Tragic Advent

Kenzaki kept moving.

He had to.

The Battle Fight was over.

The world was saved.

Every Undead had been sealed , 
every single one.

Except the one that mattered most.

No.


Especially the one that mattered most.

Hajime was the last Undead.

The Joker.


The final threat standing between humanity and its destruction.

And Kenzaki had been the one forced to end it.

He ran, he fought, he smiled when people thanked him, because heroes were supposed to survive the ending. Because if he stopped , if he allowed himself even a moment to think about what it meant the weight of it would crush him whole.

He told himself it had never been possible anyway.

Hajime was an Undead.
The last Undead.
The being who had to disappear so the world could continue.

And Kenzaki was human.

Fragile.

Temporary.

Replaceable.

Believing there could have been a future where Hajime existed alongside everyone else had been foolish and Selfish.

A dream that had no place in reality.

The rain fell harder than he remembered noticing, drumming relentlessly against the concrete as if the sky itself was demanding an answer from him.

That was when Kenzaki finally stopped.

His hand trembled as he stared at the green Joker card clenched in his fist.

This was it.

The last Undead.
The last trace of the Battle Fight.
The proof that the war was truly over.

“Hajime…” His voice came out broken, barely louder than the rain.

He dropped to his knees.

The tears came without permission, hot and uncontrollable, streaking down his face as he curled around the card like it might dissolve if he loosened his grip.

“We won,” he whispered, a bitter laugh choking in his throat. “We won, all of humanity … so why does it hurt this much?”

There was no answer.

Hajime had been smiling just before it happened.

That gentle, uncertain smile as if he’d already known how it would end.

As if he’d accepted this cruel fate long before Kenzaki ever could.

“Why did you have to be the last one?” Kenzaki sobbed. “Why did it have to be you?”

The card stayed silent.

Months passed.

The world healed. People moved on. The Battle Fight became history.

And Kenzaki was left behind.

Every morning, he found himself standing by the window, staring out at the street below like something might change if he watched long enough.

Like Hajime might somehow walk back into existence now that there were no other Undead left to threaten humanity.

But Hajime never came.

BOARD took the Joker card from him eventually.

They spoke carefully, cautiously about risks, about containment, about ensuring the Battle Fight would never resume.

“The last Undead must remain sealed,” they told him.

Kenzaki nodded and handed the card over.

That night, the emptiness in his chest became unbearable.

There was no enemy left to fight. No mission to distract him.

Just the quiet certainty that the world had chosen its ending and Hajime had not been part of it.

Sometimes, Kenzaki thought he heard Hajime’s voice in the wind.

Sometimes he caught himself turning around, expecting to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, pretending not to care while desperately wanting to belong.

So he started walking. Running errands. Anything to keep from suffocating in the stillness.

That was when he saw the bench.

For one impossible heartbeat, everything stopped.

Hajime was there.

Brown hair stirred by the breeze. Skin warm in the sunlight.

Looking so there it made Kenzaki’s breath catch painfully in his throat.

He was smiling—that small, hesitant smile, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to exist among the humans but hoped he might anyway.

“Hajime!” Kenzaki ran toward him, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

The bench was empty.

No Hajime.
No warmth.
No Undead.

Just wood, shadow, and the echo of his own breathing.

Kenzaki stood there, trembling, fists clenched as tears blurred his vision once more.

“…Of course,” he whispered hoarsely.

The world didn’t need the Joker anymore.
Didn’t need the last Undead.
Didn’t need Hajime.

But Kenzaki did.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

Even with the Battle Fight ended, even with every Undead gone, the longing remained quiet, constant, unrelenting.

Because somewhere inside him, Kenzaki knew the truth he would never be able to escape:

Saving the world had cost him the only person who ever made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

And no matter how peaceful the world became,
no matter how final the ending was