Work Text:
Open Your Eyes
The rotation was supposed to be eternal. It was a cage designed by a boy with a grudge against him. However, just as the US president, Funny Valentine, prepared to face infinite oblivion, the spinning abruptly stopped. In complete darkness, his eyes unable to comprehend anything around him, the only thing he could feel was a warmth wrapping around him, trying to comfort him. Suddenly a warm presence around him vanished, just like the darkness.
He woke up in the lonely apartment that looked like it had passed its expiration years, with gray walls that had stains on them from dirt and a leaky roof. Valentine tried to focus his eyes on the weird-looking lamp on the ceiling in an attempt to find something familiar. Then, like snapping from a trance, he pushed himself up, with the bed under him squeaking. Looking around, he realized that he had no idea where he was. His mind slowly started to catch more and more details that looked unimaginable for him. Like the glowing square on the shelf that was making noise or the big closet made out of metal.
A thought was born in his mind.
‘No… That wasn’t possible,' he thought
The rotation should still be there. Chasing and crushing him across dimensions until nothing was left of him.
But the only thing he felt was suffocating silence.
He pressed his hands into the old mattress and looked at them.
They were shaking
Valentine was staring at them stunned; never before were they trembling.
His breath caught in his throat.
He had lost.
He slowly replayed the actions of the past in his head. From the bargain with Jojo he almost won to the feeling of rotation and how his dreams vanished with it.
He tried to calm down, but the silence in the room closed around him, choking him, leaving him breathless. The gray walls were mentally barricading Valentine, slowly closing on him. His breathing turned shallow.
His eyes darted across the room, searching for something, anything, that made sense. While his posture weakened, his legs became more tremulous.
"I've lost right at the finish line..." Valentine said with a trembling voice that sounded far too young to be his. His head started spinning from everything. He needed to breathe right now.
Inhale.
Exhale.
...
It didn’t work.
He was dragging in air like he was drowning.
It was just him and a weird buzzing noise coming from the metal closet; he couldn’t comprehend what happened. The silence of the room was unbearable.
So he ran.
Bursting through the door and leaving it broken, he started running, not looking at the stairs; his eyes were so watery from tears that he couldn’t see where exactly he was going. But did it matter? Valentine just wanted to escape this nightmare.
Dashing through the exit door of his apartment complex, he hadn't noticed the person who was on his way. Unable to stop or clearly see what was in front of him, Valentine stumbled over the man and fell onto the sidewalk. He was lying on the floor, unable to look up until he heard the voice of the person
“大丈夫ですか?” while reaching his hand out to the Valentine to help him.
Coming back to his senses, the president is trying to restore his composure and accept the hand. However, what he saw instead of a human being left him speechless. In front of Valentine was a weird-looking mix of frog and human; the thing looked so grotesque to the President that instead of accepting help, the only thing that left his mouth was
“What kind of fucking animal are you?” with disgust in his voice he responded in English
The "thing's" eyes widened in hurt or confusion, but Valentine didn't stay to hear its reply. He couldn't. He turned and bolted past IT, his shoes painfully clattering against the pavement.
The sidewalk turned into a nightmare for Valentine. Passing a woman with serpent hair or being forced to duck under the wings of a humanoid chicken was a picture that would haunt Valentine for the rest of his life.
Everything was too LOUD
It was so flashy; the doors and signs were illuminating, while houses made out of glass would reach the unimaginable heights even for the best engineers of his home.
The more he ran, the worse it got. Each passerby was a reminder of his defeat.
Every skyscraper showed how far away he had fallen from his dream.
He lost the First Napkin. Which was his symbol of righteousness of his actions and goal to protect his people from these “Quirks” walking next to him.
He reached the edge of a park, an island of green peace amidst the concrete and neon hell he had woken in. He stumbled toward a wooden bench and collapsed onto it. The adrenaline that had fueled his flight was slowly draining itself out, leaving only a hollow ache. He sat there, with no hint of the presidential authority he once had.
He buried his face in his hands, the salt of his tears burning the youthful skin of his cheeks. He started to sob, but not the quiet, dignified sob of a president; instead, it was the gasping, suffocating grief of a child.
"I did it for them..." He whispered into his palms, his voice becoming a faint echo of his past.
"I was going to give them everything. Why... why was I the one thrown into the dirt?"
The humid and heavy air in the park made it even harder to breathe, but suddenly, a shadow fell over him. It wasn't the shadow of a "monster" like the ones from the street. It was thin, long, and strangely still.
"It sounds like a lot of weight for one pair of shoulders," a voice said in fluent English.
It was raspy and worn out, yet still carried strength.
Valentine’s head snapped up, his blue eyes looking defensive. He expected another "freak." Instead, he saw a man who looked... human.
The man was skeletal, looking like he could get blown away by the wind anytime. His eyes were barely visible in hollow sockets, but within that emptiness, on first glance, two tiny pinpricks of blue light flickered with a warmth that Valentine hadn't felt since...
Since the Saint had wrapped him with that phantom warmth in the void.
Valentine stared at the man. In this world of monsters, this fragile, dying-looking man looked like the only solid thing in his eyes.
"You..." Valentine's teenage voice cracking. "You look... normal."
The skeletal man tilted his head, a look of soft concern crossed his face. He didn't take offense. He simply sat down on the far end of the bench, moving slowly, yet no movement showed fragility. Valentine instinctively recognized the true strength behind those movements.
"I suppose I do," the man replied with a weary, kind smile. "My name is Yagi. And you look like you’ve just seen the end of the world, young man." said Yagi in attempt to lighten up the mood
"Not the end of the world," Valentine whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at the skeletal man. "I have seen the world move on without me. I have been... replaced."
He looked back at his hands. They were still shaking, a tremor that no amount of resolve could steady. The "Divine Presence" he had felt earlier wasn't cuddling him anymore; it became a weight, pressing him deeper down into the wooden bench.
Toshinori didn't ask for a better explanation. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes locking with Valentine’s, showing pure clarity and compassion.
"The world is a stubborn thing, young man," Toshinori said softly. "It doesn't move on as easily as you think. Sometimes, it just waits for you to catch up."
The man reached out. It was a slow and obvious movement. But Valentine didn't move, he didn't want to. He watched as the hand came to rest on his shoulder.
The contact was electrifying.
To Valentine, the man’s touch felt like a wire. The shadow of the infinite rotation, that phantom pain, had still been screaming in vain in the back of his mind since he woke up.
It suddenly went silent.
"There," Yagi said, his voice starting to distance itself from him. "Just breathe. You’ve carried enough on your young shoulders."
Valentine tried to find something to say. He wanted to say that a president never lets go. He wanted to explain that he was the one who was supposed to provide the warmth, not receive it. He was the one meant to give everything for his nation. But his teenage body started betraying him. The adrenaline in his body had completely vanished, leaving behind a soul-crushing exhaustion.
Rest.
The command wasn't his own. It was a subtle whisper, echoing from the Saint’s presence that sat invisibly between them.
Valentine’s head felt impossibly heavy. The skyline of Musutafu blurred, the harsh lights of the city mixing with the sunset. His eyelids became too heavy.
"I... I held the napkin..." he murmured, the words barely recognizable.
"I know," Toshinori lied to the young man, though he could feel how truthful the boy's grief was.
"I've got you, young man," said Toshinori softly
Valentine’s head rolled onto Toshinori’s shoulder. His breathing hitched with the sob that died in his throat before totally collapsing.
As Valentine slumped forward, something slipped from his pocket and fell onto the pavement.
A student card.
Toshinori bent down and picked it up.
The name printed on it made him pause.
"Funny Valentine"
Toshinori studied the card for a moment before slipping it carefully into his pocket.
He moved, shifting his thin frame to scoop the teenager into his arms, like he has done it a thousand times.
'Valentine was light, too light.' Toshinori thought
With a steady pace, Toshinori began the walk toward the only place he knew that could help a boy who looked like a student but spoke like someone who had once carried a nation.