The swirling nebula above the arena had calmed into a dull, rhythmic pulse. The four winners—Saitama, Gojo Satoru, Sung Jin-Woo, and Tanjiro Kamado—stood in a small circle, the silence between them louder than the battles that had preceded it.
Tanjiro was the first to speak, though his voice was barely a whisper, thick with a grief that seemed to age him decades in a matter of minutes.
"We killed them," Tanjiro said, staring at his hands. "Okarun... Dazai... even Kazuma. They're gone. Everything they did, everything they loved... it's all been reset because we were 'stronger.'"
Gojo adjusted his blindfold, his usual playful smirk nowhere to be found. "They aren't dead, Tanjiro. They're just back at the start. They're safe, in a way."
"Safe?" Tanjiro looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. "They don't know who they are! Okarun won't remember the friends who fought for him. Dazai won't remember the peace he finally found. How can you call that 'safe'? We stole their lives to get ours back."
Jin-Woo crossed his arms, his glowing blue eyes fixed on the distant void. "It was a choice between deletion and a restart. We chose the only path that kept them in existence. If we had refused to fight, Malak would have erased all seven of our worlds. You know that."
"I know," Tanjiro choked out. "But it feels like we just did Malak's work for him. We proved his point. We became the 'efficient butchers' he wanted."
Saitama, who had been standing with his hands in his pockets, finally looked up. "It's not the same, kid."
Tanjiro looked at him. "How is it not the same, Saitama-san?"
"Malak does it because he's bored and angry," Saitama said plainly. "He wants to see us break. But you... you fought because you care about your sister. Gojo fought for his students. This guy fought for his kingdom. It's ugly, and it feels like garbage, but you're doing it for something. Malak is doing it for nothing."
Gojo let out a sharp, cynical breath. "He's right. We're all monsters now. We're the four people who decided our worlds were worth more than theirs. That's a weight we're going to carry until the day we actually die."
"I don't want to forget them," Tanjiro said, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. "I don't want to go back to my world and pretend like this never happened. Like Okarun never existed."
"You won't," Jin-Woo said, his voice firm. "We are the Architects now. We carry the data of the Reset Game. As long as we remember them, their struggle wasn't for nothing. We're the only witnesses to the heroes they were."
Gojo looked at the three doors of light, then back at the group. "So, this is it. The end of the 'Endgame Seven.' Back to our own timelines. Back to our own messes."
"Do you think he'll come back?" Tanjiro asked, glancing toward the crumbling throne where Malak watched them. "Malak said he'd come for the rest of us."
"Let him," Gojo said, a spark of his old arrogance returning, though tempered by a new, cold edge. "If he shows up in my world again, I won't be playing by his rules. I think we've all learned a few new tricks."
"Yeah," Saitama muttered. "Next time, I'm not waiting for a speech. I'm just hitting him."
Jin-Woo looked at the others, his expression softening just a fraction. "For what it's worth... I'm glad it was you three. Any other group would have turned on each other long before the lots were even drawn."
"Goodbye, everyone," Tanjiro said, his voice steadying as he wiped his eyes. "I hope... I hope you find the peace you're looking for. And I hope we never have to see each other like this again."
"See ya," Saitama said with a small wave.
"Stay strong, Tanjiro," Gojo added. "The Sun needs to keep rising."
Jin-Woo simply nodded, the shadows at his feet swirling one last time in a silent salute.
The four of them turned as one. A few yards away, Malak stood, his form flickering, a jagged hole where his jaw should be, his eyes filled with a mixture of envy and hatred. He raised a hand in a mocking gesture of congratulations.
The four Architects didn't speak. They didn't shout. They simply stopped and looked at him.
It was a look of pure, unadulterated hate—a silent promise from four of the most powerful beings in existence that they were no longer his toys. They were his consequence.
Under the weight of that combined stare, Malak actually stepped back, his flickering form momentarily stabilizing in a shudder of fear. " malak" gojo said, it almost felt chilling.
" someday, even if not us. But i speak on behalf of the rest of my group.... your useless dream.... will be stopped. "
With this last words, Tanjiro, Saitama, Gojo, and Jin-Woo turned their backs on the Monarch and walked through their respective doors.
The golden light swallowed them, and the Axiomatic Palace collapsed into a silent, empty void.
Winner's Circle: Tanjiro Kamado, Saitama, Gojo Satoru, Sung Jin-Woo.
The Reset Game: Concluded.