The night smelled like melted soda and cold iron. Hydro walked through the dim park, neon lights half-dead from the earlier chaos. The path still shimmered faintly with the leftover drizzle, reflecting those off-brand festival bulbs that refused to die out. "HEYYY!!! QUINN!!"
He spotted Quinn first — sitting at the edge of the fountain with her hands clasped together. Kristine was beside her, yawning and brushing back her hair, with Mina curled up in her lap half asleep. Dan Le Fish was standing with a drink can, spinning it nervously. "
When Hydro approached, their eyes met — and that weird, heavy silence between adrenaline and relief filled the air.
"You guys alright?" Hydro asked, his voice low but calm, brushing the dust off his hoodie.
Quinn stood up immediately. "We're fine, but… where's the guy?"
Hydro blinked for a moment, then smirked, running his thumb over the strap of his duffel bag.
"Oh, he's arrested."
The group froze for a beat — then collective sighs filled the air. Kristine laughed quietly in disbelief. Dan shook his head like, no way you just said it like that.
Hydro shrugged, kicking a pebble across the ground. "Anyways… police will take care of it. The thing is, as long as we're safe and sound, yeah?"
Mina, still half-asleep, looked up at him and mumbled, "Hydro… you're always so weirdly calm…"
He just smiled faintly, like he didn't even know how to respond to that.
The night carried that awkward, comforting silence again. Firefly drones from the event cleanup team buzzed overhead, blinking blue.
Hydro adjusted his duffel, gave them one last lazy wave. "Alright. I'm off. You guys go home."
"Where?" Quinn asked.
"Hotel." He smiled. "It's already one."
"Get some sleep," Kristine said.
"Sleep's optional," Hydro muttered, walking off as the park lights faded behind him.
Next Morning — Nagashima Hotel
The alarm didn't wake him — the knocking did. Loud, rushed, almost musical.
Knock knock knock—
"HYDROOO! Rise and shine!"
It was Aimi — the Otakufest event organizer. She sounded way too happy for 8AM.
Hydro opened the door in a half-open hoodie, hair still messy, eyes red. "Morning…"
Aimi bounced on her toes. "C'mon, we gotta finish setting up the booths by noon! Staff briefing in twenty! Let's gooo!"
Hydro blinked slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I'll be there." His voice dragged like it hadn't recovered from last night's fight.
Aimi squinted. "You sound like a zombie."
"I *am* one," he muttered, shutting the door again.
Inside, the room was cluttered — some wires, a camera tripod, and a spare cosplay wig on the table. He exhaled and stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror fogged up as he turned on the shower.
Hot water hit his skin, steam filling the air. For a moment, the silence was weirdly peaceful — just the sound of running water, no explosions, no screaming, no guilt.
When he stepped out, he threw on a black collared shirt — the uniform that looked a lot like Yuta Okkotsu's fit — and paired it with loose baggy pants. The reflection almost looked normal. Almost.
Montage — The Workday Grind
The sun blazed over Nagashima Spa Land Park, baking the pavement until it shimmered. Giant white tents stretched across the empty lot, half-built stages rising like skeletons. The air was heavy with the smell of steel frames, wood panels, and soda cans.
Hydro arrived late — dragging a crate of LED strips while other staff were already hammering down booth foundations.
"Yo, cameraman, you good?" shouted Kenji, one of the sound techs.
"Barely," Hydro grunted, setting the crate down.
Kenji laughed, handing him a bottle of Pocari Sweat. "Dude, you look like death warmed over."
"Thanks. That's my aesthetic."
Laughter spread across the crew as Hydro grabbed a wrench and joined the setup team. He tightened bolts, held up banners, untangled cables that seemed to fight back.
Nearby, two staff were arguing over tent alignment.
"It's crooked, bro!"
"No it's not— it's the ground that's slanted!"
"Yeah? Then fix the ground!"
Hydro couldn't help but snort as he passed by.
At noon, the sun hit hard — everyone gathered under a half-built canopy, eating convenience store sandwiches and talking trash about the festival lineup.
"You think that Vocaloid concert's gonna sell out?"
"Bro, half the tickets got botted already."
"Hydro, what about you? You filming that?"
"Yeah," Hydro replied, leaning against a cooler. "Stage C and D. If the lighting doesn't fry my camera again."
"Just pray it doesn't rain this time," Aimi said while wiping sweat off her forehead. "Last year, the entire power system shorted. It was like a biblical flood."
Hydro smirked. "Sounds fun."
They all groaned at that.
By afternoon, the park looked alive again — colorful tents standing tall, banners flapping, booth owners testing sound systems. The place pulsed with a weird energy — that mix of excitement and exhaustion.
Hydro sat by the fountain after everything wrapped up, watching the water ripple. The same spot where he met Quinn last night. He could still hear faint laughter from the crew across the park, and Aimi yelling at someone to stop climbing the scaffolding.
He leaned back, the sunlight hitting his face.
Everything felt calm. Too calm.
The peace tasted temporary.
But for once, he didn't mind pretending.
He closed his eyes and let the wind brush over him, muttering to himself,
"Yeah."
LATER
The park was closing up for the night. Vendors were folding chairs, LED lights dimming one by one, and the sound of distant chatter melting into the quiet rhythm of cicadas. Nagashima Spa Land had that golden glow again — not the chaos-lit kind from yesterday, but something gentler, warmer, as if the world itself was trying to apologize.
Hydro walked down the narrow street beside the amusement park fence, his camera bag slung across his shoulder, the same black shirt from earlier now half-unbuttoned from the heat. The evening breeze brushed through his hair as the smell of grilled meat, buttered corn, and ocean salt mixed together. The whole scene felt unreal, like some lost memory from a summer that never existed.
Then he saw it.
A small taco stand wedged between two shuttered souvenir stalls. Neon sign flickering weakly:
TACO UNIVERSE
The guy behind the counter was a big dude with a towel around his neck and a faded anime apron that said "I love Miku." He was humming to himself, flipping tortillas with a focus like he was performing surgery.
Hydro stopped and looked around. The street was empty except for a few kids on bikes and an old vending machine buzzing. He dragged a chair over to the stand, flipped it backward, and sat on it like some tired delinquent who'd just finished saving the world.
"Yo," he called out softly, his tone lazy but polite. "Can I get, uh… five tacos?"
The taco guy looked up, blinking. "Five?" he said, raising a brow.
"Yeah," Hydro nodded. "Been a long day."
The man chuckled. "You got it, boss."
The sizzle started — onions, beef, garlic. The smell was instant dopamine. The soft hum of the grill, the subtle flicker of flame reflected in Hydro's eyes — all of it wrapped the scene in this grounded kind of peace that didn't need dialogue.
Hydro leaned his arms on the counter, watching the sky. The sun had dropped low, its last light turning the clouds into shades of burnt orange and coral pink. The ocean beyond the boardwalk reflected it all, trembling gently in the wind.
For a while, he just… stared.
The silence wasn't empty — it was alive. Distant waves, the creak of the ferris wheel, the muffled laughter from a nearby bar. For the first time in a while, Hydro didn't feel like a weapon, or a survivor, or a walking paradox. Just a guy watching the sunset.
"Life's still beautiful, huh?" he murmured, half to himself.
The taco guy didn't hear him — or maybe he did, but chose not to reply. Hydro didn't mind. The world didn't need to answer everything.
He clenched his hands slightly under the counter. The scars on his knuckles caught the dying sunlight. Memories from yesterday bled in — flashes of steel, blood, screaming code, that distorted hum of energy that shouldn't exist in this world. He remembered the heat of the fight, the silence after, the relief that didn't feel like victory.
He thought he'd retired from that kind of chaos. That he'd promised himself never to raise Ghost or God Eater again unless he had to.
But somehow, no matter how many peaceful paths he took, conflict always found him.
Maybe that's the curse of being immortal — or maybe it's just being Hydro Undergrove.
He exhaled, letting the thought drift away like smoke. The scent of cooked meat snapped him back.
The taco guy turned, grinning. "Five tacos, fresh off the grill!"
Hydro blinked, snapping out of it. "Huh? Oh— right."
He stood up, fished a few bills out of his pocket, and handed them over. The guy nodded and passed him a paper tray stacked with five perfect tacos — the kind that looked like they were made with care, not just speed.
"Appreciate it," Hydro said.
"No prob. Enjoy the summer, man."
"Yeah," Hydro replied softly, taking the tray. "You too."
He walked off toward the beach, tacos in hand, passing through alleys painted by sunset. The streetlamps flickered on one by one, catching the sparkle of his eyes as he looked around. Everything — from the plastic festival banners to the seagulls flying low — felt frozen in this one golden hour that refused to end.
Hydro walked across the wooden boardwalk, every footstep echoing against the soft crash of waves below.
He passed by a photo booth glowing pink, a vending machine filled with weird flavors, and a couple laughing while sharing a crepe.
He stopped for a second at the railing and looked out to the sea — the horizon burning with orange fire that faded into deep purple. The surface of the water shimmered like static, a faint digital distortion here and there. Even after the world merged — fiction bleeding into reality — the ocean still looked the same. Or maybe it learned to pretend, like everyone else.
Hydro bit into his first taco, eyes still on the sea.
It was hot, messy, dripping sauce down his fingers.
He laughed quietly. "Still better than cosmic warfare."
He kept walking. Past the stalls, past the arcades, past a street performer trying to juggle LED cubes that glitched every now and then. Every face he passed looked real. *Too real.* Like the world finally remembered how to live again.
He bought a soda from an old vending machine, the kind that still used coins. The can hissed when he popped it open. The carbonation stung his tongue, mixing with the salt in the air. He tilted his head back, staring at the sky as the first stars blinked awake.
For a brief second, he imagined a life without immortality.
Where nights like this ended in sleep instead of silence.
Where he could just exist without cosmic noise humming behind his thoughts.
He thought of Quinn's relieved face, Kristine's laugh, Mina's sleepy eyes. All those people who still had normal lives to return to.
And yet here he was — drifting again, somewhere between a myth and a memory.
Hydro finished another taco, wiped his hands on a napkin, and kept walking barefoot now, shoes hanging by their laces from his fingers. The sand was cool under his feet, soft and real.
He passed a small group of strangers lighting sparklers by the shore. The tiny fireworks hissed and popped, painting streaks of gold across the sand. One of the kids waved at him.
Hydro waved back.
Didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
The sky had turned navy blue, the kind that swallows the horizon whole. Waves rolled in, pulling the tide closer to his ankles. Each sound of the ocean felt heavier now — like a heartbeat syncing with his own.
He found the same sandy spot as yesterday. The same one where he'd sat down after everything ended.
He brushed off some sand and sat again, this time slower, calmer.
The world stretched out before him — water meeting sky, stars spilling like spilled glitter. He set the last taco down beside him, untouched for now, and leaned back with his hands behind his head.
For a while, nothing happened.
Just Hydro breathing.
The sound of the ocean filling the silence he'd always carried inside.
He thought about how fragile it all was — this peace, this normalcy. How everything could collapse again tomorrow and he wouldn't even be surprised. But still, sitting there, with the ocean whispering and the stars blinking lazily above, he realized something:
Even if the world kept breaking — merging, rebooting, resetting — it still tried.
The waves still came back. The sky still turned gold at sunset. People still laughed.
And maybe that was enough.
Hydro reached for the final taco, took a slow bite, and smiled. The taste of spice and salt filled his mouth. He chewed in silence, watching his reflection ripple faintly on the wet sand.
He didn't know if it was peace or just another illusion.
But it was something.
He whispered softly to the wind, like a confession no one was meant to hear:
"I wonder what I am looking for right now."
The waves rolled in again, washing his footprints away.
And for that fleeting moment, Hydro Undergrove wasn't a cosmic anomaly or a cursed immortal.
He was just a tired boy, watching the sun set over a world that refused to stop living.
The sky burned gold for a long time before the color started to fade.
Hydro sat there on the sand again, knees up, arms loosely hanging over them. The waves came and went with slow rhythm, soft and endless. It was one of those evenings where the world didn't seem to rush anywhere — it just existed.
He stared straight ahead, watching how the sunlight slowly drowned itself in the ocean. His eyes weren't really focused on the horizon; they were somewhere else entirely.
"...I've been gone for the past ten years," he said to no one, his voice barely above a whisper.
A small pause. The breeze rolled through, tugging at his hair.
He sighed quietly. "Hmm… Ohara Community. Something Quinn talked to me about."
His words faded out into the wind, as if they were too tired to go anywhere.
Then, almost like an instinct, he shook his head slowly and murmured,
"I think no… just no."
"Tough times, ain't it, boy?"
The voice came from beside him — an older man, gray-haired, wrinkled face, simple white shirt rolled up to the elbows. He had that quiet calm about him, the kind of presence that didn't need to announce itself. He carried a small paper bag and an aluminum can of coffee, and his sandals creaked as he stepped closer.
Hydro blinked, surprised. "Oh, uh… didn't see you there."
The man chuckled softly and eased himself down on the sand a few feet away, groaning as his knees cracked. "You wouldn't. I move slow these days."
Hydro smiled faintly. "Guess that's fair."
The two of them sat there for a moment, just listening to the waves. The silence wasn't awkward — it felt… earned.
The man took a sip from his coffee and exhaled. "So what's that about, kid? Ten years gone, huh?"
Hydro didn't answer right away. He let the question hang there, watching the sky shift from orange to violet. Then he said softly, "Yeah. Something like that. Just… time moved weird, I guess."
The old man nodded slowly, as if he understood even without the details. "Time moves weird for everybody. You wake up one day and your hair's gone gray. Happens faster than you think."
Hydro chuckled under his breath. "Guess it sneaks up on everyone."
"Sure does."
The old man leaned back on his hands, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "You from around here?"
"Not really," Hydro replied. "Just staying nearby for work. Helping out with the Otakufest setup."
"Oh, that event thing at the park?"
"Yeah. I do camera work and help with some logistics. Sometimes I just lift stuff, nothing fancy."
The old man nodded. "Good work. Makes you tired in the right way."
"Yeah," Hydro said, smiling faintly. "It's… normal."
"That's a rare kind of good these days."
Hydro hummed in quiet agreement. The man cracked open another can from his bag, the metallic click cutting through the sound of waves. He handed it over.
"You want one?"
Hydro took it, feeling the cold can against his palm. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Name's Natsume."
"Hydro."
"Hydro, huh? That's not a name you hear every day."
"Yeah," he said, half-laughing. "Got it from a weird backstory."
Natsume grinned. "We all got weird backstories, son. Don't let it bother you."
Hydro popped open the can, took a sip, and felt the caffeine slide down his throat. It tasted bitter but grounding.
"So," Natsume said after a pause, "you mentioned something about the 'Ohara Community'? You studying there or something?"
Hydro shook his head. "Nah, not really studying. That's… my friend's thing. Quinn. She's part of some local community circle— they do events, fundraisers, college outreach, that kind of stuff. She mentioned they used to be active here before everything got… messy."
"Ah," the old man said, nodding. "Sounds like one of those student organizations that turned into something bigger."
"Yeah. Something like that."
Natsume smiled faintly. "You ever go to college, kid?"
Hydro blinked at the question. "Hmm. Sort of. I mean, I was supposed to. Did a few semesters a while back. Media tech stuff. Never really finished."
"Why not?"
Hydro hesitated. "Things happened."
"Always do." The old man chuckled, then took another sip. "But it's not a crime to stop. Sometimes it's better to take your time figuring out what you even want to do. Lotta kids rush through school and end up miserable anyway."
Hydro nodded slowly. "Guess you're right. I think I was scared of being stuck."
"Stuck?"
"Yeah. Like… if I picked the wrong path, I'd waste years doing something that didn't feel like me."
Natsume grunted softly. "That's a fair fear. But you know, the funny thing about life is — there's no right path. Just roads you pick and the ones you don't. Sometimes the worst turns lead to the best views."
Hydro smiled a little. "You sound like you've been through a lot."
"Oh, I have," Natsume said with a short laugh. "Worked factory jobs most of my life. Barely scraped through high school. My parents thought I was wasting my time reading manga and sketching cars. Turns out, that little hobby got me into designing prototypes for auto companies later."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah," Natsume said proudly, tapping his chest. "Did that for thirty years before retiring. Got nothing but rusted tools and back pain to show for it, but hey — it was honest."
Hydro chuckled. "That's kinda awesome, actually."
"Not at the time, kid. There were months I couldn't pay rent. Friends moved on, got degrees, became managers, and there I was — drawing bolts and suspension joints on napkins."
Hydro laughed. "That's oddly poetic."
"Poetic or pathetic — depends who's telling it."
The two of them shared a small laugh, quiet but genuine. The kind that made the night feel warmer.
After a moment, Hydro asked, "So what kept you going back then?"
Natsume rubbed his chin. "I don't know. I think I just liked the work. Even when it didn't love me back. That's something schools don't teach — how to stay interested when no one's watching. When nobody's cheering you on. That's the real test."
Hydro nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Guess that's what separates 'dreams' from jobs."
"Maybe. But jobs can be dreams too — depends on how you treat 'em."
The waves rolled in again, softer now, like they were listening.
Hydro leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. "You think kids today are losing that? The patience to do something for real?"
Natsume sighed. "Some are. But I can't blame 'em. The world's loud now. Everyone's trying to prove something every second. When I was young, failure was normal. Now it's like you're not allowed to."
"Yeah," Hydro said, voice low. "Everyone wants results. Fast ones."
Natsume smiled faintly. "Funny thing though — the slow people, the quiet ones, they're the ones who end up lasting the longest. Because they're not racing anybody."
Hydro took another sip of coffee. The bitterness felt right. "I like that," he said quietly. "Not racing anybody."
The old man tilted his head. "You working long-term at that Otakufest thing?"
"Maybe. They like having me around. I like helping out. Keeps my hands busy."
"That's good. Work's not just about money — it's about rhythm. Gives your life a tempo."
Hydro looked at him curiously. "Tempo?"
"Yeah. You ever listen to music while working?"
"Yeah, all the time."
"Exactly. It's the same thing. A good job gives you a beat to follow. You wake up, you show up, you move with it. The beat changes sometimes, sure — but you keep dancing."
Hydro smiled faintly, staring at the sand between his shoes. "I never thought of it like that."
"That's 'cause you're still young. You'll figure it out. Don't rush it."
They sat there again, watching the last strip of sunlight sink completely behind the sea. The color of the world dimmed into deep blue, and the first streetlamps along the boardwalk flickered to life.
Hydro finished his coffee and placed the empty can gently beside him. "You ever regret not doing something else?"
Natsume chuckled. "Every damn day. But that's the trick — you don't stop because of regrets. You let them live beside you. Like an old scar. You stop feeling them after a while, but they're still there."
Hydro thought about that quietly. "So it's okay to just… be okay?"
"Hell yeah," Natsume said, smiling. "It's more than okay. It's survival."
They both laughed softly again. The waves filled the spaces between their words.
After a while, Hydro said, "You remind me of my dad. He used to talk like that."
"That so?"
"Yeah. Practical guy. Never sugar-coated things."
"Good man then."
"Yeah," Hydro said softly. "He was."
The old man nodded, staring at the horizon again. "So what now, Hydro?"
Hydro shrugged. "Tomorrow? Work again. Tents, cables, noise. Maybe lunch with the crew. Maybe sleep early for once."
"Sounds like a good plan."
"Guess so."
The sky above them turned completely indigo now, stars flickering like shy lights. Somewhere in the distance, a lone guitar played — maybe a busker by the boardwalk. The melody was slow, a little off-key, but honest.
Hydro closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing it in.
"You know," Natsume said quietly, "I think you'll do fine. Whatever it is you're looking for — it'll come. You just gotta stay open to it."
Hydro opened his eyes again, smiling softly. "Thanks, old man."
"Don't thank me. I'm just another dude killing time before the tide comes in."
They both laughed.
After a while, Natsume stood up, dusting the sand from his pants. "Well, I should get going. My daughter's probably waiting. She worries too much."
Hydro stood up too. "Yeah. You take care, Natsume-san."
"You too, Hydro-kun."
The old man gave him a small wave before heading toward the boardwalk lights, his figure slowly blending with the crowd of late-night walkers.
Hydro stood there for a bit, watching him go. Then he sat back down on the sand again, this time laying fully on his back, eyes tracing the stars above.
He thought about school, about jobs, about the strange way people drift in and out of each other's lives — leaving behind small lessons like seashells.
He thought about Quinn, about the Ohara Community, about everything that still waited ahead.
And for once, he didn't feel anxious about it.
He just let the moment stay.
The tide came a little closer, brushing his fingertips.
Hydro smiled faintly. "Otsukare..." he whispered again.
No weight, no tragedy. Just a small human truth.
The sea answered with another soft wave, pulling everything — his words, his thoughts, his fatigue — into the night.
And for the first time in a long while, Hydro Undergrove simply existed.
Not as a myth. Not as a survivor.
Just as a person watching the world breathe.