The heavy silence that followed Jairson's departure was a stark, uncomfortable thing. He had simply nodded, his face a mask of grim resolve, and walked out of the guild's grand doors without a single backward glance, leaving a gaping, cowboy-hat-shaped hole in their temporary party. Kenjiro watched him go, a strange, complicated knot of emotions twisting in his gut. He had saved the man from a false imprisonment, but he hadn't solved his problem. He had just… postponed it.

"Well," Bombom said, breaking the quiet, his voice a little louder than he intended. "At least we did our part."

"Yes, we did," Nomu replied, his usual heroic bravado replaced by a quiet, almost thoughtful solemnity. He looked at Bombom, a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

An awkward silence descended upon them, thick and heavy. Bombom fidgeted, the intensity of the Super Jean's stare suddenly making his skin crawl. He didn't know what to say, what to do. The mission was over, the team was unofficially disbanded. He just wanted to go to the gym.

"No," Bombom finally blurted out, the words a clumsy, defensive shield. "Go away with your jeans."

Nomu's serious expression faltered, a flicker of genuine hurt in his eyes. "Oh," he said, his voice losing its confident edge. "Okay. We can… fight later." He turned and, with a speed that was almost comical in its dejection, he ran towards the gym, leaving Kenjiro alone in the cavernous main hall.

Bombom let out a long, frustrated sigh. He was a hero, a world-saver, a veteran of a war that had been erased from time itself. And he still had all the social grace of a cornered badger. He stalked over to a large, plush sofa where a few other guild members were lounging and collapsed into the cushions, the weight of the day settling on his weary shoulders.

He found himself sitting near a duo that was a study in contrasts. One was a boy with spiky, sun-bright blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes, clad in an orange jumpsuit that was so loud it practically screamed. The other was a boy with dark, brooding hair and eyes the color of freshly spilled blood, his expression a mask of cool, stoic indifference.

The blonde one's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening with a look of pure, unadulterated fanboy glee.

"Heeeey!" he exclaimed, his voice full of a boundless, infectious energy. "You're Bombom! The hero of the world! This is so cool! I'm Novulto! We are similar, you know! You have a shadow monster inside you, and I have a giant, nine-tailed fox inside me!"

Kenjiro blinked. A nine-tailed fox. The sheer, unmitigated anime-ness of it all was almost too much to handle. His brain, however, latched onto a different detail. "Your name," he said, an analytical glint in his red eyes. "It means 'in Shadow,' right? But… you will attract so much attention with those orange clothes."

The serious, red-eyed boy, who had been pointedly ignoring the conversation, let out a long, suffering sigh. "That's what I always say to him," he grumbled, not even turning his head. "You can't do stealth missions wearing a traffic cone, but he doesn't listen."

"But they are fashion! And cool!" Novulto declared, leaping to his feet. He struck a series of bizarre, dramatic poses, his limbs flailing in a way that was probably meant to be heroic but just looked profoundly goofy. A wave of secondhand embarrassment washed over everyone in the vicinity.

Just as Novulto was in the middle of what looked like a constipated crane kick, a new figure, a woman with vibrant, bubblegum-pink hair, approached. "Let's go, Novulto," she said, her voice a calm, firm command that cut through his manic energy. "We have a mission. Team 7, incoming." The three of them stood, nodded to Bombom, and walked away, a strange, self-contained whirlwind of pure, chaotic shonen energy.

DragonSlayer, who had been sitting on another sofa nearby, pretending not to listen, let out a loud, derisive snort. "Their team has a name," he scoffed, walking over and flopping onto the cushion next to Bombom. "Why doesn't ours?"

Bombom just smirked, a wicked, teasing glint in his eye. "But we have a name," he said, his voice dripping with a sweet, condescending innocence. "Bombom's Team."

DragonSlayer's face flushed a deep, furious red. "You don't need to make it all about you!" he snapped.

"I can and I will," Bombom replied, his smirk widening. "What are you gonna do about it, hm?"

DragonSlayer crossed his arms, turning his face away with a sharp, indignant "humpf." "Nothing…" he grumbled.

An awkward silence settled between them, thick with the unspoken tension of their strange, antagonistic, and deeply confusing relationship. DragonSlayer coughed, a small, nervous sound. "So," he began, his voice a low, almost inaudible mumble, "I'm… I'm going to do a pizza party. On my house. So… if you want to come…" He trailed off, the invitation hanging in the air, fragile and uncertain.

"I will think about it," Bombom said, his voice a cool, non-committal shrug. "But don't keep me waiting."

"Whatever," DragonSlayer shot back, his usual arrogant bravado returning as a defensive shield. "You could have just said no." He stood up and walked away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to project an aura of casual indifference that was completely betrayed by the rigid set of his shoulders.

Bombom watched him go, a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He was about to get up and head for the gym when a new figure slid into the seat beside him.

"Soooo," Taguro began, his voice a cheerful, familiar purr. "What are we watching?"

"I'm watching Komodo Ball Z," Bombom replied, not taking his eyes off the massive wall-mounted screen, where two ridiculously muscular men with spiky hair were screaming at each other.

Taguro nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, okay. It's a good show. But how about we go to a fashion show? There's a big one in the city tonight. It would be fun."

"No," Bombom said flatly. "I'm going to a pizza party."

Taguro's cheerful expression faltered, a flicker of genuine disappointment in his green eyes. "B-but," he stammered, "I'll be in the fashion show."

"Sorry," Bombom said with a shrug. "But I already said I was going to that party."

Taguro's disappointment vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a sly, hopeful grin. "Well," he said, leaning in a little closer, "we can skip it and keep watching your show… while we cuddle."

"Nope," Bombom replied without hesitation.

"We can call Lyrielle," Taguro suggested, his voice full of a mischievous innocence.

That was it. Bombom snatched a plush sofa cushion and threw it directly at his copycat's head. "You still haven't told me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous whisper as he leaned in, his red eyes blazing with an intense, unwavering focus. "How you knew I was time traveling."

Taguro started to sweat. His cheerful, confident facade crumbled, replaced by a mask of pure, panicked terror. His legs began to tremble. "I-i-i…" he stammered, his eyes darting around the room, looking for an escape.

"You what?" Bombom pressed, his gaze unyielding.

"I… I read the history before it happened," Taguro blurted out, the words a frantic, desperate torrent. He immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with a dawning, horrified understanding of what he had just admitted. "Oh, ohh," he whimpered. "I shouldn't have said that." He scrambled to his feet, ready to run.

But Bombom was faster. He shot out a hand, grabbing his doppelgänger by the arm, his grip like a vice. "You can tell me more," Bombom said, his voice a low, almost inaudible whisper. "They are watching our dialogues." Taguro looked at him, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Taguro replies at Bombom

"H-how did you know?" bombom asks curious

"I can't tell you anymore," Taguro replied, his voice a perfect, chilling echo of Taguro's own fear. "The walls have ears. But they are not the only ones." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.

He let go of Taguro's arm. The copycat just stared at him for a long, silent moment, a new, profound understanding dawning in his green eyes. He nodded, a single, sharp gesture of grim resolve. And then, with a final, panicked glance around the room, he bolted, disappearing into the crowded hall.

Bombom was left sitting there, the weight of a new, terrifying secret settling on his weary shoulders. "What a weird doppelgänger," he muttered to himself. But it wasn't just weird anymore. It was dangerous.

He got up and walked to his room. He needed to get ready. He changed his clothes, choosing… the exact same set of clothes he had been wearing before: a simple black shirt and a pleated purple skirt. With a sigh of pure, sartorial resignation, he walked out of the guild and towards DragonSlayer's house, a short, two-minute walk down a quiet, tree-lined street.

He found the right address, a small, unassuming townhouse that was a stark contrast to the usual, ostentatious homes of high-ranking adventurers. He could hear a faint, sad music coming from within. He walked up to the door and listened.

"No one came, of course," DragonSlayer's voice, small and heartbroken, drifted through the wood. "Of course… I'm not cool like Bombom, or that Super Alexander…" He let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Guess that will be it. Another anniversary, all alone." There was the sound of a small, choked sob, and a single, fat tear traced a path down Bombom's own cheek. He quickly, angrily, wiped it away. He took a deep breath and rang the bell.

A moment later, the door opened. DragonSlayer stood there, his eyes red-rimmed, his usual arrogant sneer completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh, hey Bombom," he said, his voice a little shaky. "I wasn't… expecting you to come."

"You were crying?" Bombom asked, a teasing smirk on his face, a familiar, comfortable shield against the awkward, unfamiliar wave of empathy that was washing over him.

"M-me? Crying?" DragonSlayer scoffed, his bravado returning with a frantic, desperate energy. "Of course not! A-a-a bug… a bug jumped in my eye and… and i've punched my face! Hahaha!"

Bombom just rolled his eyes and pushed past him into the small, sparsely decorated living room. "So," he said, looking around at the empty space. "Where's everyone?"

DragonSlayer sighed, the fight draining out of him. "They didn't come," he said, his voice a quiet, defeated whisper. "Or they got lost. You know, being a hero… it's not easy. Your friends are also heroes, and they have responsibilities and all, and…"

"I see," Bombom said, cutting him off. "So it will be only you and me?" He paused, a wicked, teasing glint returning to his eye. "After that… whole Bombom thing… in that establishment?"

DragonSlayer's face exploded in a blush of such intensity it was a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust. "T-they were clearly joking!" he stammered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I-i-i was not… that was not the something I'm-most desire!"

Bombom was about to leave, to put the poor, flustered warrior out of his misery, when an idea, a terrible, brilliant, and utterly Bombom-like idea, sparked in his mind. He pulled out his LilyPad and, with a few quick taps, posted a new message to his feed.

"I'm at the [x] address," he typed. "Come for pizza."

He walked back into the living room. "Alright, alright," he said, a magnanimous wave of his hand. "We can hang out. For a bit."

They sat in an awkward, almost suffocating silence for a few minutes. And then, the doorbell rang. DragonSlayer got up to answer it. And then it rang again. And again. And again.

He opened the door to a sea of faces. It was the entire guild. Ryo was there, a wide, knowing smirk on his face. Kaito was there, a stack of pizzas held in his hands. Lyrielle was there, a shy, happy smile on her face. Gluteus was there, carrying a massive, keg-sized barrel of what was probably a very strong, giant-kin ale. The entirety of Team 7 was there. Even Super Alexander's exasperated-looking sidekick was there, holding a small, neatly wrapped gift. Dozens, then hundreds of people, all of them smiling, all of them cheering, all of them here for him.

They rushed in, a joyous, chaotic tide of friends and fans, filling the small, lonely house with a warmth and a light it had never known. DragonSlayer just stood there in the doorway, his mouth hanging open, tears streaming down his face. But this time, they were not tears of sadness.

It was the best birthday of his life.

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