The scene shifts to a modern corporate building. An older man—our current Old Man—leans against a wall beside a closed door.

  His thoughts reveal how he was forced into this organization dedicated to creating “a hero.”

  A voice from behind the door calls, “Come in.” Inside, a mysterious man stands facing a window.

  He hands the Old Man a cube—the “tamashkii core”—and issues orders: ensure it reaches its destination, even if it costs his life.

  As their hands meet, both reveal matching, enigmatic bracelets.

  The Old Man exits the organization’s building with a briefcase in hand and slides into the backseat of a car.

  As he instructs the driver on his route, his mind drifts back to how it all began.

  He remembers—the trauma exploited to bind him to this life.

  A fshback cuts in: the mysterious man’s cold words echo, “Don’t forget, you helped us bury what happened 40 years ago. You’re an accomplice the same as the rest of us.”

  For a long moment, the present blurs into memory. A brief montage unfolds in his mind:

  A younger version of himself trains relentlessly in a dim gym, eyes fixed on a poster of the ancient hero. In scattered panels, he practices the hero’s signature moves—each flip and strike filled with desperate determination, sweat mingling with both hope and frustration.

  Close-ups reveal his pained expression as he struggles to match the hero’s effortless grace, a turning point when he realizes his strength will always fall short.

  The montage shifts to silent, lingering images of exhaustion and isotion—a testament to his lost dreams, even as that spark of determination refuses to die.

  The memories fade as he grips the briefcase tight-a constant reminder of the life forced upon him.