Each of us carries a wish, and this alliance only lasts until the other warriors are gone.” He hesitated, eyes flickering briefly toward the others, softer for just a heartbeat before hardening again. “I don’t expect you to understand. I won’t burden you with my past, and I won’t entrust my wish to anyone else.”

He stepped forward, the air around him taut with unspoken resolve. “My wish… is to surpass TegaSword itself. And I’ll reach it with my own two hands.”

At the threshold, he glanced back just once, the faintest shadow of conflict in his expression, before sealing it away.

“Zettai ni.”

Chapter Text

Arata Setsuna did not expect this.

He thought the gozyugers would be easy. He trusted his technology more than anything else: his genius, his algorithms, the flawless simulations that always bent to his will. He lulled the Gozyugers into their own dreams, shackling them with illusions of their greatest desires. He had even tamed Ji Ai no Bouquet, a AI lifeform born from countless prompts, almost perfectly human. She should have been his perfect puppet.

But her love, that irrational, infuriating attachment to a worthless idol, burned through the code and shattered his control.

So he resorted to violence.

He thought that the enhanced armour was enough, and yet he was defeated, losing his ring.

He didn’t give up, and so he used the AI-zer, only to be defeated by the AI life-form he looked down upon.

He didn’t give up, and so he decided as long as the data he gathered was there, he would be able to make a comeback.

When he walked into that office, he didn’t expect Kuon to be sitting there, in Japan when he should be in Philadelphia. He didn’t expect everything to be Kuon’s plan, a trap to make him greedy enough to make his move, then deleting all the data he had worked so hard to gather.

And now, he was officially terminated from Kuon AI Konzern.

“Now, I’ll give you your punishment.” Kuon said as he made an X with his fingers, angling it to hover right over Setsuna’s face. He knew what happened to employees who didn’t follow orders well enough, and now he was going to die, because all he wanted was to surpass Kuon.

He just wanted to surpass Kuon and be the number one instead.

Sure it was his wish, but his life is so much more important. He knew he had to run, if he wanted to keep his life.

And run he did.

He didn’t care how he looked because he knew he looked horrible, but that didn’t matter now, all that mattered was that he had to get out of there if he wanted to stay alive. He ran as fast as he could, soon he was one street, two streets, three streets away from the building.

And yet, Kuon seemed to be right behind him.

Arata Setsuna pressed himself tighter into the alley wall, every muscle locked, his breath shallow under the clamp of his own palm. His ears rang with the phantom echo of Kuon’s voice, calm, patient, inexorable.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t let him find you.

Then came the sound: sharp, metallic, uncoiling into the night.

“Bang!” The first shot rang out, and Setsuna didn’t even register what had happened at first. The force slammed him sideways into the wall, blood spraying across the bricks. His strangled cry escaped before he even realised he made a sound. Only when he could feel a warm liquid flow down his left arm did he realise what happened. Finally registering the pain, his left arm went limp.

The second shot followed almost instantly, sinking into his abdomen. A sickening crunch, a hollow collapse inside his gut. Warmth spread across his stomach, soaking his shirt, thicker and heavier with every breath. He doubled over, clutching at the wound, but his hand slipped uselessly against the slick flood of blood.

He tried to scramble backward, his legs jerking weakly, but another crack split the air.

A third shot shattering through his thigh. His body gave way, folding hard onto the concrete, the impact rattling his skull.

The alley spun.

“I can’t die here…I can’t die here…” But the thought rang hollow now. His vision tunneled, the edges darkening, his heartbeat pounding weaker and weaker. Every throb of pain reminded him of what he had lost: his work, his dream, his chance to stand above Kuon.

He was always the best, the top of his class, even getting honours for his university degree, landing him roles in reputable companies. That’s when he got into Kuon’s company, landing a developmental research manager role, essentially making him the number two of the company. But he wasn’t satisfied with that, he didn’t understand what made Kuon so good that he was below him. He had hoped that one day when the chance arose, he would grab it and show Kuon exactly what he is, a number one AI researcher.

But his hopes were crushed, the moment he saw Kuon sitting in that chair, mocking him for falling for the obvious trap. Setsuna looked up into the sky: no moon, no stars, just black, like the despair welling up within him. He knew there was no more hope for him, he was going to die in a few minutes and he would never get the chance to fulfil his dream.

He wasn’t going to surpass anyone. He wasn’t going to be number one.

The despair hit harder than the bullets.

Tears blurred his vision, though whether from pain or futility he no longer knew. His last sight was the broken photo of Rikuo in his mind’s eye, mocking him, taunting him with the very “love” he had tried to overwrite.

Then his head slumped sideways on the cold concrete, eyes open but unseeing, as the night swallowed him whole.

“Found you.”

—————

The first thing Setsuna felt was the cold. Not the searing pain of bullets tearing through flesh, not the choking wetness of blood, not the sharp pain a bullet wound should have, but a hollow, sterile cold that pressed against his skin like a sheet of frost.

His eyes shot open.

He wasn’t on the alley floor anymore. The concrete, the smell of iron, the echo of Kuon’s voice, was gone. Instead, he lay beneath dim industrial lights, the faint hum of distant machines filling the silence. His body was bandaged, his shirt cut away, tubes snaking into his arm. Every breath ached, but he was alive.

Alive.

How? He thought, his throat too hoarse to even speak out loud.

“Good, you survived the awakening process.” A voice answered smoothly, the tone calm but clinical. A voice that didn’t surprise him, though it should have.

The man leaned in from the shadows, grey eyes sharp with amusement, arms folded behind his back like a surgeon who had just finished a successful procedure. “Three bullets. Kuon meant for you to be erased, But I managed to get to you in time.”

Setsuna’s gaze shifted, and he saw another male sitting on a nearby medical bed, little bit pale, covered in his own bandages. “Bet Kuon didn’t expect this, huh?” The male standing gave a slight chuckle, seemingly acknowledging his ally’s comment.

Setsuna didn’t recognise the two men at first glance, he didn’t even care what they wanted and where he was; he just glad that he wasn’t dead and Kuon wasn’t here.

Setsuna tried to sit up, but pain carved through his torso, dropping him back onto the table. And then it came.

Fragments of memories that weren’t his.

Shiguru, standing battered but unyielding, his blade raised against overwhelming odds.

Shiguru, bleeding out, but still throwing himself in front of his friends.

Shiguru, whispering through gritted teeth: “I’ll protect them, even if it costs me everything.”

The words weren’t meant for him, yet they rooted themselves in Setsuna’s chest like fire. For the first time in his life, he felt something stir, something alien, almost unbearable.

Empathy.

The man he saw in those visions didn’t fight for pride, or data, or glory. He fought because people needed him. Because it was right.

It didn’t make sense. These memories were foreign, alien, but they pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. His fingers twitched, feeling a static hum beneath his skin, something wrong, something immense.

Setsuna’s hand curled against his bandages, trembling. “Why… do I feel like this?”

Masato, weak but watching him closely, answered softly: “Because that’s what it means to be a hero.”

“Who is he? Why do I see him?” Setsuna rasped, clutching his temple.

Rei tilted his head. “Because in despair and death, it triggers something deep down, pulling memories buried deep under back to the surface.”

Masato coughed from the bed, his voice raw but steady: “Rei… don’t toy with him. He doesn’t understand what he’s carrying.”

But Rei only chuckled. “Don’t worry, he will.”

Before registering the foreign feeling in his heart, another pulse tore through Setsuna. It was violent, dark, corrupting. His vision blurred black at the edges, veins throbbing with a strange static. He gasped as something clawed inside him.

It whispered in a deep voice that seemed nothing like Shiguru’s, wrapping around the memory like barbed wire.

“Protect? No, they left you to die. Use that pain, throw it back into the world. That is true justice.”

His body convulsed, torn between the warmth and the coldness, between light and abyss. Rei leaned in, his grey eyes seemed to glitter. “Feel it, Setsuna. The fire of justice, the abyss of vengeance. Don’t resist them, fuse them. That’s what you’ll use to surpass them.”

Setsuna’s chest heaved, sweat beading down his temple as both visions flashed before his eyes: Shiguru’s noble sacrifice, and the Calamity’s hunger for retribution.

And beneath it all, something new was taking root.

Empathy he had never known. A moral compass tilting for the first time. But bent, twisted by the jagged weight of his trauma, it pointed not to pure justice, only to a justice warped into vengeance.

Rei was smiling, Setsuna didn’t know why, after all there weren’t any reflective surfaces around.

He didn’t know that his brown irises were now grey, the same colour as the other two men in the room.

Chapter Text

The final bell had only just faded when the corridor was filled with noise: shouts, footsteps, the clatter of lockers shutting like dominoes down the corridor. Kinjiro slipped his bag higher onto his shoulder, weaving through the tide of students streaming for the gates. The air outside was warmer, thick with the faint scent of fried snacks from the stall across the street, and the late sun was still hanging stubbornly over the horizon.

He didn’t take the bus stop with the others. Instead, his route curved through the quieter back lanes, sneakers scuffing against uneven pavement, the rhythm steady and familiar. Past the row of bicycle racks, past the florist with its buckets of carnations.

A shortcut only he seemed to use.

It had been three weeks since the whole thing happened with the grey eyed trio, and life seemed to go back to normal. They seemed to disappear after that last fight, and everyone decided not to pursue them at the moment.

Well, probably except for Kumatan.

Kumatan was always off on his own, wandering around the place. Especially after the declaration he made at the cafe, he seemed all the more determined to deal with the issue at hand, this so called Calamity.

From what Ryugi has told him, The Calamity was a demonic being hell-bent on bringing the destruction of the world, which was what caused the Universe Taisen in the past. As its goals were almost achieved, TegaSword appeared and it beat The Calamity, defeating it.

Doesn’t seem that way now.

And then there was Kuon’s number two. That cursed wish generator, tempting and dangerous. For one fleeting moment, it had shown him someone he thought lost forever. The memory still unsettled him. Technology that powerful in the wrong hands, it was a miracle they’d stopped it.

But one detail nagged at him. The Battle Fever J Ring used in that fight hadn’t gone to Hoeru, as it should have. Instead, it had flown away, disappearing into the distance. Most likely, someone else had picked it up.

Kinjiro shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. He had a job to do, get back to TegaSword Village and help Ryu-ta at the café. He turned onto the narrow pavement leading to the shop and stopped dead.

A familiar figure stood outside the café door, backlit by the orange sun.

“Long term no see, Gozyu Eagle.” Her voice reached him first: smooth, almost warm, but carrying an icy undertone.

“What are you doing here, Umara-chan?” Kinjiro said with a warning voice, his stance changing into a defensive one. “I doubt you’re here to see Sumipoyo, right?”

Umara smiled, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. “Hahaha, you’re right. I’m actually here today to make an exchange with you.” From her pocket, she drew something small and gleaming, the missing Battle Fever J Ring.

“That ring! How did you even obtain it?” Kinjiro blurted out the moment he saw the ring, mentally connecting the dots, realising that she was there to see the fight they had with Kuon’s number two.

“You have the Kiramaiger ring, right? I’ll trade you this for it.” Umara twirled the ring between her fingers, then fixed her gaze on him.

Kinjiro fumbled through his bag, half-expecting nothing. But sure enough, tucked away, was the very Kiramager Ring she wanted. He closed his fingers around it, suspicion flaring.

“Why should I just trade this ring? Aren’t all the rings technically the same? Why do you need this specific ring?” Kinjiro asked, seemingly wanting to get a response from Umara. Of course, Umara said nothing, just stared at Kinjiro with those grey eyes, repeating her request.

“So are you going to willingly exchange the ring with me? If you’re gonna make this turn into a fight, you won’t win.” Umara declared, clearly showing that she wasn’t here to fight. But if circumstances were to change, she might just resort to that.

And win as well.

Kinjiro’s fingers tightened around the Kiramager Ring, its weight suddenly heavier than it had ever been. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the street.

“Why this ring?” he pressed again, refusing to move. “You said exchange, but you’re not telling me why. If you expect me to just hand it over—”

Umara cut him off with a small laugh. “Gozyu Eagle, you ask too many questions.” She raised the Battle Fever J Ring into the light, its gem catching the sun. “All you need to know is that they are not the same. Each ring represents its own sentai. This one,” she tilted the ring in her palm, “has no value to me right now. But the Kiramager Ring does.”

Kinjiro swallowed, his stance still defensive, but curiosity slipped through. “Your goal is to collect the rings. That’s why you were watching the fight three weeks ago.”

“You’re right,” she said lightly, though her gaze sharpened. “But also wrong.”

Kinjiro frowned at her response, “what do you—”

“It doesn’t matter, what matters now is the trade.”

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the hiss of a frying pan from the café kitchen and the buzz of cicadas overhead. Kinjiro’s mind ran in circles: if he gave it up, would he be giving her an advantage, one they couldn’t fight back against later? But if he refused, he had no doubt she would take it by force.

And she was right. He wouldn’t win.

In the last fight, he fought her 2 on 1 and they still lost. So what’s to say anything is going to change this time?

He exhaled, slow and heavy. “…And in return, I get the Battle Fever J Ring?”

Umara’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “You have my word. I’m not here to steal. I told you, I want an exchange.”

Kinjiro studied her for a long moment, searching for any sign of a trick. Finally, he stepped forward, palm opening to reveal the Kiramager Ring.

Umara mirrored the gesture, holding out the Battle Fever J Ring. For a brief second, the two rings glimmered in the fading light, red and gold catching each other’s shine.

The exchange was silent.

The moment the metal left his palm, Kinjiro felt an odd emptiness, as though something vital had slipped away. Umara, however, closed her hand around the Kiramager Ring with quiet satisfaction, the corners of her lips curving upward.

“Wise choice,” she murmured. “You spared yourself a fight you could not win. And… just so you know, you didn’t lose out on anything at all by dealing with me like this.”

Kinjiro frowned, examining the Battle Fever J Ring in his hand. He wanted to demand answers, but by the time he looked up, Umara had already stepped back into the shadows of the street, her presence fading as swiftly as she had appeared.

Her parting words lingered like smoke:
“Until next time, Gozyuger.”

Kinjiro stood frozen outside the café, the cool metal biting into his palm. The Battle Fever J Ring gleamed faintly, but instead of triumph, a knot of unease settled in his chest.

He had made the exchange. But at what cost?

—————

The café door creaked as Kinjiro stepped in, the familiar smell of coffee and sweet bread wrapping around him. He tried to look casual, but his clenched fist around the Battle Fever J Ring gave him away.

At one of the corner tables, Ryugi was wiping down mugs while Hoeru helped. Rikuo was doing something for his fans again and Sumino leaned against the counter, half-watching the street. Surprisingly Mashiro was there, but then Kinjiro saw the plate of pancakes and the honey jar, and I realised he was here for the food. Again.

“You’re late,” Ryugi said without looking up. “Hoeru was about to—” He stopped when he saw Kinjiro’s face. “What happened?”

Kinjiro dropped heavily into a chair, opening his palm to reveal the gleaming Battle Fever J Ring. The others froze.

“You got it?!” Hoeru exclaimed, nearly knocking over the cups. “Where? How—”

Kinjiro’s voice was low. “It was Umara. She found me outside and she had this… She wanted to trade.”

The room went silent.

“You mean…” Rikuo’s eyes narrowed. “You gave her one of yours?”

Kinjiro nodded. His chest tightened under the weight of their stares. “The Kiramager Ring. She wanted it specifically. Said the others didn’t have any value to her right now.”

“Kinji, why did you? You could’ve just fought for the ring instead.” Sumino chimed, but Kinjiro just sighed.

“I didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t there to fight, but if it came to that, I wouldn’t have won.”

Sumino let out a sharp breath, muttering under her breath in frustration. Hoeru’s hands clenched into fists, but Ryugi raised a hand before anyone could lash out.

“At least you were honest,” Ryugi said quietly. “That’s what matters the most right now. But…” His eyes darkened. “If she wanted the Kiramager Ring in particular, that’s not random.”

Mashiro put down his utensils, the metal clinking against the empty ceramic plate. Finally, he spoke, his tone calm but grave.

“The Kiramager Ring. It was probably because of Kiramei Blue.”

Everyone turned toward Mashiro. Kinjiro blinked. “Kiramei…Blue?”

Mashiro’s gaze lingered on the Battle Fever J Ring in Kinjiro’s hand, then shifted to the tissue box on the table. “I didn’t remember until later. Arata Setsuna, He… was Kiramai Blue.”

The words dropped like stones in water, ripples spreading across every face in the café.

Sumino exclaimed. “That creepy evil researcher who is Kuon’s number two? A Sentai warrior?”

Mashiro’s voice didn’t waver. “These people, they’re resurfacing because of The Calamity. And Setsuna, he seemed to not know who he used to be. But if Umara wanted the Kiramager Ring, it means that she now holds the key that will allow him to regain his memories.”

“Just like Tsutsumi did.” Hoeru added, and the gravity of the situation became clear in an instant.

Kinjiro felt his stomach twist. “So what you’re saying is… I didn’t just give up a ring. I gave Umara the key to another possible ally.”

Hoeru slammed his palm against the counter. “Damn it! This will make it even more disadvantageous for us.”

The café air grew heavy, thick with unspoken fears. Kinjiro bowed his head, guilt pressing down on him.

“I thought it was just an exchange… but if Setsuna really was Kiramai Blue…” His voice broke slightly. “Then I might’ve just handed her exactly what she wanted all along.”

The ring in his palm felt colder than ever.

“But it’s still weird,” Sumino muttered, folding her arms, eyes narrowing. “Why would she make herself lose out as well by giving the actual ring to you?”

Ryugi leaned against the counter, frowning deeply. “That’s right, she could’ve just stolen it, or faked the Battle Fever J Ring. But she gave you the real one anyway. That doesn’t add up.”

The others fell into uneasy silence, the only sound the faint hum of the birds and the ticking of the wall clock.

Across the street, half-hidden in the dusky glow of the setting sun, a figure leaned casually against the window outside.

Umara’s reflection stretched over the glass, her smile faint and unreadable as she watched the Gozyuger debate her motives.

“Ahhh, Rei-san’s going to be so mad at me when he finds out I gave them the ring,” she murmured softly, her voice laced with a strange mixture of mischief and melancholy. Her eyes lingered on Sumino’s silhouette inside, and for a fleeting second, something gentler passed through her expression.

“I guess this atones for my betrayal, huh, Sumino-chan.”

She pushed away from the window, fading into the crowd, leaving only her words hanging like a phantom echo in the café’s uneasy air.

Chapter Text

The base was quiet when Umara returned, her footsteps echoing faintly across the metallic floor. She had slipped her jacket off one shoulder, as though nothing weighed on her at all, but the air told another story.

Rei was already there, standing rigid near the terminal, arms crossed, his Infinity Ring glinting faintly in the pale blue light. Masato sat further back, bandages still visible under his shirt, his face pale but eyes sharp as they followed Umara inside.

“You’re late,” Rei said flatly. His voice carried no emotion, but the weight of it pressed into the room like stone.

Umara only smiled faintly. “I got delayed. Had to tie up a few loose ends.”

Rei’s eyes narrowed. “Loose ends?”

Masato leaned forward, suspicion cutting through his exhaustion. “…What did you do, Umara?”

She hesitated for half a heartbeat before holding up her empty hand. “I made an exchange.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Rei’s knuckles whitened as his fingers flexed against his arm.

“You… gave away the Battle Fever J Ring.” It wasn’t a question.

Umara tilted her head, as if trying to soften the blow. “In return for the Kiramaiger ring, they now hold the Battle Fever J Ring. A fair trade.”

The Infinity Ring on Rei’s hand pulsed faintly, its glow betraying the calm mask of his face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but sharp as a blade.

“You fool. That ring wasn’t just some trinket for negotiation. My Infinity Ring was meant to consume it, to strengthen its power. And now you’ve put it in their hands.”

Umara’s smile faltered, just a fraction. “They would have taken it eventually. Better to give them one piece and control the board than risk losing everything.”

Rei stepped forward, the light from the terminal catching the cold lines of his face. “Control? They already have so many sentai rings.” He exhaled slowly, fury buried under restraint. “You’ve accelerated what was meant to be gradual.”

Masato’s gaze shifted uneasily to the side. “…Then again, maybe it was inevitable.”

Umara’s eyes followed his, landing on the medical cot where Arata Setsuna stirred fitfully. Bandages still wrapped his wounds, but his hand twitched unconsciously, as if reaching for something.

Rei finally tore his gaze from Umara and gestured. “Give it to him. Let’s see if your reckless act was worth it.”

Umara pulled out the Kiramager Ring, its blue crystal shimmering faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. Carefully, she placed it on Setsuna’s finger.

The moment metal touched skin, Setsuna gasped. His body arched violently against the cot, breath catching in his throat. The room trembled faintly, a low resonance filling the air like a chord struck on unseen strings.

Setsuna blinked, and he was no longer lying on the cot in the abandoned base. His body was moving on its own, his arm sweeping a gleaming sword through the air. The weight was familiar, the stance was perfect.

Cheers roared around him. Not enemy screams, not chaos, but cheers. People’s voices, rising with hope, calling his name.

“Shiguru Oshikiri!” The title hit him like a tidal wave.

Shiguru.

That was who he was, that was who he had been.

He saw his team: bright and dazzling in their colors, smiling with unwavering trust. Juru’s unshakable optimism, Tametomo’s cocky grin, Sena’s speed, Sayo’s gentle strength, Takamichi’s determination, Mabushina’s beautiful laugh. He remembered laughing with them, bleeding with them, standing shoulder to shoulder as sparks flew and monsters fell.

For a moment, warmth flooded him. A forgotten pride: the thrill of standing as a hero, the joy of protecting people, of being needed.

That warmth didn’t last.

The images glitched and fractured. The battlefield bled into a hospital room of sorts, Shiguru’s own body pale and trembling under a crushing weight of responsibility. His hand was wrapped, trembling from overuse.

“You’re Kiramai Blue. You need to stand strong.”

The voices twisted, not his team, not his fans, but his own.

Cold, demanding. Relentless.

The city lights flickered out, replaced by fire and shadow. The cheers warped into screams, the smoke choking. He saw himself fighting again, but this time it wasn’t a simple fight. It was truly a fight for survival.

And through it all, lurking at the edges of every memory, was the Calamity. Black smoke tendrils curling like cracks through the sky, dripping into the brightest moments and staining them. The more he clung to the memories of light, the more the shadow seeped in.

Shiguru’s voice whispered through him, desperate, aching. “A hero protects others, no matter the cost…”

Setsuna’s voice answered, jagged and broken.
“…But what about me? What about what I lost? What about the price I paid?”

He doubled over in the dreamscape, clutching his chest as both voices fought inside him: the heroic empathy awakening, demanding he feel for others, but calamity’s hunger twisting it toward rage, toward revenge for everything taken from him.

He lifted his head, and in the fractured mirror of his mind, he saw both faces staring back.

Shiguru Oshikiri, the shining hero.
Arata Setsuna, the apathetic survivor.

And between them, a shadow blooming wider, whispering: “You can be a hero to some and a calamity to others.”

Setsuna gasped, snapping back toward the surface of consciousness, his body trembling as he clutched the Kiramager Ring tighter. His heart thundered with a storm of empathy he couldn’t control. Grief, anger, love, vengeance; it was all too much, all at once.

“…I remember…” he whispered again, but this time, his voice carried not just wonder, but hunger as well.

Rei’s expression softened just enough to betray satisfaction. “As least his memories of a hero returned.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice like a verdict. “But a hero’s empathy, bound to The Calamity’s hunger… that will break you in ways even you cannot imagine.”

Umara looked away, guilt flickering across her face as Setsuna trembled, torn between the flood of warmth in those memories and the dark corrosion already gnawing at the edges of his soul.

Masato looked away as well, fully knowing what it was like to be consumed by the darkness. He once dwelled within it as Masumi, but the abyss that was the Calamity was far more powerful than anything the old him had faced.

Rei, seemingly the most calm out of the three, just looked at the infinity ring, a grin slowly appearing on his face.

“I should test out the abilities of the two new rings that I obtained.” He mutters as he opened his palm. The Magiranger Ring and Zenkaiger Ring shimmered in the dim light, power crackling faintly between them like static.

The air in the base grew heavy. Setsuna shifted restlessly on the cot, his hand trembling around the Kiramager Ring, but Rei didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

He had already set his next move.

—————

The experiment was a success.

Rei had expected Rikuo to come searching for him again, trying to convince him that there was still a way forward, that they could face the illness together, that life was still worth saving. But Rei knew the harsh truth, he had already died.

In fact, he had died twice.

The first death was as Iwasaki Ryuji, a warrior who once fought as a hero, only to be swallowed by the same darkness the Sentai warrior had sworn to resist. A death that came with both honor and despair.

The second death was as Gushima Rei, the brilliant young surgeon who would never fulfill his dream ever again. His ruined arm made the scalpel feel like a stranger in his hand, trembling too violently to heal anyone. From then on, he lived half a life, surviving only through medication, locked in a fragile body plagued by diseases that left him closer to a corpse than a man.

And then came the Calamity.

It found him drowning in despair and offered a cruel gift, another chance.

Not to heal. Not to dream. To consume.

To survive by devouring the strength of others, until their lives became his life. That path meant crossing the line completely, and he had done so without hesitation. Even if some small part of him still wished it weren’t so, he could never go back.

What he hadn’t expected was Mashiro. Not only had he accompanied Rikuo, he had been the one to track him down first. Perhaps it was the prize of the Universe Taisen, some faint omnipotence that allowed him to glimpse where he walked, but Rei was not impressed. If he had been truly divine, he would have struck him down already.

Half-god at best, he thought.

Humanity still clung to him, and as he knew well, no one could reach godhood with their humanity intact.

Their battle unfolded as smoothly as he anticipated. He had no need for a Tegasword, no clumsy channel to force the morphing. The Infinity Ring allowed him to call upon the spirits of Sentai warriors directly, wielding their power and transforming as though he himself were the culmination of their legacies. It was intoxicating, yet not without limits.

The time restraints were a problem. Even within the abyss, the rings resisted. Or perhaps it was the lingering will of the Sentai themselves, their spirits clawing against being consumed. Either way, their rebellion left cracks in his control. He would need to correct this, experiment further, refine the ring until no spirit could resist.

But that could wait. First, the Gozyugers had to be taken out. They have too many rings, wielding too much power that he required. Word had already reached him that they had been tested in battle, and one among them had fallen. The Bakugami prince, his ring now lost to some weird royal from a distant tea-planet. A newcomer, inexperienced, isolated.

Easy prey.

Rei had approached him with simple words, casual conversation. The boy lowered his guard, mistaking civility for mercy. And in that single moment of trust, Rei struck. The abyss surged, swallowing the prince’s essence in an instant. Another spirit devoured, another ring obtained—the Tyranno Ring, Tegasword’s ring, firmly in his grasp.

Rei smiled faintly as the power settled into him.

The experiment was a success.

Now, it was the Gozyugers’ turn.

Chapter Text

The corridors of the hospital were sterile white, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above. Ryugi stood near the pillar, while Rikuo and Hoeru stood at his side. Both had been talking to him, trying to convince him to come help fight the No One and pull him back from what could be life as an eternal puppet for his father.

“Ryugi, are you really alright with all of this? ” Rikuo said, his voice soft.

Hoeru declared, earnest and direct. “You’re not the old Ryugi I remember.”

“Then tell me, how exactly should I live!?” Ryugi’s scream for help echoing throughout the empty hospital.

Rei had been watching for a while now, listening to their chatter; it was amusing to see someone other than himself wallow in their own pain and despair. This is how it should be. But enough was enough, and it seemed like his cue to come in.

“Then you should just stop living.”

And from the shadows at the far end of the corridor, Rei stepped out.

The Infinity Ring gleamed faintly on his hand, pulsing like a second heartbeat. His expression was calm, almost casual, but his eyes locked onto Rikuo like a predator sighting prey.

The battle erupted in the ward, floor tiles cracking under the force of their clash. But the outcome wasn’t what Rei had predicted. He had never imagined that a consumed ring could fight back, could claw its way free from the abyss that devoured it. Yet, the Tyranno Ring, one of Tegasword’s own, wasn’t ordinary. It had been created for a single purpose: to destroy the Abyssal Calamity Cladis and the legions born of his abyss. So of course it would resist being consumed by something of that same darkness.

Rei clenched his trembling hand, watching the faint cracks spiderweb across his finger where the ring had once been embedded.

“It won’t happen again,” he muttered. “Next time, I’ll make sure to destroy them.”

After the fight at the hospital, Rei knew he couldn’t take them all at once. The Gozyugers had to be dismantled carefully, one by one.

Rikuo he would save for last.

So who better to start with than Ichikawa Sumino, sister of Ichikawa Oto?

Her desperation fascinated him, it was almost poetic. Before, Rei had thought Oto’s ring would be the key to stabilising his condition. But now, with the collection of the other rings he and the others possessed, he no longer needed Oto—or any of the experiments—to survive for now. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to end the experiments just yet. There was so much about the rings left unexplored, so much he could still do with them. It would be such a waste to just throw that potential away.

And, if he was honest with himself, he simply wanted to see her suffer.

He found her easily, luring her to an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city. Dust floated through the broken windows like dying fireflies. Rei had promised not to fight, per Umara and Masato’s warnings. They had told him to stop, reminding him that his body was failing faster with every battle. The rings could sustain his life, yes, but they couldn’t purge the illness that ate at his insides.

The heartburn. The pain. The growing numbness in his fingers. Those were all still there. But Rei no longer listened to them, he listened to the voice inside of him instead.

Bellum the Battlefield, one of Cladis’s most powerful generals, spoke from within the hollowness of Rei’s heart. He had been chosen as Bellum’s vessel, and the whisper of war and destruction never stopped.

“You cannot save lives anymore. You can’t even save yourself. So why should anyone else be saved?”

Bellum’s words and wish bled into his thoughts until they became his own.

Why should those people live? Why did he have to lose everything: his career, his dream, his life, just to save Rikuo? Why did he have to take that knife?

Why him?

Umara and Masato could never understand. They didn’t know the shape of his despair, the weight of what he’d lost. They followed him out of loyalty, or maybe curiosity, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t know he’d already made a deal with the abyss, that his body and soul were nothing more than Bellum’s now.

And when his time finally ran out, he’d make sure the world went with him.

Mashiro had most likely figured out the truth, he could see it in his eyes during their last battle when they suddenly retreated. But even he couldn’t fully grasp the monster he’d become. When he and the others retreated, panting, bloodied, desperate, he knew Mashiro wasn’t a threat.

At least, not yet.

Rei reached into his coat, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of another ring: the Kyuranger Ring, one Umara had retrieved for him as a supposed apology for defying orders.

“An apology, huh?” Rei whispered.

He fed the ring into the Infinity Ring. The metal pulsed, warped, and reshaped itself into a gleaming orb, an unblinking eye, gazing directly into his own.

He reached into his pocket, taking out the Go busters ring. For some reason, he found himself deciding not to let the infinity ring consume this one after all. Maybe it was Iwasaki Ryuji in him, trying to make him hold on to whatever humanity he left in him.

“Pathetic.”

He slipped the evolved infinity ring onto his finger while he safely kept the other one, feeling the energy of the abyss pulsate within him.

Soon, he would take the rest: their souls, their rings, their power. And when the Gozyugers finally fell, that person’s revival would be complete.

—————

“Na, why are you two even following that guy in the first place?” Arata Setsuna’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp.

The room they occupied was dimly lit, a converted living quarters in one of Kuon’s abandoned research labs. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, illuminated by the flickering light of an old monitor. Somewhere in the building, a machine groaned, the sound echoing like a heartbeat beneath the concrete.

Masato didn’t answer right away. He sat with his head lowered, hand resting against his knee. The faint hum of the machines reflected off his half-gloved fingers, the same hand that once wielded justice as Masumi, before it was swallowed by darkness.

Umara stood by the window, her back to the others. The moonlight traced the edge of her silhouette, catching on the streak of silver that ran through her dark hair. She didn’t look at Setsuna. Didn’t have to. His tone already told her enough: contempt, exhaustion, and a faint hint of curiosity that almost felt human.

“Following?” she said at last, her voice quiet but firm. “That’s a funny way to put it.”

Setsuna smirked, pushing himself off the lab table where he’d been perched. “Then what do you call it? Obeying? Worshipping? You’re running errands for a man who’s already halfway gone. Don’t tell me it’s loyalty.”

Masato’s jaw tensed. “It’s not loyalty,” he muttered. “It’s survival.”

“Survival?” Setsuna tilted his head. “Sounds like an excuse. That guy’s losing control, you can see it. I can see it. He’s being eaten alive by the voices within, and you two just stand there pretending there’s still a man left inside that husk.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.

Masato said nothing, but his hand twitched. Umara finally turned around, her eyes glinting like a shard of blue glass in the darkness. “You talk like you’re any different, Setsuna. Can’t you hear those voices too?”

Setsuna froze, falling into deep thought. The low whisper in the back of his mind started to act up again.

“You think we’re just following Rei because we’re fools? You think we haven’t noticed what’s happening to him?”

Masato lifted his head then, his voice low and hoarse. “We’re not following him because we’re loyal to him. We’re following him to observe.”

Setsuna blinked. “Observe?”

“To understand the Abyssal Calamity Cladis, and to stop it, if we have to.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression hardening. “Rei’s not the first to fall to something similar. I was nearly consumed by a similar darkness, when I was still Inoue Masumi. I know what darkness can do to a soul, how it whispers words that mix with your own thoughts. And I know that once it takes root, it doesn’t leave easily. It festers within, until it’s consumed you whole.”

Setsuna scoffed, though something flickered behind his eyes. “And you think you can stop it by following him around like a pair of lost puppies?”

Umara crossed her arms. “You misunderstand. We’re not just following Rei. We’re following Bellum. The Calamity’s voice has been louder lately, through him. We assume it’s a sign of their impending revival. Rei’s become a direct host. The more he fights, the stronger Bellum gets.”

Her eyes drifted toward the glowing monitor in the corner of the room, where several data fragments from Rei’s last battle were shown.

Setsuna followed her gaze. “So you’re using him as bait.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Masato said quietly. “He’s the key. As long as Bellum is fixated on him, we can study it, maybe find a weakness.”

Setsuna snorted. “And when it kills him? When it devours him?”

Masato looked down again. “We’ll end it.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them, sent a chill through the room. Silence stretched, where only the hum of the machines remained.

Then, suddenly, Setsuna laughed. Not loudly, but enough to make Umara’s jaw tighten. “You both act like you possess the power to resist the Calamity. But let’s be honest, I don’t think that you do. You’re just as infected by the darkness as he is.”

Umara shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Be careful with your words, Setsuna Arata.”

But he didn’t stop. “You feel it too, don’t you? The voice in the back of your head. The one that whispers when you close your eyes. The one that tells you you’re wasting your time thinking about saving a dying man.”

He leaned in, eyes glinting. “Tell me, what’s it saying now?”

For a moment, neither Umara nor Masato responded. Then, almost unconsciously, they both touched their chests, the faint pulse of corruption thrumming beneath their ribs like a second heartbeat.

The voice wasn’t constant, but it was persistent, like a chorus of whispers that slithered beneath their thoughts.

Why struggle?

You’re already halfway gone.

You can’t save anyone.

You couldn’t even save yourselves.

Masato clenched his jaw, nails digging into his palms. The sound of metal scraping against skin made Setsuna’s grin fade. Umara closed her eyes, steadying her breathing, muttering under her breath a mantra she’d learned to keep the Calamity’s voice from consuming her.

“Don’t mistake endurance for ignorance, Setsuna,” she said quietly. “We’re resisting it. Every day. Every minute.”

Setsuna turned away, though his smirk had softened into something less confident, maybe even respect.

Umara looked down at her own hands. “You’re right, we don’t have enough power.” she whispered. “Rei isn’t the only one who’s been consumed by the abyss. We’ve all been consumed by that same abyss once before. Our souls were then tainted; we can never fully resist its corruption.”

Masato glanced up at her. “Getting our rings back can only help us to sustain whatever humanity we have left within. It won’t be enough to help us defeat Cladis.”

“But we aren’t the only ones willing to save us.”

Setsuna finally sat back down, his tone lower now. “So you’re banking on the gozyugers, huh?”

“They are a sentai, that’s what I’m banking on,” Umara replied.

The quiet stretched again. Then Masato spoke. “Rei thinks he’s already lost. That he can’t be saved. But if we can find the point where Bellum and his consciousness split, the place where the human ends and the Calamity begins, then maybe we can find a way to sever it. Maybe…”

He trailed off.

“Maybe the gozyugers can save him?” Setsuna finished.

Masato didn’t answer, he didn’t have to.

For a moment, the three of them simply sat there, listening to the faint mechanical pulse of the lab, each lost in their own storm.

Setsuna exhaled shakily. “So,” he said at last, “you’re really betting everything on a group who’s already proved that they don’t possess enough power.”

Masato stared at the floor. “Maybe, but at very least, we’re not giving up.”

Umara looked at the screen where Rei’s ghostly image had just been. “Super Sentai rule number 1,” she said softly, “Even in the face of absolute defeat, we never give up.”

Setsuna didn’t reply.

He closed his eyes, remembering the memory of Shiguru and teammates. He could feel something warm bloom inside of him, which he somewhat welcomed. He could feel the warmth being dosed by coldness, where the voice of the abyss got louder, convincing him to give it all up for revenge.

“Darui.”

Chapter Text

The church was a cavern of humming electricity and faint, ragged screams. Kuon’s screams breaking the hush like a struck bell. He knelt in the center of the room, arms spread and bound, the straps biting into his wrists. The room smelled of burnt skin and ozone; the aftertaste of the last discharge lingered on his tongue. Tegajune’s words still thudded against the inside of his skull, not loud so much as inexorable, the echo of thunder that did not end.

“Garyudo! You have defied my will!”

The memory of that command was a clean, surgical cut across his thoughts.

Make sure nothing happens to Shining Knife and Sweet Cake.

He remembered answering, though the reply felt distant, like something he’d once said in sleep.

“I can feel your doubts, and those doubts are what I am lacking in. That’s why I choose you.”

He had promised himself he would explain, that he would confess his loyalty, that the mark on his flesh was proof enough. He had tried to beg for mercy.

“But I won’t allow treachery!”

That had been hours ago, though time meant little when every second felt like it was dragging a blade through his chest.

That had been hours ago.

Time blurred in places where pain became the measure; a second could stretch and rasp like a blade. Each pulse of electricity was a metronome, each breath a thin calculation of endurance.

Tegajune didn’t shout, the god had no need to. The mark had grown across Kuon’s back until the X burned over his face, a mirrored brand echoing the armor he wore.

Kuon tilted his head back. His vision swam with streaks of white; apology stuck in his throat. He had tried to say he was her humble servant, had tried to finish the sentence, but the god had taken the words from him; she didn’t listen.

Hours later, the cold judgment still hummed in his ears.

He could not explain why his mind had gone limp the instant he saw Hoeru. Everything else was gone from his mind, irrelevant: not even the information of Shining Knife had taken his beloved registered in full, only as a backwash of grief after the fact. He wanted to yell, to spit curses at Tegajune and at himself, and more than anything he wanted to wake and find it all unreal. Instead, his muscles folded into exhaustion and he closed his eyes.

The world altered.

The sting of electricity softened; the air lost its metallic edge. When Kuon opened his eyes he found himself sitting on a sun-warmed bench outside the café: the feel of wood beneath him, a gentle jazz line drifting from the speakers. The scent of vanilla and roasted beans filled the air. He lifted a cup to his lips; it was warm, grounding. For a moment, reality was merciful.

He could feel the warm sunlight shining on his face, the smell of sugar, vanilla, and roasted beans filled the air as he took a sip of the coffee in front of him. A quiet jazz tune hummed from the corner speaker inside the cafe.

“Hisamitsu nii-chan.” The voice derailed him: it was soft, familiar, impossibly ordinary.

He looked up. His brother stood there: plain clothes, plain smile, the distance between them folded as if by a hand. The term slipped out before he remembered to be surprised.

“Hoeru.”

The sound of it felt like admission and relief at once. Hoeru teased him, saying he looked as if he’d seen a ghost; the little jibe settled into the other seat like a small, welcome thing. A waitress came by, ordering for Hoeru, someone he recognized as one of the Gozyugers his brother kept company with now. They were strangers in motion, comfortable in a world he had not thought he would ever be in again.

“There’s something I want to show Niichan, or should I say, give?” Then Hoeru reached into his bag and produced a small box. He lifted it toward him with the easy intimacy of shared history.

His’s fingers opened of their own accord. He understood what lay within the box before he had even seen what was inside. He had received such a gift before, in a life that glittered with ordinary days. He did not expect to be the recipient now, not after the severing of their relationship.

“Thank you.” The words came, automatic and clumsy in his throat, as if his mouth had been waiting to do what the heart could not. He peeled back the lid. A red tie lay folded inside, bright as a small wound. He could not believe what he was seeing. The color, the texture, the absurd intimacy of it all. He tried to speak, and another voice that was not quite his answered.

“I guess it isn’t really interesting—”
“No! I’m really happy, really…”

The voice that spoke felt like a mask slipping; He felt himself responding from some other place. Warmth rose, a tide that blurred the emptiness of their last years.

“Thank god, I hope that my proud brother will always stay handsome. Oh, but niichan, don’t push yourself too hard when you work, okay?”

The mundane tenderness of it pressed at something inside him until moisture gathered at the edges of his eyes. It was a life he had been absent from for so long, a softness that had become strange and sacred.

“Hoeru, everything niichan has done till now—”

Pain crashed in like an undertow. He doubled over, sensation detonating through every limb, and the world tilted violently. Hoeru’s cry was the last bright thing he heard before darkness took the edges of his mind.

Bouquet’s voice was the first thing he heard when he came to. He was disoriented, threads of the dream still clinging like cobwebs. Bouquet relayed a summons from the queen; duty pulled at him, the gears of some other life ticking back into motion. As Bouquet turned to leave, something on the floor caught his eye.

A red tie. Exactly like the one he had opened in the dream, folded on the scuffed boards as if the present and the dream world were colliding.

“Kuon-san!” Bouquet’s voice brought him back fully.

……

“I’m coming.”

“It was a really nice dream.”

If only it was real.

That thought—this delicate, stupid wish—was still there when the world snapped closed around him and the church rushed back in. Cold water was thrown over him; his clothes were soaked, hair plastered to his forehead. He realised he’d lost consciousness, and the dream—sunlight and coffee and the tie—was now a phantom memory he could not grasp.

Disorientation sharpened into a more dangerous thing: questions with no answers. Why had he watched Shining Knife kill his beloved? Why does Hoeru feel less like a brother and more like something to possess and to destroy? The thoughts were jagged and unwilling.

Why?

Then a whispering chorus, searing and intimate, rose from the depths of his soul.

“Hoeru doesn’t deserve what he has now. He should be here with you, suffering. He should be alone like you, friendless. He should be in pain like you, suffering.”

The words echoed and multiplied, each one a needle. He recoiled as if the ghost of the dream were striking him, struck by the horror of his own mind.

Why would I wish something like that upon my brother? I don’t wish this pain upon him.

“He is your brother, you two were going to be together forever.”

Why am I not there with him? We should’ve been together forever.

“The pain you’re suffering, it should’ve been his too.”

Why am I fated to suffer like this? We should’ve been in this together.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you, then you should just destroy him and this world that has forced this fate upon you.”

Why should I be the only one to feel this way? The whole world should feel it too.

Hoeru, if you won’t join me, I’ll just have to destroy you and this world in its entirety.

…

That’s why you have to destroy me.

The punishment hummed on. The tie from the dream burned like a phantom in his mind. The brand on his face flared under his skin, and everything he had just touched—family, coffee, the ordinary mercy of being human—seemed further away than the thunder still rolling in his ears.

—————

The restaurant was quiet that afternoon, quiet in the kind of way that didn’t belong. It was the hour between dusk and neon, when the streets outside softened to amber, and the world felt like it was holding its breath. Inside, the air smelled faintly of tea and old wood, the blinds half-drawn so that light fractured into thin, uneven stripes across the tables..

Masato sat by the window, staring into a cup that had long gone cold. Across from him, Umara and Setsuna sat in silence that was less peace and more restraint. Ever since they’d revealed their intentions, their words had grown careful, like walking on thin ice.

“Na,” Setsuna finally broke the stillness, his tone light but his eyes sharp behind the lenses. “You two sure this guy’s worth it?”

Masato didn’t answer at first. He turned toward the street, where signs flickered to life in slow pulses of color. “He’s one of the few who’ve awakened since the reset,” he said eventually. “He’s been looking for past Sentai warriors. We don’t have many allies left; we can’t afford to ignore him.”

Umara folded her hands. “Natsume Tsutsumi,” she murmured, the name like a memory surfacing. “Or Hando Taiya, Boonboomger’s Red. He’s one of the few who never fell to the Calamity’s corruption. If anyone can resist its pull, it’s him.”

The door chimed and a breeze swept in, carrying the faint scent of rain on asphalt. The man who walked in was smaller than what they’d pictured. His build was lean and his clothes were simple: a red jacket with a guitar case slung over his back. He smiled as he approached, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a flicker of red behind his glasses when the light caught them, like something alive that wasn’t supposed to be there.

”Natsume Tsutsumi,” he said with an easy grin that looked practiced. “Or Hando Taiya, if you prefer. Either works.”

Setsuna didn’t rise, just extended a hand. “We heard that you’re looking for past Sentai warriors.”

Natsume clasped it lightly, his palm warm, his grip steady. “I am. Ever since I woke up, I’ve been searching.”

“You’ve been finding old Sentai warriors?” Umara asked. “Most of them have already been reborn as another person like we have, most likely never to reawaken. Why bother?”

Natsume’s gaze dropped to the table. His thumb brushed a scratch in the wood before he looked up again, and for the briefest moment, the weight of exhaustion flashed across his face. “Because this isn’t how our story was meant to end.”

He reached into his guitar case and laid a thick book on the table. The cover was unmarked, but when Setsuna opened it, the pages were filled with photos — names, faces, colours — every Sentai team from Gorenger to Gozyuger. The past laid bare in ink and paper.

Setsuna’s breath caught. His hand hovered above the page, trembling. “How did you—”

“I had a teammate,” Natsume said softly. “An information expert. He kept data on every Sentai team, every member. It was his habit of making sure we had all the information we needed. I… used the ring to rebuild his archive.”

“Why did you make this?” Setsuna asked, an edge in his voice. “What’s the point?”

Natsume smiled faintly, but there was no light in it. “When I first awakened, Kumade told me what happened. The failure. The losses. The Calamity.” His fingers lingered on the open page, over faces that are just a distant memory. “I thought… maybe if I found everyone, I could fix it somehow.”

Masato exhaled sharply. “You think you can fix that?”

Umara shot him a warning look, but Masato continued. “You think finding a few lost souls is gonna undo everything the Calamity destroyed?”

“I don’t know,” Natsume admitted. His hand tightened on the book. “But I have to try. That’s why I’m here, even trying to save those who’ve already been lost.” That simple honesty silenced them more than anger could.

Masato made a sound that might have been a laugh. “I guess our acting is pretty good then, if you think we’re lost.”

He earned a confused glance from Natsume; Masato swallowed before continuing. “We had to make Kumade believe we were gone, to fool Rei into thinking we were on his side.”

Umara’s eyes darkened. “Bellum was the one we had to fool.” She spoke with a quiet tone. “We needed someone on the inside to rely information.”

Setsuna flipped through the book until he found the page marked Kiramager. His thumb brushed across the faces — his old team — and the world seemed to shrink into that rectangle of fading photographs. “How do you plan to bring them back?” he asked, voice low.

Natsume hesitated and sighed. “I… haven’t figured that part out yet. I thought if I just found them, maybe—”

He stopped. His throat worked, but no words followed. Masato barked a dry laugh. “That’s it? You came all this way with no plan? Great.”

“Mo, don’t say that.” Umara hissed. “At least he’s trying.”

“As of now, the only way our memories will come back is if we come into contact with these sentai rings. I was awakened when Kumade gave me this ring; I assume it was something similar for the both of you?” Natsume had the Boonboomger ring on his hand, slowly touching it as if reminiscing something long gone.

Setsuna slowly nodded as he took out his Kirameiger ring. “Yeah, that’s how I got my memories back.”

Masato sighed and took out his boukenger ring, its golden rims glimmering against the restaurant lights. “Well, it’s either this, or you experience something that makes you fall into total despair, allowing the Calamity’s voice to seep in and corrupt your soul, awakening it in the process.”

Both Setsuna and Natsume looked at Masato in shock, especially Natsume who didn’t understand and made a confused expression.

“That second process only applies to those who were devoured by the Calamity in the Universe Taisen. Setsuna-kun, remember when we saved you? You were already in that second process. The ring just helped to complete the process faster.”

“Don’t forget by having your ring early means that you were also shielded against the corruption, helping you sustain your humanity at that time.” Masato added.

Natsume’s gaze deepened, he had so many more questions. “So does that mean for the reds like me the only way for us is the rings? And what do you guys mean by ‘sustain your humanity’? The corruption of your soul? What—?”

Umara interrupted and there was a sudden, subtle steel to her voice. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll be honest, I won’t be able to answer all of them. What we do know now is that the sentai rings are an archive of a sentai’s power and the memories of the reds—”

“You could even say the rings are the souls of the reds themselves.” Masato muttered, before apologising for interrupting and signalling for Umara to continue.

“When Cladis consumed us, it tainted our souls. The Calamity targets people with a weak heart, and the easiest circumstance for them to do so is when humans fall into despair. Even if this world was reset and we now live different lives as different people, once we fall back into a similar despair that consumed us, the Calamity will take advantage of that to corrupt us further.” Umara’s fingers curled around her cup until the porcelain creaked.

Setsuna curled his hands into a fist, his tone lowering. “And only the rings help to keep the voices at bay.”

Natsume’s thumb rubbed the book’s corner. “I understand now.” His eyes flicked to Masato. “You said that the rings are the red’s souls themselves. Wouldn’t the rings then be able to help bring the bearer’s past memories and soul to the surface?”

Masato’s voice dropped. “What makes you say that?”

Natsume’s gaze flicked between them. “When I woke up, I didn’t even know if this world was real,” he said quietly.

“Every day, I half expect to look over my shoulder and see my team sitting there: Mira and Jou laughing too loud, Genba telling me to slow down, Chasshiro looking up information as usual, BunBun cooking curry like he always did while Sakito and Byundi came for the food.”

His voice broke on the last word. He laughed softly, as if mocking himself. “Sometimes, I try to remake the curry BunBun would make, though I could never get the taste right.”

The confession hit heavier than any explosion. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but grief. After a moment, he raised his hand, showing the Boonboomger ring glinting on his finger.

“This is all I have left of them. When I touch it, I feel like… they’re still here. But I can also feel something else, something that’s not just mine.” His gaze lifted, distant, troubled. “Sometimes, I think I hear his voice. Taiya’s. Telling me what I should do.”

Masato’s eyes darkened. “You’re saying the other you is starting to surface.”

Natsume nodded, slowly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. Natsume Tsutsumi, or Hando Taiya. Every day I feel a little more like him: saying phrases and doing things I wouldn’t. I keep telling myself it’s just… one-offs.” He exhaled, long and trembling. “But what if it’s not?”

Setsuna’s fingers curled. “Then what happens to us when that side takes over? Do we vanish?”

Masato’s voice was quiet, unflinching. “Maybe that’s the price.”

Setsuna shot up, chair scraping against the floor. “How can you say that so easily?! We’ve built lives here. Real ones. You can’t just say they don’t matter!”

Umara’s hand reached across, steadying. “We’re still here, Setsuna. For now.” She turned to Natsume. “That’s why you need to be careful. The more the ring awakens, the stronger the connection becomes. If you keep reaching for your past, you might lose your present.”

Natsume’s eyes shimmered faintly in the low light. “I can’t live knowing that I can fulfil my regrets of the past, change the present and the future.”

“Super sentai lesson 2: we do everything to maintain the peace of the world, for everyone’s sake, even if it comes to with a cost to ourselves.” Masato muttered, an lesson everyone at the table understood.

A silence settled like dust. The blinds split the late light into lines across the table, across their faces. Outside, neon buzzed and the city went on living, indifferent.

Umara studied Natsume, like really looked at him this time. The red jacket, the calloused hands, the exhaustion behind his forced calm. There was strength in him, yes, but it was the kind born from too much loss.

“You’re still denying it,” she said finally. “After everything we told you. You still think they’re alive somewhere, don’t you?”

He didn’t look away. “Wouldn’t you?”

The question wasn’t defiant: it was simple, raw, and almost childlike.

Setsuna dropped his gaze to the table. The pattern of the wood swam in and out of focus. “You think there’s another world out there where they’re still alive.”

“I know there is,” Natsume replied. “The reset gave us this one. Who’s to say another reset didn’t give them theirs?” He turned to them, his eyes fever-bright now. “Maybe they’re out there, living their lives.”

Masato exhaled, long and tired. “That sounds like something Ryuji would say, before Bellum took control.”

That name pulled a shadow across the room.

Natsume didn’t flinch, but the air around him shifted, it was tense, like a string pulled too tight. “Iwasaki Ryuji senpai lost himself because his current self, Gushima Rei, stopped believing that anyone could be saved. I’m not him.”

Umara’s lips pressed together. “Belief isn’t the same as denial, Natsume. What you’re doing isn’t faith, you’re just trying to run away from the fact that they might be gone.”

He turned to her then, and for a brief, terrible moment, something inside him seemed to crack. The mask he wore — the calm, the poise — slipped. “And what if it is?” His voice rose, just slightly. “What if I am running? What else am I supposed to do? Sit here and accept that everyone I loved is gone because I entrusted my power to the wrong person?”

The words came fast, way too fast, each one sharper, more desperate. “Do you know what it’s like to fight till the very end, holding on to a glimmer of hope that everything can be reversed, only to realise everything you entrusted didn’t come true?”

His breath hitched. He gripped the ring on his finger as if it might anchor him. “If I stop hoping, if I accept that they’re gone… then who the hell am I supposed to be?”

Silence followed.

Setsuna was the one who finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still their Red.”

Natsume looked at him, startled.

“Their leader,” Setsuna continued. “Their heart. Even if they’re gone, even if they don’t remember — that part of you doesn’t disappear. That’s who you are, Taiya.”

Natsume’s expression flickered — pain, gratitude, something else — before softening into something weary. He ran a hand through his hair and gave a low, humorless laugh. “Thank you.”

Masato exchanged a glance with Umara. “We’ll share what we know for now,” he said at last. “But what we tell you… it might destroy everything you’ve been holding on to.”

Natsume met his gaze without hesitation. “I’ll listen anyway.”

Masato started. “The Calamity doesn’t just devour. It recycles.”

Natsume frowned. “Recycles?”

“Every soul it devours,” Umara said, voice steady, “is tainted. While Tegasword used its powers to seal away the Calamity and helped us get reborn, our new personalities are naturally greyer and more prone to misfortune. Once we reawaken, the Calamity then uses its voice to slowly corrupt our souls, until we become a loyal servant to the abyss.”

The words landed like a blade in Natsume’s chest.

He didn’t move at first. The world seemed to tilt, the noise of the city outside suddenly too loud, too distant. His fingers brushed the edge of the table, needing something solid to hold on to. “You’re saying…” He swallowed, his throat dry. “You’re saying my team—”

“may be gone,” Masato finished softly. “You have to accept that possibility.”

For a moment, Natsume just stared at them. Then he laughed — quietly, hollowly — the sound of a man trying to make sense of something that refused to be real.

Umara reached across the table. “Natsume—”

But he jerked back, eyes wide. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t tell me they’re gone, or whatever story you’ve told yourselves to make it easier for you. Because if I accept that they’re gone, then that means they’ll really be gone. Do you understand?”

His voice broke completely then. He pressed a hand to his chest as though the pain there were physical. “If I stop believing they’re still out there fighting like you guys… then I’ll fall too, and I can’t have that.”

For a long time, no one said anything. Outside, the neon lights flickered fully to life. The hum of the city swallowed the silence again.

If only it was not real. Maybe it isn’t real. Maybe they are living their best lives out there.

Only by believing in that, can he continue onwards.