Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

choices

I

imagine or deny

Senku Ishigami, the leader of the Kingdom of Science, could handle many things, such as lack of sleep, overwork, and, of course, the constant pressure of humanity on his thin shoulders. However, he never imagined that the day would come when his mind, which was fueled by the ability to calculate, project, anticipate, and theorize left and right, would begin to fail in an area he had never considered: concentration.

Senku was having trouble concentrating.

In front of him was the preliminary design of the spacesuits they would use to go to the moon. They had to go with the appropriate and achievable prototypes given the resources they had. However, even with that wide design in front of him, with its simple and functional lines, the idea of ​​a more flexible, resistant, and easily repairable clothing scheme crossed his mind. Nothing extraordinary, just basic science applied to survival, but completely unsuitable because it wasn't the right attire for the lunar mission.

Senku was having trouble concentrating. That garment was nothing more than a completely discarded prototype, one that arose from a ridiculous joke by Gen and that Senku designed to explain precisely that it wouldn't be useful for the lunar mission. That design would never see the light of day.

And yet, the thought of how that garment would look on a specific person's body kept popping up unbidden.

Half-tied hair, strong arms and torso, a firm posture. Kohaku.

Senku frowned, annoyed with himself. He shook his head, as if the gesture could expel the image clinging to him.

"Focus," he muttered under his breath.

It wasn't as if he never imagined the girl doing certain jobs; that is, when he stopped to explain his plans to everyone in the kingdom, he always did so imagining Kohaku as the test model. But he stopped there; it was something easy to manage. It wasn't as if he had never, not even in his modern era, thought about any woman; after all, he had experienced adolescence like anyone else, even with science as his priority.

But it was ridiculous nonetheless. There was no logical reason for his brain to associate a textile design with a particular person. It wasn't efficient. It wasn't useful. It wasn't—

"Senku."

The voice pulled him from his mental loop. He glanced up for barely a second, just long enough to confirm that Kohaku was there, asking him for some corrections to the blueprint she was holding and crumpling in her hands. Of all people, Kohaku.

"What's up, lioness?" he replied, trying to sound his usual self.

She leaned across the table, resting her weight on one elbow, studying the diagram with genuine attention. Senku noticed—too late—that the fabric she was wearing left training marks on her arms, and the area near her collarbone looked bare. Nothing new. Nothing different. And yet, his mind betrayed him again.
How absurd.

"There are some questions regarding the rocket blueprint. Xeno is overseeing everything, but he asked me to ask you about something. It seems Ryusui has the same question."

"And why didn't either of them come?"

"They don't want to interrupt you, so I offered to come in their place." "It's because I can't kick you out, right?"

"Exactly."

Senku smiled contentedly.

"Tell me, what's wrong?"

"This," she said, pointing to a line. "Xeno says if it breaks here, it's useless. It would have to be reinforced."

"Those are old blueprints, I discarded them last night. You'd better take the new ones."

Senku stood up and picked up a roll of paper that was in the corner of the makeshift laboratory. He held it out, waiting for Kohaku to take it from the other end. She smiled in thanks and left the laboratory without another word. Senku only exhaled when she was out of his sight.

Nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing. And yet, the design was no longer just a design, and the heat in the laboratory was something no one but him could feel. Senku Ishigami was not going to be deceived or led astray by his imagination, for he absolutely refused to be a victim of such banal and absurd thoughts, as they were not possible in his reality.

.

That same night, Kohaku woke with a start. She didn't scream. She didn't move. She simply opened her eyes and realized she was breathing cautiously, as if the air were fragile.

It was no wonder, because she had dreamed about Senku.

It wasn't the first time she had thought about him before falling asleep. It was inevitable: they worked together, argued, supported each other. It was part of their daily lives. But this… this had been different.

In the dream, Senku didn't speak. He didn't need to. He was close, closer than usual, and when Kohaku leaned towards him, there was no teasing or avoidance. Just a brief, awkward, real kiss.

Too real.

Kohaku brought a hand to her face, covering her eyes, as if that way she could suppress everything she was feeling, even though she had made a promise to herself never to think of him that way again.

"Idiot…" she whispered, unsure if she was speaking to him or to herself.

She sat down, letting reality take its place. Senku was Senku, not someone she kissed, nor someone she dreamed about. And she knew it. She had always known it.

It meant nothing. It was just a dream. A silly fantasy born of exhaustion and denial of the inevitable, because she knew that, even after swearing to herself that she wouldn't let her feelings defeat her, she couldn't help being in love with him.

She tried to go back to sleep, but Senku's face appeared in every memory she recalled to help her drift off. It seemed that all her peaceful memories were somehow connected to that man.

Kohaku didn't want to let her imagination run wild, but she couldn't help it. Senku was as real as her imagination, only he didn't act the way she wanted, and that was what should prevail in her mind, not desires that were inconvenient for the mission.

She couldn't be losing sleep over the fantasy of kissing Senku, because that hadn't happened and wasn't going to happen. Just like before, when she'd dreamt of him holding her hand, things like that weren't possible, not while humanity was petrified and Luna was still around.

That night, both of them realized something was about to happen, but they weren't going to give it the importance it deserved. Senku called what was intuition a mistake, and Kohaku called what was desire an imagination.

And so, without knowing it, they took the first step toward a choice they weren't yet ready to face.

"Guilty as sin", Taylor Swift

Chapter Text

choices

II

to speak or to remain silent

Senku had always been proud of his impeccable memory, managing it like a filing system. He was deeply grateful to his genes and his father's upbringing, which had nurtured his mental capacity from a young age.

Data, formulas, failures, and victories—all of it was stored in his head, all neatly categorized, because everything was useful, at least to a scientist. Even uncomfortable memories fell into some category, indicating empirical learning, and simply naming them was enough to make them stop hurting.

That one, however, was different. And despite having happened long ago, it remained there, dormant, like the innate memory of breathing.

There were memories that defied logic, not calculated as such, reflecting the spontaneity of life and the variety of logics found in every human being; those memories, even though painful, were not easy to forget, nor were they easy to break. And that particular moment, the exact moment when he discovered a side of Kohaku he definitely hadn't expected or wanted to see, had become a constant annoyance, as persistent as background noise he'd never be able to completely silence.

Senku hated it when feelings interfered with his duties, and well, without a direct confession—because Kohaku wasn't like that—he'd witnessed, shall we say, a buildup.

They shared glances that lingered a second longer than necessary; they shared silences that filled their hearts with the mere presence of one another; the way they always found a way to be close, especially when he worked himself to exhaustion and she stayed by his side to help; the way Kohaku offered to accompany him even when there was no danger, even when force wasn't needed to achieve the goal, only patience and immaculate silence.

She was always there, and in a way, Senku was grateful for that. He had noticed all of it. He had noticed it long before he decided to ignore it.
The memory returned clearly to that afternoon, when the sun slowly set over the American continent, over what was then the city of San Francisco, bathing everything in a cheerful orange that made the world seem less hostile than what was to come.

Senku had been working out some calculations with Chrome and Ryusui to determine the location of the cornfields and what they needed to do to carry out their corn planting and harvesting plan, but Kohaku had stayed with them, as had Gen, not doing anything in particular, just… being there.

"Aren't you bored there?" he had asked her jokingly, without looking up much.

"Do you want me to leave?" she replied with that defiant air that made the skin of all the boys present, except Senku's, crawl.

"Not at all, it's just that I didn't think you were that interested in this plantation thing."

"Well, you see I am. I'll leave later. I don't have anything urgent to do right now, since you didn't leave any instructions."

She was a terrible liar when she was nervous. Senku knew it. He'd always known it. And no, it wasn't like she always lied, but when she did, she'd glance down at the floor whenever she could, and then look up again as if nothing had happened. He knew her very well. Something felt off to him at that moment.

The others had left shortly after, leaving them alone without realizing what they were abandoning in the middle of the makeshift laboratory. Senku had continued working, pretending not to notice the tension that was beginning to thicken in the air.

It was Kohaku who spoke first.

"Hey, Senku."

That tone. Lower. More restrained. That was the first real warning.

"Tell me."

She took too long to reply. Senku kept typing, but every second of silence dug into his back like a warning he didn't want to hear.

"I…" she began, then stopped.

He looked up.

Kohaku was standing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her gaze fixed on some undefined point in front of them. She wasn't looking directly at him. As if doing so would inflict pain too real.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you something. But… if this isn't a good time, I can—"

"No," he interrupted. "Speak."

Big mistake. The first of many. Senku knew about mistakes, but he hadn't grasped the impact the one about to come would have on their relationship and on himself.

Then Kohaku looked at him, and in her eyes there was something different. Not urgency, not fear either, something more vulnerable. Something Senku didn't know how to handle, because he hadn't given it the importance it deserved until that moment.

"I don't know how to say this without it sounding strange," she admitted. "I'm not good with these things."

She never had been. Always direct, always honest. But that… that was disarming her. Kohaku had let her guard down too much. Senku softened his gaze a little, because it wasn't like him to see her so vulnerable.

It was never going to be a good sign to see the one everyone considered, and it was a fact, the best warrior, so fragile.

"For some time now," she continued, "I feel that…" She swallowed. "That you're important to me. More than you should be." She muttered those last words as if they were difficult to pronounce.

There it was. The world stopped. Kohaku's heart was laid bare, and Senku's mind fell silent.

Not a "I like you." Not a "I'm in love." But enough. There was nothing more to add, because Kohaku had already given her all with those words. Senku understood in that instant. With a cruel, mathematical clarity. All the pieces fell into place at once, forming an image he didn't want to see in its entirety.

"Kohaku…" he began, and stopped.

There wasn’t a right way to continue. She wasn’t smiling. She didn’t seem to be expecting anything specific. She just needed to say it. To get it off her chest before it choked her.

“I’m not asking for anything,” she rushed to say. “I know. I know what you’re like, and I know there are more important things right now. I just… wanted you to know.”

That was what hurt the most: that she didn’t demand, that she didn’t complain, that she trusted him enough to place her truth in his hands.

And he… he did what he did best: deny, shut down, and break. To get to the bottom of an investigation, things had to be broken.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice firm, too firm. “It’s not right.”

Kohaku’s eyes hardened slightly. Not with anger, but with a harsh, sad understanding.

“I know.”

“We have a mission,” he continued. "All of humanity depends on what we're building here. There's no room for…, "he gestured between them, his index finger interlacing," this. It's not going to happen. Never.

He didn't say feelings. He didn't say love. But it was harder than he thought it would be. He hadn't measured his words as he had before. Senku wasn't good with feelings because he didn't consider them valuable, but rather a barrier too difficult to manage, and since they lacked logic, he preferred to ignore them and throw them away, even if it meant shattering the heart of the one he thought he considered one of his best friends.

"I never meant to complicate things for you," she replied. "Never."

And Senku thought that made it worse.

"It's not fair to you," he added. "I can't reciprocate. Not now. Maybe never."

The silence that followed was devastating.

Kohaku didn't cry. She didn't raise her voice. She just nodded slowly, as if she had already rehearsed that response in her head.

"Thank you for telling me to my face," she finally said. "That's enough."

She turned to leave.

"Kohaku."

She stopped, but didn't look at him.

“Let’s remain allies,” Senku said. “That doesn’t change.”

She took an agonizingly long second to reply.

“Of course,” she answered, without turning to look at him. “Always. I want to save humanity too.”

And she left, leaving the heavy silence of her broken heart floating in that laboratory.

Senku refocused on what truly mattered: the blueprints for the next project to found Corn City. Whatever had happened with Kohaku would ultimately be pointless, and she would understand… wouldn’t she?

Senku went to sleep in a huff, knowing that the whole love thing was going to complicate matters, and because he was afraid Kohaku would change completely after he’d rejected her like that.

But he couldn’t force himself to feel something that didn’t exist, nor could he change his priorities just because of someone else’s whim. If she couldn’t understand that, then she wasn’t as strong as he thought.

.

That memory kept returning, especially on nights when exhaustion made him vulnerable. Senku would sit alone, surrounded by blueprints and calculations, wondering at what point he had decided that being honest was the same as being right.

He hated when that moment arrived, because his attention should be on the lunar mission, not dwelling on things that had happened long ago. He had traveled the world with Kohaku by his side, after having rejected her, and everything had gone smoothly. So why was it that whenever he had even a moment of solitude, the accusatory questions returned?

Simple: he knew he had told the truth, but not the whole truth.

He left the lab and found Luna offering him the snack Francoise had prepared. He accepted the refreshment and approached the others, along with Luna, and sat down with Gen and Ryusui, who were making playful comments about Luna's friendliness.

"I just want to look after Senku," she stated.

“I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.”

Luna said nothing more and left. She always did the same thing, as if she wanted to stay by his side even when there was no longer any apparent reason to continue pretending they had a real relationship, since it was more than obvious that, after taking down Stanley, that political relationship was over.

“Have you thought about what we’ll do tomorrow yet? Labor exploiter,” Gen joked before taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, it will require a lot of heavy and precise work. We can’t stop, not now that we’re getting closer and closer to reaching Whyman.”

“Heavy work? Well, what better than our strength team!” Ryusui assured him with his usual triumphant smile. “We have the best team for those tasks.”

He pointed to Taiju and Tsukasa, who were on the other side of the campfire chatting amicably. Next to them, Hyoga rested his head on Kohaku’s shoulder. There was no doubt about it, Hyoga was asleep, and Kohaku didn't seem to mind, as she didn't move, as if she wanted to protect the boy's slumber.

Senku glanced at the pair for a few seconds before returning his attention to the food on his plate. Without appetite, he ate in silence while listening to Gen and Ryusui's conversation about what they would do once they defeated Whyman. Senku had no intention of joining such a childish discussion, though it wasn't as if he hadn't wondered what he would do afterward.

Dedicating his life to science was more than obvious. But who would accompany him? It wasn't as if he couldn't do it on his own, but having someone by his side was something he longed for, since he could no longer count on his father, and Xeno was a double-edged sword.

He knew Taiju would accompany him, just as he had since they were children, but he surely wanted to start a quieter life with Yuzuriha. On the other hand, Gen would do anything to avoid being involved with all the heavy work again. Ryusui would live his life to pursue his own ambition. Chrome would surely want to continue researching with him, and Suika would too.

He paused to think for a moment. Was he afraid of being alone again? It was then that he heard Kohaku's laughter, followed by an apology.

"Sorry, Hyoga, did I wake you?" she asked, looking worriedly at the boy who was slowly opening his eyes. "I shouldn't have laughed so loud."

"Don't worry, your laughter isn't a sound that bothers me." Hyoga opened his eyes wide to look closely at Taiju.

"I'm sorry, Hyoga! I promise not to laugh so loud again!"

“You realize you’re shouting, right?”

“Absolutely,” Taiju cleared his throat, “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m the one interrupting the fun.”

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” Kohaku said. “My shoulders are strong enough to serve as a pillow.”

Senku was so focused on that scene that, suddenly, memories of that confession and the curt words he’d spoken to Kohaku surfaced in his mind.

He never allowed himself to question what he had truly felt in that moment. He had focused on the practical, the urgent, the necessary. He had convinced his mind that rejecting her had been the only logical option.

So why did he feel an uncomfortable pressure in his chest every time he saw her laughing with others? Hyoga noticed Senku watching them, so, quite deliberately, he yawned and leaned back against Kohaku's shoulder, his gaze never leaving Senku until he closed his eyes.

"Can I sleep a little longer?" Hyoga asked, now settled in.

"As much as you like," Kohaku replied so casually that it was impossible she could have guessed Hyoga's hidden intentions.

"Excuse me, I'll go to bed."

Having said those words, Senku grabbed his plate and walked away from that place as quickly as possible. Despite Gen and Ryusui's calls, who told him it was too early or pointed out that he hadn't eaten anything, he continued walking briskly, gesturing dismissively.

Something felt off inside. He hadn't liked Hyoga's gaze, and he liked that scene even less. Senku was aware of how dangerous that man was, even after they had smoothed things over.

Hyoga wasn't someone he could completely trust, even though he could be very helpful. The young man's sins weren't so minor as to be ignored.

But he had done something Senku hadn't: been honest with himself. Hyoga knew what awaited him, but even so, he had forged genuine bonds with the other team members, to the point where even Gen could spend time with him without fear of being killed.

Sitting back in his lab chair, Senku wondered why he was thinking so much about Hyoga. He found the answer quickly, but it wasn't as if he liked it, because the answer led him back to that night.

He sighed heavily and put his hands behind his neck.

"A joke would have been better, ten billion percent."

He gently tapped the tip of his pencil against his forehead, even knowing that this gesture wouldn't help him think, because Senku just wanted to free himself from the absurd and irrational thoughts in his head.

Why, when Kohaku started to keep her distance, did something inside him silently break?

Senku rested his forehead against the workbench as that question appeared. It seemed ridiculous, but, in a way, it was a question he had to ask himself, because that's what had happened.

No, he didn't regret the decision he made that night, because it was and is the wisest thing he could have done. He didn't regret protecting her from something he couldn't offer her. What emotional guarantee could Kohaku have for harboring feelings for him that wouldn't be reciprocated in the medium or long term?

And yet…

There were moments—brief, dangerous, like that dinner by the campfire—when he wondered what would have happened if he had kept quiet. If he had let that feeling exist nameless, without promises, without endings.

But Senku didn't believe in "what ifs," because that only led to theories, and sometimes those theories failed. Senku believed in decisions.

And he had made his.

Although the cost of that choice was slowly becoming unbearable.

To speak or to remain silent.

Senku always believed he had chosen to speak, that he had been honest, that he had done the right thing by putting words to what others would have allowed illusions to grow, something he wouldn't have allowed himself to do for his own sake, and for Kohaku's.

But with time, he began to understand something more unsettling: that he had also remained silent.

He had silenced the trembling in his chest, the doubt he never voiced, the possibility he refused to consider because he had no guarantees.
To speak or to remain silent wasn't a choice between truth and lies. It was a choice between risk and control.

And Senku Ishigami, true to himself, had chosen silence, for there were no guarantees in putting empty words to an empty discourse, and silence was sufficient response for a heart that chose to remain cold.

"i love you", billie eilish

Chapter Text

choices

III

orbit or collide

Senku always loved observing the universe, for it seemed to be a display of honesty in its purest form: there it was, before the eyes of anyone who was eager to see it, and despite revealing so much, there were always more and more secrets to be discovered.

The universe was cruel, indifferent, immense, but honest. The laws didn't change according to human desire. Gravity didn't negotiate. The stars didn't align because someone needed them together. Everything occupied its place, and when it didn't, there was an explanation. There always was. And Senku liked that, for everything was logical, everything had a meaning, a coherent explanation, and a reason for existing and behaving that way.

That's why he found it so difficult to accept that persistent feeling in his chest, that ill-defined weight that didn't respond to any known logic.

The campfire was lit again when Senku looked up from his blueprints. It was another day, another night. The team's murmur filled the air with an almost insulting normalcy. Laughter, trivial comments, future plans. Everything was still working. Everything was… fine.

And yet, Hyoga was asleep, his head resting on Kohaku's shoulder again. Again, damn it.

It wasn't a violent or explicit image. There was nothing that could be considered wrong. Hyoga was sitting on the floor, his back straight even in his sleep, his head tilted just enough to rest on it. Kohaku, as steadfast as ever, didn't move. Her posture was relaxed, natural, as if that weight posed no problem. As if it were something she had grown accustomed to.

It was a quiet, almost domestic scene, and Senku saw it all.

He didn't look away immediately. Not because he didn't want to, but because his body wouldn't respond. He watched for longer than necessary, analyzing every detail with an unnecessary precision: Hyoga's regular breathing, the way Kohaku subtly adjusted her shoulder to make him more comfortable, the calm expression on her face, and the way she gestured effortlessly, since that position didn't bother her at all; she could move easily even with Hyoga's body so close to hers.

There was no discomfort in her. No tension. That was what bothered her most. It wasn't natural for Kohaku to let someone get so close to her. Suika had more than enough permission, since she had known her since childhood, and even though years had passed, to Kohaku she would always be a child she had to protect. On the other hand, her sister Ruri didn't need permission to hug her; the bond between sisters was more than enough. And the other girls, of course, even while keeping their distance, Kohaku could let Yuzuriha and even Homura rest by her side.

Then there was Senku, who had received a grateful hug after breaking the island's petrification, after Kohaku devised a plan to save Ginro's life—who had suffered the worst of it when he tried to approach her with ulterior motives—and that was it.

So, at what point did Hyoga feel free to have that kind of contact with Kohaku? And when did she decide that he, of all the other boys, could have that permission? Why him? Didn't she hate him? Wasn't he a despicable being for what he had done? Did so much time together determine that he was trustworthy? Why? Why Hyoga? Why…?

"Are you alright?" Gen's voice pulled him from his trance.

Senku blinked once, then looked down at his notebook. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ten billion percent.”

“Liar,” Gen replied without hesitation. “You’re the least likely to be lying when you say that.”

Ryusui, sitting on the other side of the campfire, followed Gen’s gaze and understood immediately. He said nothing, but his usual smile tightened slightly.  "Ah,” he murmured. “I see what’s going on here.”

“There’s nothing to see here,” Senku retorted, faster than necessary. “Hyoga fell asleep. Kohaku isn’t going to move out of simple courtesy. End of analysis.”

“And why do you assume we’re referring to that, Senku?” Gen asked with a clearly ironic tone. “Are you revealing some weakness we can exploit?”

“None of that, mentalist. I simply know that your minds are so irrational that you’d ultimately think of something very basic like that. I just anticipated your banal conclusions.”

“That was an unnecessarily long explanation,” Gen commented. “Interesting.”

Senku clicked his tongue. “If you’re going to start with absurd theories, I’m leaving.”

“Relax,” Ryusui said, raising his hands. “No one’s accusing anyone. We’re just… observing.”

That word: observing. Observing what? The same thing as him? Did they have the same perspective as him? Of course not. Ryusui and Gen could behave like complete clowns when they wanted to, just as they could draw ridiculous and poorly supported conclusions.

Senku forced himself to take a deep breath. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t invading anything. He was simply… aware. The problem was that the two boys didn't see the same danger he did, and of course, they didn't know what had happened between him and Kohaku.

"Spill it," Gen urged. "I know something's bothering you. If it's very private, I recommend keeping it to yourself, but if you think you can change our minds, I give you my word that nothing will come out of my mouth or Ryusui's."

Senku hesitated. It wasn't as if he didn't trust them; he knew very well that they could be quite discreet, since they had been with him all this time and it had never crossed their minds to betray him. They were friends, not just colleagues, and Senku valued that. However, what he was going to tell them involved someone else, and he wasn't sure if it was right to expose the secrets of someone who wasn't him.

But Senku knew that to achieve a result, he had to take risks, and in this case, he risked Kohaku's secret, hoping that nothing would come out of Gen or Ryusui's mouths.

"A long time ago," he said suddenly, without looking at them, "Kohaku confessed to me."

The silence that followed was immediate. The words spoken were only audible to Gen and Ryusui, who were stunned by what he had said. Everything else remained the same: Hyoga was still asleep. Kohaku was still. The world didn't stop. But something in the air changed.

"Excuse me?" Gen was the first to react. "What do you mean, she confessed to you?"

"It wasn't a confession per se," Senku clarified. "There was no drama or exaggerated declarations. She just... said it. In her own way. That I was a very important person, more important than I should be to her."

"A confession, absolutely," Ryusui said, resting his elbows on his knees, showing he was listening intently. "And you? What did you say to her?"

"I said no," Senku replied, with the same firmness he had used that night. "That it wasn't appropriate."

"Ah," Gen didn't sound surprised. He sounded thoughtful. "And that was it?"

"That was it," Senku repeated. "We kept working. We traveled. We fought. Nothing changed."

It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.

Ryusui glanced back at Kohaku and Hyoga, who were still in the same position, but now Chelsea had joined the conversation, as had Luna. It wasn't possible to know exactly what they were talking about, but it was obvious that he was keeping them entertained, especially Chelsea, who wouldn't stop talking.

"Nothing has changed... in essence," he corrected, "because what my eyes see is something completely different. Kohaku isn't the same person I knew in Japan."

Senku frowned and sighed wearily. He knew what was coming, and no, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of ​​having this kind of conversation, at least not with them, much less with so many people around.

"Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," Ryusui retorted. "I'm just saying that if you bring it up now, it's because something has changed."

Gen nodded slowly, showing that she agreed with Ryusui's point before adding: "And it's not her."

Senku tightened his grip on his pencil. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What happened, happened. Kohaku understood. She’s strong. She always has been. That rejection meant nothing to her; it’s not like she was expecting anything from me. If that had been the case, our relationship would have changed, but it wasn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” Gen replied gently. “The point is you.”

“No,” Senku denied. “The point is, we’re not compatible, if you wanted to hear another reason for my rejection.” They both looked at him intently. “I like having her by my side,” he continued, as if explaining a scientific theory. “She works. She’s efficient. I trust her. But that doesn’t mean I can reciprocate in the way she wants. Romance isn’t for me, neither in theory nor, much less, in practice. Let’s just say the very concept of Romanticism as avant-garde gives me the creeps.”

“Because the mission is more important?” Ryusui asked.

“Because that’s who I am,” Senku replied. “Because I can’t offer her emotional stability. Because I don’t think about the future the way she does. Because my priority will always be science, even when it hurts.”

Gen observed him with a mixture of understanding and something more difficult to identify. He had been watching Senku for a long time, longer than he would have liked, since initially he had been doing so on Tsukasa’s orders. Now he did it out of affection and because, in a way, Senku was still quite a curious character.

"That sounds less like incompatibility and more like fear," Gen remarked before taking a bite of apple. "What is the great scientist Senku Ishigami afraid of?"

Senku looked up, and Gen felt like fifty needles were being pricked in his temple. "That sounds like cheap psychology."

"Call it what you want," Gen retorted. "But you didn't say you didn't love her."

The silence fell again, heavy. Senku didn't answer because he simply couldn't. Putting it into words would make it real, and perhaps he didn't want to accept that truth just like that.

Ryusui sighed, looking up at the sky again. No one was breaking the silence, so he thought he should. After analyzing for a few seconds, he spoke: "Sometimes, two ships can sail the same ocean for years... and still not have the same destination."

Senku understood exactly what he meant. Ryusui was trying to explain what he felt, and unlike Gen, who kept harping on about the fear of love, Ryusui seemed to want to understand Senku's aversion and compare it to different perspectives on life, because those differences existed, and Senku noticed them.

"I'm not going to force something that can't be sustained," Senku finally said. "I'm not going to try to align stars that aren't meant to be."

Gen closed his eyes for a second. He looked exhausted, but at the same time, it was clear he wanted to understand Senku. But he couldn't just do it, because Senku was good at discarding what didn't serve him, and in his case, he was discarding his feelings.

"What if they're already aligned, but you choose not to look?" Gen asked, but immediately covered his mouth. He hadn't meant to ask that question out loud; it had just slipped out, just as Senku's heart had slipped out of the conversation.

Senku stood up abruptly. He was annoyed. But not with the others, but with himself. He would have liked to continue talking with them, however, it was impossible to ignore Kohaku and Hyoga, especially that guy, who had woken up and the first thing he did was look at Kohaku with such admiration that he couldn't help but continue the conversation with the girls.

"The conversation is over."

He didn't wait for a reply. He walked away from the campfire, from the murmur, from the weight of the stares that didn't need words to say everything. Above all, he walked away from that annoying scene, as it was more unbearable than the conversation about his feelings itself.

He sat alone, with the sky stretching infinitely above his head. The universe was always there to soothe him after a bad day or simply to be admired by his eyes and lonely heart. For Senku, his true love was the universe; he always wanted to see it and learn more about it. Unlike any potential partner, the universe wasn't going to demand anything in return.

But Kohaku didn't demand anything when she confessed her feelings either. He clicked his tongue again at that torturous memory and devoted himself to observing the night sky. The moon shone in its waning phase. So absorbed was he in his meditation that he closed his eyes and the memories with Kohaku surfaced as if by magic.

They had traveled across impossible seas. They had crossed continents. They had seen the world die and be reborn. They had aimed for the moon. They had gone too far together. He roamed the world like an ancient inhabitant while she learned and discovered what seemed impossible.

And yet, they were two different worlds.

Senku kept his eyes closed as he repeated the same thing over and over. It wasn't love. It couldn't be. It was just… discovery, history, geography, and science, especially astronomy.

At first, Senku thought that he and Kohaku were two celestial bodies following different orbits, too close to ignore each other, too incompatible to collide without being destroyed. However, he had to discard that idea, as it wasn't compatible with reality.

He didn't want to sound egocentric or anything like that, but pretending that nothing revolved around him was like ignoring that the sun rose every day. Everyone gathered there had something to do with him. If he gave an order, everyone followed it without question—that last part didn't apply to Gen. Senku was the center of his solar system, and, considering recent events, humanity was planet Earth; he wanted to give each member of his community a planet, but he could only think of one planet that would be Kohaku.

Kohaku, the first modern citizen he met. That girl who defied the rules of her village so that he could be accepted. That girl who always took his side and never doubted his decisions. That temperamental girl whom only he had managed to stop and calm.

For Senku, Kohaku had been Mercury, for her unconditional companionship, but then he began to see her as Venus. There was no one else in the world who could occupy that place. Venus and Mars, yes, if one considers the mythology behind the conception of the planets. However, Kohaku was more than a warrior. She was a…

He couldn't say it without feeling a certain discomfort in his heart. He didn't deny what she was, but saying it aloud would reveal a side of himself that he had been reserving for himself, his own privacy. That Gen and Ryusui could shout from the rooftops about the encounters they had before Whyman's first attack was their business. Senku was proud of being more reserved about it. Not that he had anything to boast about, either.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned his attention back to the arm of the Milky Way visible in the sky. He desperately wished he had a telescope to kill his boredom, since he didn't want to call it anguish, while he gazed at the planets.

Planets. Again, Kohaku was Venus. He was the Sun. She, Venus. Sun. Venus. They didn't orbit together, as one orbited the other. Senku's eyes then fell upon a bright star in the sky. He could never mistake it. Saturn was present in the sky.

In a way, he liked to think that Tsukasa was Saturn, but it was impossible, because he was like Jupiter, imposing and with a great gravitational force; however, his mysterious aura could also be associated with Neptune, considering that it is the last planet of the Solar System, something like a guardian.

Saturn… was Hyoga. Mysterious and imposing. He wasn't Mars. Senku refused to consider him Mars. Impossible. No. No. No. Absolutely not. If that were the case, he'd have to consider Kohaku Earth…

No, not that either, because Mars was very close to Earth. Hyoga was Saturn, a despicable Saturn.

"What a ridiculous idea," he muttered to himself.

But the idea only deepened in his mind.

Hyoga was Saturn; Kohaku was Venus; he was the Sun. From a distance, he could see both planets orbiting, Venus close by and Saturn at a patient, watchful distance. Looking at the sky, he could make out the brightness of Venus. At night, when the Sun wasn't present, from Earth one could see that they maintained a certain distance, but that, in due time, they would be closer. And the Sun was able to see this, but couldn't prevent it even if it wanted to.

Venus moved gracefully in its orbit, admired by Saturn. Damned Saturn. And the Sun only served as a spectator. He longed, with all his might, to stretch out his arms and pull Venus closer to its axis, but why would he do it? What purpose would there be in disrupting orbits on a mere whim? Or was his hatred for Saturn clouding his judgment?

No, it wasn't hatred for Saturn, because that didn't exist. It was the fear of losing Venus's orbit.

His chest felt like a dead star whose light kept arriving late. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Nor did he want to.

That night, he went to sleep wishing that Saturn would lose all its rings, even if it meant disrespecting his beloved universe.

.

Days later, Senku made a decision that, in theory, was simple: to carry out the rocket's construction, he formed work teams.

It wasn't personal. There was no solemn announcement or unnecessary justification. He simply assigned tasks with his usual surgical logic, as if each person were another variable in a larger equation. No one questioned the teams or the tasks; everyone trusted Senku's judgment.

"Kohaku and Ukyo, I need you to accompany Hyoga and Tsukasa on a reconnaissance of the terrain to the north," he said, without looking up from the map. "There are unstable areas and possible remains of ancient structures."

Kohaku nodded immediately and joined the team.

"Understood," said Ukyo, taking his bow and quiver. "We'll report back on the terrain as soon as possible."

Senku nodded his thanks.

"Gen, Ryusui," he continued. "You two are coming with me. We need to adjust the supply calculations while Chrome, Kaseki, and Xeno handle the tools." 

Gen and Ryusui exchanged a quick glance. Nothing seemed amiss, except for one detail Senku had overlooked, whether intentionally or not.

It wasn't the first time Senku and Kohaku hadn't worked together, but it was the first time the separation felt deliberate. Measured. Almost demonstrative. Kohaku didn't seem to notice. Or, if she did, she said nothing. She adjusted her equipment, gave Hyoga a brief instruction, and left with the group without looking back.

Senku watched her go. Not with longing or tension, just with precise attention, as if he wanted to record the moment to later file it away and categorize it under a label that didn't yet have a name. He always did this; he made sure to save the last image of the girl's figure until she disappeared from his field of vision.

"Interesting choice," Ryusui commented once they were on their way. "Was so much separation necessary?" 

"Yes, it was," Senku replied.

"Since when?" Gen asked, with a lopsided smile. "Couldn't we have unified our groups?"

Senku continued walking without looking at the boys who were following closely behind him.

"Ever since I realized that we work better when we don't mix incompatible variables."

Gen raised an eyebrow and let out a mocking laugh, one of those laughs Senku hated when it was directed at him.

"And is Kohaku an incompatible variable?" Gen asked before putting a hand to his mouth. "Poor thing."

"With me," Senku clarified. "In certain aspects."

Ryusui chuckled briefly. "Interesting. Because from the outside, they work better than most teams."

"Apparent efficiency doesn't always indicate structural compatibility," Senku countered. "Two elements can react well under specific conditions... and still be unstable in the long run."

Gen crossed his arms, showing how unconvinced he was.

"That still sounds like an excuse."

Senku stopped and turned around abruptly. "No, it sounds like reality."

He looked at them intently for the first time since the conversation began. What he was about to say needed to be honest; there was no time for nuance or disguise.

"Kohaku needs certainty. Presence. Someone willing to stay even when there's no mission to justify it. I'm not that."

Ryusui watched him closely, serious for once. "But you are," he said. "Always."

Senku shook his head.

"I'm here as long as there's something to save. After this, there's no reason for her to stay by my side. I'm not going to be her boyfriend."

Gen sighed.

"And yet, when you separate her from you... you don't push her away. You put her exactly where you know she'll be safe, or do you think I don't know why you sent Ukyo? Tsukasa is close to Hyoga, despite their differences, and is even willing to give him a moment alone with Kohaku, but I'm sure you asked Ukyo to look after her and not leave her alone with Hyoga."

Senku didn't protest because everything Gen had said was true. Before assigning the groups, he had spoken with Ukyo. He shook his head, smiled smugly, and said,

"That's absurd. If someone did that, seriously, they'd be desperate, ten billion percent."

"Haha! Then I guess we have a new nickname for you, desperate scientist!"

Gen burst out laughing at Ryusui's comment, while Senku shook his head and continued on his way to put the plan into action.

The subject wasn't brought up again.

The reconnaissance team returned hours later, all covered in dust, tired, but unharmed. They brought back key information about the terrain and possible access routes. Senku listened to the entire report, asked precise questions, and took notes, at least of everything that came out of Ukyo's mouth, since Kohaku seemed more concerned with asking Luna for help with a cut Tsukasa had suffered on his right ankle.

"So, the terrain can be adapted?" Senku asked, as if to confirm the information.

"With the right tools, it's quite possible," Hyoga assured him.

"Good work, guys," Senku said, giving each of them a smile.

Yes, it felt strange to thank Hyoga, but he had been very useful, as always, so he couldn't ignore the work done. Everything worked perfectly, because Ukyo, with his characteristic discretion, assured him that he hadn't neglected Kohaku for a second, but that Hyoga protected her more than any of them. Senku would deal with that later, as he had quickened his pace to check on Tsukasa's wound. Luna was removing the makeshift bandage Kohaku had placed around the wound using fabric from her clothing.

"He'll be fine," Luna assured him. "It doesn't look serious. I just need to clean it and change the bandage."

Hyoga, who had also reached Senku's side, made his way over to Tsukasa and gave him a light tap on the back.

"Thanks for that," he said.

"It's the least I could do. I know you would have done the same for me."

"Absolutely."

Senku ignored the conversation, as the conclusions were easy to draw. He simply approached Kohaku, who seemed more relieved after hearing Luna's diagnosis, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Good job," he said with a smile.

She smiled back.

"The strength team isn't going to leave any of its members injured."

“Of course not, especially since you’re on that team, lioness.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Gen observed the scene from the sidelines. Ryusui did too. There was no visible emotional distance. No coldness. No rift. There was synchronicity.

Later, when the camp had calmed down again and everyone was patiently waiting for dinner, Gen approached Senku discreetly, grateful to be alone with him.

“You know what’s the most ironic thing?” he said without startling the scientist, who had already seen him arrive. “You try so hard to prove that you’re on different paths… that you end up proving the opposite.”

Senku closed his notebook and sighed heavily. Sitting in his desk chair, he rubbed his temple hard. The truth was, he didn't have time for that conversation with Gen, or anyone else for that matter.

"You don't understand."

"Yes," Gen replied with a hint of weariness. "I understand you don't want to force something you can't promise. But I also understand that not saying something doesn't make it cease to exist."

Ryusui joined them in the blink of an eye, literally. Gen and Senku were alarmed, thinking it might be someone else.

"Two different worlds," he said with his usual certainty when analyzing situations. "But revolving around the same star. It even sounds poetic. You could write some verses when we set sail again."

Senku looked up and found himself staring at the ceiling, which wasn't serving as an explanatory whiteboard.

"Come see me after dinner. I can't explain anything if I don't have the sky in front of me."

No sooner said than done, Ryusui, Gen, and Senku met in the lab after dinner, slipped away unnoticed, and went to the same spot Senku had discovered a couple of nights before when he started analyzing the planets and cursed poor Saturn until he couldn't anymore.

The stars were still there. Some already dead. Others too far away. And the planets maintained their orbits, at the same pace he had studied thousands of years ago.

"Astronomy isn't about connection," he murmured to make sure that if anyone had followed them, they couldn't figure out what they were talking about. "It's about distance, orbits, inevitable trajectories."

Gen smiled sadly, his gaze fixed on the stars. In his words, they were the most beautiful scenery they could admire in that stone world.

"And yet, you spend your life looking at them."

"Senku," Ryusui said, "are you really content with just looking at the stars? Don't you ever plan to break the distance?"

"I want to go to the moon."

"You know very well that's not what I mean."

Senku didn't answer.

The choice wasn't about heeding feelings he considered useless and troublesome or continuing with the mission that fueled his ambition. No, it wasn't that simple.

The choice was purely about what he wanted to do with Kohaku: orbit or collide. Between maintaining the exact, safe, calculated distance, or risking an impact he didn't know if he could survive. Between continuing to circle Kohaku, pretending the proximity was just a coincidence, or accepting that a single deviation would be enough to destroy everything he had built.

And Senku Ishigami had already chosen orbit.

Not because it was the right one, but because it was the only one that allowed him to keep moving forward, even though each night gravity weighed a little more heavily on him.

"Let's go back," Senku said and started walking, not caring if the two boys followed him.

He also didn't pay any attention to the girl hidden in the bushes who had overheard the whole conversation.

"Astronomy", Conan Gray

Chapter Text

choices

IV

close down or resist

Chapter Text

choices

V

to feel or to calculate

The problem with planets, Senku thought, is that no one asks them if they want to orbit anything. They simply do, and scientists like him should only study that movement, not interfere.

Planets form from debris, from ancient collisions, from matter that was once something else. They orbit by inertia, by gravity, by laws that admit no exceptions or sentimentality. There is no will in an orbit. There is no choice. Only a constant balance between moving forward and not falling.

Science, in this case everything related to astronomy and physics, analyzed the facts to obtain answers that went far beyond human understanding. Scientists saw data, not interpretations, because they couldn't conceive of a truth that wasn't supported by anything but evidence, and no, feelings are unreliable because they are mere interpretation.

And yet, that night, Senku, who had appointed himself the main star, felt that something within him had altered the trajectory and movement of the other planets orbiting around him.

It wasn't sudden. It wasn't violent. It was more like a minimal deviation, almost imperceptible to anyone, like when a celestial body veers slightly off its predicted course. The problem with that is that no one notices until it's too late to correct it.

He stayed awake long after the camp had fallen into that particular silence that only exists when humanity is resting for a few hours. The fire was now just a controlled pile of ashes, and the stars, cruel in their constancy, were still up there, enjoying the agony of the main star, as if, rather than keeping him company, they were mocking him.

Under the immensity of the starry sky, he thought about Kohaku, wondering if she was also out there, wandering around as if nothing had happened, keeping watch with Ukyo. He thought of her acting, and of her simply existing. He only thought of her.

And that, in itself, was already a mistake. That margin of error grew larger when he realized he was biting his thumbnail, just like he did when he was little and had to deal with frustrations he couldn't name, much less manage.

Okay, it wasn't the first time he'd thought of her, and it wasn't as if it wasn't logical to do so, considering that Kohaku had been a constant presence in this whole new world for Senku since he broke the first petrification, but the way he thought of her had changed radically from that first time until now. Before, Kohaku was strength, speed, skill, a formidable and absolutely reliable ally.

However, now she was absence.

Senku clenched his jaw, then clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself, as if the insult could somehow straighten his mind. "It's not a good idea."

It wasn't. Not in any possible scenario. Besides, there were situations that would have made any kind of relationship between them impossible. Even maintaining a friendship was complicated; Kohaku's confession had left a terrible feeling in his heart, but above all, it was the events of the past that made it difficult.

He had been married to Ruri. A marriage that shouldn't have happened as such, since the plan had been different. However, it had gone through mere silent agreements, devoid of any affection.

It hadn't been a lie—everyone had witnessed it—but it also hadn't been something people could have described with effusive words and declarations of love and triumph from Senku.

There hadn't even been a ceremony; it was just a verbal agreement to achieve a specific goal. Very functional, very proper.

The problem was, even with that marriage, which had been devoid of any hint of romance or desire, it had been with Kohaku's sister.

How could it be, then, that he was thinking so much about his former sister-in-law? Why did Kohaku insist on robbing him of his peace and quiet? And how come Kohaku hadn't found it a problem that he'd been married to Ruri? Was he really going to ignore that? Didn't he care what people in Ishigami Village thought?

He paused for a moment. And since when did he care what others said?

He shook his head to clear those unfounded thoughts and went to bed. But the thoughts wouldn't leave him, and when they started working the next day, he decided to try out a strategy.

"Tsukasa, I need your help with the base construction," Senku said, then looked at Hyoga. And, Hyoga, I'd like to ask if you could go hunting.

"Of course," Hyoga replied, happily going to fetch his spear.

"And me? What can I do?"

Kohaku's question brought a small smile to Senku's face.

"You can help with whatever you want, lioness. It's up to you."

Seeing the girl's smile, Senku thought she would join Tsukasa, since he knew very well that she liked being part of the strength team, so her training wouldn't suffer.

But the words that came out of her mouth were like a bucket of cold water, even though he knew what she was going to do.

"Hyoga! Wait! Can I come with you?"

"It's a pleasure to have someone as diligent as you, Kohaku."

As if that answer hadn't been enough, Hyoga held Senku's gaze until the girl was by his side, ready to get going.

Thanks to Tsukasa snapping him out of his trance, Senku was able to complete his task without any problems, as were all the others.

It wasn't unusual for Kohaku to want to work with Hyoga; Senku had misjudged her. Of course, she wanted to explore and, above all, demonstrate her great skill as a hunter. Now, the problem Senku was seeing was that Kohaku not only worked side-by-side with Hyoga, but she also spent all her free time with him.

That fact, cold and objective, should have been enough to put an end to any absurd hypothesis. The reality where Kohaku did everything to be by his side had vanished. Now there was only Hyoga.

Hyoga, with his constant presence. Hyoga, with his direct, unbiased attention. Hyoga, holding her hand during healing sessions. Hyoga, accompanying her in training and forming work teams. Hyoga, listening to her when no one else seemed suitable. Hyoga, giving her precisely what Senku had unknowingly stopped offering.

Hyoga. Hyoga. Hyoga. Hyoga. Hyoga.

"Hyoga!"

It wasn't his name, but he glanced in Kohaku's direction nonetheless, just to see her announce herself to join him for dinner. Hyoga, of course, smiled at her as usual and made room for her beside him.

The evidence was there, crystal clear. It was a matter of taking a sample and formulating two hypotheses. The answer was obvious.

And yet, when the camp fell silent, what Senku felt wasn't jealousy. That would be too emotional a word, too messy.

It was more like a "lack of balance."

As if something that had always been there—the way Kohaku appeared by his side without asking, her open laughter, her unwavering faith in him—had slowly withdrawn, leaving a void that logic couldn't fill.

It wasn't love. It couldn't be, since that would be a rather simplistic analysis—and Senku would never accept that. Because love was a trap. A cruel game. One where something essential was always lost: time, focus, clarity. Senku knew this. Human history was full of empirical evidence of it.

Senku then understood and accepted that everything that was happening was part of a test of his logistical capabilities. A game.

A wicked game: believing he could fall in love.

He chuckled softly and joined Gen and Ryusui for dinner. Throughout the evening, he occasionally glanced at Kohaku.

But she never looked in his direction.

.

He was walking casually through the camp, trying to find Taiju and Chrome, when, passing by the storage area, he heard voices and realized it was a rather familiar conversation.

Senku stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't usually consider himself a snooper or gossip, but his instinct had told him to stop, because Suika's sharp, recognizable laughter, followed by Francois' soft, perfectly modulated tone, was talking about him.

"This is exciting, isn't it, Francois? With all this, we could say that Venus is a person," Suika asked, clearly wanting to understand what was going on.

"In this context, yes," Francois replied with infinite patience. "Mr. Senku often expresses himself through scientific metaphors when he doesn't want to be... explicit."

"And what could Venus mean?"

"In mythology, Venus is the Roman representation of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love."

Senku felt a slight chill run down his spine. He didn't move forward. He didn't retreat. He stayed just outside the field of vision, like a spy satellite, listening.

Suddenly, he felt a pang of embarrassment, because he hadn't expected his metaphors to sound that way. Coming from Ryusui and Gen, it didn't matter; they would have found a way to make fun of him anyway. But hearing it from someone else, someone who wasn't making fun but wanted to understand, was different.

"But I don't understand," Suika continued. "He said Kohaku was like Venus and that they only orbited each other, that they would never collide. Is that good or bad?"

There was a brief pause. Francois also seemed to want to understand the feelings and ideas Senku was expressing.

"It depends on the perspective," Francois said. "From a rational point of view, it's an elegant way of saying he doesn't feel anything romantic for her. If Kohaku is Venus, and she's the personification of love, and Mr. Senku has no intention of colliding with her, then it's a very elegant way of rejecting her."

Senku's heart gave a sharp thud.

"Reject her?" Suika repeated, surprised. "But... that's sad. Kohaku does seem to have feelings for him."

Senku closed his eyes and sighed. So it was obvious. To everyone, that is, except him. How many other people knew what was going on? Did everyone there know about Kohaku's feelings for him?

"Well," Francois added in a measured tone, "it's also possible that the feelings aren't reciprocated. That's a fact."

"That's awful!" Suika exclaimed bluntly. "Although... Kohaku spends a lot of time with Hyoga now. That's good, right? At least Hyoga pays attention to her, or could. What a shame Senku isn't capable of love."

The phrase pierced his chest with surgical precision. He had never seen him that way before, for Senku considered himself passionate, but it seemed that in the eyes of others, he wasn't.

Before he could react, Francois spoke again, and this time the voice changed only slightly. It wasn't harsher, but it was more thoughtful.

"It's not that he's incapable," said clearly. "It's just that he doesn't want to. And that's perfectly respectable."

Silence. Senku knew, in that instant, that Francois knew he was there, and he was truly grateful for what had said, for there was no lie in those words. Francois wasn't the type to speak just to please, Francois had definitely said that so that Senku would hear it and feel supported.

There was no judgment in those words. Nor reproach. Only an outstretched, invisible hand, offering him an uncomfortable truth: the difference between not being able and not wanting.

Senku turned away without a sound.

He neither needed nor wanted to hear any more.

.

Dinner passed by in a blur. He responded when spoken to, ate just enough to stay functional, and ignored the occasional glances from Gen and Ryusui, who always seemed to notice more than they said. He then decided to leave the group so he could get some rest.

When he finally left the camp, Gen followed, making his presence known once they reached a clearing perfect for stargazing.

"Oya oya," the mentalist said gently, approaching with a steaming cup. "I thought you might like something warm."

Senku accepted the tea without comment. He knew Gen had been following him, but he hadn't expected him to be so prepared, as if he knew beforehand that they would have some kind of deep conversation. Otherwise, why would they be sharing tea?

They sat down, maintaining a respectful distance; the partly cloudy sky was still a beautiful sight. But it was time to talk, so Senku waited patiently for Gen to break the silence.

"You look strange," Gen observed, without irony, "like you're worried."

"I'm not worried about anything," Senku replied. "I'm just thinking about misinterpreted variables."

Gen smiled slightly. He took a sip of his tea before continuing the conversation.

"You noticed some mistakes, didn't you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. The truth is, it doesn't matter. I'll come up with an answer."

"Or could it be that you're experiencing emptiness?"

"No way," Senku smiled and looked at the contents of his cup before taking a sip.

Gen was known for being observant. Unlike before, he no longer had any hidden intentions when he did so; now, he was simply worried about his friend. Senku was facing obvious dilemmas, and Gen, more than anyone, knew how to help him. The problem was Senku himself.

“You know,” he said after a sip, “what we most regret losing is what we thought we had.”

Senku shook his head and took a sip of his tea before replying smugly.

“I haven’t lost anything.”

“Of course not,” Gen conceded. “But, let me put it in words a genius like you can understand: there are losses that go unnoticed until the system starts to fail.”

The silence between them was both comfortable and dangerous.

“I feel… strange,” Senku finally admitted, almost reluctantly. “I can’t put a name to it.”

Gen glanced at him sideways, serious for once, though inside he felt triumphant. He was finally getting answers.

“That’s usually a clue.”

Senku looked up at the sky. Venus wasn't visible that night. He didn't know what to say to Gen. Nor did he want to repeat his metaphor about the planets aloud. He waited a moment, but the words wouldn't come, hiding like the sun's rays in the darkness of the night.

"Confess," Gen said finally, in a low voice. "You have feelings for that girl. And, you know, denying something is also a way of choosing."

Senku held the teacup in his hands. The steam rose slowly, orderly, controllable.

"I'm not denying anything," he replied. "I'm avoiding a mistake."

Gen raised an eyebrow. "An emotional mistake?"

"A structural one."

The mentalist tilted his head, attentive. "Explain yourself, genius."

Senku sighed briefly.

"Kohaku isn't an isolated variable. She's part of the system. Of the team." The balance that holds all of this together. If I… were to fall in love with her," he said harshly, for those words sounded strange coming from his mouth," I would start prioritizing her above everyone else, and thus I would cease to be trustworthy. And I'm not just talking about her, I'm talking about everyone.

Gen frowned. "That sounds complicated."

Senku continued, without looking at him: "It is, Gen, it is. Besides, she deserves something I can't offer her."

"And what would that be?"

Senku took a second longer than usual.

"Presence," he said, "but real presence. I can't promise to stay. My priority will always be beyond the present. Always. I don't know if, after solving the mystery of Whyman, I'll be near her. I also don't know what will happen in the future, but I do know that I'll always be on the move. I'm incapable of maintaining any kind of bond."

Gen remained silent… and then attacked from another angle.

“And Ruri? That was a bond, wasn’t it?”

Senku looked up and shook his head gently, a half-hearted smile on his face.

“That’s not comparable. It doesn’t really count.”

“Five minutes,” Gen countered. “You were ‘married’ to Ruri for five minutes to get sake and save her life. Not a minute more.”

“Exactly, that’s why…”

“And yet you did it. You could have refused, but you just went ahead with it anyway.”

Senku pressed his lips together.

"Because it was necessary. You know very well that I wanted to take over the village. Marrying Ruri wasn't part of my plan, but it worked out perfectly for me to become the village leader and…"

Gen slowly shook his head and interrupted Senku as he set his cup aside.

"It wasn't just necessary. You were also fulfilling something else."

Senku didn't reply, simply waiting for Gen to continue.

"You saved Ruri," Gen continued, "because, indirectly, you were fulfilling a wish of Kohaku's. She wanted her sister alive more than anything in the world. You knew that. You did it for her."

The silence was heavy.

"Yes, but that wasn't love," Senku finally said. "It was logic applied to an emergency."

"Perhaps," Gen conceded. "But you can't deny that Kohaku was at the heart of that decision. That's why I mentioned your marriage to Ruri. It's not just about relationships. It's about Kohaku, and how your actions are connected to her." 

Senku didn't reply, he just remained silent. Gen sighed. But before he could say anything, the scientist defended himself.

"It was all rational, nothing emotional."

"Then tell me something," he said gently. "If all this is so rational... why aren't you glad she can go on with her life as if nothing happened after your rejection? Why aren't you relieved when Hyoga is with Kohaku? Don't you think he can give her everything you can't?"

Senku turned his gaze to the sky. His expression hardened, smooth, impenetrable. They stood up and started walking back to the campfire.

"It's none of my business," he replied, drawing Gen's attention. "Kohaku is free to decide whatever she wants. I'm not going to interfere." If she wants to be with Hyoga, well… that's her business.

"I didn't ask you that."

"My answer isn't going to change."

Gen smiled slightly. He thought about dropping the subject, but when he looked up, he saw something that, he thought, might help Senku figure things out for himself.

"That's good," he said. "Because those two are closer than ever right now."

Senku looked up without thinking. And he saw them. He felt the heat from the tea rise to his cheeks and throughout his body.

Hyoga stopped in front of Kohaku and said something to her in a low voice. She responded with a tired smile. Without hesitation, he removed his cloak and carefully draped it over her shoulders, adjusting it to protect her from the cold. The gesture was simple. Precise. Unequivocal. Hyoga sat down again beside her, while Kohaku enjoyed the protection the cloak offered. The others present, such as Tsukasa, Ryusui, and Ukyo, exchanged curious glances, but didn't say anything directly to either of them.

Senku didn't react. He didn't frown. He didn't look away. Gen watched him, waiting for something, but it never came. Senku just sighed and turned his attention to Francois. He was going to return the cup of tea Gen had brought him.

"Good for her," he said indifferently as he walked toward Francois. "It's only logical."

“Senku…” Gen had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, stopping the scientist by grabbing his arm. “Please, don’t fool yourself.”

“I can’t fall in love with her, Gen. Please, understand that.”

The problem wasn’t what Senku was saying. It was everything he’d chosen not to say. The world seemed to stop for a fraction of a second.

“You’re the one who needs to understand, Senku. For once, you should listen to yourself. You do have feelings for her,” he reiterated, just as he had a moment ago. “Realize it. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with…”

Gen couldn’t continue. Senku didn’t respond. His expression hardened, as if he could seal something inside himself with sheer willpower. The conversation was over. Gen didn’t press the issue and let him go.

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t affirm it. He simply remained silent. And in that silence, like a planet hurtling dangerously close to the sun, something began to ignite. If he allowed Kohaku to get any closer than necessary, he knew it wouldn't end well. And Senku, like the sun, wanted to protect his planets, which is why he kept them at a certain distance. And to do so properly, he had to be guided by what had substance and meaning in his life: the reliable data of science.

Feeling was an unstable variable; calculating, on the other hand, always yielded the right results.

Senku had survived the petrification by trusting in logic, in numbers, as that which he knew wouldn't fail him and would give him the necessary data to work on a solid and appropriate foundation.

Love, meanwhile, and the possibility of loving weren't part of the equation. Not because it was impossible, but because the cost was too high.

So Senku chose to calculate, even if in doing so he lost what he had never dared to admit he had already begun to feel.

Because calculating was always safer than admitting that, this time, science couldn't protect him.

Before going to sleep, he cast one last glance at the campfire. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Kohaku and Hyoga were chatting casually with the others; even Gen had joined the conversation. But Senku's attention was drawn to that blonde girl who was smiling and couldn't hide her blush and her excitement at being covered in that damned black cloak.

He clicked his tongue and walked back to the dormitories, even though he knew very well he wouldn't fall asleep anytime soon.

Even so, as he pondered, something in his chest still felt inexplicably off when it came to Kohaku.

"I hope Kohaku can find what she needs in someone else, because I'm not the one."

"Wicked Game," Chris Isaak

Chapter Text

choices

VI

to shelter or to quit

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Chapter Text

choices

VII

act or accept

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"Somebody else", The 1975

Chapter Text

choices

VIII

move forward or go back

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"Do you have a moment?" Xeno's voice pulled him from his reverie. Senku looked up. He hadn't expected to see him there. It was quite late, and he thought he'd gone to sleep after dinner like most people.

"If it's about trajectory calculations, tomorrow..."

"It's not," he interrupted. "Come on." Senku was taken aback, but he complied with Xeno's request without complaint or question. They walked together to a clear area: the lookout point. Senku assumed they would plot routes when he saw the telescope positioned toward the arm of the Milky Way, but he stopped when he noticed Gen and Ryusui already there.

The sky was clear. Too clear, Senku thought. Xeno had chosen a perfect night for stargazing, but nothing about the invitation felt casual. Senku walked with him in silence, anticipating calculations, trajectories, probabilities. It was what he knew how to do.

He didn't take his eyes off the two boys, and they didn't take their eyes off him either. He realized, then, that they were up to something, and it wasn't exactly stargazing.

"This is starting to look like an intervention," Senku said.

"Don't be dramatic," Gen replied, but then nodded. "Well, yes, that's exactly it." Xeno said nothing. He calmly adjusted the telescope, as if the universe were in no hurry. Senku wondered why this doctor was acting so nonchalant while Gen and Ryusui seemed ready to form a wall and prevent him from escaping.

"Look at it," Xeno said, pointing at Venus. "I want you to revel in the elegant visibility of that planet tonight."

Senku obeyed. He took light steps to the telescope and observed. Venus looked bright; the clear image was a caress to his heart, captivated by outer space. He didn't take his eyes off it for several long, silent seconds.

"Brilliant," he commented. "Predictable. Its movement is…"

"Constant," Xeno finished. And yet, for centuries, it was misunderstood. But it inspired many civilizations, just like the other planets. But Venus holds a special significance.

Senku frowned, turning his gaze from the telescope to Xeno.

"What are you getting at?"

Xeno crossed his arms and bowed his head. A question was coming that would force him to answer; Senku could feel it.

"Tell me, Senku. What do you think it means to be a scientist?" The answer came automatically. Fluidly. It wasn't as if he hadn't been asked that question before; he'd even asked it himself when he decided what he wanted to dedicate his life to.

"To seek the truth. To formulate hypotheses. To accept error. To move forward even when it hurts. To reach the pinnacle of wisdom for the good of humanity."

"And to love?" The silence was immediate. Tension appeared in Senku's shoulders and in the quick glance he gave the pair who remained silent a short distance away.

"It's not comparable to science," Senku replied harshly. "Love can't be measured. It's not reliable. It's interpretation."

"And since when does that invalidate it?" Xeno asked. Senku gritted his teeth and frowned. He tried to relax for a moment, so he scratched his ear with his cheek to say aloud the response he'd been rehearsing for when faced with this situation.

"Love doesn't build rockets. Science does. Love gives you the fantasy of promising the moon, while science actually gets you to the moon."

"Okay, that's right," Xeno conceded. "But thanks to people's love, we find those who build science." Ryusui took a step forward so Senku could hear him.

"You're not a machine, Senku."

"I have to be," he retorted immediately, a hint of anger in his voice. "Otherwise, everything falls apart."

Xeno studied him intently, as if for the first time he weren't evaluating his mind, but rather his physical decline. He glanced quickly at the two young men who had come to his aid. He couldn't help but feel pity, for ignorance and stubbornness had ultimately left this genius adrift due to his lack of emotional intelligence.

"I've been watching," Xeno said. "Not just your work. Your silences, too."

Gen clicked his tongue. "Believe me, those scream," he muttered to himself, not caring if anyone heard him.

"I asked you to come," Xeno continued, looking at Senku but gesturing to Gen and Ryusui, "because you can't hide behind equations when the problem isn't technical. Senku, is it wrong to accept love for another person even if you're focused on maintaining your passion for science?"

"I'm not in love," Senku said, almost reflexively.

"That's not what I asked you," Xeno replied. I asked you if you think science and love can coexist.

"They can't." Xeno smiled wearily. Now he understood a little of the frustration of the young people who had come to him for help.

"That's... disappointingly simplistic. It's not elegant at all." He moved a little closer so Senku could observe him and give him his full attention, without distractions.

"I have a partner," Xeno confessed. "I never told you about it because it wasn't relevant. Until now." Senku looked at him in surprise. Was that true? Dr. Xeno?

"He doesn't interfere with my work," he continued. "He accompanies me. He supports me when I doubt. He reminds me that it's not all about moving forward; sometimes it's about going back and correcting. It's also about finding refuge after a hard day's work." Xeno pointed to the telescope.

"A great scientist needs a partner. Not one who thinks the same way, but one who covers their blind spots." He paused. Senku turned his attention back to Venus, but he didn't see it through the telescope; instead, he admired the planet from the distance his eyes allowed, just as he had been seeing Kohaku lately.

“Kohaku isn’t just beautiful,” Xeno continued. “She’s bold. She’s strong where you’re fragile. She has the courage you hide behind wit.”

Senku felt the blow. He pressed his lips together. He had no intention of interrupting Xeno.

“She sees you,” Xeno added. “Even if you pretend not to see yourself.” Silence settled over everyone present.

Senku looked away, as if the night sky were suddenly harder to face after those words. He thought of Kohaku always going first, of her clear laughter, of how she never asked him to be less… just to be there.

He thought of Kohaku when Xeno mentioned having a partner, and he thought of her when he mentioned needing a companion.

“Seeing doesn’t mean choosing,” Senku murmured, more to himself than to Xeno.

Xeno didn’t respond immediately.

“No,” he conceded finally. "But to be seen and still be rejected… that leaves its mark too." 

Senku clenched his jaw, because he understood, with brutal clarity, that it hadn't been science that had protected him all this time, but fear.

And that Kohaku, without meaning to, had learned to read him better than he did himself. That was why she had distanced herself from him, not just because he had pushed her to do so.

.

The conversation with Xeno had ended long ago, but Senku remained there, motionless, his eye glued to the telescope.

Venus shone like an unsolicited answer. He couldn't tear his gaze away from its brilliance and beauty. Senku had begun to yearn for the light, and he hadn't even realized it.

Gen and Ryusui didn't leave; Xeno hadn't asked them to accompany Senku. They had simply decided to stay and keep him company after he fell into absolute silence. They asked nothing, simply silently keeping him company, as if they knew that if they spoke too soon, something fragile might shatter completely.

Senku took a deep breath. Both of them turned their gazes toward him.

Xeno's words echoed again and again, like a poorly solved equation: Can science and love coexist?

He had always believed they could. That choosing one meant sacrificing the other. That moving forward meant leaving behind anything that wasn't functional. He didn't see the point in having to divide his priorities and time to maintain both. But now… now the pain didn't come from losing something. It came from having had it too close. And, for the first time, he felt like an idiot.

"I hate this," he finally muttered. Gen tilted his head, waiting for what was coming, but the words didn't come out of Senku's mouth. Ryusui crossed his arms.

"What?" Ryusui asked.

Senku stepped away from the telescope. He blinked, as if the sky had burned his eyes, but he was really trying to dispel the stinging sensation that was developing there.

"Not knowing what to choose," he confessed. "Science doesn't speak as loudly as the heart," Senku murmured, almost to himself. "I suppose that's a fact, too."

"What did you say?" Gen asked. Senku took a deep breath. That was enough for Gen to understand that he wasn't talking about science.

"I thought you always moved forward," Gen said gently. "Even when it hurt." Senku let out a short, humorless laugh.

"I thought so too."

He moved away from the telescope and walked through space, just a couple of steps, revealing how uneasy he was. He ran a hand through his hair, an automatic gesture when something didn't feel right.

"Moving forward is easy," he continued. It's just about moving on, not looking back, pretending nothing happened—he paused, stopping in his tracks. “But going back… that's admitting something stuck with you. That it wasn't just an experiment. That it wasn't replaceable.” Ryusui frowned, as if unconvinced.

“And what's wrong with that?”

Senku looked at him seriously.

“It hurts more.”

Silence fell between them again, but it wasn't awkward; it was expectant.

"If I move forward," Senku said, his voice lower, "I can still be who I've always been. The scientist. The one who never stops." He clenched his fists. "But if I go back… I have to accept that this didn't start today. That the pain comes from a place I hid very well. Where I kept something nameless."

Gen swallowed. He knew the answer was closer than they thought. He couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion at the side Senku was showing, even if that emotion was accompanied by a deep concern. 

"And what did you hide, Senku?"

Senku didn't look at them, but instead gazed up at the sky, at Venus, at everything he couldn't undo. Gen didn't answer immediately. Neither did Ryusui. Because sometimes, when someone says something like that, there's nothing left to fix. All that was left was to accept that you can't go back without losing something along the way.

Senku exhaled slowly, as if letting out his breath was harder than telling the truth.

"I'm an idiot," he finally said.

Gen smiled slightly. For a moment, he thought Senku was going to come to a more solid conclusion. He glanced at Ryusui and realized he was feeling the same. They both felt disappointment wash over them. They had exhausted all their options, and Senku had decided to ignore everything and maintain his initial stance.

"You know what?" he said again, turning his back to them to look at Venus. "It's true. Ten billion percent."

"What?" Ryusui asked. No one laughed.

"I saw it coming, I avoided it..." He swallowed, "and I still ended up like this. I can't deny it anymore."

As if these were his last words, Senku felt the tension take hold of him. He had already understood it and recited it in his head, but putting it into words for everyone else… was something he hadn't planned on doing so soon. Gen and Ryusui exchanged fleeting glances; neither wanted to lose the spotlight. Senku felt brave enough to show his vulnerability. Eyes closed, fists clenched, shoulders trembling. The confession filled the clearing, and the wind made its appearance, rustling the leaves.

"I'm deeply in love with Kohaku."

"The Scientist", Coldplay

Chapter Text

choices

IX

distance or echo

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"Venus", Sleeping At Last

Chapter Text

choices

X

take a risk or back down

Kohaku was used to training amidst noise: the sharp thud of her feet against the ground, the wind whistling in her ears, the sharp, rapid-fire commands. After having to pass all the tests to secure a spot on the lunar mission, she longed, somehow, to find a little relaxation amidst all the hustle and bustle.

She was happy, of course she was, however, her emotions seemed uncertain considering that Senku would also be going. She no longer felt comfortable around him, as her feelings betrayed her every time he came near.

On the other hand, there was Hyoga, the man who had known how to give her space, but who, even knowing how she felt about Senku, confessed his feelings to her without expecting anything in return. That hurt her, but she couldn't help thinking that, just as she was doing now, that's how Senku must have felt when he rejected her. It hurt, yes, but not in the same way as the one who was rejected. Kohaku knew both perspectives; they hurt differently, yes, but the pain remained the same.

It was that afternoon when she felt the companionship she needed at that moment.

Homura sat beside her on a flat rock, her legs dangling, her body relaxed in a way Kohaku rarely saw. They weren't training. They weren't running away. They were simply… there. Side by side, admiring the orange sky, waiting for instructions that never came.

The silence that surrounded them seemed to embrace them. They were just two girls, strong, determined, waiting to break the silence and have a much-needed conversation.

“Hyoga was always interested in you,” Homura said suddenly, bluntly, looking up at the sky.

Kohaku wasn't startled. She wasn't anymore by truths like that. But the truth was, she hadn't expected those words to come out of Homura's mouth so casually, considering everything she'd kept bottled up in her heart for so, so long.

“I know,” she replied calmly. “I don't think he ever hid it.”

Homura turned to face her, studying her closely but without a hint of accusation.

“And yet, you never let him go any further,” she pointed out, her tone a little more questioning than accusatory. “Why, Kohaku?”

Kohaku clasped her hands to her thighs. She'd asked herself the same question the moment she learned of Hyoga's feelings.

“Because I couldn't,” she answered honestly. “Not because he wasn't enough. But because… "she took a deep breath," my heart was already elsewhere, and despite going through a difficult time, my heart refuses to leave."

Homura smiled slightly, a gentle smile, without irony. She never thought of doubting the truth of Kohaku's words, which is why she felt complete empathy when she revealed her truth. That conversation was transforming into an intimate moment between them, one that, years later, they would cherish immensely.

"That's what I thought," she paused. "Hyoga may seem cold, but he's not stupid. I think he always knew he was competing with someone he couldn't touch."

Kohaku lowered her gaze, intrigued by the answer she could give Homura. She didn't want that girl to be disappointed in her, but the truth was, she didn't want to betray herself either.

"Sometimes I think it would have been easier to reciprocate his feelings," she confessed. "I know he would have been happy. That he would have taken care of me. That wouldn't have made me hesitate." 

"But it wouldn't have been you," Homura finished.

Kohaku looked up, surprised. Homura shrugged.

"Your strength isn't just physical, Kohaku," she said seriously. "It's mental. Emotional. To keep giving your best when your heart is broken… not everyone can do that."

The words hit her harder than any training session, for they carried a truth she hadn't known.

"It wasn't easy," Kohaku admitted. "There were days when training was the only thing that kept me going."

"I know," Homura said with a knowing smile. "I saw you."

They were silent for a moment. It wasn't awkward. It was the kind of pause that doesn't need to be filled, because it's already there. The air was fresh, twilight was falling, and for the first time in days, Kohaku didn't feel her chest tight. Just… stable. Present.

The girl's company felt like a refuge, someone she could consider her equal. Homura played with a strand of her hair, lost in thought.

She took a deep breath, like someone about to speak something they'd been holding back. Kohaku didn't rush her, she never would. Homura was known for her reserve, and the fact that she'd even reached out to offer her some comfort was incredibly valuable.

"Do you know what I want to do when all this is over?" she finally asked, with a half-smile. "When we no longer have to constantly survive and can finally enjoy humanity as it once was."

Kohaku looked at her, curious. "What?"

"I want to do gymnastics again. For real," she clarified quickly. "Not just fighting, not just training to withstand blows. I want to feel my body fly again, to spin without fear, to trust that I'll land gracefully."

Kohaku's eyes lit up immediately, as if that image had ignited something within her.

"Are you serious?"

"Seriously," Homura replied, this time with conviction. "And when I do... I want you there. I want to teach you. To see you spin in the air, break the ground only to take off again. Not just as a training exercise for the trip to the moon."

Kohaku let out a wide, clear laugh, the kind that carried no weight.

"Deal," she said without thinking. "But I don't promise to land gracefully."

"That's the least of it," Homura laughed, standing up. "Grace is learned. And you already do it, you just can't see yourself." She extended her hand, firm and confident. “And don’t worry,” she added, her tone a mix of jest and truth. “I’ll also teach you useful things, especially now that you’re about to travel to the moon for your mission.”

Kohaku raised an eyebrow before accepting the hand, amused. Both girls smiled at each other.

“That sounds dangerously tempting.” Homura helped her up, and in that simple gesture, devoid of any grand gestures or drama, Kohaku felt something loosen inside her.

For the first time in days, her heart felt light. For the first time in days, she felt… light.

Homura’s hand, that of a strong and agile girl, was the comfort her heart needed.

.

Stanley's de-petrification was anything but silent.

There were many opinions on the matter, few guarantees of safety. Everyone was tense about the decision, as Stanley had been the greatest threat the Science Kingdom had ever faced. The emotional damage was unparalleled and immeasurable.

But it was necessary. They needed the best sniper. After reaching the necessary agreements, they poured the re-animation fluid over Stanley's head.

Xeno was the first to greet him, with that calculating smile he always wore like armor. Senku observed him closely, as he didn't trust that doctor too much either, at least not ten billion percent. There would always be some lingering doubt regarding the two American men.

"Welcome back," Xeno said before handing him a cigarette. "You're just in time for the grand finale."

Stanley looked around, assessing faces, dynamics, invisible tensions. And then he saw Senku. His entire demeanor changed when he realized that Xeno was actually allied with Senku, and with all those he had made eat lead.

He quickly glanced at the rest of those present, assessing the situation like a good soldier, trying to determine how to proceed. The look on the faces of the three warriors they had taken down sharpened his focus, but Xeno's voice allowed him to lower his guard.

"They are not enemies," Xeno said. "We are allies. We share the same purpose."

"If you say so," Stanley replied.

Kohaku looked away, trying to convince herself that if the captains had decided this, they must have a good reason. And she believed in them, especially Senku. She couldn't help but believe in him, even with her heart broken because of him. No one on the entire planet seemed to have better judgment than him.

Hyoga and Tsukasa noticed her discomfort and simply closed the distance between them, as if offering her refuge, especially Hyoga, who put an arm around the girl's shoulders. Kohaku didn't resist and let him embrace her.

Senku, who was worried about keeping Stanley informed about the lunar mission, noticed Hyoga's gesture and immediately tensed up. Therefore, Ryusui, who was also one of the captains, made sure to explain the mission's conditions. Stanley noticed Senku's look, but Xeno pinched him on the arm.

The situation was considered resolved, and final preparations began for the lunar mission against Whyman.

The days leading up to the launch were anything but ceremonial. There were no pristine suits or sophisticated simulators. Just bodies, rope, pulleys worn from use, and a humanity still learning to support itself again.

Kohaku's training was done with what they had, and Homura took charge of her.

Homura had improvised a rope structure between two sturdy tree trunks, tightening them with precise knots. They weren't Olympic bars, but they served their purpose. To one side, sandbags and planks marked landing zones.

“Think of the jump like an arc, not a punch,” Homura instructed her. “It’s not brute force. It’s direction.”

Kohaku nodded. She breathed. She ran a few steps and jumped. She landed on her feet, but too stiff.

“Again,” Homura said gently. “Loosen your body a little.”

From further back, Senku watched with his arms crossed, a board resting against his thigh. He didn’t intervene unless necessary. He timed his movements. Measured distances. Observed how Kohaku corrected herself in mid-air.

“You’re shifting your center of mass forward,” he commented. “If you do that with less gravity, you’ll over-rotate.” Kohaku barely turned her head.

“Like this?” She repeated the movement, adjusting her torso mid-jump.

“Exactly,” Senku replied. “That’s it.” There was no praise. It wasn’t needed. Kohaku smiled the same way, briefly, intently, before trying again.

Homura watched her closely, proud.

"You're doing amazing," she said. "It's not just strength, Kohaku. It's mind control. And that's not easy when your heart..." She paused. "Well. You know."

Kohaku didn't reply. She jumped again.

From the shadow of a tree, Stanley assessed the scene. He wasn't watching the jumps. He was watching the spaces between them.

He saw how Senku knew exactly when to intervene and when to remain silent. He saw how Kohaku unconsciously sought his approval. Not like a warrior seeking orders. Like someone seeking certainty. He understood Xeno's comment the night before, about Senku's weakness, though it was too late to exploit that truth—it wasn't as if he hadn't been hurt before, considering he was the one who pulled the trigger.

Later, when Homura took Kohaku to get some water, Stanley approached Senku.

"Hey, Senku," he said casually as he lit a cigarette. "Man to man… what's going on between you and Kohaku?"

Senku didn't even look up from the sketch he was drawing in the sand.

"Nothing's out of the question," he replied.

Stanley chuckled briefly and exhaled the smoke to the left so it wouldn't blow directly in the boy's face.

"That's not what I asked."

Senku finally looked up, understanding that this was some kind of challenge from Stanley. He wondered what Xeno could have said, but perhaps asking direct questions would be more appropriate.

"There's no conflict I can't handle."

Stanley followed his gaze. Kohaku was stretching, laughing with Homura about something he couldn't quite hear. The two girls seemed to be having a pleasant time, comforted by Luna and Chelsea, who had also joined Kohaku's training to help her in some way.

"Uh-huh," he murmured. "I've been there, in that same situation."

Senku said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to Stanley, who seemed to be staring off into the sky.

"When words are so strong they can't pass through your mouth," Stanley continued, "you end up saying them with your eyes."

Senku sat up and sighed. Stanley gave him space, and they exchanged a knowing glance, both of them seeming to understand that talking about the subject was difficult for both of them.

"The problem is, not everyone knows how to read eyes," the soldier added, and left without saying anything more than taking a drag and giving a slight nod.

Senku was left alone. He looked back at the training. Kohaku was already ready for another jump. The girls were cheering, and Suika and Francois were joining them. But Kohaku turned her head slightly, and her eyes met Senku's.

And this time, when their eyes met, neither of them pretended not to have noticed. Homura called Kohaku back to the makeshift structure.

This time, Hyoga approached as well, arms crossed, observing with calculated attention. He didn't intervene, but his presence was impossible to ignore. He was the tallest and quietest of those present. Homura adjusted a slack rope that had shifted, tightening it slightly before stepping back.

"Try with more momentum," Homura said. "Trust the air."

Kohaku took a step back, ran, and jumped. The movement was clean. The landing, firm. Hyoga nodded, barely, in silent approval.

From the side, Senku jotted something down quickly on the clipboard. He didn't look up immediately. He knew who was there. He knew what he looked like from the outside.

Stanley, who hadn't missed a thing, clicked his tongue with an amused grin. Senku hadn't noticed when he'd returned, but he wasn't startled. Perhaps he wanted to ask him a question, or make a threat. Anything was possible with that soldier, yet what he said seemed to be something else entirely.

"I imagine no one's interfering with anything," he said, lowering his voice. "That's why she's with that handsome guy, isn't it?"

He glanced at Hyoga. At the way he stayed close without being intrusive. At the way Kohaku didn't seem uncomfortable with his presence.

The comment was casual. Too casual. So much so that, once again, Stanley disappeared. He had meant to make him uncomfortable, there was no doubt about it. But Senku's chest tightened as if the air had been ripped from his chest.

With Hyoga…? Of course, he had confessed his feelings to her, and Kohaku had probably accepted them without question, which is why they were always seen together.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. He didn't know why he was surprised; he himself was the cause of all his misfortunes.

He said nothing after that. He didn't react. Not a muscle in his face. Science had always been his refuge: precision, control, logic. So he chose that. He kept working. He adjusted numbers. He corrected angles. He gave clear instructions. He answered questions with his usual confidence.

Maybe Stanley just wanted to provoke him. Maybe not.

Hyoga approached Kohaku to indicate a change in her foot placement. He didn't touch her. It wasn't necessary. She corrected it instantly.

Senku saw it. And yet, he didn't allow himself to stop. He didn't allow himself to think. He didn't allow himself to wait.

He remained the same: confident, brilliant, unbearably self-assured. The leader. The scientist.

To everyone's surprise… he didn't give up. Because giving up would have been admitting that this mattered more to him than the world he was about to launch to the moon.

And Senku Ishigami wasn't ready to lose either of them.

.

A couple of days before the launch, Senku ran into Hyoga near the platform.

The air smelled of metal and anticipation. Everyone seemed to be moving in a hurry, as if no one wanted to linger too close to what was about to happen.

Senku saw him coming and, for a split second, thought about turning around. He didn't. But he noticed something: he was alone, which was completely unusual.

"Hey," he said, feigning indifference, as if the question didn't matter to him. "What about your girlfriend?"

Hyoga stopped.

He didn't answer immediately. He looked at him with that calm of his, almost uneasy, as if he were assessing whether the question was genuine or just a poorly disguised provocation.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he finally answered.

The silence between them felt strangely heavy. It wasn't awkward. It was revealing. Senku gave him a puzzled look, so Hyoga continued, without drama, without resentment.

“If it’s about the confession, you should know that Kohaku rejected me.”

There was no reproach in his voice. Nor surprise.

“She was honest,” he added. “And I appreciate that.”

Senku felt something inside him suddenly loosen, like a rope stretched taut for too long.

At the same time, something else tightened.

Because if she wasn’t with Hyoga… then nothing was settled.

And that was worse, wasn’t it? Why did his heart suddenly begin to pound?

“I see,” he said, too quickly. “I’m sorry, I guess. That was a bad comment.”

Hyoga watched him. Not with suspicion, but with understanding. There was no resentment in his gaze, but neither was there calm; it was as if he were pointing a gun directly at him.

“Don’t force her,” he said calmly. “Kohaku doesn’t belong to anyone.”

The sentence wasn’t a warning. It was a truth.

Senku nodded. He thought about all the times he had backed down. About everything he hadn’t said. About how easy it was to hide behind logic.

“I would never do that,” he replied.

Hyoga held his gaze for another second.

“I know.”

Then he walked away, leaving him alone with the distant hum of the machines and a thought he couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t about competition. It wasn’t about winning.

It was about her.

Senku thought about her, because everything was always about her, without knowing when it had started to hurt like this. It wasn't the past that haunted him. It was the present, refusing to stay still.

And for the first time, he understood that saying nothing was also a choice.

And that perhaps… he had already waited too long.

.

He didn't want to think about anything he couldn't control. Not about the past. Not about what could have been. His mind was solely occupied with what was still there, resisting disappearance.

For the first time, Senku understood that science had taught him to save the world… but not to stand idly by when something mattered too much.

"I need help," Senku said, as if the sentence hadn't been forming for days. "To see some constellations."

Kohaku looked at him calmly, with that gaze that always seemed to pierce right through him.

"You never need help with that."

He didn't defend himself.

"Even so, I thought of you."

She hesitated for barely a second before sitting down beside him.

The sky was clear. Too clear. The stars seemed to insist, as if they wanted to be seen.

Senku had always known his place in the system. He was the sun. The center. The force that pulled everything forward. The one who burned, pushed, demanded.

Kohaku was Venus. Close, bright, impossible to look at without squinting. She didn't revolve around him out of obligation, but because she felt it. Because something drew her in, even if she didn't always know why.

And Saturn… Saturn was beautiful, stable, with a different kind of gravity. Hyoga didn't need to impose himself: he was simply there. Constant. Secure. Visible even from afar, and quite striking to all those who could observe him.

Senku had seen the confession. He had assumed the orbit that wasn't his.

The logical thing to do was to back down. To maintain the correct distance so as not to disrupt the system. To remain the sun and not burn what he most wanted to protect.

But there was a flaw in that equation. And that was why he had asked for Kohaku's help. He was playing his last card. In that moment, it was just the two of them. Senku only had to say one thing and turn the situation around, but he needed the perfect opportunity.

"I like the stars," Kohaku said after a while. "I've always liked them. But sometimes…" She took a deep breath, "sometimes I miss the sun."

Senku closed his eyes for a moment. As if that sentence had been waiting for him.

"Its warmth," she continued. "The way everything seems clearer when it's near."

He smiled, a little wearily. His heart began to beat faster and faster; he was letting himself be carried away by the words, those that were prepared enough to receive a response.

"Do you think one forgets something like that?" Senku asked.

Kohaku looked at him.

"About what?"

Senku opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, not because he needed to, but because saying it directly was still difficult for him.

"About things that change your perspective."

He was silent for another second.

"There are things that keep shining," he said, "even when you pretend you're not looking at them anymore. Even when you convince yourself you should have moved on."

Kohaku felt the weight of those words.

"Like what?"

Senku turned his face toward her. This time, there was no irony. No distance.

"Like you."

He didn't ask if he could still. He didn't explain how much time had passed. Because the truth was simple and brutal: he hadn't forgotten. He never had.

Kohaku remained motionless. Not because she didn't understand. But because she understood too much.

Orbits aren't always chosen. Sometimes, they're challenged.

Telling her that there were things that shone even in the distance wasn't an oversight. It was a betrayal of his own method. It was admitting that, for once, he didn't want to simply observe. To risk meant upsetting the balance. To retreat meant losing her without even trying.

The word "you" still hung between them, heavy, impossible to ignore. Senku didn't look away. He didn't back down. He didn't explain. He simply existed there, as if for the first time he wasn't calculating consequences.

Kohaku opened her mouth to say something. Anything.

"Aaaah! There you are, guys!"

The voice came before the thought.

Gen appeared among the trees, waving a hand as if he had just crossed an invisible line.

“I was looking for you,” he added, lowering his voice as he sensed the tension. “Suika’s been asking for you, Kohaku. She says she needs help with… something urgent.”

Kohaku blinked. The world snapped back to reality.

“Suika?” she repeated, as if that name were an anchor. “I… yes, I’m coming now.”

She stood up too quickly and didn’t look at Senku.

“Thanks for the constellations,” she said, his voice not quite her own. “We’ll talk later... "

Later. 

That word hung in the air, both a promise and a threat.

Kohaku walked away without running, but without looking back. Gen watched her until she disappeared into the camp lights.

“…What just happened?” he asked, genuinely taken aback.

Senku exhaled slowly. Then he smiled. Not a mocking smile. Not a triumphant smile. A small one. An honest one. Tired.

"I risked something tonight."

Gen glanced at him sideways.

"Something?" he repeated. "Senku, you just upset the emotional balance of the village."

"Perhaps," he replied, raising his gaze to the sky once more. "But I was tired of pretending it didn't matter."

And as Venus continued to shine, stubbornly, Senku Ishigami knew that, whatever happened next… he wasn't backing down anymore.

" About you", The 1975

Chapter Text

choices

XI

contemplate or express

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"Sparks", Coldplay

Chapter Text

choices

XII

name or pretend

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"Friends", Ed Sheeran

Chapter Text

choices

XIII

reveal or hide

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"I can see you", Taylor Swift