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Hank, worried sick after Paula pushed herself to the brink to finally achieve her goal, called an ambulance. But it turned out to be a false alarm, as Shiori and I showed up on site and patched her up completely with a healing PSI Drive.

After Paula exposed St. Germain’s crimes for all the world to see, we once again tried to recruit her as head of Amaterasu’s New York branch. She half-accepted, half-turned us down.

“It nearly killed me just rooting out the rot in my own hometown. If I tried fighting the World Shadow, I’d drop dead.”

Just dealing with a problem on a “city” scale was already pushing her on death’s door. A problem on the scale of the whole world would spell certain death.
And she was right, we couldn’t argue back. St. Germain was just too strong an opponent, yes, but that’s the fact.

I’ll say it again: our secret organization exists to give kids a vibrant, dramatic youth. Paula pushed herself so far she was about to burst. We couldn’t ask her for more than that.

On the other hand, through her fight with St. Germain she’d learned firsthand the power of organization. So she agreed to take the position of branch head—at least to mentor any new espers who might awaken nearby, and to lend a hand if a true emergency involving World Shadow came knocking.
In exchange, Amaterasu would provide financial support, deploy agents, and supply her with Kaneyama Tech’s PSI Drives.

In other words, Paula would go on being what she had always been: New York’s friendly neighborhood protector. She just had the title and backup of Amaterasu now.
At a café terrace on her day off, sipping coffee and hashing out the details with Shiori, Paula radiated confidence. Compared to just three months ago, she’d shed more than one layer of her old self.
She was no longer the gloomy girl who kept her head down, shuffling back and forth between school and home, avoiding people’s eyes.

And so, the Amaterasu: New York arc closed in a perfect grand finale.
A spectacular happy ending!

Like many seasoned police officers in the United States, Roger Smith had lost his faith in human goodness.

When he first joined the force, he dreamed of chasing down criminals and defeating villains in shining duty. The reality was mediating marital spats, dragging drunkards home, or hauling addicts to the hospital while they babbled nonsense excuses.

He kept telling himself his heart was wearing down only because he dealt with criminals every day. But the truth was worse. Criminals tried to trap, trick, or kill cops at every turn. Those who pretended to reform repeated the same mistakes. Even the friendliest smiles cracked into rage and violence under the slightest pressure.

Exposed to endless malice, body and spirit exhausted, he faced not gratitude from the public but fangs: “Patrols aren’t enough,” they said. “Cops waste our taxes,” they said. “Your uniforms are ugly, stay away from me,” they said.

Within five years most officers lost all passion. By ten, they were thinking, If I had the money, I’d quit the force tomorrow. The job made them hypersensitive to lies. They started seeing even their families’ little fibs as the same pathetic excuses criminals spewed, and grew to hate themselves for it.
Eventually, even love for their families rotted away.

Roger was no exception.
His wife, drunk one night after their wedding, admitted she only married him because cops had stable paychecks. Whatever love she felt shriveled up. If not for their son and daughter, she would have left long ago.
Even they seemed to see him only as the annoying old man who scolded them.
Was it so wrong to sternly lecture his daughter for playing with a kitchen knife?
Or to scold his shoplifting son and drill into him what was right?

Was he being too straightlaced?
Was he really just “a cold man with no love”?

Mired in gloom, Roger drifted deeper into the Lunar Wisdom Society, lured by its slogan of “A Brighter Future Through Psychic Development.”
He’d joined at a colleague’s invitation, and for a “secret society” it was surprisingly clean and open. Only the senior executives really hid their faces or identities.
The Grandmaster, John St. Germain, was truly something. Every lecture left Roger deeply impressed. The man had charisma—every word and gesture drew people in. His talks were logical, passionate, and resolute.
They made you believe that following him, helping him, would surely make America better. That’s the kind of power that John St. Germain possessed.

Roger got along with the other members too. Different ages, different jobs, but a shared bond. They drank together, went to sports games, and for a while Roger’s bleak life brightened.

Then it darkened again.

At first, he enjoyed carrying out the Society’s mysterious little missions, proud to be part of some greater plan. But the missions grew riskier, more radical, and eventually skirted legality.
By the time he realized he was in too deep, it was too late. Somehow, he had become a prison guard for the Society’s enemies.

Roger told himself over and over: These prisoners, no matter how good they look, no matter what innocence they claim, they’re criminals. Just like all the others he’s seen.

Despite doubts gnawing at him, Roger was nothing if not diligent. He never slacked no matter the temptation, and he never showed his reluctant.
Though he was but one man being overwhelmed by the hardships of life, outwardly, Roger was the picture of a faithful officer. That’s why he got assigned to give a crime-prevention lecture at Darres High. The idea is to have local police officers teach promising young people about staying out of trouble.

He attended the course without any enthusiasm or pride, only out of a sense of emptiness and obligation.
But one act of kindness he experienced there changed Roger’s life.

The assassin the Society sent to kill him came to his house posing as an old friend. Roger’s wife, who had joined the Society only to get discounts on beauty products, welcomed him in with a smile.
Unaware of the circumstances behind the closed doors, she amiably served the assassin some snacks and left to pick up the kids.

As soon as she left, the gentle smile the assassin wore also vanished.
It seemed that all was lost for Roger—but what happened on the TV he let on saved his life by the nick of time.
Live on air, St. Germain himself began exposing the Society’s crimes, urging his followers to turn themselves in.
The assassin sat transfixed until the broadcast ended—then burst into tears, did nothing, and left.
By a hair’s breadth, Roger was spared.

Now he realized what Paula Port and Bouncer had accomplished that night: They must have defeated St. Germain so hard, the Grandmaster reformed overnight and confessed his crimes with his own lips.

From then, Roger Smith’s life changed again.

The Lunar Wisdom Society (and the Raincoat Inc. by extension), which the public had tolerated as a clean, hopeful group, became reviled overnight. Police even had to protect some members from vigilante “justice.” The mess was worse because the Society had infiltrated the police force itself…

Roger didn’t hide his membership. He just kept quiet about the darker truths. Yesterday’s friendly neighbors now crossed the street to avoid him, fleeing like he was a wanted felon.

He endured a week of that before the media wind shifted.
The public had grown bored of the news that portrayed the Lunar Wisdom Society as nothing more than a den of villains (which was not false, per se). Now they were craving for a different angle to jab at this story.
The new narrative the news outlet approached was that the Lunar Wisdom Society had “factions,” actually. It was the extremists who committed all those crimes, while the moderates were actually trying to stop them.

Strangely, this idea spread instantly, bolstered by countless credible testimonies and documents, sweeping away the old “everyone in the Society is evil” view.
To be fair, it’s true that the lower echelons of the Lunar Wisdom Society are made up of ignorant ordinary people, and it’s the senior members who are secretly committing evil deeds. In that sense, it’s not wrong to say that “the Lunar Wisdom Society has factions.”
However, even in this age of social media, where trends come and go quickly and change rapidly, this change was far too sudden and complete. One might even suspect this was a conspiracy, a manipulated outcome.

The Grandmaster of the Lunar Wisdom Society, John St. Germain himself released a statement from prison, acknowledging the polarization of the organization under his banner and lamenting his powerlessness to prevent it from happening.
In the first place, had St. Germain keep quiet about all these evil deeds his organization conducted, none of it would have come to light. Thus, it only made sense that his claim about not being the leader of this “evil faction” held some legitimacy.
Before long, the public opinion had shifted from “St. Germain is the root of all evil” to “St. Germain was simply unable to rein in the evil that rampaged in his own organization.”

Even Roger, who was directly involved in the Society’s vile acts, became confused.
He believed that St. Germain was the absolute evil that plagued the Lunar Wisdom, but upon reflecting it back, he couldn’t remember St. Germain ever gave him any clear instruction to take part in the evil deeds. The Grandmaster had only inspired others for a bigger purpose, hinted at what might come, and spoke his thoughts to his members. Was it possible that it was everyone else—including Roger—who twisted his words, acted on assumptions, and filled in the blanks?

No matter how much he thought about it and looked for any condemning evidence, the truth kept slipping between his fingers like mist.

Whatever the case, the fact remained that John St. Germain had confessed his sins with his very own mouth. He might have endless tricks up his sleeves, but he wouldn’t be walking free anytime soon.
Leaving aside the once-clear truth that had been buried, for now, New York could rejoice for the peace that had returned.

Roger’s own personal life also changed for the better.
He was always known for being an honest and contentious police officer, so people automatically categorized him as part of the Light Side of the Lunar Wisdom. His neighbors warmed up again. His kids bragged at school that their dad was the cool cop who’d infiltrated an evil cult.

Meanwhile, Paula—or rather, her pal Bouncer—became nationwide sensations.
Rumors of her rescues throughout Queens had already spread, but when her heroics at the Raincoat HQ fire were broadcast live across the country, Bouncer exploded into stardom.

Video analysis revealed that this elusive, adorable girl clearly possessed the ability to self-repair and incredible strength beyond anything technically possible. Once she was determined to be an esper, merchandise sellers began making money off of her.
Compared to Burning Girl or Time Lady who were active only in Japan and had little exposure, Bouncer was more popular for being a New York local who helped the neighborhood in every small way possible.

The VR Avatar thought to be her roots also went incredibly viral. Trendy girls of her age flocking to cosplay as Bouncer and imitating her outfit. Neon-pink hair gel and purple contacts lined up apparel shops from wall to wall.
Though, a lot of people didn’t think the name Bouncer was cute enough, and they opted to call her by her Avatar name; Pinky.

Roger’s own daughter was an avid Pinky fan. After all, who could resist a cute real-life superhero with actual psychic powers? With how fast she switched, it was hard to believe that just a month ago she wanted a Burning Girl doll for her Christmas wish.

Today was a holiday.
For once, Roger had taken the kids out shopping.
He had promised some Pinky merch for his daughter, and his son wanted a new Lego set, and so they set out to a toy megastore together.
At a red light, his daughter hung on his arm, laughing, while his son idly tugged the strings of his hoodie. Roger silently thanked Paula for letting him enjoy this simple, happy normalcy.

And then, a burst of cheers was heard from the crowd ahead.
He turned—and there she was. Bouncer, appearing out of nowhere, chatting with a flustered pizza delivery kid whose bike had broken down.
After waving to the onlookers, she took the order slip and pizza case and sprinted off at lightning speed.

Surely Roger didn’t imagine it when she winked at him while passing.
They hadn’t exchanged words since that night, but in that instant they shared an understanding only the two of them could know. Roger found himself smiling.

His daughter stood frozen, clutching paper and pen from her pouch, devastated at missing a chance for an autograph. Roger gently consoled her.

“Don’t worry. You’ll meet her again. You can ask for a signature then.”
“Really? I’ll really see her again?”
“Of course. She’s New York’s friendly neighbor.”