The world returned not with a bang, but with the whisper of black silk against pale skin.

Kenjiro Tanaka's consciousness swam up from an abyss of golden light, the phantom sensation of a reality-tearing portal still tingling at the edges of his soul. He expected… something. An afterlife, a void, a final, merciful blackness. He did not expect the familiar, cloying scent of potpourri and old wood. He did not expect the weight of a heavy, brocaded duvet. He did not expect to be small.

His eyes fluttered open. The room was a perfect, heartbreaking replica of the one he had first woken up in. The high, dark wooden beams of the ceiling, the stained-glass windows casting dancing patterns of deep purple and crimson on the stone walls, the lavish four-poster bed… it was all exactly as he remembered. A jolt, more powerful than any lightning bolt Taguro had ever conjured, shot through his very core. This wasn't a new reincarnation. This was a reset.

He was back. Back at the beginning.

The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a woman of regal posture dressed in elegant, Japanese-inspired robes. It was Lady Ayako, her face a mask of polite, professional curiosity that was about to break into pure, unadulterated delight. He knew the script by heart.

"Oh, my precious rarity! You've awakened!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she approached with graceful, practiced steps. "You are even more exquisite than the whispers described."

Kenjiro sat up, the silken sheets pooling around a waist that felt impossibly narrow. He looked down at his arms, slender and pale, at the delicate hands that were not his own. The familiar, initial wave of panic and rage was a distant echo, a phantom limb of an emotion he had long since learned to master. He was no longer the confused, terrified bodybuilder trapped in a nightmare. He was a veteran, a hero, a king-saver who had stared into the abyss and been given a second chance.

"Who are you? Where am I? What happened to me? Why am I small—and why am I blushing so hard wearing this tiny skirt?" The words came out automatically, a perfect recitation of the lines he had first spoken in a blind panic. This time, however, his voice wasn't shaky. It was steady, tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible sarcasm that was lost on the curator. His blush, a biological reflex of this infuriatingly sensitive body, was real, but the confusion was a carefully constructed performance.

The woman, who he knew would introduce herself as Lady Ayako, gave a calming, patronizing smile. With a patience that Kenjiro now found deeply irritating, she explained the inconceivable. He was in Eldoria, a world of reversed values, where strength was primitive and beauty was power. He was a "Twilight Lily," a living treasure, a muse, an object of worship. He listened, nodding at all the right moments, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

Gluteus. DragonSlayer. They were alive. They were out there, somewhere, whole and unbroken. And SynchroNoice's brother, Matsui… the pathetic, annoying, and ultimately tragic stalker… he was alive, too. A fierce, protective fire, hotter than any of Kaito's fireballs, ignited in Kenjiro's chest. He could save them. He could fix this. The Eye, the necromancers, the broken god from another reality—he had the knowledge. He had the power. This wasn't a prison. It was a do-over. It was his New Game Plus.

"You, my dear," Lady Ayako finished, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, reverent light, "are a miracle. A Twilight Lily of a beauty not seen in centuries."

Kenjiro looked at her, and the mask of the confused, frightened boy dropped, replaced by the cold, arrogant smirk of the old Bombom. He stood up on the bed, the purple miniskirt fluttering around his thighs, and struck a classic, front-double-bicep pose. The muscles, of course, were not there, but the sheer, unadulterated confidence of the gesture was undeniable.

"Don't care, plus ratio," he declared, his voice a firm, confident baritone that was completely at odds with his delicate appearance. "I hate Elara and I'm gonna kill him."

Lady Ayako's jaw dropped. The polite, serene smile vanished from her face, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. "H-how do you know our Lily Elara?" she stammered, her composure completely shattered.

Kenjiro didn't care to answer. He hopped off the bed, his bare feet padding silently on the cold stone floor. He walked past the stunned curator and out of the room, his mind already formulating a plan. He had to recreate the events. He had to follow the script, at least for now. If he deviated too much, too soon, he might alter the timeline in unpredictable ways. He had to get his party back, find the cursed cube, and then, with his full power and knowledge, he could start changing things.

He walked into the mansion's magnificent sculpture garden and saw it: the tall, sturdy oak tree that had been the stage for his first, desperate, rage-fueled outburst. He remembered the humiliation, the feeling of utter powerlessness as he had screamed his old catchphrases at a world that didn't understand. A small, nostalgic smile touched his lips. He ran towards the tree and, with a surprising, nimble grace he had forgotten this body possessed, he scrambled up its trunk. He stood on a thick branch, looked down at the handful of servants who had stopped to stare, and yelled, his voice full of a strange, joyful catharsis, "Birl, it's thirteen! Let me out of this jail!" He then jumped down from the tree, landing lightly on his feet. He felt the familiar, hot blush of embarrassment as he realized the servants had seen up his skirt, but this time, it was tempered by a strange sense of fondness. It was good to be back.

He kept walking, a new, confident swagger in his step. A young man with silver hair and kind eyes approached him. Lysander. The poet who had tried to be his guide. "Your previous form was your armor, wasn't it?" the poet would have asked.

"I don't need your help," Bombom said, cutting him off before he could even speak. "Just tag along." Lysander, taken aback by his forwardness, simply nodded and fell into step beside him, a confused but intrigued expression on his face.

They walked into the grand ballroom, where the mansion's other residents were gathered. He saw the elderly duke, the one who had offered him an arm. This time, Kenjiro didn't wait. He walked straight up to the old man. "This time you won't escape me, old fart," he laughed. He took the duke's offered arm and, with a surprising surge of strength, spun him around in a dizzying circle. The old man, laughing with a genuine, delighted surprise, stumbled and fell softly onto a plush divan, a wide, amused smile on his face.

This was fun. He could get used to this.

His tour of the mansion eventually led him to a heavy, metallic door he knew all too well: the laboratory. He had to get in there, to confront Elara, to kickstart the chain of events that would lead him back to his friends. But two ornate guards stood at the entrance, their halberds crossed, blocking his path.

"Halt," one of them said, his voice a stern, official monotone. "No one is permitted to enter Doctor Elara's laboratory."

Bombom stomped his feet, a calculated, theatrical display of his tsundere persona. "But I want to go in!" he whined. He thought for a moment. He couldn't just fight his way in. That would be too much of a deviation. He needed to let things play out. He needed the breach, the chase, the confrontation at the gate. He needed to get his first, humiliating defeat out of the way so he could start leveling up. He sighed, a wave of frustration—this time, genuine—washing over him. How was he going to survive this? How was he going to defeat the giant Eye if he had to start from scratch? He started scratching his chin, his mind racing. He had to find his 03. The real one. The one who had fought the Eye, the one who knew what was happening. But until then...

He let out a sharp "humpf," turned his back on the guards, and stalked back to his room. He needed to prepare. He needed to get stronger. And he needed to talk to his other half.

He sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and focused, pushing his consciousness inward, into the dark, familiar void of his own mind. "Are you there?" he projected, his mental voice a clear, firm command. "You must recall something too, right?"

But the void was silent. There was no answer. No angry, guttural roar. No sense of a powerful, brutish presence lurking in the darkness. It was as if he didn't even exist.

Bombom let out a sharp "tsk." It seemed only his consciousness had made the journey back. His shadows, the very source of his immense power, were back at square one, dormant, unaware of the future that awaited them. This was going to be harder than he thought. With a frustrated groan, he fell back onto the bed and, exhausted from the sheer, overwhelming reality of his situation, he drifted into a restless sleep.

He awoke to a sound that was a perfect, jarring echo of his memory: a piercing siren, and the frantic shouts of guards in the hallway.

"My Lord! There's been a breach! Lady Ayako requests your presence immediately!" a guard yelled, bursting through his door.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Bombom's face. It was showtime.

He ran, his slender legs carrying him faster than he remembered, his body already beginning to adapt to the rigors of this new, chaotic life. He arrived at the lab just in time to see the femboy ninja, a blur of black fabric and brutal precision, knock Lady Ayako and the guard to the ground. Bombom, however, was ready. He didn't have his shadows, not yet, but he had something just as valuable: experience. He dodged the ninja's impossibly fast punch with an almost casual ease, the wind from the blow ruffling his hair. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elara, a sleek, white-coated figure, grab a case of glowing vials and slip out a side door.

"The Genesis Samples… they're gone!" a frantic lab assistant cried. "And Doctor Elara… he's vanished!"

"After them!" a guard captain barked.

Bombom ran, a genuine surge of adrenaline and a familiar, satisfying rage fueling his every step. He reached the main gate just as the guards cornered the fleeing scientist.

"Surrender, Doctor Elara!" the captain shouted. "There's no escape!"

The scene played out exactly as he remembered. The femboy ninja emerged from the shadows, a blur of non-lethal strikes that left the guards unconscious in seconds. The ninja turned, that same arrogant, condescending smirk on his face.

"Well, well. Look what we have here. The new pet. Heard you were all muscle. Don't look like much to me--"

"BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING," Bombom cut him off, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "I SUGGEST YOU TO SHUT UP."

"with that giant butt," Doctor Elara finished, a teasing, triumphant grin on his face.

That was it. The insult. The catalyst. The spark that would ignite the inferno. Kenjiro's rage boiled over, a pure, unadulterated fury that was a perfect, satisfying echo of his first time. He smirked back, a feral grin that was pure, unadulterated Bombom.

"I'm going to kill you for saying that," he said, his voice a low promise.

The ninja charged, his fist a blur aimed directly at Kenjiro's face. But this time, Bombom didn't try to block. He didn't try to dodge. He just stood there, his smirk widening. And as the ninja's fist was about to connect, a massive, muscular, and utterly furious shadow erupted from his back.

"THE MONSTER IS GETTING OUT OF THE JAIL!" it roared, its voice a deep, guttural sound that shook the very stones of the castle gate. "COME ON! I WANT MORE! I WANT MORE!"

The shadow caught the ninja's fist in its massive, spectral hand, stopping it dead. The ninja's shadow, a smaller, more agile phantom, emerged to meet the assault, and the two spectral figures collided in a flurry of silent, devastating blows.

Elara's teasing grin vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. "Oh?" he said, his voice losing its condescending edge. "So you had one all along? No problem." He looked at his ninja, who was now locked in a desperate, losing battle with Bombom's furious, brutish other self. "Time to go."

The ninja's shadow threw a small, black orb at the ground. It exploded in a massive, disorienting cloud of thick, black smoke. When it cleared, Elara and his ninja were gone. Bombom stood there, his shadow slowly receding back into his form, a triumphant, vengeful glint in his red eyes. He hadn't won. Not yet. But this time, he hadn't lost either. And that made all the difference.

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