Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

🔔 Ding Dong 🔔

Taro Momoi, clad in the crisp white uniform of Shirousagi Express, stands before a weathered door. The package, a nondescript brown box, rests securely in his hands. He raps his knuckles against the wood.

"Delivery!" Taro announces, his voice carrying with the authority of a town crier.

The door swings inward, revealing a man with tired eyes and a perpetual frown etched into his face. His hair is disheveled, his clothes rumpled. Irritation radiates from him like heat from a furnace.

"Took you long enough," the man grumbles.

"Please, sign here," Taro replies, extending a clipboard with unwavering politeness.

The man scribbles his signature and thrusts the clipboard back. "Now get lost."

"We are now linked," Taro declares, his tone matter-of-fact.

The man's brow furrows in confusion. "Linked? What are you talking about?"

"When countless links in this world connect with each other, miracles happen," Taro explains, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable intensity.

The man stares at Taro, utterly bewildered. "Just... just go."

Taro's gaze sweeps past the man, taking in the interior of the apartment. Books litter every surface, stacks threatening to topple over. Many are textbooks, their titles hinting at medical studies and doctorates.

He must be studying to become a doctor.

"You are studying for your doctorate," Taro observes, stating the obvious.

The man deflates, his shoulders slumping. "Was studying. Gave up. Can't do it. Can't learn. Hopeless."

Taro surveys the room again, taking in the chaos. A methodical glint sparks in his eyes. Without a word, he steps inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" the man demands, but Taro ignores him.

Taro begins to clean. With swift, precise movements, he gathers the scattered books, organizing them into neat piles. He picks up discarded papers, tossing them into a nearby trash can. He wipes down dusty surfaces with his sleeve, transforming the cluttered space into an orderly haven.

The man watches, dumbfounded. "Hey! Stop that! What do you think you're doing?"

Taro doesn't break his stride. "You are not hopeless." He continues to move, to organize, to create order out of chaos.

"Yes, I am!" the man protests, but his voice lacks conviction.

Taro pauses, turning to face him directly. "All you have to do is believe in yourself."

Something shifts in the man's eyes. A flicker of hope ignites within the depths of his despair. He straightens his posture, a newfound resolve hardening his features.

He turns toward his desk, grabbing a textbook. He opens it, his eyes scanning the page with renewed focus. He begins to study, poring over the material with a determination he thought he had lost forever.

Taro watches, a faint smile gracing his lips. He turns to leave.

"Wait," the man calls out. "Thank you... I think."

Taro pauses at the doorway. "I do not only deliver packages," he says, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I deliver happiness."

With that, Taro heads off, his delivery bag slung firmly over his shoulder, another stop on his route awaiting him. He heads to his van to deliver his next delivery.

Momoi Taro is a man defined by an unwavering commitment to truth, a quality both admirable and isolating. Born with the inability to lie, Taro navigated a world that often valued deception and social graces over raw honesty.

From a young age, he displayed extraordinary physical and mental capabilities, honed by Jin Momoi, his adoptive father. Jin taught him the ways of the Don Clan, an ancient lineage tasked with safeguarding humanity from malevolent entities born of human desires.

As Don Momotaro, the leader of the Donbrothers, Taro confronted these twisted reflections of humanity with unmatched skill and unwavering resolve. He inspired his team—Saru Brother, Oni Sister, Inu Brother, and Kiji Brother—to confront their own flaws and embrace their true potential. They were a mismatched group of warriors, each grappling with personal demons, yet united by a shared purpose and the unwavering guidance of their leader. Their battles against the Hitotsuki were chaotic, emotional, and often absurd, a reflection of the complex and messy nature of human desire itself.

Now, the battles are over. The Donbrothers have disbanded, and the world no longer needs Don Momotaro. Once Taro has finally finished the mission that has been assigned to him by the Don Clan, all of his memories regarding everything that is related to the Donbrothers, including all of his teammates, have been erased. This is to ensure that he would be given the opportunity to live out a peaceful life that is completely free of fighting. But Momoi Taro continues his mission, delivering not just packages, but also a spark of hope and truth to those he encounters. His journey takes him through bustling cities and quiet towns, where he leaves behind a trail of changed lives. He wanders through it all, a man in white.

Back at the Shirousagi Express HQ, the aroma of various lunches fills the air. Taro sits at the communal table with his colleagues. Bento boxes are opened and compared.

"Itadakimasu!" everyone says in unison, diving into their meals.

Kenji, a young deliveryman with a mischievous glint in his eyes, nudges Taro's arm. "Hey, Momoi-san, that tamagoyaki looks delicious. Wanna bet for it?"

Taro raises an eyebrow, unfazed. "A bet?"

"Yeah! Rock-Paper-Scissors. Winner takes a piece," Kenji replies with a grin.

Taro considers the proposition. "I accept."

Kenji's grin widens. "Alright! What are you going with?"

"I will use rock," Taro states matter-of-factly.

Kenji's eyes light up with glee. "Then, Rock-Paper-Scissors!"

Taro throws rock. Kenji throws scissors.

A triumphant whoop erupts from Kenji. He snatches one of Taro's tamagoyaki with lightning speed.

"YES! Free tamagoyaki!" Kenji cheers, high-fiving another deliveryman.

Taro watches Kenji devour the tamagoyaki with a stoic expression. His colleagues erupt in laughter. They all know Taro's "weakness".

"Honesty is good and all, Momoi-san," says Hana, a seasoned delivery woman with a kind smile, "but being too honest can be a problem, you know?"

Taro tilts his head, genuinely puzzled. "I do not understand. What is the point of not saying the truth?"

"Well, sometimes, a little white lie can save someone's feelings, or avoid unnecessary trouble," Hana explains, gesturing with her chopsticks. "Like, if a customer asks if they look fat in a dress, you don't say they look like a sumo wrestler, even if it's true!"

A chorus of nods and chuckles ripples around the table.

Taro stares at them. "I... understand the concept of altering my speech for the benefit of others. But I do not see the point of lying."

Hana and the others exchange glances, understanding that further discussion is futile. One cannot simply reprogram Momoi Taro. They shrug and return to their midday meal. Once lunch break concludes, Taro gathers his assigned packages and punches in his route. The automatic doors slide open, welcoming him back into the world.

Alone inside the van, Taro starts the engine. The vehicle hums to life. Sunlight streams through the windshield as he navigates the busy streets. The city blurs past him. The next delivery is to a flower shop on the other side of town. Taro makes each stop with practiced efficiency, bringing smiles and packages to doorsteps. He exists, as always, a man apart, driven by a unique sense of duty.

With the last package delivered, Momoi Taro heads back to the depot, his mind replaying Hana's words. Avoiding trouble, saving feelings... The concept remains alien to him.

As he turns onto a busy thoroughfare, a disturbance erupts. A man stumbles down the sidewalk, his face contorted in a mask of rage and frustration. He shouts incoherently, his arms flailing. The man's body begins to emit a strange light.

[VWOOOSH]

The light intensifies, engulfing the man. Taro pulls the van over, his senses on high alert. Passersby scream and scatter. The light subsides, revealing a grotesque figure.

[SPORTS SCREECHING]

The man is gone, replaced by the Sports Hitotsuki. Badminton rackets jut out from its shoulders like grotesque wings. Tennis balls form a bizarre, lumpy armor across its chest. A soccer ball acts as its stomach. A twisted basketball hoop crowns its head like a demented halo. The monster bellows, its voice a distorted cacophony of stadium cheers and frustrated grunts.

"I will be number one!" the Sports Hitotsuki roars. "I will be the best!"

Taro is surprised. "What is that?"

Hitotsuki, born from the twisted desires and festering negativity of humans, were once a frequent threat. A person becomes a Hitotsuki when consumed by intense emotion — ambition, jealousy, despair.

The Sports Hitotsuki doesn't pause for breath. He turns his attention to the fleeing crowd, his eyes glowing with manic energy. He raises his hands and sports equipment flies toward the fleeing civilians, engulfing them in balls of light.

[TWACK]

[FWIP]

[THUMP]

In mere moments, several people are transformed. A businessman is now a set of golf clubs. A teenager becomes a skateboard, rolling uncontrollably down the street. An elderly woman becomes a pair of roller skates, clattering uselessly against the asphalt. The Sports Hitotsuki cackles, gathering his new "equipment."

"Now, I have a team!" he bellows. "And we will dominate!"

Taro watches, his expression hardening. "That is not right," he declares.

He rushes toward the Hitotsuki, intending to stop him. But without the Don Blaster or Zanglassword, Taro is simply a man charging a monster. The Sports Hitotsuki swings a badminton racket with incredible force, sending Taro flying backward.

[WHACK]

Taro crashes to the ground. Pain shoots through his body. He attempts to rise, but his limbs feel heavy and unresponsive.

I am too weak.

The Hitotsuki advances, looming over Taro like a twisted parody of an athlete. "You dare interfere with my victory?" the monster snarls. "You will become my trophy!"

Taro stares up at the Hitotsuki, his mind racing. He is outmatched, outgunned, and utterly powerless. The faces of the transformed civilians flash before his eyes. He cannot allow this to continue.

But what should I do…

Suddenly, a vibrant roulette wheel materializes before him, spinning wildly with an array of colors and symbols. It spins faster and faster until it abruptly stops, landing on a symbol of three glowing eyes. A pair of crimson sunglasses manifests and affixes themselves to Taro's face.

In a rush, memories flood his mind – battles fought, friendships forged, and the exuberant cry of "It's a festival!" He remembers everything about the Donbrothers. A smirk plays on his lips. He rises to his feet, his body no longer wracked with pain.

Hovering before him is the Donblaster. Its bright yellow casing catches the sunlight, reflecting the urgency of the moment. Red grips provide a stark contrast to the dominant yellow. The side gear chamber, outlined in bold red, is open and ready. Twin rotating muzzles sit at the front, silent but promising a world of hurt for the Hitotsuki.

Taro grabs it and, with practiced ease, inserts the Don Momotaro Avataro Gear into the open slot.

The Don Momotaro Avataro Gear is a marvel of compact design. The round, gear-shaped plastic disc is about five centimeters in diameter. Ornate cog-like teeth surround the edge of the crimson frame. In the center, a high-resolution image of Don Momotaro's helmet is showcased in vibrant Sentai style. A sunset-red backdrop makes the hero's faceplate pop. The frame is textured with tiny gear patterns. Stylized Donbrothers motifs echo the series' tech-fantasy visuals.

"Avatar Change!" Taro shouts, voice laced with anticipation, while twisting the gear with a peach symbol on the side of the Donblaster. A surge of golden energy washes over him, carrying with it the fleeting images of swirling peaches.

[Yo~! Don! Don! Don! Donburako! Avatarou!]

Taro aims the Donblaster upwards, his stance firm, and pulls the trigger. A blinding burst of peach-red light explodes from the muzzle, bathing the warehouse in its radiant glow. A remix of traditional Japanese instruments intertwined with heavy rock beats fills the air, an infectious melody that speaks of both heritage and rebellion.

The crimson sunglasses morph, expanding into a full-fledged visor that retains the stylish sunglasses shape. A colossal gear materializes above him, descending from a shimmering square doorway. The gear passes through his body, channeling raw power. Red armor rapidly assembles, piece by piece.

[Donurako! Donburako! Don!]

[(traditional/rock music remix) Don Momotaro! Hey yo! Nippon Ichi!]

Swirling petals of peach blossom surround him, interspersed with glitching digital effects, before his silhouette is fully revealed.

Don Momotaro stands tall, a vibrant warrior born of festival spirit. His armor gleams, a striking contrast of red and black. The chest plate, sculpted like a stylized peach, dominates his torso, complemented by raised shoulder pauldrons. Forearm and shin guards sport controller-like buttons. His helmet mirrors a peach, with a stylized mouth on the visor and a gear-like crest.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! Festival! Festival!" Don Momotaro booms, his voice amplified by the armor, full of jubilant laughter. He feels a sense of invincibility, an unbridled energy coursing through him. He strikes a pose, radiating confidence and joy. In his right hand, he holds the Zanglassword.

Don Momotaro points it at the Hitotsuki. "Now let's have some fun! Let's fight!"

The Zanglassword catches the light, its sunglasses-themed guard glinting. The sleek blade, reminiscent of a katana, has a glossy, modern finish. Embedded LEDs pulse with a vibrant array of colors. A spinning gear is integrated near the hilt. Momotaro spins it four times.

With a feral snarl, the Sports Hitotsuki charges, swinging its badminton racket. Momotaro sidesteps with a fluid, dance-like motion, laughing, "Festival! Festival!" His movements are light, graceful, a stark contrast to the brute force of his opponent.

The Hitotsuki, undeterred, unleashes a barrage of tennis balls, launching them like cannonballs. "Feel the power of sports!" it bellows.

Momotaro deflects them effortlessly with the Zanglassword, scattering them into the air. The blade moves with blinding speed, a shimmering barrier against the incoming projectiles. "Too slow!" he taunts, playful yet confident. He twirls the sword, catching the remaining tennis balls in its path, sending them spinning back toward the Hitotsuki.

The Hitotsuki roars, swinging its soccer-ball stomach like a wrecking ball. Momotaro flips over the attack, landing with a spinning slash. The Zanglassword glows with peach energy, cracking the Hitotsuki's armor. Chunks of its lumpy tennis-ball exterior shatter, revealing the raw, chaotic energy beneath.

"Is that all you've got?" Momotaro asks, landing lightly on his feet. "This is barely a warm-up!"

The Hitotsuki, enraged, hurls a basketball from its halo-like head. Momotaro catches it mid-air, spinning it on his finger like a carnival act. The crowd watches in awe, their fear momentarily forgotten in the face of his showmanship.

"Nice try! But you'll need more than sports to beat me!" Momotaro declares, flicking the basketball back at the Hitotsuki with pinpoint accuracy.

The ball strikes the Hitotsuki square in the face, momentarily stunning it. Momotaro seizes the opportunity, leaping forward with the Zanglassword raised.

The Hitotsuki recovers, charging again, rackets raised for a crushing blow. Momotaro parries with the Zanglassword, sparks flying from the clash. The force of the impact sends tremors through his arms, but he holds firm, his resolve unwavering. His scarf billows dramatically as he pushes back, his movements blending elegance and power.

"Time to end this little game!" Momotaro announces, leaping back to create some distance.

He spins the Zanglassword's gear four times, activating its finisher mode. The blade pulses with radiant energy, LEDs cycling through vibrant colors. The air crackles with anticipation.

[Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Come On!]

[Ava‑avataro Zan! Ava‑avataro Zan!] (loop)

"Zanglassword, Peachy Resolution!" he declares, his voice booming, echoing through the street.

[Hissatsu Ōgi! Avataro Zan!]

Momotaro raises the sword, the blade glowing brighter, illuminating the faces of the crowd with its peach-colored light. The Hitotsuki roars in defiance, but its voice is drowned out by the rising energy.

He unleashes the Avataro Slash, a wave of multicolored energy shaped like a peach blossom. The attack is a fusion of power and beauty, a testament to Momotaro's unique style.

The energy engulfs the Hitotsuki, dissolving it into shimmering particles. The monster's roar is cut short, replaced by a flash of light. The transformed civilians revert to their human selves, confused but unharmed. The golf clubs, skateboard, and roller skates vanish, replaced by the bewildered faces of their former owners. The man who turned into the Hitotsuki also returns to normal.

Don Momotaro stands tall, Zanglassword resting on his shoulder, striking a triumphant pose. Peach blossoms rain down around him, a final flourish to his victory. The crowd erupts in cheers, their fear replaced by gratitude and awe.

"Another festival ends with a smile! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he proclaims, laughter ringing out.

But before Momotaro can bask in the adulation, everything changes. The bustling city street, the cheering crowd, the fading peach blossoms—all vanish. Momotaro finds himself standing in a void.

Where am I?

The transformation lingers, the armor still clinging to him. He surveys his surroundings, finding nothing. The void is pure, unbroken, an emptiness that stretches in every direction. Confusion creases his brow. There isn't anything to focus on or give any sense of direction. Just the blank whiteness of a canvas before the artist decides what to paint.

Suddenly, a light pierces the nothingness. It begins as a pinpoint, then expands rapidly, a supernova of pure luminescence. Momotaro throws up an arm, squinting against the intensity. The light ebbs, resolving into a figure.

Standing before him is a woman of unparalleled beauty. Her features are delicate, her skin radiant. A dress, as pristine as freshly fallen snow, drapes around her figure. Her blonde hair cascades down her back, framing a face of serene grace. Her eyes, a shade of green, radiate warmth and kindness. She is ethereality personified.

"Who are you?" Momotaro inquires, his voice echoing in the empty space.

Her lips curve into a gentle smile. "Greetings, Taro-San. I am Helia, Goddess of Light."

She inclines her head, a gesture of respect. "I have watched your many battles, listened to tales of your bravery and compassion. It is truly an honor to finally meet you."

Don Momotaro inclines his head in return. "Helia-sama," he says, his tone respectful.

"Where am I now?" He poses the question.

"You are currently in my domain," Helia replies, gesturing around at the endless expanse of white.

"I understand." Momotaro pauses, his gaze unwavering.

"Why have you brought me here?" The query is asked. "Do you require something from me?"

Helia's smile widens. "Straight to the point, quite fitting for you, Taro-san."

As I expected. The moment those memories resurfaced, the echoes of his time as Don Momotaro, he knew something was brewing. He is retired from being a hero. To be brought back, suddenly, means something is happening.

"Yes," Helia confirms, her expression turning serious.

"I need your help."

Her hand rises, and the void shifts. Images flicker into existence: collapsing buildings, monstrous figures wreaking havoc, dark energy tendrils snaking across the planet. Even from a distance, the scenes were horrific.

"Recently, a great evil has begun to emerge," Helia explains, her voice tinged with sorrow. "With it, monsters both new and old have surfaced, drawn to the darkness. They grow stronger with each passing day."

The visuals intensify, showing the devastation spreading. A city is consumed by flames, a forest twisted into a grotesque mockery of its former self. The scale of destruction is overwhelming.

"If this evil and these monsters continue to grow unchecked, it will lead to a great loss of life," Helia continues, her gaze piercing. "Worlds will be shrouded in darkness, hope extinguished."

She clenches her fist. "I have been holding back this darkness with my powers, as much as I can," she says. "But it only continues to grow, and it is only a matter of time before I can no longer contain it."

The images fade, replaced by the stark whiteness of the void. Helia looks at Momotaro with pleading eyes.

"Taro-San, I am asking you to create a new team to combat this darkness."

Taro Momoi, ever direct, seeks clarity. "You are asking me to reform the Donbrothers?"

Helia nods, her gaze intense. "Yes, but not only the Donbrothers. The threat we face is far beyond anything you have encountered before. The strength of a single team will not be enough."

She waves her hand again, and more images appear: the heroes of old, fighting valiantly against impossible odds. Super Sentai teams battling alien invaders, Kamen Riders facing cyborg monsters, Ultraman confronting colossal kaiju.

"I am asking you to assemble the teams of past heroes," Helia states, her voice resonating with power.

Momotaro's eyes widen in surprise. "You are asking me to reform past Super Sentai teams?" he asks, the disbelief evident in his tone.

"And not only Super Sentai," Helia clarifies, gesturing to include the other heroes in the vision. "Kamen Riders, Ultraman, Metal Heroes—all those who have fought for justice and peace throughout history."

She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in.

"I am asking you to gather all of these heroes, from across different worlds and different timelines, to form a singular team to combat this new evil."

Momotaro stares at her, processing the magnitude of her request. The task seems impossible, a logistical nightmare of epic proportions. But looking at Helia's earnest face, he knows that this is not merely a request, but a desperate plea. The fate of countless worlds rests on his shoulders.

"Interesting! I accept." Momotaro says, his voice firm, resolve hardening his gaze. "I will do what I can."

Helia smiles, a glimmer of hope returning to her eyes. "I knew I could count on you, Taro-San."

"Leave it to me! I will rally my companions to face this evil! HAHAHAHAHA!" Don Momotaro declares, his voice booming with trademark exuberance. "Helia-sama, if you call my previous companions, they will heed my call."

Helia's smile falters slightly. "That... I cannot do, Taro-san."

Momotaro stops laughing. "Why?"

"My powers are greatly limited with me containing the great evil," Helia explains, a hint of regret in her voice. "If not, I wished to call upon all heroes to help aid you. Alas, I can only call upon you."

"Is that so... what a shame," Momotaro says, the jovial tone replaced with a note of longing. "I would love to fight alongside them again..."

Helia, sensing his disappointment, quickly adds, "Do not be disheartened! While I cannot summon them directly, I can give you a power that will help you gather new companions."

A ball of light appears in Helia's hand, glowing with warm, inviting energy. She gently pushes it toward Momotaro. The ball of light is absorbed into Momotaro's body. The surge of power courses through his veins, invigorating him. He felt as though there was a new power within him.

Suddenly, a floating screen materializes before him, displaying a sleek, modern interface. It seemed like something out of a futuristic dream.

"A chat group?" Momotaro exclaims, tilting his head in curiosity.

"I have heard that chat groups are very popular among mortals," Helia explains, smiling gently. "This is no ordinary one. This chat group connects people from different worlds and universes, to help you meet potential companions who will aid you in your mission."

"Another function is to grant its members powers of past heroes," Helia continues. "Every day, members can sign in to gain points or by doing good deeds, from helping an old lady to defeating monsters, they gain points. They can use these points to redeem the powers, items, abilities, and more of past heroes in the shop section of the chat group."

"I have also included the scoring system previously administered by Kaito Goshikida," she adds, "the Kibi-Points. When members of the chat group help you, they gain Kibi-Points. By using them, they can get a wish granted. However, they may experience misfortune as a side effect."

Don Momotaro is in awe of the possibilities.

"How do I invite these people to the chat group?" He wanted the process explained.

Helia smiles. "With invite tickets, of course. They are available for redemption in the shop. The tickets will then seek out individuals in different worlds with strong destinies to join."

She adds a caveat, "You can also use the tickets on individuals you are in the presence of, but they must possess the strong destinies required to join."

"I understand." Momotaro nods, absorbing this information.

"Do you have any further inquiries?" Helia hopes she is being clear.

Momotaro pauses, considering. "More or less." He does still has his confusion about the chat group, however, the rest should be simple enough for him to understand.

Helia chuckles. "Well, I will also include an AI function to the chat group to provide assistance to you," she says. "It will also prevent the chaos of some chat group members..."

A mischievous glint appears in Helia's eyes. "Oh, one more thing, Taro-san! I will be sending you to a new world. A world where your help is needed immediately."

Momotaro is taken aback. "A new world? Why?"

"This world… it is a new world. One that I have recently put my gaze upon on," Helia admits, her tone turning somber. "It requires a strong hero to protect it, and, sadly, has been affected by the growing darkness. Hitotsuki have begun to appear, twisting the desires of its people."

"I see," Momotaro says, his expression hardening.

"What kind of world is this?" he inquires, his curiosity piqued.

Helia's face lights up, a spark of excitement returning to her gaze. "It is a world of music and power! A world where young women wield ancient relics, transforming into armored warriors fueled by song!"

She pauses, allowing the image to form in Momotaro's mind.

"It is a world where music is not just a source of entertainment, but a weapon against a deadly enemy known as the Noise."

She proceeds with her explanation. "These warriors are known as Symphogear wielders. They fight to protect humanity from the Noise, creatures that disintegrate anything they touch. Relics, ancient artifacts of immense power, are used to create Symphogears, the source of their power."

"Interesting," Momotaro muses, intrigued by the concept of song being the key to unlocking incredible abilities. "So, these Symphogear wielders… they are like us?"

"In a way, yes," Helia confirms. "But they are also unique. Their powers are tied to their emotions, their songs reflecting their hopes, their fears, and their determination to protect the world. You will find that they are strong allies and friends."

Helia offers one final gift. With a wave of her hand, all the Avataro Gears Taro collected as Don Momotaro materialize before him, each one gleaming with latent power. And finally, a majestic object appears: the Omikoshi Phoenix. The phoenix-themed mecha radiates a powerful aura, its golden plumage shimmering in the void.

"With these, you can access your past powers, your mecha, and call upon the strength of those who fought beside you, in spirit," Helia tells him, her voice filled with hope.

Don Momotaro stares at the Gears and Omikoshi Phoenix, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. He bows his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Helia-sama," he states, accepting the gifts.

Helia's expression turns pensive. "Taro-san, before you depart for this new world… is there anything you wish to say? Any loose ends to tie up? Any final words before you go?"

She studies his face, knowing the gravity of the mission ahead. There's no guarantee he'll ever return. This could be a one-way trip, a lifelong commitment, or even a sacrifice.

Momotaro pauses, considering her question. His mind races, sifting through the remnants of his past life.

"Please hand in my resignation letter to the Shirousagi Express," Momotaro replies, his voice matter-of-fact. "And please send a letter to Taro's father, so he knows I'm safe. That is all."

Helia blinks, taken aback by his pragmatic request. "I see… Is there nothing else? No message for your friends?"

Momotaro's face softens. My... friends. He shuts his eyes, picturing the faces of Saru Brother, Oni Sister, Inu Brother, and Kiji Brother. He recalls their laughter, their camaraderie, their unwavering support in battle. Even though his memories came back, they still lingered, a faint echo in his heart.

"No," Momotaro says softly, opening his eyes. "We have already said our goodbyes, before I lost my memories. They are still my companions. And if fate wills it, we will surely meet again."

A genuine smile graces Helia's lips, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You have a strong heart, Taro-san," she says, her voice filled with warmth. "I have no doubt that you will succeed in your mission."

She reaches out, gently clasping his hand. "May the light guide you on your journey," she whispers. "And may you find new friends and allies in this new world."

With a final squeeze, Helia releases his hand. The void begins to shimmer, swirling around Momotaro like a vortex. The Avataro Gears and Omikoshi Phoenix fade, merging with his being. Power surges through him, preparing him for his next adventure.

"Good luck, Taro-san," Helia says, her voice echoing through the void. "The fate of countless worlds rests on your shoulders."

With a final nod, Momotaro steels himself, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. The world dissolves around him, and he is hurtled through space and time, toward a world of music, power, and Noise.

Don Momotaro, the peach-powered warrior, is ready to make some new friends.

***

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